In very remote times, in a forest region free from villages and richly
provided with flowers, fruits, water, and roots, there lived a
penance-performing Rishi, who fed upon roots, fruit, and water, and
clothed himself with leaves and skins. As he had attained the five
kinds of insight, the wild gazelles themselves were wont to dwell in
the hermitage keeping him company. One day a gazelle doe came to a spot
where he had lately been. And as the results of human actions are
beyond mental comprehension it came to pass that she became pregnant.
When the time came for her to bring forth, she went to that place and
there gave birth to a boy. When she had smelt it, and perceived that it
was a creature that did not resemble herself, she was terrified, and
deserted it. When the Rishi came to that place and saw the child, he
began to consider whose child it could be, and perceived that it was
his own child. So he took it with him into his hermitage and there
brought it up. When the boy had grown up, gazelle horns appeared on his
head, on which account the Rishi gave him the name of Ṛshyaśringa
(Gazelle-horn).
The Rishi fell ill, and was treated with fitting remedies, but the
illness would not abate. When he saw that he must die, he spake shortly
before his decease to the boy as follows:—
“O son, as from time to time many Rishis come to this hermitage from
all manner of regions, you must from love to me welcome them with the
customary greeting, receive them in a friendly manner, invite them to
repose on the couch, and set before them roots and fruits according to
your means.”
Then, according as it is said that the end of collection is diffusion,
the end of the high is to fall, the end of coming together is
separation, and the end of life is death, so he discharged his
obligations to this law. The youth burnt the Rishi’s corpse in the
usual manner, and then, as he mourned, being depressed by grief at the
loss of his father, he became possessed of the five kinds of insight.
One day, when he had gone to fetch water in a pitcher, the deity began
to let rain fall. As he walked along with the pitcher, which was quite
full of water, he let it fall, so that it broke. Rishis are very
quickly moved to wrath. So spilling the little water there was left, he
reproached the deity, saying, “As my full water pitcher has been broken
in consequence of your bad behaviour, you shall not let rain fall for
twelve years from this day.” On account of this curse the deity let no
rain fall. A great famine consequently arose in Vārāṇasī, and its
inhabitants emigrated in all directions. The king sent for the diviners
and said to them, “Honoured sirs, to whose power is it due that the
deity sends no rain?” They replied, “To a Rishi’s anger. If he can be
disturbed in his penances the deity will again send rain. Otherwise it
is not possible.” The king sat absorbed in thought. His wives, the
princes, and the ministers asked him, “Wherefore, O king, are you
displeased?” He replied, “On account of a Rishi’s anger the deity sends
no rain. The diviners have declared that if the Rishi can be disturbed
in his penances the deity will send rain again, but that otherwise it
is impossible.”
One of the king’s daughters, Śāntā by name, said, “O king, if that be
the case, be not disturbed. I will contrive so that the Rishi shall be
completely distracted from this penance.” The king said, “By what
means?” She replied, “Let me and other women be taught mystic lore by
the Brahmans. And let a hermitage, provided with flowers, fruits, and
water, be prepared on a ferry-boat.” The king allowed her and other
women to be taught mystic lore by the Brahmans, and a hermitage to be
constructed on a ferry-boat. Then she gave orders for the preparation
of tempting objects, and fruits filled with wine, and other very bright
fruits of various kinds. And she made herself look like a Rishi,
dressed herself in bark and grass, and betook herself to that Rishi’s
hermitage, attended by the women to whom the Brahmans had taught mystic
lore. His pupils said to the Rishi, “O teacher, many Rishis have come
to the hermitage.” He replied, “It is well that Rishis should have
come; bring them in.” When they had come in and he had looked at them,
he said in verse, “Alas! a Rishi’s appearance was never like this of
old—a loosely flowing step, a face free from beard, a rising and
falling breast.” His mind a prey to doubt, he offered his visitors
roots and fruit. They partook of them, and said to the Rishi, “Your
fruits are harsh and acid. The fruits which are to be found in our
hermitage on the water are Amṛita-like. Therefore do we invite you to
our hermitage.”
He accepted their invitation and went with them to the pleasure-ground
on board the ferry-boat. There they spread before him stupefying
substances, cocoa-nuts filled with wine, and other fruits. When he had
become intoxicated with wine, and seduced by the alluring substances,
he gave himself up to pleasure with the women, and his magic power
vanished. The deity rejoicing in rain called the clouds together from
every side and got the better of the Rishi. Śāntā said, “Now, do you
know what the power is?” Having fettered the Rishi with amorous bonds
she brought him to the king and said, “O king, this is the man.”
As the deity now began to send rain a good harvest ensued. The king
gave Śāntā to the Rishi as his wife, together with her attendants. But
when the Rishi, deserting her, began to indulge in love with other
women, she also began to treat him with small respect, her good humour
being destroyed by jealousy. One day, when during a wrangle with him,
she hit him a blow on the head with a shoe, he said to himself—
“I, who used not to allow power to the thunder of the cloud, must now,
being fettered by love bonds, allow myself to be set at nought by a
woman!”
Thereupon he again devoted himself to ascetic exertion, and once more
became possessed of the five kinds of insight.