Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, although the Princess has
answered your question, and you have lost me a day, yet I forgive you,
for the sake of the wave of her hand which she made as she went away.
Oh! it resembled the bowing of a blossom-loaded spray of creeper in a
breeze. But if it were not for the portrait, it would be utterly
impossible for me to endure the torture of separation from her till
to-morrow. And he passed the night in a state of intoxication[1],
drunk with the beauty of the Princess, gazing incessantly at the
portrait. And he said: Certainly, this painter was master of his art.
This is no picture, but a mirror. There is the very scorn on her lip.
And when at last the sun rose, the King rose also, and passed the day
with Rasakósha in the garden, longing for the moment of reunion. Then
when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience. And there
they saw the Princess, clad in a red robe, with a bodice studded with
pearls, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne. And
the King trembled as she looked at him, and he sank upon a couch,
speechless and fascinated, gazing at her loveliness. Then Rasakósha
came forward, and standing before her, began again:
Lady, once upon a time there lived, in the country of a king called
Dharmásana[2], an old Brahman who had three sons. And he possessed
nothing in the world but nineteen cows. And when he was about to die,
he called his sons around him, and said to them: My sons, I am in the
mouth of death, therefore listen attentively to what I am going to say.
All that I have to give you is these cows. Divide them amongst you;
and let the eldest of you take half of them; and the next, a quarter of
them; and the youngest, a fifth part of them. But if there should be
any remainder left over, you must all three of you eat it; if not, all
the cows are to be given to the King, and my curse will rest upon you,
for disobedience to my last wishes. And having said this, that old
Brahman died. And his sons performed his obsequies, and burned him in
accordance with the rites.
Then they assembled together for the division of the property. And the
eldest brother said: Half of these cows, that is, nine cows and a half,
are mine. And the next brother said: One quarter of these cows, that
is, four cows and three-fourths of a cow, belong to me. Then the
youngest said: One-fifth of these cows, that is, three cows and
four-fifths of a cow, are mine. Then the eldest said: But the sum of
all these, added together, amounts only to eighteen cows and a
fraction. Thus there will remain over a portion of the last cow. And
in that case we must eat it. But how is it possible for Brahmans to
eat the flesh of a cow? Or even, how are we to take various portions
of any cow, and leave it still alive[3]? But then, what is to be done?
For unless we share in our due proportions, all the cows are to go to
the King, and our father's curse will fall upon us. And yet what can
have been the meaning of our father in placing us in so terrible a
dilemma? Thus they disputed among themselves, and the day passed away,
but not the difficulty, and night found them still arguing without any
solution of the matter.
Now, Princess, tell me, how is this to be settled, so as to satisfy
equally the father, the three brothers, and the King? And Rasakósha
ceased. But the Princess bent down her head, and remained a moment in
meditation, while the King's soul almost quitted his body. Then after
a while, raising her head, she replied: Let the brothers borrow another
cow. Then of the twenty cows, let the eldest take half, or ten cows;
the next, a quarter, or five cows; and the youngest, a fifth, or four
cows. Then let them return the borrowed cow. Thus the nineteen cows
will be exhausted without leaving a remainder, and the father
satisfied: each brother will receive more than under their own
division; and finally, the King will be pleased. For he was a just
King: and what could displease such a king more than that, in his
dominions, Brahmans should kill and eat cows, or disregard their
father's orders[4]. Rather would he lose, not nineteen cows, but ten
millions[5].
And when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, casting
a glance, as she went, at the King, whose heart went with her. But the
King and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.
[1] Just as the clothes of the Princess change colour every day, so
does the state of the King's mind, which goes through a regular series
of transitory emotions (wyabhichári).
[2] _i.e._ 'seat of justice.' The meaning is important, as the sequel
shows. It does the Princess credit that she notes and remembers it.
[3] To kill, let alone to eat, a cow, would be of course one of the
most deadly sins of which a Brahman could be guilty.
[4] See _Manu_ II., 227, _sqq._
[5] I remember to have heard a very inferior version of this story from
an old Pundit with whom I read Maráthi.