them to gymnastics. Many of the wrestlers and boxers will be so strong
that they will often beat all the extremities of the antagonist into his
body, or break his back, or rend him into two pieces. He will promise
heaven to those who shall die in the front of battle and he will have
them taught certain dreadful expressions of abuse to be interchanged
with the enemy when commencing the contest. Honours will be conferred
on those who never turn their backs in an engagement, who manifest a
contempt of death, who despise fatigue, as well as the most formidable
enemies, who shall be found invincible in every combat, and who display
a courage which increases before danger, like the glory of the sun
advancing to his meridian splendour.
But King Mahabul will be attacked by the white Pariahs, who, as usual,
will employ against him gold, fire, and steel. With gold they will win
over his best men, and persuade them openly to desert when the army is
drawn out for battle. They will use the terrible “fire weapon,[184]”
large and small tubes, which discharge flame and smoke, and bullets as
big as those hurled by the bow of Bharata.[185] And instead of using
swords and shields, they will fix daggers to the end of their tubes, and
thrust with them like lances.
Mahabul, distinguished by valour and military skill, will march out of
his city to meet the white foe. In front will be the ensigns, bells,
cows’-tails, and flags, the latter painted with the bird Garura,[186]
the bull of Shiva, the Bauhinia tree, the monkey-god Hanuman, the lion
and the tiger, the fish, an alms-dish, and seven palm-trees. Then will
come the footmen armed with fire-tubes, swords and shields, spears and
daggers, clubs, and bludgeons. They will be followed by fighting men
on horses and oxen, on camels and elephants. The musicians, the
water-carriers, and lastly the stores on carriages, will bring up the
rear.
The white outcastes will come forward in a long thin red thread, and
vomiting fire like the Jwalamukhi.[187] King Mahabul will receive them
with his troops formed in a circle; another division will be in the
shape of a halfmoon; a third like a cloud, whilst others shall represent
a lion, a tiger, a carriage, a lily, a giant, and a bull. But as the
elephants will all turn round when they feel the fire, and trample upon
their own men, and as the cavalry defiling in front of the host will
openly gallop away; Mahabul, being thus without resource, will enter his
palanquin, and accompanied by his queen and their only daughter, will
escape at night-time into the forest.
The unfortunate three will be deserted by their small party, and live
for a time on jungle food, fruits and roots; they will even be compelled
to eat game. After some days they will come in sight of a village, which
Mahabul will enter to obtain victuals. There the wild Bhils, famous for
long years, will come up, and surrounding the party, will bid the Raja
throw down his arms. Thereupon Mahabul, skilful in aiming, twanging and
wielding the bow on all sides, so as to keep off the bolts of the
enemy, will discharge his bolts so rapidly, that one will drive forward
another, and none of the barbarians will be able to approach. But he
will have failed to bring his quiver containing an inexhaustible store
of arms, some of which, pointed with diamonds, shall have the faculty
of returning again to their case after they have done their duty. The
conflict will continue three hours, and many of the Bhils will be slain:
at length a shaft will cleave the king’s skull, he will fall dead, and
one of the wild men will come up and cut off his head.
When the queen and the princess shall have seen that Mahabul fell dead,
they will return to the forest weeping and beating their bosoms. They
will thus escape the Bhils, and after journeying on for four miles, at
length they will sit down wearied, and revolve many thoughts in their
minds.
They are very lovely (continued the Vampire), as I see them with the eye
of clear-seeing. What beautiful hair! it hangs down like the tail of
the cow of Tartary, or like the thatch of a house; it is shining as
oil, dark as the clouds, black as blackness itself. What charming faces!
likest to water-lilies, with eyes as the stones in unripe mangos, noses
resembling the beaks of parrots, teeth like pearls set in corals, ears
like those of the redthroated vulture, and mouths like the water of
life. What excellent forms! breasts like boxes containing essences, the
unopened fruit of plantains or a couple of crabs; loins the width of a
span, like the middle of the viol; legs like the trunk of an elephant,
and feet like the yellow lotus.
And a fearful place is that jungle, a dense dark mass of thorny shrubs,
and ropy creepers, and tall canes, and tangled brake, and gigantic
gnarled trees, which groan wildly in the night wind’s embrace. But a
wilder horror urges the unhappy women on; they fear the polluting touch
of the Bhils; once more they rise and plunge deeper into its gloomy
depths.
The day dawns. The white Pariahs have done their usual work, They have
cut off the hands of some, the feet and heads of others, whilst many
they have crushed into shapeless masses, or scattered in pieces upon the
ground. The field is strewed with corpses, the river runs red, so that
the dogs and jackals swim in blood; the birds of prey sitting on the
branches, drink man’s life from the stream, and enjoy the sickening
smell of burnt flesh.
Such will be the scenes acted in the fair land of Bharat.
Perchance two white outcastes, father and son, who with a party of men
are scouring the forest and slaying everything, fall upon the path which
the women have taken shortly before. Their attention is attracted by
footprints leading towards a place full of tigers, leopards, bears,
wolves, and wild dogs. And they are utterly confounded when, after
inspection, they discover the sex of the wanderers.
“How is it,” shall say the father, “that the footprints of mortals are
seen in this part of the forest?”
The son shall reply, “Sir, these are the marks of women’s feet: a man’s
foot would not be so small.”
“It is passing strange,” shall rejoin the elder white Pariah, “but thou
speakest truth. Certainly such a soft and delicate foot cannot belong to
anyone but a woman.”
“They have only just left the track,” shall continue the son, “and look!
this is the step of a married woman. See how she treads on the inside of
her sole, because of the bending of her ankles.” And the younger white
outcaste shall point to the queen’s footprints.
“Come, let us search the forest for them,” shall cry the father, “what
an opportunity of finding wives fortune has thrown in our hands. But no!
thou art in error,” he shall continue, after examining the track pointed
out by his son, “in supposing this to be the sign of a matron. Look at
the other, it is much longer; the toes have scarcely touched the ground,
whereas the marks of the heels are deep. Of a truth this must be
the married woman.” And the elder white outcaste shall point to the
footprints of the princess.
“Then,” shall reply the son, who admires the shorter foot, “let us first
seek them, and when we find them, give to me her who has the short feet,
and take the other to wife thyself.”
Having made this agreement they shall proceed on their way, and
presently they shall find the women lying on the earth, half dead
with fatigue and fear. Their legs and feet are scratched and torn by
brambles, their ornaments have fallen off, and their garments are
in strips. The two white outcastes find little difficulty, the first
surprise over, in persuading the unhappy women to follow them home, and
with great delight, conformably to their arrangement, each takes up his
prize on his horse and rides back to the tents. The son takes the queen,
and the father the princess.
In due time two marriages come to pass; the father, according to
agreement, espouses the long foot, and the son takes to wife the short
foot. And after the usual interval, the elder white outcaste, who had
married the daughter, rejoices at the birth of a boy, and the younger
white outcaste, who had married the mother, is gladdened by the sight of
a girl.
Now then, by my feet and your head, O warrior king Vikram, answer me one
question. What relationship will there be between the children of the
two white Pariahs?
Vikram’s brow waxed black as a charcoal-burner’s, when he again heard
the most irreverent oath ever proposed to mortal king. The question
presently attracted his attention, and he turned over the Baital’s
words in his head, confusing the ties of filiality, brotherhood, and
relationship, and connection in general.
“Hem!” said the warrior king, at last perplexed, and remembering, in his
perplexity, that he had better hold his tongue--“ahem!”
“I think your majesty spoke?” asked the Vampire, in an inquisitive and
insinuating tone of voice.
“Hem!” ejaculated the monarch.
The Baital held his peace for a few minutes, coughing once or twice
impatiently. He suspected that the extraordinary nature of this last
tale, combined with the use of the future tense, had given rise to a
taciturnity so unexpected in the warrior king. He therefore asked if
Vikram the Brave would not like to hear another little anecdote.
This time the king did not even say “hem!” Having walked at an
unusually rapid pace, he distinguished at a distance the fire kindled by
the devotee, and he hurried towards it with an effort which left him no
breath wherewith to speak, even had he been so inclined.
“Since your majesty is so completely dumbfoundered by it, perhaps this
acute young prince may be able to answer my question?” insinuated the
Baital, after a few minutes of anxious suspense.
But Dharma Dhwaj answered not a syllable.
CONCLUSION.
At Raja Vikram’s silence the Baital was greatly surprised, and he
praised the royal courage and resolution to the skies. Still he did not
give up the contest at once.
“Allow me, great king,” pursued the Demon, in a dry tone of voice, “to
wish you joy. After so many failures you have at length succeeded in
repressing your loquacity. I will not stop to enquire whether it was
humility and self-restraint which prevented your answering my last
question, or whether Rajait was mere ignorance and inability. Of course
I suspect the latter, but to say the truth your condescension in at last
taking a Vampire’s advice, flatters me so much, that I will not look too
narrowly into cause or motive.”
Raja Vikram winced, but maintained a stubborn silence, squeezing his
lips lest they should open involuntarily.
“Now, however, your majesty has mortified, we will suppose, a somewhat
exacting vanity, I also will in my turn forego the pleasure which I had
anticipated in seeing you a corpse and in entering your royal body for
a short time, just to know how queer it must feel to be a king. And what
is more, I will now perform my original promise, and you shall derive
from me a benefit which none but myself can bestow. First, however,
allow me to ask you, will you let me have a little more air?”
Dharma Dhwaj pulled his father’s sleeve, but this time Raja Vikram
required no reminder: wild horses or the executioner’s saw, beginning
at the shoulder, would not have drawn a word from him. Observing his
obstinate silence, the Baital, with an ominous smile, continued:
“Now give ear, O warrior king, to what I am about to tell thee, and bear
in mind the giant’s saying, ‘A man is justified in killing one who has
a design to kill him.’ The young merchant Mal Deo, who placed such
magnificent presents at your royal feet, and Shanta-Shil the devotee
saint, who works his spells, incantations, and magical rites in a
cemetery on the banks of the Godaveri river, are, as thou knowest, one
person--the terrible Jogi, whose wrath your father aroused in his folly,
and whose revenge your blood alone can satisfy. With regard to myself,
the oilman’s son, the same Jogi, fearing lest I might interfere with his
projects of universal dominion, slew me by the power of his penance,
and has kept me suspended, a trap for you, head downwards from the
sires-tree.
“That Jogi it was, you now know, who sent you to fetch me back to him on
your back. And when you cast me at his feet he will return thanks to you
and praise your valour, perseverance and resolution to the skies. I warn
you to beware. He will lead you to the shrine of Durga, and when he
has finished his adoration he will say to you, ‘O great king, salute my
deity with the eight-limbed reverence.’”
Here the Vampire whispered for a time and in a low tone, lest some
listening goblin might carry his words if spoken out loud to the ears of
the devotee Shanta-Shil.
At the end of the monologue a rustling sound was heard. It proceeded
from the Baital, who was disengaging himself from the dead body in the
bundle, and the burden became sensibly lighter upon the monarch’s back.
The departing Baital, however, did not forget to bid farewell to the
warrior king and to his son. He complimented the former for the last
time, in his own way, upon the royal humility and the prodigious
self-mortification which he had displayed--qualities, he remarked, which
never failed to ensure the proprietor’s success in all the worlds.
Raja Vikram stepped out joyfully, and soon reached the burning ground.
There he found the Jogi, dressed in his usual habit, a deerskin thrown
over his back, and twisted reeds instead of a garment hanging round
his loins. The hair had fallen from his limbs and his skin was bleached
ghastly white by exposure to the elements. A fire seemed to proceed from
his mouth, and the matted locks dropping from his head to the ground
were changed by the rays of the sun to the colour of gold or saffron. He
had the beard of a goat and the ornaments of a king; his shoulders were
high and his arms long, reaching to his knees: his nails grew to such a
length as to curl round the ends of his fingers, and his feet resembled
those of a tiger. He was drumming upon a skull, and incessantly
exclaiming, “Ho, Kali! ho, Durga! ho, Devi!”
As before, strange beings were holding their carnival in the Jogi’s
presence. Monstrous Asuras, giant goblins, stood grimly gazing upon the
scene with fixed eyes and motionless features. Rakshasas and messengers
of Yama, fierce and hideous, assumed at pleasure the shapes of foul and
ferocious beasts. Nagas and Bhutas, partly human and partly bestial,
disported themselves in throngs about the upper air, and were dimly
seen in the faint light of the dawn. Mighty Daityas, Bramba-daityas, and
Pretas, the size of a man’s thumb, or dried up like leaves, and Pisachas
of terrible power guarded the place. There were enormous goats, vivified
by the spirits of those who had slain Brahmans; things with the bodies
of men and the faces of horses, camels and monkeys; hideous worms
containing the souls of those priests who had drunk spirituous liquors;
men with one leg and one ear, and mischievous blood-sucking demons, who
in life had stolen church property. There were vultures, wretches that
had violated the beds of their spiritual fathers, restless ghosts that
had loved low-caste women, shades for whom funeral rites had not been
performed, and who could not cross the dread Vaitarani stream,[188] and
vital souls fresh from the horrors of Tamisra, or utter darkness, and
the Usipatra Vana, or the sword-leaved forest. Pale spirits, Alayas,
Gumas, Baitals, and Yakshas,[189] beings of a base and vulgar order,
glided over the ground, amongst corpses and skeletons animated by female
fiends, Dakinis, Yoginis, Hakinis, and Shankinis, which were dancing
in frightful revelry. The air was filled with supernatural sights and
sounds, cries of owls and jackals, cats and crows, dogs, asses, and
vultures, high above which rose the clashing of the bones with which the
Jogi sat drumming upon the skull before him, and tending a huge cauldron
of oil whose smoke was of blue fire. But as he raised his long lank
arm, silver-white with ashes, the demons fled, and a momentary silence
succeeded to their uproar. The tigers ceased to roar and the elephants
to scream; the bears raised their snouts from their foul banquets, and
the wolves dropped from their jaws the remnants of human flesh. And when
they disappeared, the hooting of the owl, and ghastly “ha! ha!” of the
curlew, and the howling of the jackal died away in the far distance,
leaving a silence still more oppressive.
As Raja Vikram entered the burning-ground, the hollow sound of solitude
alone met his ear. Sadly wailed the wet autumnal blast. The tall gaunt
trees groaned aloud, and bowed and trembled like slaves bending before
their masters. Huge purple clouds and patches and lines of glaring
white mist coursed furiously across the black expanse of firmament,
discharging threads and chains and lozenges and balls of white and blue,
purple and pink lightning, followed by the deafening crash and roll of
thunder, the dreadful roaring of the mighty wind, and the torrents of
plashing rain. At times was heard in the distance the dull gurgling of
the swollen river, interrupted by explosions, as slips of earth-bank
fell headlong into the stream. But once more the Jogi raised his arm and
all was still: nature lay breathless, as if awaiting the effect of his
tremendous spells.
The warrior king drew near the terrible man, unstrung his bundle from
his back, untwisted the portion which he held, threw open the cloth,
and exposed to Shanta-Shil’s glittering eyes the corpse, which had now
recovered its proper form--that of a young child. Seeing it, the devotee
was highly pleased, and thanked Vikram the Brave, extolling his courage
and daring above any monarch that had yet lived. After which he repeated
certain charms facing towards the south, awakened the dead body, and
placed it in a sitting position. He then in its presence sacrificed
to his goddess, the White One,[190] all that he had ready by his
side--betel leaf and flowers, sandal wood and unbroken rice, fruits,
perfumes, and the flesh of man untouched by steel. Lastly, he half
filled his skull with burning embers, blew upon them till they shot
forth tongues of crimson light, serving as a lamp, and motioning the
Raja and his son to follow him, led the way to a little fane of the
Destroying Deity erected in a dark clump of wood, outside and close to
the burning ground.
They passed through the quadrangular outer court of the temple whose
piazza was hung with deep shade.[191] In silence they circumambulated
the small central shrine, and whenever Shanta-Shil directed, Raja Vikram
entered the Sabha, or vestibule, and struck three times upon the gong,
which gave forth a loud and warning sound.
They then passed over the threshold, and looked into the gloomy inner
depths. There stood Smashana-Kali,[192] the goddess, in her most horrid
form. She was a naked and very black woman, with half-severed head,
partly cut and partly painted, resting on her shoulder; and her tongue
lolled out from her wide yawning mouth[193]; her eyes were red like
those of a drunkard; and her eyebrows were of the same colour: her
thick coarse hair hung like a mantle to her heels. She was robed in an
elephant’s hide, dried and withered, confined at the waist with a belt
composed of the hands of the giants whom she had slain in war: two dead
bodies formed her earrings, and her necklace was of bleached skulls.
Her four arms supported a scimitar, a noose, a trident, and a ponderous
mace. She stood with one leg on the breast of her husband, Shiva, and
she rested the other on his thigh. Before the idol lay the utensils of
worship, namely, dishes for the offerings, lamps, jugs, incense, copper
cups, conches and gongs; and all of them smelt of blood.
As Raja Vikram and his son stood gazing upon the hideous spectacle, the
devotee stooped down to place his skull-lamp upon the ground, and drew
from out his ochre-coloured cloth a sharp sword which he hid behind his
back.
“Prosperity to thine and thy son’s for ever and ever, O mighty Vikram!”
exclaimed Shanta-Shil, after he had muttered a prayer before the image.
“Verily thou hast right royally redeemed thy pledge, and by the virtue
of thy presence all my wishes shall presently be accomplished. Behold!
the Sun is about to drive his car over the eastern hills, and our task
now ends. Do thou reverence before this my deity, worshipping the earth
through thy nose, and so prostrating thyself that thy eight limbs may
touch the ground.[194] Thus shall thy glory and splendour be great; the
Eight Powers[195] and the Nine Treasures shall be thine, and prosperity
shall ever remain under thy roof-tree.”
Raja Vikram, hearing these words, recalled suddenly to mind all that the
Vampire had whispered to him. He brought his joined hands open up to
his forehead, caused his two thumbs to touch his brow several times, and
replied with the greatest humility,
“O pious person! I am a king ignorant of the way to do such obeisance.
Thou art a spiritual preceptor: be pleased to teach me and I will do
even as thou desirest.”
Then the Jogi, being a cunning man, fell into his own net. As he bent
him down to salute the goddess, Vikram, drawing his sword, struck him
upon the neck so violent a blow, that his head rolled from his body upon
the ground. At the same moment Dharma Dhwaj, seizing his father’s arm,
pulled him out of the way in time to escape being crushed by the image,
which fell with the sound of thunder upon the floor of the temple.
A small thin voice in the upper air was heard to cry, “A man is
justified in killing one who has the desire to kill him.” Then glad
shouts of triumph and victory were heard in all directions. They
proceeded from the celestial choristers, the heavenly dancers, the
mistresses of the gods, and the nymphs of Indra’s Paradise, who left
their beds of gold and precious stones, their seats glorious as the
meridian sun, their canals of crystal water, their perfumed groves, and
their gardens where the wind ever blows in softest breezes, to applaud
the valour and good fortune of the warrior king.
At last the brilliant god, Indra himself, with the thousand eyes, rising
from the shade of the Parigat tree, the fragrance of whose flowers fills
the heavens, appeared in his car drawn by yellow steeds and cleaving the
thick vapours which surround the earth--whilst his attendants sounded
the heavenly drums and rained a shower of blossoms and perfumes--bade
the Vikramajit the Brave ask a boon.
The Raja joined his hands and respectfully replied,
“O mighty ruler of the lower firmament, let this my history become
famous throughout the world!”
“It is well,” rejoined the god. “As long as the sun and moon endure, and
the sky looks down upon the ground, so long shall this thy adventure be
remembered over all the earth. Meanwhile rule thou mankind.”
Thus saying, Indra retired to the delicious Amrawati[196] Vikram took up
the corpses and threw them into the cauldron which Shanta-Shil had been
tending. At once two heroes started into life, and Vikram said to them,
“When I call you, come!”
With these mysterious words the king, followed by his son, returned
to the palace unmolested. As the Vampire had predicted, everything was
prosperous to him, and he presently obtained the remarkable titles,
Sakaro, or foe of the Sakas, and Sakadhipati-Vikramaditya.
And when, after a long and happy life spent in bringing the world under
the shadow of one umbrella, and in ruling it free from care, the warrior
king Vikram entered the gloomy realms of Yama, from whom for mortals
there is no escape, he left behind him a name that endured amongst men
like the odour of the flower whose memory remains long after its form
has mingled with the dust.[197]
FOOTNOTES
[Footnote 1: Metamorphoseon, seu de Asino Aureo, libri Xl. The well known and
beautiful episode is in the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth books.]
[Footnote 2: This ceremony will be explained in a future page.]
[Footnote 3: A common exclamation of sorrow, surprise, fear, and other emotions.
It is especially used by women.]
[Footnote 4: Quoted from view of the Hindoos, by William Ward, of Serampore (vol.
i. p. 25).]
[Footnote 5: In Sanskrit, Vetala-pancha-Vinshati. “Baital” is the modern form of
“Vetala”.]
[Footnote 6: In Arabic, Badpai el Hakim.]
[Footnote 7: Dictionnaire philosophique sub v. “Apocryphes.”]
[Footnote 8: I do not mean that rhymes were not known before the days of
Al-Islam, but that the Arabs popularized assonance and consonance in
Southern Europe.]
[Footnote 9: “Vikrama” means “valour” or “prowess.”]