you men have already done it. Listen, then, to the words of the
wise. In the olden time, one of your great philosophers invented a
fluid pervading all matter, strongly self-repulsive like the steam
of a brass pot, and widely spreading like the breath of scandal.
The repulsiveness, however, according to that wise man, is greatly
modified by its second property, namely, an energetic attraction
or adhesion to all material bodies. Thus every substance contains
a part, more or less, of this fluid, pervading it throughout, and
strongly bound to each component atom. He called it “Ambericity,”
for the best of reasons, as it has no connection with amber, and he
described it as an imponderable, which, meaning that it could not be
weighed, gives a very accurate and satisfactory idea of its nature.
‘Now, said that philosopher, whenever two bodies containing that
unweighable substance in unequal proportions happen to meet, a
current of imponderable passes from one to the other, producing a
kind of attraction, and tending to adhere. The operation takes place
instantaneously when the force is strong and much condensed. Thus
the vulgar, who call things after their effects and not from their
causes, term the action of this imponderable love at first sight; the
wise define it to be a phenomenon of ambericity. As regards my own
opinion about the matter, I have long ago told it to you, O Vikram!
Silliness—’
‘Either hold your tongue, fellow, or go on with your story,’ cried
the Raja, wearied out by so many words that had no manner of sense.
Well! the effect of the first glance was that Manaswi, the Brahman’s
son, fell back in a swoon and remained senseless upon the ground
where he had been sitting; and the Raja’s daughter began to tremble
upon her feet, and presently dropped unconscious upon the floor of
the summer-house. Shortly after this she was found by her companions
and attendants, who, quickly taking her up in their arms and
supporting her into a litter, conveyed her home.
Manaswi, the Brahman’s son, was so completely overcome, that he lay
there dead to everything. Just then the learned, deeply read, and
purblind Pandits Muldev and Shashi by name, strayed into the garden,
and stumbled upon the body.
‘Friend,’ said Muldev, ‘how came this youth thus to fall senseless on
the ground?’
‘Man,’ replied Shashi, ‘doubtless some damsel has shot forth the
arrows of her glances from the bow of her eyebrows, and thence he has
become insensible!’
‘We must lift him up then,’ said Muldev the benevolent.
‘What need is there to raise him?’ asked Shashi the misanthrope by
way of reply.
Muldev, however, would not listen to these words. He ran to the pond
hard by, soaked the end of his waistcloth in water, sprinkled it over
the young Brahman, raised him from the ground, and placed him sitting
against the wall. And perceiving, when he came to himself, that his
sickness was rather of the soul than the body, the old men asked him
how he came to be in that plight.
‘We should tell our griefs,’ answered Manaswi, ‘only to those who
will relieve us! What is the use of communicating them to those who,
when they have heard, cannot help us? What is to be gained by the
empty pity or by the useless condolence of men in general?’
The Pandits, however, by friendly looks and words, presently
persuaded him to break silence, when he said, ‘A certain princess
entered this summer-house, and from the sight of her I have fallen
into this state. If I can obtain her, I shall live; if not, I must
die.’
‘Come with me, young man!’ said Muldev the benevolent; ‘I will use
every endeavour to obtain her, and if I do not succeed I will make
thee wealthy and independent of the world.’
Manaswi rejoined: ‘The Deity in his beneficence has created many
jewels in this world, but the pearl, woman, is chiefest of all; and
for her sake only does man desire wealth. What are riches to one who
has abandoned his wife? What are they who do not possess beautiful
wives? they are but beings inferior to the beasts! wealth is the
fruit of virtue; ease, of wealth; a wife, of ease. And where no wife
is, how can there be happiness?’ And the enamoured youth rambled on
in this way, curious to us, Raja Vikram, but perhaps natural enough
in a Brahman’s son suffering under that endemic malady—determination
to marry.
‘Whatever thou mayest desire,’ said Muldev, ‘shall by the blessing of
heaven be given to thee.’
Manaswi implored him, saying most pathetically, ‘O Pandit, bestow
then that damsel upon me!’
Muldev promised to do so, and having comforted the youth, led him to
his own house. Then he welcomed him politely, seated him upon the
carpet, and left him for a few minutes, promising him to return. When
he reappeared, he held in his hand two little balls or pills, and
showing them to Manaswi, he explained their virtues as follows:
‘There is in our house an hereditary secret, by means of which I
try to promote the weal of humanity. But in all cases my success
depends mainly upon the purity and the heartwholeness of those that
seek my aid. If thou place this in thy mouth, thou shalt be changed
into a damsel twelve years old, and when thou withdrawest it again,
thou shalt again recover thine original form. Beware, however, that
thou use the power for none but a good purpose; otherwise some great
calamity will befall thee. Therefore, take counsel of thyself before
undertaking this trial!’
What lover, O warrior king Vikram, would have hesitated, under such
circumstances, to assure the Pandit that he was the most innocent,
earnest, and well-intentioned being in the Three Worlds?
The Brahman’s son, at least, lost no time in so doing. Hence the
simple-minded philosopher put one of the pills into the young man’s
mouth, warning him on no account to swallow it, and took the other
into his own mouth. Upon which Manaswi became a sprightly young maid,
and Muldev was changed to a reverend and decrepid senior, not less
than eighty years old.
Thus transformed the twain walked up to the palace of the Raja
Subichar, and stood for a while to admire the gate. Then passing
through seven courts, beautiful as the Paradise of Indra, they
entered, unannounced, as became the priestly dignity, a hall where,
surrounded by his courtiers, sat the ruler. The latter seeing the
holy Brahman under his roof, rose up, made the customary humble
salutation, and taking their right hands, led what appeared to be the
father and daughter to appropriate seats. Upon which Muldev, having
recited a verse, bestowed upon the Raja a blessing whose beauty has
been diffused over all creation.
‘May that Deity[146] who as a mannikin deceived the great king Bali;
who as a hero, with a monkey-host, bridged the Salt Sea; who as a
shepherd lifted up the mountain Gobarddhan in the palm of his hand,
and by it saved the cowherds and cowherdesses from the thunders of
heaven—may that Deity be thy protector!’
[146] Vishnu, as a dwarf, sank down into and secured in the lower
regions the Raja Bali, who by his piety and prayerfulness was
subverting the reign of the lesser gods; as Ramachandra he built
a bridge between Lanka (Ceylon) and the main land; and as Krishna
he defended, by holding up a hill as an umbrella for them, his
friends the shepherds and shepherdesses from the thunders of
Indra, whose worship they had neglected.
Having heard and marvelled at this display of eloquence, the Raja
inquired, ‘Whence hath your holiness come?’
‘My country,’ replied Muldev, ‘is on the northern side of the great
mother Ganges, and there too my dwelling is. I travelled to a distant
land, and having found in this maiden a worthy wife for my son, I
straightway returned homewards. Meanwhile a famine had laid waste
our village, and my wife and my son have fled, I know not where.
Encumbered with this damsel, how can I wander about seeking them?
Hearing the name of a pious and generous ruler, I said to myself, “I
will leave her under his charge until my return.” Be pleased to take
great care of her.’
For a minute the Raja sat thoughtful and silent. He was highly
pleased with the Brahman’s perfect compliment. But he could not hide
from himself that he was placed between two difficulties: one, the
charge of a beautiful young girl, with pouting lips, soft speech,
and roguish eyes; the other, a priestly curse upon himself and his
kingdom. He thought, however, refusal the more dangerous: so he
raised his face and exclaimed, ‘O produce of Brahma’s head,[147] I
will do what your highness has desired of me.’
[147] The priestly caste sprang, as has been said, from the
noblest part of the Demiurgus; the three others from lower
members.
Upon which the Brahman, after delivering a benediction of adieu
almost as beautiful and spirit-stirring as that with which he had
presented himself, took the betel[148] and went his ways.
[148] A chew of betel leaf and spices is offered by the master of
the house when dismissing a visitor.
Then the Raja sent for his daughter Chandraprabha and said to her,
‘This is the affianced bride of a young Brahman, and she has been
trusted to my protection for a time by her father-in-law. Take her
therefore into the inner rooms, treat her with the utmost regard, and
never allow her to be separated from thee, day or night, asleep or
awake, eating or drinking, at home or abroad.’
Chandraprabha took the hand of Sita—as Manaswi had pleased to call
himself—and led the way to her own apartment. Once the seat of joy
and pleasure, the rooms now wore a desolate and melancholy look.
The windows were darkened, the attendants moved noiselessly over
the carpets, as if their footsteps would cause headache, and there
was a faint scent of some drug much used in cases of deliquium. The
apartments were handsome, but the only ornament in the room where
they sat was a large bunch of withered flowers in an arched recess,
and these, though possibly interesting to some one, were not likely
to find favour as a decoration in the eyes of everybody.
The Raja’s daughter paid the greatest attention and talked with
unusual vivacity to the Brahman’s daughter-in-law, either because she
had roguish eyes, or from some presentiment of what was to occur,
whichever you please, Raja Vikram, and it is no matter which. Still,
Sita could not help perceiving that there was a shade of sorrow upon
the forehead of her fair new friend, and so when they retired to rest
she asked the cause of it.
Then Chandraprabha related to her the sad tale: ‘One day in the
spring season, as I was strolling in the garden along with my
companions, I beheld a very handsome Brahman, and our eyes having
met, he became unconscious, and I also was insensible. My companions
seeing my condition, brought me home, and therefore I know neither
his name nor his abode. His beautiful form is impressed upon my
memory. I have now no desire to eat or to drink, and from this
distress my colour has become pale and my body is thus emaciated.’
And the beautiful princess sighed a sigh that was musical and
melancholy, and concluded by predicting for herself—as persons
similarly placed often do—a sudden and untimely end about the
beginning of the next month.
‘What wilt thou give me,’ asked the Brahman’s daughter-in-law
demurely, ‘if I show thee thy beloved at this very moment?’
The Raja’s daughter answered, ‘I will ever be the lowest of thy
slaves, standing before thee with joined hands.’
Upon which Sita removed the pill from her mouth, and instantly having
become Manaswi, put it carefully away in a little bag hung round his
neck. At this sight Chandraprabha felt abashed, and hung down her
head in beautiful confusion. To describe—
‘I will have no descriptions, Vampire!’ cried the great Vikram,
jerking the bag up and down as if he were sweating gold in it. ‘The
fewer of thy descriptions the better for us all.’
Briefly (resumed the demon), Manaswi reflected upon the eight forms
of marriage—viz. Bramhalagan, when a girl is given to a Brahman, or
man of superior caste, without reward; Daiva, when she is presented
as a gift or fee to the officiating priest at the close of a
sacrifice; Arsha, when two cows are received by the girl’s father
in exchange for the bride;[149] Prajapatya, when the girl is given
at the request of a Brahman, and the father says to his daughter
and her betrothed, ‘Go, fulfil the duties of religion;’ Asura, when
money is received by the father in exchange for the bride; Rakshasa,
when she is captured in war, or when her bridegroom overcomes his
rival; Paisacha, when the girl is taken away from her father’s house
by craft; and eighthly, Gandharva-lagan, or the marriage that takes
place by mutual consent.[150]
[149] Respectable Hindus say that receiving a fee for a daughter
is like selling flesh.
[150] A modern custom amongst the low caste is for the bride and
bridegroom, in the presence of friends, to place a flower garland
on each others necks, and thus declare themselves man and wife.
The old classical Gandharva-lagan has been before explained.
Manaswi preferred the latter, especially as by her rank and age
the princess was entitled to call upon her father for the Lakshmi
Swayambara wedding, in which she would have chosen her own husband.
And thus it is that Rama, Arjuna, Krishna, Nala, and others, were
proposed to by the princesses whom they married.
For five months after these nuptials, Manaswi never stirred out of
the palace, but remained there by day a woman, and a man by night.
The consequence was that he—I call him ‘he,’ for whether Manaswi or
Sita, his mind ever remained masculine—presently found himself in a
fair way to become a father.
Now, one would imagine that a change of sex every twenty-four hours
would be variety enough to satisfy even a man. Manaswi, however,
was not contented. He began to pine for more liberty, and to find
fault with his wife for not taking him out into the world. And you
might have supposed that a young person who, from love at first
sight, had fallen senseless upon the steps of a summer-house, and
who had devoted herself to a sudden and untimely end because she was
separated from her lover, would have repressed her yawns and little
irritable words even for a year after having converted him into a
husband. But, no! Chandraprabha soon felt as tired of seeing Manaswi
and nothing but Manaswi, as Manaswi was weary of seeing Chandraprabha
and nothing but Chandraprabha. Often she had been on the point
of proposing visits and out-of-door excursions. But when at last
the idea was first suggested by her husband, she at once became an
injured woman. She hinted how foolish it was for married people to
imprison themselves and quarrel all day. When Manaswi remonstrated,
saying that he wanted nothing better than to appear before the world
with her as his wife, but that he really did not know what her father
might do to him, she threw out a cutting sarcasm upon his effeminate
appearance during the hours of light. She then told him of an
unfortunate young woman in an old nursery tale who had unconsciously
married a fiend that became a fine handsome man at night when no eye
could see him, and utter ugliness by day when good looks show to
advantage. And lastly, when inveighing against the changeableness,
fickleness, and infidelity of mankind, she quoted the words of the
poet—
Out upon change! it tires the heart
And weighs the noble spirit down;
A vain, vain world indeed thou art
That can such vile condition own;
The veil hath fallen from my eyes,
I cannot love where I despise....
You can easily, O King Vikram, continue for yourself and conclude
this lecture, which I leave unfinished on account of its length.
Chandraprabha and Sita, who called each other the Zodiacal Twins and
Laughter Light,[151] and All-consenters, easily persuaded the old
Raja that their health would be further improved by air, exercise,
and distractions. Subichar, being delighted with the change that
had taken place in a daughter whom he loved, and whom he had feared
to lose, told them to do as they pleased. They began a new life, in
which short trips and visits, baths and dances, music parties, drives
in bullock chariots, and water excursions, succeeded one another.
[151] Meaning that the sight of each other will cause a smile,
and that what one purposes the other will consent to.
It so happened that one day the Raja went with his whole family to a
wedding feast in the house of his grand treasurer, where the latter’s
son saw Manaswi in the beautiful shape of Sita. This was a third
case of love at first sight, for the young man immediately said to a
particular friend, ‘If I obtain that girl, I shall live; if not, I
shall abandon life.’
In the meantime the king, having enjoyed the feast, came back to his
palace with his whole family. The condition of the treasurer’s son,
however, became very distressing; and through separation from his
beloved, he gave up eating and drinking. The particular friend had
kept the secret for some days, though burning to tell it. At length
he found an excuse for himself in the sad state of his friend, and
he immediately went and divulged all that he knew to the treasurer.
After this he felt relieved.
The minister repaired to the court, and laid his case before the
king, saying, ‘Great Raja! through the love of that Brahman’s
daughter-in-law, my son’s state is very bad; he has given up eating
and drinking; in fact he is consumed by the fire of separation. If
now your majesty could show compassion, and bestow the girl upon him,
his life would be saved. If not——’
‘Fool!’ cried the Raja, who, hearing these words, had waxed very
wroth; ‘it is not right for kings to do injustice. Listen! when a
person puts any one in charge of a protector, how can the latter give
away his trust without consulting the person that trusted him? And
yet this is what you wish me to do.’
The treasurer knew that the Raja could not govern his realm without
him, and he was well acquainted with his master’s character. He
said to himself, ‘This will not last long;’ but he remained dumb,
simulating hopelessness, and hanging down his head, whilst Subichar
alternately scolded and coaxed, abused and flattered him, in order to
open his lips. Then, with tears in his eyes, he muttered a request to
take leave; and as he passed through the palace gates, he said aloud,
with a resolute air, ‘It will cost me but ten days of fasting!’
The treasurer, having returned home, collected all his attendants,
and went straightway to his son’s room. Seeing the youth still
stretched upon his sleeping-mat, and very yellow for the want of
food, he took his hand, and said in a whisper, meant to be audible,
‘Alas! poor son, I can do nothing but perish with thee.’
The servants, hearing this threat, slipped one by one out of the
room, and each went to tell his friend that the Grand Treasurer had
resolved to live no longer. After which, they went back to the house
to see if their master intended to keep his word, and curious to
know, if he did intend to die, how, where, and when it was to be.
And they were not disappointed: I do not mean that they wished their
lord to die, as he was a good master to them, but still there was an
excitement in the thing——
(Raja Vikram could not refrain from showing his anger at the
insult thus cast by the Baital upon human nature; the wretch,
however, pretending not to notice it, went on without interrupting
himself.)
——which somehow or other pleased them.
When the treasurer had spent three days without touching bread
or water, all the cabinet council met and determined to retire
from business unless the Raja yielded to their solicitations. The
treasurer was their working man. ‘Besides which,’ said the cabinet
council, ‘if a certain person gets into the habit of refusing us,
what is to be the end of it, and what is the use of being cabinet
councillors any longer?’
Early on the next morning, the ministers went in a body before the
Raja, and humbly represented that ‘the treasurer’s son is at the
point of death, the effect of a full heart and an empty stomach.
Should he die, the father, who has not eaten or drunk during the
last three days’ (the Raja trembled to hear the intelligence, though
he knew it), ‘his father, we say, cannot be saved. If the father
dies the affairs of the kingdom come to ruin,—is he not the grand
treasurer? It is already said that half the accounts have been gnawed
by white ants, and that some pernicious substance in the ink has
eaten jagged holes through the paper, so that the other half of the
accounts is illegible. It were best, sire, that you agree to what we
represent.’
The white ants and corrosive ink were too strong for the Raja’s
determination. Still, wishing to save appearances, he replied, with
much firmness, that he knew the value of the treasurer and his son,
that he would do much to save them, but that he had passed his royal
word, and had undertaken a trust. That he would rather die a dozen
deaths than break his promise, or not discharge his duty faithfully.
That man’s condition in this world is to depart from it, none
remaining in it; that one comes and that one goes, none knowing when
or where; but that eternity is eternity for happiness or misery. And
much of the same nature, not very novel, and not perhaps quite to the
purpose, but edifying to those who knew what lay behind the speaker’s
words.
The ministers did not know their lord’s character so well as the
grand treasurer, and they were more impressed by his firm demeanour
and the number of his words than he wished them to be. After allowing
his speech to settle in their minds, he did away with a great
part of its effect by declaring that such were the sentiments and
the principles—when a man talks of his principles, O Vikram! ask
thyself the reason why—instilled into his youthful mind by the most
honourable of fathers and the most virtuous of mothers. At the same
time that he was by no means obstinate or proof against conviction.
In token whereof he graciously permitted the councillors to convince
him that it was his royal duty to break his word and betray his
trust, and to give away another man’s wife.
Pray do not lose your temper, O warrior king! Subichar, although a
Raja, was a weak man; and you know, or you ought to know, that the
wicked may be wise in their generation, but the weak never can.
Well, the ministers hearing their lord’s last words, took courage,
and proceeded to work upon his mind by the figure of speech popularly
called ‘rigmarole.’ They said: ‘Great king! that old Brahman has
been gone many days, and has not returned; he is probably dead and
burnt. It is therefore right that by giving to the grand treasurer’s
son his daughter-in-law, who is only affianced, not fairly married,
you should establish your government firmly. And even if he should
return, bestow villages and wealth upon him; and if he be not then
content, provide another and a more beautiful wife for his son, and
dismiss him. A person should be sacrificed for the sake of a family,
a family for a city, a city for a country, and a country for a king!’
Subichar, having heard them, dismissed them with the remark that as
so much was to be said on both sides, he must employ the night in
thinking over the matter, and that he would on the next day favour
them with his decision. The cabinet councillors knew by this that he
meant that he would go and consult his wives. They retired contented,
convinced that every voice would be in favour of a wedding, and
that the young girl, with so good an offer, would not sacrifice the
present to the future.
That evening the treasurer and his son supped together.
The first words uttered by Raja Subichar, when he entered his
daughter’s apartment, was an order addressed to Sita: ‘Go thou at
once to the house of my treasurer’s son.’
Now, as Chandraprabha and Manaswi were generally scolding each other,
Chandraprabha and Sita were hardly on speaking terms. When they heard
the Raja’s order for their separation they were—
—‘Delighted?’ cried Dharma Dhwaj, who for some reason took the
greatest interest in the narrative.
‘Overwhelmed with grief, thou most guileless Yuva Raja (young
prince)!’ ejaculated the Vampire.
Raja Vikram reproved his son for talking about things of which he
knew nothing, and the Baital resumed.
They turned pale and wept, and they wrung their hands, and they
begged and argued and refused obedience. In fact they did everything
to make the king revoke his order.