for the princess and her women, that Manaswi, a very handsome youth, a
Brahman’s son, had wandered without malicious intention into the garden.
Fatigued with walking, and finding a cool shady place beneath a tree, he
had lain down there, and had gone to sleep, and had not been observed
by any of the king’s people. He was still sleeping when the princess and
her companions were playing together.
Presently Chandraprabha, weary of sport, left her friends, and singing
a lively air, tripped up the stairs leading to the summer-house.
Aroused by the sound of her advancing footsteps, Manaswi sat up; and
the princess, seeing a strange man, started. But their eyes had met, and
both were subdued by love--love vulgarly called “love at first sight.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed the warrior king, testily, “I can never believe in
that freak of Kama Deva.” He spoke feelingly, for the thing had happened
to himself more than once, and on no occasion had it turned out well.
“But there is such a thing, O Raja, as love at first sight,” objected
the Baital, speaking dogmatically.
“Then perhaps thou canst account for it, dead one,” growled the monarch
surlily.
“I have no reason to do so, O Vikram,” retorted the Vampire, “when you
men have already done it. Listen, then, to the words of the wise. In the
olden time, one of your great philosophers invented a fluid pervading
all matter, strongly self-repulsive like the steam of a brass pot, and
widely spreading like the breath of scandal. The repulsiveness, however,
according to that wise man, is greatly modified by its second property,
namely, an energetic attraction or adhesion to all material bodies. Thus
every substance contains a part, more or less, of this fluid, pervading
it throughout, and strongly bound to each component atom. He called
it ‘Ambericity,’ for the best of reasons, as it has no connection with
amber, and he described it as an imponderable, which, meaning that it
could not be weighed, gives a very accurate and satisfactory idea of its
nature.
“Now, said that philosopher, whenever two bodies containing that
unweighable substance in unequal proportions happen to meet, a current
of imponderable passes from one to the other, producing a kind
of attraction, and tending to adhere. The operation takes place
instantaneously when the force is strong and much condensed. Thus the
vulgar who call things after their effects and not from their causes,
term the action of this imponderable love at first sight; the wise
define it to be a phenomenon of ambericity. As regards my own opinion
about the matter, I have long ago told it to you, O Vikram! Silliness--”
“Either hold your tongue, fellow, or go on with your story,” cried the
Raja, wearied out by so many words that had no manner of sense.
Well! the effect of the first glance was that Manaswi, the Brahman’s
son, fell back in a swoon and remained senseless upon the ground where
he had been sitting; and the Raja’s daughter began to tremble upon
her feet, and presently dropped unconscious upon the floor of the
summer-house. Shortly after this she was found by her companions and
attendants, who, quickly taking her up in their arms and supporting her
into a litter, conveyed her home.
Manaswi, the Brahman’s son, was so completely overcome, that he lay
there dead to everything. Just then the learned, deeply read, and
purblind Pandits Muldev and Shashi by name, strayed into the garden, and
stumbled upon the body.
“Friend,” said Muldev, “how came this youth thus to fall senseless on
the ground?”
“Man,” replied Shashi, “doubtless some damsel has shot forth the arrows
of her glances from the bow of her eyebrows, and thence he has become
insensible!”
“We must lift him up then,” said Muldev the benevolent.
“What need is there to raise him?” asked Shashi the misanthrope by way
of reply.
Muldev, however, would not listen to these words. He ran to the pond
hard by, soaked the end of his waistcloth in water, sprinkled it over
the young Brahman, raised him from the ground, and placed him sitting
against the wall. And perceiving, when he came to himself, that his
sickness was rather of the soul than of the body, the old men asked him
how he came to be in that plight.
“We should tell our griefs,” answered Manaswi, “only to those who will
relieve us! What is the use of communicating them to those who, when
they have heard, cannot help us? What is to be gained by the empty pity
or by the useless condolence of men in general?”
The Pandits, however, by friendly looks and words, presently persuaded
him to break silence, when he said, “A certain princess entered this
summer-house, and from the sight of her I have fallen into this state.
If I can obtain her, I shall live; if not, I must die.”
“Come with me, young man!” said Muldev the benevolent: “I will use
every endeavour to obtain her, and if I do not succeed I will make thee
wealthy and independent of the world.”
Manaswi rejoined: “The Deity in his beneficence has created many jewels
in this world, but the pearl, woman, is chiefest of all; and for
her sake only does man desire wealth. What are riches to one who has
abandoned his wife? What are they who do not possess beautiful wives?
they are but beings inferior to the beasts! wealth is the fruit of
virtue; ease, of wealth; a wife, of ease. And where no wife is, how can
there be happiness?” And the enamoured youth rambled on in this way,
curious to us, Raja Vikram, but perhaps natural enough in a Brahman’s
son suffering under that endemic malady--determination to marry.
“Whatever thou mayest desire,” said Muldev, “shall by the blessing of
heaven be given to thee.”
Manaswi implored him, saying most pathetically, “O Pandit, bestow then
that damsel upon me!”
Muldev promised to do so, and having comforted the youth, led him to his
own house. Then he welcomed him politely, seated him upon the carpet,
and left him for a few minutes, promising him to return. When he
reappeared, he held in his hand two little balls or pills, and showing
them to Manaswi, he explained their virtues as follows:
“There is in our house an hereditary secret, by means of which I try to
promote the weal of humanity. But in all cases my success depends mainly
upon the purity and the heartwholeness of those that seek my aid. If
thou place this in thy mouth, thou shalt be changed into a damsel twelve
years old, and when thou withdrawest it again, thou shalt again recover
thine original form. Beware, however, that thou use the power for none
but a good purpose; otherwise some great calamity will befall thee.
Therefore, take counsel of thyself before undertaking this trial!”
What lover, O warrior king Vikram, would have hesitated, under such
circumstances, to assure the Pandit that he was the most innocent,
earnest, and well-intentioned being in the Three Worlds?
The Brahman’s son, at least, lost no time in so doing. Hence the
simple-minded philosopher put one of the pills into the young man’s
mouth, warning him on no account to swallow it, and took the other into
his own mouth. Upon which Manaswi became a sprightly young maid, and
Muldev was changed to a reverend and decrepid senior, not fewer than
eighty years old.
Thus transformed, the twain walked up to the palace of the Raja
Subichar, and stood for a while to admire the gate. Then passing
through seven courts, beautiful as the Paradise of Indra, they entered,
unannounced, as became the priestly dignity, a hall where, surrounded by
his courtiers, sat the ruler. The latter, seeing the Holy Brahman under
his roof, rose up, made the customary humble salutation, and taking
their right hands, led what appeared to be the father and daughter to
appropriate seats. Upon which Muldev, having recited a verse, bestowed
upon the Raja a blessing whose beauty has been diffused over all
creation.
“May that Deity[146] who as a mannikin deceived the great king Bali; who
as a hero, with a monkey-host, bridged the Salt Sea; who as a shepherd
lifted up the mountain Gobarddhan in the palm of his hand, and by it
saved the cowherds and cowherdesses from the thunders of heaven--may
that Deity be thy protector!”
Having heard and marvelled at this display of eloquence, the Raja
inquired, “Whence hath your holiness come?”
“My country,” replied Muldev, “is on the northern side of the great
mother Ganges, and there too my dwelling is. I travelled to a distant
land, and having found in this maiden a worthy wife for my son, I
straightway returned homewards. Meanwhile a famine had laid waste our
village, and my wife and my son have fled I know not where. Encumbered
with this damsel, how can I wander about seeking them? Hearing the name
of a pious and generous ruler, I said to myself, ‘I will leave her under
his charge until my return.’ Be pleased to take great care of her.”
For a minute the Raja sat thoughtful and silent. He was highly pleased
with the Brahman’s perfect compliment. But he could not hide from
himself that he was placed between two difficulties: one, the charge
of a beautiful young girl, with pouting lips, soft speech, and roguish
eyes; the other, a priestly curse upon himself and his kingdom. He
thought, however, refusal the more dangerous; so he raised his face
and exclaimed, “O produce of Brahma’s head,[147] I will do what your
highness has desired of me.”
Upon which the Brahman, after delivering a benediction of adieu almost
as beautiful and spirit-stirring as that with which he had presented
himself, took the betel[148] and went his ways.
Then the Raja sent for his daughter Chandraprabha and said to her, “This
is the affianced bride of a young Brahman, and she has been trusted to
my protection for a time by her father-in-law. Take her therefore into
the inner rooms, treat her with the utmost regard, and never allow her
to be separated from thee, day or night, asleep or awake, eating or
drinking, at home or abroad.”
Chandraprabha took the hand of Sita--as Manaswi had pleased to call
himself--and led the way to her own apartment. Once the seat of joy and
pleasure, the rooms now wore a desolate and melancholy look. The windows
were darkened, the attendants moved noiselessly over the carpets, as
if their footsteps would cause headache, and there was a faint scent of
some drug much used in cases of deliquium. The apartments were handsome,
but the only ornament in the room where they sat was a large bunch
of withered flowers in an arched recess, and these, though possibly
interesting to some one, were not likely to find favour as a decoration
in the eyes of everybody.
The Raja’s daughter paid the greatest attention and talked with unusual
vivacity to the Brahman’s daughter-in-law, either because she had
roguish eyes, or from some presentiment of what was to occur, whichever
you please, Raja Vikram, and it is no matter which. Still Sita could not
help perceiving that there was a shade of sorrow upon the forehead of
her fair new friend, and so when they retired to rest she asked the
cause of it.
Then Chandraprabha related to her the sad tale: “One day in the spring
season, as I was strolling in the garden along with my companions,
I beheld a very handsome Brahman, and our eyes having met, he became
unconscious, and I also was insensible. My companions seeing my
condition, brought me home, and therefore I know neither his name nor
his abode. His beautiful form is impressed upon my memory. I have now no
desire to eat or to drink, and from this distress my colour has become
pale and my body is thus emaciated.” And the beautiful princess sighed
a sigh that was musical and melancholy, and concluded by predicting for
herself--as persons similarly placed often do--a sudden and untimely end
about the beginning of the next month.
“What wilt thou give me,” asked the Brahman’s daughter-in-law demurely,
“if I show thee thy beloved at this very moment?”
The Raja’s daughter answered, “I will ever be the lowest of thy slaves,
standing before thee with joined hands.”
Upon which Sita removed the pill from her mouth, and instantly having
become Manaswi, put it carefully away in a little bag hung round his
neck. At this sight Chandraprabha felt abashed, and hung down her head
in beautiful confusion. To describe--
“I will have no descriptions, Vampire!” cried the great Vikram, jerking
the bag up and down as if he were sweating gold in it. “The fewer of thy
descriptions the better for us all.”
Briefly (resumed the demon), Manaswi reflected upon the eight forms of
marriage--viz., Bramhalagan, when a girl is given to a Brahman, or man
of superior caste, without reward; Daiva, when she is presented as
a gift or fee to the officiating priest at the close of a sacrifice;
Arsha, when two cows are received by the girl’s father in exchange for
the bride[149]; Prajapatya, when the girl is given at the request of a
Brahman, and the father says to his daughter and her to betrothed, “Go,
fulfil the duties of religion”; Asura, when money is received by the
father in exchange for the bride; Rakshasha, when she is captured in
war, or when her bridegroom overcomes his rival; Paisacha, when the
girl is taken away from her father’s house by craft; and eighthly,
Gandharva-lagan, or the marriage that takes place by mutual
consent.[150]
Manaswi preferred the latter, especially as by her rank and age the
princess was entitled to call upon her father for the Lakshmi Swayambara
wedding, in which she would have chosen her own husband. And thus it is
that Rama, Arjuna, Krishna, Nala, and others, were proposed to by the
princesses whom they married.
For five months after these nuptials, Manaswi never stirred out of
the palace, but remained there by day a woman, and a man by night. The
consequence was that he--I call him “he,” for whether Manaswi or Sita,
his mind ever remained masculine--presently found himself in a fair way
to become a father.
Now, one would imagine that a change of sex every twenty-four hours
would be variety enough to satisfy even a man. Manaswi, however, was not
contented. He began to pine for more liberty, and to find fault with his
wife for not taking him out into the world. And you might have supposed
that a young person who, from love at first sight, had fallen senseless
upon the steps of a summer-house, and who had devoted herself to a
sudden and untimely end because she was separated from her lover, would
have repressed her yawns and little irritable words even for a year
after having converted him into a husband. But no! Chandraprabha soon
felt as tired of seeing Manaswi and nothing but Manaswi, as Manaswi was
weary of seeing Chandraprabha and nothing but Chandraprabha. Often she
had been on the point of proposing visits and out-of-door excursions.
But when at last the idea was first suggested by her husband, she at
once became an injured woman. She hinted how foolish it was for married
people to imprison themselves and to quarrel all day. When Manaswi
remonstrated, saying that he wanted nothing better than to appear before
the world with her as his wife, but that he really did not know what
her father might do to him, she threw out a cutting sarcasm upon his
effeminate appearance during the hours of light. She then told him of
an unfortunate young woman in an old nursery tale who had unconsciously
married a fiend that became a fine handsome man at night when no
eye could see him, and utter ugliness by day when good looks show to
advantage. And lastly, when inveighing against the changeableness,
fickleness, and infidelity of mankind, she quoted the words of the
poet--
Out upon change! it tires the heart
And weighs the noble spirit down;
A vain, vain world indeed thou art
That can such vile condition own
The veil hath fallen from my eyes,
I cannot love where I despise....
You can easily, O King Vikram, continue for yourself and conclude this
lecture, which I leave unfinished on account of its length.
Chandraprabha and Sita, who called each other the Zodiacal Twins and
Laughter Light,[151] and All-consenters, easily persuaded the old
Raja that their health would be further improved by air, exercise, and
distractions. Subichar, being delighted with the change that had taken
place in a daughter whom he loved, and whom he had feared to lose, told
them to do as they pleased. They began a new life, in which short trips
and visits, baths and dances, music parties, drives in bullock chariots,
and water excursions succeeded one another.
It so happened that one day the Raja went with his whole family to a
wedding feast in the house of his grand treasurer, where the latter’s
son saw Manaswi in the beautiful shape of Sita. This was a third case of
love at first sight, for the young man immediately said to a particular
friend, “If I obtain that girl, I shall live; if not, I shall abandon
life.”
In the meantime the king, having enjoyed the feast, came back to his
palace with his whole family. The condition of the treasurer’s son,
however, became very distressing; and through separation from his
beloved, he gave up eating and drinking. The particular friend had kept
the secret for some days, though burning to tell it. At length he found
an excuse for himself in the sad state of his friend, and he immediately
went and divulged all that he knew to the treasurer. After this he felt
relieved.
The minister repaired to the court, and laid his case before the king,
saying, “Great Raja! through the love of that Brahman’s daughter-in-law,
my son’s state is very bad; he has given up eating and drinking; in fact
he is consumed by the fire of separation. If now your majesty could show
compassion, and bestow the girl upon him, his life would be saved. If
not----”
“Fool!” cried the Raja, who, hearing these words, had waxed very wroth;
“it is not right for kings to do injustice. Listen! when a person puts
any one in charge of a protector, how can the latter give away his trust
without consulting the person that trusted him? And yet this is what you
wish me to do.”
The treasurer knew that the Raja could not govern his realm without
him, and he was well acquainted with his master’s character. He said
to himself, “This will not last long;” but he remained dumb, simulating
hopelessness, and hanging down his head, whilst Subichar alternately
scolded and coaxed, abused and flattered him, in order to open his lips.
Then, with tears in his eyes, he muttered a request to take leave; and
as he passed through the palace gates, he said aloud, with a resolute
air, “It will cost me but ten days of fasting!”
The treasurer, having returned home, collected all his attendants, and
went straightway to his son’s room. Seeing the youth still stretched
upon his sleeping-mat, and very yellow for the want of food, he took his
hand, and said in a whisper, meant to be audible, “Alas! poor son, I can
do nothing but perish with thee.”
The servants, hearing this threat, slipped one by one out of the room,
and each went to tell his friend that the grand treasurer had resolved
to live no longer. After which, they went back to the house to see if
their master intended to keep his word, and curious to know, if he did
intend to die, how, where, and when it was to be. And they were not
disappointed: I do not mean that the wished their lord to die, as he was
a good master to them but still there was an excitement in the thing----
(Raja Vikram could not refrain from showing his anger at the insult thus
cast by the Baital upon human nature; the wretch, however, pretending
not to notice it, went on without interrupting himself)
----which somehow or other pleased them.
When the treasurer had spent three days without touching bread or water,
all the cabinet council met and determined to retire from business
unless the Raja yielded to their solicitations. The treasurer was their
working man. “Besides which,” said the cabinet council, “if a certain
person gets into the habit of refusing us, what is to be the end of it,
and what is the use of being cabinet councillors any longer?”
Early on the next morning, the ministers went in a body before the Raja,
and humbly represented that “the treasurer’s son is at the point of
death, the effect of a full heart and an empty stomach. Should he die,
the father, who has not eaten or drunk during the last three days” (the
Raja trembled to hear the intelligence, though he knew it), “his father,
we say, cannot be saved. If the father dies the affairs of the kingdom
come to ruin,--is he not the grand treasurer? It is already said
that half the accounts have been gnawed by white ants, and that some
pernicious substance in the ink has eaten jagged holes through the
paper, so that the other half of the accounts is illegible. It were
best, sire, that you agree to what we represent.”
The white ants and corrosive ink were too strong for the Raja’s
determination. Still, wishing to save appearances, he replied, with much
firmness, that he knew the value of the treasurer and his son, that he
would do much to save them, but that he had passed his royal word, and
had undertaken a trust. That he would rather die a dozen deaths than
break his promise, or not discharge his duty faithfully. That man’s
condition in this world is to depart from it, none remaining in it;
that one comes and that one goes, none knowing when or where; but that
eternity is eternity for happiness or misery. And much of the same
nature, not very novel, and not perhaps quite to the purpose, but
edifying to those who knew what lay behind the speaker’s words.
The ministers did not know their lord’s character so well as the grand
treasurer, and they were more impressed by his firm demeanour and the
number of his words than he wished them to be. After allowing his speech
to settle in their minds, he did away with a great part of its effect by
declaring that such were the sentiments and the principles--when a man
talks of his principles, O Vikram! ask thyself the reason why--instilled
into his youthful mind by the most honourable of fathers and the most
virtuous of mothers. At the same time that he was by no means obstinate
or proof against conviction. In token whereof he graciously permitted
the councillors to convince him that it was his royal duty to break his
word and betray his trust, and to give away another man’s wife.
Pray do not lose your temper, O warrior king! Subichar, although a Raja,
was a weak man; and you know, or you ought to know, that the wicked may
be wise in their generation, but the weak never can.
Well, the ministers hearing their lord’s last words, took courage, and
proceeded to work upon his mind by the figure of speech popularly called
“rigmarole.” They said: “Great king! that old Brahman has been gone
many days, and has not returned; he is probably dead and burnt. It
is therefore right that by giving to the grand treasurer’s son his
daughter-in-law, who is only affianced, not fairly married, you should
establish your government firmly. And even if he should return, bestow
villages and wealth upon him; and if he be not then content, provide
another and a more beautiful wife for his son, and dismiss him. A person
should be sacrificed for the sake of a family, a family for a city, a
city for a country, and a country for a king!”
Subichar having heard them, dismissed them with the remark that as so
much was to be said on both sides, he must employ the night in thinking
over the matter, and that he would on the next day favour them with his
decision. The cabinet councillors knew by this that he meant that he
would go and consult his wives. They retired contented, convinced that
every voice would be in favour of a wedding, and that the young girl,
with so good an offer, would not sacrifice the present to the future.
That evening the treasurer and his son supped together.
The first words uttered by Raja Subichar, when he entered his daughter’s
apartment, were an order addressed to Sita: “Go thou at once to the
house of my treasurer’s son.”
Now, as Chandraprabha and Manaswi were generally scolding each other,
Chandraprabha and Sita were hardly on speaking terms. When they heard
the Raja’s order for their separation they were--
--“Delighted?” cried Dharma Dhwaj, who for some reason took the greatest
interest in the narrative.
“Overwhelmed with grief, thou most guileless Yuva Raja (young prince)!”
ejaculated the Vampire.
Raja Vikram reproved his son for talking about thing of which he knew
nothing, and the Baital resumed.