this same city of Ujjayani, in the same lunar mansion, in the same
division of the great circle described upon the ecliptic, and in the
same period of time. You, the first, were born in the house of a king.
The second was an oilman’s son, who was slain by the third, a jogi,
or anchorite, who kills all he can, wafting the sweet scent of human
sacrifice to the nostrils of Durga, goddess of destruction. Moreover,
the holy man, after compassing the death of the oilman’s son, has
suspended him head downwards from a mimosa tree in a cemetery. He is now
anxiously plotting thy destruction. He hath murdered his own child--”
“And how came an anchorite to have a child?” asked Raja Vikram,
incredulously.
“That is what I am about to tell thee,” replied the giant. “In the good
days of thy generous father, Gandharba-Sena, as the court was taking its
pleasure in the forest, they saw a devotee, or rather a devotee’s head,
protruding from a hole in the ground. The white ants had surrounded his
body with a case of earth, and had made their home upon his skin. All
kinds of insects and small animals crawled up and down the face, yet not
a muscle moved. Wasps had hung their nests to its temples, and scorpions
wandered in and out of the matted and clotted hair; yet the hermit felt
them not. He spoke to no one; he received no gifts; and had it not been
for the opening of his nostrils, as he continually inhaled the pungent
smoke of a thorn fire, man would have deemed him dead. Such were his
religious austerities.
“Thy father marvelled much at the sight, and rode home in profound
thought. That evening, as he sat in the hall of audience, he could speak
of nothing but the devotee; and his curiosity soon rose to such a pitch,
that he proclaimed about the city a reward of one hundred gold pieces to
any one that could bring to court this anchorite of his own free will.
“Shortly afterwards, Vasantasena, a singing and dancing girl more
celebrated for wit and beauty than for sagesse or discretion, appeared
before thy sire, and offered for the petty inducement of a gold bangle
to bring the anchorite into the palace, carrying a baby on his shoulder.
“The king hearing her speak was astonished, gave her a betel leaf in
token that he held her to her promise, and permitted her to depart,
which she did with a laugh of triumph.
“Vasantasena went directly to the jungle, where she found the pious man
faint with thirst, shriveled with hunger, and half dead with heat
and cold. She cautiously put out the fire. Then, having prepared a
confection, she approached from behind and rubbed upon his lips a little
of the sweetmeat, which he licked up with great relish. Thereupon she
made more and gave it to him. After two days of this generous diet he
gained some strength, and on the third, as he felt a finger upon his
mouth, he opened his eyes and said, ‘Why hast thou come here?’
“The girl, who had her story in readiness, replied: “I am the daughter
of a deity, and have practiced religious observances in the heavenly
regions. I have now come into this forest!” And the devotee, who began
to think how much more pleasant is such society than solitude, asked her
where her hut was, and requested to be led there.
“Then Vasantasena, having unearthed the holy man and compelled him to
purify himself, led him to the abode which she had caused to be built
for herself in the wood. She explained its luxuries by the nature of
her vow, which bound her to indulge in costly apparel, in food with six
flavours, and in every kind of indulgence.[30] In course of time the
hermit learned to follow her example; he gave up inhaling smoke, and he
began to eat and drink as a daily occupation.
“At length Kama began to trouble him. Briefly the saint and saintess
were made man and wife, by the simple form of matrimony called the
Gandharba-vivaha,[31] and about ten months afterwards a son was born to
them. Thus the anchorite came to have a child.
“Remained Vasantasena’s last feat. Some months passed: then she said
to the devotee her husband, ‘Oh saint! let us now, having finished our
devotions, perform a pilgrimage to some sacred place, that all the sins
of our bodies may be washed away, after which we will die and depart
into everlasting happiness.’ Cajoled by these speeches, the hermit
mounted his child upon his shoulder and followed her where she
went--directly into Raja Gandharba-Sena’s palace.
“When the king and the ministers and the officers and the courtiers saw
Vasantasena, and her spouse carrying the baby, they recognized her from
afar. The Raja exclaimed, ‘Lo! this is the very singing girl who went
forth to bring back the devotee. ‘And all replied: ‘O great monarch!
thou speakest truly; this is the very same woman. And be pleased to
observe that whatever things she, having asked leave to undertake, went
forth to do, all these she hath done!’ Then gathering around her they
asked her all manner of questions, as if the whole matter had been the
lightest and the most laughable thing in the world.
“But the anchorite, having heard the speeches of the king and his
courtiers, thought to himself, ‘They have done this for the purpose of
taking away the fruits of my penance.’ Cursing them all with terrible
curses, and taking up his child, he left the hall. Thence he went to the
forest, slaughtered the innocent, and began to practice austerities with
a view to revenge that hour, and having slain his child, he will attempt
thy life. His prayers have been heard. In the first place they deprived
thee of thy father. Secondly, they cast enmity between thee and thy
brother, thus dooming him to an untimely end. Thirdly, they are now
working thy ruin. The anchorite’s design is to offer up a king and a
king’s son to his patroness Durga, and by virtue of such devotional act
he will obtain the sovereignty of the whole world!
“But I have promised, O Vikram, to save thee, if such be the will of
Fortune, from impending destruction. Therefore hearken well unto my
words. Distrust them that dwell amongst the dead, and remember that
it is lawful and right to strike off his head that would slay thee. So
shalt thou rule the universal earth, and leave behind thee an immortal
name!”
Suddenly Prithwi Pala, the giant, ceased speaking, and disappeared.
Vikram and his son then passed through the city gates, feeling their
limbs to be certain that no bones were broken, and thinking over the
scene that had occurred.
* * * * * *
We now are informed how the valiant King Vikram met with the Vampire.
It was the spring season when the Raja returned, and the Holi
festival[32] caused dancing and singing in every house. Ujjayani was
extraordinarily happy and joyful at the return of her ruler, who joined
in her gladness with all his kingly heart. The faces and dresses of
the public were red and yellow with gulal and abir,--perfumed
powders,[33]--which were sprinkled upon one another in token of
merriment. Musicians deafened the citizens’ ears, dancing girls
performed till ready to faint with fatigue, the manufacturers of
comfits made their fortunes, and the Nine Gems of Science celebrated the
auspicious day with the most long-winded odes. The royal hero, decked
in regal attire, and attended by many thousands of state palanquins
glittering with their various ornaments, and escorted by a suite of a
hundred kingly personages, with their martial array of the four hosts,
of cavalry, elephants, chariots, and infantry, and accompanied by Amazon
girls, lovely as the suite of the gods, himself a personification of
majesty, bearing the white parasol of dominion, with a golden staff and
tassels, began once more to reign.
After the first pleasures of return, the king applied himself
unremittingly to good government and to eradicating the abuses which had
crept into the administration during the period of his wanderings.
Mindful of the wise saying, “if the Rajadid not punish the guilty, the
stronger would roast the weaker like a fish on the spit,” he began
the work of reform with an iron hand. He confiscated the property of
a councillor who had the reputation of taking bribes; he branded the
forehead of a sudra or servile man whose breath smelt of ardent spirits,
and a goldsmith having been detected in fraud he ordered him to be cut
in shreds with razors as the law in its mercy directs. In the case of a
notorious evil-speaker he opened the back of his head and had his tongue
drawn through the wound. A few murderers he burned alive on iron beds,
praying the while that Vishnu might have mercy upon their souls. His
spies were ordered, as the shastra called “The Prince” advises, to mix
with robbers and thieves with a view of leading them into situations
where they might most easily be entrapped, and once or twice when the
fellows were too wary, he seized them and their relations and impaled
them all, thereby conclusively proving, without any mistake, that he was
king of earth.
With the sex feminine he was equally severe. A woman convicted of having
poisoned an elderly husband in order to marry a younger man was thrown
to the dogs, which speedily devoured her. He punished simple infidelity
by cutting off the offender’s nose--an admirable practice, which is not
only a severe penalty to the culprit, but also a standing warning to
others, and an efficient preventative to any recurrence of the fault.
Faithlessness combined with bad example or brazen-facedness was further
treated by being led in solemn procession through the bazar mounted on
a diminutive and crop-eared donkey, with the face turned towards the
crupper. After a few such examples the women of Ujjayani became almost
modest; it is the fault of man when they are not tolerably well behaved
in one point at least.
Every day as Vikram sat upon the judgment-seat, trying causes and
punishing offenses, he narrowly observed the speech, the gestures,
and the countenances of the various criminals and litigants and their
witnesses. Ever suspecting women, as I have said, and holding them to
be the root of all evil, he never failed when some sin or crime more
horrible than usual came before him, to ask the accused, “Who is she?”
and the suddenness of the question often elicited the truth by accident.
For there can be nothing thoroughly and entirely bad unless a woman is
at the bottom of it; and, knowing this, Raja Vikram made certain notable
hits under the most improbable circumstances, which had almost given him
a reputation for omniscience. But this is easily explained: a man intent
upon squaring the circle will see squares in circles wherever he looks,
and sometimes he will find them.
In disputed cases of money claims, the king adhered strictly to
established practice, and consulted persons learned in the law. He
seldom decided a cause on his own judgment, and he showed great temper
and patience in bearing with rough language from irritated plaintiffs
and defendants, from the infirm, and from old men beyond eighty.
That humble petitioners might not be baulked in having access to the
“fountain of justice,” he caused an iron box to be suspended by a chain
from the windows of his sleeping apartment. Every morning he ordered
the box to be opened before him, and listened to all the placets at full
length. Even in this simple process he displayed abundant cautiousness.
For, having forgotten what little of the humanities he had mastered in
his youth, he would hand the paper to a secretary whose business it was
to read it out before him; after which operation the man of letters was
sent into an inner room, and the petition was placed in the hands of
a second scribe. Once it so happened by the bungling of the deceitful
kayasths(clerks) that an important difference was found to occur in the
same sheet. So upon strict inquiry one secretary lost his ears and
the other his right hand. After this petitions were rarely if ever
falsified.
The Raja Vikram also lost no time in attacking the cities and towns and
villages of his enemies, but the people rose to a man against him, and
hewing his army to pieces with their weapons, vanquished him. This took
place so often that he despaired of bringing all the earth under the
shadow of his umbrella.
At length on one occasion when near a village he listened to a
conversation of the inhabitants. A woman having baked some cakes was
giving them to her child, who leaving the edges would eat only the
middle. On his asking for another cake, she cried, “This boy’s way is
like Vikram’s in his attempt to conquer the world!” On his inquiring
“Mother, why, what am I doing; and what has Vikram done?”
“Thou, my boy,” she replied, “throwing away the outside of the cake
eatest the middle only. Vikram also in his ambition, without subduing
the frontiers before attacking the towns, invades the heart of the
country and lays it waste. On that account, both the townspeople and
others rising, close upon him from the frontiers to the centre, and
destroy his army. That is his folly.”
Vikram took notice of the woman’s words. He strengthened his army and
resumed his attack on the provinces and cities, beginning with the
frontiers, reducing the outer towns and stationing troops in the
intervals. Thus he proceeded regularly with his invasions. After a
respite, adopting the same system and marshalling huge armies, he
reduced in regular course each kingdom and province till he became
monarch of the whole world.
It so happened that one day as Vikram the Brave sat upon the
judgment-seat, a young merchant, by name Mal Deo, who had lately arrived
at Ujjayani with loaded camels and elephants, and with the reputation
of immense wealth, entered the palace court. Having been received with
extreme condescension, he gave into the king’s hand a fruit which he had
brought in his own, and then spreading a prayer carpet on the floor he
sat down. Presently, after a quarter of an hour, he arose and went away.
When he had gone the king reflected in his mind: “Under this disguise,
perhaps, is the very man of whom the giant spoke.” Suspecting this, he
did not eat the fruit, but calling the master of the household he gave
the present to him, ordering him to keep it in a very careful manner.
The young merchant, however, continued every day to court the honour of
an interview, each time presenting a similar gift.
By chance one morning Raja Vikram went, attended by his ministers, to
see his stables. At this time the young merchant also arrived there, and
in the usual manner placed a fruit in the royal hand. As the king
was thoughtfully tossing it in the air, it accidentally fell from his
fingers to the ground. Then the monkey, who was tethered amongst the
horses to draw calamities from their heads,[34] snatched it up and tore
it to pieces. Whereupon a ruby of such size and water came forth that
the king and his ministers, beholding its brilliancy, gave vent to
expressions of wonder.
Quoth Vikram to the young merchant severely--for his suspicions were now
thoroughly roused--“Why hast thou given to us all this wealth?”
“O great king,” replied Mal Deo, demurely, “it is written in the
scriptures (shastra) ‘Of Ceremony’ that ‘we must not go empty-handed
into the presence of the following persons, namely, Rajas, spiritual
teachers, judges, young maidens, and old women whose daughters we would
marry.’ But why, O Vikram, cost thou speak of one ruby only, since in
each of the fruits which I have laid at thy feet there is a similar
jewel?” Having heard this speech, the king said to the master of his
household, “Bring all the fruits which I have entrusted to thee.” The
treasurer, on receiving the royal command, immediately brought them,
and having split them, there was found in each one a ruby, one and all
equally perfect in size and water. Raja Vikram beholding such treasures
was excessively pleased. Having sent for a lapidary, he ordered him to
examine the rubies, saying, “We cannot take anything with us out of this
world. Virtue is a noble quality to possess here below--so tell justly
what is the value of each of these gems.[35]”
To so moral a speech the lapidary replied, “Maha-Raja[36]! thou hast
said truly; whoever possesses virtue, possesses everything; virtue
indeed accompanies us always, and is of advantage in both worlds. Hear,
O great king! each gem is perfect in colour, quality and beauty. If I
were to say that the value of each was ten million millions of suvarnas
(gold pieces), even then thou couldst not understand its real worth. In
fact, each ruby would buy one of the seven regions into which the earth
is divided.”
The king on hearing this was delighted, although his suspicions were
not satisfied; and, having bestowed a robe of honour upon the lapidary,
dismissed him. Thereon, taking the young merchant’s hand, he led him
into the palace, seated him upon his own carpet in presence of the
court, and began to say, “My entire kingdom is not worth one of these
rubies: tell me how it is that thou who buyest and sellest hast given me
such and so many pearls?”
Mal Deo replied: “O great king, the speaking of matters like the
following in public is not right; these things--prayers, spells, drugs,
good qualities, household affairs, the eating of forbidden food, and the
evil we may have heard of our neighbour--should not be discussed in full
assembly. Privately I will disclose to thee my wishes. This is the
way of the world; when an affair comes to six ears, it does not remain
secret; if a matter is confided to four ears it may escape further
hearing; and if to two ears even Brahma the Creator does not know it;
how then can any rumour of it come to man?”
Having heard this speech, Raja Vikram took Mal Deo aside, and began to
ask him, saying, “O generous man! you have given me so many rubies, and
even for a single day you have not eaten food with me; I am exceedingly
ashamed, tell me what you desire.”
“Raja,” said the young merchant, “I am not Mal Deo, but Shanta-Shil,[37]
a devotee. I am about to perform spells, incantations and magical rites
on the banks of the river Godavari, in a large smashana, a cemetery
where bodies are burned. By this means the Eight Powers of Nature will
all become mine. This thing I ask of you as alms, that you and the young
prince Dharma Dhwaj will pass one night with me, doing my bidding. By
you remaining near me my incantations will be successful.”
The valiant Vikram nearly started from his seat at the word cemetery,
but, like a ruler of men, he restrained his face from expressing his
feelings, and he presently replied, “Good, we will come, tell us on what
day!”
“You are to come to me,” said the devotee, “armed, but without
followers, on the Monday evening the 14th of the dark half of the month
Bhadra.[38]” The Raja said: “Do you go your ways, we will certainly
come.” In this manner, having received a promise from the king, and
having taken leave, the devotee returned to his house: thence he
repaired to the temple, and having made preparations, and taken all the
necessary things, he went back into the cemetery and sat down to his
ceremonies.
The valiant Vikram, on the other hand, retired into an inner apartment,
to consult his own judgment about an adventure with which, for fear of
ridicule, he was unwilling to acquaint even the most trustworthy of his
ministers.
In due time came the evening moon’s day, the 14th of the dark half of
the month Bhadra. As the short twilight fell gloomily on earth, the
warrior king accompanied by his son, with turband-ends tied under their
chins, and with trusty blades tucked under their arms ready for foes,
human, bestial, or devilish, slipped out unseen through the palace
wicket, and took the road leading to the cemetery on the river bank.
Dark and drear was the night. Urged by the furious blast of the
lingering winter-rains, masses of bistre-coloured cloud, like the forms
of unwieldy beasts, rolled heavily over the firmament plain. Whenever
the crescent of the young moon, rising from an horizon sable as the sad
Tamala’s hue,[39] glanced upon the wayfarers, it was no brighter than
the fine tip of an elephant’s tusk protruding from the muddy wave. A
heavy storm was impending; big drops fell in showers from the forest
trees as they groaned under the blast, and beneath the gloomy avenue the
clayey ground gleamed ghastly white. As the Raja and his son advanced,
a faint ray of light, like the line of pure gold streaking the dark
surface of the touchstone, caught their eyes, and directed their
footsteps towards the cemetery.
When Vikram came upon the open space on the riverbank where corpses were
burned, he hesitated for a moment to tread its impure ground. But seeing
his son undismayed, he advanced boldly, trampling upon remnants of
bones, and only covering his mouth with his turband-end.
Presently, at the further extremity of the smashana, or burning ground,
appeared a group. By the lurid flames that flared and flickered round
the half-extinguished funeral pyres, with remnants of their dreadful
loads, Raja Vikram and Dharma Dhwaj could note the several features of
the ill-omened spot. There was an outer circle of hideous bestial forms;
tigers were roaring, and elephants were trumpeting; wolves, whose
foul hairy coats blazed with sparks of bluish phosphoric light, were
devouring the remnants of human bodies; foxes, jackals, and hyenas
were disputing over their prey; whilst bears were chewing the livers of
children. The space within was peopled by a multitude of fiends. There
were the subtle bodies of men that had escaped their grosser frames
prowling about the charnel ground, where their corpses had been reduced
to ashes, or hovering in the air, waiting till the new bodies which
they were to animate were made ready for their reception. The spirits of
those that had been foully slain wandered about with gashed limbs; and
skeletons, whose mouldy bones were held together by bits of blackened
sinew, followed them as the murderer does his victim. Malignant witches
with shriveled skins, horrid eyes and distorted forms, crawled
and crouched over the earth; whilst spectres and goblins now stood
motionless, and tall as lofty palm trees; then, as if in fits, leaped,
danced, and tumbled before their evocator. The air was filled with
shrill and strident cries, with the fitful moaning of the storm-wind,
with the hooting of the owl, with the jackal’s long wild cry, and
with the hoarse gurgling of the swollen river, from whose banks the
earth-slip thundered in its fall.
In the midst of all, close to the fire which lit up his evil
countenance, sat Shanta-Shil, the jogi, with the banner that denoted
his calling and his magic staff planted in the ground behind him. He
was clad in the ochre-coloured loin-wrap of his class; from his head
streamed long tangled locks of hair like horsehair; his black body was
striped with lines of chalk, and a girdle of thighbones encircled his
waist. His face was smeared with ashes from a funeral pyre, and his
eyes, fixed as those of a statue, gleamed from this mask with an
infernal light of hate. His cheeks were shaven, and he had not forgotten
to draw the horizontal sectarian mark. But this was of blood; and
Vikram, as he drew near saw that he was playing upon a human skull with
two shank bones, making music for the horrid revelry.
Now Raja Vikram, as has been shown by his encounter with Indra’s
watchman, was a bold prince, and he was cautious as he was brave. The
sight of a human being in the midst of these terrors raised his mettle;
he determined to prove himself a hero, and feeling that the critical
moment was now come, he hoped to rid himself and his house forever of
the family curse that hovered over them.
For a moment he thought of the giant’s words, “And remember that it is
lawful and right to strike off his head that would slay thee.” A stroke
with his good sword might at once and effectually put an end to the
danger. But then he remembered that he had passed his royal word to do
the devotee’s bidding that night. Besides, he felt assured that the hour
for action had not yet sounded.