Dr. Fergusson is of opinion that this movement was a symbol of the

cosmical rotation, an imitation of the apparent course of the sun

in the heavens. Cp. Hyginus Fable CCV. Arge venatrix, cum cervum

sequeretur, cervo dixisse fertur: Tu licet Solis cursum sequaris,

tamen te consequar. Sol, iratus, in cervam eam convertit. He quotes,

to prove that the practice existed among the ancient Celts, Athenæus

IV, p. 142, who adduces from Posidonius the following statement "Tous

theous proskynousin epi dexia strephomenoi." The above quotations are

but a few scraps from the full feast of Dr. Fergusson's paper. See

also the remarks of the Rev. S. Beal in the Indian Antiquary for

March 1880, p. 67.

See also Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 45. "The

vicar of Stranton was standing at the churchyard gate, awaiting the

arrival of a funeral party, when to his astonishment the whole group,

who had arrived within a few yards of him, suddenly wheeled and made

the circuit of the churchyard wall, thus traversing its west, north,

and east boundaries, and making the distance some five or six times

greater than was necessary. The vicar, astonished at this proceeding,

asked the sexton the reason of so extraordinary a movement. The reply

was as follows: 'Why, ye wad no hae them carry the dead again the sun;

the dead maun aye go with the sun.' This custom is no doubt an ancient

British or Celtic custom, and corresponds to the Highland usage of

making the deazil or walking three times round a person according to

the course of the sun. Old Highlanders will still make the deazil

around those to whom they wish well. To go round the person in the

opposite direction, or "withershins," is an evil incantation and

brings ill-fortune. Hunt in his Romances and Drolls of the West of

England, p. 418, says, "If an invalid goes out for the first time,

and makes a circuit, the circuit must be with the sun, if against

the sun, there will be a relapse. Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 322,

quotes from the Statistical Account of Scotland, Vol. V. p. 88 the

following statement of a Scottish minister, with reference to a

marriage ceremony: "After leaving the church, the whole company walk

round it, keeping the church walls always on the right hand."

Thiselton Dyer, in his English Folk-lore, p. 171, mentions a similar

custom as existing in the West of England. In Devonshire blackhead

or pinsoles are cured by creeping on one's hands and knees under

or through a bramble three times with the sun; that is from east to

west. See also Ralston's Songs of the Russian people, p. 299.

See also the extract from Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland in

Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. 1, p. 225; "When a Highlander goes to

bathe or to drink water out of a consecrated fountain, he must always

approach by going round the place from East to West on the South side,

in imitation of the apparent diurnal motion of the sun. This is called

in Gaelic going round the right, or the lucky way. The opposite course

is the wrong, or the unlucky way. And if a person's meat or drink

were to affect the wind-pipe, or come against his breath, they would

instantly cry out, "Desheal," which is an ejaculation praying it may

go by the right way." Cp. the note in Munro's Lucretius on V, 1199, and

Burton's Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland, Vol. I, p. 278.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER XV.

Honour to that conqueror of obstacles whose favour, I ween, even the

Creator [199] implored, in order that he might accomplish the creation

of the world without let or hindrance.

That five-arrowed god of love conquers the world, at whose command

even Siva trembles, when he is being embraced by his beloved.

Thus having obtained Vásavadattá, that king of Vatsa gradually became

most exclusively devoted to the pleasure of her society. But his prime

minister Yaugandharáyana, and his general Rumanvat, upheld day and

night the burden of his empire. And once upon a time the minister

Yaugandharáyana, full of anxiety, brought Rumanvat to his house at

night and said to him as follows: "This lord of Vatsa is sprung from

the Pándava race, and the whole earth is his by hereditary descent,

as also the city named of the elephant. [200] All these this king has

abandoned not being desirous of making conquests, and his kingdom

has so become confined to this one small corner of the earth. For

he certainly remains devoted to women, wine and hunting, and he has

delegated to us all the duty of thinking about his kingdom. So we by

our own intelligence must take such steps, as that he shall obtain

the empire of the whole earth, which is his hereditary right. For,

if we do this, we shall have exhibited devotion to his cause, and

performed our duty as ministers; for every thing is accomplished by

intellect, and in proof of this listen to the following tale:"

Story of the clever physician.

Once on a time there was a king named Mahásena, and he was attacked by

another king far superior to him in power. Then the king's ministers

met together, and in order to prevent the ruin of his interests,

Mahásena was persuaded by them to pay tribute to that enemy. And after

he had paid tribute, that haughty king was exceedingly afflicted,

thinking to himself, "Why have I made submission to my enemy?" And

his sorrow on that account caused an abscess to form in his vitals,

and he was so pulled down by the abscess that at last he was at the

point of death. Then a certain wise physician considering that that

case could not be cured by medicine, said falsely to that king; "O

king, your wife is dead." When he heard that, the king suddenly fell

on the ground, and owing to the excessive violence of his grief, the

abscess burst of itself. And so the king recovered from his disease,

and long enjoyed in the society of that queen the pleasures he desired,

and conquered his enemies in his turn. [201]

"So, as that physician did his king a good turn by his wisdom, let us

also do our king a good turn, let us gain for him the empire of the

earth. And in this undertaking our only adversary is Pradyota, the

king of Magadha; for he is a foe in the rear that is always attacking

us behind. So we must ask for our sovereign that pearl of princesses,

his daughter, named Padmávatí. And by our cleverness we will conceal

Vásavadattá somewhere, and setting fire to her house, we will give

out everywhere that the queen is burnt. For in no other case will

the king of Magadha give his daughter to our sovereign, for when I

requested him to do so on a former occasion, he answered--'I will not

give my daughter, whom I love more than myself, to the king of Vatsa,

for he is passionately attached to his wife Vásavadattá.' Moreover,

as long as the queen is alive, the king of Vatsa will not marry any

one else; but if a report is once spread that the queen is burnt,

all will succeed. And when Padmávatí is secured, the king of Magadha

will be our marriage connection, and will not attack us in the rear,

but will become our ally. Then we will march to conquer the eastern

quarter, and the others in due succession, so we shall obtain for

the king of Vatsa all this earth. And if we only exert ourselves,

this king will obtain the dominion of the earth, for long ago a

divine voice predicted this." When Rumanvat heard this speech from

the great minister Yaugandharáyana, he feared that the plan would

cover them with ridicule, and so he said to him--"Deception practised

for the sake of Padmávatí might some day be to the ruin of us both;"

in proof of this, listen to the following tale:

Story of the hypocritical ascetic.

On the bank of the Ganges there is a city named Mákandiká; in that city

long ago there was a certain ascetic who observed a vow of silence,

and he lived on alms, and surrounded by numerous other holy beggars,

dwelt in a monastery within the precincts of a god's temple where he

had taken up his abode. Once, when he entered a certain merchant's

house to beg, he saw a beautiful maiden coming out with alms in her

hand, and the rascal seeing that she was wonderfully beautiful was

smitten with love and exclaimed "Ah! Ah! Alas!" And that merchant

overheard him. Then taking the alms he had received, he departed to

his own house; and then the merchant went there and said to him in

his astonishment,--"Why did you to-day suddenly break your vow of

silence and say what you did?" When he heard that, the ascetic said

to the merchant--"This daughter of yours has inauspicious marks; when

she marries, you will undoubtedly perish, wife, sons, and all. So,

when I saw her, I was afflicted, for you are my devoted adherent;

and thus it was on your account that I broke silence and said what I

did. So place this daughter of yours by night in a basket, on the top

of which there must be a light, and set her adrift on the Ganges." The

merchant said, "So I will," and went away, and at night he did all

he had been directed to do out of pure fear. The timid are ever

unreflecting. The hermit for his part said at that time to his own

pupils, "Go to the Ganges, and when you see a basket floating along

with a light on the top of it, bring it here secretly, but you must not

open it, even if you hear a noise inside." They said, "We will do so,"

and off they went; but before they reached the Ganges, strange to say,

a certain prince went into the river to bathe. He seeing that basket,

which the merchant had thrown in, by the help of the light on it,

got his servants to fetch it for him, and immediately opened it out

of curiosity. And in it he saw that heart-enchanting girl, and he

married her on the spot by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage. And he

set the basket adrift on the Ganges, exactly as it was before, putting

a lamp on the top of it, and placing a fierce monkey inside it. The

prince having departed with that pearl of maidens, the pupils of the

hermit came there in the course of their search, and saw that basket,

and took it up and carried it to the hermit. Then he being delighted,

said to them, "I will take this upstairs and perform incantations with

it alone, but you must lie in silence this night." When he had said

this, the ascetic took the basket to the top of the monastery, and

opened it, eager to behold the merchant's daughter. And then a monkey

of terrible appearance sprang out of it, [202] and rushed upon the

ascetic, like his own immoral conduct incarnate in bodily form. The

monkey in its fury immediately tore off with its teeth the nose of

the wicked ascetic, and his ears with its claws, as if it had been

a skilful executioner; and in that state the ascetic ran downstairs,

and when his pupils beheld him, they could with difficulty suppress

their laughter. And early next morning everybody heard the story,

and laughed heartily, but the merchant was delighted, and his daughter

also, as she had obtained a good husband. And even as the ascetic made

himself ridiculous, so too may we possibly become a laughing-stock,

if we employ deceit, and fail after all. For the separation of the

king from Vásavadattá involves many disadvantages. When Rumanvat had

said this to Yaugandharáyana, the latter answered; "In no other way

can we conduct our enterprise successfully, and if we do not undertake

the enterprise, it is certain that with this self-indulgent king we

shall lose even what territory we have got; and the reputation which

we have acquired for statesmanship will be tarnished, and we shall

cease to be spoken of as men who shew loyalty to their sovereign. For

when a king is one who depends on himself for success, his ministers

are considered merely the instruments of his wisdom; and in the case

of such monarchs you would not have much to do with their success

or failures. But when a king depends on his ministers for success,

it is their wisdom that achieves his ends, and if they are wanting in

enterprise, he must bid a long farewell to all hope of greatness. [203]

But if you fear the queen's father Chandamahásena, I must tell you that

he and his son and the queen also will do whatever I bid them." When

Yaugandharáyana, most resolute among the resolute, had said this,

Rumanvat, whose heart dreaded some fatal blunder, again said to him;

"Even a discerning prince is afflicted by the pain of being separated

from a beloved woman, much more will this king of Vatsa be. In proof

of what I say, listen to the following tale:"

Story of Unmádiní. [204]

Once on a time there was a king named Devasena, best of wise men,

and the city of Srávastí was his capital. And in that city there was a

wealthy merchant, and to him there was born a daughter of unparalleled

beauty. And that daughter became known by the name of Unmádiní,

because every one, who beheld her beauty, became mad. Her father the

merchant thought, "I must not give this daughter of mine to any one

without telling the king, or he may be angry." So he went and said

to the king Devasena, "King, I have a daughter who is a very pearl,

take her if she finds favour in your eyes." When he heard that, the

king sent some Bráhmans, his confidential ministers, saying to them,

"Go and see if that maiden possesses the auspicious marks or not." The

ministers said, "We will do so," and went. But when they beheld that

merchant's daughter, Unmádiní, love was suddenly produced in their

souls, and they became utterly bewildered. When they recovered their

senses, the Bráhmans said to one another: "If the king marries this

maiden, he will think only of her, and will neglect the affairs of

the State, and everything will go to rack and ruin; so what is the

good of her?" Accordingly they went and told the king, what was not

true, that the maiden had inauspicious marks. Then the merchant gave

that Unmádiní, whom the king had refused, and who in her heart felt

a proud resentment at it, to the king's commander-in-chief. When she

was in the house of her husband, she ascended one day to the roof, and

exhibited herself to the king, who she knew would pass that way. And

the moment the king beheld her, resembling a world-bewildering drug

employed by the god of love, distraction seemed to be produced within

him. When he returned to his palace, and discovered that it was the

same lady he had previously rejected, he was full of regret, and fell

violently ill with fever; the commander-in-chief, the husband of the

lady, came to him and earnestly entreated him to take her, saying, "She

is a slave, she is not the lawful wife of another, or if it seem fit,

I will repudiate her in the temple, then my lord can take her for his

own." But the king said to him, "I will not take unto myself another

man's wife, and if you repudiate her, your righteousness will be at

end, and you will deserve punishment at my hands." When they heard

that, the other ministers remained silent, and the king was gradually

consumed by love's burning fever, and so died. So that king perished,

though of firm soul, being deprived of Unmádiní; but what will become

of the lord of Vatsa without Vásavadattá? When Yaugandharáyana heard

this from Rumanvat, he answered; "Affliction is bravely endured by

kings who have their eyes firmly fixed on their duty. Did not Ráma

when commissioned by the gods, who were obliged to resort to that

contrivance, to kill Rávana, endure the pain of separation from queen

Sítá? When he heard this, Rumanvat said in answer--"Such as Ráma are

gods, their souls can endure all things. But the thing is intolerable

to men; in proof whereof listen to the following tale.

Story of the loving couple who died of separation.

There is on this earth a great city rich in jewels, named Mathurá. In

it there lived a certain young merchant, called Illaka. And he had a

dear wife whose mind was devoted to him alone. Once on a time, while he

was dwelling with her, the young merchant determined to go to another

country on account of the exigencies of his affairs. And that wife of

his wished to go with him. For when women are passionately attached to

any one, they cannot endure to be separated from him. And then that

young merchant set out, having offered the usual preliminary prayer

for success in his undertaking, and did not take with him that wife of

his, though she had dressed herself for the journey. She looking after

him, when he had started, with tears in her eyes, stood supporting

herself against the panel of the door of the courtyard. Then, he

being out of sight, she was no longer able to endure her grief; but

she was too timid to follow him. So her breath left her body. And as

soon as the young merchant came to know of that, he returned and to

his horror found that dear wife of his a corpse, with pale though

lovely complexion, set off by her waving locks, like the spirit of

beauty that tenants the moon fallen down to the earth in the day

during her sleep. [205] So he took her in his arms and wept over her,

and immediately the vital spirits left his body, which was on fire

with the flame of grief, as if they were afraid to remain. So that

married couple perished by mutual separation, and therefore we must

take care that the king is not separated from the queen." When he had

said this, Rumanvat ceased, with his mind full of apprehension, but

the wise Yaugandharáyana, that ocean of calm resolution answered him;

"I have arranged the whole plan, and the affairs of kings often require

such steps to be taken, in proof of it, hear the following tale:"

Story of Punyasena.

There lived long ago in Ujjayiní a king named Punyasena, and once on

a time a powerful sovereign came and attacked him. Then his resolute

ministers, seeing that that king was hard to conquer, spread everywhere

a false report that their own sovereign Punyasena was dead; and they

placed him in concealment, and burnt some other man's corpse with

all the ceremonies appropriate to a king, and they proposed to the

hostile king through an ambassador that, as they had now no king,

he should come and be their king. The hostile monarch was pleased and

consented, and then the ministers assembled accompanied by soldiers,

and proceeded to storm his camp. And the enemy's army being destroyed,

Punyasena's ministers brought him out of concealment, and having

recovered their power put that hostile king to death.

"Such necessities will arise in monarch's affairs, therefore let

us resolutely accomplish this business of the king's by spreading

a report of the queen's having been burnt." When he heard this from

Yaugandharáyana, who had made up his mind, Rumanvat said; "If this

is resolved upon, let us send for Gopálaka the queen's respected

brother, and let us take all our measures duly, after consultation

with him." Then Yaugandharáyana said, "So be it," and Rumanvat

allowed himself to be guided, in determining what was to be done,

by the confidence which he placed in his colleague. The next day,

these dexterous ministers sent off a messenger of their own to bring

Gopálaka, on the pretext that his relations longed to see him. And as

he had only departed before on account of urgent business, Gopálaka

came at the request of the messenger, seeming like an incarnate

festival. And the very day he came, Yaugandharáyana took him by night

to his own house together with Rumanvat, and there he told him of that

daring scheme which he wished to undertake, all of which he had before

deliberated about together with that Rumanvat; and Gopálaka desiring

the good of the king of Vatsa consented to the scheme though he knew

it would bring sorrow to his sister, for the mind of good men is ever

fixed upon duty. Then Rumanvat again said,--"All this is well planned,

but when the king of Vatsa hears that his wife is burnt, he will be

inclined to yield up his breath, and how is he to be prevented from

doing so? This is a matter which ought to be considered. For though

all the usual politic expedients may advantageously be employed,

the principal element of sound state-craft is the averting of

misfortune." Then Yaugandharáyana who had reflected on everything

that was to be done, said, "There need be no anxiety about this,

for the queen is a princess, the younger sister of Gopálaka, and

dearer to him than his life, and when the king of Vatsa sees how

little afflicted Gopálaka is, he will think to himself, 'Perhaps the

queen may be alive after all,' and so will be able to control his

feelings. Moreover he is of heroic disposition, and the marriage of

Padmávatí will be quickly got through, and then we can soon bring the

queen out of concealment." Then Yaugandharáyana, and Gopálaka, and

Rumanvat having made up their minds to this, deliberated as follows:

"Let us adopt the artifice of going to Lávánaka with the king and

queen, for that district is a border-district near the kingdom

of Magadha. And because it contains admirable hunting-grounds,

it will tempt the king to absent himself from the palace, so we

can set the women's apartments there on fire and carry out the plan

[206] on which we have determined. And by an artifice we will take

the queen and leave her in the palace of Padmávatí, in order that

Padmávatí herself may be a witness to the queen's virtuous behaviour

in a state of concealment." Having thus deliberated together during

the night, they all, with Yaugandharáyana at their head, entered

the king's palace on the next day. Then Rumanvat made the following

representation to the king, "O king, it is a long time since we have

gone to Lávánaka, and it is a very delightful place, moreover you will

find capital hunting-grounds there, and grass for the horses can easily

be obtained. And the king of Magadha, being so near, afflicts all that

district. So let us go there for the sake of defending it, as well as

for our own enjoyment." And the king, when he heard this, having his

mind always set on enjoyment, determined to go to Lávánaka together

with Vásavadattá. The next day, the journey having been decided on,

and the auspicious hour having been fixed by the astrologers, suddenly

the hermit Nárada came to visit the monarch.

He illuminated the region with his splendour, as he descended from

the midst of heaven, and gave a feast to the eyes of all spectators,

seeming as if he were the moon come down out of affection towards his

own descendants. [207] After accepting the usual hospitable attentions,

the hermit graciously gave to the king, who bowed humbly before him,

a garland from the Párijáta [208] tree. And he congratulated the

queen, by whom he was politely received, promising her that she

should have a son, who should be a portion of Cupid [209] and king

of all the Vidyádharas. And then he said to the king of Vatsa, while

Yaugandharáyana was standing by, "O king, the sight of your wife

Vásavadattá has strangely brought something to my recollection. In

old time you had for ancestors Yudhishthira and his brothers. And

those five had one wife between them, Draupadí by name. And she,

like Vásavadattá, was matchless in beauty. Then, fearing that her

beauty would do mischief, I said to them, you must avoid jealousy,

for that is the seed of calamities; in proof of it, listen to the

following tale, which I will relate to you. [210]

Story of Sunda and Upasunda.

There were two brothers, Asuras by race, Sunda and Upasunda, hard to

overcome, inasmuch as they surpassed the three worlds in valour. And

Brahmá, wishing to destroy them, gave an order to Visvakarman, [211]

and had constructed a heavenly woman named Tilottamá, in order to

behold whose beauty even Siva truly became four-faced, so as to look

four ways at once, while she was devoutly circumambulating him. She, by

the order of Brahmá, went to Sunda and Upasunda, while they were in the

garden of Kailása, in order to seduce them. And both those two Asuras

distracted with love, seized the fair one at the same time by both her

arms, the moment they saw her near them. And as they were dragging her

off in mutual opposition, they soon came to blows, and both of them

were destroyed. To whom is not the attractive object called woman the

cause of misfortune? And you, though many, have one love, Draupadí,

therefore you must without fail avoid quarrelling about her. And by my

advice always observe this rule with respect to her. When she is with

the eldest, she must be considered a mother by the younger, and when

she is with the youngest, she must be considered a daughter-in-law by

the eldest. Your ancestors, O king, accepted that speech of mine with

unanimous consent, having their minds fixed on salutary counsels. And

they were my friends, and it is through love for them that I have come

to visit you here, king of Vatsa, therefore I give you this advice. Do

you follow the counsel of your ministers, as they followed mine,

and in a short time you will gain great success. For some time you

will suffer grief, but you must not be too much distressed about it,

for it will end in happiness." After the hermit Nárada, so clever in

indirectly intimating future prosperity, had said this duly to the

king of Vatsa, he immediately disappeared. And then Yaugandharáyana

and all the other ministers, auguring from the speech of that great

hermit that the scheme they had in view was about to succeed, became

exceedingly zealous about carrying it into effect.

CHAPTER XVI.

Then Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers managed to conduct the

king of Vatsa with his beloved, by the above-mentioned stratagem,

to Lávánaka. The king arrived at that place, which, by the roar of

the host echoing through it, seemed, as it were, to proclaim that

the ministers' object would be successfully attained. And the king

of Magadha, when he heard that the lord of Vatsa had arrived there

with a large following, trembled, anticipating attack. But he being

wise, sent an ambassador to Yaugandharáyana, and that excellent

minister well-versed in his duties, received him gladly. The king

of Vatsa for his part, while staying in that place, ranged every

day the wide-extended forest for the sake of sport. One day, the

king having gone to hunt, the wise Yaugandharáyana accompanied by

Gopálaka, having arranged what was to be done, and taking with him

also Rumanvat and Vasantaka, went secretly to the queen Vásavadattá,

who bowed at their approach. There he used various representations to

persuade her to assist in furthering the king's interests, though she

had been previously informed of the whole affair by her brother. And

she agreed to the proposal, though it inflicted on her the pain of

separation. What indeed is there which women of good family, who are

attached to their husbands, will not endure? Thereupon the skilful

Yaugandharáyana made her assume the appearance of a Bráhman woman,

having given her a charm, which enabled her to change her shape. And

he made Vasantaka one-eyed and like a Bráhman boy, and as for himself,

he in the same way assumed the appearance of an old Bráhman. Then

that mighty-minded one took the queen, after she had assumed that

appearance, and accompanied by Vasantaka, set out leisurely for

the town of Magadha. And so Vásavadattá left her house, and went in

bodily presence along the road, though she wandered in spirit to her

husband. Then Rumanvat burnt her pavilion with fire, and exclaimed

aloud--"Alas! alas! The queen and Vasantaka are burnt." And so in that

place there rose to heaven at the same time flames and lamentation;

the flames gradually subsided, not so the sound of weeping. Then

Yaugandharáyana with Vásavadattá and Vasantaka reached the city

of the king of Magadha, and seeing the princess Padmávatí in the

garden, he went up to her with those two, though the guards tried to

prevent him. And Padmávatí, when she saw the queen Vásavadattá in the

dress of a Bráhman woman, fell in love with her at first sight. The

princess ordered the guards to desist from their opposition, and had

Yaugandharáyana, who was disguised as a Bráhman, conducted into her

presence. And she addressed to him this question, "Great Bráhman,

who is this girl you have with you, and why are you come?" And he

answered her, "Princess, this is my daughter Ávantiká by name, and

her husband, being addicted to vice, [212] has deserted her and fled

somewhere or other. So I will leave her in your care, illustrious lady,

while I go and find her husband, and bring him back, which will be

in a short time. And let this one-eyed boy, her brother, remain here

near her, in order that she may not be grieved at having to remain

alone." He said this to the princess, and she granted his request,

and, taking leave of the queen, the good minister quickly returned to

Lávánaka. Then Padmávatí took with her Vásavadattá, who was passing

under the name of Ávantiká, and Vasantaka who accompanied her in

the form of a one-eyed boy; and shewing her excellent disposition by

her kind reception and affectionate treatment of them, entered her

splendidly-adorned palace; and there Vásavadattá, seeing Sítá in the

history of Ráma represented upon the painted walls, was enabled to

bear her own sorrow. And Padmávatí perceived that Vásavadattá was

a person of very high rank, by her shape, her delicate softness,

the graceful manner in which she sat down, and ate, and also by the

smell of her body, which was fragrant as the blue lotus, and so she

entertained her with luxurious comfort to her heart's content, even

such as she enjoyed herself. And she thought to herself, "Surely she

is some distinguished person remaining here in concealment; did not

Draupadí remain concealed in the palace of the king of Viráta?" Then

Vásavadattá, out of regard for the princess made for her unfading

garlands and forehead-streaks, as the king of Vatsa had previously

taught her; and Padmávatí's mother, seeing her adorned with them,

asked her privately who had made those garlands and streaks. Then

Padmávatí said to her, "There is dwelling here in my house a certain

lady of the name of Ávantiká, she made all these for me." When her

mother heard that, she said to her, then, my daughter, she is not a

woman, she is some goddess, since she possesses such knowledge; gods

and also hermits remain in the houses of good people for the sake of

deluding them, and in proof of this listen to the following anecdote.

Story of Kuntí.

There was once a king named Kuntibhoja; and a hermit of the name

of Durvásas, who was exceedingly fond of deluding people, came and

stayed in his palace. He commissioned his own daughter Kuntí to attend

upon the hermit, and she diligently waited upon him. And one day he,

wishing to prove her, said to her, "Cook boiled rice with milk and

sugar quickly, while I bathe, and then I will come and eat it." The

sage said this, and bathed quickly, and then he came to eat it, and

Kuntí brought him the vessel full of that food; and then the hermit,

knowing that it was almost red-hot with the heated rice, and seeing

that she could not hold it in her hands, [213] cast a look at the back

of Kuntí and she perceiving what was passing in the hermit's mind,

placed the vessel on her back; then he ate to his heart's content while

Kuntí's back was being burnt, and because, though she was terribly

burnt, she stood without being at all discomposed, the hermit was much

pleased with her conduct, and after he had eaten granted her a boon.

"So the hermit remained there, and in the same way this Ávantiká, who

is now staying in your palace, is some distinguished person, therefore

endeavour to conciliate her." When she heard this from the mouth of

her mother, Padmávatí showed the utmost consideration for Vásavadattá,

who was living disguised in her palace. And Vásavadattá for her part,

being separated from her lord, remained there pale with bereavement,

like a lotus in the night. [214] But the various boyish grimaces,

which Vasantaka exhibited, [215] again and again called a smile into

her face.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, who had wandered away into very

distant hunting-grounds, returned late in the evening to Lávánaka. And

there he saw the women's apartments reduced to ashes by fire, and heard

from his ministers that the queen was burnt with Vasantaka. And when

he heard it, he fell on the ground, and he was robbed of his senses by

unconsciousness, that seemed to desire to remove the painful sense of

grief. But in a moment he came to himself and was burnt with sorrow

in his heart, as if penetrated with the fire that strove to consume

[216] the image of the queen imprinted there. Then overpowered

with sorrow he lamented, and thought of nothing but suicide; but

a moment after he began to reflect, calling to mind the following

prediction--"From this queen shall be born a son who shall reign

over all the Vidyádharas. This is what the hermit Nárada told me,

and it cannot be false. Moreover that same hermit warned me that

I should have sorrow for some time. And the affliction of Gopálaka

seems to be but slight. Besides I cannot detect any excessive grief

in Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers, therefore I suspect the

queen may possibly be alive. But the ministers may in this matter

have employed a certain amount of politic artifice, therefore I

may some day be re-united with the queen. So I see an end to this

affliction." Thus reflecting and being exhorted by his ministers,

the king established in his heart self-control. And Gopálaka sent

off a private messenger immediately, without any one's knowing

of it, to his sister, to comfort her, with an exact report of the

state of affairs. Such being the situation in Lávánaka, the spies

of the king of Magadha who were there, went off to him and told him

all. The king who was ever ready to seize the opportune moment, when

he heard this, was once more anxious to give to the king of Vatsa

his daughter Padmávatí, who had before been asked in marriage by

his ministers. Then he communicated his wishes with respect to this

matter to the king of Vatsa, and also to Yaugandharáyana. And by the

advice of Yaugandharáyana, the king of Vatsa accepted that proposal,

thinking to himself that perhaps this was the very reason why the

queen had been concealed. Then Yaugandharáyana quickly ascertained an

auspicious moment, and sent to the sovereign of Magadha an ambassador

with an answer to his proposal which ran as follows: "Thy desire is

approved by us, so on the seventh day from this, the king of Vatsa

will arrive at thy court to marry Padmávatí, in order that he may

quickly forget Vásavadattá." This was the message which the great

minister sent to that king. And that ambassador conveyed it to the

king of Magadha, who received him joyfully. Then the lord of Magadha

made such preparations for the joyful occasion of the marriage, as were

in accordance with his love for his daughter, his own desire, and his

wealth; and Padmávatí was delighted at hearing that she had obtained

the bridegroom she desired, but, when Vásavadattá heard that news,

she was depressed in spirit. That intelligence, when it reached her

ear, changed the colour of her face, and assisted the transformation

effected by her disguise. But Vasantaka said, "In this way an enemy

will be turned into a friend, and your husband will not be alienated

from you." This speech of Vasantaka consoled her like a confidante,

and enabled her to bear up. Then the discreet lady again prepared for

Padmávatí unfading garlands and forehead-streaks, both of heavenly

beauty, as her marriage was now nigh at hand; and when the seventh

day from that arrived, the monarch of Vatsa actually came there with

his troops, accompanied by his ministers, to marry her. How could he

in his state of bereavement have ever thought of undertaking such a

thing, if he had not hoped in that way to recover the queen? And the

king of Magadha immediately came with great delight to meet him, (who

was a feast to the eyes of the king's subjects,) as the sea advances

to meet the rising moon. Then the monarch of Vatsa entered the city of

the king of Magadha, and at the same time great joy entered the minds

of the citizens on every side. There the women beheld him fascinating

[217] the mind, though his frame was attenuated from bereavement,

looking like the god of love, deprived of his wife Rati. Then the king

of Vatsa entered the palace of the lord of Magadha, and proceeded to

the chamber prepared for the marriage ceremony, which was full of women

whose husbands were still alive. In that chamber he beheld Padmávatí

adorned for the wedding, surpassing with the full moon of her face

the circle of the full moon. And seeing that she had garlands and

forehead-streaks such as he himself only could make, the king could

not help wondering where she got them. Then he ascended the raised

platform of the altar, and his taking her hand there was a commencement

of his taking the tribute [218] of the whole earth. The smoke of the

altar dimmed his eyes with tears, as supposing that he could not bear

to witness the ceremony, since he loved Vásavadattá so much. Then the

face of Padmávatí, reddened with circumambulating the fire, appeared

as if full of anger on account of her perceiving what was passing in

her husband's mind. When the ceremony of marriage was completed, the

king of Vatsa let the hand of Padmávatí quit his, but he never even

for a moment allowed the image of Vásavadattá to be absent from his

heart. Then the king of Magadha gave him jewels in such abundance,

that the earth seemed to be deprived of her gems, they all having

been extracted. And Yaugandharáyana, calling the fire to witness on

that occasion, made the king of Magadha undertake never to injure his

master. So that festive scene proceeded, with the distribution of

garments and ornaments, with the songs of excellent minstrels, and

the dancing of dancing-girls. In the meanwhile Vásavadattá remained

unobserved, hoping for the glory of her husband, appearing [219] to

be asleep, like the beauty of the moon in the day. Then the king of

Vatsa went to the women's apartments, and the skilful Yaugandharáyana,

being afraid that he would see the queen, and that so the whole

secret would be divulged, said to the sovereign of Magadha, "Prince,

this very day the king of Vatsa will set forth from thy house." The

king of Magadha consented to it, and then the minister made the very

same announcement to the king of Vatsa, and he also approved of it.

Then the king of Vatsa set out from that place, after his attendants

had eaten and drunk, together with his ministers, escorting his

bride Padmávatí. And Vásavadattá, ascending a comfortable carriage

sent by Padmávatí, with its great horses also put at her disposal by

her, went secretly in the rear of the army, making the transformed

Vasantaka precede her. At last the king of Vatsa reached Lávánaka,

and entered his own house, together with his bride, but thought all

the time only of the queen Vásavadattá. The queen also arrived and

entered the house of Gopálaka at night, making the chamberlains wait

round it. There she saw her brother Gopálaka who shewed her great

attention, and she embraced his neck weeping, while his eyes filled

with tears; and at that moment arrived Yaugandharáyana, true to his

previous agreement, together with Rumanvat, and the queen shewed him

all due courtesy. And while he was engaged in dispelling the queen's

grief caused by the great effort she had made, and her separation

from her husband, those chamberlains repaired to Padmávatí, and said,

"Queen, Ávantiká has arrived, but she has in a strange way dismissed

us, and gone to the house of prince Gopálaka." When Padmávatí heard

that representation from her chamberlains, she was alarmed and in the

presence of the king of Vatsa answered them, "Go and say to Ávantiká,

'The queen says--You are a deposit in my hands, so what business

have you where you are? Come where I am.'" When they heard that, they

departed and the king asked Padmávatí in private who made for her the

unfading garlands and forehead-streaks. Then she said, "It is all the

product of the great artistic skill of the lady named Ávantiká who

was deposited in my house by a certain Bráhman." No sooner did the

king hear that, then he went off to the house of Gopálaka, thinking

that surely Vásavadattá would be there. And he entered the house, at

the door of which eunuchs were standing, [220] and within which were

the queen, Gopálaka, the two ministers, and Vasantaka. There he saw

Vásavadattá returned from banishment, like the orb of the moon freed

from its eclipse. Then he fell on the earth delirious with the poison

of grief, and trembling was produced in the heart of Vásavadattá. Then

she too fell on the earth with limbs pale from separation, and lamented

aloud, blaming her own conduct. And that couple, afflicted with grief,

lamented so that even the face of Yaugandharáyana was washed with

tears. And then Padmávatí too heard that wailing, which seemed so

little suited to the occasion, and came in a state of bewilderment to

the place whence it proceeded. And gradually finding out the truth with

respect to the king and Vásavadattá, she was reduced to the same state,

for good women are affectionate and tender-hearted. And Vásavadattá

frequently exclaimed with tears, "What profit is there in my life that

causes only sorrow to my husband?" Then the calm Yaugandharáyana said

to the king of Vatsa: "King, I have done all this in order to make you

universal emperor, by marrying you to the daughter of the sovereign

of Magadha, and the queen is not in the slightest degree to blame;

moreover this, her rival wife, is witness to her good behaviour during

her absence from you." Thereupon Padmávatí, whose mind was free from

jealousy, said, "I am ready to enter the fire on the spot to prove

her innocence." And the king said, "I am in fault, as it was for my

sake that the queen endured this great affliction." And Vásavadattá

having firmly resolved, said, "I must enter the fire to clear from

suspicion the mind of the king." Then the wise Yaugandharáyana, best

of right-acting men, rinsed his mouth, with his face towards the east,

and spoke a blameless speech; "If I have been a benefactor to this

king, and if the queen is free from stain, speak, ye guardians of

the world; if it is not so, I will part from my body." Thus he spoke

and ceased, and this heavenly utterance was heard: "Happy art thou, O

king, that hast for minister Yaugandharáyana, and for wife Vásavadattá,

who in a former birth was a goddess; not the slightest blame attaches

to her." Having uttered this, the Voice ceased. All who were present,

when they heard that sound, which resounded though all the regions,

delightful as the deep thunder-roar at the first coming of the

rain-clouds, having endured affliction for a long time, lifted up their

hands and plainly imitated peafowl in their joy. Moreover the king

of Vatsa and Gopálaka praised that proceeding of Yaugandharáyana's,

and the former already considered that the whole earth was subject

to him. Then that king possessing those two wives, whose affection

was every day increased by living with him, like joy and tranquillity

come to visit him in bodily form, was in a state of supreme felicity.

CHAPTER XVII.

The next day, the king of Vatsa, sitting in private with Vásavadattá,

and Padmávatí, engaged in a festive banquet, sent for Yaugandharáyana,

Gopálaka, Rumanvat and Vasantaka, and had much confidential

conversation with them. Then the king, in the hearing of them all,

told the following tale with reference to the subject of his separation

from his beloved.

Story of Urvasí. [221]

Once on a time there was a king of the name of Purúravas, who was a

devoted worshipper of Vishnu; he traversed heaven as well as earth

without opposition, and one day, as he was sauntering in Nandana,

the garden of the gods, a certain Apsaras of the name of Urvasí,

who was a second stupefying weapon [222] in the hands of Love, cast

an eye upon him. The moment she beheld him, the sight so completely

robbed her of her senses, that she alarmed the timid minds of Rambhá

and her other friends. The king too, when he saw that torrent

of the nectar of beauty, was quite faint with thirst, because he

could not obtain possession of her. Then Vishnu, who knoweth all,

dwelling in the sea of milk, gave the following command to Nárada,

an excellent hermit, who came to visit him--"O Divine sage, [223]

the king Purúravas, at present abiding in the garden of Nandana,

having had his mind captivated by Urvasí, remains incapable of bearing

the pain of separation from his love. Therefore go, O hermit, and

informing Indra as from me, cause that Urvasí to be quickly given to

the king." Having received this order from Vishnu, Nárada undertook

to execute it, and going to Purúravas who was in the state described,

roused him from his lethargy and said to him;--"Rise up, O king, for

thy sake I am sent here by Vishnu, for that god does not neglect the

sufferings of those who are unfeignedly devoted to him." With these

words, the hermit Nárada cheered up Purúravas, and then went with

him into the presence of the king of the gods.

Then he communicated the order of Vishnu to Indra, who received it

with reverent mind, and so the hermit caused Urvasí to be given to

Purúravas. That gift of Urvasí deprived the inhabitants of heaven

of life, but it was to Urvasí herself an elixir to restore her to

life. Then Purúravas returned with her to the earth, exhibiting

to the eyes of mortals the wonderful spectacle of a heavenly

bride. Thenceforth those two, Urvasí and that king, remained, so to

speak, fastened together by the leash of gazing on one another, so

that they were unable to separate. One day Purúravas went to heaven,

invited by Indra to assist him, as a war had arisen between him and

the Dánavas. In that war the king of the Asuras, named Máyádhara,

was slain, and accordingly Indra held a great feast, at which all

the nymphs of heaven displayed their skill. And on that occasion

Purúravas, when he saw the nymph Rambhá performing a dramatic dance

called chalita, [224] with the teacher Tumburu standing by her,

laughed. Then Rambhá said to him sarcastically--"I suppose, mortal,

you know this heavenly dance, do you not?" Purúravas answered,

"From associating with Urvasí, I knew dances which even your teacher

Tumburu does not know." When Tumburu heard that, he laid this curse

on him in his wrath, "Mayest thou be separated from Urvasí until thou

propitiate Krishna." When he heard that curse, Purúravas went and told

Urvasí what had happened to him, which was terrible as "a thunderbolt

from the blue." Immediately some Gandharvas swooped down, without the

king's seeing them, and carried off Urvasí, whither he knew not. Then

Purúravas, knowing that the calamity was due to that curse, went and

performed penance to appease Vishnu in the hermitage of Badariká.

But Urvasí, remaining in the country of the Gandharvas, afflicted at

her separation, was as void of sense as if she had been dead, asleep,

or a mere picture. She kept herself alive with hoping for the end

of the curse, but it is wonderful that she did not lose her hold on

life, while she remained like the female chakraváka during the night,

the appointed time of her separation from the male bird. And Purúravas

propitiated Vishnu by that penance, and, owing to Vishnu's having been

gratified, the Gandharvas surrendered Urvasí to him. So that king,

re-united to the nymph whom he had recovered at the termination of

the curse, enjoyed heavenly pleasures, though living upon earth.

The king stopped speaking, and Vásavadattá felt an emotion of shame

at having endured separation, when she heard of the attachment of

Urvasí to her husband.

Then Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the queen was abashed at having

been indirectly reproved by her husband, said, in order to make him

feel in his turn,--"King, listen to this tale, if you have not already

heard it.

Story of Vihitasena.

There is on this earth a city of the name of Timirá, the dwelling

of the goddess of Prosperity; in it there was a famous king named

Vihitasena; he had a wife named Tejovatí, a very goddess upon

earth. That king was ever hanging on her neck, devoted to her embraces,

and could not even bear that his body should be for a short time

scratched with the coat of mail. And once there came upon the king a

lingering fever with diminishing intensity; and the physicians forbade

him to continue in the queen's society. But when he was excluded from

the society of the queen, there was engendered in his heart a disease

not to be reached by medicine or treatment. The physicians told the

ministers in private that the disease might relieve itself by fear or

the stroke of some affliction. The ministers reflected--"How can we

produce fear in that brave king, who did not tremble when an enormous

snake once fell on his back, who was not confused when a hostile

army penetrated into his harem? It is useless thinking of devices to

produce fear; what are we ministers, to do with the king?" Thus the

ministers reflected, and after deliberating with the queen, concealed

her, and said to the king, "The queen is dead." While the king was

tortured with that exceeding grief, in his agitation that disease

in his heart relieved itself. [225] When the king had got over the

pain of the illness, the ministers restored to him that great queen,

who seemed like a second gift of ease, and the king valued her highly

as the saviour of his life, and was too wise to bear anger against

her afterwards for concealing herself.

For it is care for a husband's interests that entitles a king's wife

to the name of queen; by mere compliance with a husband's whims the

name of queen is not obtained. And discharging the duty of minister

means undivided attention to the burden of the king's affairs, but

the compliance with a king's passing fancies is the characteristic of

a mere courtier. Accordingly we made this effort in order to come to

terms with your enemy, the king of Magadha, and with a view to your

conquering the whole earth. So it is not the case that the queen, who,

through love for you, endured intolerable separation, has done you a

wrong; on the contrary she has conferred on you a great benefit." When

the king of Vatsa heard this true speech of his prime-minister's,

he thought that he himself was in the wrong, and was quite satisfied.

And he said; "I know this well enough, that the queen, like Policy

incarnate in bodily form, acting under your inspiration, has bestowed

upon me the dominion of the earth. But that unbecoming speech, which

I uttered, was due to excessive affection; how can people whose minds

are blinded with love bring themselves to deliberate calmly? [226]"

With such conversation that king of Vatsa brought the day and the

queen's eclipse of shame to an end. On the next day a messenger sent

by the king of Magadha, who had discovered the real state of the case,

came to the sovereign of Vatsa, and said to him as from his master;

"We have been deceived by thy ministers, therefore take such steps as

that the world may not henceforth be to us a place of misery." When

he heard that, the king shewed all honour to the messenger, and sent

him to Padmávatí to take his answer from her. She, for her part, being

altogether devoted to Vásavadattá, had an interview with the ambassador

in her presence. For humility is an unfailing characteristic of good

women. The ambassador delivered her father's message--"My daughter,

you have been married by an artifice, and your husband is attached to

another, thus it has come to pass that I reap in misery the fruit of

being the father of a daughter." But Padmávatí thus answered him, Say

to my father from me here--"What need of grief? For my husband is very

indulgent to me, and the queen Vásavadattá is my affectionate sister,

so my father must not be angry with my husband, unless he wishes to

break his own plighted faith and my heart at the same time." When this

becoming answer had been given by Padmávatí, the queen Vásavadattá

hospitably entertained the ambassador and then sent him away. When

the ambassador had departed, Padmávatí remained somewhat depressed

with regret, calling to mind her father's house. Then Vásavadattá

ordered Vasantaka to amuse her, and he came near, and with that object

proceeded to tell the following tale:

Story of Somaprabhá.

There is a city, the ornament of the earth, called Pátaliputra,

and in it there was a great merchant named Dharmagupta. He had a

wife named Chandraprabhá, and she once on a time became pregnant,

and brought forth a daughter beautiful in all her limbs. That girl,

the moment she was born, illuminated the chamber with her beauty,

spoke distinctly, [227] and got up and sat down. Then Dharmagupta,

seeing that the women in the lying-in-chamber were astonished and

terrified, went there himself in a state of alarm. And immediately

he asked that girl in secret, bowing before her humbly,--"Adorable

one, who art thou, that art thus become incarnate in my family?" She

answered him, "Thou must not give me in marriage to any one; as

long as I remain in thy house, father, I am a blessing to thee;

what profit is there in enquiring further?" When she said this to

him, Dharmagupta was frightened, and he concealed her in his house

giving out abroad that she was dead. Then that girl, whose name was

Somaprabhá gradually grew up with human body, but celestial splendour

of beauty. And one day a young merchant, of the name of Guhachandra,

beheld her, as she was standing upon the top of her palace, looking on

with delight at the celebration of the spring-festival; she clung like

a creeper of love round his heart, so that he was, as it were, faint,

and with difficulty got home to his house. There he was tortured with

the pain of love, and when his parents persistently importuned him to

tell them the cause of his distress, he informed them by the mouth of

a friend. Then his father, whose name was Guhasena, out of love for his

son, went to the house of Dharmagupta, to ask him to give his daughter

in marriage to Guhachandra. Then Dharmagupta put off Guhasena when he

made the request, desiring to obtain a daughter-in-law, and said to

him, "The fact is, my daughter is out of her mind." Considering that

he meant by that to refuse to give his daughter, Guhasena returned

home, and there he beheld his son prostrated by the fever of love,

and thus reflected, "I will persuade the king to move in this matter,

for I have before this conferred an obligation on him, and he will

cause that maiden to be given to my son, who is at the point of

death." Having thus determined, the merchant went and presented to

the king a splendid jewel, and made known to him his desire. The

king, for his part, being well-disposed towards him, commissioned

the head of the police to assist him, with whom he went to the house

of Dharmagupta; and surrounded it on all sides with policemen, [228]

so that Dharmagupta's throat was choked with tears, as he expected

utter ruin. Then Somaprabhá said to Dharmagupta--"Give me in marriage,

my father, let not calamity befall you on my account, but I must never

be treated as a wife by my husband, and this agreement you must make

in express terms with my future father-in-law." When his daughter had

said this to him. Dharmagupta agreed to give her in marriage, after

stipulating that she should not be treated as a wife; and Guhasena with

inward laughter agreed to the condition, thinking to himself, "Only

let my son be once married." Then Guhachandra, the son of Guhasena,

went to his own house, taking with him his bride Somaprabhá. And in

the evening his father said to him, "My son, treat her as a wife,

for who abstains from the society of his own wife?" When she heard

that, the bride Somaprabhá looked angrily at her father-in-law, and

whirled round her threatening fore-finger, as it were the decree of

death. When he saw that finger of his daughter-in-law, the breath of

that merchant immediately left him, and fear came upon all besides. But

Guhachandra, when his father was dead, thought to himself, "The goddess

of death has entered into my house as a wife." And thenceforth he

avoided the society of that wife, though she remained in his house,

and so observed a vow difficult as that of standing on the edge of a

sword. And being inly consumed by that grief, losing his taste for

all enjoyment, he made a vow and feasted Bráhmans every day. And

that wife of his, of heavenly beauty, observing strict silence,

used always to give a fee to those Bráhmans after they had eaten. One

day an aged Bráhman, who had come to be fed, beheld her exciting the

wonder of the world by her dower of beauty; then the Bráhman full of

curiosity secretly asked Guhachandra; "Tell me who this young wife

of yours is." Then Guhachandra, being importuned by that Bráhman,

told him with afflicted mind her whole story. When he heard it, the

excellent Bráhman, full of compassion, gave him a charm for appeasing

the fire, in order that he might obtain his desire. Accordingly,

while Guhachandra was in secret muttering that charm, there appeared

to him a Bráhman from the midst of the fire. And that god of fire in

the shape of a Bráhman, said to him, as he lay prostrate at his feet,

"To-day I will eat in thy house, and I will remain there during the

night. And after I have shewn thee the truth with respect to thy wife,

I will accomplish thy desire." When he had said this to Guhachandra,

the Bráhman entered his house. There he ate like the other Bráhmans,

and lay down at night near Guhachandra for one watch of the night

only, such was his unwearying zeal. And at this period of the night,

Somaprabhá, the wife of Guhachandra, went out from the house of her

husband, all the inmates of which were asleep. At that moment that

Bráhman woke up Guhachandra, and said to him, "Come, see what thy

wife is doing."

And by magic power he gave Guhachandra and himself the shape of bees,

[229] and going out he shewed him that wife of his, who had issued from

the house. And that fair one went a long distance outside the city,

and the Bráhman with Guhachandra followed her. Thereupon Guhachandra

saw before him a Nyagrodha [230] tree of wide extent, beautiful with

its shady stem, and under it he heard a heavenly sound of singing,

sweet with strains floating on the air, accompanied with the music of

the lyre and the flute. And on the trunk of the tree he saw a heavenly

maiden [231], like his wife in appearance, seated on a splendid throne,

eclipsing by her beauty the moon-beam, fanned with white chowries, like

the goddess presiding over the treasure of all the moon's beauty. And

then Guhachandra saw his wife ascend that very tree and sit down beside

that lady, occupying half of her throne. While he was contemplating

those two heavenly maidens of equal beauty sitting together, it seemed

to him as if that night were lighted by three moons. [232]

Then he, full of curiosity, thought for a moment, "Can this be sleep

or delusion? But away with both these suppositions! This is the

expanding of the blossom from the bud of association with the wise,

which springs on the tree of right conduct, and this blossom gives

promise of the appropriate fruit." While he was thus reflecting at

his leisure, those two celestial maidens, after eating food suited for

such as they were, drank heavenly wine. Then the wife of Guhachandra

said to the second heavenly maiden, "To-day some glorious Bráhman

has arrived in our house, for which reason, my sister, my heart is

alarmed and I must go." In these words she took leave of that other

heavenly maiden and descended from the tree. When Guhachandra and

the Bráhman saw that, they returned in front of her, still preserving

the form of bees, and arrived in the house by night before she did,

and afterwards arrived that heavenly maiden, the wife of Guhachandra,

and she entered the house without being observed. Then that Bráhman

of his own accord said to Guhachandra; "You have had ocular proof

that your wife is divine and not human, and you have to-day seen her

sister who is also divine; and how do you suppose that a heavenly

nymph can desire the society of a man? So I will give you a charm to

be written up over her door, and I will also teach you an artifice

to be employed outside the house, which must increase the force of

the charm. A fire burns even without being fanned, but much more

when a strong current of air is brought to bear on it; in the same

way a charm will produce the desired effect unaided, but much more

readily when assisted by an artifice." When he had said this, the

excellent Bráhman gave a charm to Guhachandra, and instructed him

in the artifice, and then vanished in the dawn. Guhachandra for his

part wrote it up over the door of his wife's apartment, and in the

evening had recourse to the following stratagem calculated to excite

her affection. He dressed himself splendidly and went and conversed

with a certain hetæra before her eyes. When she saw this, the heavenly

maiden being jealous, called to him with voice set free by the charm,

and asked him who that woman was. He answered her falsely; "She is

a hetæra who has taken a fancy to me, and I shall go and pay her a

visit to-day." Then she looked at him askance with wrinkled brows,

and lifting up her veil with her left hand, said to him, "Ah! I see:

this is why you are dressed so grandly, do not go to her, what have you

to do with her? Visit me, for I am your wife." When he had been thus

implored by her, agitated with excitement, as if she were possessed,

though that evil demon which held her had been expelled by the charm,

he was in a state of ecstatic joy, and he immediately entered into her

chamber with her, and enjoyed, though a mortal, celestial happiness

not conceived of in imagination. Having thus obtained her as a loving

wife, conciliated by the magic power of the charm, who abandoned for

him her celestial rank, Guhachandra lived happily ever after.

"Thus heavenly nymphs, who have been cast down by some curse, live as

wives in the houses of righteous men, as a reward for their good deeds,

such as acts of devotion and charity. For the honouring of gods and

Bráhmans is considered the wishing-cow [233] of the good. For what

is not obtained by that? All the other politic expedients, known as

conciliation and so on, are mere adjuncts. [234] But evil actions

are the chief cause of even heavenly beings, born in a very lofty

station, falling from their high estate; as a hurricane is the cause

of the falling of blossoms." When he had said this to the princess,

Vasantaka continued; "Hear moreover what happened to Ahalyá."

Story of Ahalyá.

Once upon a time there was a great hermit named Gautama, who knew the

past, the present, and the future. And he had a wife named Ahalyá,

who in beauty surpassed the nymphs of heaven. One day Indra, in

love with her beauty, tempted her in secret, for the mind of rulers,

blinded with power, runs towards unlawful objects.

And she in her folly encouraged that husband of Sachí, being the slave

of her passions; but the hermit Gautama found out the intrigue by his

superhuman power, and arrived upon the scene. And Indra immediately

assumed, out of fear, the form of a cat. Then Gautama said to Ahalyá;

"Who is here?" She answered her husband ambiguously in the Prákrit

dialect,--"Here forsooth is a cat," so managing to preserve verbal

truth. [235] Then Gautama said, laughing, "It is quite true that your

lover is here,--and he inflicted on her a curse, but ordained that it

should terminate because she had shewed some regard for truth." The

curse ran as follows; "Woman of bad character, take for a long time the

nature of a stone, until thou behold Ráma wandering in the forest." And

Gautama at the same time inflicted on the god Indra the following

curse; "A thousand pictures of that which thou hast desired shall

be upon thy body, but when thou shalt behold Tilottamá, a heavenly

nymph, whom Visvakarman shall make, they shall turn into a thousand

eyes." When he had pronounced this curse, the hermit returned to his

austerities according to his desire, but Ahalyá for her part assumed

the awful condition of a stone. And Indra immediately had his body

covered with repulsive marks; for to whom is not immorality a cause

of humiliation?

"So true is it that every man's evil actions always bear fruit

in himself, for whatever seed a man sows, of that he reaps the

fruit. Therefore persons of noble character never desire that, which

is disagreeable to their neighbours, for this is the invariable

observance of the good, prescribed by divine law. And you two were

sister goddesses in a former birth, but you have been degraded in

consequence of a curse, and accordingly your hearts are free from

strife and bent on doing one another good turns." When they heard

this from Vasantaka, Vásavadattá and Padmávatí dismissed from their

hearts even the smallest remnants of mutual jealousy. But the queen

Vásavadattá made her husband equally the property of both, and acted

as kindly to Padmávatí as if she were herself, desiring her welfare.

When the king of Magadha heard of that so great generosity of hers

from the messengers sent by Padmávatí, he was much pleased. So on the

next day the minister Yaugandharáyana came up to the king of Vatsa

in the presence of the queen, the others also standing by, and said,

"Why do we not go now to Kausámbí, my prince, in order to begin our

enterprise, for we know that there is nothing to be feared from the

king of Magadha, even though he has been deceived? For he has been

completely gained over by means of the negotiation termed 'Giving of a

daughter': and how could he make war and so abandon his daughter whom

he loves more than life? He must keep his word; moreover he has not

been deceived by you; I did it all myself; and it does not displease

him; indeed I have learned from my spies that he will not act in a

hostile way, and it was for this very purpose that we remained here

for these days." While Yaugandharáyana, who had accomplished the task

he had in hand, was speaking thus, a messenger belonging to the king

of Magadha arrived there, and entered into the palace immediately,

being announced by the warder, and after he had done obeisance,

he sat down and said to the king of Vatsa; "The king of Magadha is

delighted with the intelligence sent by the queen Padmávatí, and he

now sends this message to your Highness--'What need is there of many

words? I have heard all, and I am pleased with thee. Therefore do the

thing for the sake of which this beginning has been made; we submit

ourselves.'" The king of Vatsa joyfully received this clear speech of

the messenger's, resembling the blossom of the tree of policy planted

by Yaugandharáyana. Then he brought Padmávatí with the queen, and,

after he had bestowed a present upon the messenger, he dismissed him

with honour. Then a messenger from Chandamahásena also arrived, and,

after entering, he bowed before the king, according to custom, and

said to him, "O king, his majesty Chandamahásena, who understands the

secrets of policy, has learnt the state of thy affairs and delighted

sends this message--'Your majesty's excellence is plainly declared

by this one fact, that you have Yaugandharáyana for your minister,

what need of further speeches? Blessed too is Vásavadattá, who,

through devotion to you, has done a deed which makes us exalt our

head for ever among the good, moreover Padmávatí is not separated

from Vásavadattá in my regard, for they two have one heart; therefore

quickly exert yourself.'"

When the king of Vatsa heard this speech of his father-in-law's

messenger, joy suddenly arose in his heart, and his exceeding warmth

of affection for the queen was increased, and also the great respect

which he felt for his excellent minister. Then the king, together with

the queens, entertained the messenger according to the laws of due

hospitality, in joyful excitement of mind, and sent him away pleased;

and as he was bent on commencing his enterprise, he determined,

after deliberating with his ministers, on returning to Kausámbí.

CHAPTER XVIII.

So on the next day the king of Vatsa set out from Lávánaka for

Kausámbí, accompanied by his wives and his ministers, and as he

advanced, shouts broke forth from his forces, that filled the plains

like the waters of the ocean overflowing out of due time. An image

would be furnished of that king advancing on his mighty elephant,

if the sun were to journey in the heaven accompanied by the eastern

mountain. That king, shaded with his white umbrella, shewed as if

waited upon by the moon, delighted at having outdone the splendour

of the sun. While he towered resplendent above them all, the chiefs

circled around him, like the planets [236] in their orbits around

the polar star. And those queens, mounted on a female elephant that

followed his, shone like the earth-goddess and the goddess of Fortune

accompanying him out of affection in visible shape. The earth, that

lay in his path, dinted with the edges of the hoofs of the troops

of his prancing steeds, seemed to bear the prints of loving nails,

as if it had been enjoyed by the king. In this style progressing,

the king of Vatsa, being continually praised by his minstrels,

reached in a few days the city of Kausámbí, in which the people kept

holiday. The city was resplendent on that occasion, her lord [237]

having returned from sojourning abroad. She was clothed in the red silk

of banners, round windows were her expanded eyes, the full pitchers

in the space in front of the gates were her two swelling breasts, the

joyous shouts of the crowd were her cheerful conversation, and white

palaces her smile. [238] So, accompanied by his two wives, the king

entered the city, and the ladies of the town were much delighted at

beholding him. The heaven was filled with hundreds of faces of fair

ones standing on charming palaces, as if with the soldiers of the

moon [239] that was surpassed in beauty by the faces of the queens,

having come to pay their respects. And other women established at

the windows, looking with unwinking eyes, [240] seemed like heavenly

nymphs in aërial chariots, that had come there out of curiosity. Other

women, with their long-lashed eyes closely applied to the lattice of

the windows, made, so to speak, cages of arrows to confine love. The

eager eye of one woman expanded with desire to behold the king, came,

so to speak, to the side of her ear, [241] that did not perceive

him, in order to inform it. The rapidly heaving breasts of another,

who had run up hastily, seemed to want to leap out of her bodice with

ardour to behold him. The necklace of another lady was broken with her

excitement, and the pearl-beads seemed like tear-drops of joy falling

from her heart. Some women, beholding Vásavadattá and remembering the

former report of her having been burned, said as if with anxiety;

"If the fire were to do her an injury at Lávánaka, then the sun

might as well diffuse over the world darkness which is alien to his

nature." Another lady beholding Padmávatí said to her companion; "I

am glad to see that the queen is not put to shame by her fellow-wife,

who seems like her friend." And others beholding those two queens,

and throwing over them garlands of eyes expanded with joy so as to

resemble blue lotuses, said to one another; "Surely Siva and Vishnu

have not beheld the beauty of these two, otherwise how could they

regard with much respect their consorts Umá and Srí?" In this way

feasting the eyes of the population, the king of Vatsa with the queens

entered his own palace, after performing auspicious ceremonies. Such

as is the splendour of a lotus-pool in windy weather, or of the

sea when the moon is rising, such was at that period the wonderful

splendour of the king's palace. And in a moment it was filled with

the presents, which the feudatories offered to procure good luck,

and which foreshadowed the coming in of offerings from innumerable

kings. And so the king of Vatsa, after honouring the chiefs, entered

with great festivity the inner apartments, at the same time finding

his way to the heart of every one present. And there he remained

between the two queens, like the god of Love between Rati and Príti,

[242] and spent the rest of the day in drinking and other enjoyments.

The next day, when he was sitting in the hall of assembly accompanied

by his ministers, a certain Bráhman came and cried out at the door;

"Protection for the Bráhmans! O king! certain wicked herdsmen have

cut off my son's foot in the forest without any reason." When he

heard that, the king immediately had two or three herdsmen seized and

brought before him, and proceeded to question them. Then they gave the

following answer; "O king, being herdsmen we roam in the wilderness,

and there we have among us a herdsman named Devasena, and he sits in

a certain place in the forest on a stone seat, and says to us 'I am

your king' and gives us orders. And not a man among us disobeys his

orders. Thus, O king, that herdsman rules supreme in the wood. Now

to-day the son of this Bráhman came that way, and did not do obeisance

to the herdsman king, and when we by the order of the king said to

him--'Depart not without doing thy reverence'--the young fellow pushed

us aside, and went off laughing in spite of the admonition. Then the

herdsman king commanded us to punish the contumacious boy by cutting

off his foot. So we, O king, ran after him, and cut off his foot;

what man of our humble degree is able to disobey the command of a

ruler?" When the herdsmen had made this representation to the king, the

wise Yaugandharáyana, after thinking it over, said to him in private;

"Certainly that place must contain treasure, on the strength of which

a mere herdsman has such influence. [243] So let us go there." When

his minister had said this to him, the king made those herdsmen shew

him the way, and went to that place in the forest with his soldiers

and his attendants.

And while, after the ground had been examined, peasants were digging

there, a Yaksha in stature like a mountain rose up from beneath it,

and said, "O king, this treasure, which I have so long guarded,

belongs to thee, as having been buried by thy forefathers, therefore

take possession of it." After he had said this to the king and

accepted his worship, the Yaksha disappeared, and a great treasure

was displayed in the excavation. And from it was extracted a valuable

throne studded with jewels, [244] for in the time of prosperity a long

series of happy and fortunate events takes place. The Lord of Vatsa

took away the whole treasure from the spot in high glee, and after

chastising those herdsmen returned to his own city. There the people

saw that golden throne brought by the king, which seemed with the

streams of rays issuing from its blood-red jewels to foretell [245]

the king's forceful conquest of all the regions, and which with its

pearls fixed on the end of projecting silver spikes seemed to show its

teeth as if laughing again and again when it considered the astonishing

intellect of the king's ministers; [246] and they expressed their joy

in a charming manner, by striking drums of rejoicing so that they sent

forth their glad sounds. The ministers too rejoiced exceedingly, making

certain of the king's triumph; for prosperous events happening at the

very commencement of an enterprise portend its final success. Then

the sky was filled with flags resembling flashes of lightning, and the

king like a cloud rained gold on his dependants. And this day having

been spent in feasting, on the morrow Yaugandharáyana, wishing to know

the mind of the king of Vatsa, said to him; "O king, ascend and adorn

that great throne, which thou hast obtained by inheritance from thy

ancestors." But the king said, "Surely it is only after conquering all

the regions that I can gain glory by ascending that throne, which those

famous ancestors of mine mounted after conquering the earth. Not till

I have subdued this widely-gemmed earth bounded by the main, will I

ascend the great jewelled throne of my ancestors." Saying this, the

king did not mount the throne as yet. For men of high birth possess

genuine loftiness of spirit. Thereupon Yaugandharáyana being delighted

said to him in private; "Bravo! my king! So make first an attempt to

conquer the eastern region." When he heard that, the king eagerly

asked his minister; "When there are other cardinal points, why do

kings first march towards the East?" When Yaugandharáyana heard this,

he said to him again; "The North, O king, though rich, is defiled by

intercourse with barbarians, and the West is not honoured as being

the cause of the setting of the sun and other heavenly bodies; and

the South is seen to be neighboured by Rákshasas and inhabited by

the god of death; but in the eastern quarter the sun rises, over the

East presides Indra, and towards the East flows the Ganges, therefore

the East is preferred. Moreover among the countries situated between

the Vindhya and Himálaya mountains, the country laved by the waters

of the Ganges is considered most excellent. Therefore monarchs who

desire success march first towards the East, and dwell moreover in

the land visited by the river of the gods. [247] For your ancestors

also conquered the regions by beginning with the East, and made their

dwelling in Hastinápura on the banks of the Ganges; but Satáníka

repaired to Kausámbí on account of its delightful situation, seeing

that empire depended upon valour, and situation had nothing to do

with it." When he had said this Yaugandharáyana stopped speaking;

and the king out of his great regard for heroic exploits said; "It

is true that dwelling in any prescribed country is not the cause of

empire in this world, for to men of brave disposition their own valour

is the only cause of success. For a brave man by himself without any

support obtains prosperity; have you never heard à propos of this

the tale of the brave man?" Having said this, the lord of Vatsa on

the entreaty of his ministers again began to speak, and related in

the presence of the queens the following wonderful story.

Story of Vidúshaka.

In the city of Ujjayiní, which is celebrated throughout the

earth, there was in former days a king named Ádityasena. He was a

treasure-house of valour, and on account of his sole supremacy, his war

chariot, like that of the sun, [248] was not impeded anywhere. When his

lofty umbrella, gleaming white like snow, illuminated the firmament,

other kings free from heat depressed theirs. He was the receptacle

of the jewels produced over the surface of the whole earth, as the

sea is the receptacle of waters. Once on a time, he was encamped

with his army on the banks of the Ganges, where he had come for some

reason or other. There a certain rich merchant of the country, named

Gunavartman, came to the king bringing a gem of maidens as a present,

and sent this message by the mouth of the warder. This maiden, though

the gem of the three worlds, has been born in my house, and I cannot

give her to any one else, only your Highness is fit to be the husband

of such a girl. Then Gunavartman entered and shewed his daughter to

the king. The king, when he beheld that maiden, Tejasvatí by name,

illuminating with her brightness the quarters of the heavens, like the

flame of the rays from the jewels in the temple of the god of Love,

was all enveloped with the radiance of her beauty and fell in love with

her, and, as if heated with the fire of passion, began to dissolve in

drops of sweat. So he at once accepted her, who was fit for the rank

of head queen, and being highly delighted made Gunavartman equal to

himself in honour. Then, having married his dear Tejasvatí, the king

thought all his objects in life accomplished, and went with her to

Ujjayiní. There the king fixed his gaze so exclusively on her face,

that he could not see the affairs of his kingdom, though they were

of great importance. And his ear being, so to speak, riveted on her

musical discourse could not be attracted by the cries of his distressed

subjects. The king entered into his harem for a long time and never

left it, but the fever of fear left the hearts of his enemies. And

after some time there was born to the king, by the queen Tejasvatí,

a girl welcomed by all, and there arose in his heart the desire of

conquest, which was equally welcome to his subjects. That girl of

exceeding beauty, who made the three worlds seem worthless as stubble,

excited in him joy, and desire of conquest excited his valour. Then

that king Ádityasena set out one day from Ujjayiní to attack a certain

contumacious chieftain; and he made that queen Tejasvatí go with

him mounted on an elephant, as if she were the protecting goddess

of the host. And he mounted an admirable horse, that in spirit and

fury resembled a torrent, [249] tall like a moving mountain, with a

curl on its breast, and a girth. It seemed to imitate with its feet

raised as high as its mouth, the going of Garuda which it had seen in

the heaven, rivalling its own swiftness, and it lifted up its head

and seemed with fearless eye to measure the earth, as if thinking,

"what shall be the limit of my speed?" And after the king had gone a

little way, he came to a level piece of ground, and put his horse to

its utmost speed to shew it off to Tejasvatí. That horse, on being

struck with his heel, went off rapidly, like an arrow impelled from

a catapult, in some unknown direction, so that it became invisible

to the eyes of men. The soldiers, when they saw that take place,

were bewildered, and horsemen galloped in a thousand directions after

the king, who was run away with by his horse, but could not overtake

him. Thereupon the ministers with the soldiers, fearing some calamity,

in their anxiety took with them the weeping queen and returned to

Ujjayiní; there they remained with gates closed and ramparts guarded,

seeking for news of the king, having cheered up the citizens.

In the meanwhile the king was carried by the horse in an instant

to the impassable forest of the Vindhya hills, haunted by terrible

lions. Then the horse happened to stand still, and the king was

immediately distracted with bewilderment, as the great forest made it

impossible for him to know whereabouts he was. Seeing no other way

out of his difficulties, the king, who knew what the horse had been

in a former birth, got down from his saddle, and prostrating himself

before the excellent horse, said to him [250]: "Thou art a god; a

creature like thee should not commit treason against his lord; so I

look upon thee as my protector, take me by a pleasant path." When the

horse heard that, he was full of regret, remembering his former birth;

and mentally acceded to the king's request, for excellent horses are

divine beings. Then the king mounted again, and the horse set out by

a road bordered with clear cool lakes, that took away the fatigue

of the journey; and by evening the splendid horse had taken the

king another hundred yojanas and brought him near Ujjayiní. As the

sun beholding his horses, though seven in number, excelled by this

courser's speed, had sunk, as it were through shame, into the ravines

of the western mountain, and as the darkness was diffused abroad,

the wise horse seeing that the gates of Ujjayiní were closed, and

that the burning-place outside the gates was terrible at that time,

carried the king for shelter to a concealed monastery of Bráhmans,

that was situated in a lonely place outside the walls. And the king

Ádityasena seeing that that monastery was a fit place to spend the

night in, as his horse was tired, attempted to enter it. But the

Bráhmans, who dwelt there, opposed his entrance, saying that he must

be some keeper of a cemetery [251] or some thief. And out they poured

in quarrelsome mood, with savage gestures, for Bráhmans who live

by chanting the Sáma Veda, are the home of timidity, boorishness,

and ill-temper. While they were clamouring, a virtuous Bráhman named

Vidúshaka, the bravest of the brave, came out from that monastery. He

was a young man distinguished for strength of arm, who had propitiated

the fire by his austerities, and obtained a splendid sword from that

divinity, which he had only to think of, and it came to him. That

resolute youth Vidúshaka seeing that king of distinguished bearing,

who had arrived by night, thought to himself that he was some god

in disguise. And the well-disposed youth pushed away all those other

Bráhmans, and bowing humbly before the king, caused him to enter the

monastery. And when he had rested, and had the dust of the journey

washed off by female slaves, Vidúshaka prepared for him suitable

food. And he took the saddle off that excellent horse of his, and

relieved its fatigue by giving it grass and other fodder. And after

he had made a bed for the wearied king, he said to him,--"My lord, I

will guard your person, so sleep in peace"--and while the king slept,

that Bráhman kept watch the whole night at the door with the sword

of the Fire-god in his hand, that came to him on his thinking of it.

And on the morrow early, Vidúshaka, without receiving any orders, of

his own accord saddled the horse for the king, as soon as he awoke. The

king for his part took leave of him, and mounting his horse entered

the city of Ujjayiní, beheld afar off by the people bewildered with

joy. And the moment he entered, his subjects approached him with a

confused hum of delight at his return. The king accompanied by his

ministers entered the palace, and great anxiety left the breast of the

queen Tejasvatí. Immediately grief seemed to be swept away from the

city by the rows of silken flags displayed out of joy, which waved in

the wind; and the queen made high festival until the end of the day,

until such time as the people of the city and the sun were red as

vermilion. [252] And the next day the king Ádityasena had Vidúshaka

summoned from the monastery with all the other Bráhmans. And as

soon as he had made known what took place in the night, he gave his

benefactor Vidúshaka a thousand villages. And the grateful king also

gave that Bráhman an umbrella and an elephant and appointed him his

domestic chaplain, so that he was beheld with great interest by the

people. So Vidúshaka then became equal to a chieftain, for how can

a benefit conferred on great persons fail of bearing fruit? And the

noble-minded Vidúshaka shared all those villages, which he had received

from the king, with the Bráhmans who lived in the monastery. And he

remained in the court of the king in attendance upon him, enjoying

together with the other Bráhmans the income of those villages. But

as time went on, those other Bráhmans began striving each of them

to be chief, and made no account of Vidúshaka, being intoxicated

with the pride of wealth. Dwelling in separate parties, seven in one

place, with their mutual rivalries they oppressed the villages like

malignant planets. Vidúshaka regarded their excesses with scornful

indifference, for men of firm mind rightly treat with contempt men of

little soul. Once upon a time a Bráhman of the name of Chakradhara,

who was naturally stern, seeing them engaged in wrangling, came up to

them. Chakradhara, though he was one-eyed, was keen-sighted enough in

deciding what was right in other men's affairs, and though a hunchback,

was straightforward enough in speech. He said to them--"While you

were living by begging, you obtained this windfall, you rascals,

then why do you ruin the villages with your mutual intolerance? It is

all the fault of Vidúshaka who has permitted you to act thus; so you

may be certain that in a short time you will again have to roam about

begging. For a situation, in which there is no head, and every one has

to shift for himself by his own wits as chance directs, is better than

one of disunion under many heads, in which all affairs go to rack and

ruin. So take my advice and appoint one firm man as your head, if you

desire unshaken prosperity, which can only be ensured by a capable

governor." On hearing that, every one of them desired the headship

for himself; thereupon Chakradhara after reflection again said to

those fools; "As you are so addicted to mutual rivalry I propose to

you a basis of agreement. In the neighbouring cemetery three robbers

have been executed by impalement; whoever is daring enough to cut off

the noses of those three by night and to bring them here, he shall be

your head, for courage merits command. [253]" When Chakradhara made

this proposal to the Bráhmans, Vidúshaka, who was standing near, said

to them; "Do this, what is there to be afraid of?" Then the Bráhmans

said to him; "We are not bold enough to do it, let whoever is able, do

it, and we will abide by the agreement." Then Vidúshaka said, "Well,

I will do it, I will cut off the noses of those robbers by night and

bring them from the cemetery." Then those fools, thinking the task a

difficult one, said to him; "If you do this you shall be our lord,

we make this agreement." When they had pronounced this agreement,

and night had set in, Vidúshaka took leave of those Bráhmans and went

to the cemetery. So the hero entered the cemetery awful as his own

undertaking, with the sword of the Fire-god, that came with a thought,

as his only companion. And in the middle of that cemetery where the

cries of vultures and jackals were swelled by the screams of witches,

and the flames of the funeral pyres were reinforced by the fires in the

mouths of the fire-breathing demons, he beheld those impaled men with

their faces turned up, as if through fear of having their noses cut

off. And when he approached them, those three being tenanted by demons

struck him with their fists [254]; and he for his part slashed them

in return with his sword, for fear has not learned to bestir herself

in the breast of the resolute. Accordingly the corpses ceased to be

convulsed with demons, and then the successful hero cut off their

noses and brought them away, binding them up in his garment. And as

he was returning, he beheld in that cemetery a religious mendicant

sitting on a corpse muttering charms, and through curiosity to have

the amusement of seeing what he was doing, he stood concealed behind

that mendicant. In a moment the corpse under the mendicant gave

forth a hissing sound, and flames issued from its mouth, and from its

navel mustard-seeds. And then the mendicant took the mustard-seeds,

and rising up struck the corpse with the flat of his hand, and the

corpse, which was tenanted by a mighty demon, stood up, and then that

mendicant mounted on its shoulder, and began to depart at a rapid rate,

[255] and Vidúshaka silently followed him unobserved, and after he had

gone a short distance Vidúshaka saw an empty temple with an image of

Durgá in it. Then the mendicant got down from the shoulder of the

demon, and entered the inner shrine of the temple, while the demon

fell flat on the earth. But Vidúshaka was present also, contriving

to watch the mendicant, unperceived by him. The mendicant worshipped

the goddess there and offered the following prayer; "If thou art

pleased with me, O goddess, grant me the desired boon. If not I will

propitiate thee with the sacrifice of myself." When the mendicant,

intoxicated with the success of his powerful spells, said this,

a voice coming from the inner shrine thus addressed the mendicant;

"Bring here the maiden daughter of king Ádityasena, and offer her as a

sacrifice, then thou shalt obtain thy desire." When the mendicant heard

this, he went out, and striking once more with his hand the demon,

[256] who hissed at the blow, made him stand upright. And mounting

on the shoulder of the demon, from whose mouth issued flames of

fire, he flew away through the air to bring the princess. Vidúshaka

seeing all this from his place of concealment thought to himself;

"What! shall he slay the king's daughter while I am alive? I will

remain here until the scoundrel returns." Having formed this resolve,

Vidúshaka remained there in concealment. But the mendicant entered

the female apartments of the palace through the window, and found the

king's daughter asleep, as it was night. And he returned, all clothed

in darkness, through the air, bringing with him the princess who

illuminated with her beauty the region, as Ráhu carries off a digit

of the moon. And bearing along with him that princess who exclaimed

in her grief--"Alas! my father! Alas! my mother"--he descended from

the sky in that very temple of the goddess. And then, dismissing the

demon, he entered with that pearl of maidens into the inner shrine of

the goddess, and while he was preparing to slay the princess there,

Vidúshaka came in with his sword drawn. He said to the mendicant,

"Villain! do you wish to smite a jasmine flower with a thunder-bolt,

in that you desire to employ a weapon against this tender form?" And

then he seized the trembling mendicant by the hair, and cut off his

head. And he consoled the princess distracted with fear, who clung to

him closely as she began to recognise him. And then the hero thought;

"How can I manage during the night to convey this princess from

this place to the harem?" Then a voice from the air addressed him;

"Hear this O Vidúshaka! the mendicant, whom thou hast slain, had

in his power a great demon and some grains of mustard-seed. Thence

arose his desire to be ruler of the earth and marry the daughters

of kings, and so the fool has this day been baffled. Therefore thou

hero, take those mustard-seeds, in order that for this night only

thou mayest be enabled to travel through the air." Thus the aërial

voice addressed the delighted Vidúshaka; for even the gods often

take such a hero under their protection. Then he took in his hand

those grains of mustard-seed from the corner of the mendicant's robe,

and the princess in his arms. And while he was setting out from that

temple of the goddess, another voice sounded in the air; "Thou must

return to this very temple of the goddess at the end of a month, thou

must not forget this, O hero!" When he heard this, Vidúshaka said "I

will do so,"--and by the favour of the goddess he immediately flew

up into the air bearing with him the princess. And flying through

the air he quickly placed that princess in her private apartments,

and said to her after she had recovered her spirits; "To-morrow

morning I shall not be able to fly through the air, and so all men

will see me going out, so I must depart now." When he said this to

her, the maiden being alarmed, answered him; "When you are gone, this

breath of mine will leave my body overcome with fear. Therefore do

not depart, great-souled hero; once more save my life, for the good

make it their business from their birth to carry out every task they

have undertaken." When the brave Vidúshaka heard that, he reflected,

"If I go, and leave this maiden, she may possibly die of fear; and then

what kind of loyalty to my sovereign shall I have exhibited? Thinking

thus he remained all night in those female apartments, and he gradually

dropped off to sleep wearied with toil and watching. But the princess

in her terror passed that night without sleeping: and even when the

morning came she did not wake up the sleeping Vidúshaka, as her mind

was made tender by love [257], and she said to herself; "Let him rest

a little longer." Then the servants of the harem came in and saw him,

and in a state of consternation they went and told the king. The king

for his part sent the warder to discover the truth, and he entering

beheld Vidúshaka there. And he heard the whole story from the mouth

of the princess, and went and repeated it all to the king. And the

king knowing the excellent character of Vidúshaka, was immediately

bewildered, wondering what it could mean. And he had Vidúshaka brought

from his daughter's apartment, escorted all the way by her soul,

which followed him out of affection. And when he arrived, the king

asked him what had taken place, and Vidúshaka told him the whole

story from the beginning, and shewed him the noses of the robbers

fastened up in the end of his garment, and the mustard-seeds which

had been in the possession of the mendicant, different from those

found on earth. The high-minded monarch suspected that Vidúshaka's

story was true from these circumstances, so he had all the Bráhmans

of the monastery brought before him, together with Chakradhara, and

asked about the original cause of the whole matter. And he went in

person to the cemetery and saw those men with their noses cut off,

and that base mendicant with his neck severed, and then he reposed

complete confidence in, and was much pleased with, the skilful and

successful Vidúshaka, who had saved his daughter's life. And he gave

him his own daughter on the spot; what do generous men withhold when

pleased with their benefactors? Surely the goddess of Prosperity, [258]

out of love for the lotus, dwelt in the hand of the princess, since

Vidúshaka obtained great good fortune after he had received it in the

marriage ceremony. Then Vidúshaka enjoying a distinguished reputation,

and engaged in attending upon the sovereign, lived with that beloved

wife in the palace of king Ádityasena. Then as days went on, once upon

a time the princess impelled by some supernatural power said at night

to Vidúshaka; "My lord, you remember that when you were in the temple

of the goddess a divine voice said to you, 'Come here at the end of a

month.' To-day is the last day of the month, and you have forgotten

it." When his beloved said this to him, Vidúshaka was delighted,

and recalled it to mind, and said to his wife--"Well remembered on

thy part, fair one! But I had forgotten it." And then he embraced

her by way of reward. And then, while she was asleep, he left the

women's apartments by night, and in high spirits he went armed with

his sword to the temple of the goddess; then he exclaimed outside,

"I Vidúshaka am arrived:" and he heard this speech uttered by some

one inside--"Come in, Vidúshaka." Thereupon he entered and beheld

a heavenly palace, and inside it a lady of heavenly beauty with a

heavenly retinue, dispelling with her brightness the darkness, like a

night set on fire, looking as if she were the medicine to restore to

life the god of love consumed with the fire of the wrath of Siva. He

wondering what it could all mean, was joyfully received by her in

person with a welcome full of affection and great respect. And when

he had sat down and had gained confidence from seeing her affection,

he became eager to understand the real nature of the adventure, and she

said to him; "I am a maiden of the Vidyádhara race, of high descent,

and my name is Bhadrá, and as I was roaming about at my will I saw you

here on that occasion. And as my mind was attracted by your virtues,

I uttered at that time that voice which seemed to come from some one

invisible, in order that you might return. And to-day I bewildered

the princess by employing my magic skill, so that under my impulse she

revived your remembrance of this matter, and for your sake I am here,

and so, handsome hero, I surrender myself to you; marry me." The noble

Vidúshaka, when the Vidyádharí Bhadrá addressed him in this style,

agreed that moment, and married her by the Gándharva ceremony. Then

he remained in that very place, having obtained celestial joys,

the fruits of his own valour, living with that beloved wife.

Meanwhile the princess woke up when the night came to an end, and not

seeing her husband, was immediately plunged in despair. So she got

up and went with tottering steps to her mother, all trembling, with

her eyes flooded with gushing tears. And she told her mother that

her husband had gone away somewhere in the night, and was full of

self-reproach, fearing that she had been guilty of some fault. Then

her mother was distracted owing to her love for her daughter, and

so in course of time the king heard of it, and came there, and fell

into a state of the utmost anxiety. When his daughter said to him--"I

know my husband has gone to the temple of the goddess outside the

cemetery"--the king went there in person. But he was not able to find

Vidúshaka there in spite of all his searching, for he was concealed

by virtue of the magic science of the Vidyádharí. Then the king

returned, and his daughter in despair determined to leave the body,

but while she was thus minded, some wise man came to her and said

this to her; "Do not fear any misfortune, for that husband of thine

is living in the enjoyment of heavenly felicity, and will return to

thee shortly." When she heard that, the princess retained her life,

which was kept in her by the hope of her husband's return, that had

taken deep root in her heart.

Then, while Vidúshaka was living there, a certain friend of

his beloved, named Yogesvarí, came to Bhadrá, and said to her in

secret--"My friend, the Vidyádharas are angry with you because you live

with a man, and they seek to do you an injury, therefore leave this

place. There is a city called Kárkotaka on the shore of the eastern

sea, and beyond that there is a sanctifying stream named Sítodá,

and after you cross that, there is a great mountain named Udaya,

[259] the land of the Siddhas, [260] which the Vidyádharas may not

invade; go there immediately, and do not be anxious about the beloved

mortal whom you leave here, for before you start you can tell all this

to him, so that he shall be able afterwards to journey there with

speed." When her friend said this to her, Bhadrá was overcome with

fear, and though attached to Vidúshaka, she consented to do as her

friend advised. So she told her scheme to Vidúshaka, and providently

gave him her ring, and then disappeared at the close of the night. And

Vidúshaka immediately found himself in the empty temple of the goddess,

in which he had been before, and no Bhadrá and no palace. Remembering

the delusion produced by Bhadrá's magic skill, and beholding the ring,

Vidúshaka was overpowered by a paroxysm of despair and wonder. And

remembering her speech as if it were a dream, he reflected,--"Before

she left, she assigned as a place of meeting the mountain of the

sun-rising; so I must quickly go there to find her: but if I am seen

by the people in this state, the king will not let me go: so I will

employ a stratagem in this matter, in order that I may accomplish my

object." So reflecting, the wise man assumed another appearance, and

went out from that temple with tattered clothes, begrimed with dust,

exclaiming, "Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!" And immediately the people, who

lived in that place, beholding him, raised a shout; "Here is Vidúshaka

found!" And the king hearing of it came out from his palace in person,

and seeing Vidúshaka in such a state, conducting himself like a madman,

he laid hold on him and took him back to his palace. When he was there,

whatever his servants and connexions, who were full of affection, said

to him, he answered only by exclaiming, "Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!" And

when he was anointed with unguents prescribed by the physicians,

he immediately defiled his body with much cinder-dust; and the

food which the princess out of love offered to him with her own

hands, he instantly threw down and trampled under foot. And in this

condition Vidúshaka remained there some days, without taking interest

in anything, tearing his own clothes, and playing the madman. And

Ádityasena thought to himself; "His condition is past cure, so what

is the use of torturing him? He may perhaps die, and then I should

be guilty of the death of a Bráhman, whereas if he roams about at

his will, he may possibly recover in course of time." So he let him

go. Then the hero Vidúshaka, being allowed to roam where he liked, set

out the next day at his leisure to find Bhadrá, taking with him the

ring. And as he journeyed on day by day towards the East, he at last

reached a city named Paundravardhana [261], which lay in his way as

he travelled on; there he entered the house of a certain aged Bráhman

woman, saying to her--"Mother, I wish to stop here one night." And

she gave him a lodging and entertained him, and shortly after, she

approached him, full of inward sorrow, and said to him--"My son, I

hereby give thee all this house, therefore receive it, since I cannot

now live any longer." He, astonished, said to her--"Why do you speak

thus?" Then she said--"Listen, I will tell you the whole story," and

so continued as follows--"My son, in this city there is a king named

Devasena, and to him there was born one daughter, the ornament of the

earth. The affectionate king said--'I have with difficulty obtained

this one daughter',--so he gave her the name of Duhkalabdhiká. [262]

"In course of time when she had grown up, the king gave her in marriage

to the king of Kachchhapa, whom he had brought to his own palace. The

king of Kachchhapa entered at night the private apartments of his

bride, and died the very first time he entered them. Then the king

much distressed, again gave his daughter in marriage to another king;

he also perished in the same way [263]: and when through fear of the

same fate other kings did not wish to marry her, the king gave this

order to his general--'You must bring a man in turn from every single

house in this country, so that one shall be supplied every day, and

he must be a Bráhman or a Kshatriya. And after you have brought the

man, you must cause him to enter by night into the apartment of my

daughter; let us see how many will perish in this way, and how long

it will go on. Whoever escapes shall afterwards become her husband;

for it is impossible to bar the course of fate, whose dispensations

are mysterious.' The general, having received this order from the

king, brings a man every day turn about from every house in this

city, and in this way hundreds of men have met their death in the

apartment of the princess. Now I, whose merits in a former life must

have been deficient, have one son here; his turn has to-day arrived

to go to the palace to meet his death; and I being deprived of him

must to-morrow enter the fire. Therefore, while I am still alive,

I give to you, a worthy object, all my house with my own hand, in

order that my lot may not again be unfortunate in my next birth." When

she had said this, the resolute Vidúshaka answered; "If this is the

whole matter, do not be despondent, mother, I will go there to-day,

let your only son live. And do not feel any commiseration with regard

to me, so as to say to yourself--'Why should I be the cause of this

man's death?'--for owing to the magical power which I possess I run

no risk by going there." When Vidúshaka had said this, that Bráhman

woman said to him, "Then you must be some god come here as a reward

for my virtue, so cause me, my son, to recover life, and yourself to

gain felicity." When she had expressed her approval of his project in

these words, he went in the evening to the apartment of the princess,

together with a servant appointed by the general to conduct him. There

he beheld the princess flushed with the pride of youth, like a creeper

weighed down with the burden of its abundant flowers that had not

yet been gathered. Accordingly, when night came, the princess went

to her bed, and Vidúshaka remained awake in her apartment, holding in

his hand the sword of the Fire-god, which came to him with a thought,

saying to himself, "I will find out who it is that slays men here." And

when people were all asleep, he saw a terrible Rákshasa coming from the

side of the apartment where the entrance was, having first opened the

door; and the Rákshasa standing at the entrance stretched forward into

the room an arm, which had been the swift wand of Death to hundreds

of men. But Vidúshaka in wrath springing forward, cut off suddenly

the arm of the Rákshasa with one stroke of his sword. [264] And the

Rákshasa immediately fled away through fear of his exceeding valour,

with the loss of one arm, never again to return. When the princess

awoke, she saw the severed arm lying there, and she was terrified,

delighted and astonished at the same time. And in the morning the

king Devasena saw the arm of the Rákshasa, which had fallen down

after it was cut off, lying at the door of his daughter's apartments;

in this way Vidúshaka, as if to say "Henceforth no other men must

enter here"--fastened the door as it were with a long bar. [265]

Accordingly the delighted king gave to Vidúshaka, who possessed

this divine power, his daughter and much wealth; and Vidúshaka dwelt

there some days with this fair one, as if with prosperity incarnate

in bodily form. But one day he left the princess while asleep, and

set out at night in haste to find his Bhadrá. And the princess in the

morning was afflicted at not seeing him, but she was comforted by her

father with the hope of his return. Vidúshaka journeying on day by

day, at last reached the city of Támraliptá not far from the eastern

sea. There he joined himself to a certain merchant, named Skandhadása

who desired to cross the sea. In his company, embarking on a ship

laden with much wealth belonging to the merchant, he set out on the

ocean path. Then that ship was stopped suddenly when it had reached the

middle of the ocean, as if it were held by something. And when it did

not move, though the sea was propitiated with jewels, that merchant

Skandhadása being grieved, said this: "Whosoever releases this ship

of mine which is detained, to him I will give half of my own wealth

and my daughter." The resolute-souled Vidúshaka, when he heard that,

said, "I will descend into the water of the sea and search it, and

I will set free in a moment this ship of yours which is stopped: but

you must support me by ropes fastened round my body. And the moment

the ship is set free, you must draw me up out of the midst of the

sea by the supporting ropes." The merchant welcomed his speech with

a promise to do what he asked, and the steersmen bound ropes under

his armpits. Supported in that way Vidúshaka descended in the sea;

a brave man never desponds when the moment for action has arrived. So

taking in his hand the sword of the Fire-god, that came to him with

a thought, the hero descended into the midst of the sea under the

ship. And there he saw a giant asleep, and he saw that the ship was

stopped by his leg. So he immediately cut off his leg with his sword,

and at once the ship moved on freed from its impediment. [266] When

the wicked merchant saw that, he cut the ropes, by which Vidúshaka was

supported, through desire to save the wealth he had promised him; and

went swiftly to the other shore of the ocean vast as his own avarice,

in the ship which had thus been set free. Vidúshaka for his part,

being in the midst of the sea with the supporting ropes cut, rose to

the surface, and seeing how matters stood he calmly reflected for

a moment; "Why did the merchant do this? Surely in this case the

proverb is applicable; 'Ungrateful men blinded by desire of gain

cannot see a benefit.' Well, it is now high time for me to display

intrepidity, for if courage fails, even a small calamity cannot be

overcome." Thus he reflected on that occasion, and then he got astride

on the leg which he had cut off from the giant sleeping in the water,

and by its help he crossed the sea, as if with a boat, paddling with

his hands, for even destiny takes the part of men of distinguished

valour. Then a voice from heaven addressed that mighty hero, who had

come across the ocean, as Hanumán did for the sake of Ráma [267];

"Bravo, Vidúshaka! Bravo! who except thee is a man of valour? I am

pleased with this courage of thine: therefore hear this. Thou hast

reached a desolate coast here, but from this thou shalt arrive in

seven days at the city of Kárkotaka; then thou shalt pluck up fresh

spirits, and journeying quickly from that place, thou shalt obtain

thy desire. But I am the Fire, the consumer of the oblations to

gods and the spirits of deceased ancestors, whom thou didst before

propitiate: and owing to my favour thou shalt feel neither hunger

nor thirst,--therefore go prosperously and confidently;" having thus

spoken, the voice ceased. And Vidúshaka, when he heard that, bowed,

adoring the Fire-god, and set forth in high spirits, and on the

seventh day he reached the city of Kárkotaka. And there he entered a

monastery, inhabited by many noble Bráhmans from various lands, who

were noted for hospitality. It was a wealthy foundation of the king

of that place Áryavarman, and had annexed to it beautiful temples

all made of gold. There all of the Bráhmans welcomed him, and one

Bráhman took the guest to his chamber, and provided him with a bath,

with food and with clothing. And while he was living in the monastery,

he heard this proclamation being made by beat of drum in the evening;

"Whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya wishes to-morrow morning to marry

the king's daughter, let him spend a night in her chamber." When he

heard that, he suspected the real reason, and being always fond of

daring adventures, he desired immediately to go to the apartment

of the princess. Thereupon the Bráhmans of the monastery said to

him,--"Bráhman, do not be guilty of rashness. The apartment of the

princess is not rightly so called, rather is it the open mouth of

death, [268] for whoever enters it at night does not escape alive,

and many daring men have thus met their death there." In spite of

what these Bráhmans told him, Vidúshaka would not take their advice,

[269] but went to the palace of the king with his servants. There

the king Áryavarman, when he saw him, welcomed him in person, and

at night he entered the apartment of the king's daughter, looking

like the sun entering the fire. And he beheld that princess who

seemed by her appearance to be attached to him, for she looked at him

with tearful eye, and a sad look expressive of the grief produced by

utter despair. And he remained awake there all night gazing intently,

holding in his hand the sword of the Fire-god that came to him with

a thought. And suddenly he beheld at the entrance a very terrible

Rákshasa, extending his left hand because his right had been cut

off. And when he saw him, he said to himself; "Here is that very

Rákshasa, whose arm I cut off in the city of Paundravardhana. So

I will not strike at his arm again, lest he should escape me and

depart as before, and for this reason it is better for me to kill

him." Thus reflecting, Vidúshaka ran forward and seized his hair,

and was preparing to cut off his head, when suddenly the Rákshasa in

extreme terror said to him; "Do not slay me, you are brave, therefore

shew mercy." Vidúshaka let him go and said, "Who are you, and what are

you about here?" Then the Rákshasa, being thus questioned by the hero,

continued--"My name is Yamadanshtra, and I had two daughters, this is

one, and she who lives in Paundravardhana is another. And Siva favoured

me by laying on me this command; 'Thou must save the two princesses

from marrying any one who is not a hero.' While thus engaged I first

had an arm cut off at Paundravardhana, and now I have been conquered

by you here, so this duty of mine is accomplished." When Vidúshaka

heard this, he laughed, and said to him in reply; "It was I that

cut off your arm there in Paundravardhana." The Rákshasa answered

"Then you must be a portion of some divinity, not a mere man, I

think it was for your sake that Siva did me the honour of laying

that command upon me. So henceforth I consider you my friend, and

when you call me to mind I will appear to you to ensure your success

even in difficulties." In these words the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra out of

friendship chose him as a sworn brother, and when Vidúshaka accepted

his proposal, disappeared. Vidúshaka, for his part, was commended for

his valour by the princess, and spent the night there in high spirits;

and in the morning the king hearing of the incident and highly pleased,

gave him his daughter as the conspicuous banner of his valour together

with much wealth. Vidúshaka lived there some nights with her, as if

with the goddess of prosperity, bound so firmly by his virtue [270]

that she could not move a step. But one night he went off of his

own accord from that place, longing for his beloved Bhadrá, for who

that has tasted heavenly joys, can take pleasure in any other? And

after he had left the town, he called to mind that Rákshasa, and

said to him, who appeared the moment he called him to mind, and made

him a bow,--"My friend, I must go to the land of the Siddhas on the

Eastern mountain for the sake of the Vidyádharí named Bhadrá, so do

you take me there." The Rákshasa said--"Very good"--so he ascended

his shoulder, and travelled in that night over sixty yojanas of

difficult country; and in the morning he crossed the Sítodá, a river

that cannot be crossed by mortals, and without effort reached the

border of the land of the Siddhas. [271] The Rákshasa said to him;

"Here is the blessed mountain, called the mountain of the rising sun,

in front of you, but I cannot set foot upon it as it is the home

of the Siddhas." Then the Rákshasa being dismissed by him departed,

and there Vidúshaka beheld a delightful lake, and he sat down on the

bank of that lake beautiful with the faces of full-blown lotuses,

which, as it were, uttered a welcome to him with the hum of roaming

bees. And there he saw unmistakeable footsteps as of women, seeming to

say to him, this is the path to the house of your beloved. While he

was thinking to himself--"Mortals cannot set foot on this mountain,

therefore I had better stop here a moment, and see whose footsteps

these are"--there came to the lake to draw water many beautiful

women with golden pitchers in their hands. So he asked the women,

after they had filled their pitchers with water, in a courteous

manner; "For whom are you taking this water?" And those women said to

him--"Excellent Sir, a Vidyádharí of the name of Bhadrá is dwelling

on this mountain, this water is for her to bathe in." Wonderful to

say! Providence seeming to be pleased with resolute men, who attempt

mighty enterprises, makes all things subserve their ends. For one

of these women suddenly said to Vidúshaka; "Noble sir, please lift

this pitcher on to my shoulder." He consented and when he lifted the

pitcher on to her shoulder, the discreet man put into it the jewelled

ring he had before received from Bhadrá, [272] and then he sat down

again on the bank of that lake, while those women went with the water

to the house of Bhadrá. And while they were pouring over Bhadrá the

water of ablution, her ring fell into her lap. When Bhadrá saw it,

she recognized it and asked those friends of hers whether they had

seen any stranger about. And they gave her this answer; "We saw a

young mortal on the banks of the lake, and he lifted this pitcher

for us." Then Bhadrá said "Go and make him bathe and adorn himself,

and quickly bring him here, for he is my husband who has arrived in

this country." When Bhadrá had said this, her companions went and told

Vidúshaka the state of the case, and after he had bathed brought him

into her presence. And when he arrived, he saw after long separation

Bhadrá who was eagerly expecting him, like the ripe blooming fruit

of the tree of his own valour in visible form: she for her part rose

up when she saw him, and offering him the argha, [273] so to speak,

by sprinkling him with her tears of joy, she fastened her twining

arms round his neck like a garland. When they embraced one another,

the long accumulated affection [274] seemed to ooze from their limbs

in the form of sweat, owing to excessive pressure. Then they sat down,

and never satisfied with gazing at one another, they both, as it were,

endured the agony of longing multiplied a hundred-fold. Bhadrá then

said to Vidúshaka; "How did you come to this land?" And he thereupon

gave her this answer; "Supported by affection for thee, I came here

enduring many risks to my life, what else can I say, fair one?" When

she heard that, seeing that his love was excessive, as it caused him

to disregard his own life, Bhadrá said to him who through affection

had endured the utmost, "My husband, I care not for my friends, nor

my magic powers; you are my life, and I am your slave, my lord, bought

by you with your virtues." Then Vidúshaka said, "Then come with me to

live in Ujjayiní, my beloved, leaving all this heavenly joy." Bhadrá

immediately accepted his proposal, and gave up all her magic gifts,

(which departed from her the moment she formed that resolution,)

with no more regret than if they had been straw. Then Vidúshaka

rested with her there during that night, being waited on by her

friend Yogesvarí, and in the morning the successful hero descended

with her from the mountain of the sun-rise, and again called to

mind the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra; the Rákshasa came the moment he was

thought of, and Vidúshaka told him the direction of the journey he

had to take, and then ascended his shoulder, having previously placed

Bhadrá there. She too endured patiently to be placed on the shoulder

of a very loathsome Rákshasa; what will not women do when mastered

by affection? So Vidúshaka, mounted on the Rákshasa, set out with

his beloved, and again reached the city of Kárkotaka; and there men

beheld him with fear inspired by the sight of the Rákshasa; and when

he saw king Áryavarman, he demanded from him his daughter; and after

receiving that princess surrendered by her father, whom he had won

with his arm, he set forth from that city in the same style, mounted

on the Rákshasa. And after he had gone some distance, he found that

wicked merchant on the shore of the sea, who long ago cut the ropes

when he had been thrown into the sea. And he took, together with his

wealth, his daughter, whom he had before won as a reward for setting

free the ship in the sea. And he considered the depriving that villain

of his wealth as equivalent to putting him to death, for grovelling

souls often value their hoards more than their life. Then mounted on

the Rákshasa as on a chariot, taking with him that daughter of the

merchant, he flew up into the heaven with the princess and Bhadrá,

and journeying through the air, he crossed the ocean, which like

his valour was full of boisterous impetuosity, exhibiting it to his

fair ones. [275] And he again reached the city of Paundravardhana,

beheld with astonishment by all as he rode on a Rákshasa. There he

greeted his wife, the daughter of Devasena, who had long desired his

arrival, whom he had won by the defeat of the Rákshasa; and though

her father tried to detain him, yet longing for his native land,

he took her also with him, and set out for Ujjayiní. And owing to

the speed of the Rákshasa, he soon reached that city, which appeared

like his satisfaction at beholding his home, exhibited in visible

form. There Vidúshaka was seen by the people, perched on the top of

that huge Rákshasa, whose vast frame was illuminated by the beauty of

his wives seated on his shoulder, as the moon [276] rising over the

eastern mountain with gleaming herbs on its summit. The people being

astonished and terrified, his father-in-law the king Ádityasena came

to hear of it, and went out from the city. But Vidúshaka, when he

saw him, quickly descended from the Rákshasa, and after prostrating

himself approached the king; the king too welcomed him. Then Vidúshaka

caused all his wives to come down from the shoulder of the Rákshasa,

and released him to wander where he would. And after that Rákshasa

had departed, Vidúshaka accompanied by his wives entered the king's

palace together with the king his father-in-law. There he delighted

by his arrival that first wife of his, the daughter of that king, who

suffered a long regret for his absence. And when the king said to him;

"How did you obtain these wives, and who is that Rákshasa?" he told him

the whole story. Then that king pleased with his son-in-law's valour,

and knowing what it was expedient to do, gave him half his kingdom;

and immediately Vidúshaka, though a Bráhman, became a monarch, with

a lofty white umbrella and chowries waving on both sides of him. And

then the city of Ujjayiní was joyful, full of the sound of festive

drums and music, uttering shouts of delight. Thus he obtained the

mighty rank of a king, and gradually conquered the whole earth, so

that his foot was worshipped by all kings, and with Bhadrá for his

consort he long lived in happiness with those wives of his, who were

content, having abandoned jealousy. Thus resolute men when fortune

favours them, find their own valour a great and successful stupefying

charm that forcibly draws towards them prosperity.

When they heard from the mouth of the king of Vatsa this varied tale

[277] full of marvellous incident, all his ministers sitting by his

side and his two wives experienced excessive delight.

CHAPTER XIX.

Then Yaugandharáyana said to the king of Vatsa; "King, it is known

that you possess the favour of destiny, as well as courage; and I

also have taken some trouble about the right course of policy to

be pursued in this matter: therefore carry out as soon as possible

your plan of conquering the regions." When his chief minister had

said this to him, the king of Vatsa answered,--"Admitting that this

is true, nevertheless the accomplishment of auspicious undertakings

is always attended with difficulties, accordingly I will with this

object propitiate Siva by austerities, for without his favour, how

can I obtain what I desire?" When they heard that, his ministers

approved of his performing austerities, as the chiefs of the monkeys

did in the case of Ráma, when he was intent upon building a bridge

over the ocean. And after the king had fasted for three nights,

engaged in austerities with the queens and the ministers, Siva said

to him in a dream--"I am satisfied with thee, therefore rise up,

thou shalt obtain an unimpeded triumph, and shalt soon have a son

who shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." Then the king woke up,

with all his fatigue removed by the favour of Siva, like the new moon

increased by the rays of the sun. And in the morning he delighted his

ministers by telling them that dream, and the two queens, tender as

flowers, who were worn out by the fasting they had endured to fulfil

the vow. And they were refreshed by the description of his dream,

well worthy of being drunk in with the ears, and its effect was like

that of medicine, [278] for it restored their strength. The king

obtained by his austerities a power equal to that of his ancestors,

and his wives obtained the saintly renown of matrons devoted to their

husband. But on the morrow when the feast at the end of the fast

was celebrated, and the citizens were beside themselves with joy,

Yaugandharáyana thus addressed the king--"You are fortunate, O king,

in that the holy god Siva is so well disposed towards you, so proceed

now to conquer your enemies, and then enjoy the prosperity won by

your arm. For when prosperity is acquired by a king's own virtues,

it remains fixed in his family, for blessings acquired by the virtues

of the owners are never lost. And for this reason it was that that

treasure long buried in the ground, which had been accumulated by

your ancestors and then lost, was recovered by you. Moreover with

reference to this matter hear the following tale:"

Story of Devadása.

Long ago there was in the city of Pátaliputra a certain merchant's son,

sprung from a rich family, and his name was Devadása. And he married

a wife from the city of Paundravardhana, the daughter of some rich

merchant. When his father died, Devadása became in course of time

addicted to vice, and lost all his wealth at play. And then his wife's

father came and took away to his own house in Paundravardhana his

daughter, who was distressed by poverty and the other hardships of her

lot. Gradually the husband began to be afflicted by his misfortunes,

and wishing to be set up in his business, he came to Paundravardhana to

ask his father-in-law to lend him the capital which he required. And

having arrived in the evening at the city of Paundravardhana, seeing

that he was begrimed with dust, and in tattered garments, he thought

to himself, "How can I enter my father-in-law's house in this state? In

truth for a proud man death is preferable to exhibiting poverty before

one's relations." Thus reflecting, he went into the market-place,

and remained outside a certain shop during the night, crouching

with contracted body, like the lotus which is folded at night. And

immediately he saw a certain young merchant open the door of that shop

and enter it. And a moment after he saw a woman come with noiseless

step to that same place, and rapidly enter. And while he fixed his

eyes on the interior of the shop in which a light was burning, he

recognized in that woman his own wife. Then Devadása seeing that wife

of his repairing to another man, and bolting the door, being smitten

with the thunderbolt of grief, thought to himself; "A man deprived of

wealth loses even his own body, how then can he hope to retain the

affections of a woman? For women have fickleness implanted in their

nature by an invariable law, like the flashes of lightning. So here I

have an instance of the misfortunes which befall men who fall into the

sea of vice, and of the behaviour of an independent woman who lives

in her father's house." Thus he reflected as he stood outside, and

he seemed to himself to hear his wife confidentially conversing with

her lover. So he applied his ear to the door, and that wicked woman

was at the moment saying in secret to the merchant, her paramour;

"Listen; as I am so fond of you, I will to-day tell you a secret;

my husband long ago had a great-grandfather named Víravarman; in the

courtyard of his house he secretly buried in the ground four jars of

gold, one jar in each of the four corners. And he then informed one

of his wives of that fact, and his wife at the time of her death

told her daughter-in-law, she told it to her daughter-in-law who

was my mother-in-law, and my mother-in-law told it to me. So this

is an oral tradition in my husband's family, descending through

the mothers-in-law. But I did not tell it to my husband though he

is poor, for he is odious to me as being addicted to gambling, but

you are above all dear to me. So go to my husband's town and buy the

house from him with money, and after you have obtained that gold,

come here and live happily with me." When the merchant, her paramour,

heard this from that treacherous woman, he was much pleased with her,

thinking that he had obtained a treasure without any trouble. Devadása

for his part, who was outside, bore henceforth the hope of wealth,

so to speak, riveted in his heart with those piercing words of his

wicked wife. So he went thence quickly to the city of Pátaliputra,

and after reaching his house, he took that treasure and appropriated

it. Then that merchant, who was in secret the paramour of his wife,

arrived in that country, on pretence of trading, but in reality eager

to obtain the treasure. So he bought that house from Devadása, who made

it over to him for a large sum of money. Then Devadása set up another

home, and cunningly brought back that wife of his from the house of

his father-in-law. When this had been done, that wicked merchant, who

was the lover of his wife, not having obtained the treasure, came and

said to him; "This house of yours is old, and I do not like it. So give

me back my money, and take back your own house." Thus he demanded,

and Devadása refused, and being engaged in a violent altercation,

they both went before the king. In his presence Devadása poured forth

the whole story of his wife, painful to him as venom concealed in his

breast. Then the king had his wife summoned, and after ascertaining

the truth of the case, he punished that adulterous merchant with the

loss of all his property; Devadása for his part cut off the nose of

that wicked wife, and married another, and then lived happily in his

native city on the treasure he had obtained.