Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, though my beloved has
answered your question, and now seven of my days are gone, yet I
forgive you, not only for the sake of her frown--oh! it played on her
face like a dark ripple over the surface of a lake--but still more for
the sake of her words. For surely she meant to encourage me in my
suit. Oh! she is a paragon of wisdom, and yet it is just her wisdom
that makes her inaccessible. Even the portrait scarcely suffices to
keep my soul alive during the long hours of separation. Thus he passed
the night in a state of trepidation, gazing at the portrait. And when
the sun rose, he rose also, and got somehow or other through the day by
the help of Rasakósha and the garden. Then when the sun set, they went
again to the hall of audience. And there they saw the Princess, clad
in a saffron robe and a bodice studded with carbuncles, and her crown
and ornaments, sitting on her throne. And she smiled at the King as he
came in, and he sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, under the
spell of her beauty. Then Rasakósha came forward and stood before her,
and began again:
Lady, there lived formerly in a certain country a very stupid Brahman
householder, who inadvertently committed a deadly sin. And his
spiritual adviser told him, that his guilt could be cleansed and his
sin atoned for, only by going and spending the remainder of his life
bathing in the Ganges. So he handed over his goods to his son, and set
out, with his pot and staff, on his pilgrimage to the Ganges. And
after travelling for some days, he came to the bank of a small mountain
streamlet, whose waters in the hot season were all but dry. And he
said to himself: Doubtless this is the sacred Ganges. So he took up
his abode on the banks of that stream, bathing every day in such water
as he could find. And thus he remained for five years.
Then one day there passed by that way a Páshupata[1] ascetic. And he
said to the Brahman: My son, what are you doing here? So he replied:
Reverend Sir, I am performing penance, for the expiation of sin, on the
banks of the Ganges. Then the ascetic said: What has this miserable
puddle to do with the Ganges? And the Brahman said: Is this, then, not
the Ganges? And the ascetic laughed in his face, and said: Truly, old
as I am, I did not think that there had been folly like this in the
world. Wretched man, who has deluded you? The Ganges is hundreds of
miles away, and resembles this contemptible brook no more than Mount
Méru resembles an ant hill.
Then the Brahman said: Reverend Sir, I am much obliged to you. And
taking his pot and staff, he went forward, till at length he came to a
broad river. And he rejoiced greatly, saying: This must be the sacred
Ganges? So he settled on its bank, and remained there for five years
bathing every day in its waters. Then one day there came by a
Kápálika[2], who said to him: Why do you remain here, wasting precious
time over a river of no account or sanctity, instead of going to the
Ganges? But the Brahman was amazed, and said: And is this, then, not
the Ganges? Then the Kápálika replied: This the Ganges! Is a jackal a
lion, or a Chándála[3] a Brahman? Sir, you are dreaming.
Then the Brahman said sorrowfully: Worthy Kápálika, I am indebted to
you. Fortunate was our meeting. And taking his pot and staff, he went
forward, till at length he came to the Nermada. And thinking: Here, at
last, is the sacred Ganges; he was overjoyed; and he remained on its
banks for five years, bathing every day in its waters. But one day he
observed on the bank near him, a pilgrim like himself, casting flowers
into the river, and calling it by its name. So he went up to him and
said: Sir, what is the name of this river? And the pilgrim answered:
Is it possible that you do not know the holy Nermada? Then the Brahman
sighed deeply. And he said: Sir, I am enlightened by you. And he took
his pot and staff, and went forward.
But he was now very old and feeble. And long penance had weakened his
frame and exhausted his energies. And as he toiled on in the heat of
the day over the burning earth, the sun beat on his head like the
thunderbolt of Indra, and struck him with fever. Still he gathered
himself together and struggled on, growing weaker and weaker day by
day, till at last he could go no further, but fell down and lay dying
on the ground. But collecting all his remaining strength, with a last
desperate effort he dragged himself up a low hill in front of him. And
lo! there before him rolled the mighty stream of Ganges, with countless
numbers of pilgrims doing penance on its banks and bathing in its
stream. And in his agony he cried aloud: O Mother Ganges! alas! alas!
I have pursued you all my life, and now I die here helpless in sight of
you. So his heart broke, and he never reached its shore.
But when he got to the other world, Yama said to Chitragupta[4]; What
is there down against him? And Chitragupta said: I find against him a
terrible sin. But that he has expiated by fifteen years' penance on
the banks of Ganges. Then that Brahman was amazed, and said: Lord, you
are mistaken. I never reached the Ganges. And Yama smiled.
Now tell me, Princess, what did Yama mean by his smile? And Rasakósha
ceased. Then the Princess said: Yama is just, and cannot err: and
Chitragupta cannot be deceived. But what is this whole world but
illusion! And just as penance performed in an improper spirit, even on
the actual banks of Ganges, would be no true penance, so that poor
simple Brahman's penance, performed in the belief that he had reached
the Ganges, was counted by that holy One as truly so performed. For
men judge by the fallacious testimony of the senses, but the gods judge
by the heart.
And when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, smiling
at the King, whose heart went with her. But the King and Rasakósha
returned to their own apartments.
[1] A particular follower of Shiwa.
[2] Another sect of Shiwa worshippers.
[3] The lowest of all the castes, a synonym for all that is vile and
impure, like the 'Jew dog' of the Middle Ages.
[4] Yama (pronounce Yum) is the judge of the dead, and Chitragupta his
recorder, who keeps account of man's actions.