In accordance with this request of Gunádhya that heavenly tale

consisting of seven stories was told by Kánabhúti in his own language,

and Gunádhya for his part using the same Paisácha language threw them

into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great

poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition,

wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And

so the Vidyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it,

and the heaven above where Kánabhúti was reciting, was, as it were,

continually covered with a canopy. And Kánabhúti, when he had seen that

great tale composed by Gunádhya, was released from his curse and went

to his own place. There were also other Pisáchas that accompanied him

in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard

that heavenly tale. Then that great poet Gunádhya began to reflect,

"I must make this Great Tale [110] of mine current on the earth, for

that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed

how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom

shall I give it?" Then his two disciples that had followed him, one

of whom was called Gunadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him,

"The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to,

for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the

wind diffuses the perfume of the flower." "So be it," said Gunádhya,

and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them

to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishthána,

but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess,

where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went

and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same

time that it was the work of Gunádhya. When he heard that Paisácha

language and saw that they had the appearance of Pisáchas, that

king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, "The seven

hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paisácha

language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away

with this Paisácha tale." Then the two pupils took the book, and

returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance

to Gunádhya. Gunádhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately

overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by

a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy

hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and

first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one

by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he

flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful

eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand

couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake

of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he

was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars,

buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage,

and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes,

unable to quit the spot. [111]

In the meanwhile king Sátaváhana fell sick. And the physicians

said that his illness was due to eating meat wanting in nutritive

qualities. And when the cooks were scolded for it, they said--"The

hunters bring in to us flesh of this kind." And when the hunters were

taken to task, they said,--"On a hill not very far from here there is a

Bráhman reading, who throws into the fire every leaf as soon as he has

read it; so all the animals go there and listen without ever grazing,

they never wander anywhere else, consequently this flesh of theirs

is wanting in nutritive properties on account of their going without

food." When he heard this speech of the hunters he made them shew

him the way, and out of curiosity went in person to see Gunádhya,

and he beheld him owing to his forest life overspread with matted

locks, that looked like the smoke of the fire of his curse, that was

almost extinguished.

Then the king recognized him as he stood in the midst of the weeping

animals, and after he had respectfully saluted him, he asked him

for an explanation of all the circumstances. That wise Bráhman then

related to the king in the language of the demons his own history as

Pushpadanta, giving an account of the curse and all the circumstances

which originated the descent of the tale to earth. Then the king,

discovering that he was an incarnation of a Gana, bowed at his feet,

and asked him for that celestial tale that had issued from the mouth

of Siva. Then Gunádhya said to that king Sátaváhana; "O king I have

burnt six tales containing six hundred thousand couplets; but here

is one tale consisting of a hundred thousand couplets, take that:

[112] and these two pupils of mine shall explain it to you." So

spake Gunádhya and took leave of the king, and then by strength of

devotion laid aside his earthly body, and released from the curse

ascended to his own heavenly home. Then the king took that tale which

Gunádhya had given, called Vrihat Kathá, containing the adventures of

Naraváhanadatta, and went to his own city. And there he bestowed on

Gunadeva and Nandideva, the pupils of the poet who composed that tale,

lands, gold, garments, beasts of burden, palaces, and treasures. And

having recovered the sense of that tale with their help, Sátaváhana

composed the book named Kathápítha, in order to shew how the tale

came to be first made known in the Paisácha language. Now that tale

was so full of various interest, that men were so taken up with it

as to forget the tales of the gods, and after producing that effect

in the city it attained uninterrupted renown in the three worlds.

BOOK II.

CALLED KATHÁMUKHA.

This nectarous tale sprang in old time from the mouth of Siva, set in

motion by his love for the daughter of the Himálaya, as the nectar

of immortality sprang from the sea, when churned by the mountain

Mandara. Those who drink eagerly the nectar of this tale, have all

impediments removed and gain prosperity, and by the favour of Siva

attain, while living upon earth, the high rank of gods.

CHAPTER IX.

May the water of Siva's sweat, fresh from the embrace of Gaurí,

[113] which the god of love when afraid of the fire of Siva's eye,

employs as his aqueous weapon, protect you.

Listen to the following tale of the Vidyádharas, which the excellent

Gana Pushpadanta heard on mount Kailása from the god of the matted

locks, and which Kánabhúti heard on the earth from the same Pushpadanta

after he had become Vararuchi, and which Gunádhya heard from Kánabhúti,

and Sátaváhana heard from Gunádhya.

Story of Udayana king of Vatsa.

There is a land famous under the name of Vatsa, that appears as

if it had been made by the Creator as an earthly rival to dash the

pride of heaven. In the centre of it is a great city named Kausámbí,

the favourite dwelling-place of the goddess of prosperity; the

ear-ornament, so to speak, of the earth. In it dwelt a king named

Satáníka, sprung from the Pándava family, he was the son of Janamejaya,

and the grandson of king Paríkshit, who was the great-grandson of

Abhimanyu. The first progenitor of his race was Arjuna, the might

of whose strong arms was tested in a struggle with the mighty arms

of Siva; [114] his wife was the earth, and also Vishnumatí his

queen; the first produced jewels, but the second did not produce a

son. Once on a time, as that king was roaming about in his passion

for the chase, he made acquaintance in the forest with the hermit

Sándilya. That worthy sage finding out that the king desired a son,

came to Kausámbí and administered to his queen an artfully prepared

oblation [115] consecrated with mystic verses. Then he had a son

born to him called Sahasráníka. And his father was adorned by him

as excellence is by modesty. Then in course of time Satáníka made

that son crown-prince and though he still enjoyed kingly pleasures,

ceased to trouble himself about the cares of government. Then a

war arose between the gods and Asuras, and Indra sent Mátali as a

messenger to that king begging for aid. Then he committed his son and

his kingdom to the care of his principal minister, who was called

Yogandhara, and his Commander-in-chief, whose name was Supratíka,

and went to Indra with Mátali to slay the Asuras in fight. That king,

having slain many Asuras, of whom Yamadanshtra was the chief, under

the eyes of Indra, met death in that very battle. The king's body

was brought back by Mátali, and the queen burnt herself with it, and

the royal dignity descended to his son Sahasráníka. Wonderful to say,

when that king ascended his father's throne, the heads of the kings

on every side of his dominions were bent down with the weight. Then

Indra sent Mátali, and brought to heaven that Sahasráníka, as being

the son of his friend, that he might be present at the great feast

which he was holding to celebrate his victory over his foes. There

the king saw the gods, attended by their fair ones, sporting in

the garden of Nandana, and desiring for himself a suitable wife,

fell into low spirits. Then Indra, perceiving this desire of his,

said to him; "King, away with despondency, this desire of thine

shall be accomplished. For there has been born upon the earth one,

who was long ago ordained a suitable match for thee. For listen to

the following history, which I now proceed to relate to thee.

"Long ago I went to the court of Brahmá in order to visit him, and a

certain Vasu named Vidhúma followed me. While we were there, an Apsaras

[116] named Alambushá came to see Brahmá, and her robe was blown

aside by the wind. And the Vasu, when he beheld her, was overpowered

by love, and the Apsaras too had her eyes immediately attracted by his

form. The lotus-sprung god, [117] when he beheld that, looked me full

in the face, and I, knowing his meaning, in wrath cursed those two,

'Be born, you two, shameless creatures, into the world of mortals,

and there become man and wife.' That Vasu has been born as thou,

Sahasráníka, the son of Satáníka, an ornament to the race of the

moon. And that Apsaras too has been born in Ayodhyá as the daughter

of king Kritavarman, Mrigávatí by name, she shall be thy wife." By

these words of Indra the flame of love was fanned in the passionate

[118] heart of the king and burst out into full blaze; as a fire when

fanned by the wind. Indra then dismissed the king from heaven with

all due honour in his own chariot, and he set out with Mátali [119]

for his capital. But as he was starting, the Apsaras Tilottamá said

to him out of affection, "King I have somewhat to say to thee, wait a

moment." But he, thinking on Mrigávatí, went off without hearing what

she said, then Tilottamá in her rage cursed him; "King, thou shalt be

separated for fourteen years from her who has so engrossed thy mind

that thou dost not hear my speech." Now Mátali heard that curse,

but the king, yearning for his beloved, did not. In the chariot he

went to Kausámbí but in spirit he went to Ayodhyá. Then the king told

with longing heart, all that he had heard from Indra with reference

to Mrigávatí, to his ministers, Yogandhara and the others: and not

being able to endure delay, he sent an ambassador to Ayodhyá to ask

her father Kritavarman for the hand of that maiden. And Kritavarman

having heard from the ambassador his commission, told in his joy the

queen Kalávatí, and then she said to him--"King we ought certainly to

give Mrigávatí to Sahasráníka, and, I remember, a certain Bráhman told

me this very thing in a dream"; then in his delight the king showed

to the ambassador Mrigávatí's wonderful skill in dancing, singing,

and other accomplishments, and her matchless beauty; so the king

Kritavarman gave to Sahasráníka that daughter of his who was unequalled

as a mine of graceful arts, and who shone like an incarnation of the

moon; that marriage of Sahasráníka and Mrigávatí was one in which

the good qualities of either party supplemented those of the other,

and might be compared to the union of learning and intelligence.

Not long after sons were born to the king's ministers; Yogandhara had a

son born to him named Yaugandharáyana; and Supratíka had a son born to

him named Rumanvat. And to the king's master of the revels was born a

son named Vasantaka. Then in a few days Mrigávatí became slightly pale

and promised to bear a child to king Sahasráníka. And then she asked

the king, who was never tired of looking at her, to gratify her longing

by filling a tank full of blood for her to bathe in. Accordingly the

king, who was a righteous man, in order to gratify her desire, had a

tank filled with the juice of lac and other red extracts, so that it

seemed to be full of blood. [120] And while she was bathing in that

lake, and covered with red dye, a bird of the race of Garuda [121]

suddenly pounced upon her and carried her off thinking she was raw

flesh. As soon as she was carried away in some unknown direction by

the bird, the king became distracted, and his self-command forsook him

as if in order to go in search of her. His heart was so attached to

his beloved that it was in very truth carried off by that bird, and

thus he fell senseless upon the earth. As soon as he had recovered

his senses, Mátali, who had discovered all by his divine power,

descended through the air and came where the king was. He consoled

the king, and told him the curse of Tilottamá with its destined end,

as he had heard it long ago, and then he took his departure. Then the

king tormented with grief lamented on this wise; "Alas my beloved, that

wicked Tilottamá has accomplished her desire." But having learned the

facts about the curse, and having received advice from his ministers,

he managed, though with difficulty, to retain his life through hope

of a future reunion.

But that bird, which had carried off Mrigávatí, as soon as it found

out that she was alive, abandoned her, and as fate would have it, left

her on the mountain where the sun rises. And when the bird let her drop

and departed, the queen, distracted with grief and fear, saw that she

was left unprotected on the slope of a trackless mountain. While she

was weeping in the forest, alone, with one garment only to cover her,

an enormous serpent rose up and prepared to swallow her. Then she,

for whom prosperity was reserved in the future, was delivered by some

heavenly hero that came down and slew the serpent, and disappeared

almost as soon as he was seen. Thereupon she, longing for death,

flung herself down in front of a wild elephant, but even he spared

her as if out of compassion. Wonderful was it that even a wild beast

did not slay her when she fell in his way! Or rather it was not to

be wondered at. What cannot the will of Siva effect?

Then the girl tardy with the weight of her womb, desiring to hurl

herself down from a precipice, and thinking upon that lord of hers,

wept aloud; and a hermit's son, who had wandered there in search of

roots and fruits, hearing that, came up, and found her looking like

the incarnation of sorrow. And he, after questioning the queen about

her adventures, and comforting her as well as he could, with a heart

melted with compassion led her off to the hermitage of Jamadagni. There

she beheld Jamadagni, looking like the incarnation of comfort, whose

brightness so illumined the eastern mountain that it seemed as if the

rising sun ever rested on it. When she fell at his feet, that hermit

who was kind to all that came to him for help, and possessed heavenly

insight, said to her who was tortured with the pain of separation;

"Here there shall be born to thee, my daughter, a son that shall

uphold the family of his father, and thou shalt be reunited to thy

husband, therefore weep not." When that virtuous woman heard that

speech of the hermit's, she took up her abode in that hermitage,

and entertained hope of a reunion with her beloved. And some days

after, the blameless one gave birth to a charmingly beautiful son,

as association with the good produces good manners. At that moment

a voice was heard from heaven; "an august king of great renown has

been born, Udayana by name, and his son shall be monarch of all

the Vidyádharas." That voice restored to the heart of Mrigávatí

joy which she had long forgotten. Gradually that boy grew up to

size and strength in that grove of asceticism, accompanied by his

own excellent qualities as playmates. And the heroic child had the

sacraments appropriate to a member of the warrior-caste performed for

him by Jamadagni, and was instructed by him in the sciences, and the

practice of archery. And out of love for him Mrigávatí drew off from

her own wrist, and placed on his, a bracelet marked with the name

of Sahasráníka. Then that Udayana roaming about once upon a time in

pursuit of deer, beheld in the forest a snake that had been forcibly

captured by a Savara. [122] And he, feeling pity for the beautiful

snake, said to that Savara, "Let go this snake to please me." Then

that Savara said, "My lord, this is my livelihood, for I am a poor

man, and I always maintain myself by exhibiting dancing snakes. The

snake I previously had having died, I searched through this great

wood, and, finding this one, overpowered him by charms and captured

him." When he heard this, the generous Udayana gave that Savara the

bracelet which his mother had bestowed on him, and persuaded him to

set the snake at liberty. The Savara took the bracelet and departed,

and then the snake being pleased with Udayana bowed before him and

said as follows, "I am the eldest brother of Vásuki, [123] called

Vasunemi: receive from me, whom thou hast preserved, this lute,

sweet in the sounding of its strings, divided according to the

division of the quarter-tones; and betel leaf, together with the art

of weaving unfading garlands, and adorning the forehead with marks

that never become indistinct." Then Udayana furnished with all these,

and dismissed by the snake, returned to the hermitage of Jamadagni,

raining nectar, so to speak, into the eyes of his mother.

In the meanwhile that Savara who had lighted on this forest, and

while roaming about in it had obtained the bracelet from Udayana by

the will of fate, was caught attempting to sell this ornament marked

with the king's name in the market, and was arrested by the police,

and brought up in court before the king. Then king Sahasráníka himself

asked him in sorrow whence he had obtained the bracelet. Then that

Savara told him the whole story of his obtaining possession of the

bracelet, beginning with his capture of the snake upon the eastern

mountain. Hearing that from the Savara, and beholding that bracelet

of his beloved, king Sahasráníka ascended the swing of doubt.

Then a divine voice from heaven delighted the king who was tortured

with the fire of separation, as the rain-drops delight the peacock

when afflicted with the heat, uttering these words--"Thy curse is at

an end, O king, and that wife of thine Mrigávatí is residing in the

hermitage of Jamadagni together with thy son." Then that day at last

came to an end, though made long by anxious expectation, and on the

morrow that king Sahasráníka, making the Savara show him the way,

set out with his army for that hermitage on the eastern mountain,

in order quickly to recover his beloved wife.

CHAPTER X.

After he had gone a long distance the king encamped that day in a

certain forest on the border of a lake. He went to bed weary, and in

the evening he said to Sangataka a story-teller who had come to him

on account of the pleasure he took in his service; "Tell me some tale

that will gladden my heart, for I am longing for the joy of beholding

the lotus-face of Mrigávatí." Then Sangataka said, King why do you

grieve without cause? The union with your queen, which will mark the

termination of your curse, is nigh at hand. Human beings experience

many unions and separations: and I will tell you a story to illustrate

this; listen, my lord!

Story of Srídatta and Mrigánkavatí.

Once on a time there lived in the country of Málava a Bráhman named

Yajnasoma. And that good man had two sons born to him, beloved by

men. One of them was known as Kálanemi and the second was named

Vigatabhaya. Now, when their father had gone to heaven, those two

brothers, having passed through the age of childhood, went to the city

of Pátaliputra to acquire learning. And when they had completed their

studies, their teacher Devasarman gave them his own two daughters,

like another couple of sciences incarnate in bodily form.

Then seeing that the householders around him were rich, Kálanemi

through envy made a vow and propitiated the goddess of Fortune with

burnt-offerings. And the goddess being satisfied appeared in bodily

form and said to him--"Thou shalt obtain great wealth and a son

who shall rule the earth; but at last thou shalt be put to death

like a robber, because thou hast offered flesh in the fire with

impure motives." When she had said this, the goddess disappeared;

and Kálanemi in course of time became very rich; moreover after some

days a son was born to him. So the father, whose desires were now

accomplished, called that son Srídatta, [124] because he had been

obtained by the favour of the goddess of Fortune. In course of time

Srídatta grew up, and though a Bráhman, became matchless upon earth

in the use of weapons, and in boxing and wrestling.

Then Kálanemi's brother Vigatabhaya went to a foreign land, having

become desirous of visiting places of pilgrimage, through sorrow for

his wife, who died of the bite of a snake.

Moreover the king of the land, Vallabhasakti, who appreciated good

qualities, made Srídatta the companion of his son Vikramasakti. So

he had to live with a haughty prince, as the impetuous Bhíma lived

in his youth with Duryodhana. Then two Kshatriyas, natives of Avanti,

Báhusálin and Vajramushti became friends of that Bráhman's. And some

other men from the Deccan, sons of ministers, having been conquered

by him in wrestling, resorted to him out of spontaneous friendship,

as they knew how to value merit. Mahábala and Vyághrabhata and also

Upendrabala and a man named Nishthuraka became his friends. One day,

as years rolled on, Srídatta, being in attendance on the prince,

went with him and those friends to sport on the bank of the Ganges;

then the prince's own servants made him king, and at the same time

Srídatta was chosen king by his friends. This made the prince angry,

and in over-weening confidence he at once challenged that Bráhman

hero to fight. Then being conquered by him in wrestling, and so

disgraced, he made up his mind that this rising hero should be put

to death. But Srídatta found out that intention of the prince's, and

withdrew in alarm with those friends of his from his presence. And as

he was going along, he saw in the middle of the Ganges a woman being

dragged under by the stream, looking like the goddess of Fortune in

the middle of the sea. And then he plunged in to pull her out of the

water, leaving Báhusálin and his five other friends on the bank. Then

that woman, though he seized her by the hair, sank deep in the water;

and he dived as deep in order to follow her. And after he had dived a

long way, he suddenly saw a splendid temple of Siva, but no water and

no woman. [125] After beholding that wonderful sight, being wearied

out he paid his adorations to the god whose emblem is a bull, and

spent that night in a beautiful garden attached to the temple. And in

the morning that lady was seen by him having come to worship the god

Siva, like the incarnate splendour of beauty attended by all womanly

perfections. And after she had worshipped the god, the moon-faced one

departed to her own house, and Srídatta for his part followed her. And

he saw that palace of hers resembling the city of the gods, which

the haughty beauty entered hurriedly in a contemptuous manner. And

without deigning to address him, the graceful lady sat down on a sofa

in the inner part of the house, waited upon by thousands of women. And

Srídatta also took a seat near her; then suddenly that virtuous lady

began to weep. The tear-drops fell in an unceasing shower on her

bosom, and that moment pity entered into the heart of Srídatta. And

then he said to her, "Who art thou, and what is thy sorrow? Tell me,

fair one, for I am able to remove it." Then she said reluctantly,

"We are the thousand granddaughters of Bali [126] the king of the

Daityas, and I am the eldest of all, and my name is Vidyutprabhá. That

grandfather of ours was carried off by Vishnu to long imprisonment,

and the same hero slew our father in a wrestling-match. And after he

had slain him, he excluded us from our own city, and he placed a lion

in it to prevent us from entering. The lion occupies that place, and

grief our hearts. It is a Yaksha that was made a lion by the curse of

Kuvera, and long ago it was predicted that the Yaksha's curse should

end when he was conquered by some mortal; so Vishnu deigned to inform

us on our humbly asking him how we might be enabled to enter our

city. Therefore subdue that lion our enemy; it was for that reason,

O hero, that I enticed you hither. And when you have overcome him you

will obtain from him a sword named Mrigánka, by the virtue of which

you shall conquer the world and become a king." When he heard that,

Srídatta agreed to undertake the adventure, and after that day had

passed, on the morrow he took those Daitya maidens with him as guides,

and went to that city, and there he overcame in wrestling that haughty

lion. [127] He being freed from his curse assumed a human form, and

out of gratitude gave his sword to the man who had put an end to his

curse, and then disappeared together with the burden of the sorrow

of the great Asura's daughter. Then that Srídatta, together with

the Daitya's daughter, who was accompanied by her younger sisters,

entered that splendid city which looked like the serpent Ananta [128]

having emerged from the earth. And that Daitya maiden gave him a ring

that destroyed the effect of poison. Then that young man remaining

there fell in love with her. And she cunningly said to him, "Bathe

in this tank, and when you dive in, take with you this sword [129]

to keep off the danger of crocodiles." He consented, and diving into

the tank, rose upon that very bank of the Ganges from which he first

plunged in. Then he, seeing the ring and the sword, felt astonishment

at having emerged from the lower regions, and despondency at having

been tricked by the Asura maid. Then he went towards his own house

to look for his friends, and as he was going he saw on the way his

friend Nishthuraka. Nishthuraka came up to him and saluted him, and

quickly took him aside into a lonely place, and when asked by him

for news of his relations, gave him this answer; "On that occasion

when you plunged into the Ganges we searched for you many days, and

out of grief we were preparing to cut off our heads, but a voice from

heaven forbade that attempt of ours saying, 'My sons, do no rash act,

your friend shall return alive.' And then we were returning into the

presence of your father, when on the way a man hurriedly advanced

to meet us and said this--'You must not enter this city at present,

for the king of it Vallabhasakti is dead, and the ministers have with

one accord conferred the royal dignity on Vikramasakti;' now the day

after he was made king he went to the house of Kálanemi, and full of

wrath asked him where his son Srídatta was, and he replied--'I do not

know.' Then the king in a rage, supposing he had concealed his son,

had him put to death by impalement as a thief. When his wife saw that,

her heart broke. Men of cruel deeds must always pile one evil action

upon another in long succession; and so Vikramasakti is searching for

Srídatta to slay him, and you are his friends, therefore leave this

place.' When the man had given us this warning, Báhusálin and his

four companions being grieved went by common consent to their own

home in Ujjayiní. And they left me here in concealment, my friend,

for your sake. So come, let us go to that very place to meet our

friends." Having heard this from Nishthuraka, and having bewailed

his parents, Srídatta cast many a look at his sword, as if reposing

in that his hope of vengeance; then the hero, biding his time, set

out accompanied by Nishthuraka for that city of Ujjayiní in order to

meet his friends.

And as he was relating to his friend his adventures from the time

of his plunging into the stream, Srídatta beheld a woman weeping

in the road; when she said, "I am a woman going to Ujjayiní and I

have lost my way," Srídatta out of pity made her journey along with

him. He and Nishthuraka, together with that woman, whom he kept

with him out of compassion, halted that day in a certain deserted

town. There he suddenly woke up in the night and beheld that the

woman had slain Nishthuraka, and was devouring his flesh with the

utmost delight. Then he rose up drawing his sword Mrigánka, and that

woman assumed her own terrible form, that of a Rákshasí, [130] and

he seized that night-wanderer by her hair, to slay her. That moment

she assumed a heavenly shape and said to him, "Slay me not, mighty

hero, let me go, I am not a Rákshasí; the hermit Visvámitra imposed

this condition on me by a curse. For once when he was performing

austerities from a desire to attain the position of the god of wealth,

I was sent by the god to impede him. Then finding that I was not able

to seduce him with my alluring form, being abashed, I assumed in order

to terrify him a formidable shape. When he saw this, that hermit laid

on me a curse suitable to my offence, exclaiming--'Wicked one, become

a Rákshasí and slay men.' And he appointed that my curse should end

when you took hold of my hair; accordingly I assumed this detestable

condition of a Rákshasí, and I have devoured all the inhabitants of

this town: now to-day after a long time you have brought my curse to

an end in the manner foretold; therefore receive now some boon." When

he heard that speech of hers, Srídatta said respectfully, "Mother

grant that my friend may be restored to life. What need have I of

any other boon?" "So be it," said she, and after granting the boon

disappeared. And Nishthuraka rose up again alive without a scratch on

his body. Then Srídatta set out the next morning with him, delighted

and astonished, and at last reached Ujjayiní. There he revived by his

appearance the spirits of his friends, who were anxiously expecting

him, as the arrival of the cloud revives the peacocks. And after he

had told all the wonders of his adventures, Báhusálin went through the

usual formalities of hospitality, taking him to his own home. There

Srídatta was taken care of by the parents of Báhusálin, and lived

with his friends as comfortably as if he were in his own house.

Once on a time, when the great feast of spring-tide [131] had arrived,

he went with his friends to behold some festal rejoicings in a

garden. There he beheld a maiden, the daughter of king Bimbaki, who

had come to see the show, looking like the goddess of the Splendour

of Spring present in bodily form. She, by name Mrigánkavatí, that

moment penetrated into his heart, as if through the openings left

by the expansion of his eye. Her passionate look too, indicative

of the beginning of love, fixed on him, went and returned like a

confidante. When she entered a thicket of trees, Srídatta not beholding

her, suddenly felt his heart so empty that he did not know where he

was. His friend Báhusálin, who thoroughly understood the language of

gestures, said to him, "My friend, I know your heart, do not deny your

passion, therefore, come, let us go to that part of the garden where

the king's daughter is." He consented and went near her accompanied

by his friend. That moment a cry was heard there, which gave great

pain to the heart of Srídatta, "Alas the princess has been bitten by

a snake!" Báhusálin then went and said to the chamberlain--"My friend

here possesses a ring that counteracts the effects of poison, and

also healing spells." Immediately the chamberlain came, and bowing at

his feet, quickly led Srídatta to the princess. He placed the ring on

her finger, and then muttered his spells so that she revived. Then all

the attendants were delighted, and loud in praise of Srídatta, and the

king Bimbaki hearing the circumstances came to the place. Accordingly

Srídatta returned with his friends to the house of Báhusálin without

taking back the ring. And all the gold and other presents, which

the delighted king sent to him there, he handed over to the father

of Báhusálin. Then, thinking upon that fair one, he was so much

afflicted, that his friends became utterly bewildered as to what to

do with him. Then a dear friend of the princess, Bhávaniká, by name,

came to him on pretence of returning the ring; and said to him, "That

friend of mine, illustrious Sir, has made up her mind, that either you

must save her life by becoming her husband, or she will be married to

her grave." When Bhávaniká had said this, Srídatta and Báhusálin and

the others quickly put their heads together and came to the following

resolution, "We will carry off this princess secretly by a stratagem,

and will go unperceived from here to Mathurá and live there." The

plan having been thoroughly talked over, and the conspirators having

agreed with one another what each was to do in order to carry it out,

Bhávaniká then departed. And the next day Báhusálin, accompanied by

three of his friends, went to Mathurá on pretext of trafficking,

and as he went he posted in concealment at intervals swift horses

for the conveyance of the princess. But Srídatta then brought at

eventide a woman with her daughter into the palace of the princess,

after making them both drink spirits, and then Bhávaniká, on pretence

of lighting up the palace, set fire to it, and secretly conveyed

the princess out of it; and that moment Srídatta, who was remaining

outside, received her, and sent her on to Báhusálin, who had started

in the morning, and directed two of his friends to attend on her and

also Bhávaniká. Now that drunken woman and her daughter were burnt in

the palace of the princess, and people supposed that the princess had

been burnt with her friend. But Srídatta took care to show himself

in the morning as before, in the city; then on the second night,

taking with him his sword Mrigánka, he started to follow his beloved,

who had set out before him. And in his eagerness he accomplished

a great distance that night, and when the morning watch [132] had

passed, he reached the Vindhya forest. There he first beheld unlucky

omens, and afterwards he saw all those friends of his together with

Bhávaniká lying in the road gashed with wounds. And when he came

up all distracted, they said to him, "We were robbed to-day by a

large troop of horsemen that set upon us. And after we were reduced

to this state, one of the horsemen threw the terrified princess on

his horse and carried her off. So before she has been carried to

a great distance, go in this direction, do not remain near us, she

is certainly of more importance than we." Being urged on with these

words by his friends, Srídatta rapidly followed after the princess,

but could not help frequently turning round to look at them. And

after he had gone a considerable distance, he caught up that troop

of cavalry, and he saw a young man of the warrior caste in the midst

of it. And he beheld that princess held by him upon his horse. So

he slowly approached that young warrior; and when soft words would

not induce him to let the princess go, he hurled him from his horse

with a blow of his foot, and dashed him to pieces on a rock. And

after he had slain him, he mounted on his horse and slew a great

number of the other horsemen who charged him in anger. And then those

who remained alive, seeing that the might which the hero displayed

was more than human, fled away in terror; and Srídatta mounted on

the horse with the princess Mrigánkavatí and set out to find those

friends of his. And after he had gone a little way, he and his wife

got off the horse which had been severely wounded in the fight, and

soon after it fell down and died. And then his beloved Mrigánkavatí,

exhausted with fear and exertion, became very thirsty. And leaving

her there, he roamed a long distance hither and thither, and while

he was looking for water the sun set. Then he discovered that, though

he had found water, he had lost his way, and he passed that night in

the wood roaming about, moaning aloud like a Chakraváka. [133] And

in the morning he reached that place, which was easy to recognise by

the carcass of the horse. And nowhere there did he behold his beloved

princess. Then in his distraction he placed his sword Mrigánka on the

ground, and climbed to the top of a tree, in order to cast his eye in

all directions for her. That very moment a certain Savara chieftain

passed that way; and he came up and took the sword from the foot of

the tree. Beholding that Savara chieftain, Srídatta came down from

the top of the tree, and in great grief asked him for news of his

beloved. The Savara chieftain said--"Leave this place and come to my

village; I have no doubt she whom you seek has gone there; and I shall

come there and return you this sword." When the Savara chieftain urged

him to go with these words, Srídatta, being himself all eagerness,

went to that village with the chief's men. And there those men said to

him,--"Sleep off your fatigue,"--and when he reached the house of the

chief of the village, being tired he went to sleep in an instant. And

when he woke up he saw his two feet fastened with fetters, like the

two efforts he had made in order to obtain his beloved, which failed

to reach their object. Then he remained there weeping for his darling,

who, like the course of destiny, had for a moment brought him joy,

and the next moment blasted his hopes.

One day a serving maid of the name of Mochaniká came to him and

said,--Illustrious Sir, unwittingly you have come hither to your

death? For the Savara chieftain has gone somewhither to accomplish

certain weighty affairs, and when he returns, he will offer you

to Chandiká. [134] For with that object he decoyed you here by a

stratagem from this slope of the wild Vindhya hill, and immediately

threw you into the chains in which you now are. And it is because

you are intended to be offered as a victim to the goddess, that you

are continually served with garments and food. But I know of only

one expedient for delivering you, if you agree to it. This Savara

chieftain has a daughter named Sundarí, and she having seen you is

becoming exceedingly love-sick; marry her who is my friend, then you

will obtain deliverance. [135] When she said this to him, Srídatta

consented, desiring to be set at liberty, and secretly made that

Sundarí his wife by the Gándharva form of marriage. And every night she

removed his chains and in a short time Sundarí became pregnant. Then

her mother, having heard the whole story from the mouth of Mochaniká,

out of love for her son-in-law Srídatta, went and of her own accord

said to him--"My son, Sríchanda the father of Sundarí is a wrathful

man, and will show thee no mercy. Therefore depart, but thou must not

forget Sundarí." When his mother-in-law had said this, she set him at

liberty, and Srídatta departed after telling Sundarí that the sword,

which was in her father's possession, really belonged to himself.

So he again entered full of anxiety that forest, in which he had before

wandered about, in order again to search for traces of Mrigávatí. And

having seen an auspicious omen he came to that same place, where that

horse of his died before, and whence his wife was carried off. And

there he saw near [136] him a hunter coming towards him, and when

he saw him he asked him for news of that gazelle-eyed lady. Then

the hunter asked him "Are you Srídatta?" and he sighing replied "I

am that unfortunate man." Then that hunter said, "Listen, friend, I

have somewhat to tell you. I saw that wife of yours wandering hither

and thither lamenting your absence, and having asked her her story,

and consoled her, moved with compassion I took her out of this wood

to my own village. But when I saw the young Pulindas [137] there,

I was afraid, and I took her to a village named Nágasthala near

Mathurá. [138] And then I placed her in the house of an old Bráhman

named Visvadatta commending her with all due respect to his care. And

thence I came here having learnt your name from her lips. Therefore

you had better go quickly to Nágasthala to search for her." When the

hunter had told him this, Srídatta quickly set out, and he reached

Nágasthala in the evening of the second day. Then he entered the house

of Visvadatta and when he saw him said, "Give me my wife who was placed

here by the hunter." Visvadatta when he heard that, answered him,

"I have a friend in Mathurá a Bráhman, dear to all virtuous men, the

spiritual preceptor and minister of the king Súrasena. In his care

I placed your wife. For this village is an out-of-the-way place and

would not afford her protection. So go to that city to-morrow morning,

but to-day rest here." When Visvadatta said this, he spent that night

there, and the next morning he set off, and reached Mathurá on the

second day. Being weary and dusty with the long journey, he bathed

outside that city in the pellucid water of a lake. And he drew out

of the middle of the lake a garment placed there by some robbers,

not suspecting any harm. But in one corner of the garment, which was

knotted up, a necklace was concealed. [139] Then Srídatta took that

garment, and in his eagerness to meet his wife did not notice the

necklace, and so entered the city of Mathurá. Then the city police

recognized the garment, and finding the necklace, arrested Srídatta

as a thief, and carried him off, and brought him before the chief

magistrate exactly as he was found, with the garment in his possession;

by him he was handed up to the king, and the king ordered him to be

put to death.

Then, as he was being led off to the place of execution with the

drum being beaten behind him, [140] his wife Mrigánkavatí saw him in

the distance. She went in a state of the utmost distraction and said

to the chief minister, in whose house she was residing, "Yonder is

my husband being led off to execution." Then that minister went and

ordered the executioners to desist, and, by making a representation

to the king, got Srídatta pardoned, and had him brought to his

house. And when Srídatta reached his house, and saw that minister,

he recognised him and fell at his feet, exclaiming, "What! is this my

uncle Vigatabhaya, who long ago went to a foreign country, and do I now

by good luck find him established in the position of a minister?" He

too recognised to his astonishment Srídatta as his brother's son,

and embraced him, and questioned him about all his adventures. Then

Srídatta related to his uncle his whole history beginning with the

execution of his father. And he, after weeping, said to his nephew in

private, "Do not despond, my son, for I once brought a female Yaksha

into subjection by means of magic; and she gave me, though I have

no son, five thousand horses and seventy millions of gold pieces:

and all that wealth is at your disposal." After telling him this,

his uncle brought him his beloved, and he, having obtained wealth,

married her on the spot. And then he remained there in joy, united

with that beloved Mrigánkavatí as a bed of white lotuses [141] with

the night. But even when his happiness was at its full, anxiety for

Báhusálin and his companions clouded his heart, as a spot of darkness

does the full moon. Now one day his uncle said secretly to Srídatta:

"my son, the king Súrasena has a maiden daughter, and in accordance

with his orders I have to take her to the land of Avanti to give her

away in marriage; so I will take her away on that very pretext, and

marry her to you. Then, when you have got possession of the force that

follows her, with mine already at your disposal, you will soon gain

the kingdom that was promised you by the goddess Srí." Having resolved

on this, and having taken that maiden, Srídatta and his uncle set out

with their army and their attendants. But as soon as they had reached

the Vindhya forest, before they were aware of the danger, a large army

of brigands set upon them showering arrows. After routing Srídatta's

force, and seizing all the wealth, they bound Srídatta himself, who

had fainted from his wounds, and carried him off to their village. And

they took him to the awful temple of Durgá, in order to offer him up

in sacrifice, and, as it were, summoned Death with the sound of their

gongs. There Sundarí saw him, one of his wives, the daughter of the

chief of the village, who had come with her young son to visit the

shrine of the goddess. Full of joy she ordered the brigands, who were

between her and her husband, to stand aside, and then Srídatta entered

her palace with her. Immediately Srídatta obtained the sovereignty of

that village, which Sundarí's father, having no son, bequeathed to

her when he went to heaven. So Srídatta recovered his wife and his

sword Mrigánka, and also his uncle and his followers, who had been

overpowered by the robbers. And, while he was in that town, he married

the daughter of Súrasena, and became a great king there. And from

that place he sent ambassadors to his two fathers-in-law, to Bimbaki,

and king Súrasena. And they, being very fond of their daughters,

gladly recognised him as a connection, and came to him accompanied by

the whole of their armies. And his friends Báhusálin and the others,

who had been separated from him, when they heard what had happened,

came to him with their wounds healed and in good health. Then the hero

marched, united with his fathers-in-law, and made that Vikramasakti,

who had put his father to death, a burnt-offering in the flame of his

wrath. And then Srídatta, having gained dominion over the sea-encircled

earth, and deliverance from the sorrow of separation, joyed in the

society of Mrigánkavatí. Even so, my king, do men of firm resolution

cross the calamitous sea of separation and obtain prosperity.

After hearing this tale from Sangataka, the king Sahasráníka, though

longing for the sight of his beloved one, managed to get through

that night on the journey. Then, engrossed with his desire, sending

his thoughts on before, in the morning Sahasráníka set out to meet

his darling. And in a few days he reached that peaceful hermitage of

Jamadagni, in which even the deer laid aside their wantonness. And

there he beheld with reverence that Jamadagni, the sight of whom

was sanctifying, like the incarnate form of penance, who received him

hospitably. And the hermit handed over to him that queen Mrigávatí with

her son, regained by the king after long separation, like tranquillity

accompanied with joy. And that sight which the husband and wife

obtained of one another, now that the curse had ceased, rained,

as it were, nectar into their eyes, which were filled with tears of

joy. And the king embracing that son Udayana, whom he now beheld for

the first time, could with difficulty let him go, as he was, so to

speak, riveted to his body with his own hairs that stood erect from

joy. [142] Then king Sahasráníka took his queen Mrigávatí with Udayana,

and, bidding adieu to Jamadagni, set out from that tranquil hermitage

for his own city, and even the deer followed him as far as the border

of the hermitage with tearful eyes. Beguiling the way by listening to

the adventures of his beloved wife during the period of separation,

and by relating his own, he at length reached the city of Kausámbí,

in which triumphal arches were erected and banners displayed. And

he entered that city in company with his wife and child, being, so

to speak, devoured [143] by the eyes of the citizens, that had the

fringe of their lashes elevated. And immediately the king appointed

his son Udayana crown-prince, being incited to it by his excellent

qualities. And he assigned to him as advisers the sons of his own

ministers, Vasantaka and Rumanvat and Yaugandharáyana. Then a rain

of flowers fell, and a celestial voice was heard--"By the help of

these excellent ministers, the prince shall obtain dominion over the

whole earth." Then the king devolved on his son the cares of empire,

and enjoyed in the society of Mrigávatí the long-desired pleasures of

the world. At last the desire of earthly enjoyment, beholding suddenly

that old age, the harbinger of composure had reached the root of the

king's ear, [144] became enraged and fled far from him. Then that king

Sahasráníka established in his throne his excellent son Udayana, [145]

whom the subjects loved so well, to ensure the world's prosperity,

and accompanied by his ministers, and his beloved wife, ascended the

Himálaya to prepare for the last great journey.

CHAPTER XI.

Then Udayana took the kingdom of Vatsa, which his father had

bequeathed to him, and, establishing himself in Kausámbí, ruled his

subjects well. But gradually he began to devolve the cares of empire

upon his ministers, Yaugandharáyana and others, and gave himself

up entirely to pleasures. He was continually engaged in the chase,

and day and night he played on the melodious lute which Vásuki [146]

gave him long ago; and he subdued evermore infuriated wild elephants,

overpowered by the fascinating spell of its strings' dulcet sound,

and, taming them, brought them home. That king of Vatsa drank wine

adorned by the reflection of the moon-faces of fair women, and at the

same time robbed his minister's faces of their cheerful hue. [147]

Only one anxiety had he to bear, he kept thinking, "Nowhere is a

wife found equal to me in birth and personal appearance, the maiden

named Vásavadattá alone has a liking for me, but how is she to be

obtained?" Chandamahásena also in Ujjayiní thought; "There is no

suitable husband to be found for my daughter in the world, except one

Udayana by name, and he has ever been my enemy. Then how can I make

him my son-in-law and my submissive ally? There is only one device

which can effect it. He wanders about alone in the forest capturing

elephants, for he is a king addicted to the vice of hunting; I will

make use of this failing of his to entrap him and bring him here by

a stratagem: and, as he is acquainted with music, I will make this

daughter of mine his pupil, and then his eye will without doubt

be charmed with her, and he will certainly became my son-in-law,

and my obedient ally. No other artifice seems applicable in this

case for making him submissive to my will." Having thus reflected,

he went to the temple of Durgá, in order that his scheme might

be blessed with success, and, after worship and praise, offered a

prayer to the goddess. And there he heard a bodiless voice saying,

"This desire of thine, O king, shall shortly be accomplished." Then

he returned satisfied, and deliberated over that very matter with

the minister Buddhadatta [148] saying--"That prince is elated with

pride, he is free from avarice, his subjects are attached to him,

and he is of great power, therefore he cannot be reached by any of

the four usual expedients beginning with negotiation, nevertheless

let negotiation be tried first." [149] Having thus deliberated,

the king gave this order to an ambassador, "Go and give the king

of Vatsa this message from me; 'My daughter desires to be thy pupil

in music, if thou love us, come here and teach her.'" When sent off

by the king with this message, the ambassador went and repeated it

to the king of Vatsa in Kausámbí exactly as it was delivered; and

the king of Vatsa, after hearing this uncourteous message from the

ambassador, repeated it in private to the minister Yaugandharáyana,

saying "Why did that monarch send me that insolent message? What can

be the villain's object in making such a proposal?" When the king

asked him this question, the great minister Yaugandharáyana, who was

stern to his master for his good, thus answered him; "Your reputation

for vice [150] has shot up in the earth like a creeper, and this,

O king, is its biting bitter fruit. For that king Chandamahásena,

thinking that you are the slave of your passions, intends to ensnare

you by means of his beautiful daughter, throw you into prison, and so

make you his unresisting instrument. Therefore abandon kingly vices,

for kings that fall into them are easily captured by their enemies,

even as elephants are taken in pits." When his minister had said this

to him, the resolute king of Vatsa sent in return an ambassador to

Chandamahásena with the following reply, "If thy daughter desires to

become my pupil, then send her here." When he had sent this reply,

that king of Vatsa said to his ministers--"I will march and bring

Chandamahásena here in chains." When he heard that, the head minister

Yaugandharáyana said--"That is not a fitting thing to do, my king, nor

is it in thy power to do it. For Chandamahásena is a mighty monarch,

and not to be subdued by thee. And in proof of this, hear his whole

history, which I now proceed to relate to thee."

Story of king Chandamahásena.

There is in this land a city named Ujjayiní, the ornament of the earth,

that, so to speak, laughs to scorn with its palaces of enamelled

whiteness [151] Amarávatí, the city of the gods. In that city dwells

Siva himself, the lord of existence, under the form of Mahákála,

[152] when he desists from the kingly vice of absenting himself

on the heights of mount Kailása. In that city lived a king named

Mahendravarman, best of monarchs, and he had a son like himself,

named Jayasena. Then to that Jayasena was born a son named Mahásena,

matchless in strength of arm, an elephant among monarchs. And that

king, while cherishing his realm, reflected, "I have not a sword worthy

of me, [153] nor a wife of good family." Thus reflecting that monarch

went to the temple of Durgá, and there he remained without food,

propitiating for a long time the goddess. Then he cut off pieces of

his own flesh, and offered a burnt-offering with them, whereupon the

goddess Durgá being pleased appeared in visible shape and said to

him, "I am pleased with thee, receive from me this excellent sword,

by means of its magic power thou shalt be invincible to all thy

enemies. Moreover thou shalt soon obtain as a wife Angáravatí, the

daughter of the Asura Angáraka, the most beautiful maiden in the three

worlds. And since thou didst here perform this very cruel penance,

therefore thy name shall be Chandamahásena." Having said this and

given him the sword, the goddess disappeared. But in the king there

appeared joy at the fulfilment of his desire. He now possessed, O king,

two jewels, his sword and a furious elephant named Nadágiri, which

were to him what the thunderbolt and Airávana are to Indra. Then that

king, delighting in the power of these two, one day went to a great

forest to hunt; and there he beheld an enormous and terrible wild

boar; like the darkness of the night suddenly condensed into a solid

mass in the day time. That boar was not wounded by the king's arrows,

in spite of their sharpness, but after breaking the king's chariot

[154] fled and entered a cavern. The king, leaving that car of his,

in revengeful pursuit of the boar, entered into that cavern with only

his bow to aid him. And after he had gone a long distance, he beheld a

great and splendid capital, and astonished he sat down inside the city

on the bank of a lake. While there, he beheld a maiden moving along,

surrounded by hundreds of women, like the arrow of love that cleaves

the armour of self-restraint. She slowly approached the king, bathing

him, so to speak, again and again in a look, that rained in showers

the nectar of love. [155] She said, "who art thou, illustrious sir, and

for what reason hast thou entered our home on this occasion?" The king,

being thus questioned by her, told her the whole truth; hearing which,

she let fall from her eyes a passionate flood of tears, and from her

heart all self-control. The king said, "Who art thou, and why dost

thou weep?" When he asked her this question, she, being a prisoner

to love at his will, answered him, "The boar that entered here is the

Daitya Angáraka by name. And I am his daughter, O king, and my name is

Angáravatí. And he is of adamantine frame, and has carried off these

hundred princesses from the palaces of kings and appointed them to

attend on me. Moreover this great Asura has become a Rákshasa owing

to a curse, but to-day as he was exhausted with thirst and fatigue,

even when he found you, he spared you. At present he has put off the

form of a boar and is resting in his own proper shape, but when he

wakes up from his sleep, he will without fail do you an injury. It

is for this reason that I see no hope of a happy issue for you, and

so these tear-drops fall from my eyes like my vital spirits boiled

with the fire of grief." When he heard this speech of Angáravatí's the

king said to her,--"If you love me, do this which I ask you. When your

father awakes, go and weep in front of him, and then he will certainly

ask you the cause of your agitation; then you must say--If some one

were to slay thee, what would become of me? [156] This is the cause of

my grief. If you do this, there will be a happy issue both for you and

me." When the king said this to her, she promised him that she would

do what he wished. And that Asura maiden, apprehending misfortune,

placed the king in concealment, and went near her sleeping father. Then

the Daitya woke up, and she began to weep. And then he said to her,

"Why do you weep, my daughter?" She with affected grief said to him,

"If some one were to slay thee, what would become of me?" Then he

burst out laughing and said;--"Who could possibly slay me, my daughter,

for I am cased in adamant all over, only in my left hand is there an

unguarded place, but that is protected by the bow." In these words the

Daitya consoled his daughter, and all this was heard by the king in

his concealment. Immediately afterwards the Dánava rose up and took

his bath, and proceeded in devout silence to worship the god Siva;

at that moment the king appeared with his bow bent, and rushing up

impetuously towards the Daitya, challenged him to fight. He, without

interrupting his devout silence, lifted his left hand towards the king

and made a sign that he must wait for a moment. The king for his part,

being very quick of hand, immediately smote him with an arrow in that

hand which was his vital part. And that great Asura Angáraka, being

pierced in a vital spot, immediately uttered a terrible cry and fell

on the ground, and exclaimed, as his life departed,--"If that man,

who has slain me when thirsty, does not offer water to my manes every

year, then his five ministers shall perish." After he had said this,

that Daitya died, and the king, taking his daughter Angáravatí as a

prize, returned to Ujjayiní. There the king Chandamahásena married that

Daitya maiden, and two sons were born to him, the first named Gopálaka,

and the second Pálaka; and when they were born, he held a feast in

honour of Indra on their account. Then Indra, being pleased, said

to that king in a dream, "By my favour thou shalt obtain a matchless

daughter." Then in course of time a graceful daughter was born to that

king, like a second and more wonderful shape of the moon made by the

Creator. And on that occasion a voice was heard from heaven;--"She

shall give birth to a son, who shall be a very incarnation of the

god of love, and king of the Vidyádharas." Then the king gave that

daughter the name of Vásavadattá, because she was given by Indra being

pleased with him. And that maiden still remains unmarried in the house

of her father, like the goddess of prosperity in the hollow cavity

of the ocean before it was churned. That king Chandamahásena cannot

indeed be conquered by you, O king, in the first place because he is

so powerful, and in the next place because his realm is situated in

a difficult country. Moreover he is ever longing to give you that

daughter of his in marriage, but being a proud monarch, he desires

the triumph of himself and his adherents. But, I think, you must

certainly marry that Vásavadattá. When he heard this, that king of

Vatsa immediately lost his heart to Vásavadattá.

CHAPTER XII.

In the meanwhile the ambassador, sent by the king of Vatsa in

answer to Chandamahásena's embassy, went and told that monarch his

master's reply. Chandamahásena for his part, on hearing it, began to

reflect--"It is certain that that proud king of Vatsa will not come

here. And I cannot send my daughter to his court, such conduct would

be unbecoming; so I must capture him by some stratagem and bring him

here as a prisoner." Having thus reflected and deliberated with his

ministers, the king had made a large artificial elephant like his own,

and, after filling it with concealed warriors, he placed it in the

Vindhya forest. There the scouts kept in his pay by the king of Vatsa,

who was passionately fond of the sport of elephant-catching, discerned

it from a distance; [157] and they came with speed and informed the

king of Vatsa in these words: "O king, we have seen a single elephant

roaming in the Vindhya forest, such that nowhere else in this wide

world is his equal to be found, filling the sky with his stature,

like a moving peak of the Vindhya range."

Then the king rejoiced on hearing this report from the scouts, and

he gave them a hundred thousand gold pieces by way of reward. The

king spent that night in thinking; "If I obtain that mighty elephant,

a fit match for Nadágiri, then that Chandamahásena will certainly be

in my power, and then he will of his own accord give me his daughter

Vásavadattá." So in the morning he started for the Vindhya forest,

making these scouts shew him the way, disregarding, in his ardent

desire to capture the elephant, the advice of his ministers. He did

not pay any attention to the fact, that the astrologers said, that

the position of the heavenly bodies at the moment of his departure

portended the acquisition of a maiden together with imprisonment. When

the king of Vatsa reached the Vindhya forest, he made his troops halt

at a distance through fear of alarming that elephant, and accompanied

by the scouts only, holding in his hand his melodious lute, he entered

that great forest boundless as his own kingly vice. The king saw on

the southern slope of the Vindhya range that elephant looking like a

real one, pointed out to him by his scouts from a distance. He slowly

approached it, alone, playing on his lute, thinking how he should bind

it, and singing in melodious tones. As his mind was fixed on his music,

and the shades of evening were setting in, that king did not perceive

that the supposed wild elephant was an artificial one. The elephant

too for its part, lifting up its ears and flapping them, as if through

delight in the music, kept advancing and then retiring, and so drew

the king to a great distance. And then, suddenly issuing from that

artificial elephant, a body of soldiers in full armour surrounded

that king of Vatsa. When he beheld them, the king in a rage drew his

hunting knife, but while he was fighting with those in front of him,

he was seized by others coming up behind. And those warriors with the

help of others, who appeared at a concerted signal, carried that king

of Vatsa into the presence of Chandamahásena. Chandamahásena for his

part came out to meet him with the utmost respect, and entered with

him the city of Ujjayiní. Then the newly arrived king of Vatsa was

beheld by the citizens, like the moon, pleasing to the eyes, though

spotted with humiliation. Then all the citizens, suspecting that

he was to be put to death, through regard for his virtues assembled

and determined to commit suicide. [158] Then the king Chandamahásena

put a stop to the agitation of the citizens, by informing them that

he did not intend to put the monarch of Vatsa to death, but to win

him over. So the king made over his daughter Vásavadattá on the spot

to the king of Vatsa, to be taught music, and said to him--"Prince,

teach this lady music; in this way you will obtain a happy issue to

your adventure, do not despond." But when he beheld that fair lady,

the mind of the king of Vatsa was so steeped in love that he put out of

sight his anger: and her heart and mind turned towards him together;

her eye was then averted through modesty, but her mind not at all. So

the king of Vatsa dwelt in the concert-room of Chandamahásena's palace,

teaching Vásavadattá to sing, with his eyes ever fixed on her. In

his lap was his lute, in his throat the quarter-tone of vocal music,

and in front of him stood Vásavadattá delighting his heart. And that

princess Vásavadattá was devoted in her attentions to him, resembling

the goddess of Fortune in that she was firmly attached to him, and

did not leave him though he was a captive.

In the meanwhile the men who had accompanied the king returned to

Kausámbí, and the country, hearing of the captivity of the monarch,

was thrown into a state of great excitement. Then the enraged subjects,

out of love for the king of Vatsa, wanted to make a general [159]

assault on Ujjayiní. But Rumanvat checked the impetuous fury of the

subjects by telling them that Chandamahásena was not to be overcome

by force, for he was a mighty monarch, and besides that an assault

was not advisable, for it might endanger the safety of the king of

Vatsa; but their object must be attained by policy. Then the calm

and resolute Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the country was loyal, and

would not swerve from its allegiance, said to Rumanvat and the others;

"All of you must remain here, ever on the alert; you must guard this

country, and when a fit occasion comes you must display your prowess;

but I will go accompanied by Vasantaka only, and will without fail

accomplish by my wisdom the deliverance of the king and bring him

home. For he is a truly firm and resolute man whose wisdom shines

forth in adversity, as the lightning flash is especially brilliant

during pelting rain. I know spells for breaking through walls,

and for rending fetters, and receipts for becoming invisible,

serviceable at need." Having said this, and entrusted to Rumanvat

the care of the subjects, Yaugandharáyana set out from Kausámbí with

Vasantaka. And with him he entered the Vindhya forest, full of life

[160] like his wisdom, intricate and trackless as his policy. Then he

visited the palace of the king of the Pulindas, Pulindaka by name,

who dwelt on a peak of the Vindhya range, and was an ally of the

king of Vatsa. He first placed him, with a large force at his heels,

in readiness to protect the king of Vatsa when he returned that way,

and then he went on accompanied by Vasantaka and at last arrived at the

burning-ground of Mahákála in Ujjayiní, which was densely tenanted by

vampires [161] that smelt of carrion, and hovered hither and thither,

black as night, rivalling the smoke-wreaths of the funeral pyres. And

there a Bráhman-Rákshasa of the name of Yogesvara immediately came up

to him, delighted to see him, and admitted him into his friendship;

then Yaugandharáyana by means of a charm, which he taught him,

suddenly altered his shape. That charm immediately made him deformed,

hunchbacked, and old, and besides gave him the appearance of a madman,

so that he produced loud laughter in those who beheld him. And in

the same way Yaugandharáyana, by means of that very charm, gave

Vasantaka a body full of outstanding veins, with a large stomach,

and an ugly mouth with projecting teeth; [162] then he sent Vasantaka

on in front to the gate of the king's palace, and entered Ujjayiní

with such an appearance as I have described. There he, singing and

dancing, surrounded by Bráhman boys, beheld with curiosity by all,

made his way to the king's palace. And there he excited by that

behaviour the curiosity of the king's wives, and was at last heard

of by Vásavadattá. She quickly sent a maid and had him brought

to the concert-room. For youth is twin-brother to mirth. And when

Yaugandharáyana came there and beheld the king of Vatsa in fetters,

though he had assumed the appearance of a madman, he could not help

shedding tears. And he made a sign to the king of Vatsa, who quickly

recognized him, though he had come in disguise. Then Yaugandharáyana by

means of his magic power made himself invisible to Vásavadattá and her

maids. So the king alone saw him, and they all said with astonishment,

"that maniac has suddenly escaped somewhere or other." Then the king

of Vatsa hearing them say that, and seeing Yaugandharáyana in front

of him, understood that this was due to magic, and cunningly said

to Vásavadattá; "Go my good girl, and bring the requisites for the

worship of Sarasvatí." When she heard that, she said, "So I will,"

and went out with her companions. Then Yaugandharáyana approached the

king and communicated to him, according to the prescribed form, spells

for breaking chains; and at the same time he furnished him with other

charms for winning the heart of Vásavadattá, which were attached to the

strings of the lute; and informed him that Vasantaka had come there and

was standing outside the door in a changed form, and recommended him

to have that Bráhman summoned to him; at the same time he said--"When

this lady Vásavadattá shall come to repose confidence in you, then you

must do what I tell you, at the present remain quiet." Having said

this, Yaugandharáyana quickly went out, and immediately Vásavadattá

entered with the requisites for the worship of Sarasvatí. Then the

king said to her, "There is a Bráhman standing outside the door, let

him be brought in to celebrate this ceremony in honour of Sarasvatí,

in order that he may obtain a sacrificial fee." Vásavadattá consented,

and had Vasantaka, who wore a deformed shape, summoned from the door

into the music-hall. And when he was brought and saw the king of

Vatsa, he wept for sorrow, and then the king said to him, in order

that the secret might not be discovered, "O Bráhman, I will remove

all this deformity of thine produced by sickness; do not weep, remain

here near me." And then Vasantaka said--"It is a great condescension

on thy part, O king." And the king seeing how he was deformed could

not keep his countenance. And when he saw that, Vasantaka guessed

what was in the king's mind, and laughed so that the deformity of his

distorted face was increased; and thereupon Vásavadattá, beholding him

grinning like a doll, burst out laughing also, and was much delighted;

then the young lady asked Vasantaka in fun the following question:

"Bráhman, what science are you familiar with, tell us?" So he said,

"Princess, I am an adept at telling tales." Then she said, "Come,

tell me a tale." Then in order to please that princess, Vasantaka told

the following tale, which was charming by its comic humour and variety.

Story of Rúpiniká.

There is in this country a city named Mathurá, the birthplace of

Krishna, in it there was a hetæra known by the name of Rúpiniká;

she had for a mother an old kuttiní named Makaradanshtrá, who

seemed a lump of poison in the eyes of the young men attracted by

her daughter's charms. One day Rúpiniká went at the time of worship

to the temple to perform her duty, [163] and beheld from a distance

a young man. When she saw that handsome young fellow, he made such an

impression upon her heart, that all her mother's instructions vanished

from it. Then she said to her maid, "Go and tell this man from me,

that he is to come to my house to-day." The maid said, "So I will,"

and immediately went and told him. Then the man thought a little

and said to her; "I am a Bráhman named Lohajangha [164]; I have no

wealth; then what business have I in the house of Rúpiniká which is

only to be entered by the rich." The maid said,--"My mistress does

not desire wealth from you,"--whereupon Lohajangha consented to do

as she wished. When she heard that from the maid, Rúpiniká went home

in a state of excitement, and remained with her eyes fixed on the

path by which he would come. And soon Lohajangha came to her house,

while the kuttiní Makaradanshtrá looked at him, and wondered where he

came from. Rúpiniká, for her part, when she saw him, rose up to meet

him herself with the utmost respect, and clinging to his neck in her

joy, led him to her own private apartments. Then she was captivated

with Lohajangha's wealth of accomplishments, and considered that

she had been only born to love him. So she avoided the society of

other men, and that young fellow lived with her in her house in great

comfort. Rúpiniká's mother, Makaradanshtrá, who had trained up many

hetæræ, was annoyed when she saw this, and said to her in private;

"My daughter, why do you associate with a poor man? Hetæræ of good

taste embrace a corpse in preference to a poor man. What business has a

hetæra like you with affection? How have you come to forget that great

principle? The light of a red [165] sunset lasts but a short time, and

so does the splendour of a hetæra who gives way to affection. A hetæra,

like an actress, should exhibit an assumed affection in order to get

wealth; so forsake this pauper, do not ruin yourself." When she heard

this speech of her mother's, Rúpiniká said in a rage, "Do not talk

in this way, for I love him more than my life. And as for wealth,

I have plenty, what do I want with more? So you must not speak to

me again, mother, in this way." When she heard this, Makaradanshtrá

was in a rage, and she remained thinking over some device for getting

rid of this Lohajangha. Then she saw coming along the road a certain

Rájpút, who had spent all his wealth, surrounded by retainers with

swords in their hands. So she went up to him quickly and taking him

aside, said--"My house is beset by a certain poor lover. So come there

yourself to-day, and take such order with him that he shall depart from

my house, and do you possess my daughter." "Agreed," said the Rájpút,

and entered that house. At that precise moment Rúpiniká was in the

temple, and Lohajangha meanwhile was absent somewhere, and suspecting

nothing, he returned to the house a moment afterwards. Immediately

the retainers of the Rájpút ran upon him, and gave him severe kicks

and blows on all his limbs, and then they threw him into a ditch full

of all kinds of impurities, and Lohajangha with difficulty escaped

from it. Then Rúpiniká returned to the house, and when she heard

what had taken place, she was distracted with grief, so the Rájpút,

seeing that, returned as he came.

Lohajangha, after suffering this brutal outrage by the machinations

of the kuttiní, set out for some holy place of pilgrimage, in order to

leave his life there, now that he was separated from his beloved. As he

was going along in the wild country, [166] with his heart burning with

anger against the kuttiní, and his skin with the heat of the summer,

he longed for shade. Not being able to find a tree, he lighted on

the body of an elephant, which had been stripped of all its flesh

[167] by jackals making their way into it by the hind-quarters;

accordingly Lohajangha being worn out crept into this carcase, which

was a mere shell, as only the skin remained, and went to sleep in

it, as it was kept cool by the breeze which freely entered. Then

suddenly clouds arose from all sides, and began to pour down a

pelting shower of rain; that rain made the elephant's skin contract

so that no aperture was left, and immediately a copious inundation

came that way, and carrying off the elephant's hide swept it into

the Ganges; so eventually the inundation bore it into the sea. And

there a bird of the race of Garuda saw that hide, and supposing it

to be carrion, took it to the other side of the sea; there it tore

open the elephant's hide with its claws, and, seeing that there was

a man inside it, fled away. But Lohajangha was awaked by the bird's

pecking and scratching, and came out through the aperture made by

its beak. And finding that he was on the other side of the sea,

he was astonished, and looked upon the whole thing as a day-dream;

then he saw there to his terror two horrible Rákshasas, and those

two for their part contemplated him from a distance with feelings of

fear. Remembering how they were defeated by Ráma, and seeing that

Lohajangha was also a man who had crossed the sea, they were once

more alarmed in their hearts. So, after they had deliberated together,

one of them went off immediately and told the whole occurrence to king

Vibhíshana; king Vibhíshana too, as he had seen the prowess of Ráma,

being terrified at the arrival of a man, said to that Rákshasa; "Go,

my good friend, and tell that man from me in a friendly manner, that

he is to do me the favour of coming to my palace." The Rákshasa said,

"I will do so," and timidly approached Lohajangha, and told him that

request of his sovereign's. Lohajangha for his part accepted that

invitation with unruffled calm, and went to Lanká with that Rákshasa

and his companion. And when he arrived in Lanká, he was astonished

at beholding numerous splendid edifices of gold, and entering the

king's palace, he saw Vibhíshana. The king welcomed the Bráhman who

blessed him in return, and then Vibhíshana said, "Bráhman, how did

you manage to reach this country?" Then the cunning Lohajangha said

to Vibhíshana--"I am a Bráhman of the name of Lohajangha residing in

Mathurá; and I, Lohajangha being afflicted at my poverty, went to the

temple of the god, and remaining fasting, for a long time performed

austerities in the presence of Náráyana. [168] Then the adorable Hari*

commanded me in a dream, saying, 'Go thou to Vibhíshana, for he is a

faithful worshipper of mine, and he will give thee wealth.' Then, I

said, 'Vibhíshana is where I cannot reach him'--but the lord continued,

'To-day shalt thou see that Vibhíshana.' So the lord spake to me,

and immediately I woke up and found myself upon this side of the

sea. I know no more." When Vibhíshana heard this from Lohajangha,

reflecting that Lanká was a difficult place to reach, he thought

to himself--"Of a truth this man possesses divine power." And he

said to that Bráhman,--"Remain here, I will give you wealth." Then

he committed him to the care of the man-slaying Rákshasas as an

inviolable deposit; and sent some of his subjects to a mountain

in his kingdom called Swarnamúla, and brought from it a young bird

belonging to the race of Garuda; and he gave it to that Lohajangha,

(who had to take a long journey to Mathurá,) to ride upon, in order

that he might in the meanwhile break it in. Lohajangha for his part

mounted on its back, and riding about on it in Lanká, rested there

for some time, being hospitably entertained by Vibhíshana.

One day he asked the king of the Rákshasas, feeling curiosity on

the point, why the whole ground of Lanká was made of wood; and

Vibhíshana when he heard that, explained the circumstance to him,

saying, "Bráhman, if you take any interest in this matter, listen,

I will explain it to you. Long ago Garuda the son of Kasyapa, wishing

to redeem his mother from her slavery to the snakes, to whom she had

been subjected in accordance with an agreement, [169] and preparing

to obtain from the gods the nectar which was the price of her ransom,

wanted to eat something which would increase his strength, and so he

went to his father, who being importuned said to him, "My son, in the

sea there is a huge elephant, and a huge tortoise. They have assumed

their present forms in consequence of a curse: go and eat them." Then

Garuda went and brought them both to eat, and then perched on a bough

of the great wishing-tree of paradise. And when that bough suddenly

broke with his weight, he held it up with his beak, out of regard

to the Bálakhilyas [170] who were engaged in austerities underneath

it. Then Garuda, afraid that the bough would crush mankind, if he let

it fall at random, by the advice of his father brought the bough to

this uninhabited part of the earth, and let it drop. Lanká was built

on the top of that bough, therefore the ground here is of wood." When

he heard this from Vibhíshana, Lohajangha was perfectly satisfied.

Then Vibhíshana gave to Lohajangha many valuable jewels, as he desired

to set out for Mathurá. And out of his devotion to the god Vishnu,

who dwells at Mathurá, he entrusted to the care of Lohajangha a lotus,

a club, a shell, and a discus all of gold, to be offered to the god;

Lohajangha took all these, and mounted the bird given to him by

Vibhíshana, that could accomplish a hundred thousand yojanas, [171]

and rising up into the air in Lanká, he crossed the sea and without

any difficulty arrived at Mathurá. And there he descended from the air

in an empty convent outside the town, and deposited there his abundant

treasure, and tied up that bird. And then he went into the market and

sold one of his jewels, and bought garments and scented unguents, and

also food. And he ate the food in that convent where he was, and gave

some to his bird; and he adorned himself with the garments, unguents,

flowers and other decorations. And when night came, he mounted that

same bird and went to the house of Rúpiniká, bearing in his hand the

shell, discus and mace; then he hovered over it in the air, knowing the

place well, and made a low deep sound, to attract the attention of his

beloved, who was alone. But Rúpiniká, as soon as she heard that sound,

came out, and saw hovering in the air by night a being like Náráyana,

gleaming with jewels. He said to her, "I am Hari come hither for thy

sake;" whereupon she bowed with her face to the earth and said--"May

the god have mercy upon me!" Then Lohajangha descended and tied up

his bird, and entered the private apartments of his beloved hand in

hand with her. And after remaining there a short time, he came out,

and mounting the bird as before, went off through the air. [172]

In the morning Rúpiniká remained observing an obstinate silence,

thinking to herself--"I am the wife of the god Vishnu, I must cease

to converse with mortals." And then her mother Makaradanshtrá said

to her,--"Why do you behave in this way, my daughter?" And after she

had been perseveringly questioned by her mother, she caused to be put

up a curtain between herself and her parent, and told her what had

taken place in the night, which was the cause of her silence. When

the kuttiní heard that, she felt doubt on the subject, but soon after

at night she saw that very Lohajangha mounted on the bird, and in the

morning Makaradanshtrá came secretly to Rúpiniká, who still remained

behind the curtain, and inclining herself humbly, preferred to her

this request; "Through the favour of the god, thou, my daughter, hast

obtained here on earth the rank of a goddess, and I am thy mother in

this world, therefore grant me a reward for giving thee birth; entreat

the god that, old as I am, with this very body I may enter Paradise;

do me this favour." Rúpiniká consented and requested that very boon

from Lohajangha, who came again at night disguised as Vishnu. Then

Lohajangha, who was personating the god, said to that beloved of

his--"Thy mother is a wicked woman, it would not be fitting to take

her openly to Paradise, but on the morning of the eleventh day the

door of heaven is opened, and many of the Ganas, Siva's companions,

enter into it before any one else is admitted. Among them I will

introduce this mother of thine, if she assume their appearance. So,

shave her head with a razor, in such a manner that five locks shall

be left, put a necklace of sculls round her neck, and stripping off

her clothes, paint one side of her body with lamp-black, and the

other with red lead, [173] for when she has in this way been made

to resemble a Gana, I shall find it an easy matter to get her into

heaven." When he had said this, Lohajangha remained a short time,

and then departed. And in the morning Rúpiniká attired her mother as

he had directed; and then she remained with her mind entirely fixed on

Paradise. So, when night came, Lohajangha appeared again, and Rúpiniká

handed over her mother to him. Then he mounted on the bird, and took

the kuttiní with him naked, and transformed as he had directed, and

he flew up rapidly with her into the air. While he was in the air,

he beheld a lofty stone pillar in front of a temple, with a discus on

its summit. So he placed her on the top of the pillar, with the discus

as her only support, [174] and there she hung like a banner to blazon

forth his revenge for his ill-usage. He said to her--"Remain here a

moment while I bless the earth with my approach," and vanished from

her sight. Then beholding a number of people in front of the temple,

who had come there to spend the night in devout vigils before the

festive procession, he called aloud from the air--"Hear, ye people,

this very day there shall fall upon you here the all-destroying

goddess of Pestilence, therefore fly to Hari for protection." When

they heard this voice from the air, all the inhabitants of Mathurá who

were there, being terrified, implored the protection of the god, and

remained devoutly muttering prayers to ward off calamity. Lohajangha,

for his part, descended from the air, and encouraged them to pray,

and after changing that dress of his, came and stood among the people,

without being observed. The kuttiní thought, as she sat upon the top

of the pillar,--"the god has not come as yet, and I have not reached

heaven." At last feeling it impossible to remain up there any longer,

she cried out in her fear, so that the people below heard; "Alas! I

am falling, I am falling." Hearing that, the people in front of the

god's temple were beside themselves, fearing that the destroying

goddess was falling upon them, even as had been foretold, and said,

"O goddess, do not fall, do not fall." So those people of Mathurá,

young and old, spent that night in perpetual dread that the destroying

goddess would fall upon them, but at last it came to an end; and

then beholding that kuttiní upon the pillar in the state described,

[175] the citizens and the king recognized her at once; all the

people thereupon forgot their alarm, and burst out laughing, and

Rúpiniká herself at last arrived having heard of the occurrence. And

when she saw it, she was abashed, and with the help of the people,

who were there, she managed to get that mother of hers down from

the top of the pillar immediately: then that kuttiní was asked by

all the people there, who were filled with curiosity, to tell them

the whole story, and she did so. Thereupon the king, the Bráhmans,

and the merchants, thinking that that laughable incident must have

been brought about by a sorcerer or some person of that description,

made a proclamation, that whoever had made a fool of the kuttiní,

who had deceived innumerable lovers, was to shew himself, and he

would receive a turban of honour on the spot. When he heard that,

Lohajangha made himself known to those present, and being questioned,

he related the whole story from its commencement. And he offered

to the god the discus, shell, club, and lotus of gold, the present

which Vibhíshana had sent, and which aroused the astonishment of the

people. Then all the people of Mathurá, being pleased, immediately

invested him with a turban of honour, and by the command of the king,

made that Rúpiniká a free woman. And then Lohajangha, having wreaked

upon the kuttiní his wrath caused by her ill-usage of him, lived in

great comfort in Mathurá with that beloved of his, being very well

off by means of the large stock of jewels which he brought from Lanká.

Hearing this tale from the mouth of the transformed Vasantaka,

Vásavadattá who was sitting at the side of the fettered king of Vatsa,

felt extreme delight in her heart.

CHAPTER XIII.

As time went on, Vásavadattá began to feel a great affection for the

king of Vatsa, and to take part with him against her father. Then

Yaugandharáyana again came in to see the king of Vatsa, making himself

invisible to all the others, who were there. And he gave him the

following information in private in the presence of Vasantaka only;

"King, you were made captive by king Chandamahásena by means of

an artifice. And he wishes to give you his daughter, and set you

at liberty, treating you with all honour; so let us carry off his

daughter and escape. For in this way we shall have revenged ourselves

upon the haughty monarch, and we shall not be thought lightly of in

the world for want of prowess. Now the king has given that daughter

of his, Vásavadattá, a female elephant called Bhadravatí. And no

other elephant but Nadágiri is swift enough to catch her up, and he

will not fight when he sees her. The driver of this elephant is a man

here called Áshádhaka, and him I have won over to our side by giving

him much wealth. So you must mount that elephant with Vásavadattá,

fully armed, and start from this place secretly by night. And you

must have the superintendent of the royal elephants here made drunk

with wine, in order that he may not perceive what is about to take

place, [176] for he understands every sign that elephants give. I,

for my part, will first repair to your ally Pulindaka in order that

he may be prepared to guard the road by which you escape." When he

had said this, Yaugandharáyana departed. So the king of Vatsa stored

up all his instructions in his heart; and soon Vásavadattá came to

him. Then he made all kinds of confidential speeches to her, and at

last told her what Yaugandharáyana had said to him. She consented to

the proposal, and made up her mind to start, and causing the elephant

driver Áshádhaka to be summoned, she prepared his mind for the attempt,

and on the pretext of worshipping the gods, she gave the superintendent

of the elephants, with all the elephant drivers, a supply of spirits,

and made them drunk. Then in the evening, which was disturbed with

the echoing roar of clouds, [177] Áshádhaka brought that female

elephant ready harnessed, but she, while she was being harnessed,

uttered a cry, which was heard by the superintendent of the elephants,

who was skilled in elephants' language; and he faltered out in a voice

indistinct from excessive intoxication,--"the female elephant says,

she is going sixty-three yojanas to-day." But his mind in his drunken

state was not capable of reasoning, and the elephant-drivers, who were

also intoxicated, did not even hear what he said. Then the king of

Vatsa broke his chains by means of the charms, which Yaugandharáyana

had given him, and took that lute of his, and Vásavadattá of her own

accord brought him his weapons, and then he mounted the female elephant

with Vasantaka. And then Vásavadattá mounted the same elephant with

her friend and confidante Kánchanamálá; then the king of Vatsa went

out from Ujjayiní with five persons in all, including himself and

the elephant-driver, by a path which the infuriated elephant clove

through the rampart.

And the king attacked and slew the two warriors who guarded that point,

the Rájpúts Vírabáhu and Tálabhata. Then the monarch set out rapidly

on his journey in high spirits, mounted on the female elephant,

together with his beloved, Áshádhaka holding the elephant-hook; in

the meanwhile in Ujjayiní the city-patrol beheld those guards of the

rampart lying dead, and in consternation reported the news to the

king at night. Chandamahásena enquired into the matter, and found

out at last that the king of Vatsa had escaped, taking Vásavadattá

with him. Then the alarm spread through the city, and one of his

sons named Pálaka mounted Nadágiri and pursued the king of Vatsa. The

king of Vatsa for his part, combated him with arrows as he advanced,

and Nadágiri, seeing that female elephant, would not attack her. Then

Pálaka, who was ready to listen to reason, was induced to desist from

the pursuit by his brother Gopálaka, who had his father's interests

at heart; then the king of Vatsa boldly continued his journey,

and as he journeyed, the night gradually came to an end. So by the

middle of the day the king had reached the Vindhya forest, and his

elephant having journeyed sixty-three yojanas, was thirsty. So the

king and his wife dismounted, and the female elephant having drunk

water, owing to its being bad, fell dead on the spot. Then the king

of Vatsa and Vásavadattá, in their despair, heard this voice coming

from the air--"I, O king, am a female Vidyádhara named Máyávatí, and

for this long time I have been a female elephant in consequence of

a curse; and to-day, O lord of Vatsa, I have done you a good turn,

and I will do another to your son that is to be: and this queen of

yours Vásavadattá is not a mere mortal; she is a goddess for a certain

cause incarnate on the earth." Then the king regained his spirits,

and sent on Vasantaka to the plateau of the Vindhya hills to announce

his arrival to his ally Pulindaka; and as he was himself journeying

along slowly on foot with his beloved, he was surrounded by brigands,

who sprang out from an ambuscade. And the king, with only his bow

to help him, slew one hundred and five of them before the eyes of

Vásavadattá. And immediately the king's ally Pulindaka came up,

together with Yaugandharáyana, Vasantaka shewing them the way. The

king of the Bheels ordered the surviving brigands [178] to desist,

and after prostrating himself before the king of Vatsa, conducted

him with his beloved to his own village. The king rested there that

night with Vásavadattá, whose foot had been cut with a blade of forest

grass, and early in the morning the general Rumanvat reached him, who

had before been summoned by Yaugandharáyana, who sent a messenger to

him. And the whole army came with him, filling the land as far as the

eye could reach, so that the Vindhya forest appeared to be besieged. So

that king of Vatsa entered into the encampment of his army, and

remained in that wild region to wait for news from Ujjayiní. And,

while he was there, a merchant came from Ujjayiní, a friend of

Yaugandharáyana's, and when he had arrived reported these tidings,

"The king Chandamahásena is pleased to have thee for a son-in-law,

and he has sent his warder to thee. The warder is on the way, but

he has stopped short of this place, however, I came secretly on in

front of him, as fast as I could, to bring your Highness information."

When he heard this, the king of Vatsa rejoiced, and told it all to

Vásavadattá, and she was exceedingly delighted. Then Vásavadattá,

having abandoned her own relations, and being anxious for the

ceremony of marriage, was at the same time bashful and impatient:

then she said, in order to divert her thoughts, to Vasantaka who was

in attendance--"Tell me some story." Then the sagacious Vasantaka

told that fair-eyed one the following tale in order to increase her

affection for her husband.

Story of Devasmitá.

There is a city in the world famous under the name of Támraliptá, and

in that city there was a very rich merchant named Dhanadatta. And he,

being childless, assembled many Bráhmans and said to them with due

respect; "Take such steps as will procure me a son soon." Then those

Bráhmans said to him: "This is not at all difficult, for Bráhmans

can accomplish all things in this world by means of ceremonies in

accordance with the scriptures. To give you an instance there was

in old time a king who had no sons, and he had a hundred and five

wives in his harem. And by means of a sacrifice to procure a son,

there was born to him a son named Jantu, who was like the rising of

the new moon to the eyes of his wives. Once on a time an ant bit the

boy on the thigh as he was crawling about on his knees, so that he

was very unhappy and sobbed loudly. Thereupon the whole harem was

full of confused lamentation, and the king himself shrieked out

'My son! my son!' like a common man. The boy was soon comforted,

the ant having been removed, and the king blamed the misfortune of

his only having one son as the cause of all his grief. And he asked

the Bráhmans in his affliction if there was any expedient by which he

might obtain a large number of children. They answered him,--'O king,

there is one expedient open to you; you must slay this son and offer

up all his flesh in the fire. By smelling the smell of that sacrifice

all thy wives will obtain sons.' When he heard that, the king had

the whole ceremony performed as they directed; and he obtained as

many sons as he had wives. So we can obtain a son for you also by a

burnt-offering." When they had said this to Dhanadatta, the Bráhmans,

after a sacrificial fee had been promised them, performed a sacrifice:

then a son was born to that merchant. That son was called Guhasena,

and he gradually grew up to man's estate. Then his father Dhanadatta

began to look out for a wife for him.

Then his father went with that son of his to another country, on the

pretence of traffic, but really to get a daughter-in-law, there he

asked an excellent merchant of the name of Dharmagupta to give him his

daughter named Devasmitá for his son Guhasena. But Dharmagupta, who was

tenderly attached to his daughter, did not approve of that connexion,

reflecting that the city of Támraliptá was very far off. But when

Devasmitá beheld that Guhasena, her mind was immediately attracted by

his virtues, and she was set on abandoning her relations, and so she

made an assignation with him by means of a confidante, and went away

from that country at night with her beloved and his father. When they

reached Támraliptá they were married, and the minds of the young couple

were firmly knit together by the bond of mutual love. Then Guhasena's

father died, and he himself was urged by his relations to go to the

country of Katáha [179] for the purpose of trafficking; but his wife

Devasmitá was too jealous to approve of that expedition, fearing

exceedingly that he would be attracted by some other lady. Then,

as his wife did not approve of it, and his relations kept inciting

him to it, Guhasena, whose mind was firmly set on doing his duty, was

bewildered. Then he went and performed a vow in the temple of the god,

observing a rigid fast, trusting that the god would shew him some way

out of his difficulty. And his wife Devasmitá also performed a vow

with him; then Siva was pleased to appear to that couple in a dream;

and giving them two red lotuses the god said to them,--"take each,

of you one of these lotuses in your hand. And if either of you shall

be unfaithful during your separation, the lotus in the hand of the

other shall fade, but not otherwise [180]." After hearing this, the

two woke up, and each beheld in the hand of the other a red lotus,

and it seemed as if they had got one another's hearts. Then Guhasena

set out, lotus in hand, but Devasmitá remained in the house with her

eyes fixed upon her flower. Guhasena for his part quickly reached

the country of Katáha, and began to buy and sell jewels there. And

four young merchants in that country, seeing that that unfading

lotus was ever in his hand, were greatly astonished. Accordingly

they got him to their house by an artifice, and made him drink a

great deal of wine, and then asked him the history of the lotus,

and he being intoxicated told them the whole story. Then those four

young merchants, knowing that Guhasena would take a long time to

complete his sales and purchases of jewels and other wares, planned

together, like rascals as they were, the seduction of his wife out of

curiosity, and eager to accomplish it set out quickly for Támraliptá

without their departure being noticed. There they cast about for some

instrument, and at last had recourse to a female ascetic of the name

of Yogakarandiká, who lived in a sanctuary of Buddha; and they said

to her in an affectionate manner, "Reverend madam, if our object is

accomplished by your help, we will give you much wealth." She answered

them; "No doubt, you young men desire some woman in this city, so tell

me all about it, I will procure you the object of your desire, but I

have no wish for money; I have a pupil of distinguished ability named

Siddhikarí; owing to her kindness I have obtained untold wealth." The

young merchants asked--"How have you obtained untold wealth by the

assistance of a pupil?" Being asked this question, the female ascetic

said,--"If you feel any curiosity about the matter, listen, my sons,

I will tell you the whole story."

Story of the cunning Siddhikarí.

Long ago a certain merchant came here from the north; while he was

dwelling here, my pupil went and obtained, with a treacherous object,

the position of a serving-maid in his house, having first altered her

appearance, and after she had gained the confidence of that merchant,

she stole all his hoard of gold from his house, and went off secretly

in the morning twilight. And as she went out from the city moving

rapidly through fear, a certain Domba [181] with his drum in his

hand, saw her, and pursued her at full speed with the intention of

robbing her. When she had reached the foot of a Nyagrodha tree, she

saw that he had come up with her, and so the cunning Siddhikarí said

this to him in a plaintive manner, "I have had a jealous quarrel

with my husband, and I have left his house to die, therefore my

good man, make a noose for me to hang myself with." Then the Domba

thought, "Let her hang herself, why should I be guilty of her death,

especially as she is a woman," and so he fastened a noose for her

to the tree. Then Siddhikarí, feigning ignorance, said to the Domba,

"How is the noose slipped round the neck? shew me, I entreat you." Then

the Domba placed the drum under his feet, and saying,--"This is the

way we do the trick"--he fastened the noose round his own throat;

Siddhikarí for her part smashed the drum to atoms with a kick, and

that Domba hung till he was dead. [182] At that moment the merchant

arrived in search of her, and beheld from a distance Siddhikarí, who

had stolen from him untold treasures, at the foot of the tree. She

too saw him coming, and climbed up the tree without being noticed,

and remained there on a bough, having her body concealed by the dense

foliage. When the merchant came up with his servants, he saw the Domba

hanging by his neck, but Siddhikarí was nowhere to be seen. Immediately

one of his servants said "I wonder whether she has got up this tree,"

and proceeded to ascend it himself. Then Siddhikarí said--"I have

always loved you, and now you have climbed up where I am, so all this

wealth is at your disposal, handsome man, come and embrace me." So

she embraced the merchant's servant, and as she was kissing his mouth,

she bit off the fool's tongue. He, overcome with the pain, fell from

that tree, spitting blood from his mouth, uttering some indistinct

syllables, which sounded like Lalalla. When he saw that, the merchant

was terrified, and supposing that his servant had been seized by a

demon, he fled from that place, and went to his own house with his

attendants. Then Siddhikarí the female ascetic, equally frightened,

descended from the top of the tree, and brought home with her all

that wealth. Such a person is my pupil, distinguished for her great

discernment, and it is in this way, my sons, that I have obtained

wealth by her kindness.

When she had said this to the young merchants, the female ascetic

shewed to them her pupil who happened to come in at that moment; and

said to them, "Now, my sons, tell me the real state of affairs--what

woman do you desire? I will quickly procure her for you." When they

heard that they said, "procure us an interview with the wife of the

merchant Guhasena named Devasmitá." When she heard that, the ascetic

undertook to manage that business for them, and she gave those young

merchants her own house to reside in. Then she gratified the servants

at Guhasena's house with gifts of sweetmeats and other things, and

afterwards entered it with her pupil. Then, as she approached the

private rooms of Devasmitá, a bitch, that was fastened there with a

chain, would not let her come near, but opposed her entrance in the

most determined way. Then Devasmitá seeing her, of her own accord

sent a maid, and had her brought in, thinking to herself, "What can

this person be come for?" After she had entered, the wicked ascetic

gave Devasmitá her blessing, and, treating the virtuous woman with

affected respect, said to her--"I have always had a desire to see you,

but to-day I saw you in a dream, therefore I have come to visit you

with impatient eagerness; and my mind is afflicted at beholding you

separated from your husband, for beauty and youth are wasted when

one is deprived of the society of one's beloved." With this and many

other speeches of the same kind she tried to gain the confidence of

the virtuous woman in a short interview, and then taking leave of

her she returned to her own house. On the second day she took with

her a piece of meat full of pepper dust, and went again to the house

of Devasmitá, and there she gave that piece of meat to the bitch at

the door, and the bitch gobbled it up, pepper and all. Then owing

to the pepper dust, the tears flowed in profusion from the animal's

eyes, and her nose began to run. And the cunning ascetic immediately

went into the apartment of Devasmitá, who received her hospitably,

and began to cry. When Devasmitá asked her why she shed tears, she

said with affected reluctance: "My friend, look at this bitch weeping

outside here. This creature recognized me to-day as having been its

companion in a former birth, and began to weep; for that reason my

tears gushed through pity." When she heard that, and saw that bitch

outside apparently weeping, Devasmitá thought for a moment to herself,

"What can be the meaning of this wonderful sight?" Then the ascetic

said to her, "My daughter, in a former birth, I and that bitch were

the two wives of a certain Bráhman. And our husband frequently went

about to other countries on embassies by order of the king. Now while

he was away from home, I lived with other men at my pleasure, and so

did not cheat the elements, of which I was composed, and my senses,

of their lawful enjoyment. For considerate treatment of the elements

and senses is held to be the highest duty. Therefore I have been born

in this birth with a recollection of my former existence. But she,

in her former life, through ignorance, confined all her attention to

the preservation of her character, therefore she has been degraded and

born again as one of the canine race, however, she too remembers her

former birth." The wise Devasmitá said to herself, "This is a novel

conception of duty; no doubt this woman has laid a treacherous snare

for me"; and so she said to her, "Reverend lady, for this long time

I have been ignorant of this duty, so procure me an interview with

some charming man."--Then the ascetic said--"There are residing here

some young merchants that have come from another country, so I will

bring them to you." When she had said this, the ascetic returned

home delighted, and Devasmitá of her own accord said to her maids:

"No doubt those scoundrelly young merchants, whoever they may be,

have seen that unfading lotus in the hand of my husband, and have

on some occasion or other, when he was drinking wine, asked him out

of curiosity to tell the whole story of it, and have now come here

from that island to seduce me, and this wicked ascetic is employed by

them. So bring quickly some wine mixed with Datura, [183] and when

you have brought it, have a dog's foot of iron made as quickly as

possible." When Devasmitá had given these orders, the maids executed

them faithfully, and one of the maids, by her orders, dressed herself

up to resemble her mistress. The ascetic for her part chose out of the

party of four merchants, (each of whom in his eagerness said--"let me

go first"--) one individual, and brought him with her. And concealing

him in the dress of her pupil, she introduced him in the evening

into the house of Devasmitá, and coming out, disappeared. Then that

maid, who was disguised as Devasmitá, courteously persuaded the young

merchant to drink some of that wine drugged with Datura. That liquor,

[184] like his own immodesty, robbed him of his senses, and then

the maids took away his clothes and other equipments and left him

stark naked; then they branded him on the forehead with the mark of a

dog's foot, and during the night took him and pushed him into a ditch

full of filth. Then he recovered consciousness in the last watch of

the night, and found himself plunged in a ditch, as it were the hell

Avíchi assigned to him by his sins. Then he got up and washed himself

and went to the house of the female ascetic, in a state of nature,

feeling with his fingers the mark on his forehead. And when he got

there, he told his friends that he had been robbed on the way, in

order that he might not be the only person made ridiculous. And the

next morning he sat with a cloth wrapped round his branded forehead,

giving as an excuse that he had a headache from keeping awake so

long, and drinking too much. In the same way the next young merchant

was maltreated, when he got to the house of Devasmitá, and when he

returned home naked, he said, "I put on my ornaments there, and as I

was coming out I was plundered by robbers." In the morning he also, on

the plea of a headache, put a wrapper on to cover his branded forehead.

In the same way all the four young merchants suffered in turns

branding and other humiliating treatment, though they concealed

the fact. And they went away from the place, without revealing to

the female Buddhist ascetic the ill-treatment they had experienced,

hoping that she would suffer in a similar way. On the next day the

ascetic went with her disciple to the house of Devasmitá, much

delighted at having accomplished what she undertook to do. Then

Devasmitá received her courteously, and made her drink wine drugged

with Datura, offered as a sign of gratitude. When she and her disciple

were intoxicated with it, that chaste wife cut off their ears and

noses, and flung them also into a filthy pool. And being distressed by

the thought that perhaps these young merchants might go and slay her

husband, she told the whole circumstance to her mother-in-law. Then

her mother-in-law said to her,--"My daughter, you have acted nobly,

but possibly some misfortune may happen to my son in consequence of

what you have done." Then Devasmitá said--I will deliver him even

as Saktimatí in old time delivered her husband by her wisdom. Her

mother-in-law asked; "How did Saktimatí deliver her husband? tell me,

my daughter." Then Devasmitá related the following story:

Story of Saktimatí.

In our country, within the city, there is the shrine of a powerful

Yaksha named Manibhadra, established by our ancestors. The people

there come and make petitions at this shrine, offering various gifts,

in order to obtain various blessings. Whenever a man is found at night

with another man's wife, he is placed with her within the inner chamber

of the Yaksha's temple. And in the morning he is taken away from thence

with the woman to the king's court, and his behaviour being made known,

he is punished; such is the custom. Once on a time in that city a

merchant, of the name of Samudradatta, was found by a city-guard in

the company of another man's wife. So he took him and placed him with

the woman in that temple of the Yaksha, fastening the door firmly. And

immediately the wise and devoted wife of that merchant, whose name was

Saktimatí, came to hear of the occurrence; then that resolute woman,

disguising herself, went confidently at night to the temple of the

Yaksha, accompanied by her friends, taking with her offerings for

the god. When she arrived there, the priest whose business it was

to eat the offerings, through desire for a fee, opened the door and

let her enter, informing the magistrate of what he had done. And she,

when she got inside, saw her husband looking sheepish, with a woman,

and she made the woman put on her own dress, and told her to go

out. So that woman went out in her dress by night, and got off, but

Saktimatí remained in the temple with her husband. And when the king's

officers came in the morning to examine the merchant, he was seen by

all to be in the company of his own wife. [185] When he heard that,

the king dismissed the merchant from the temple of the Yaksha, as it

were from the mouth of death, and punished the chief magistrate. So

Saktimatí in old time delivered her husband by her wisdom, and in

the same way I will go and save my husband by my discretion.

So the wise Devasmitá said in secret to her mother-in-law, and,

in company with her maids, she put on the dress of a merchant. Then

she embarked on a ship, on the pretence of a mercantile expedition,

and came to the country of Katáha where her husband was. And when

she arrived there, she saw that husband of hers, Guhasena, in

the midst of a circle of merchants, like consolation in external

bodily form. He seeing her afar off in the dress of a man, [186]

as it were, drank her in with his eyes, and thought to himself,

"Who may this merchant be that looks so like my beloved wife"? So

Devasmitá went and represented to the king that she had a petition

to make, and asked him to assemble all his subjects. Then the king

full of curiosity assembled all the citizens, and said to that lady

disguised as a merchant, "What is your petition?" Then Devasmitá

said--There are residing here in your midst four slaves of mine who

have escaped, let the king make them over to me. Then the king said

to her, "All the citizens are present here, so look at every one in

order to recognise him, and take those slaves of yours." Then she

seized upon the four young merchants, whom she had before treated in

such a humiliating way in her house, and who had wrappers bound round

their heads. Then the merchants, who were there, flew in a passion,

and said to her, "These are the sons of distinguished merchants,

how then can they be your slaves?" Then she answered them, "If you do

not believe what I say, examine their foreheads which I marked with a

dog's foot." They consented, and removing the head-wrappers of these

four, they all beheld the dog's foot on their foreheads. Then all the

merchants were abashed, and the king, being astonished, himself asked

Devasmitá what all this meant. She told the whole story, and all the

people burst out laughing, and the king said to the lady,--"They are

your slaves by the best of titles." Then the other merchants paid

a large sum of money to that chaste wife, to redeem those four from

slavery, and a fine to the king's treasury. Devasmitá received that

money, and recovered her husband, and being honoured by all good men,

returned then to her own city Támraliptá, and she was never afterwards

separated from her beloved.

"Thus, O queen, women of good family ever worship their husbands with

chaste and resolute behaviour, [187] and never think of any other

man, for to virtuous wives the husband is the highest deity." When

Vásavadattá on the journey heard this noble story from the mouth of

Vasantaka, she got over the feeling of shame at having recently left

her father's house, and her mind, which was previously attached by

strong affection to her husband, became so fixed upon him as to be

entirely devoted to his service.

NOTE ON CHAPTER XIII.

With regard to the incident of the bitch and the pepper in the story

of Devasmitá see the note in the 1st volume of Wilson's Essays on

Sanskrit Literature. He says: "This incident with a very different and

much less moral dénouement is one of the stories in the Disciplina

Clericalis, a collection of stories professedly derived from the

Arabian fabulists and compiled by Petrus Alfonsus a converted Jew, who

flourished about 1106 and was godson to Alfonso I, king of Arragon. In

the Analysis prepared by Mr. Douce, this story is the 12th, and is

entitled "Stratagem of an old woman in favour of a young gallant." She

persuades his mistress who had rejected his addresses that her little

dog was formerly a woman, and so transformed in consequence of her

cruelty to her lover. (Ellis's Metrical Romances, I, 130.) This story

was introduced into Europe, therefore, much about the time at which

it was enrolled among the contents of the Vrihat Kathá in Cashmir. The

metempsychosis is so much more obvious an explanation of the change of

forms, that it renders it probable the story was originally Hindu. It

was soon copied in Europe, and occurs in Le Grand as La vieille

qui séduisit la jeune fille. III. 148 [ed. III. Vol. IV. 50]. The

parallel is very close and the old woman gives "une chienne à manger

des choses fortement saupoudrèes de senève qui lai picotait le palais

et les narines et l'animal larmoyait beaucoup." She then shows her

to the young woman and tells her the bitch was her daughter. "Son

malheur fut d'avoir le coeur dur; un jeune homme l'aimait, elle

le rebuta. Le malheureux après avoir tout tenté pour l' attendrir,

désespéré de sa dureté en prit tant de chagrin qu'il tomba malade et

mourut. Dieu l'a bien vengè; voyez en quel état pour la punir il a

reduit ma pauvre fille, et comment elle pleure sa faute." The lesson

was not thrown away. The story occurs also in the Gesta Romanorum as

"The Old Woman and her Dog" [in Bohn's edition it is Tale XXVIII],

and it also finds a place where we should little have expected to find

it, in the Promptuarium of John Herolt of Basil, an ample repository

of examples for composing sermons: the compiler a Dominican friar,

professing to imitate his patron saint, who always abundabat exemplis

in his discourses." [In Bohn's edition we are told that it appears

in an English garb amongst a translation of Æsop's Fables published

in 1658.] Dr. Rost refers us to Th. Wright, Latin Stories, London,

1842, p. 218. Loiseleur Deslongchamps Essai sur les Fables Indiennes,

Paris, 1838, p. 106 ff. F. H. Von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, 1850

I, cxii. ff and Grässe, I. 1, 374 ff. In Gonzenbach'a Sicilianische

Märchen, No. 55, Vol. I, p. 359, Epomata plays some young men much the

same trick as Devasmitá, and they try in much the same way to conceal

their disgrace. The story is the second in my copy of the Suka Saptati.

CHAPTER XIV.

Accordingly while the king of Vatsa was remaining in that Vindhya

forest, the warder of king Chandamahásena came to him. And when he

arrived, he did obeisance to the king and spoke as follows: The king

Chandamahásena sends you this message. You did rightly in carrying

off Vásavadattá yourself, for I had brought you to my court with this

very object; and the reason I did not myself give her to you, while

you were a prisoner, was, that I feared, if I did so, you might not

be well disposed towards me. Now, O king, I ask you to wait a little,

in order that the marriage of my daughter may not be performed without

due ceremonies. For my son Gopálaka will soon arrive in your court,

and he will celebrate with appropriate ceremonies the marriage of that

sister of his. This message the warder brought to the king of Vatsa,

and said various things to Vásavadattá. Then the king of Vatsa, being

pleased, determined on going to Kausámbí with Vásavadattá, who was

also in high spirits. He told his ally Pulindaka, and that warder in

the service of his father-in-law to await, where they were, the arrival

of Gopálaka, and then to come with him to Kausámbí. Then the great king

set out early the next day for his own city with the queen Vásavadattá,

followed by huge elephants raining streams of ichor, that seemed like

moving peaks of the Vindhya range accompanying him out of affection;

he was, as it were, praised by the earth, that outdid the compositions

of his minstrels, while it rang with the hoofs of his horses and the

tramplings of his soldiers; and by means of the towering clouds of

dust from his army, that ascended to heaven, he made Indra fear that

the mountains were sporting with unshorn wings. [188] Then the king

reached his country in two or three days, and rested one night in a

palace belonging to Rumanvat; and on the next day, accompanied by his

beloved, he enjoyed after a long absence the great delight of entering

Kausámbí, the people of which were eagerly looking with uplifted faces

for his approach. And then that city was resplendent as a wife, her

lord having returned after a long absence, beginning her adornment

and auspicious bathing vicariously by means of her women; and there

the citizens, their sorrow now at an end, beheld the king of Vatsa

accompanied by his bride, as peacocks behold a cloud accompanied by

lightning; [189] and the wives of the citizens standing on the tops

of the palaces, filled the heaven with their faces, that had the

appearance of golden lotuses blooming in the heavenly Ganges. Then

the king of Vatsa entered his royal palace with Vásavadattá, who

seemed like a second goddess of royal fortune; and that palace then

shone as if it had just awaked from sleep, full of kings who had

come to shew their devotion, festive with songs of minstrels. [190]

Not long after came Gopálaka the brother of Vásavadattá, bringing

with him the warder and Pulindaka; the king went to meet him, and

Vásavadattá received him with her eyes expanded with delight, as if

he were a second spirit of joy. While she was looking at this brother,

a tear dimmed her eyes lest she should be ashamed; and then she, being

encouraged by him with the words of her father's message, considered

that her object in life was attained, now that she was reunited to

her own relations. Then, on the next day, Gopálaka, with the utmost

eagerness, set about the high festival of her marriage with the king of

Vatsa, carefully observing all prescribed ceremonies. Then the king of

Vatsa received the hand of Vásavadattá, like a beautiful shoot lately

budded on the creeper of love. She too, with her eyes closed through

the great joy of touching her beloved's hand, having her limbs bathed

in perspiration accompanied with trembling, covered all over with

extreme horripilation, appeared at that moment as if struck by the god

of the flowery bow with the arrow of bewilderment, the weapon of wind,

and the water weapon in quick succession; [191] when she walked round

the fire keeping it to the right, her eyes being red with the smoke,

she had her first taste, so to speak, of the sweetness of wine and

honey. [192] Then by means of the jewels brought by Gopálaka, and

the gifts of the kings, the monarch of Vatsa became a real king of

kings. [193] That bride and bridegroom, after their marriage had been

celebrated, first exhibited themselves to the eyes of the people,

and then entered their private apartments. Then the king of Vatsa,

on the day so auspicious to himself invested Gopálaka and Pulindaka

with turbans of honour and other distinctions, and he commissioned

Yaugandharáyana and Rumanvat to confer appropriate distinctions

on the kings who had come to visit him, and on the citizens. Then

Yaugandharáyana said to Rumanvat; "The king has given us a difficult

commission, for men's feelings are hard to discover. And even a child

will certainly do mischief if not pleased; to illustrate this point

listen to the tale of the child Vinashtaka, my friend."

Story of the clever deformed child.

Once on a time there was a certain Bráhman named Rudrasarman, and he,

when he became a householder, had two wives, and one of his wives gave

birth to a son and died; and then the Bráhman entrusted that son to

the care of his step-mother; and when he grew to a tolerable stature,

she gave him coarse food; the consequence was, the boy became pale,

and got a swollen stomach. Then Rudrasarman said to that second wife,

"How comes it that you have neglected this child of mine that has lost

its mother?" She said to her husband, "Though I take affectionate

care of him, he is nevertheless the strange object you see; what am

I to do with him?" Whereupon the Bráhman thought, "No doubt it is the

child's nature to be like this." For who sees through the deceitfulness

of the speeches of women uttered with affected simplicity? Then that

child began to go by the name of Bálavinashtaka [194] in his father's

house, because they said this child (bála) is deformed (vinashta.) Then

Bálavinashtaka thought to himself--"This step-mother of mine is always

ill-treating me, therefore I had better be revenged on her in some

way"--for though the boy was only a little more than five years old,

he was clever enough. Then he said secretly to his father when he

returned from the king's court, with half suppressed voice--"Papa, I

have two Papas." So the boy said every day, and his father suspecting

that his wife had a paramour, would not even touch her. She for her

part thought--"Why is my husband angry without my being guilty; I

wonder whether Bálavinashtaka has been at any tricks?" So she washed

Bálavinashtaka with careful kindness, and gave him dainty food, and

taking him on her lap, asked him the following question: "My son why

have you incensed your father Rudrasarman against me?" When he heard

that, the boy said to his step-mother, "I will do more harm to you than

that, if you do not immediately cease ill-treating me. You take good

care of your own children; why do you perpetually torment me?" When

she heard that, she bowed before him, and said with a solemn oath,

"I will not do so any more; so reconcile my husband to me." Then the

child said to her--"Well, when my father comes home, let one of your

maids shew him a mirror, and leave the rest to me." She said, "Very

well," and by her orders a maid shewed a mirror to her husband as soon

as he returned home. Thereupon the child pointing out the reflection

of his father in the mirror, said, "There is my second father." When

he heard that, Rudrasarman dismissed his suspicions and was immediately

reconciled to his wife, whom he had blamed without cause.

"Thus even a child may do mischief if it is annoyed, and therefore

we must carefully conciliate all this retinue." Saying this,

Yaugandharáyana with the help of Rumanvat, carefully honoured all

the people on this the king of Vatsa's great day of rejoicing. [195]

And they gratified all the kings so successfully that each one of

them thought, "These two men are devoted to me alone." And the king

honoured those two ministers and Vasantaka with garments, unguents,

and ornaments bestowed with his own hand, and he also gave them

grants of villages. Then the king of Vatsa, having celebrated the

great festival of his marriage, considered all his wishes gratified,

now that he was linked to Vásavadattá. Their mutual love, having

blossomed after a long time of expectation, was so great, owing to

the strength of their passion, that their hearts continually resembled

those of the sorrowing Chakravákas, when the night, during which they

are separated, comes to an end. And as the familiarity of the couple

increased, their love seemed to be ever renewed. Then Gopálaka, being

ordered by his father to return to get married himself, went away,

after having been entreated by the king of Vatsa to return quickly.

In course of time the king of Vatsa became faithless, and secretly

loved an attendant of the harem named Virachitá, with whom he had

previously had an intrigue. One day he made a mistake and addressed

the queen by her name, thereupon he had to conciliate her by clinging

to her feet, and bathed in her tears he was anointed [196] a fortunate

king. Moreover he married a princess of the name of Bandhumatí, whom

Gopálaka had captured by the might of his arm, and sent as a present

to the queen; and whom she concealed, changing her name to Manjuliká;

who seemed like another Lakshmí issuing from the sea of beauty. Her

the king saw, when he was in the company of Vasantaka, and secretly

married her by the Gándharva ceremony in a summer-house. And that

proceeding of his was beheld by Vásavadattá, who was in concealment,

and she was angry, and had Vasantaka put in fetters. Then the king

had recourse to the good offices of a female ascetic, a friend of the

queen's, who had come with her from her father's court, of the name

of Sánkrityánaní. She appeased the queen's anger, and got Bandhumatí

presented to the king by the obedient queen, for tender is the heart of

virtuous wives. Then the queen released Vasantaka from imprisonment;

he came into the presence of the queen and said to her with a laugh,

"Bandhumatí did you an injury, but what did I do to you? You are

angry with adders [197] and you kill water-snakes." Then the queen,

out of curiosity, asked him to explain that metaphor, and he continued

as follows:

Story of Ruru.

Once on a time a hermit's son of the name of Ruru, wandering

about at will, saw a maiden of wonderful beauty, the daughter of

a heavenly nymph named Menaká by a Vidyádhara, and brought up by a

hermit of the name of Sthúlakesa in his hermitage. That lady, whose

name was Prishadvará, so captivated the mind of that Ruru when he

saw her, that he went and begged the hermit to give her to him in

marriage. Sthúlakesa for his part betrothed the maiden to him, and

when the wedding was nigh at hand, suddenly an adder bit her. Then

the heart of Ruru was full of despair, but he heard this voice in the

heaven--"O Bráhman raise to life with the gift of half thy own life,

[198] this maiden, whose allotted term is at an end." When he heard

that, Ruru gave her the half of his own life, as he had been directed;

by means of that she revived, and Ruru married her. Thenceforward he

was incensed with the whole race of serpents, and whenever he saw a

serpent he killed it, thinking to himself as he killed each one--"This

may have bitten my wife." One day a water snake said to him with human

voice, as he was about to slay it, "You are incensed against adders,

Bráhman, but why do you slay water-snakes? An adder bit your wife,

and adders are a distinct species from water-snakes; all adders

are venomous, water-snakes are not venomous." When he heard that,

he said in answer to the water-snake,--"My friend, who are you?" The

water-snake said, "Bráhman, I am a hermit fallen from my high estate

by a curse, and this curse was appointed to last till I held converse

with you." When he had said this he disappeared, and after that Ruru

did not kill water-snakes. So I said this to you metaphorically,

"My queen, you are angry with adders and you kill water-snakes." When

he had uttered this speech, full of pleasing wit, Vasantaka ceased,

and Vásavadattá sitting at the side of her husband was pleased with

him. Such soft and sweet tales in which Vasantaka displayed various

ingenuity, did the loving Udayana, king of Vatsa, continually make use

of to conciliate his angry wife, while he sat at her feet. That happy

king's tongue was ever exclusively employed in tasting the flavour of

wine, and his ear was ever delighting in the sweet sounds of the lute,

and his eye was ever riveted on the face of his beloved.

NOTE TO CHAPTER XIV.

The practice of walking round an object of reverence with the right

hand towards it, which is one of the ceremonies mentioned in our

author's account of Vásavadattá's marriage, has been exhaustively

discussed by Dr. Samuel Fergusson in his paper--"On the Ceremonial

turn called Desiul," published in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish

Academy for March 1877. (Vol. I. Ser. II. No. 12.) He shews it to

have existed among the ancient Romans as well as the Celts. One of

the most striking of his quotations is from the Curculio of Plautus

(I. 1. 69.) Phædromus says--Quo me vortam nescio. Palinurus jestingly

replies--Si deos salutas dextrovorsum censeo. Cp. also the following

passage of Valerius Flaceus (Argon VIII. 243).

Inde ubi sacrificas cum conjuge venit ad aras

Æsonides, unaque adeunt pariterque precari

Incipiunt. Ignem Pollux undamque jugalem

Prætulit ut dextrum pariter vertantur in orbem.

The above passage forms a striking comment upon our text. Cp. also

Plutarch in this life of Camillus Tauta eipôn, kathaper esti Rômaiois

ethos, epeuxamenois kai proskynêsasin, epi dexia exelittein, esphalê

peristrephomenos. It is possible that the following passage in

Lucretius alludes to the same practice--

Nec pietas ulla est velatum sæpe videri

Vertier ad lapidem atque omnes accedere ad aras.