TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
* Italics are denoted by underscores as in _italics_.
* Small caps are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
* Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.
* Original spelling, hyphenation and punctuation have been kept,
but variant spellings were made consistent when a predominant
usage was found.
* Illustrations have been slightly moved so that they do not break
up paragraphs while remaining close to the text they illustrate.
* Illustration captions have been harmonized and made consistent
so that the same expressions appear both in them and in the List
of Illustrations.
* Both “Bramha” and “Brahma” have been kept as distinct even though
they probably denote the same deity.
TALES OF HINDU DEVILRY.
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
[Illustration: During the three hours of return hardly a word passed
between the pair.
_Frontispiece._]
VIKRAM AND THE VAMPIRE
OR
TALES OF HINDU DEVILRY.
ADAPTED BY
RICHARD F. BURTON, F.R.G.S. &c.
‘Les fables, loin de grandir les hommes, la Nature et Dieu,
rapetissent tout.’
LAMARTINE (_Milton_).
‘One who had eyes saw it; the blind will not understand it.
A poet, who is a boy, he has perceived it; he who understands it
will be his sire’s sire.’—RIG-VEDA (I. 164, 16).
_WITH THIRTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS_
BY
_ERNEST GRISET_.
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1870.
TO MY UNCLE,
ROBERT BAGSHAW, OF DOVERCOURT,
THESE TALES,
THAT WILL REMIND HIM OF A LAND WHICH
HE KNOWS SO WELL,
ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.
PREFACE.
‘The genius of Eastern nations,’ says an established and respectable
authority, ‘was, from the earliest times, much turned towards
invention and the love of fiction. The Indians, the Persians,
and the Arabians, were all famous for their fables. Amongst the
ancient Greeks we hear of the Ionian and Milesian tales, but they
have now perished, and, from every account that we hear of them,
appear to have been loose and indelicate.’ Similarly, the classical
dictionaries define ‘Milesiæ fabulæ’ to be ‘licentious themes,’
‘stories of an amatory or mirthful nature,’ or ‘ludicrous and
indecent plays.’ M. Deriége seems indeed to confound them with the
‘Mœurs du Temps’ illustrated with artistic _gouaches_, when he says,
‘une de ces fables milésiennes, rehaussées de peintures, que la
corruption romaine recherchait alors avec une folle ardeur.’
My friend, Mr. Richard Charnock, F.A.S.L., more correctly defines
Milesian fables to have been originally ‘certain tales or novels,
composed by Aristides of Miletus;’ gay in matter and graceful in
manner. ‘They were translated into Latin by the historian Sisenna,
the friend of Atticus, and they had a great success at Rome.
Plutarch, in his life of Crassus, tells us that after the defeat
of Carhes (Carrhæ?) some Milesiacs were found in the baggage of
the Roman prisoners. The Greek text and the Latin translation have
long been lost. The only surviving fable is the tale of Cupid and
Psyche,[1] which Apuleius calls “Milesius sermo,” and it makes us
deeply regret the disappearance of the others.’ Besides this there
are the remains of Apollodorus and Conon, and a few traces to be
found in Pausanias, Athenæus, and the scholiasts.
[1] _Metamorphoseon, seu de Asino Aureo, libri XI._ The well
known and beautiful episode is in the fourth, the fifth, and the
sixth books.
I do not, therefore, agree with Blair, with the dictionaries, or with
M. Deriége. Miletus, the great maritime city of Asiatic Ionia, was of
old the meeting place of the East and the West. Here the Phœnician
trader from the Baltic would meet the Hindu wandering to Intra, from
Extra, Gangem; and the Hyperborean would step on shore side by side
with the Nubian and the Æthiop. Here was produced and published for
the use of the then civilised world, the genuine Oriental apologue,
myth and tale combined, which, by amusing narrative and romantic
adventure, insinuates a lesson in morals or in humanity, of which
we often in our days must fail to perceive the drift. The book
of Apuleius, before quoted, is subject to as many discoveries of
recondite meaning as Rabelais. As regards the licentiousness of the
Milesian fables, this sign of semi-civilisation is still inherent
in most Eastern books of the description which we call ‘light
literature,’ and the ancestral tale-teller never collects a larger
purse of coppers than when he relates the worst of his ‘aurei.’
But this looseness, resulting from the separation of the sexes, is
accidental, not necessary. The following collection will show that it
can be dispensed with, and that there is such a thing as comparative
purity in Hindu literature. The author, indeed, almost always takes
the trouble to marry his hero and his heroine, and if he cannot find
a priest, he generally adopts an exceedingly left-hand and Caledonian
but legal rite called ‘gandharbavivaha.’[2]
[2] This ceremony will be explained in a future page.
The work of Apuleius, as ample internal evidence shows, is borrowed
from the East. The groundwork of the tale is the metamorphosis
of Lucius of Corinth into an ass, and the strange accidents which
precede his recovering the human form.
Another old Hindu story-book relates, in the popular fairy-book
style, the wondrous adventures of the hero and demigod, the great
Gandharba-Sena. That son of Indra, who was also the father of
Vikramajit, the subject of this and another collection, offended the
ruler of the firmament by his fondness for a certain nymph, and was
doomed to wander over earth under the form of a donkey. Through the
interposition of the gods, however, he was permitted to become a man
during the hours of darkness, thus comparing with the English legend—
Amundeville is lord by day,
But the monk is lord by night.
Whilst labouring under this curse, Gandharba-Sena persuaded the King
of Dhara to give him a daughter in marriage, but it unfortunately so
happened that at the wedding hour he was unable to show himself in
any but asinine shape. After bathing, however, he proceeded to the
assembly, and, hearing songs and music, he resolved to give them a
specimen of his voice.
The guests were filled with sorrow that so beautiful a virgin should
be married to a donkey. They were afraid to express their feelings
to the king, but they could not refrain from smiling, covering their
mouths with their garments. At length some one interrupted the
general silence and said:
‘O king, is this the son of Indra? You have found a fine bridegroom;
you are indeed happy; don’t delay the marriage; delay is improper
in doing good; we never saw so glorious a wedding! It is true that
we once heard of a camel being married to a jenny-ass; when the
ass, looking up to the camel, said, “Bless me, what a bridegroom!”
and the camel, hearing the voice of the ass, exclaimed, “Bless me,
what a musical voice!” In that wedding, however, the bride and the
bridegroom were equal; but in this marriage, that such a bride should
have such a bridegroom is truly wonderful.’
Other Brahmans then present said:
‘O king, at the marriage hour, in sign of joy the sacred shell is
blown, but thou hast no need of that’ (alluding to the donkey’s
braying).
The women all cried out:
‘O my mother![3] what is this? at the time of marriage to have an
ass! What a miserable thing! What! will he give that angelic girl in
wedlock to a donkey?’
[3] A common exclamation of sorrow, surprise, fear, and other
emotions. It is especially used by women.
At length Gandharba-Sena, addressing the king in Sanskrit, urged him
to perform his promise. He reminded his future father-in-law that
there is no act more meritorious than speaking truth; that the mortal
frame is a mere dress, and that wise men never estimate the value of
a person by his clothes. He added that he was in that shape from the
curse of his sire, and that during the night he had the body of a
man. Of his being the son of Indra there could be no doubt.
Hearing the donkey thus speak Sanskrit, for it was never known that
an ass could discourse in that classical tongue, the minds of the
people were changed, and they confessed that, although he had an
asinine form, he was unquestionably the son of Indra. The king,
therefore, gave him his daughter in marriage.[4] The metamorphosis
brings with it many misfortunes and strange occurrences, and it lasts
till Fate in the author’s hand restores the hero to his former shape
and honours.
[4] Quoted from _View of the Hindoos_, by William Ward, of
Serampore (vol. i. p. 25).
Gandharba-Sena is a quasi-historical personage, who lived in the
century preceding the Christian era. The story had, therefore, ample
time to reach the ears of the learned African Apuleius, who was born
A.D. 130.
The _Baital-Pachisi_, or _Twenty-five_ (tales of a) _Baital_[5]—a
Vampire or evil spirit which animates dead bodies—is an old
and thoroughly Hindu repertory. It is the rude beginning of
that fictitious history which ripened to the _Arabian Nights’
Entertainments_, and which, fostered by the genius of Boccaccio,
produced the romance of the chivalrous days, and its last
development, the novel—that prose-epic of modern Europe.
[5] In Sanskrit, _Vétála-pancha-Vinshatí_. ‘Baital’ is the modern
form of ‘Vétála.’
Composed in Sanskrit, ‘the language of the gods,’ alias the Latin of
India, it has been translated into all the Prakrit or vernacular and
modern dialects of the great peninsula. The reason why it has not
found favour with the Moslems is doubtless the highly polytheistic
spirit which pervades it; moreover, the Faithful had already a
specimen of that style of composition. This was the Hitopadesa, or
_Advice of a Friend_, which, as a line in its introduction informs
us, was borrowed from an older book, the _Panchatantra_, or _Five
Chapters_. It is a collection of apologues recited by a learned
Brahman, Vishnu Sharma by name, for the edification of his pupils,
the sons of an Indian Raja. They have been adapted to or translated
into a number of languages, notably into Pehlvi and Persian, Syriac
and Turkish, Greek and Latin, Hebrew and Arabic. And as the _Fables
of Pilpay_,[6] they are generally known, by name at least, to
European littérateurs. Voltaire remarks,[7] ‘Quand on fait réflexion
que presque toute la terre a été infatuée de pareils contes, et
qu’ils ont fait l’éducation du genre humain, on trouve les fables de
Pilpay, Lokman, d’Ésope bien raisonnables.’
[6] In Arabic, _Bidpai el Hakim_.
[7] _Dictionnaire philosophique_, sub v. ‘Apocryphes.’
These tales, detached, but strung together by artificial
means—pearls with a thread drawn through them—are manifest
precursors of the Decamerone, or Ten Days. A modern Italian critic
describes the now classical fiction as a collection of one hundred
of those novels which Boccaccio is believed to have read out at the
court of Queen Joanna of Naples, and which later in life were by him
assorted together by a most simple and ingenious contrivance. But
the great Florentine invented neither his stories nor his ‘plot,’ if
we may so call it. He wrote in the middle of the fourteenth century
(1344-8) when the West had borrowed many things from the East,
rhymes[8] and romance, lutes and drums, alchemy and knight-errantry.
Many of the ‘Novelle’ are, as Orientalists well know, to this day
sung and recited almost textually by the wandering tale-tellers,
bards, and rhapsodists of Persia and Central Asia.
[8] I do not mean that rhymes were not known before the days of
El Islam, but that the Arabs popularised assonance and consonance
in Southern Europe.
The great kshatriya (soldier) king Vikramaditya,[9] or Vikramarka,
meaning the ‘Sun of Heroism,’ plays in India the part of King
Arthur, and of Harun El Rashid further West. He is a semi-historical
personage. The son of Gandharba-Sena the donkey and the daughter of
the King of Dhara, he was promised by his father the strength of a
thousand male elephants. When his sire died, his grandfather, the
deity Indra, resolved that the babe should not be born, upon which
his mother stabbed herself. But the tragic event duly happening
during the ninth month, Vikram came into the world by himself, and
was carried to Indra, who pitied and adopted him, and gave him a good
education.
[9] ‘Vikrama’ means ‘valour’ or ‘prowess.’
The circumstances of his accession to the throne, as will presently
appear, are differently told. Once, however, made King of Malaya, the
modern Malwa, a province of Western Upper India, he so distinguished
himself that the Hindu fabulists, with their usual brave kind of
speaking, have made him ‘bring the whole earth under the shadow of
one umbrella.’
The last ruler of the race of Mayúra, which reigned 318 years, was
Rája-pál. He reigned 25 years, but giving himself up to effeminacy,
his country was invaded by Shakáditya, a king from the highlands
of Kumaon. Vikramaditya, in the fourteenth year of his reign,
pretended to espouse the cause of Rája-pál, attacked and destroyed
Shakáditya, and ascended the throne of Delhi. His capital was Avanti,
or Ujjayani, the modern Ujjain. It was 13 kos (26 miles) long by
18 miles wide, an area of 468 square miles, but a trifle in Indian
history. He obtained the title of Shakári, ‘foe of the Shakas,’ the
Sacæ or Scythians, by his victories over that redoubtable race.
In the Kali Yug, or Iron Age, he stands highest amongst the Hindu
kings as the patron of learning. Nine persons under his patronage,
popularly known as the ‘Nine Gems of Science,’ hold in India the
honourable position of the Seven Wise Men of Greece.
These learned persons wrote works in the eighteen original dialects
from which, say the Hindus, all the languages of the earth have
been derived.[10] Dhanwantari enlightened the world upon the
subjects of medicine and incantations. Kshapanaka treated the
primary elements. Amara-Singha compiled a Sanskrit dictionary and
a philosophical treatise. Shankubetálabhatta composed comments and
Ghatakarpara, a poetical work of no great merit. The books of Mihira
are not mentioned. Varáha produced two works on astrology and one on
arithmetic. And Bararúchí introduced certain improvements in grammar,
commented upon the incantations, and wrote a poem in praise of King
Mádhava.
[10] Mr. Ward of Serampore is unable to quote the names of
more than nine out of the eighteen, namely: Sanskrit, Prakrit,
Naga, Paisacha, Gandharba, Rakshasa, Ardhamágadi, Apa, and
Guhyaka—most of them being the languages of different orders of
fabulous beings. He tells us, however, that an account of these
dialects may be found in the work called _Pingala_.
But the most celebrated of all the patronised ones was Kalidása. His
two dramas, Sakuntala,[11] and Vikram and Urvasi,[12] have descended
to our day; besides which he produced a poem on the seasons, a
work on astronomy, a poetical history of the gods, and many other
books.[13]
[11] Translated by Sir Wm. Jones, 1789; and by Professor
Williams, 1856.
[12] Translated by Professor H. H. Wilson.
[13] The time was propitious to savans. Whilst Vikramaditya
lived, Mágha, another king, caused to be written a poem called
after his name. For each verse he is said to have paid to learned
men a gold piece, which amounted to a total of 5,280_l._—a large
sum in those days, which preceded those of _Paradise Lost_. About
the same period, Karnáta, a third king, was famed for patronising
the learned men who rose to honour at Vikram’s court. Dhavaka,
a poet of nearly the same period, received from King Shriharsha
the magnificent present of 10,000_l._ for a poem called the
_Ratna-Malá_.
Vikramaditya established the Sambat era, dating from A.C. 56. After
a long, happy, and glorious reign, he lost his life in a war with
Shalivahana, King of Pratisthana. That monarch also left behind him
an era called the ‘Shaka,’ beginning with A.D. 78. It is employed,
even now, by the Hindus in recording their births, marriages, and
similar occasions.
King Vikramaditya was succeeded by his infant son Vikrama-Sena, and
father and son reigned over a period of 93 years. At last the latter
was supplanted by a devotee named Samudra-pála, who entered into
his body by miraculous means. The usurper reigned 24 years and 2
months, and the throne of Delhi continued in the hands of his sixteen
successors, who reigned 641 years and three months. Vikrama-pála, the
last, was slain in battle by Tilaka-chandra, King of Vaharannah.[14]
[14] Lieut. Wilford supports the theory that there were eight
Vikramadityas, the last of whom established the era. For
further particulars, the curious reader will consult Lassen’s
_Anthologia_, and Professor H. H. Wilson’s _Essay on Vikram_,
(New) As. Res. ix. 117.
It is not pretended that the words of these Hindu tales are
preserved to the letter. The question about the metamorphosis of
cats into tigers, for instance, proceeded from a Gem of Learning
in a university much nearer home than Gaur. Similarly the learned
and still living Mgr. Gaume (_Traité du Saint-Esprit_, p. 81) joins
Camerarius in the belief that serpents bite women rather than men.
And he quotes (p. 192) Cornelius à Lapide, who informs us that the
leopard is the produce of a lioness with a hyæna or a pard.
The merit of the old stories lies in their suggestiveness and their
general applicability. I have ventured to remedy the conciseness of
their language, and to clothe the skeleton with flesh and blood.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. 1
_THE VAMPIRE’S FIRST STORY._
IN WHICH A MAN DECEIVES A WOMAN. 54
_THE VAMPIRE’S SECOND STORY._
OF THE RELATIVE VILLANY OF MEN AND WOMEN. 97
_THE VAMPIRE’S THIRD STORY._
OF A HIGH-MINDED FAMILY. 140
_THE VAMPIRE’S FOURTH STORY._
OF A WOMAN WHO TOLD THE TRUTH. 156
_THE VAMPIRE’S FIFTH STORY._
OF THE THIEF WHO LAUGHED AND WEPT. 167
_THE VAMPIRE’S SIXTH STORY._
IN WHICH THREE MEN DISPUTE ABOUT A WOMAN. 190
_THE VAMPIRE’S SEVENTH STORY._
SHOWING THE EXCEEDING FOLLY OF MANY WISE FOOLS. 209
_THE VAMPIRE’S EIGHTH STORY._
OF THE USE AND MISUSE OF MAGIC PILLS. 238
_THE VAMPIRE’S NINTH STORY._
SHOWING THAT A MAN’S WIFE BELONGS NOT TO HIS BODY BUT TO
HIS HEAD. 267
_THE VAMPIRE’S TENTH STORY._
OF THE MARVELLOUS DELICACY OF THREE QUEENS. 285
_THE VAMPIRE’S ELEVENTH STORY._
WHICH PUZZLES RAJA VIKRAM. 290
CONCLUSION. 307
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
DURING THE THREE HOURS OF RETURN HARDLY A WORD PASSED
BETWEEN THE PAIR. _Frontispiece_
HE WAS PLAYING UPON A HUMAN SKULL WITH TWO SHANK BONES._p._ 43
HE ONCE MORE SEIZED THE BAITAL’S HAIR. 48
WENT UP TO HER WITH POLITE SALUTATIONS. _To face_ 65
HAVING SAID THIS, HE THREW ONE OF THE SWEETMEATS TO THE
DOG. _To face_ 85
MOUNTING THEIR HORSES, FOLLOWED THE PARTY. 93
HE DISMISSED THE PALANQUIN-BEARERS. 117
HE SET OUT ALONE WITH HIS ILL-GOTTEN WEALTH. _To face_ 118
THE KING, PUFFING WITH FURY, FOLLOWED HIM AT THE TOP OF
HIS SPEED, AND CAUGHT HIM BY HIS TAIL. _To face_ 139
IN THE MEANTIME A TRAVELLER, A RAJPUT, BY NAME BIRBAL. 143
THE BAITAL DISAPPEARED THROUGH THE DARKNESS. _To face_ 165
AS, HOWEVER, HE PASSED THROUGH A BACK STREET. _To face_ 170
AFTER A FEW MINUTES THE SIGNAL WAS ANSWERED. 173
THE TWO THEN RAISED, BY THEIR UNITED EFFORTS, A HEAVY
TRAP-DOOR. _To face_ 174
TREADING WITH THE FOOT OF A TIGER-CAT. 177
THE KING WAS CUNNING AT FENCE, AND SO WAS THE THIEF.
_To face_ 179
PRESENTLY THE DEMON WAS TRUSSED UP AS USUAL. 188
BAMAN, THE SECOND SUITOR, TIED UP A BUNDLE AND FOLLOWED. 198
MEANWHILE MADHUSADAN, THE THIRD, BECAME A JOGI. 199
THE HOUSEHOLDER’S WIFE CAME TO SERVE UP THE FOOD, RICE
AND SPLIT PEAS. _To face_ 203
MADHUSADAN PROCEEDED TO MAKE HIS INCANTATIONS, DESPITE
TERRIBLE SIGHTS IN THE AIR. _To face_ 205
VIKRAM PLACED HIS BUNDLE UPON THE GROUND, AND SEATED
HIMSELF CROSS-LEGGED BEFORE IT. _To face_ 207
THEY TRIED TO LIVE WITHOUT A MONTHLY ALLOWANCE, AND
NOTABLY THEY FAILED. 223
AN EDIFYING SPECTACLE, INDEED, FOR THE WORLD TO SEE: A
CROSS OLD MAN SITTING AMONGST HIS GALLIPOTS AND
CRUCIBLES. _To face_ 228
THE BONE THEREUPON STOOD UPRIGHT, AND HOPPED ABOUT. 230
THEY PREPARED FOR THEIR TASK. 234
WITH A ROAR LIKE THUNDER. _To face_ 235
BUT THEIR EYES HAD MET. 241
AS THEY EMERGED UPON THE PLAIN, THEY WERE ATTACKED BY
THE KIRATAS. _To face_ 277
THEN A HORRID THOUGHT FLASHED ACROSS HER MIND; SHE
PERCEIVED HER FATAL MISTAKE. _To face_ 279
THERE HE FOUND THE JOGI. 310
AS HE BENT HIM DOWN TO SALUTE THE GODDESS. 317
TAILPIECE. 319
VIKRAM AND THE VAMPIRE.
INTRODUCTION.
The sage Bhavabhuti—Eastern teller of these tales—after making
his initiatory and propitiatory congé to Ganesha, Lord of Incepts,
informs the reader that this book is a string of fine pearls to be
hung round the neck of human intelligence; a fragrant flower to be
borne on the turban of mental wisdom; a jewel of pure gold, which
becomes the brow of all supreme minds; and a handful of powdered
rubies, whose tonic effects will appear palpably upon the mental
digestion of every patient. Finally, that by aid of the lessons
inculcated in the following pages, man will pass happily through this
world into the state of absorption, where fables will be no longer
required.
He then teaches us how Vikramaditya the Brave became King of Ujjayani.
Some nineteen centuries ago, the renowned city of Ujjayani
witnessed the birth of a prince to whom was given the gigantic name
Vikramaditya. Even the Sanskrit-speaking people, who are not usually
pressed for time, shortened it to ‘Vikram,’ and a little further West
it would infallibly have been docked down to ‘Vik.’
Vikram was the second son of an old king Gandharba-Sena, concerning
whom little favourable has reached posterity, except that he became
an ass, married four queens, and had by them six sons, each of
whom was more learned and powerful than the other. It so happened
that in course of time the father died. Thereupon his eldest heir,
who was known as Shank, succeeded to the carpet of Rajaship, and
was instantly murdered by Vikram, his ‘scorpion,’ the hero of the
following pages.[15]
[15] History tells us another tale. The god Indra and the King
of Dhara gave the kingdom to Bhartari-hari, another son of
Gandharba-Sena, by a handmaiden. For some time, the brothers
lived together; but presently they quarrelled. Vikram being
dismissed from court, wandered from place to place in abject
poverty, and at one time hired himself as a servant to a merchant
living in Guzerat. At length, Bhartari-hari, disgusted with the
world on account of the infidelity of his wife, to whom he was
ardently attached, became a religious devotee, and left the
kingdom to its fate. In the course of his travels, Vikram came to
Ujjayani, and finding it without a head, assumed the sovereignty.
He reigned with great splendour, conquering by his arms Utkala,
Vanga, Kuch-behar, Guzerat, Somnat, Delhi, and other places;
until, in his turn, he was conquered and slain by Shalivaban.
By this act of vigour and manly decision, which all younger-brother
princes should devoutly imitate, Vikram having obtained the title of
Bir, or the Brave, made himself Raja. He began to rule well, and
the gods so favoured him that day by day his dominions increased. At
length he became lord of all India, and having firmly established
his government, he instituted an era—an uncommon feat for a mere
monarch, especially when hereditary.
The steps,[16] says the historian, which he took to arrive at that
pinnacle of grandeur, were these:
[16] The words are found, says Mr. Ward, in the _Hindu History_
compiled by Mrityungaya.
The old King calling his two grandsons Bhartari-hari and
Vikramaditya, gave them good counsel respecting their future
learning. They were told to master everything, a certain way not
to succeed in anything. They were diligently to learn grammar, the
scriptures, and all the religious sciences. They were to become
familiar with military tactics, international law, and music, the
riding of horses and elephants—especially the latter—the driving of
chariots, and the use of the broadsword, the bow, and the mogdars or
Indian clubs. They were ordered to be skilful in all kinds of games,
in leaping and running, in besieging forts, in forming and breaking
bodies of troops; they were to endeavour to excel in every princely
quality, to be cunning in ascertaining the power of an enemy, how to
make war, to perform journeys, to sit in the presence of the nobles,
to separate the different sides of a question, to form alliances,
to distinguish between the innocent and the guilty, to assign
proper punishments to the wicked, to exercise authority with perfect
justice, and to be liberal. The boys were then sent to school, and
were placed under the care of excellent teachers, where they became
truly famous. Whilst under pupilage, the eldest was allowed all the
power necessary to obtain a knowledge of royal affairs, and he was
not invested with the regal office till in these preparatory steps
he had given full satisfaction to his subjects, who expressed high
approval of his conduct.
The two brothers often conversed on the duties of kings, when the
great Vikramaditya gave the great Bhartari-hari the following
valuable advice:[17]
[17] These duties of kings are thus laid down in the
_Rajtarangini_. It is evident, as Professor H. H. Wilson says,
that the royal status was by no means a sinecure. But the rules
are evidently the closet work of some pedantic, dogmatic Brahman,
teaching kingcraft to kings. He directs his instructions, not
to subordinate judges, but to the Raja as the chief magistrate,
and through him to all appointed for the administration of his
justice.
‘As Indra, during the four rainy months, fills the earth with water,
so a king should replenish his treasury with money. As Surya the sun,
in warming the earth eight months, does not scorch it, so a king, in
drawing revenues from his people, ought not to oppress them. As Vayu,
the wind, surrounds and fills everything, so the king by his officers
and spies should become acquainted with the affairs and circumstances
of his whole people. As Yama judges men without partiality or
prejudice, and punishes the guilty, so should a king chastise,
without favour, all offenders. As Varuna, the regent of water, binds
with his pasha or divine noose his enemies, so let a king bind
every malefactor safely in prison. As Chandra,[18] the moon, by his
cheering light gives pleasure to all, thus should a king, by gifts
and generosity, make his people happy. And as Prithwi, the earth,
sustains all alike, so should a king feel an equal affection and
forbearance towards every one.’
[18] Lunus, not Luna.
Become a monarch, Vikram meditated deeply upon what is said of
monarchs:—‘A king is fire and air; he is both sun and moon; he is
the god of criminal justice; he is the genius of wealth; he is the
regent of water; he is the lord of the firmament; he is a powerful
divinity who appears in human shape.’ He reflected with some
satisfaction that the scriptures had made him absolute, had left the
lives and properties of all his subjects to his arbitrary will, had
pronounced him to be an incarnate deity, and had threatened to punish
with death even ideas derogatory to his honour.
He punctually observed all the ordinances laid down by the author of
the Niti, or institutes of government. His night and day were divided
into sixteen pahars or portions, each one hour and a half, and they
were disposed of as follows:
Before dawn Vikram was awakened by a servant appointed to this
special duty. He swallowed—a thing allowed only to a khshatriya or
warrior—a Mithridatic every morning on the saliva,[19] and he made
the cooks taste every dish before he ate of it. As soon as he had
risen, the pages in waiting repeated his splendid qualities, and as
he left his sleeping-room in full dress, several Brahmans rehearsed
the praises of the gods. Presently he bathed, worshipped his guardian
deity, again heard hymns, drank a little water, and saw alms
distributed to the poor. He ended this watch by auditing his accounts.
[19] That is to say, ‘upon an empty stomach.’
Next, entering his court, he placed himself amidst the assembly. He
was always armed when he received strangers, and he caused even women
to be searched for concealed weapons. He was surrounded by so many
spies and so artful, that, of a thousand, no two ever told the same
tale. At the levée, on his right sat his relations, the Brahmans,
and men of distinguished birth. The other castes were on the left,
and close to him stood the ministers and those whom he delighted to
consult. Afar in front gathered the bards chanting the praises of the
gods and of the king; also the charioteers, elephanteers, horsemen,
and soldiers of valour. Amongst the learned men in those assemblies
there were ever some who were well instructed in all the scriptures,
and others who had studied in one particular school of philosophy,
and were acquainted only with the works on divine wisdom, or with
those on justice, civil and criminal, on the arts, mineralogy or the
practice of physic; also persons cunning in all kinds of customs;
riding masters, dancing-masters, teachers of good behaviour,
examiners, tasters, mimics, mountebanks, and others, who all attended
the court and awaited the king’s commands. He here pronounced
judgment in suits of appeal. His poets wrote about him:
The lord of lone splendour an instant suspends
His course at mid-noon, ere he westward descends;
And brief are the moments our young monarch knows,
Devoted to pleasure or paid to repose!
Before the second sandhya,[20] or noon, about the beginning of the
third watch, he recited the names of the gods, bathed, and broke his
fast in his private room; then rising from food, he was amused by
singers and dancing girls. The labours of the day now became lighter.
After eating he retired, repeating the name of his guardian deity,
visited the temples, saluted the gods, conversed with the priests,
and proceeded to receive and to distribute presents. Fifthly, he
discussed political questions with his ministers and councillors.
[20] There are three sandhyas amongst the Hindus—morning,
midday, and sunset; and all three are times for prayer.
On the announcement of the herald that it was the sixth watch—about
2 or 3 P.M.—Vikram allowed himself to follow his own inclinations,
to regulate his family, and to transact business of a private and
personal nature.
After gaining strength by rest, he proceeded to review his troops,
examining the men, saluting the officers, and holding military
councils. At sunset he bathed a third time and performed the five
sacraments of listening to a prelection of the Veda; making oblations
to the manes; sacrificing to Fire in honour of the deities; giving
rice to dumb creatures; and receiving guests with due ceremonies. He
spent the evening amidst a select company of wise, learned, and pious
men, conversing on different subjects, and reviewing the business of
the day.
The night was distributed with equal care. During the first portion
Vikram received the reports which his spies and envoys, dressed in
every disguise, brought to him about his enemies. Against the latter
he ceased not to use the five arts, namely—dividing the kingdom,
bribes, mischief-making, negotiations, and brute-force—especially
preferring the two first and the last. His forethought and prudence
taught him to regard all his nearest neighbours and their allies
as hostile. The powers beyond those natural enemies he considered
friendly because they were the foes of his foes. And all the remoter
nations he looked upon as neutrals, in a transitional or provisional
state as it were, till they became either his neighbours’ neighbours,
or his own neighbours, that is to say, his friends or his foes.
This important duty finished he supped, and at the end of the third
watch he retired to sleep, which was not allowed to last beyond three
hours. In the sixth watch he arose and purified himself. The seventh
was devoted to holding private consultations with his ministers, and
to furnishing the officers of government with requisite instructions.
The eighth or last watch was spent with the Purohita or priest, and
with Brahmans, hailing the dawn with its appropriate rites; he then
bathed, made the customary offerings, and prayed in some unfrequented
place near pure water.
And throughout these occupations he bore in mind the duty of kings,
namely—to pursue every object till it be accomplished; to succour
all dependants, and hospitably to receive guests, however numerous.
He was generous to his subjects respecting taxes, and kind of speech;
yet he was inexorable as death in the punishment of offences. He
rarely hunted, and he visited his pleasure gardens only on stated
days. He acted in his own dominions with justice; he chastised
foreign foes with rigour; he behaved generously to Brahmans, and
he avoided favouritism amongst his friends. In war he never slew a
suppliant, a spectator, a person asleep or undressed, or anyone that
showed fear. Whatever country he conquered, offerings were presented
to its gods, and effects and money were given to the reverends. But
what benefited him most was his attention to the creature comforts of
the Nine Gems of Science: those eminent men ate and drank themselves
into fits of enthusiasm, and ended by immortalising their patron’s
name.
Become Vikram the Great he established his court at a delightful
and beautiful location rich in the best of water. The country was
difficult of access, and artificially made incapable of supporting a
host of invaders, but four great roads met near the city. The capital
was surrounded with durable ramparts, having gates of defence, and
near it was a mountain fortress, under the especial charge of a great
captain.
The metropolis was well garrisoned and provisioned, and it surrounded
the royal palace, a noble building without as well as within.
Grandeur seemed embodied there, and Prosperity had made it her own.
The nearer ground, viewed from the terraces and pleasure pavilions,
was a lovely mingling of rock and mountain, plain and valley, field
and fallow, crystal lake and glittering stream. The banks of the
winding Lavana were fringed with meads whose herbage, pearly with
morning dew, afforded choicest grazing for the sacred cow, and were
dotted with perfumed clumps of Bo-trees, tamarinds, and holy figs: in
one place Vikram planted 100,000 in a single orchard and gave them to
his spiritual advisers. The river valley separated the stream from
a belt of forest growth which extended to a hill range, dark with
impervious jungle, and cleared here and there for the cultivator’s
village. Behind it, rose another subrange, wooded with a lower
bush and already blue with air, whilst in the background towered
range upon range, here rising abruptly into points and peaks, there
ramp-shaped or wall-formed, with sheer descents, and all of light
azure hue adorned with glories of silver and gold.
After reigning for some years, Vikram the Brave found himself, at
the age of thirty, a staid and sober middle-aged man. He had several
sons—daughters are naught in India—by his several wives, and he had
some paternal affection for nearly all—except, of course, for his
eldest son, a youth who seemed to conduct himself as though he had a
claim to the succession. In fact, the king seemed to have taken up
his abode for life at Ujjayani, when suddenly he bethought himself,
‘I must visit those countries of whose names I am ever hearing.’ The
fact is, he had determined to spy out in disguise the lands of all
his foes, and to find the best means of bringing against them his
formidable army.
* * * * *
We now learn how Bhartari Raja becomes Regent of Ujjayani.
Having thus resolved, Vikram the Brave gave the government into the
charge of a younger brother, Bhartari Raja, and in the garb of a
religious mendicant, accompanied by Dharma Dhwaj, his second son, a
youth bordering on the age of puberty, he began to travel from city
to city, and from forest to forest.
The Regent was of a settled melancholic turn of mind, having lost in
early youth a very peculiar wife. One day, whilst out hunting, he
happened to pass a funeral pyre, upon which a Brahman’s widow had
just become Sati (a holy woman) with the greatest fortitude. On his
return home he related the adventure to Sita Rani, his spouse, and
she at once made reply that virtuous women die with their husbands,
killed by the fire of grief, not by the flames of the pile. To prove
her truth the prince, after an affectionate farewell, rode forth to
the chase, and presently sent back the suite with his robes torn and
stained, to report his accidental death. Sita perished upon the spot,
and the widower remained inconsolable—for a time.
He led the dullest of lives, and took to himself sundry spouses,
all equally distinguished for birth, beauty, and modesty. Like his
brother, he performed all the proper devoirs of a Raja, rising before
the day to finish his ablutions, to worship the gods, and to do due
obeisance to the Brahmans. He then ascended the throne, to judge his
people according to the Shastra, carefully keeping in subjection
lust, anger, avarice, folly, drunkenness, and pride; preserving
himself from being seduced by the love of gaming and of the chase;
restraining his desire for dancing, singing, and playing on musical
instruments, and refraining from sleep during daytime, from wine,
from molesting men of worth, from dice, from putting human beings to
death by artful means, from useless travelling, and from holding any
one guilty without the commission of a crime. His levées were in a
hall decently splendid, and he was distinguished only by an umbrella
of peacock’s feathers; he received all complainants, petitioners,
and presenters of offences with kind looks and soft words. He united
to himself the seven or eight wise councillors, and the sober and
virtuous secretary that formed the high cabinet of his royal brother,
and they met in some secret lonely spot, as a mountain, a terrace, a
bower or a forest, whence women, parrots, and other talkative birds
were carefully excluded.
And at the end of this useful and somewhat laborious day, he retired
to his private apartments, and, after listening to spiritual songs
and to soft music, he fell asleep. Sometimes he would summon his
brother’s ‘Nine Gems of Science,’ and give ear to their learned
discourses. But it was observed that the viceroy reserved this
exercise for nights when he was troubled with insomnia—the words of
wisdom being to him an infallible remedy for that disorder.
Thus passed onwards his youth, doing nothing that it could desire,
forbidden all pleasures because they were unprincely, and working
in the palace harder than in the pauper’s hut. Having, however,
fortunately for himself, few predilections and no imagination, he
began to pride himself upon being a philosopher. Much business
from an early age had dulled his wits, which were never of the
most brilliant; and in the steadily increasing torpidity of his
spirit, he traced the germs of that quietude which forms the highest
happiness of man in this storm of matter called the world. He
therefore allowed himself but one friend of his soul. He retained, I
have said, his brother’s seven or eight ministers; he was constant
in attendance upon the Brahman priests who officiated at the palace,
and who kept the impious from touching sacred property; and he was
courteous to the commander-in-chief who directed his warriors, to the
officers of justice who inflicted punishment upon offenders, and to
the lords of towns, varying in number from one to a thousand. But he
placed an intimate of his own in the high position of confidential
councillor, the ambassador to regulate war and peace.
Mahi-pala was a person of noble birth, endowed with shining
abilities, popular, dexterous in business, acquainted with foreign
parts, famed for eloquence and intrepidity, and as Menu the Lawgiver
advises, remarkably handsome.
Bhartari Raja, as I have said, became a quietist and a philosopher.
But Kama,[21] the bright god who exerts his sway over the three
worlds, heaven and earth and grewsome Hades,[22] had marked out the
prince once more as the victim of his blossom-tipped shafts and his
flowery bow. How, indeed, could he hope to escape the doom which has
fallen equally upon Bramha the Creator, Vishnu the Preserver, and
dreadful Shiva the Three-eyed Destroyer?[23]
[21] The Hindu Cupid.
[22] Patala, the regions beneath the earth.
[23] The Hindu Triad.
By reason of her exceeding beauty, her face was a full moon shining
in the clearest sky; her hair was the purple cloud of autumn when,
gravid with rain, it hangs low over earth; and her complexion
mocked the pale waxen hue of the large-flowered jasmine. Her eyes
were those of the timid antelope; her lips were red as those of
the pomegranate’s bud, and when they opened, from them distilled a
fountain of ambrosia. Her neck was like a pigeon’s; her hand the
pink lining of the conch-shell; her waist a leopard’s; her feet the
softest lotuses. In a word, a model of grace and loveliness was
Dangalah Rani, Raja Bhartari’s last and youngest wife.
The warrior laid down his arms before her; the politician spoke
out every secret in her presence. The religious prince would have
slaughtered a cow—that sole unforgivable sin—to save one of her
eyelashes: the absolute king would not drink a cup of water without
her permission; the staid philosopher, the sober quietist, to win
from her the shadow of a smile, would have danced before her like a
singing-girl. So desperately enamoured became Bhartari Raja.
It is written, however, that love, alas! breeds not love; and so
it happened to the Regent. The warmth of his affection, instead of
animating his wife, annoyed her; his protestations wearied her; his
vows gave her the headache; and his caresses were a colic that made
her blood run cold. Of course, the prince perceived nothing, being
lost in wonder and admiration of the beauty’s coyness and coquetry.
And as women must give away their hearts, whether asked or not, so
the lovely Dangalah Rani lost no time in lavishing all the passion of
her idle soul upon Mahi-pala, the handsome ambassador of peace and
war. By this means the three were happy and were contented; their
felicity, however, being built on a rotten foundation, could not long
endure. It soon ended in the following extraordinary way.
In the city of Ujjayani,[24] within sight of the palace, dwelt a
Brahman and his wife, who, being old and poor, and having nothing
else to do, had applied themselves to the practice of austere
devotion.[25] They fasted and refrained from drink, they stood on
their heads, and they held their arms for weeks in the air; they
prayed till their knees were like pads; they disciplined themselves
with scourges of wire; and they walked about unclad in the cold
season, and in summer they sat within a circle of flaming wood, till
they became the envy and admiration of all the plebeian gods that
inhabit the lower heavens. In fine, as a reward for their exceeding
piety, the venerable pair received at the hands of a celestial
messenger an apple of the tree Kalpavriksha—a fruit which has the
virtue of conferring eternal life upon him that tastes it.
[24] Or Avanti, also called Padmavati. It is the first meridian
of the Hindus, who found their longitude by observation of lunar
eclipses, calculated for it and Lanka, or Ceylon. The clepsydra
was used for taking time.
[25] In the original only the husband ‘practised austere
devotion.’ For the benefit of those amongst whom the ‘pious wife’
is an institution, I have extended the privilege.
Scarcely had the god disappeared, when the Brahman, opening his
toothless mouth, prepared to eat the fruit of immortality. Then his
wife addressed him in these words, shedding copious tears the while:
‘To die, O man, is a passing pain; to be poor is an interminable
anguish. Surely our present lot is the penalty of some great crime
committed by us in a past state of being.[26] Callest thou this state
life? Better we die at once, and so escape the woes of the world!’
[26] A Moslem would say, ‘This is our fate.’ A Hindu refers at
once to metempsychosis, as naturally as a modern Swedenborgian to
spiritism.
Hearing these words, the Brahman sat undecided, with open jaws
and eyes fixed upon the apple. Presently he found tongue: ‘I have
accepted the fruit, and have brought it here; but having heard thy
speech, my intellect hath wasted away; now I will do whatever thou
pointest out.’
The wife resumed her discourse, which had been interrupted by a more
than usually copious flow of tears. ‘Moreover, O husband, we are old,
and what are the enjoyments of the stricken in years? Truly quoth
the poet—
Die loved in youth, not hated in age.
If that fruit could have restored thy dimmed eyes, and deaf ears, and
blunted taste, and warmth of love, I had not spoken to thee thus.’
After which the Brahman threw away the apple, to the great joy of his
wife, who felt a natural indignation at the prospect of seeing her
goodman become immortal, whilst she still remained subject to the
laws of death; but she concealed this motive in the depths of her
thought, enlarging, as women are apt to do, upon everything but the
truth. And she spoke with such success, that the priest was about
to toss in his rage the heavenly fruit into the fire, reproaching
the gods as if by sending it they had done him an injury. Then the
wife snatched it out of his hand, and telling him that it was too
precious to be wasted, bade him arise and gird his loins and wend him
to the Regent’s palace, and offer him the fruit—as King Vikram was
absent—with a right reverend brahmanical benediction. She concluded
with impressing upon her unworldly husband the necessity of requiring
a large sum of money as a return for his inestimable gift. ‘By
this means,’ she said, ‘thou mayst promote thy present and future
welfare.’[27]
[27] In Europe, money buys this world, and delivers you from the
pains of purgatory; amongst the Hindus, it furthermore opens the
gate of heaven.
Then the Brahman went forth, and standing in the presence of the
Raja, told him all things touching the fruit, concluding with, ‘O,
mighty prince! vouchsafe to accept this tribute, and bestow wealth
upon me. I shall be happy in your living long!’
Bhartari Raja led the supplicant into an inner strong-room, where
stood heaps of the finest gold-dust, and bade him carry away all
that he could; this the priest did, not forgetting to fill even
his eloquent and toothless mouth with the precious metal. Having
dismissed the devotee groaning under the burden, the Regent entered
the apartments of his wives, and, having summoned the beautiful Queen
Dangalah Rani, gave her the fruit, and said, ‘Eat this, light of my
eyes! This fruit—joy of my heart!—will make thee everlastingly
young and beautiful.’
The pretty queen, placing both hands upon her husband’s bosom, kissed
his eyes and lips, and sweetly smiling on his face—for great is the
guile of women—whispered, ‘Eat it thyself, dear one, or at least
share it with me; for what is life and what is youth without the
presence of those we love?’ But the Raja, whose heart was melted by
these unusual words, put her away tenderly, and, having explained
that the fruit would serve for only one person, departed.
Whereupon the pretty queen, sweetly smiling as before, slipped the
precious present into her pocket. When the Regent was transacting
business in the hall of audience she sent for the ambassador who
regulated war and peace, and presented him with the apple in a manner
at least as tender as that with which it had been offered to her.
Then the ambassador, after slipping the fruit into his pocket also,
retired from the presence of the pretty queen, and meeting Lakha, one
of the maids of honour, explained to her its wonderful power, and
gave it to her as a token of his love. But the maid of honour, being
an ambitious girl, determined that the fruit was a fit present to set
before the Regent in the absence of the King. Bhartari Raja accepted
it, bestowed on her great wealth, and dismissed her with many thanks.