Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, though the Princess has
answered your question, and yet another day has been lost, yet I
forgive you, for the sake of the glance she gave me as she went away.
Oh! it was cooling to my burning soul as the drops of rain to the
parched and thirsty earth. And but for the portrait, it is certain
that my life could not last till the morning. Thus the King lamented,
and passed the night in a state of longing, gazing at the portrait of
his beloved. And when at last the sun rose, he rose also, and passed
the day with Rasakósha in the garden, longing for the moment of
reunion. And when the sun set, they went again to the hall of
audience. And there they saw the Princess, clad in a yellow robe, and
a bodice studded with diamonds, and her crown and other ornaments,
sitting on her throne. And she looked intently at the King, who sank
upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, gazing at her loveliness.
Then Rasakósha came forward, and stood before her, and began again:
Lady, in a former age there was a king who died of a fever. And his
heir was a baby, too young to speak or walk. Now that king had a
brother, who desired the kingdom for himself. And in order to compass
this object, he determined to make away with the little Rájá, thinking
to himself: There will be no difficulty in this, for he is but a baby,
and can easily be put to death in a thousand ways.
So one night he persuaded the child's attendants, by means of an
immense bribe, to leave him alone in his room. And he hired an
assassin to kill him, posting him in a secret place within the palace,
and telling him: At such an hour, enter the king's room, where you will
find him alone, and kill him. But this assassin was a Rajpoot from the
Deccan, who had but just come to that city, and did not know who the
king was. And expecting a man, at the appointed hour he entered the
king's room, and saw nothing but a baby playing on the floor with a
fruit. And the fruit, escaping from its hands, rolled to the feet of
the assassin as he came in. And the little Rájá put out his hand, and
cried, _Bhó, Bhó_. So the assassin rolled it back, and the baby
laughed and clapped its hands. Thus they remained, playing with the
fruit, till the guards came in and found that assassin. And when they
asked him who he was, he said: I have a message from my master to the
king. Then they laughed, and said: The king is dead: there is the
king. But he was amazed, and said: Then I must return and tell the
news to my master. For how can I deliver a message to one who cannot
even speak? And they suffered him to depart, and he went out, and
fearing for his own life, left that city without delay.
Then the king's brother, finding that his plot had failed, hired a
whole band of robbers. And watching his opportunity, he posted them by
the side of a road leading to a temple, and said: There will come by
this road a baby, magnificently dressed, and ornamented with jewels,
attended by servants. Fall on them and plunder them, and if you
please, kill them, but make sure that you kill the baby. But while
they waited, in the meanwhile some other robbers, attracted by the
richness of the little Rájá's ornaments, set upon his retinue. And
killing all his servants but one, who fled naked, they stripped the
little Rájá of all he had on him, but left him alone alive, saying: He
cannot tell any one, let him live. So they hastily departed. Then
that fugitive crept back, and finding the baby in the road, picked it
up, and wrapping it in a cloth, carried it home. And he passed before
the eyes of the gang that was waiting to kill the baby Rájá, but they
thought that he was some beggar, and took no notice of him. And thus a
second time the child escaped.
Then the king's brother bribed a cook, who put deadly poison into the
little Rájá's milk. And it was given to him in a crystal goblet. And
he took it in both hands, and put it to his mouth, to drink; and at
that instant, one of the attendants standing before him sneezed. And
the little Rájá dropped the goblet, and began to crow and clap his
hands in delight; but the goblet fell to the ground and broke into a
thousand pieces, and all its contents were spilled upon the floor.
Thus he escaped the third time. And before the king's brother could
form another plot, he was himself slain by the husband of a woman of
the Kshatriya caste, whom he had carried off and dishonoured.
Now tell me, Princess, how was it that the schemes of that villain
could never succeed against the little king, being but a mere child?
And Rasakósha ceased. Then the Princess said: It was its very
childhood that baffled him. For just as a stone, lying openly on the
ground, is more secure than a costly jewel, though protected by
adamantine bars, because it is worthless and arouses no cupidity; so is
a thing so feeble that none would attack it more powerfully protected
by its very feebleness than strength possessed of many enemies though
defended by a thousand guards. No antidote so good, as the absence of
poison: no virtue so good, as the absence of beauty: no fortification
so good, as the absence of enemies: and no guard so potent as the
helplessness of a child. For where are the enemies of the fragile
lotus?
And when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, looking
back as she went at the King, whose heart went with her. But the King
and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.