(441) I hail, for the completion of the difficult toil of this
unfinished tale, Uma and Çiva, parents of earth, whose single body,
formed from the union of two halves, shows neither point of union
nor division.
(442) I salute Narayana, creator of all, by whom the man-lion form
was manifested happily, showing a face terrible with its tossing mane,
and displaying in his hand quoit, sword, club and conch.
I do homage to my father, that lord of speech, the creator by whom that
story was made that none else could fashion, that noble man whom all
honour in every house, and from whom I, in reward of a former life,
received my being.
(443) When my father rose to the sky, on earth the stream of the
story failed with his voice. And I, as I saw its unfinished state
was a grief to the good, began it, but from no poetic pride.
For that the words flow with such beauty is my father's special gift;
a single touch of the ray of the moon, the one source of nectar,
suffices to melt the moonstone.
As other rivers at their full enter the Ganges, and by being absorbed
in it reach the ocean, so my speech is cast by me for the completion
of this story on the ocean-flowing stream of my father's eloquence.
Reeling under the strong sweetness of Kadambari [340] as one
intoxicated, I am bereft of sense, in that I fear not to compose an
ending in my own speech devoid of sweetness and colour.
(444) The seeds that promise fruit and are destined to flower are
forced by the sower with fitting toils; scattered in good ground, they
grow to ripeness; but it is the sower's son who gathers them. [341]
'"Moreover," Kadambari continued, "if the prince were brought shame
itself, put to shame by my weakness, would not allow a sight of
him. (446) Fear itself, frightened at the crime of bringing him by
force, would not enter his presence. Then all would be over if my
friend Patralekha did her utmost from love to me, and yet could not
induce him to come, even by falling at his feet, either perchance
from his respect for his parents, or devotion to royal duty, or love
of his native land, or reluctance towards me. Nay, more. (448) I am
that Kadambari whom he saw resting on a couch of flowers in the winter
palace, and he is that Candrapida, all ignorant of another's pain,
who stayed but two days, and then departed. I had promised Mahaçveta
not to marry while she was in trouble, though she besought me not
to promise, saying, that Kama often takes our life by love even for
one unseen. (449) But this is not my case. For the prince, imaged by
fancy, ever presents himself to my sight, and, sleeping or waking,
in every place I behold him. Therefore talk not of bringing him."
'(450) Thereupon I [342] reflected, "Truly the beloved, as shaped in
the imagination, is a great support to women separated from their
loves, especially to maidens of noble birth." (451) And I promised
Kadambari that I would bring thee, O Prince. (452) Then she, roused by
my speech full of thy name, as by a charm to remove poison, suddenly
opened her eyes, and said, "I say not that thy going pleases me,
Patralekha. (453) It is only when I see thee that I can endure my
life; yet if this desire possess thee, do what thou wilt!" So saying,
she dismissed me with many presents.
'Then with slightly downcast face Patralekha continued: "The recent
kindness of the princess has given me courage, my prince, and I am
grieved for her, and so I say to thee, 'Didst thou act worthily of
thy tender nature in leaving her in this state?'"
'Thus reproached by Patralekha, and hearing the words of Kadambari,
so full of conflicting impulses, the prince became confused; (454)
and sharing in Kadambari's feeling, he asked Patralekha with tears,
"What am I to do? Love has made me a cause of sorrow to Kadambari,
and of reproach to thee. (455) And methinks this was some curse that
darkened my mind; else how was my mind deceived when clear signs were
given, which would create no doubt even in a dull mind? All this my
fault has arisen from a mistake. I will therefore now, by devoting
myself to her, even with my life, act so that the princess may know
me not to be of so hard a heart."
'(456) While he thus spoke a portress hastened in and said: "Prince,
Queen Vilasavati sends a message saying, 'I hear from the talk
of my attendants that Patralekha, who had stayed behind, has now
returned. And I love her equally with thyself. Do thou therefore come,
and bring her with thee. The sight of thy lotus face, won by a thousand
longings, is rarely given.'"
'"How my life now is tossed with doubts!" thought the prince. "My
mother is sorrowful if even for a moment she sees me not. (457) My
subjects love me; but the Gandharva princess loves me more. Princess
Kadambari is worthy of my winning, and my mind is impatient of delay;"
so thinking, he went to the queen, and spent the day in a longing of
heart hard to bear; (458) while the night he spent thinking of the
beauty of Kadambari, which was as a shrine of love.
'(459) Thenceforth pleasant talk found no entrance into him. His
friends' words seemed harsh to him; the conversation of his kinsmen
gave him no delight. (460) His body was dried up by love's fire, but
he did not yield up the tenderness of his heart. (461) He despised
happiness, but not self-control.
'While he was thus drawn forward by strong love, which had its
life resting on the goodness and beauty of Kadambari, and held
backwards by his very deep affection for his parents, he beheld
one day, when wandering on the banks of the Sipra, a troop of horse
approaching. (462) He sent a man to inquire what this might be, and
himself crossing the Sipra where the water rose but to his thigh,
he awaited his messenger's return in a shrine of Kartikeya. Drawing
Patralekha to him, he said, "Look! that horse-man whose face can
scarce be descried is Keyuraka!"
'(463) He then beheld Keyuraka throw himself from his horse while
yet far off, gray with dust from swift riding, while by his changed
appearance, his lack of adornment, his despondent face, and his eyes
that heralded his inward grief, he announced, even without words,
the evil plight of Kadambari. Candrapida lovingly called him as he
hastily bowed and drew near, and embraced him. And when he had drawn
back and paid his homage, the prince, having gratified his followers by
courteous inquiries, looked at him eagerly, and said, "By the sight of
thee, Keyuraka, the well-being of the lady Kadambari and her attendants
is proclaimed. When thou art rested and at ease, thou shalt tell me
the cause of thy coming;" and he took Keyuraka and Patralekha home
with him on his elephant. (464) Then he dismissed his followers, and
only accompanied by Patralekha, he called Keyuraka to him, and said:
"Tell me the message of Kadambari, Madalekha and Mahaçveta."
'"What shall I say?" replied Keyuraka; "I have no message from any of
these. For when I had entrusted Patralekha to Meghanada, and returned,
and had told of thy going to Ujjayini, Mahaçveta looked upwards,
sighed a long, hot sigh, and saying sadly, 'It is so then,' returned
to her own hermitage to her penance. Kadambari, as though bereft of
consciousness, ignorant of Mahaçveta's departure, only opened her eyes
after a long time, scornfully bidding me tell Mahaçveta; and asking
Madalekha (465) if anyone ever had done, or would do, such a deed as
Candrapida, she dismissed her attendants, threw herself on her couch,
veiled her head, and spent the day without speaking even to Madalekha,
who wholly shared her grief. When early next morning I went to her,
she gazed at me long with tearful eyes, as if blaming me. And I, when
thus looked at by my sorrowing mistress, deemed myself ordered to go,
and so, without telling the princess, I have approached my lord's
feet. Therefore vouchsafe to hear attentively the bidding of Keyuraka,
whose heart is anxious to save the life of one whose sole refuge is in
thee. For, as by thy first coming that virgin [343] forest was stirred
as by the fragrant Malaya wind, so when she beheld thee, the joy of
the whole world, like the spring, love entered her as though she were
a red açoka creeper. (466) But now she endures great torture for thy
sake." (466-470) Then Keyuraka told at length all her sufferings, till
the prince, overcome by grief, could bear it no longer and swooned.
'Then, awakening from his swoon, he lamented that he was thought too
hard of heart to receive a message from Kadambari or her friends,
and blamed them for not telling him of her love while he was there.
(476) '"Why should there be shame concerning one who is her servant,
ever at her feet, that grief should have made its home in one so
tender, and my desires be unfulfilled? (477) Now, what can I do
when at some days' distance from her. Her body cannot even endure
the fall of a flower upon it, while even on adamantine hearts like
mine the arrows of love are hard to bear. When I see the unstable
works began by cruel Fate, I know not where it will stop. (478)
Else where was my approach to the land of the immortals, in my vain
hunt for the Kinnaras? where my journey to Hemakuta with Mahaçveta,
or my sight of the princess there, or the birth of her love for me,
or my father's command, that I could not transgress, for me to return,
though my longing was yet unfulfilled? It is by evil destiny that
we have been raised high, and then dashed to the ground. Therefore
let us do our utmost to console [344] the princess." (479) Then in
the evening he asked Keyuraka, "What thinkest thou? Will Kadambari
support life till we arrive? (480) Or shall I again behold her face,
with its eyes like a timid fawn's?" "Be firm, prince," he replied. "Do
thine utmost to go." The prince had himself begun plans for going;
but what happiness or what content of heart would there be without
his father's leave, and how after his long absence could that be
gained? A friend's help was needed here, but Vaiçampayana was away.
'(484) But next morning he heard a report that his army had reached
Daçapura, and thinking with joy that he was now to receive the favour
of Fate, in that Vaiçampayana was now at hand, he joyfully told the
news to Keyuraka. (485) "This event," replied the latter, "surely
announces thy going. Doubtless thou wilt gain the princess. For when
was the moon ever beheld by any without moonlight, or a lotus-pool
without a lotus, or a garden without creeper? Yet there must be delay
in the arrival of Vaiçampayana, and the settling with him of thy
plans. But I have told thee the state of the princess, which admits
of no delay. Therefore, my heart, rendered insolent by the grace
bestowed by thy affection, desires that favour may be shown me by a
command to go at once to announce the joy of my lord's coming." (486)
Whereat the prince, with a glance that showed his inward satisfaction,
replied: "Who else is there who so well knows time and place, or who
else is so sincerely loyal? This, therefore, is a happy thought. Go to
support the life of the princess and to prepare for my return. But let
Patralekha go forward, too, with thee to the feet of the princess. For
she is favoured by the princess." Then he called Meghanada, and bade
him escort Patralekha, (487) while he himself would overtake them
when he had seen Vaiçampayana. Then he bade Patralekha tell Kadambari
that her noble sincerity and native tenderness preserved him, even
though far away and burnt by love's fire, (489) and requested her
bidding to come. (491) After their departure, he went to ask his
father's leave to go to meet Vaiçampayana. The king lovingly received
him, and said to Çukanasa: (492) "He has now come to the age for
marriage. So, having entered upon the matter with Queen Vilasavati,
let some fair maiden be chosen. For a face like my son's is not often
to be seen. Let us then gladden ourselves now by the sight of the
lotus face of a bride." Çukanasa agreed that as the prince had gained
all knowledge, made royal fortune firmly his own, and wed the earth,
there remained nothing for him to do but to marry a wife. "How fitly,"
thought Candrapida, "does my father's plan come for my thoughts of a
union with Kadambari! (493) The proverb 'light to one in darkness,'
or 'a shower of nectar to a dying man,' is coming true in me. After
just seeing Vaiçampayana, I shall win Kadambari." Then the king went
to Vilasavati, and playfully reproached her for giving no counsel as
to a bride for her son. (494) Meanwhile the prince spent the day in
awaiting Vaiçampayana's return. And after spending over two watches
of the night sleepless in yearning for him, (495) the energy of his
love was redoubled, and he ordered the conch to be sounded for his
going. (497) Then he started on the road to Daçapura, and after going
some distance he beheld the camp, (501) and rejoiced to think he would
now see Vaiçampayana; and going on alone, he asked where his friend
was. But weeping women replied: "Why ask? How should he be here?" And
in utter bewilderment he hastened to the midst of the camp. (502) There
he was recognised, and on his question the chieftains besought him to
rest under a tree while they related Vaiçampayana's fate. He was, they
said, yet alive, and they told what had happened. (505) "When left by
thee, he halted a day, and then gave the order for our march. 'Yet,'
said he, 'Lake Acchoda is mentioned in the Purana as very holy. Let us
bathe and worship Çiva in the shrine on its bank. For who will ever,
even in a dream, behold again this place haunted by the gods?' (506)
But beholding a bower on the bank he gazed at it like a brother long
lost to sight, as if memories were awakened in him. And when we urged
him to depart, he made as though he heard us not; but at last he
bade us go, saying that he would not leave that spot. (508) 'Do I not
know well' said he, 'all that you urge for my departure? But I have
no power over myself, and I am, as it were, nailed to the spot, and
cannot go with you.' (510) So at length we left him, and came hither."
'Amazed at this story, which he could not have even in a dream
imagined, Candrapida wondered: "What can be the cause of his resolve
to leave all and dwell in the woods? I see no fault of my own. He
shares everything with me. Has anything been said that could hurt him
by my father or Çukanasa?" (517) He at length returned to Ujjayini,
thinking that where Vaiçampayana was there was Kadambari also,
and resolved to fetch him back. (518) He heard that the king and
queen had gone to Çukanasa's house, and followed them thither. (519)
There he heard Manorama lamenting the absence of the son without
whose sight she could not live, and who had never before, even in
his earliest years, shown neglect of her. (520) On his entrance the
king thus greeted him: "I know thy great love for him. Yet when I
hear thy story my heart suspects some fault of thine." But Çukanasa,
his face darkened with grief and impatience, said reproachfully: "If,
O king, there is heat in the moon or coolness in fire, then there may
be fault in the prince. (521) Men such as Vaiçampayana are portents of
destruction, (522) fire without fuel, polished mirrors that present
everything the reverse way; (523) for them the base are exalted,
wrong is right, and ignorance wisdom. All in them makes for evil, and
not for good. Therefore Vaiçampayana has not feared thy wrath, nor
thought that his mother's life depends on him, nor that he was born
to be a giver of offerings for the continuance of his race. (524)
Surely the birth of one so evil and demoniac was but to cause us
grief." (525) To this the king replied: "Surely for such as I to
admonish thee were for a lamp to give light to fire, or daylight an
equal splendour to the sun. Yet the mind of the wisest is made turbid
by grief as the Manasa Lake by the rainy season, and then sight is
destroyed. Who is there in this world who is not changed by youth? When
youth shows itself, love for elders flows away with childhood. (528)
My heart grieves when I hear thee speak harshly of Vaiçampayana. Let
him be brought hither. Then we can do as is fitting." (529) Çukanasa
persisted in blaming his son; but Candrapida implored leave to fetch
him home, and Çukanasa at length yielded. (532) Then Candrapida
summoned the astrologers, and secretly bade them name the day for
his departure, when asked by the king or Çukanasa, so as not to delay
his departure. "The conjunction of the planets," they answered him,
"is against thy going. (533) Yet a king is the determiner of time. On
whatever time thy will is set, that is the time for every matter." Then
they announced the morrow as the time for his departure; and he spent
that day and night intent on his journey, and deeming that he already
beheld Kadambari and Vaiçampayana before him.
'(534) And when the time came, Vilasavati bade him farewell in deep
sorrow: "I grieved not so for thy first going as I do now. My heart
is torn; my body is in torture; my mind is overwhelmed. (535) I know
not why my heart so suffers. Stay not long away." He tried to console
her, and then went to his father, who received him tenderly, (539)
and finally dismissed him, saying: "My desire is that thou shouldst
take a wife and receive the burden of royalty, so that I may enter on
the path followed by royal sages; but this matter of Vaiçampayana is
in the way of it, and I have misgivings that my longing is not to be
fulfilled; else how could he have acted in so strange a way? Therefore,
though thou must go, my son, return soon, that my heart's desire may
not fail." (540) At length he started, and spent day and night on his
journey in the thought of his friend and of the Gandharva world. (544)
And when he had travelled far the rainy season came on, and all the
workings of the storms found their counterpart in his own heart. (548)
Yet he paused not on his way, nor did he heed the entreaties of his
chieftains to bestow some care on himself, but rode on all day. (549)
But a third part of the way remained to traverse when he beheld
Meghanada, and, asking him eagerly concerning Vaiçampayana, (550) he
learnt that Patralekha, sure that the rains would delay his coming,
had sent Meghanada to meet him, and that the latter had not been to the
Acchoda lake. (552) With redoubled grief the prince rode to the lake,
and bade his followers guard it on all sides, lest Vaiçampayana should
in shame flee from them; but all his search found no traces of his
friend. (553) "My feet," thought he, "cannot leave this spot without
him, and yet Kadambari has not been seen. Perchance Mahaçveta may know
about this matter; I will at least see her." So he mounted Indrayudha,
and went towards her hermitage. There dismounting, he entered; but
in the entrance of the cave he beheld Mahaçveta, with difficulty
supported by Taralika, weeping bitterly. (554) "May no ill," thought
he, "have befallen Kadambari, that Mahaçveta should be in this state,
when my coming should be a cause of joy." Eagerly and sorrowfully he
questioned Taralika, but she only gazed on Mahaçveta's face. Then
the latter at last spoke falteringly: "What can one so wretched
tell thee? Yet the tale shall be told. When I heard from Keyuraka of
thy departure, my heart was torn by the thought that the wishes of
Kadambari's parents, my own longing, and the sight of Kadambari's
happiness in her union with thee had not been brought about, and,
cleaving even the bond of my love to her, I returned home to yet
harsher penance than before. (555) Here I beheld a young Brahman,
like unto thee, gazing hither and thither with vacant glance. But at
the sight of me his eyes were fixed on me alone, as if, though unseen
before, he recognised me, though a stranger, he had long known me,
and gazing at me like one mad or possessed, he said at last: 'Fair
maiden, only they who do what is fitting for their birth, age, and form
escape blame in this world. Why toilest thou thus, like perverse fate,
in so unmeet an employment, in that thou wastest in stern penance a
body tender as a garland? (556) The toil of penance is for those who
have enjoyed the pleasures of life and have lost its graces, but not
for one endowed with beauty. If thou turnest from the joys of earth,
in vain does Love bend his bow, or the moon rise. Moonlight and the
Malaya wind serve for naught.'"
'"But I, caring for nothing since the loss of Pundarika, asked no
questions about him, (557) and bade Taralika keep him away, for some
evil would surely happen should he return. But in spite of being kept
away, whether from the fault of love or the destiny of suffering that
lay upon us, he did not give up his affection; and one night, while
Taralika slept, and I was thinking of Pundarika, (559) I beheld in the
moonlight, clear as day, that youth approaching like one possessed. The
utmost fear seized me at the sight. 'An evil thing,' I thought,
'has befallen me. If he draw near, and but touch me with his hand,
this accursed life must be destroyed; and then that endurance of it,
which I accepted in the hope of again beholding Pundarika, will have
been in vain.' While I thus thought he drew near, and said: 'Moon-faced
maiden, the moon, Love's ally, is striving to slay me. Therefore I
come to ask protection. Save me, who am without refuge, and cannot
help myself, for my life is devoted to thee. (560) It is the duty of
ascetics to protect those who flee to them for protection. If, then,
thou deign not to bestow thyself on me, the moon and love will slay
me.' At these words, in a voice choked by wrath, I exclaimed: 'Wretch,
how has a thunderbolt failed to strike thy head in the utterance of
these thy words? Surely the five elements that give witness of right
and wrong to mortals are lacking in thy frame, in that earth and air
and fire and the rest have not utterly destroyed thee. Thou hast learnt
to speak like a parrot, without thought of what was right or wrong
to say. Why wert thou not born as a parrot? (561) I lay on thee this
fate, that thou mayest enter on a birth suited to thine own speech,
and cease to make love to one such as I.' So saying, I turned towards
the moon, and with raised hands prayed: 'Blessed one, lord of all,
guardian of the world, if since the sight of Pundarika my heart has
been free from the thought of any other man, may this false lover by
the truth of this my saying, fall into the existence pronounced by
me.' Then straightway, I know not how, whether from the force of love,
or of his own sin, or from the power of my words, he fell lifeless,
like a tree torn up by the roots. And it was not till he was dead that
I learnt from his weeping attendants that he was thy friend, noble
prince." Having thus said, she bent her face in shame and silently
wept. But Candrapida, with fixed glance and broken voice, replied:
"Lady, thou hast done thine utmost, and yet I am too ill-fated to
have gained in this life the joy of honouring the feet of the lady
Kadambari. Mayest thou in another life create this bliss for me." (562)
With these words his tender heart broke, as if from grief at failing
to win Kadambari, like a bud ready to open when pierced by a bee.
'Then Taralika burst into laments over his lifeless body and into
reproaches to Mahaçveta. And as the chieftains, too, raised their cry
of grief and wonder, (564) there entered, with but few followers,
Kadambari herself, attired as to meet her lover, though a visit
to Mahaçveta was the pretext of her coming, and while she leant on
Patralekha's hand, she expressed her doubts of the prince's promised
return, (565) and declared that if she again beheld him she would not
speak to him, nor be reconciled either by his humility or her friend's
endeavours. Such were her words; but she counted all the toil of
the journey light in her longing to behold him again. But when she
beheld him dead, with a sudden cry she fell to the ground. And when
she recovered from her swoon, she gazed at him with fixed eyes and
quivering mouth, like a creeper trembling under the blow of a keen
axe, and then stood still with a firmness foreign to her woman's
nature. (566) Madalekha implored her to give her grief the relief of
tears, lest her heart should break, and remember that on her rested the
hopes of two races. "Foolish girl," replied Kadambari, with a smile,
"how should my adamantine heart break if it has not broken at this
sight? These thoughts of family and friends are for one who wills to
live, not for me, who have chosen death; for I have won the body of
my beloved, which is life to me, and which, whether living or dead,
whether by an earthly union, or by my following it in death, suffices
to calm every grief. It is for my sake that my lord came hither and
lost his life; how, then, could I, by shedding tears, make light of
the great honour to which he has raised me? or how bring an ill-omened
mourning to his departure to heaven? or how weep at the joyous moment
when, like the dust of his feet, I may follow him? Now all sorrow is
far away. (567) For him I neglected all other ties; and now, when he is
dead, how canst thou ask me to live? In dying now lies my life, and to
live would be death to me. Do thou take my place with my parents and
my friends, and mayest thou be the mother of a son to offer libations
of water for me when I am in another world. Thou must wed the young
mango in the courtyard, dear to me as my own child, to the madhavi
creeper. Let not a twig of the açoka-tree that my feet have caressed be
broken, even to make an earring. Let the flowers of the malati creeper
I tended be plucked only to offer to the gods. Let the picture of Kama
in my room near my pillow be torn in pieces. The mango-trees I planted
must be tended so that they may come to fruit. (568) Set free from the
misery of their cage the maina Kalindi and the parrot Parihasa. Let
the little mongoose that rested in my lap now rest in thine. Let my
child, the fawn Taralaka, be given to a hermitage. Let the partridges
on the pleasure-hill that grew up in my hand be kept alive. See that
the hamsa that followed my steps be not killed. Let my poor ape be
set free, for she is unhappy in the house. Let the pleasure-hill be
given to some calm-souled hermit, and let the things I use myself be
given to Brahmans. My lute thou must lovingly keep in thine own lap,
and anything else that pleases thee must be thine own. But as for
me, I will cling to my lord's neck, and so on the funeral pyre allay
the fever which the moon, sandal, lotus-fibres, and all cool things
have but increased." (569) Then she embraced Mahaçveta, saying: "Thou
indeed hast some hope whereby to endure life, even though its pains
be worse than death; but I have none, and so I bid thee farewell,
dear friend, till we meet in another birth."
'As though she felt the joy of reunion, she honoured the feet of
Candrapida with bent head, and placed them in her lap. (570) At
her touch a strange bright light arose from Candrapida's body, and
straightway a voice was heard in the sky: "Dear Mahaçveta, I will
again console thee. The body of thy Pundarika, nourished in my world
and by my light, free from death, awaits its reunion with thee. The
other body, that of Candrapida, is filled with my light, and so is
not subject to death, both from its own nature, and because it is
nourished by the touch of Kadambari; it has been deserted by the
soul by reason of a curse, like the body of a mystic whose spirit
has passed into another form. Let it rest here to console thee and
Kadambari till the curse be ended. Let it not be burnt, nor cast into
water, nor deserted. It must be kept with all care till its reunion."
'All but Patralekha were astounded at this saying, and fixed their
gaze on the sky; but she, recovering, at the cool touch of that light,
from the swoon brought on by seeing the death of Candrapida, rose,
hastily seizing Indrayudha from his groom, saying: "However it may be
for us, thou must not for a moment leave thy master to go alone without
a steed on his long journey;" and plunged, together with Indrayudha,
into the Acchoda Lake. (571) Straightway there rose from the lake a
young ascetic, and approaching Mahaçveta, said mournfully: "Princess
of the Gandharvas, knowest thou me, now that I have passed through
another birth?" Divided between joy and grief, she paid homage to
his feet, and replied: "Blessed Kapiñjala, am I so devoid of virtue
that I could forget thee? And yet this thought of me is natural,
since I am so strangely ignorant of myself and deluded by madness
that when my lord Pundarika is gone to heaven I yet live. (572) Tell
me of Pundarika." He then recalled how he had flown into the sky in
pursuit of the being who carried off Pundarika, and passing by the
wondering gods in their heavenly cars, he had reached the world of
the moon. "Then that being," he continued, "placed Pundarika's body
on a couch in the hall called Mahodaya, and said: 'Know me to be the
moon! (573) When I was rising to help the world I was cursed by thy
friend, because my beams were slaying him before he could meet his
beloved; and he prayed that I, too, might die in the land of Bharata,
the home of all sacred rites, knowing myself the pains of love. But I,
wrathful at being cursed for what was his own fault, uttered the curse
that he should endure the same lot of joy or sorrow as myself. When,
however, my anger passed away, I understood what had happened about
Mahaçveta. Now, she is sprung from the race that had its origin in
my beams, and she chose him for her lord. Yet he and I must both
be born twice in the world of mortals, else the due order of births
will not be fulfilled. I have therefore carried the body hither, and
I nourish it with my light lest it should perish before the curse is
ended, and I have comforted Mahaçveta. (574) Tell the whole matter to
Pundarika's father. His spiritual power is great, and he may find a
remedy.' And I, rushing away in grief, leapt off another rider in a
heavenly chariot, and in wrath he said to me: 'Since in the wide path
of heaven thou hast leapt over me like a horse in its wild course,
do thou become a horse, and descend into the world of mortals.' To
my tearful assurance that I had leapt over him in the blindness of
grief, and not from contempt, he replied: 'The curse, once uttered,
cannot be recalled. But when thy rider shall die, thou shalt bathe and
be freed from the curse.' Then I implored him that as my friend was
about to be born with the moon-god, in the world of mortals, I might,
as a horse, constantly dwell with him. (575) Softened by my affection,
he told me that the moon would be born as a son to King Tarapida
at Ujjayini, Pundarika would be the son of his minister, Çukanasa,
and that I should be the prince's steed. Straightway I plunged into
the ocean, and rose as a horse, but yet lost not consciousness of the
past. I it was who purposely brought Candrapida hither in pursuit of
the kinnaras. And he who sought thee by reason of the love implanted
in a former birth, and was consumed by a curse in thine ignorance,
was my friend Pundarika come down to earth."
'Then Mahaçveta beat her breast with a bitter cry, saying: "Thou didst
keep thy love for me through another birth, Pundarika; I was all the
world to thee; and yet, like a demon, born for thy destruction even in
a fresh life, I have received length of years but to slay thee again
and again. (576) Even in thee, methinks, coldness must now have sprung
up towards one so ill-fated, in that thou answerest not my laments;"
and she flung herself on the ground. But Kapiñjala pityingly replied:
"Thou art blameless, princess, and joy is at hand. Grieve not,
therefore, but pursue the penance undertaken by thee; for to perfect
penance naught is impossible, and by the power of thine austerities
thou shalt soon be in the arms of my friend."
'(577) Then Kadambari asked Kapiñjala what had become of Patralekha
when she plunged with him into the tank. But he knew naught of what
had happened since then, either to her, or his friend, or Candrapida,
and rose to the sky to ask the sage Çvetaketu, Pundarika's father,
to whom everything in the three worlds was visible.
'(577-578) Then Mahaçveta counselled Kadambari, whose love to her was
drawn the closer from the likeness of her sorrow, that she should
spend her life in ministering to the body of Candrapida, nothing
doubting that while others, to gain good, worshipped shapes of wood
and stone that were but images of invisible gods, she ought to worship
the present deity, veiled under the name of Candrapida. Laying his
body tenderly on a rock, Kadambari put off the adornments with which
she had come to meet her lover, keeping but one bracelet as a happy
omen. She bathed, put on two white robes, rubbed off the deep stain of
betel from her lips, (579) and the very flowers, incense, and unguents
she had brought to grace a happy love she now offered to Candrapida
in the worship due to a god. That day and night she spent motionless,
holding the feet of the prince, and on the morrow she joyfully saw
that his brightness was unchanged, (581) and gladdened her friends
and the prince's followers by the tidings. (582) The next day she sent
Madalekha to console her parents, and they sent back an assurance that
they had never thought to see her wed, and that now they rejoiced
that she had chosen for her husband the incarnation of the moon-god
himself. They hoped, when the curse was over, to behold again her
lotus-face in the company of their son-in-law. (583) So comforted,
Kadambari remained to tend and worship the prince's body. Now, when
the rainy season was over, Meghanada came to Kadambari, and told her
that messengers had been sent by Tarapida to ask the cause of the
prince's delay, (584) and that he, to spare her grief, had told them
the whole story, and bade them hasten to tell all to the king. They,
however, had replied that this might doubtless be so; yet, to say
nothing of their hereditary love for the prince, the desire to see so
great a marvel urged them to ask to be allowed to behold him; their
long service deserved the favour; and what would the king say if they
failed to see Candrapida's body? (585) Sorrowfully picturing to herself
what the grief of Tarapida would be, Kadambari admitted the messengers,
(586) and as they tearfully prostrated themselves, she consoled them,
saying that this was a cause for joy rather than sorrow. "Ye have seen
the prince's face, and his body free from change; therefore hasten to
the king's feet. Yet do not spread abroad this story, but say that ye
have seen the prince, and that he tarries by the Acchoda Lake. For
death must come to all, and is easily believed; but this event,
even when seen, can scarce win faith. It profits not now, therefore,
by telling this to his parents, to create in them a suspicion of
his death; but when he comes to life again, this wondrous tale will
become clear to them." (587) But they replied: "Then we must either not
return or keep silence. But neither course is possible; nor could we
so greet the sorrowing king." She therefore sent Candrapida's servant
Tvaritaka with them, to give credit to the story, for the prince's
royal retinue had all taken a vow to live there, eating only roots
and fruits, and not to return till the prince himself should do so.
(589) 'After many days, Queen Vilasavati, in her deep longing for
news of her son, went to the temple of the Divine Mothers of Avanti,
[345] the guardian goddesses of Ujjayini, to pray for his return; and
on a sudden a cry arose from the retinue: "Thou art happy, O Queen! The
Mothers have shown favour to thee! Messengers from the prince are at
hand." Then she saw the messengers, with the city-folk crowding round
them, asking news of the prince, or of sons, brothers, and other
kinsfolk among his followers, (591) but receiving no answers. She
sent for them to the temple court, and cried: "Tell me quickly of my
son. (592) Have ye seen him?" And they, striving to hide their grief,
replied: "O Queen, he has been seen by us on the shore of the Acchoda
Lake, and Tvaritaka will tell thee the rest." "What more," said she,
"can this unhappy man tell me? For your own sorrowful bearing has
told the tale. Alas, my child! Wherefore hast thou not returned? When
thou didst bid me farewell, I knew by my forebodings that I should not
behold thy face again. (593) This all comes from the evil deeds of my
former birth. Yet think not, my son, that I will live without thee,
for how could I thus even face thy father? And yet, whether it be
from love, or from the thought that one so fair must needs live, or
from the native simplicity of a woman's mind, my heart cannot believe
that ill has befallen thee." (594) Meanwhile, the news was told to
the king, and he hastened to the temple with Çukanasa, and tried to
rouse the queen from the stupor of grief, saying: (595) "My queen,
we dishonour ourselves by this show of grief. Our good deeds in a
former life have carried us thus far. We are not the vessel of further
joys. That which we have not earned is not won at will by beating
the breast. The Creator does what He wills, and depends on none. We
have had the joy of our son's babyhood and boyhood and youth. We have
crowned him, and greeted his return from his world conquest. (596)
All that is lacking to our wishes is that we have not seen him wed,
so that we might leave him in our place, and retire to a hermitage. But
to gain every desire is the fruit of very rare merit. We must, however,
question Tvaritaka, for we know not all yet." (597) But when he heard
from Tvaritaka how the prince's heart had broken, he interrupted him,
and cried that a funeral pyre should be prepared for himself near the
shrine of Mahakala. (598) All his treasure was to be given to Brahmans,
and the kings who followed him were to return to their own lands. Then
Tvaritaka implored him to hear the rest of the story of Vaiçampayana,
and his grief was followed by wonder; while Çukanasa, showing the
desire of a true friend to forget his own grief and offer consolation,
said: (599) "Sire, in this wondrous transitory existence, wherein
wander gods, demons, animals and men, filled with joy and grief,
there is no event which is not possible. Why then doubt concerning
this? If from a search for reason, how many things rest only on
tradition, and are yet seen to be true? As the use of meditation
or certain postures to cure a poisoned man, the attraction of the
loadstone, the efficacy of mantras, Vedic or otherwise, in actions
of all kinds, wherein sacred tradition is our authority. (600) Now
there are many stories of curses in the Puranas, the Ramayana, the
Mahabharata, and the rest. For it was owing to a curse that Nahusha
[346] became a serpent, Saudasa [347] a cannibal, Yayati decrepit,
Triçamku [348] a Candala, the heaven-dwelling Mahabhisha was born
as Çantanu, while Ganga became his wife, and the Vasus, [349] his
sons. Nay, even the Supreme God, Vishnu, was born as Yamadagni's son,
and, dividing himself into four, he was born to Daçaratha, and also
to Vasudeva at Mathura. Therefore the birth of gods among mortals
is not hard of belief. And thou, sire, art not behind the men of
old in virtue, nor is the moon greater than the god from whom the
lotus springs. Our dreams at our sons' birth confirm the tale; the
nectar that dwells in the moon preserves the prince's body, (601)
and his beauty that gladdens the world must be destined to dwell in
the world. We shall therefore soon see his marriage with Kadambari,
and therein find all the past troubles of life more than repaid. Do
then thine utmost by worshipping gods, giving gifts to Brahmans,
and practising austerities, to secure this blessing." (602-604) The
king assented, but expressed his resolve to go himself to behold the
prince, and he and the queen, together with Çukanasa and his wife,
went to the lake. (605) Comforted by the assurance of Meghanada, who
came to meet him, that the prince's body daily grew in brightness,
he entered the hermitage; (606) while, at the news of his coming,
Mahaçveta fled in shame within the cave, and Kadambari swooned. And
as he looked on his son, who seemed but to sleep, the queen rushed
forward, and with fond reproaches entreated Candrapida to speak
to them. (608) But the king reminded her that it was her part to
comfort Çukanasa and his wife. "She also, to whom we shall owe the
joy of again beholding our son alive, even the Gandharva princess,
is yet in a swoon; do thou take her in thine arms, and bring her
back to consciousness." Then she tenderly touched Kadambari, saying
"Be comforted, my mother, [350] for without thee, who could have
preserved the body of my son Candrapida? Surely thou must be wholly
made of amrita, that we are again able to behold his face." (609) At
the name of Candrapida and the touch of the queen, so like his own,
Kadambari recovered her senses, and was helped by Madalekha to pay
due honour, though with face bent in shame, to his parents. She
received their blessing--"Mayest thou live long, and long enjoy an
unwidowed life"--and was set close behind Vilasavati. The king then
bade her resume her care of the prince, and took up his abode in
a leafy bower near the hermitage, provided with a cool stone slab,
and meet for a hermit, (610) and told his royal retinue that he would
now carry out his long-cherished desire of an ascetic life, and that
they must protect his subjects. "It is surely a gain if I hand over
my place to one worthy of it, and by this enfeebled and useless body
of mine win the joys of another world."
'So saying, he gave up all his wonted joys, and betook himself to
the unwonted life in the woods; he found a palace beneath the trees;
the delights of the zenana, in the creepers; the affection of friends,
in the fawns; the pleasure of attire, in rags and bark garments. (611)
His weapons were rosaries; his ambition was for another world; his
desire for wealth was in penance. He refused all the delicacies that
Kadambari and Mahaçveta offered him, and so dwelt with his queen and
Çukanasa, counting all pains light, so that every morning and evening
he might have the joy of seeing Candrapida.'
Having told this tale, [351] the sage Jabali said with a scornful
smile to his son Harita and the other ascetics: 'Ye have seen how this
story has had power to hold us long, and to charm our hearts. And this
is the love-stricken being who by his own fault fell from heaven,
and became on earth Vaiçampayana, son of Çukanasa. He it is who,
by the curse of his own wrathful father, and by Mahaçveta's appeal
to the truth of her heart, has been born as a parrot.' (612) As he
thus spoke, I awoke, as it were, out of sleep, and, young as I was,
I had on the tip of my tongue all the knowledge gained in a former
birth; I became skilled in all arts; I had a clear human voice,
memory, and all but the shape of a man. My affection for the prince,
my uncontrolled passion, my devotion to Mahaçveta, all returned. A
yearning arose in me to know about them and my other friends, and
though in deepest shame, I faintly asked Jabali: 'Now, blessed saint,
that thou hast brought back my knowledge, my heart breaks for the
prince who died in grief for my death. (613) Vouchsafe to tell me
of him, so that I may be near him; even my birth as an animal will
not grieve me.' With mingled scorn and pity he replied: 'Wilt thou
not even now restrain thine old impatience? Ask, when thy wings are
grown.' Then to his son's inquiry how one of saintly race should be
so enslaved by love, he replied that this weak and unrestrained nature
belonged to those born, like me, from a mother only. For the Veda says,
'As a man's parents are, so is he,' (614) and medical science, too,
declares their weakness. And he said my life now would be but short,
but that when the curse was over, I should win length of years. I
humbly asked by what sacrifices I should gain a longer life, but he
bade me wait, and as the whole night had passed unobserved in his
story, (615) he sent the ascetics to offer the morning oblation, while
Harita took me, and placed me in his own hut near his couch, and went
to his morning duties. (616) During his absence, I sorrowfully thought
how hard it would be to rise from being a bird to being a Brahman,
not to say a saint, who has the bliss of heaven. Yet if I could not
be united to those I loved in past lives why should I yet live? But
Harita then returned, and told me that Kapiñjala was there. (617-618)
When I saw him weary, yet loving as ever, I strove to fly to him, and
he, lifting me up, placed me in his bosom, and then on his head. (619)
Then he told me, 'Thy father Çvetaketu knew by divine insight of
thy plight, and has begun a rite to help thee. As he began it I was
set free from my horse's shape; (620) but he kept me till Jabali had
recalled the past to thee, and now sends me to give thee his blessing,
and say that thy mother Lakshmi is also helping in the rite.' (621)
Then, bidding me stay in the hermitage, he rose to the sky, to take
part in the rite. (622) After some days, however, my wings were grown,
and I resolved to fly to Mahaçveta, so I set off towards the north;
(623) but weariness soon overtook me, and I went to sleep in a tree,
only to wake in the snare of a terrible Candala. (624) I besought
him to free me, for I was on the way to my beloved, but he said he
had captured me for the young Candala princess, who had heard of
my gifts. With horror I heard that I, the son of Lakshmi and of a
great saint, must dwell with a tribe shunned even by barbarians;
(625) but when I urged that he could set me free without danger,
for none would see him, he laughed, and replied: 'He, for whom there
exist not the five guardians of the world, [352] witnesses of right
and wrong, dwelling within his own body to behold his actions, will
not do his duty for fear of any other being.' (626) So he carried me
off, and as I looked out in hope of getting free from him, I beheld
the barbarian settlement, a very market-place of evil deeds. It was
surrounded on all sides by boys engaged in the chase, unleashing their
hounds, teaching their falcons, mending snares, carrying weapons, and
fishing, horrible in their attire, like demoniacs. Here and there the
entrance to their dwellings, hidden by thick bamboo forests, was to
be inferred, from the rising of smoke of orpiment. On all sides the
enclosures were made with skulls; (627) the dustheaps in the roads
were filled with bones; the yards of the huts were miry with blood,
fat, and meat chopped up. The life there consisted of hunting; the
food, of flesh; the ointment, of fat; the garments, of coarse silk;
the couches, of dried skins; the household attendants, of dogs; the
animals for riding, of cows; the men's employment, of wine and women;
the oblation to the gods, of blood; the sacrifice, of cattle. The
place was the image of all hells. (628) Then the man brought me to
the Candala maiden, who received me gladly, and placed me in a cage,
saying: 'I will take from thee all thy wilfulness.' What was I to
do? Were I to pray her to release me, it was my power of speech that
had made her desire me; were I silent, anger might make her cruel;
(629) still, it was my want of self-restraint that had caused all my
misery, and so I resolved to restrain all my senses, and I therefore
kept entire silence and refused all food.
Next day, however, the maiden brought fruits and water, and when I
did not touch them she said tenderly: 'It is unnatural for birds and
beasts to refuse food when hungry. If thou, mindful of a former birth,
makest distinction of what may or may not be eaten, yet thou art now
born as an animal, and canst keep no such distinction. (630) There is
no sin in acting in accordance with the state to which thy past deeds
have brought thee. Nay, even for those who have a law concerning food,
it is lawful, in a time of distress, to eat food not meet for them,
in order to preserve life. Much more, then, for thee. Nor needst thou
fear this food as coming from our caste; for fruit may be accepted
even from us; and water, even from our vessels, is pure, so men say,
when it falls on the ground.' I, wondering at her wisdom, partook of
food, but still kept silence.
'After some time, when I had grown up, I woke one day to find myself
in this golden cage, and beheld the Candala maiden as thou, O king,
hast seen her. (631) The whole barbarian settlement shewed like
a city of the gods, and before I could ask what it all meant, the
maiden brought me to thy feet. But who she is and why she has become a
Candala, and why I am bound or brought hither, I am as eager as thou,
O king, to learn.'
Thereupon the king, in great amazement, sent for the maiden, and she,
entering, overawed the king with her majesty, and said with dignity:
'Thou gem of earth, lord of Rohini, joy of Kadambari's eyes--thou, O
moon, hast heard the story of thy past birth, and that of this foolish
being. Thou knowest from him how even in this birth he disregarded his
father's command, and set off to seek his bride. Now I am Lakshmi,
his mother, and his father, seeing by divine insight that he had
started, bade me keep him in safety till the religious rite for him was
completed, and lead him to repentance. (632) The rite is now over. The
end of the curse is at hand. I brought him to thee that thou mightest
rejoice with him thereat. I became a Candala to avoid contact with
mankind. Do ye both therefore, straightway leave bodies beset with the
ills of birth, old age, pain, and death, and win the joy of union with
your beloved.' So saying, she suddenly rose to the sky, followed by
the gaze of all the people, while the firmament rang with her tinkling
anklets. The king, at her words, remembered his former birth and said:
'Dear Pundarika, now called Vaiçampayana, happy is it that the curse
comes to an end at the same moment for us both'; but while he spoke,
Love drew his bow, taking Kadambari as his best weapon, and entered
into the king's heart to destroy his life. (635) The flame of love
wholly consumed him, and from longing for Mahaçveta, Vaiçampayana,
who was in truth Pundarika, endured the same sufferings as the king.
Now at this time there set in the fragrant season of spring, as if to
burn him utterly, (636) and while it intoxicated all living beings,
it was used by Love as his strongest shaft to bewilder the heart of
Kadambari. On Kama's festival she passed the day with great difficulty,
and at twilight, when the quarters were growing dark, she bathed,
worshipped Kama, and placed before him the body of Candrapida, washed,
anointed with musk-scented sandal, and decked with flowers. (637)
Filled with a deep longing, she drew nigh, as if unconsciously and
suddenly, bereft by love of a woman's native timidity, she could
no longer restrain herself, and clasped Candrapida's neck as though
he were yet alive. At her ambrosial embrace the prince's life came
back to him, and, clasping her closely, like one awakened from sleep
(638), he gladdened her by saying: 'Timid one, away with fear! Thine
embrace hath brought me to life; for thou art born of the Apsaras race
sprung from nectar, and it was but the curse that prevented thy touch
from reviving me before. I have now left the mortal shape of Çudraka,
that caused the pain of separation from thee; but this body I kept,
because it won thy love. Now both this world and the moon are bound
to thy feet. Vaiçampayana, too, the beloved of thy friend Mahaçveta,
has been freed from the curse with me.' While the moon, hidden
in the shape of Candrapida, thus spoke, Pundarika descended from
the sky, pale, wearing still the row of pearls given by Mahaçveta,
and holding the hand of Kapiñjala. (639) Gladly Kadambari hastened
to tell Mahaçveta of her lover's return, while Candrapida said:
'Dear Pundarika, though in an earlier birth thou wast my son-in-law,
[353] thou must now be my friend, as in our last birth.' Meanwhile,
Keyuraka set off to Hemakuta to tell Hamsa and Citraratha, and
Madalekha fell at the feet of Tarapida, who was absorbed in prayer
to Çiva, Vanquisher of Death, and Vilasavati, and told them the
glad tidings. (640) Then the aged king came, leaning on Çukanasa,
with the queen and Manorama, and great was the joy of all. Kapiñjala
too brought a message to Çukanasa from Çvetakatu, saying: 'Pundarika
was but brought up by me; but he is thy son, and loves thee; do thou
therefore keep him from ill, and care for him as thine own. (641) I
have placed in him my own life, and he will live as long as the moon;
so that my desires are fulfilled. The divine spirit of life in me now
yearns to reach a region surpassing the world of gods.' That night
passed in talk of their former birth; and next day the two Gandharva
kings came with their queens, and the festivities were increased a
thousandfold. Citraratha, however, said: 'Why, when we have palaces of
our own, do we feast in the forest? Moreover, though marriage resting
only on mutual love is lawful among us, [354] yet let us follow the
custom of the world.' 'Nay,' replied Tarapida. 'Where a man hath
known his greatest happiness, there is his home, even if it be the
forest.1 (642) And where else have I known such joy as here? [355]
All my palaces, too, have been given over to thy son-in-law; take
my son, therefore, with his bride, and taste the joys of home.' Then
Citraratha went with Candrapida to Hemakuta, and offered him his whole
kingdom with the hand of Kadambari. Hamsa did the same to Pundarika;
but both refused to accept anything, for their longings were satisfied
with winning the brides dear to their hearts.
Now, one day Kadambari, though her joy was complete, asked her husband
with tears: 'How is it that when we all have died and come to life,
and have been united with each other, Patralekha alone is not here,
nor do we know what has become of her?' 'How could she be here, my
beloved?' replied the prince tenderly. 'For she is my wife Rohini,
and, when she heard I was cursed, grieving for my grief, she refused
to leave me alone in the world of mortals, and though I sought to
dissuade her, she accepted birth in that world even before me, that
she might wait upon me. (643) When I entered on another birth, she
again wished to descend to earth; but I sent her back to the world
of the moon. There thou wilt again behold her.' But Kadambari, in
wonder at Rohini's nobility, tenderness, loftiness of soul, devotion,
and charm, was abashed, and could not utter a word.
The ten nights that Candrapida spent at Hemakuta passed as swiftly
as one day; and then, dismissed by Citraratha and Madira, who were
wholly content with him, he approached the feet of his father. There he
bestowed on the chieftains who had shared his sufferings a condition
like his own, and laying on Pundarika the burden of government,
followed the steps of his parents, who had given up all earthly
duties. Sometimes from love of his native land, he would dwell in
Ujjayini, where the citizens gazed at him with wide, wondering eyes;
sometimes, from respect to the Gandharva king, at Hemakuta, beautiful
beyond compare; sometimes, from reverence to Rohini, in the world
of the moon, where every place was charming from the coolness and
fragrance of nectar; sometimes, from love to Pundarika, by the lake
where Lakshmi dwelt, on which the lotuses ever blossomed night and day,
and often, to please Kadambari, in many another fair spot.
With Kadambari he enjoyed many a pleasure, to which the yearning of
two births gave an ever fresh [356] and inexhaustible delight. Nor
did the Moon rejoice alone with Kadambari, nor she with Mahaçveta,
but Mahaçveta with Pundarika, and Pundarika with the Moon, all spent
an eternity of joy in each other's company, and reached the very
pinnacle of happiness.