There was a young king named Sushena on the mountain of Chitrakúta,
who was created like another god of love by the Creator to spite
Siva. He made at the foot of that great mountain a heavenly garden,
which was calculated to make the gods averse to dwelling in the garden
of Nandana. And in the middle of it he made a lake with full-blown
lotuses, like a new productive bed for the lotuses with which the
goddess of Fortune plays. This lake had steps leading down into
it made of splendid gems, and the king used to linger on its bank
without a bride, because there were no eligible matches for him. Once
on a time Rambhá, a fair one of heaven, came that way, wandering at
will through the air from the palace of Indra. She beheld the king
roaming in that garden like an incarnation of the Spring in the midst
of a garden of full-blown flowers. She said--"Can this be the moon,
that has swooped down from heaven in pursuit of the goddess of Fortune
fallen into a cluster of lotuses of the lake? But that cannot be, for
this hero's fortune in the shape of beauty never passes away. [456]
Surely this must be the god of the flowery arrows come to the garden
in quest of flowers. But where has Rati, his companion, gone?" Thus
Rambhá described him in her eagerness, and descending from heaven in
human form, she approached that king. And when the king suddenly beheld
her advancing towards him, he was astonished and reflected--"Who can
this be of incredible beauty? She cannot surely be a human being,
since her feet do not touch the dust, and her eye does not wink,
therefore she must be some divine person. But I must not ask her who
she is, for she might fly from me. Divine beings, who visit men for
some cause or other, are generally impatient of having their secrets
revealed." While such thoughts were passing in the monarch's mind,
she began a conversation with him, which led in due course to his
throwing his arms round her neck then and there. And he sported
long there with this Apsaras, so that she forgot heaven; love is
more charming than one's native home. And the land of that king was
filled with heaps of gold, by means of the Yakshinís, friends of
hers, who transformed themselves into trees, as the heaven is filled
with the peaks of Meru. And in course of time that excellent Apsaras
became pregnant, and bore to king Sushena an incomparably beautiful
daughter, and no sooner had she given her birth, than she said to the
king--"O king, such has been my curse, and it is now at an end; for I
am Rambhá, a heavenly nymph that fell in love with you on beholding
you: and as I have given birth to a child, I must immediately leave
you and depart. For such is the law that governs us heavenly beings;
therefore take care of this daughter; when she is married, we shall
again be united in heaven." When the Apsaras Rambhá had said this,
she departed, sorely against her will, and through grief at it, the
king was bent on abandoning life. But his ministers said to him, "Did
Visvámitra, though despondent, abandon life when Menaká had departed
after giving birth to Sakuntalá?" When the king had been plied by
them with such arguments, he took the right view of the matter, and
slowly recovered his self-command, taking to his heart the daughter
who was destined to be the cause of their re-union. And that daughter,
lovely in all her limbs, her father, who was devoted to her, named
Sulochaná, on account of the exceeding beauty of her eyes.
In time she grew up to womanhood, and a young hermit, named Vatsa,
the descendant of Kasyapa, as he was roaming about at will, beheld
her in a garden. He, though he was all compact of asceticism, the
moment he beheld that princess, felt the emotion of love, and he said
to himself then and there; "Oh! exceedingly wonderful is the beauty
of this maiden! If I do not obtain her as a wife, what other fruit of
my asceticism can I obtain?" While thinking thus, the young hermit was
beheld by Sulochaná, and he seemed to her all glorious with brightness,
like fire free from smoke. When she saw him with his rosary and water
vessel, she fell in love also and thought--"Who can this be that looks
so self-restrained and yet so lovely?" And coming towards him as if to
select him for her husband, she threw over his body the garland [457]
of the blue lotuses of her eyes, and bowed before that hermit. And
he, with mind overpowered by the decree of Cupid, hard for gods and
Asuras to evade, pronounced on her the following blessing--"Obtain a
husband." Then the excellent hermit was thus addressed by that lady,
whose modesty was stolen away by love for his exceeding beauty,
and who spoke with downcast face--"If this is your desire, and if
this is not jesting talk, then, Bráhman, ask the king, my father,
who has power to dispose of me." Then the hermit, after hearing of
her descent from her attendants, went and asked the king Sushena, her
father, for her hand. He, for his part, when he saw that the young
hermit was eminent both in beauty and asceticism, entertained him,
and said to him--"Reverend sir, this daughter is mine by the nymph
Rambhá, and by my daughter's marriage I am to be re-united with
her in heaven; so Rambhá told me when she was returning to the sky;
consider, auspicious sir, how that is to be accomplished." When the
hermit heard that, he thought for a moment--"Did not the hermit Ruru,
when Pramadvará the daughter of Menaká was bitten by a snake, give
her the half of his life, and make her his wife? Was not the Chandála
Trisanku carried to heaven by Visvámitra? So why should not I do the
same by expending my asceticism upon it?" Having thus reflected, the
hermit said--"There is no difficulty in it," and exclaimed--"Hearken ye
gods, may this king mount with his body to heaven to obtain possession
of Rambhá by virtue of part of my asceticism." Thus the hermit spoke
in the hearing of the court, and a distinct answer was heard from
heaven--"So be it." Then the king gave his daughter Sulochaná to the
hermit Vatsa, the descendant of Kasyapa, and ascended to heaven. There
he obtained a divine nature, and lived happily with that Rambhá of
god-like dignity, appointed his wife by Indra.
"Thus, O king, Sushena obtained all his ends by means of a
daughter. For such daughters become incarnate in the houses of such as
you. And this daughter is surely some heavenly nymph, fallen from her
high estate owing to a curse, and born in your house, so do not grieve,
monarch, on account of her birth." When king Kalingadatta had heard
this tale from the Bráhman that had grown old in his house, he left
off being distressed, and was comforted. And he gave to his dear young
daughter, who gave pleasure to his eyes, as if she had been a digit
of the moon, the name of Kalingasená. And the princess Kalingasená
grew up in the house of her father amongst her companions. And she
sported in the palaces, and in the palace-gardens, like a wave of
the sea of infancy that is full of the passion [458] for amusement.
Once on a time the daughter of the Asura Maya, named Somaprabhá, as she
was journeying through the sky, saw her on the roof of a palace engaged
in play. And Somaprabhá, while in the sky, beheld her lovely enough
to bewilder with her beauty the mind even of a hermit, and feeling
affection for her, reflected--"Who is this? Can she be the form of the
moon? If so, how is it that she gleams in the day? But if she is Rati,
where is Káma? Therefore I conclude that she is a mortal maiden.
"She must be some celestial nymph that has descended into a king's
palace in consequence of a curse; and I am persuaded I was certainly a
friend of her's in a former life. For my mind's being full of exceeding
affection for her, tells me so. Therefore it is fitting that I should
again select her as my chosen friend." Thus reflecting Somaprabhá
descended invisible from heaven, in order not to frighten that
maiden; and she assumed the appearance of a mortal maiden to inspire
confidence, and slowly approached that Kalingasená. Then Kalingasená,
on beholding her, reflected--"Bravo! here is a princess of wonderful
beauty come to visit me of her own accord! she is a suitable friend for
me." So she rose up politely and embraced that Somaprabhá. And making
her take a seat, she asked her immediately her descent and name. And
Somaprabhá said to her; "Be patient, I will tell you all." Then in the
course of their conversation they swore friendship to each other with
plighted hands. Then Somaprabhá, said--"My friend, you are a king's
daughter, and it is hard to keep up friendship with the children of
kings. For they fly into an immoderate passion on account of a small
fault. Hear, with regard to this point, the story of the prince and
the merchant's son which I am about to tell you."
Story of the prince and the merchant's son who saved his life. [459]
In the city of Pushkarávatí there was a king named Gúdhasena, and to
him there was born one son. That prince was overbearing, and whatever
he did, right or wrong, his father acquiesced in, because he was an
only son. And once upon a time, as he was roaming about in a garden,
he saw the son of a merchant, named Brahmadatta, who resembled himself
in wealth and beauty. And the moment he saw him, he selected him for
his special friend, and those two, the prince and the merchant's son,
immediately became like one another in all things. [460] And soon
they were not able to live without seeing one another, for intimacy
in a former birth quickly knits friendship. The prince never tasted
food that was not first prepared for that merchant's son.
Once on a time the prince set out for Ahichchhatra in order to be
married, having first decided on his friend's marriage. And, as he was
journeying with his troops, in the society of that friend, mounted
on an elephant, he reached the bank of the Ikshuvatí, and encamped
there. There he had a wine-party, when the moon arose; and after he
had gone to bed, he began to tell a story at the solicitation of his
nurse. When he had begun his story, being tired and intoxicated he
was overcome by sleep, and his nurse also, but the merchant's son
kept awake out of love for him. And when the others were asleep, the
merchant's son, who was awake, heard in the air what seemed to be the
voices of women engaged in conversation. The first said--"This wretch
has gone to sleep without telling his tale, therefore I pronounce this
curse on him. To-morrow morning he shall see a necklace, and if he
take hold of it, it shall cling to his neck, and that moment cause
his death." Then the first voice ceased, and the second went on:
"And if he escape that peril, he shall see a mango-tree, and if he
eat the fruit of it, he shall then and there lose his life." Having
uttered this, that voice also ceased, and then the third said--"If
he escape this also, then, if he enter a house to be married, it
shall fall on him and slay him." Having said so much, that voice also
ceased, and the fourth said, "If he escape this also, when he enters
that night into his private apartments, he shall sneeze a hundred
times; and if some one there does not a hundred times say to him,
'God bless you,' he shall fall into the grasp of death. And if the
person, who has heard all this, shall inform him of it in order
to save his life, he also shall die," having said this, the voice
ceased. [461] And the merchant's son having heard all this, terrible
as a thunderstroke, being agitated on account of his affection for
the prince, reflected--"Beshrew this tale that was begun, and not
finished, for divinities have come invisible to hear it, and are
cursing him out of disappointed curiosity. And if this prince dies,
what good will my life do to me? So I must by some artifice deliver
my friend whom I value as my life. And I must not tell him what has
taken place, lest I too should suffer." Having thus reflected, the
merchant's son got through the night with difficulty.
And in the morning the prince set out with him on his journey, and he
saw a necklace in front of him, and wished to lay hold of it. Then
the merchant's son said, "Do not take the necklace, my friend, it
is an illusion, else why do not these soldiers see it?" When the
prince heard that, he let the necklace alone, but going on further
he saw a mango-tree, and he felt a desire to eat its fruit. But he
was dissuaded by the merchant's son, as before. He felt much annoyed
in his heart, and travelling on slowly he reached his father-in-law's
palace. And he was about to enter a building there for the purpose of
being married, but just as his friend had persuaded him not to do so,
the house fell down. So he escaped this danger by a hair's breadth,
and then he felt some confidence in his friend's prescience. Then
the prince and his wife entered at night another building. But the
merchant's son slipped in there unobserved. And the prince, when he
went to bed, sneezed a hundred times, but the merchant's son underneath
it said a hundred times--"God bless you"--and then the merchant's son,
having accomplished his object, of his own accord left the house in
high spirits. But the prince, who was with his wife, saw him going
out, and through jealousy, forgetting his love for him, he flew into
a passion and said to the sentinels at his gate: "This designing
wretch has entered my private apartments when I wished to be alone,
so keep him in durance for the present, and he shall be executed in
the morning." When the guards heard that, they put him under arrest,
and he spent the night in confinement, but as he was being led off
to execution in the morning, he said to them--"First take me into
the presence of the prince, in order that I may tell him a certain
reason, which I had for my conduct; and then put me to death." When
he said this to the guards, they went and informed the prince, and
on their information and the advice of his ministers, the prince
ordered him to be brought before him. When he was brought, he told
the prince the whole story, and he believed it to be true, for the
fall of the house carried conviction to his mind. So the prince was
satisfied, and countermanded the order for his friend's execution,
and he returned with him to his own city, a married man. And there
his friend the merchant's son married, and lived in happiness, his
virtues being praised by all men.
"Thus the children of kings break loose from restraint and slaying
their guides, disregard benefits, like infuriated elephants. And
what friendship can there be with those Vetálas, who take people's
lives by way of a joke. Therefore, my princess, never abandon your
friendship with me."
When Kalingasená heard this story in the palace from the mouth of
Somaprabhá, she answered her affectionate friend,--"Those of whom you
speak are considered Pisáchas, not the children of kings, and I will
tell you a story of the evil importunity of Pisáchas, listen!" [462]
Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha.
Long ago there was a Bráhman dwelling on a royal grant, which was
called Yajnasthala. He once upon a time, being poor, went to the
forest to bring home wood. There, a piece of wood being cleft with the
axe, fell, as chance would have it, upon his leg, and piercing it,
entered deep into it. And as the blood flowed from him, he fainted,
and he was beheld in that condition by a man who recognised him, and
taking him up carried him home. There his distracted wife washed off
the blood, and consoling him, placed a plaster upon the wound. And
then his wound, though tended day by day, not only did not heal, but
formed an ulcer. Then the man, afflicted with his ulcerated wound,
poverty-stricken, and at the point of death, was thus advised in
secret by a Bráhman friend, who came to him; "A friend of mine, named
Yajnadatta, was long very poor, but he gained the aid of a Pisácha
by a charm, and so, having obtained wealth, lived in happiness. And
he told me that charm, so do you gain, my friend, by means of it, the
aid of a Pisácha; he will heal your wound." Having said this, he told
him the form of words and described to him the ceremony as follows:
"Rise up in the last watch of the night, and with dishevelled hair and
naked, and without rinsing your mouth, take two handfuls of rice as
large as you can grasp with your two hands, and muttering the form
of words go to a place where four roads meet, and there place the
two handfuls of rice, and return in silence without looking behind
you. Do so always until that Pisácha appears, and himself says to you,
'I will put an end to your ailment.' Then receive his aid gladly,
and he will remove your complaint."
When his friend had said this to him, the Bráhman did as he had been
directed. Then the Pisácha, being conciliated, brought heavenly herbs
from a lofty peak of the Himálayas and healed his wound. And then
he became obstinately persistent, and said to the Bráhman, who was
delighted at being healed, "Give me a second wound to cure, but if
you will not, I will do you an injury or destroy your body." When
the Bráhman heard that, he was terrified, and immediately said
to him to get rid of him--"I will give you another wound within
seven days." Whereupon the Pisácha left him, but the Bráhman felt
hopeless about his life. But eventually he baffled the Pisácha by
the help of his daughter, and having got over the disease, he lived
in happiness. [463]
"Such are Pisáchas, and some young princes are just like them,
and, though conciliated, produce misfortune, my friend, but they
can be guarded against by counsel. But princesses of good family
have never been heard to be such. So you must not expect any injury
from associating with me." When Somaprabhá heard from the mouth of
Kalingasená in due course this sweet, entertaining, and amusing tale,
she was delighted. And she said to her--"My house is sixty yojanas
distant hence, and the day is passing away; I have remained long,
so now I must depart, fair one." Then, as the lord of day was slowly
sinking to the eastern mountain, she took leave of her friend who was
eager for a second interview, and in a moment flew up into the air,
exciting the wonder of the spectators, and rapidly returned to her own
house. And, after beholding that wonderful sight, Kalingasená entered
into her house with much perplexity, and reflected, "I do not know,
indeed, whether my friend is a Siddha female, or an Apsaras, or a
Vidyádharí. She is certainly a heavenly female that travels through
the upper air. And heavenly females associate with mortal ones led
by excessive love. Did not Arundhatí live in friendship with the
daughter of king Prithu? Did not Prithu by means of her friendship
bring Surabhi from heaven to earth. And did not he by consuming its
milk return to heaven though he had fallen from it. And were not
thenceforth perfect cows born upon earth? So I am fortunate; it is by
good luck that I have obtained this heavenly creature as a friend;
and when she comes to-morrow I will dexterously as her her descent
and name." Thinking such thoughts in her heart, Kalingasená spent
that night there, and Somaprabhá spent the night in her own house
being eager to behold her again.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Then in the morning Somaprabhá took with her a basket, in which
she had placed many excellent mechanical dolls of wood with magic
properties in order to amuse her friend, and travelling through the
air she came again to Kalingasená. And when Kalingasená saw her,
she was full of tears of joy, and rising up she threw her arms
round her neck, and said to her, as she sat by her side--"The dark
night of three watches has this time seemed to me to be of a hundred
watches without the sight of the full moon of your countenance. So,
if you know, my friend, tell me of what kind may have been my union
with you in a former birth, of which this present friendship is
the result." When Somaprabhá heard this, she said to that princess:
"Such knowledge I do not possess, for I do not remember my former
birth; and hermits are not acquainted with this, but if any know,
they are perfectly acquainted with the highest truth, and they are the
original founders of the science by which it is attained." When she had
spoken thus, Kalingasená, being full of curiosity, again asked her in
private in a voice tender from love and confidence, "Tell me, friend,
of what divine father you have adorned the race by your birth, since
you are completely virtuous like a beautifully-rounded pearl. [464]
And what, auspicious one, is your name, that is nectar to the ears
of the world. What is the object of this basket? And what thing is
there in it?" On hearing this affectionate speech from Kalingasená,
Somaprabhá began to tell the whole story in due course.
"There is a mighty Asura of the name of Maya, famous in the three
worlds. And he, abandoning the condition of an Asura, fled to Siva
as his protector. And Siva having promised him security, he built
the palace of Indra. But the Daityas were angry with him, affirming
that he had become a partizan of the gods. Through fear of them he
made in the Vindhya mountains a very wonderful magic subterranean
palace, which the Asuras could not reach. My sister and I are the two
daughters of that Maya. My elder sister named Svayamprabhá follows a
vow of virginity, and lives as a maiden in my father's house. But I,
the younger daughter, named Somaprabhá, have been bestowed in marriage
on a son of Kuvera named Nadakúvara, and my father has taught me
innumerable magic artifices, and as for this basket, I have brought it
here to please you." Having said this, Somaprabhá opened the basket
and shewed to her some very interesting mechanical dolls constructed
by her magic, made of wood. One of them, on a pin in it being touched,
[465] went through the air at her orders and fetched a garland of
flowers and quickly returned. Another in the same way brought water
at will; [466] another danced, and another then conversed. With such
very wonderful contrivances Somaprabhá amused Kalingasená for some
time, and then she put that magic basket in a place of security,
and taking leave of her regretful friend, she went, being obedient to
her husband, through the air to her own palace. But Kalingasená was
so delighted that the sight of these wonders took away her appetite,
and she remained averse to all food. And when her mother perceived
that, she feared she was ill; however a physician named Ánanda having
examined the child, told her mother that there was nothing the matter
with her. He said, "She has lost her appetite through delight at
something, not from disease; for her countenance, which appears to
be laughing, with eyes wide open, indicates this." When she heard
this report from the physician, the girl's mother asked her the real
cause of her joy; and the girl told her. Then her mother believed
that she was delighted with the society of an eligible friend, and
congratulated her, and made her take her proper food.
Then the next day Somaprabhá arrived, and having found out what had
taken place, she proceeded to say to Kalingasená in secret, "I told
my husband, who possesses supernatural knowledge, that I had formed
a friendship with you, and obtained from him, when he knew the facts,
permission to visit you every day. So you must now obtain permission
from your parents, in order that you may amuse yourself with me at
will without fear." When she had said this, Kalingasená took her by
the hand, and immediately went to her father and mother, and there
introduced her friend to her father, king Kalingadatta, proclaiming
her descent and name, and in the same way she introduced her to her
mother Tárádattá, and they, on beholding her, received her politely
in accordance with their daughter's account of her. And both those
two, pleased with her appearance, hospitably received that beautiful
wife of the distinguished Asura out of love for their daughter, and
said to her--"Dear girl, we entrust this Kalingasená to your care,
so amuse yourselves together as much as you please." And Kalingasená
and Somaprabhá having gladly welcomed this speech of theirs, went
out together. And they went, in order to amuse themselves, to a
temple of Buddha built by the king. And they took there that basket
of magic toys. Then Somaprabhá took a magic Yaksha, and sent it on
a commission from herself to bring the requisites for the worship of
Buddha. That Yaksha went a long distance through the sky, and brought
a multitude of pearls, beautiful gems, and golden lotuses. Having
performed worship with these, Somaprabhá exhibiting all kinds of
wonders, displayed the various Buddhas with their abodes. When the
king Kalingadatta heard of that, he came with the queen and beheld it,
and then asked Somaprabhá about the magic performance. Then Somaprabhá
said, "King, these contrivances of magic machines, and so on, were
created in various ways by my father in old time. And even as this
vast machine, called the world, consists of five elements, so do all
these machines: I will describe them one by one. That machine, in
which earth predominates, shuts doors and things of the kind. Not even
Indra would be able to open what had been shut with it. The shapes
produced by the water-machine appear to be alive. But the machine
in which fire predominates, pours forth flames. And the wind-machine
performs actions, such as going and coming. And the machine produced
from ether utters distinct language. All these I obtained from my
father, but the wheel-machine, which guards the water of immortality,
my father knows and no one else." While she was saying this, there
arose the sound of conchs being blown in the middle of the day, that
seemed to confirm her words. Then she entreated the king to give her
the food that suited her, and taking Kalingasená as a companion, by
permission of the king she set out through the air for her father's
house in a magic chariot, to return to her elder sister. And quickly
reaching that palace, which was situated in the Vindhya mountains,
she conducted her to her sister Svayamprabhá. There Kalingasená saw
that Svayamprabhá with her head encircled with matted locks, with a
long rosary, a nun clothed in a white garment, smiling like Párvatí,
in whom love, the highest joy of earth, had undertaken a severe vow
of mortification. And Svayamprabhá, when the princess, introduced by
Somaprabhá, kneeled before her, received her hospitably and entertained
her with a meal of fruits. And Somaprabhá said to the princess: 'My
friend, by eating these fruits, you will escape old age which otherwise
would destroy this beauty, as the nipping cold does the lotus: and it
was with this object that I brought you here out of affection.' Then
that Kalingasená ate those fruits, and immediately her limbs seemed
to be bathed in the water of life. And roaming about there to amuse
herself, she saw the garden of the city, with tanks filled with golden
lotuses, and trees bearing fruit as sweet as nectar: the garden was
full of birds of golden and variegated plumage, and seemed to have
pillars of bright gems; it conveyed the idea of walls where there
was no partition, and where there were partitions, of unobstructed
space. Where there was water, it presented the appearance of dry land,
and where there was dry land, it bore the semblance of water. It
resembled another and a wonderful world, created by the delusive
power of the Asura Maya. It had been entered formerly by the monkeys
searching for Sítá, which, after a long time, were allowed to come
out by the favour of Svayamprabhá. So Svayamprabhá bade her adieu,
after she had been astonished with a full sight of her wonderful
city, and had obtained immunity from old age; and Somaprabhá making
Kalingasená ascend the chariot again, took her through the air to
her own palace in Takshasilá. There Kalingasená told the whole story
faithfully to her parents, and they were exceedingly pleased.
And while those two friends spent their days in this way, Somaprabhá
once upon a time said to Kalingasená: "As long as you are not married,
I can continue to be your friend, but after your marriage, how could
I enter the house of your husband? For a friend's husband ought never
to be seen or recognised [467]; * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As for a mother-in-law she eats the flesh of a daughter-in-law as
a she-wolf does of a sheep. And à propos of this, hear the story of
Kírtisená which I am about to tell you."
Story of Kírtisená and her cruel mother-in-law. [468]
Long ago there lived in the city of Pátaliputra a merchant named,
not without cause, Dhanapálita, [469] for he was the richest of
the rich. And there was born to him a daughter, named Kírtisená,
who was incomparably beautiful, and dearer to him than life. And
he took his daughter to Magadha and married her to a rich merchant,
named Devasena. And though Devasena was himself very virtuous, he had a
wicked mother as mistress in his house, for his father was dead. She,
when she saw that her daughter-in-law Kírtisená was beloved by her
husband, being inflamed with anger, ill-treated her in her husband's
absence. But Kírtisená was afraid to let her husband know it, for
the position of a bride in the power of a treacherous mother-in-law
is a difficult one.
Once upon a time her husband Devasena, instigated by his relations,
was preparing to go to the city of Vallabhí for the sake of trade. Then
that Kírtisená said to her husband,--"I have not told you for this long
time what I am now going to say: your mother ill-treats me though you
are here, but I do not know what she will do to me when you are in a
foreign country." When Devasena heard that, he was perplexed, and being
alarmed on account of his affection for his wife, he went and humbly
said to his mother--"Kírtisená is committed to your care, mother, now
that I am going to a foreign land; you must not treat her unkindly, for
she is the daughter of a man of good family." When Devasena's mother
heard that, she summoned Kírtisená, and elevating her eyes, said to
him then and there,--"What have I done? ask her. This is the way in
which she eggs you on, my son, trying to make mischief in the house,
but both of you are the same in my eyes." When the good merchant heard
that, he departed with his mind easy on her account. For who is not
deceived by the hypocritically affectionate speeches of a mother? But
Kírtisená stood there silent, smiling in bewilderment, and the next day
the merchant set out for Vallabhí. Then, when Kírtisená began to suffer
torture at being separated from her husband, the merchant's mother
gradually forbade the female slaves to attend on her. And making an
agreement with a handmaid of her own, that worked in the house, she
took Kírtisená inside and secretly stripped her. And saying to her,
"Wicked woman, you rob me of my son," she pulled her hair, and with the
help of her servant, mangled her with kicks, bites, and scratches. And
she threw her into a cellar that was closed with a trap-door and
strongly fastened, after first taking out all the things that were
in it previously. And the wretch put in it every day half a plate of
rice, in the evening, for the girl who was in such a state. And she
thought, "I will say in a few days 'she died of herself during her
husband's absence in a distant land, take her corpse away.'" [470]
Thus Kírtisená, who deserved all happiness, was thrown into a cellar
by that cruel mother-in-law, and while there she reflected with tears,
"My husband is rich, I was born in a good family, I am fortunately
endowed and virtuous, nevertheless I suffer such calamity, thanks
to my mother-in-law. And this is why relations lament the birth of a
daughter, exposed to the terrors of mother-in-law, and sister-in-law,
marred with inauspiciousness of every kind." While thus lamenting,
Kírtisená suddenly found a small shovel in that cellar, like a
thorn extracted from her heart by the Creator. So she dug a passage
underground with that iron instrument, until by good luck she rose up
in her own private apartment. And she was able to see that room by
the light of a lamp that had been left there before, as if she were
lighted by her own undiminished virtue. And she took out of it her
clothes and her gold, and leaving it secretly at the close of the
night, she went out of the city. She reflected--"It is not fitting
that I should go to my father's house after acting thus; what should I
say there, and how would people believe me? So I must manage to repair
to my husband by means of my own ingenuity; for a husband is the only
refuge of virtuous women in this world and the next." Reflecting thus,
she bathed in the water of a tank, and put on the splendid dress of
a prince. Then she went into the bazar and after exchanging some gold
for money, she sojourned that day in the house of a certain merchant.
The next day she struck up a friendship with a merchant named
Samudrasena who wished to go to Vallabhí. And wearing the splendid
dress of a prince, she set out for Vallabhí with the merchant
and his servants in order to catch up her husband who had set out
beforehand. And she said to that merchant, "I am oppressed by my
clansmen, [471] so I will go with you to my friends in Vallabhí."
Having heard that, the merchant's son waited upon her on the journey,
out of respect, thinking to himself that she was some distinguished
prince or other; and that caravan preferred for its march the forest
road, which was much frequented by travellers, who avoided the other
routes because of the heavy duties they had to pay. In a few days
they reached the entrance of the forest, and while the caravan was
encamped in the evening, a female jackal, like a messenger of death,
uttered a terrific howl. Thereupon the merchants, who understood
what that meant, became apprehensive of an attack by bandits, and
the guards on every side took their arms in hand; and the darkness
began to advance like the vanguard of the bandits; then Kírtisená,
in man's dress, beholding that, reflected, "Alas! the deeds of those
who have sinned in a former life seem to propagate themselves with
a brood of evils! Lo! the calamity which my mother-in-law brought
upon me has borne fruit here also! First I was engulphed by the wrath
of my mother-in-law as if by the mouth of death, then I entered the
cellar like a second prison of the womb. By good fortune, I escaped
thence, being, as it were, born a second time, and having come here,
I have again run a risk of my life. If I am slain here by bandits,
my mother-in-law, who hates me, will surely say to my husband, 'She
ran off somewhere being attached to another man.' But if some one
tears off my clothes and recognises me for a woman, then again I run
a risk of outrage, and death is better than that. So I must deliver
myself, and disregard this merchant my friend. For good women must
regard the duty of virtuous wives, not friends and things of that
kind." Thus she determined, and searching about, found a hollow like
a house in the middle of a tree, as it were, an opening made for her
by the earth out of pity. There she entered and covered her body with
leaves and such like things; and remained supported by the hope of
reunion with her husband. Then, in the dead of night, a large force
of bandits suddenly fell upon the caravan with uplifted weapons,
and surrounded it on all sides. And there followed a storm of fight,
with howling bandits for thunder-clouds, and the gleam of weapons for
long-continued lightning-flashes, and a rain of blood. At last the
bandits, being more powerful, slew the merchant-prince Samudrasena
and his followers, and went off with all his wealth.
In the meanwhile Kírtisená was listening to the tumult, and that
she was not forcibly robbed of breath is to be ascribed to fate
only. Then the night departed, and the keen-rayed sun arose, and she
went out from that hollow in the middle of the tree. Surely the gods
themselves preserve in misfortune good women exclusively devoted to
their husbands, and of unfailing virtue; for not only did a lion
beholding her in the lonely wood spare her, but a hermit that had
come from somewhere or other, when she asked him for information,
comforted her and gave her a drink of water from his vessel, and then
disappeared in some direction or other, after telling her the road to
take. Then satisfied as if with nectar, free from hunger and thirst,
that woman, devoted to her husband, set out by the road indicated
by the hermit. Then she saw the sun mounted on the western mountain,
stretching forth his rays like fingers, as if saying--"Wait patiently
one night"--and so she entered an opening in the root of a forest
tree which looked like a house, and closed its mouth with another
tree. And in the evening she saw through the opening of a chink in
the door of her retreat a terrible Rákshasí approaching, accompanied
by her young sons. She was terrified, thinking to herself--"Lo! I
shall be devoured by this Rákshasí after escaping all my other
misfortunes"--and in the meanwhile the Rákshasí ascended that tree. And
her sons ascended after her, and immediately said to that Rákshasí,
[472]--"Mother, give us something to eat." Then the Rákshasí said to
her children,--"To-day, my children, I went to a great cemetery, but
I did not obtain any food, and though I entreated the congregation of
witches, they gave me no portion; then grieved thereat I appealed to
Siva in his terrific form and asked him for food. And the god asked
me my name and lineage, and then said to me--'Terrible one, thou
art of high birth as belonging to the race of Khara and Dúshana;
[473] so go to the city of Vasudatta, not far from here. In that
city there lives a great king named Vasudatta addicted to virtue;
he defends this whole forest, dwelling on its border, and himself
takes duties and chastises robbers. Now, one day, while the king was
sleeping in the forest, fatigued with hunting, a centipede quickly
entered his ear unobserved. And in course of time it gave birth to
many others inside his head. That produced an illness which now dries
up all his sinews. And the physicians do not know what is the cause
of his disease, but if some one does not find out, he will die in a
few days. When he is dead, eat his flesh; for by eating it, you will,
thanks to your magic power, remain satiated for six months!' In these
words Siva promised me a meal, that is attended with uncertainty,
and cannot be obtained for a long time, so what must I do, my
children?" When the Rákshasí said this to her children, they asked
her, "If the disease is discovered and removed, will that king live,
mother? And tell us how such a disease can be cured in him?" When
the children said this, the Rákshasí solemnly said to them, "If the
disease is discovered and removed, the king will certainly live. And
hear how his great disease may be taken away. First his head must be
anointed by rubbing warm butter on it, and then it must be placed
for a long time in the heat of the sun intensified by noonday. And
a hollow cane-tube must be inserted into the aperture of his ear,
which must communicate with a hole in a plate, and this plate must
be placed above a pitcher of cool water. Accordingly the centipedes
will be annoyed by heat and perspiration, and will come out of his
head, and will enter that cane-tube from the aperture of the ear,
and desiring coolness will fall into the pitcher. In this way the
king may be freed from that great disease." Thus spake the Rákshasí
to her sons on the tree, and then ceased; and Kírtisená, who was in
the trunk of the tree, heard it. And hearing it, she said to herself,
"If ever I get safe away from here, I will go and employ this artifice
to save the life of that king. For he takes but small duties, and
dwells on the outskirts of this forest; and so all the merchants come
this way because it is more convenient. This is what the merchant,
Samudrasena, who is gone to heaven, told me; accordingly that husband
of mine will be sure to return by this very path. So I will go to the
city of Vasudatta, which is on the borders of the forest, and I will
deliver the king from his sickness, and there await the arrival of my
husband." Thus reflecting, she managed, though with difficulty, to get
through the night: in the morning, the Rákshasas having disappeared,
she went out from the trunk of the tree.
Then she travelled along slowly in the dress of a man, and in the
afternoon she saw a good cowherd. He was moved to compassion by seeing
her delicate beauty, and that she had accomplished a long journey,
and then she approached him, and said--"What country is this, please
tell me?" The cowherd said--"This city in front of you is the city of
Vasudatta, belonging to the king Vasudatta: as for the king, he lies
there at the point of death with illness." When Kírtisená heard that,
she said to the cowherd, "If any one will conduct me into the presence
of that king, I know how to remove his disease." When the cowherd
heard that, he said, "I am going to that very city, so come with me,
that I may point it out to you." Kírtisená answered--"So be it," and
immediately that herdsman conducted her to the city of Vasudatta,
wearing her male dress. And telling the circumstances exactly as
they were, he immediately commended that lady with auspicious marks
to the afflicted warder. And the warder, having informed the king,
by his orders introduced the blameless lady into his presence. The
king Vasudatta, though tortured with his disease, was comforted the
moment he beheld that lady of wonderful beauty; the soul is able to
distinguish friends from enemies. And he said to the lady who was
disguised as a man, "Auspicious sir, if you remove this disease,
I will give you half my kingdom; I remember a lady stripped off
from me in my dream a black blanket, so you will certainly remove
this my disease." When Kírtisená heard that, she said--"This day
is at an end, O king; to-morrow I will take away your disease;
do not be impatient." Having said this, she rubbed cow's butter on
the king's head; that made sleep come to him, and the excessive pain
disappeared. And then all there praised Kírtisená, saying--"This is
some god come to us in the disguise of a physician, thanks to our
merits in a previous state of existence." And the queen waited on her
with various attentions, and appointed for her a house in which to
rest at night, with female attendants. Then on the next day, at noon,
before the eyes of the ministers and ladies of the harem, Kírtisená
extracted from the head of that king, through the aperture of the ear,
one hundred and fifty centipedes, by employing the wonderful artifice
previously described by the Rákshasí. And after getting the centipedes
into the pitcher, she comforted the king by fomenting him with milk
and melted butter. The king having gradually recovered, and being
free from disease, everybody there was astonished at beholding those
creatures in the pitcher. And the king, on beholding these harmful
insects that had been extracted from his head, was terrified, puzzled
and delighted, and considered himself born again. And he made high
feast, and honoured Kírtisená, who did not care for half the kingdom,
with villages, elephants, horses, and gold. And the queens and the
ministers loaded her with gold and garments, saying that they ought to
honour the physician who had saved the life of their sovereign. But she
deposited for the present that wealth in the hand of the king, waiting
for her husband, and saying--"I am under a vow for a certain time."
So Kírtisená remained there some days in man's clothes, honoured by
all men, and in the meanwhile she heard from the people that her
own husband, the great merchant Devasena, had come that way from
Vallabhí. Then, as soon as she knew that that caravan had arrived in
the city, she went to it, and saw that husband of hers as a peahen
beholds the new cloud. And she fell at his feet, and her heart,
weeping from the pain of long separation, made her bestow on him
the argha [474] with her tears of joy. Her husband, for his part,
after he had examined her, who was concealed by her disguise, like
the form of the moon invisible in the day on account of the rays of
the sun, recognised her. It was wonderful that the heart of Devasena,
who was handsome as the moon, did not dissolve like the moonstone,
[475] on beholding the moon of her countenance.
Then, Kírtisená having thus revealed herself, and her husband remaining
in a state of wonder, marvelling what it could mean, and the company
of merchants being astonished, the king Vasudatta, hearing of it,
came there full of amazement. And Kírtisená, being questioned by him,
told in the presence of her husband her whole adventure, that was
due to the wickedness of her mother-in-law. And her husband Devasena,
hearing it, conceived an aversion to his mother, and was affected at
the same time by anger, forbearance, astonishment, and joy. And all
the people present there, having heard that wonderful adventure of
Kírtisená, exclaimed joyfully--"Chaste women, mounted on the chariot
of conjugal affection, protected by the armour of modesty, and armed
with the weapon of intellect, are victorious in the struggle." The
king too said--"This lady, who has endured affliction for the sake of
her husband, has surpassed even queen Sítá, who shared the hardships
of Ráma. So she is henceforth my sister in the faith, as well as
the saviour of my life." When the king said that, Kírtisená answered
him--"O king, let your gift of affection which I deposited in your
care, consisting of villages, elephants, and horses, be made over
to my husband." When she said this to the king, he bestowed on her
husband Devasena the villages and other presents, and being pleased
gave him a turban of honour. Then Devasena, having his purse suddenly
filled with stores of wealth, part of which was given by the king,
and part acquired by his own trading, avoiding his mother, and
praising Kírtisená, remained dwelling in that town. And Kírtisená
having found a happy lot, from which her wicked mother-in-law was
removed, and having obtained glory by her unparalleled adventures,
dwelt there in the enjoyment of all luxury and power, like all the
rich fruit of her husband's good deeds incarnate in a body.
"Thus chaste women, enduring the dispensations of hostile fate,
but preserving in misfortunes the treasure of their virtue,
and protected by the great power of their goodness, procure good
fortune for their husbands and themselves. And thus, O daughter of
a king, many misfortunes befall wives, inflicted by mothers-in-law
and sisters-in-law, therefore I desire for you a husband's house
of such a kind, that in it there shall be no mother-in-law and no
cruel sister-in-law."
Hearing this delightful and marvellous story from the mouth of the
Asura princess Somaprabhá, the mortal princess Kalingasená was highly
delighted. Then the sun, seeing that these tales, the matter of which
was so various, had come to an end, proceeded to set, and Somaprabhá,
having embraced the regretful Kalingasená, went to her own palace.
CHAPTER XXX.
Then Kalingasená out of love went to the top of a palace on the high
road, to follow with her eyes the course of Somaprabhá, who had set
out for her own home, and by chance a young king of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanavega, travelling through the air, had a near view of
her. The youth beholding her, bewildering the three worlds with
her beauty, like the bunch of peacock feathers of the conjuror
Cupid, was much troubled. He reflected--"Away with the Vidyádhara
beauties! Not even the Apsarases deserve to be mentioned in presence
of the surpassing loveliness of this mortal lady. So if she will not
consent to become my wife, what is the profit of my life? But how
can I associate with a mortal lady, being a Vidyádhara?" Thereupon
he called to mind the science named Prajnapti, and that science,
appearing in bodily form, thus addressed him, "She is not really
a mortal woman, she is an Apsaras, degraded in consequence of a
curse, and born in the house of the august king Kalingadatta." When
the Vidyádhara had been thus informed by the science, he went off
delighted and distracted with love; and averse from all other things,
reflected in his palace; "It is not fitting for me to carry her off by
force; for the possession of women by force is, according to a curse,
fated to bring me death. So in order to obtain her, I must propitiate
Siva by asceticism, for happiness is procurable by asceticism, and no
other expedient presents itself." Thus he resolved, and the next day
he went to the Rishabha mountain, and standing on one foot, performed
penance without taking food. Then the husband of Ambiká was soon won
over by Madanavega's severe asceticism, and appearing to him, thus
enjoined him, "This maiden, named Kalingasená, is famous for beauty
on the earth, and she cannot find any husband equal to her in the
gift of loveliness. Only the king of Vatsa is a fitting match for
her, and he longs to possess her, but through fear of Vásavadattá,
does not dare to court her openly. And this princess, who is longing
for a handsome husband, will hear of the king of Vatsa from the mouth
of Somaprabhá, and repair to him to choose him as her husband. So,
before her marriage takes place, assume the form of the impatient king
of Vatsa, and go and make her your wife by the Gándharva ceremony. In
this way, fair sir, you will obtain Kalingasená." Having received
this command from Siva, Madanavega prostrated himself before him,
and returned to his home on the slope of the Kálakúta mountain.
Then Kalingasená went on enjoying herself in the city of Takshasilá,
in the society of Somaprabhá, who went every night to her own home, and
came back every morning to her friend, in her chariot that travelled
through the air: and one day she said to Somaprabhá in private;
"My friend, you must not tell any one what I tell you. Listen, and
I will give you a reason that makes me think the time of my marriage
has arrived. Ambassadors have been sent here by many kings to ask me
in marriage. And they, after an interview with my father, have always
hitherto been dismissed by him as they came. But now the king of the
name of Prasenajit, who lives in Srávastí, has sent a messenger, and he
alone has been received with honourable distinction by my father. And
that course has been recommended by my mother, so I conjecture,
the king, my suitor, has been approved of by my father and mother,
as of sufficiently noble lineage. For he is born in that family,
in which were born Ambá and Ambáliká, the paternal grandmothers
of the Kurus and Pándus. So, my friend, it is clear that they have
now determined to bestow me in marriage on this king Prasenajit in
the city of Srávastí." When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená,
she suddenly shed from grief a copious shower of tears, creating,
as it were, a second necklace. And when her friend asked her the
cause of her tears, that daughter of the Asura Maya, who had seen
all the terrestrial world, said to her--"Of the desirable requisites
in a suitor, youth, good looks, noble birth, good disposition, and
wealth, youth is of the greatest importance; high birth, and so on,
are of subordinate importance. But I have seen that king Prasenajit,
and he is an old man; who cares about his high lineage, as he is old,
any more than about the birth of the jasmine-flower? You will be to
be pitied when linked to him who is white as snow, as the lotus-bed,
when linked to the winter, and your face will be a withered lotus. For
this reason despondency has arisen in me, but I should be delighted if
Udayana, the king of Vatsa, were to become your husband, O auspicious
lady. For there is no king upon the earth equal to him in form,
beauty, lineage, daring and riches. If, fair one, you should be
married to that fitting mate, the display which the Creator has made
in your case of his power to create beauty, would have brought forth
fruit." By means of these speeches, artfully framed by Somaprabhá, the
mind of Kalingasená was impelled as if by engines, and flew towards
the king of Vatsa. And then the princess asked the daughter of Maya,
"Friend, how is it that he is called the king of Vatsa? In what
race was he born? And whence was he named Udayana? Tell me." Then
Somaprabhá said--"Listen, friend, I will tell you that. There is a
land, the ornament of the earth, named Vatsa. In it there is a city
named Kausámbí, like a second Amarávatí; and he is called the king of
Vatsa because he rules there. And hear his lineage, my friend, related
by me. Arjuna of the Pándava race had a son named Abhimanyu, and he,
skilled in breaking the close rings of the hostile army, destroyed the
force of the Kauravas. From him there sprang a king named Paríkshit,
the head of the race of Bharata, and from him sprang Janamejaya, who
performed the snake-sacrifice. His son was Satáníka who settled in
Kausámbí, and he was slain in a war between the gods and Asuras after
slaying many giants. His son was king Sahasráníka, an object of praise
to the world, to whom Indra sent his chariot, and he went to heaven and
returned thence. To him was born this Udayana by the queen Mrigávatí,
the ornament of the race of the Moon, a king that is a feast to the
eyes of the world. Hear too the reason of his name. That Mrigávatí,
the mother of this high-born king, being pregnant, felt a desire to
bathe in a lake of blood, and her husband, afraid of committing sin,
had a lake made of liquid lac and other coloured fluids in which she
plunged. Then a bird of the race of Garuda pounced upon her, thinking
she was raw flesh, and carried her off, and, as fate would have it,
left her alive on the mountain of the sunrise. And there the hermit
Jamadagni saw her, and comforted her, promising her reunion with her
husband, and she remained there in his hermitage. For such was the
curse inflicted upon her husband by Tilottamá jealous on account of
his neglecting her, which caused him separation from his wife for a
season. And in some days she brought forth a son in the hermitage of
Jamadagni on that very mountain of the sunrise, as the sky brings forth
the new moon. And because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise,
the gods then and there gave him the name of Udayana, uttering from
heaven this bodiless voice--'This Udayana, who is now born, shall be
sovereign of the whole earth, and there shall be born to him a son,
who shall be emperor of all the Vidyádharas.'
"Sahasráníka, for his part, who had been informed of the real state
of the case by Mátali, and had fixed his hope on the termination
of his curse, with difficulty got through the time without that
Mrigávatí. But when the curse had expired, the king obtained his token
from a Savara who, as fate would have it, had come from the mountain of
the sunrise. And then he was informed of the truth by a voice that came
from heaven, and making that Savara his guide, he went to the mountain
of the sunrise. There he found his wife Mrigávatí like the success
of his wishes, and her son Udayana like the realm of fancy. With them
he returned to Kausámbí, and appointed his son crown-prince, pleased
with the excellence of his qualities; and he gave him the sons of his
ministers, Yaugandharáyana and others. When his son took the burden
of the kingdom off his shoulders, he enjoyed pleasures for a long
time in the society of Mrigávatí. And in time the king established
his son, that very Udayana, on the throne, and being old, went with
his wife and ministers on the long journey. So, Udayana has obtained
that kingdom that belonged to his father, and having conquered all
his enemies, rules the earth with the help of Yaugandharáyana."
Having in these words quickly told her in confidence the story of
Udayana, she again said to her friend Kalingasená--"Thus that king
is called the king of Vatsa, fair one, because he rules in Vatsa,
and since he comes of the Pándava lineage, he is also descended
from the race of the sun. And the gods gave him the name of Udayana,
because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise, and in this world
even the god of love is not a match for him in beauty. He alone is a
husband fit for you, most beautiful lady of the three worlds, and he,
being a lover of beauty, no doubt longs for you, who are famous for
it. But, my friend, his head-wife is Vásavadattá, the daughter of
Chandamahásena. And she selected him herself, deserting her relations
in the ardour of her passion, and so sparing the blushes of Ushá,
Sakuntalá and other maidens. And a son has been born to him by her,
called Naraváhanadatta, who is appointed by the gods as the future
emperor of the Vidyádharas. So it is through fear of her that the king
of Vatsa does not send here to ask for your hand, but she has been
seen by me, and she does not vie with you in the gift of beauty." When
her friend Somaprabhá said this, Kalingasená, being in love with the
king of Vatsa, answered her--"I know all this, but what can I do,
as I am under the power of my parents? But in this, you, who know
all things and possess magic power, are my refuge." Somaprabhá then
said to her--"The whole matter depends on destiny; in proof of it
hear the following tale."
Story of Tejasvatí.
Once on a time there lived in Ujjayiní a king named Vikramasena,
and he had a daughter named Tejasvatí, matchless in beauty. And
she disapproved of every king who sued for her hand. But one day,
while she was on the roof of her palace, she saw a man, and as
fate would have it, she felt a desire to meet him as he was very
handsome, and she sent her confidante to him, to communicate to him
her desire. The confidante went and entreated the man, who shrank from
such an audacious step, and at last with much difficulty she made him
against his will agree to an assignation, saying, "Await, good sir,
the arrival of the princess at night in this retired temple which you
see here." After saying this, she took leave of him, and went and told
the princess Tejasvatí, who for her part remained watching the sun. But
that man, though he had consented, fled somewhere else out of fear;
a frog is not capable of relishing the fibres of a bed of red lotuses.
In the meanwhile a certain prince of high lineage came, as his father
was dead, to visit the king who had been his father's friend. And that
handsome young prince, named Somadatta, whose kingdom and wealth had
been taken by pretenders, arriving at night, entered by accident,
to pass the night there, that very temple in which the confidante
of the princess had arranged a meeting with the man. While he was
there, the princess, blind with passion, approached him, without
distinguishing who he was, and made him her self-chosen husband. The
wise prince gladly received in silence the bride offered him by fate,
who foreshadowed his union with the future Fortune of Royalty. And
the princess soon perceived that he was very charming, and considered
that she had not been deceived by the Creator. Immediately they
conversed together, and the two separated according to agreement;
the princess went to her own palace, while the king spent the rest
of the night there. In the morning the prince went and announced his
name by the mouth of the warder, and being recognised, entered into
the presence of the king. There he told his sorrow on account of
his kingdom having been taken away, and other insults, and the king
agreed to assist him in overthrowing his enemies. And he determined to
give him the daughter he had long desired to give away, and then and
there told his intention to the ministers. Then the queen told the
king his daughter's adventure, having been informed of it before by
herself, through the mouths of trusty confidantes. Then the king was
astonished at finding that calamity had been averted and his desire
attained by mere chance, as in the fable of the crow and the palm,
[476] and thereupon one of the ministers said to the king, "Fate
watches to ensure the objects of auspicious persons, as good servants
of their masters, when the latter are not on the look-out. And to
illustrate this, I will tell you the following tale: listen!"
Story of the Bráhman Harisarman.
There was a certain Bráhman in a certain village, named
Harisarman. [477] He was poor and foolish and in evil ease for want of
employment, and he had very many children, that he might reap the fruit
of his misdeeds in a former life. He wandered about begging with his
family, and at last he reached a certain city, and entered the service
of a rich householder called Sthúladatta. He made his sons keepers of
this householder's cows and other possessions, and his wife a servant
to him, and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of
an attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage
of the daughter of Sthúladatta, largely attended by many friends of
the bridegroom, and merry-makers. And then Harisarman entertained
a hope that he would be able to fill himself up to the throat with
ghee and flesh and other dainties, together with his family, in the
house of his patron. While he was anxiously expecting that occasion,
no one thought of him. Then he was distressed at getting nothing to
eat, and he said to his wife at night; "It is owing to my poverty
and stupidity that I am treated with such disrespect here: so I will
display by means of an artifice an assumed knowledge, in order that I
may become an object of respect to this Sthúladatta, and when you get
an opportunity, tell him that I possess supernatural knowledge." He
said this to her, and after turning the matter over in his mind,
while people were asleep he took away from the house of Sthúladatta
a horse on which his son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at
some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could
not find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then,
while Sthúladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching for
the thieves who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman
came and said to him--"My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology
and sciences of that kind; and he will procure for you the horse;
why do you not ask him?" When Sthúladatta heard that, he called that
Harisarman, who said, "Yesterday I was forgotten, but to-day, now the
horse is stolen, I am called to mind," and Sthúladatta then propitiated
the Bráhman with these words--"I forgot you, forgive me"--and asked him
to tell him who had taken away their horse? Then Harisarman drew all
kinds of pretended diagrams and said,--"The horse has been placed by
thieves on the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed
there, and before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be
at close of day, quickly go and bring it." When they heard that,
many men ran and brought the horse quickly, praising the discernment
of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honoured by all men as a sage,
and dwelt there in happiness, honoured by Sthúladatta. Then, as days
went on, much wealth consisting of gold and jewels was carried off
by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not known,
the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation for
supernatural knowledge. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and
said "I will tell you to-morrow," and then he was placed in a chamber
by the king, and carefully guarded. And he was despondent about his
pretended knowledge. [478] Now in that palace there was a maid named
Jihvá, [479] who, with the assistance of her brother had carried off
that wealth from the interior of the palace: she, being alarmed at
Harisarman's knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door
of that chamber in order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman,
who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming his own tongue,
that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said--"O Tongue, what
is this that you have done, through desire of enjoyment? Ill-conducted
one, endure now punishment in this place." When Jihvá heard this, she
thought in her terror, that she had been discovered by this wise man,
and by an artifice she managed to get in where he was, and falling
at his feet, she said to that supposed sage;--"Bráhman, here I am,
that Jihvá whom you have discovered to be the thief of the wealth,
and after I took it, I buried it in the earth in a garden behind
the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the
small quantity of gold which is in my possession." When Harisarman
heard that, he said to her proudly, "Depart, I know all this; I
know the past, present and future: but I will not denounce you,
being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But
whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When
he said this to the maid, she consented and departed quickly. But
Harisarman reflected in his astonishment; "Fate, if propitious,
brings about, as if in sport, a thing that cannot be accomplished,
for in this matter when calamity was near, success has unexpectedly
been attained by me. While I was blaming my tongue (jihvá), the thief
Jihvá suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes I see, manifest
themselves by means of fear." In these reflections he passed the night
happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king by some
skilful parade of pretended knowledge into the garden, and led him up
to the treasure, which was buried there and he said that the thief had
escaped with a part of it. Then the king was pleased and proceeded to
give him villages. But the minister, named Devajnánin, whispered in the
king's ear, "How can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men,
without having studied treatises; so you may be certain that this is
a specimen of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a
secret intelligence with thieves. So it will be better to test him
by some new artifice." Then the king of his own accord brought a new
covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to that
Harisarman--"Bráhman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher,
I will do you great honour to-day." When the Bráhman Harisarman heard
that, he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind
the pet name of frog which his father had given him in his childhood
in sport, and impelled by the deity he apostrophized himself by it,
lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly exclaimed there--"This is a fine
pitcher for you, frog, since suddenly it has become the swift destroyer
of your helpless self in this place." The people there, when they
heard that, made a tumult of applause, because his speech chimed in
so well with the object presented to him, and murmured,--"Ah! a great
sage, he knows even about the frog!" Then the king, thinking that
this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted,
and gave Harisarman villages with gold, umbrella, and vehicles of
all kinds. And immediately Harisarman became like a feudal chief.
"Thus good objects are brought about by fate for those whose actions
in a former life have been good. Accordingly fate made that daughter
of yours, Tejasvatí, approach Somadatta a man of equal birth, and kept
away one who was unsuited to her." Hearing this from the mouth of his
minister, the king Vikramasena gave his daughter to that prince as if
she were the goddess of fortune. Then the prince went and overcame his
enemies by the help of his father-in-law's host, and being established
in his own kingdom, lived happily in the company of his wife.
"So true is it that all this happens by the special favour of fate;
who on earth would be able to join you, lovely as you are, with the
king of Vatsa, though a suitable match for you, without the help of
fate? What can I do in this matter, friend Kalingasená?" Kalingasená,
hearing this story in private from the mouth of Somaprabhá,
became eager in her soul for union with the king of Vatsa, and,
in her aspirations after him, began to feel in a less degree the
fear of her relations and the warnings of modesty. Then, the sun,
the great lamp of the three worlds, being about to set, Somaprabhá
the daughter of the Asura Maya, having with difficulty taken leave,
until her morning return, of her friend, whose mind was fixed upon
her proposed attempt, went through the air to her own home.
Note on the story of Harisarman.
The story of Harisarman resembles closely that of Doctor Allwissend
in Grimm's Tales. It is shown by Benfey to exist in various forms
in many countries. It is found in the Siddhikür, the Mongolian form
of the Sanskrit Vetálapanchavinsati. In this form of the story the
incident of the frog in the pot is omitted, and the other incidents
are considerably altered. Instead of the king's treasure we find a
magic gem, on which the prosperity of the country depends; it is not
stolen but lost by the king's daughter. Instead of the horse we have
the cure of a sick Khán who had been driven mad by evil spirits. The
folly of the man who represents the Bráhman consists in his choosing
worthless presents for his reward. (The story is the IVth in Sagas
from the Far East.) Benfey considers the fullest form of the story to
be that in Schleicher's Lithuanian Legends. In this form of the story
we have the stealing of the horse. In other points it resembles the
Mongolian version. The Bráhman is represented by a poor cottager,
who puts up over his door a notice saying that he is a Doctor, who
knows everything and can do everything. The third exploit of the
cottager is the finding of a stolen treasure which is the second in
the Indian story, but his second is a miraculous cure which is in
accordance with the Siddikür. The latter is probably a late work; and
we may presume that the Mongols brought the Indian story to Europe,
in a form resembling that in the Kathá Sarit Ságara more nearly than
the form in the Siddikür does. In the third exploit of the cottager in
the Lithuanian tale, which corresponds to the second in the Indian, the
treasure has been stolen by three servants. They listen outside while
the Doctor is alone in his room. When the clock strikes one,--he says,
"We have one." When it strikes two, he says--"We have two." When it
strikes three, he says,--"We have now three." In their terror they
go to the doctor and beg him not to betray them. He is richly rewarded.
But after all, Grimm's form of the tale is nearest to the Sanskrit. The
dish with crabs in it, the contents of which the Doctor has to guess,
makes him exclaim--"Ach ich armer Krebs." This might almost have been
translated from the Sanskrit; it is so similar in form. The guilty
servants, who stole the gold are detected by the Doctor's saying to
his wife--"Margaret, that is the first"--meaning the first who waited
at table, and so on.
The story is also found in the Facetiæ of Henricus Bebelius, 1506. Here
a poor charcoal-burner represents the Bráhman. He asks three days
to consider. The king gives him a good dinner, and while the first
thief is standing at the window, he exclaims "Jam unus accessit"
meaning "one day is at an end." The next day the second thief comes
to listen. The charcoal-burner exclaims "Secundus accessit" and so
with the third, whereupon they all confess.
Benfey conceives himself to have found the incident of the horse in
Poggii Facetiæ (LXXXVI ed. Cracov. 1592, p. 59). Here a doctor boasts
a wonder-working pill. A man who has lost his ass takes one of these
pills. It conducts him to a bed of reeds where he finds his ass. (The
article from which I have taken these parallels is found in Benfey's
Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 371 and ff.)
CHAPTER XXXI.
The next morning Somaprabhá arrived, and Kalingasená said to her
friend in her confidential conversation--"My father certainly wishes
to give me to Prasenajit, I heard this from my mother, and you have
seen that he is an old man. But you have described the king of Vatsa
in such a way in the course of conversation, that my mind has been
captivated by him entering in through the gate of my ear. So first
shew me Prasenajit, and then take me there, where the king of Vatsa
is; what do I care for my father, or my mother?" When the impatient
girl said this, Somaprabhá answered her--"If you must go, then let
us go in the chariot that travels through the air. But you must take
with you all your retinue, for, as soon as you have seen the king of
Vatsa, you will find it impossible to return. And you will never see
or think of your parents, and when you have obtained your beloved, you
will forget even me, as I shall be at a distance from you. For I shall
never enter your husband's house, my friend." When the princess heard
that, she wept and said to her,--"Then bring that king of Vatsa here,
my friend, for I shall not be able to exist there a moment without
you: was not Aniruddha brought to Ushá by Chitralekhá? And though
you know it, hear from my mouth that story."
Story of Ushá and Aniruddha.
The Asura Bána had a daughter, famous under the name of Ushá. And
she propitiated Gaurí, who granted her a boon in order that she might
obtain a husband, saying to her, "He to whom you shall be united in
a dream, shall be your husband." Then she saw in a dream a certain
man looking like a divine prince. She was married by him according
to the Gándharva form of marriage, and after obtaining the joy of
union with him, she woke up at the close of night. When she did not
see the husband she had seen in her dream, but beheld the traces
of his presence, she remembered the boon of Gaurí, and was full of
disquietude, fear, and astonishment. And being miserable without
the husband whom she had seen in her dream, she confessed all to
her friend Chitralekhá, who questioned her. And Chitralekhá, being
acquainted with magic, thus addressed that Ushá, who knew not the
name of her lover nor any sign whereby to recognise him,--"My friend,
this is the result of the boon of the goddess Gaurí, what doubt can
we allege in this matter? But how are you to search for your lover
as he is not to be recognised by any token? I will sketch for you
the whole world, gods, Asuras, and men, in case you may be able to
recognise him; [480] and point him out to me among them, in order
that I may bring him." Thus spoke Chitralekhá, and when Ushá answered
"By all means!" she painted for her with coloured pencils the whole
world in order. Thereupon Ushá exclaimed joyfully, "There he is,"
and pointed out with trembling finger Aniruddha in Dváravatí of the
race of Yadu. Then Chitralekhá said--"My friend, you are fortunate,
in that you have obtained for a husband Aniruddha the grandson of the
adorable Vishnu. But he lives sixty thousand yojanas from here." When
Ushá heard that, she said to her, overpowered by excessive longing,
"Friend, if I cannot to-day repair to his bosom cool as sandal wood,
know that I am already dead, being burnt up with the uncontrollable
fire of love." When Chitralekhá heard this, she consoled her dear
friend, and immediately flew up and went through the air to the city
of Dváravatí; and she beheld it in the middle of the sea, producing
with its vast and lofty palaces an appearance as if the peaks of
the churning mountain [481] had again been flung into the ocean. She
found Aniruddha asleep in that city at night, and woke him up, and
told him that Ushá had fallen in love with him on account of having
seen him in a dream. And she took the prince, who was eager for the
interview, looking exactly as he had before appeared in Ushá's dream,
and returned from Dváravatí in a moment by the might of her magic. And
flying with him through the air, she introduced that lover secretly
into the private apartments of Ushá, who was awaiting him. When Ushá
beheld that Aniruddha arrived in bodily form, resembling the moon,
there was a movement in her limbs resembling the tide of the sea. [482]
Then she remained there with that sweet-heart who had been given
her by her friend, in perfect happiness, as if with Life embodied
in visible form. But her father Bána, when he heard it, was angry;
however Aniruddha conquered him by his own valour and the might of
his grandfather. Then Ushá and Aniruddha returned to Dváravatí and
became inseparable like Siva and Párvatí. [483]
"Thus Chitralekhá united Ushá with her lover in one day, but I consider
you, my friend, far more powerful than her. So bring me the king of
Vatsa here, do not delay." When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená,
she said--"Chitralekhá, a nymph of heaven, might take up a strange
man and bring him, but what can one like myself do in the matter,
who never touch any man but my husband? So I will take you, my friend,
to the place where the king of Vatsa is, having first shewn you your
suitor Prasenajit." When Somaprabhá made this proposal to Kalingasená,
she consented, and immediately ascended with her the magic chariot
prepared by her, and setting out through the air with her treasures
and her retinue, she went off unknown to her parents. For women
impelled by love regard neither height nor depth in front of them,
as a horse urged on by his rider does not fear the keenest sword-edge.
First she came to Srávastí, and beheld from a distance the king
Prasenajit white with age, who had gone out to hunt, distinguished
by a chouri frequently waved, which seemed at a distance to repel
her as if saying--"Leave this old man." And Somaprabhá pointed him
out with a scornful laugh, saying--"Look! this is the man to whom
your father wishes to give you." Then she said to Somaprabhá--"Old
age has chosen him for her own, what other female will choose
him?" "So take me away from here quickly, my friend, to the king of
Vatsa." Immediately Kalingasená went with her to the city of Kausámbí
through the air. Then she beheld from a distance with eagerness that
king of Vatsa, pointed out by her friend in a garden, as the female
partridge beholds the nectar-rayed moon. With dilated eye, and hand
placed on the heart, she seemed to say "He has entered my soul by
this path." Then she exclaimed, "Friend, procure me a meeting here
with the king of Vatsa this very day; for having seen him I am not
able to wait a moment." But when she said this, her friend Somaprabhá
answered her--"I have seen to-day an unfavourable omen, so remain,
my friend, this day quiet and unobserved in this garden, do not,
my friend, send go-betweens backwards and forwards. To-morrow I
will come and devise some expedient for your meeting: at present,
O thou whose home is in my heart, I desire to return to the home
of my husband." Having said this, Somaprabhá departed thence after
leaving her there; and the king of Vatsa, leaving the garden, entered
his palace. Then Kalingasená, remaining there, sent her chamberlain,
giving him her message explicitly, to the king of Vatsa; and this
she did, though previously forbidden by her friend, who understood
omens. Love, when recently enthroned in the breasts of young women,
is impatient of all restraint. And the chamberlain went and announced
himself by the mouth of the warder, and immediately entering, thus
addressed the king of Vatsa--"O king, the daughter of Kalingadatta
the king who rules over Takshasilá, Kalingasená by name, having heard
that you are most handsome, has come here to choose you for a husband,
abandoning her relatives, having accomplished the journey in a magic
car that travels through the air, together with her attendants;
and she has been conducted here by her confidante named Somaprabhá,
who travels invisible, the daughter of the Asura Maya, the wife of
Nadakúvara. I have been sent by her to inform you; do you receive
her; let there be union of you two as of the moonlight and the
moon." When the king heard this from the chamberlain, he welcomed him,
saying--"I consent," and being delighted, he honoured him with gold and
garments. And summoning his chief minister Yaugandharáyana, he said to
him, "The daughter of king Kalingadatta, who is called Kalingasená,
and whose beauty is famed on the earth, has come of her own accord
to choose me as a husband; so tell me quickly, when shall I marry
her, for she is not to be rejected?" The minister Yaugandharáyana,
when the king of Vatsa said this to him, regarding what would be best
for his master in the long run, reflected for a moment as follows:
[484] "Kalingasená is certainly famed for beauty in the three worlds,
there is no other like her; even the gods are in love with her. If
this king of Vatsa obtain her, he will abandon everything else, and
then the queen Vásavadattá will lose her life, and then the prince
Naraváhanadatta will perish, and Padmávatí out of love for him will
find life hard to retain: and then Chandamahásena and Pradyota, the
fathers of the two queens, will lose their lives or become hostile;
and thus utter ruin will follow. On the other hand it will not do to
forbid the match, since the vicious passion of this king will increase
if he is thwarted. So I will put off the time of his marriage in order
to attain a favourable issue." Having thus reflected, Yaugandharáyana
said to the king of Vatsa, "O king, you are fortunate in that this
Kalingasená has of her own accord come to your house, and the king, her
father, has become your servant. So you must consult the astrologers,
and marry her in accordance with good custom at an auspicious time,
for she is the daughter of a great king. To-day give her a suitable
palace to dwell in by herself, and send her male and female slaves,
and robes and ornaments." When his chief minister gave him this
advice, the king of Vatsa approved it, and with glad heart performed
it all with special attention. Then Kalingasená entered the palace
assigned her for residence, and considering her desire attained,
was exceedingly delighted.
The wise Yaugandharáyana, for his part, immediately left the king's
court, went to his own house, and reflected--"Often procrastination
serves to avert an inauspicious measure. For long ago, when Indra
had fled on account of having caused the death of a Bráhman, and
Nahusha obtained the sovereignty over the gods, he fell in love
with Sachí, [485] and she was saved by the preceptor of the gods
[486], to whom she had fled for refuge. For in order to gain time,
he kept saying--'She will come to you to-day or to-morrow,'--until
Nahusha was destroyed by the curse of a Bráhman, uttered with an
angry roar, and Indra regained the sovereignty of the gods. In the
same way I must keep putting off my master." Having thus reflected,
the minister secretly made an arrangement with the astrologers that
they were to fix a distant date.
Then the queen Vásavadattá found out what had taken place, and
summoned the prime-minister to her palace. When he entered and bowed
before her, the queen said to him, weeping--"Noble sir, you said to
me long ago, 'Queen, as long as I remain where I am, you shall have
no other rival but Padmávatí,' and observe now, this Kalingasená is
about to be married here: and she is beautiful, and my husband is
attached to her, so you have proved a prophet of falsehood and I am
now a dead woman." When the minister Yaugandharáyana heard this, he
said to her--"Be composed, for how could this happen, queen, while
I am alive? However, you must not oppose the king in this matter,
but must on the contrary take refuge in self-restraint, and shew him
all complaisance. The sick man is not induced to place himself in the
physician's hands by disagreeable speeches, but he is by agreeable
speeches, if the physician does his work by a conciliatory method. If
a man is dragged against the current, he will never escape from the
stream of a river, or from a vicious tendency, but if he is carried
with the current, he will escape from both. So when the king comes
into your presence, receive him with all attentions, without anger,
concealing your real feelings. Approve at present of his marrying
Kalingasená, saying that his kingdom will be made more powerful by
her father also becoming his ally. And if you do this, the king will
perceive that you possess in a high degree the virtue of magnanimity,
and his love and courtesy towards you will increase, and thinking
that Kalingasená is within his reach, he will not be impatient, for
the desire of a man for any object increases if he is restrained. And
you must teach this lesson to Padmávatí also, O blameless one, and so
that king may submit to our putting him off in this matter. And after
this, I ween, you will behold my skill in stratagem. For the wise are
tested in difficulty, even as heroes are tested in fight. So, queen,
do not be despondent." In these words Yaugandharáyana admonished the
queen, and, as she received his counsels with respect, he departed
thence. [487] But the king of Vatsa, throughout that day, neither in
light nor darkness entered the private apartments of either of the
two queens, for his mind was eager for a new well-matched union with
Kalingasená, who had approached him in such an ardour of spontaneous
choice. And then the queen and the prime-minister and the king and
Kalingasená spent the night in wakefulness like that of a great feast,
apart in their respective houses, the second couple through impatience
for a rare delight, and the first through very profound anxiety.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Then the artful minister Yaugandharáyana came the next morning to
the king of Vatsa, who was expecting him, and made the following
representation--"O king, why do you not immediately enquire about
an auspicious moment for celebrating the happy marriage of your
highness with Kalingasená, the daughter of Kalingadatta, the king
of Takshasilá?" [488] When the king heard that, he said--"The same
desire is fixed in my heart, for my mind cannot endure to remain a
moment without her." Having said this, the simple-hearted monarch
gave orders to a warder, who stood before him, and summoned the
astrologers. When he questioned them, they, having had their cue
previously given them by the prime minister, said, "For the king
there will be a favourable moment in six months from this time."
When Yaugandharáyana heard this, he pretended to be angry, and the
cunning fellow said to the king, "Out on these blockheads! That
astrologer, whom your highness previously honoured on the ground of
his cleverness, has not come to-day, ask him, and then do what is
proper." When he heard this speech of his minister's, the king of
Vatsa immediately summoned that very astrologer with mind in an agony
of suspense. He also stuck to his agreement, and in order to put off
the day of the marriage he named when asked, after some reflection,
a moment six months off. Then Yaugandharáyana pretending to be
distracted, said to the king--"Let your majesty command what is to
be done in this matter!" The king, being impatient and longing for a
favourable moment, said, after reflecting--"You must ask Kalingasená,
and see what she says." When Yaugandharáyana heard this, he took with
him two astrologers and went into the presence of Kalingasená. She
received him politely, and beholding her beauty, he reflected--"If
the king were to obtain her, he would abandon the whole kingdom in
his reckless passion." And he said to her, "I am come with these
astrologers to fix the moment of your marriage; so let these servants
inform me of the particular star in the lunar mansions under which
you were born." When the astrologers heard the lunar mansion stated
by her attendants, they pretended to investigate the matter, and kept
saying in the course of their calculations, "It is not on this side,
it must be after that." At last, in accordance with their agreement
with the minister, they named again that very moment at the end of
six months. When Kalingasená heard that distant date fixed, she was
cast down in spirit, but her chamberlain said, "You must first fix a
favourable moment, so that this couple may be happy all their lives,
what matters it whether it be near or far off?" When they heard this
speech of the chamberlain's, all there immediately exclaimed--"Well
said." And Yaugandharáyana said, "Yes, and if an inauspicious moment is
appointed for us, the king Kalingadatta, our proposed connexion, will
be grieved." Then Kalingasená, being helpless, said to them all--"Let
it be as you appoint in your wisdom"--and remained silent. And at once
accepting that speech of hers, Yaugandharáyana took leave of her, and
went with the astrologers into the presence of the king. Then he told
the proceedings to the king of Vatsa, exactly as they had happened, and
so having settled his mind by an artifice, he went to his own house.
So having attained his object of putting off the marriage, in order
to complete the scheme he had in view, he called to mind his friend,
the Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara. He, according to his previous
promise, when thought of, readily came to the minister, and bowed
before him and said--"Why am I called to mind?" Then Yaugandharáyana
told him the whole incident of Kalingasená which was tempting his
master to vice, and again said to him--"I have managed to gain time,
my friend; in that interval, do you, remaining concealed, observe
by your skill the behaviour of Kalingasená. For the Vidyádharas and
other spirits are without doubt secretly in love with her, since there
is no other woman in the three worlds equal to her in beauty. So, if
she were to have an intrigue with some Siddha or Vidyádhara, and you
were to see it, it would be a fortunate thing. And you must observe
the divine lover, though he come disguised, when he is asleep, for
divine beings, when asleep, assume their own form. If in this way
we are able to discover any offence in her by means of your eyes,
the king will be disgusted with her, and will accomplish that object
of ours." When the minister said this to him, the Bráhman-Rákshasa
answered, "Why should I not by some artifice cause her to fall or
slay her?" When the great minister Yaugandharáyana heard that, he
said to him--"This must not be done, for it would be a very wicked
deed. And whoever goes his own way without offending against the god
of justice, finds that that god comes to his assistance to enable
him to attain his objects. So you must discover in her, my friend,
a fault self-caused, in order that through your friendship the king's
objects may be accomplished by me." Having received this order from
the excellent minister, the Bráhman-Rákshasa departed, and disguised
by magic entered the house of Kalingasená.
In the meanwhile Somaprabhá, her friend, the daughter of the Asura
Maya, went again into the presence of Kalingasená. And the daughter
of Maya, after asking her friend what had happened in the night,
said to her who had abandoned her relations, in the hearing of that
Rákshasa--"I came here in the forenoon after searching for you, but
I remained concealed at your side, seeing Yaugandharáyana. However
I heard your conversation, and I understood the whole state of
affairs. So why did you make this attempt yesterday though you were
forbidden to do so by me? For any business which is undertaken,
my friend, without first counteracting the evil omen, will end in
calamity; as a proof of this, hear the following tale:"
Story of the Bráhman's son Vishnudatta and his seven foolish
companions.
Long ago there lived in Antarvedi a Bráhman named Vasudatta, and he had
a son born to him named Vishnudatta. That Vishnudatta, after he reached
the age of sixteen years, set out for the city of Vallabhí in order to
acquire learning. And there joined him seven other young Bráhmans his
fellows, but those seven were fools, while he was wise and sprung from
a good family. After they had taken an oath not to desert one another,
Vishnudatta set out with them at night without the knowledge of his
parents. And after he had set forth, he saw an evil omen presenting
itself in front of him, and he said to those friends of his who were
travelling with him,--"Ha! Here is a bad omen! it is advisable to turn
back now; we will set out again with good hope of success, when we
have auspicious omens with us." When those seven foolish companions
heard that, they said, "Do not entertain groundless fear, for we are
not afraid of the omen. If you are afraid, do not go, but we will
start this moment; to-morrow morning our relations will abandon us,
when they hear of our proceedings." When those ignorant creatures
said that, Vishnudatta set out with them, urged on by his oath, but
he first called to mind Hari, the dispeller of sin. And at the end of
the night he saw another evil omen, and again mentioned it, and he was
rebuked by all those foolish friends of his in the following words;
"This is our evil omen, you coward afraid to travel, that you have been
brought by us, since you shudder at a crow at every step you take;
we require no other evil omen." Having reviled him in these words,
they continued their journey and Vishnudatta went with them, as he
could not help it, but kept silence, reflecting--"One ought not to
give advice to a fool bent on going his own crooked way, for it only
entails ridicule, being like the beautifying of ordure. A single wise
man fallen among many fools, like a lotus in the path of the waves,
is surely overwhelmed. So I must not henceforth give these men either
good or bad advice, but I must go on in silence; destiny will educe
prosperity." Engaged in these reflections, Vishnudatta proceeded
on the way with those fools, and at the end of the day he reached a
Savara village. There he wandered about in the night and reached a
certain house inhabited by a young woman, and asked the woman for a
lodging there. She gave him a room, and he entered it with his friends,
and those seven in a moment went to sleep. He alone remained awake,
as he had entered a house belonging to a savage. For the stupid sleep
resolutely, how can the understanding sleep?
And in the meanwhile a certain young man secretly entered the inner
apartment of the house, and went into the presence of that woman. And
she remained in confidential conversation with him, and as fate
would have it, they both fell asleep. And Vishnudatta, perceiving it
all through the half-open door by the light of a candle, reflected
despondently, "Alas! have we entered the house of a profligate
woman? Surely this is her paramour, and not the husband of her youth,
for otherwise we should not have this timid secret proceeding;
I saw at the first that she was of a flighty disposition; but we
have entered here as mutual witnesses, for lack of others." While he
was thinking he heard outside a noise of men, and he saw entering a
young chief of the Savaras with a sword, looking about him, while
his attendants remained in the sleeping apartment. When the chief
said--"Who are you?" Vishnudatta, supposing him to be the master of
the house, said in his terror--"We are travellers." But the Savara
entered, and seeing his wife in such a position, he cut off with
his sword the head of her sleeping paramour. But he did not punish
or even wake his wife; but placing his sword on the ground he went
to sleep on another couch. Seeing that by the light of the candle,
Vishnudatta reflected--"He did right not to kill his wife, but to
kill the adulterer; but that he should sleep here in confidence,
after performing such a deed, is an act of surprising courage,
characteristic of men of mighty minds." While Vishnudatta was thus
reflecting, that wicked woman awoke and beheld her paramour slain,
and that husband of hers asleep. So she rose up, and took on her
shoulder the body of her lover, and carrying his head in one hand,
she went out. And going outside quickly, she threw into an ash-heap
the trunk with the head, and came secretly back. And Vishnudatta going
out beheld it all from a distance, and again entering remained as he
was, in the midst of his sleeping companions. But the wicked woman
came back, and entering the room, cut off with that very sword the
head of her sleeping husband. And going out she raised a cry so as to
make all the servants hear, "Alas! I am ruined, my husband has been
slain by these travellers." Then the servants, hearing the cry, rushed
forward and beholding their master slain, ran upon Vishnudatta and his
friends with uplifted weapons. And when those others, his companions,
rose up in terror, as they were about to be slain, Vishnudatta said
quickly--"Cease your attempt to slay Bráhmans! We did not do this deed;
this wicked woman herself did it, being in love with another man. But I
saw the whole affair from the very beginning, through a half-open door;
and I went out and observed what she did, and if you will have patience
with me, I will tell you." Vishnudatta with these words restrained the
Savaras, and told them the whole affair from the beginning, and took
them out and showed them the trunk with the head freshly severed and
thrown by the woman on that heap of refuse. Then the woman confessed
the truth by the paleness of her face, and all there reviled the
wanton, and said--"Whom will not a wicked woman kill, when won over
by another man, like a sword in an enemy's hand, since enticed by
love she commits reckless crime without being taught." Having said
this, they thereupon let Vishnudatta and his companions go; and then
the seven companions praised Vishnudatta, saying, "You became to us,
while we were asleep at night, a protecting jewel-lamp, through your
kindness we escaped to-day from death produced by an evil omen." In
these words they praised Vishnudatta, and ceased henceforth their
reviling, and after bowing before him they set out in the morning on
their errand, accompanied by him.
Having told this story to Kalingasená in their mutual conversation,
Somaprabhá again said to that friend of hers in Kausámbí.--"Thus,
my friend, an evil omen presenting itself to people engaged in
any undertaking, if not counteracted by delay and other methods,
produces misfortune. And so people of dull intelligence, neglecting
the advice of the wise, and acting impetuously, are afflicted in
the end. Accordingly you did not act wisely in sending a messenger
to the king of Vatsa, asking him to receive you, when there was an
inauspicious omen. May Fate grant you to be married without any
impediment, but you came from your house in an unlucky moment,
therefore your marriage is far off. And the gods too are in love
with you, so you must be on your guard against this. And you must
think of the minister Yaugandharáyana, who is expert in politic
wiles; he, fearing that the king may become engrossed in pleasure,
may throw impediments in your way in this business; or he may even
bring a charge against you after your marriage is celebrated: but no,
being virtuous, he will not bring a false accusation; nevertheless,
my friend, you must at all events be on your guard against your rival
wife, I will tell you a story illustrative of this, listen."
Story of Kadalígarbhá.
There is in this land a city named Ikshumatí, and by the side of
it there runs a river called by the same name; both were created
by Visvámitra. And near it there is a great forest, and in it a
hermit of the name of Mankanaka had made himself a hermitage and
performed penance with his heels upwards. And while he was performing
austerities, he saw an Apsaras of the name of Menaká coming through
the air, with her clothes floating on the breeze. Then his mind was
bewildered by Cupid, who had found his opportunity, and there was
born to him a daughter named Kadalígarbhá, [489] beautiful in every
limb. And since she was born in the interior of a plantain, her father,
the hermit Mankanaka, gave her the name of Kadalígarbhá. She grew up
in his hermitage like Kripí the wife of Drona, who was born to Gautama
on his beholding Rambhá. And once on a time Dridhavarman, a king born
in Madhyadesa, [490] who in the excitement of the chase was carried
away by his horse, entered that hermitage. He beheld Kadalígarbhá
clothed in garments of bark, having her beauty exceedingly set off
by the dress appropriate to the daughter of an ascetic. And she,
when seen, captivated the heart of that king so completely, that
she left no room in it for the women of his harem. While thinking
to himself--"Shall I be able to obtain as a wife this daughter of
some hermit or other, as Dushyanta obtained Sakuntalá the daughter
of the hermit Kanva?"--the king beheld that hermit Mankanaka coming
with fuel and kusa-grass. And leaving his horse, he approached him and
worshipped at his feet, and when questioned, discovered himself to that
hermit. Then the hermit gave the following order to Kadalígarbhá--"My
dear child, prepare the arghya [491] for this king our guest." She
said--"I will do so"--and bowing, prepared the hospitable offering,
and then the king said to the hermit--"Whence did you obtain this
maiden who is so beautiful?"--Then the hermit told the king the story
of her birth, and her name Kadalígarbhá, which indicated the manner
of it. Then the king, considering the maiden born from the hermit's
thinking on Menaká to be an Apsaras, earnestly craved her hand of
her father. And the sage gave him that daughter named Kadalígarbhá,
for the actions of the sages of old time, guided by divine insight,
were without hesitation. And the nymphs of heaven, discovering the fact
by their divine power, came there out of love for Menaká, and adorned
her for the wedding. And on that very occasion they put mustard-seeds
into her hand and said to her,--"As you are going along the path, sow
them, in order that you may know it again. If, daughter, at any time
your husband should scorn you, and you should wish to return here,
then you will be able, as you come along, to recognise the path by
these, which will have sprung up." When they had said this to her,
and her marriage had been celebrated, the king Dridhavarman placed
Kadalígarbhá on his horse, and departed thence. His army came up and
escorted him, and in company with that bride of his, who sowed the
mustard-seeds all along the path, he reached his own palace. There
he became averse to the society of his other wives, and dwelt with
that Kadalígarbhá, after telling her story to his ministers.
Then his principal wife, being exceedingly afflicted, said to his
minister in secret, after reminding him of the benefits she had
conferred upon him: "The king is now exclusively attached to his new
wife and has deserted me, so take steps to make this rival of mine
depart." When that minister heard that, he said--"Queen, it is not
appropriate for people like me to destroy or banish their masters'
wives. This is the business of the wives of wandering religious
mendicants, addicted to jugglery and such practices, associating
with men like themselves. For those hypocritical female ascetics,
creeping unforbidden into houses, skilled in deception, will stick at
no deed whatever." When he said this to her, the queen, as if abashed,
said to him in affected shame--"Then I will have nothing to do with
this proceeding disapproved of by the virtuous." But she laid up his
speech in her heart, and dismissing that minister, she summoned by
the mouth of her maid a certain wandering female ascetic. And she told
her all that desire of hers from the beginning, and promised to give
her great wealth if the business were successfully accomplished. And
the wicked female ascetic, from desire of gain, said to the afflicted
queen--"Queen, this is an easy matter, I will accomplish it for you,
for I know very many expedients of various kinds." Having thus consoled
the queen, that female ascetic departed; and after reaching her house,
she reflected as one afraid, "Alas! whom will not excessive desire of
gain delude, since I rashly made such a promise before the queen? But
the fact is, I know no device of the kind, and it is not possible to
carry on any deception in the palace, as I do in other places, for the
authorities might perhaps find it out and punish me. There may be one
resource in this difficulty, for I have a friend, a barber, and as he
is skilled in devices of the kind, all may yet go well, if he exert
himself in the matter." After thus reflecting, she went to the barber,
and told him all her plan that was to bring her prosperity. Then
the barber, who was old and cunning, reflected--"This is good luck,
that an opportunity of making something has now presented itself to
me. So we must not kill the king's new wife, but we must preserve
her alive, for her father has divine insight, and would reveal the
whole transaction. But by separating her from the king we will now
batten upon the queen, for great people become servants to a servant
who shares their criminal secrets. And in due time I will re-unite
her to the king, and tell him the whole story, in order that he and
the sage's daughter may become a source of subsistence to me. And
thus I shall not have done anything very wrong, and I shall have a
livelihood for a long time." Having thus reflected, the barber said
to the hypocritical female ascetic--"Mother, I will do all this, but
it would not be proper to slay that new wife of the king's by means
of magic, for the king might some day find it out, and then he would
destroy us all: besides we should incur the sin of woman-murder, and
her father the sage would curse us. Therefore it is far better that
she should be separated from the king by means of our ingenuity,
in order that the queen may be happy, and we may obtain wealth
[punctuation missing in scan] And this is an easy matter to me, for
what can I not accomplish by force of intellect? Hear my ingenuity,
I will relate a story which illustrates it."
Story of the king and the barber's wife
This king Dridhavarman had an immoral father. And I was then his
servant, being engaged in the duties which belong to me. He, one
day, as he was roaming about here, cast eyes on my wife; and as
she was young and beautiful, his mind became attached to her. And
when he asked his attendants who she was, they said--"The barber's
wife." He thought--"What can the barber do?" So the wicked king
entered my house, and after enjoying at will the society of my wife,
departed. But, as it happened, I was away from my house that day,
being absent somewhere or other. And the next day, when I entered,
I saw that my wife's manner had altered, and when I asked her the
reason, she told me the whole story, being full of pride at what
had occurred. And in that way the king went on puffing up my wife
by continual visits, which I was powerless to prevent. A prince
distracted by unholy passion makes no distinction between what is
lawful and what is illicit. The forest is like straw to a sylvan
fire fanned by the wind. So, not being in possession of any other
expedient for restraining my sovereign, I reduced myself with spare
diet, and took refuge in feigned sickness. And in this state I went
into the presence of that king to perform my duties, sighing deeply,
pale and emaciated. Then the king, seeing that I seemed to be ill,
asked me meaningly the following question--"Holla! tell me why you have
become thus?" And after he had questioned me persistently, I answered
the king in private, after imploring immunity from punishment--"King,
my wife is a witch. And when I am asleep she extracts my entrails and
sucks them, and then replaces them as before--This is how I have become
lean. So how can continual refreshment and eating nourish me?" When I
said this to the king, he became anxious and reflected--"Can she really
be a witch? Why was I captivated by her? I wonder whether she will
suck my entrails also, since I am well nourished with food. So I will
myself contrive to test her this very night." Having thus reflected,
the king caused food to be given me on the spot. Then I went home and
shed tears in the presence of my wife, and when she questioned me,
I said to her--"My beloved, you must not reveal to any one what I am
about to tell you. Listen! That king has teeth as sharp as the edge
of a thunderbolt, where teeth are not usually found, and they broke
my razor to-day while I was performing my duties. And in this way I
shall break a razor every time. So how am I to be continually procuring
fresh razors? This is why I weep, for the means of supporting myself
in my home are destroyed." When I had said this to my wife, she made
up her mind to investigate the marvel of the concealed teeth while the
king was asleep, since he was to visit her at night. But she did not
perceive that such a thing had never been seen since the world was,
and could not be true. Even clever women are deceived by the tales
of an impostor.
So the king came at night and visited my wife at will, and as if
fatigued, pretended to go to sleep, remembering what I had said. Then
my wife, thinking he was asleep, slowly stretched out her hand to find
his concealed teeth. And as soon as her hand reached him, the king
exclaimed--"A witch! A witch!" and left the house in terror. Henceforth
my wife, having been abandoned by the king out of fear, became
satisfied with me and devoted to me exclusively. In this way I saved
my wife on a former occasion from the king by my intelligence.
Having told this story to the female ascetic, the barber went on to
say--"So, my good lady, this desire of yours must be accomplished by
wisdom; and I will tell you, mother, how it is to be done, listen to
me. Some old servant of the harem must be won over to say to this king
in secret every day, 'Your wife Kadalígarbhá is a witch.' For she,
being a forest maiden, has no attendants of her own, and what will not
all alien servants do for gain, being easily corrupted? Accordingly,
when the king becomes apprehensive on hearing what the old servant
says, you must contrive to place at night hands and feet and other
limbs in the chamber of Kadalígarbhá. [492] Then the king will
see them in the morning, and concluding that what the old man says
is true, will be afraid of Kadalígarbhá and desert her of his own
accord. So the queen will be delighted at getting rid of a rival
wife, and entertain a favourable opinion of you, and we shall gain
some advantage." When the barber said this to the female ascetic,
she consented and went and told the whole matter to the king's head
queen. And the queen carried out her suggestions, and the king, who had
been warned, saw the hands and feet in the morning with his own eyes,
and abandoned Kadalígarbhá, thinking her to be wicked. So the female
ascetic, together with the barber, enjoyed to the full the presents
which the queen secretly gave to her, being pleased with her aid.
So Kadalígarbhá, being abandoned by Dridhavarman, went out from the
palace, grieved because the king would be cursed. And she returned
to the hermitage of her father by the same path by which she came,
which she was able to recognise by the mustard-seeds she had sown,
which had sprung up. [493] Her father, the hermit Mankanaka, when he
saw her suddenly arrived there, remained for some time suspecting
immorality on her part. And then he perceived the whole occurrence
by the power of contemplation, and after lovingly comforting her,
departed thence with her. And he went and told the king, who bowed
before him, the whole treacherous drama, which the head queen
had got up out of hatred for her rival. At that moment the barber
himself arrived, and related the whole occurrence to the king, and
then proceeded to say this to him; "In this way, my sovereign, I sent
away the lady Kadalígarbhá, and so delivered her from the danger of
the incantations which would have been practised against her, since I
satisfied the head queen by an artifice." When the king heard that,
he saw that the speech of the great hermit was certainly true, and
he took back Kadalígarbhá, recovering his confidence in her. And
after respectfully accompanying the departing hermit, he rewarded
the barber with wealth, thinking that he was attached to his person:
kings are the appointed prey of rogues. Then the king, being averse
to the society of his queen, lived in great comfort with Kadalígarbhá.
"Many false accusations of this kind do rival wives bring, O
Kalingasená of irreproachable beauty. And you are a maiden, the
auspicious moment of whose marriage is fixed at a distant date, and
even the gods, whose goings transcend our thought, are in love with
you. So do you yourself preserve yourself now, as the one jewel of
the world, dedicated to the king of Vatsa only, from all assaults,
for your own excellence brings you enmity. I indeed, my friend, shall
never return to you, since you are now established in the palace of
your husband: good women do not visit the house of a friend's husband,
O fair one! besides I have been forbidden by my own lord. And it is
not possible for me to come here secretly, induced by my affection
for you, inasmuch as my husband possesses divine insight and would
find it out; with difficulty in truth did I obtain his permission to
come here to-day. And since I can be of no use to you now, my friend,
I will return home, but if my husband should give me permission,
I will come here again, disregarding modesty." Thus Somaprabhá,
the daughter of the Asura king, spake weeping to Kalingasená, the
daughter of the mortal king, whose face also was washed with tears,
and after embracing her, departed swiftly to her own palace, as the
day was passing away.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Then the princess Kalingasená, who had deserted her own country and
relations, remembering her dear friend Somaprabhá who had left her,
and finding the great festival of her marriage with the king of
Vatsa delayed, remained in Kausámbí like a doe that had strayed from
the forest.
And the king of Vatsa, feeling a little bitter against the astrologers,
who were so dexterous in deferring the marriage of Kalingasená,
being despondent with love-longing, went that day to divert his mind,
to the private apartments of Vásavadattá. There the queen, who had
been tutored beforehand by the excellent minister, let fall no sign
of anger, but shewed especial sedulity in honouring her husband with
her usual attentions. And the king, wondering how it was that, even
though she knew the episode of Kalingasená, the queen was not angry,
being desirous of knowing the cause, said to her; "Do you know, queen,
that a princess named Kalingasená has come here to choose me for her
husband?" The moment she heard it, she answered, without changing the
hue of her countenance, "I know it; I am exceedingly delighted, for in
her the goddess of Fortune has come to our house; for by gaining her
you will also get her father Kalingadatta under your influence, and
the earth will be more completely in your power. Now I am delighted
on account of his great power and your pleasure, and long ago did
I know this circumstance with regard to you. So am I not fortunate,
since I have such a husband as you, whom princesses fall in love with,
that are themselves sought by other kings?" When thus addressed by
queen Vásavadattá, who had been previously tutored by Yaugandharáyana,
the king rejoiced in his heart. And after enjoying a drinking-bout
with her, he slept that night in her apartments, and waking up in
the morning he reflected--"What, does the magnanimous queen obey
me so implicitly as even to acquiesce in having Kalingasená for a
rival? But how could this same proud woman endure her, since it was
owing to the special favour of destiny that she did not yield her
breath, even when I married Padmávatí? So, if anything were to happen
to her, it would be utter ruin; upon her hang the lives of my son,
my brother-in-law, my father-in-law, and Padmávatí, and the welfare
of the kingdom; what higher tribute can I pay her? So how can I marry
that Kalingasená?" Thus reflecting the king of Vatsa left her chamber
at the close of night, and the next day went to the palace of queen
Padmávatí. She too, having been taught her lesson by Vásavadattá,
shewed him attentions after the very same fashion, and when questioned
by him, gave a similar answer. The next day the king, thinking over the
sentiments and speeches of the queens, which were completely in unison,
commended them to Yaugandharáyana. And the minister Yaugandharáyana,
who knew how to seize the right moment, seeing that the king was
plunged in doubt, spake slowly to him as follows--"I know well,
the matter does not end where you think, there is a terrible resolve
here. For the queens spoke thus, because they are steadfastly bent
on surrendering their lives. Chaste women, when their beloved is
attached to another, or has gone to heaven, become careless about
all enjoyments, and determined to die, though their intentions are
inscrutable on account of the haughtiness of their character. For
matrons cannot endure the interruption of a deep affection; and in
proof of this hear now, O king, this story of Srutasena."
The story of Srutasena.
There lived long ago in the Dekhan, in a city called Gokarna, a king
named Srutasena, who was the ornament of his race, and possessed of
learning. And this king, though his prosperity was complete, had yet
one source of sorrow, that he had not as yet obtained a wife who was
a suitable match for him. And once on a time the king, while brooding
over that sorrow, began to talk about it, and was thus addressed
by a Bráhman, named Agnisarman: "I have seen two wonders, O king, I
will describe them to you: listen! Having gone on a pilgrimage to all
the sacred bathing-places, I reached that Panchatírthí, in which five
Apsarases were reduced to the condition of crocodiles by the curse of
a holy sage, and were rescued from it by Arjuna, who had come there
while going round the holy spots. There I bathed in the blessed water,
which possesses the power of enabling those men, who bathe in it and
fast for five nights, to become followers of Náráyana. And while I
was departing, I beheld a cultivator in the middle of a field, who
had furrowed the earth with his plough, singing. That cultivator was
asked about the road by a certain wandering hermit, who had come that
way, but did not hear what he said, being wholly occupied with his
song. Then the hermit was angry with that cultivator, and began to
talk in a distracted manner; and the cultivator, stopping his song,
said to him--'Alas! though you are a hermit, you will not learn even
a fraction of virtue; even I, though a fool, have discovered what is
the highest essence of virtue.' When he heard that, the hermit asked
him out of curiosity--'What have you discovered?' And the cultivator
answered him--'Sit here in the shade, and listen while I tell you
a tale.'
Story of the three Bráhman brothers.
In this land there were three Bráhman brothers, Brahmadatta,
Somadatta, and Visvadatta of holy deeds. Of these the two eldest
possessed wives, but the youngest was unmarried; he remained as
their servant without being angry, obeying their orders along with
me; for I was their ploughman. And those elder brothers thought
that he was soft, and devoid of intellect, good, not swerving from
the right path, simple, and unenterprising. Then, once on a time,
the youngest brother Visvadatta was solicited by his two brothers'
wives who fell in love with him, but he rejected their advances as
if each of them had been his mother. Then they both of them went
and said falsely to their own husbands, "This younger brother of
yours makes love to us in secret." This speech made those two
elder brothers cherish anger against him in their hearts, for
men bewildered by the speeches of wicked women, do not know the
difference between truth and falsehood. Then those brothers said
once on a time to Visvadatta--"Go and level that ant-hill in the
middle of the field!" He said--"I will"--and went and proceeded to
dig up the ant-hill with his spade, though I said to him, "Do not do
it, a venomous snake lives there." Though he heard what I said, he
continued to dig at the ant-hill, exclaiming--"Let what will happen,
happen," for he would not disobey the order of his two elder brothers,
though they wished him ill. Then, while he was digging it up, he got
out of it a pitcher filled with gold, and not a venomous snake, for
virtue is an auxiliary to the good. So he took that pitcher and gave
it all to his elder brothers out of his constant affection for them,
though I tried to dissuade him. But they sent assassins, hiring them
with a portion of that gold, and had his hands and feet cut off,
in their desire to seize his wealth. But he was free from anger,
and in spite of that treatment, did not wax wroth with his brothers,
and on account of that virtue of his, his hands and feet grew again.
'After beholding that, I renounced from that time all anger, but
you, though you are a hermit, have not even now renounced anger. The
man who is free from anger has gained heaven, behold now a proof of
this.' After saying this, the husbandman left his body and ascended to
heaven. "This is one wonder which I have seen, hear a second, O king;"
After saying this to king Srutasena, the Bráhman continued, "Then, as
I was roaming about on the shore of the sea to visit sacred places,
I reached the realm of king Vasantasena. There, as I was about to
enter an almshouse where cooked food is distributed by the king,
the Bráhmans said to me,--'Bráhman, advance not in that direction,
for there the king's daughter is present, she is called Vidyuddyotá,
and if even a hermit beholds her, he is pierced by the arrow of love,
and becoming distracted ceases to live.' Then I answered them--'This
is not wonderful to me, for I continually behold king Srutasena, who
is a second god of love. When he leaves his palace on an expedition,
or for some other purpose, women of good family are removed by guards
from any place whence they may possibly see him, for fear they should
infringe chastity.' When I said this, they knew I was a subject of
your Majesty's, and the superintendent of the house of entertainment
and the king's chaplain took me into the presence of the king,
that I might share the feast. There I saw that princess Vidyuddyotá,
looking like the incarnation of the magic art with which the god of
love bewilders the world. After a long time I mastered my confusion
at beholding her, and reflected--'If this lady were to become the
wife of our sovereign, he would forget his kingdom. Nevertheless I
must tell this tale to my master, otherwise there might take place
the incident of Devasena and Unmádiní.'
The story of Devasena and Unmádiní.
Once on a time, in the realm of king Devasena, there was a merchant's
daughter, a maiden that bewildered the world with her beauty. Her
father told the king about her, but the king did not take her in
marriage, for the Bráhmans, who wished to prevent his neglecting his
duties, told him she had inauspicious marks. So she was married to his
prime minister. [494] And once on a time she showed herself to the king
at a window. And the king, struck by her with a poisonous look from a
distance, as if she had been a female snake, [495] fainted again and
again, enjoyed no pleasure, and took no food. And the righteous king,
though entreated over and over again to marry her by the ministers,
with her husband at their head, refused to do so, and devoted to her,
yielded up his breath.
"Accordingly I have come to-day and told you this wonderful tale,
thinking that if a similar distraction were to come upon you, I should
be guilty of conspiring against your life."
When king Srutasena heard from that Bráhman this speech, which was
like the command of the god of love, he became ardently attached to
Vidyuddyotá, so he immediately sent off the Bráhman and took steps to
have her brought quickly and married her. Then the princess Vidyuddyotá
became inseparable from the person of that king, as the daylight from
the orb of the sun.
Then a maiden of the name of Mátridattá, the daughter of a very rich
merchant, intoxicated with the pride of her beauty, came to select that
king for her husband. Through fear of committing unrighteousness, the
king married that merchant's daughter; then Vidyuddyotá, coming to hear
of it, died of a broken heart. And the king came and beheld that dearly
loved wife lying dead, and took her up in his arms, and lamenting,
died on the spot. Thereupon Mátridattá, the merchant's daughter,
entered the fire. And so the whole kingdom perished with the king.
"So you see, king, that the breaking off of long love is
difficult to bear, especially would it be so to the proud queen
Vásavadattá. Accordingly, if you were to marry this Kalingasená, the
queen Vásavadattá would indubitably quit her life, and queen Padmávatí
would do the same, for their life is one. And then how would your son
Naraváhanadatta live? And, I know, the king's heart would not be able
to bear any misfortune happening to him. And so all this happiness
would perish in a moment, O king. But as for the dignified reserve,
which the queens displayed in their speeches, that sufficiently
shews that their hearts are indifferent to all things, being firmly
resolved on suicide. So you must guard your own interests, for even
animals understand self-protection, much more wise men like yourself,
O king." The king of Vatsa, when he heard this at length from the
excellent minister Yaugandharáyana, having now become quite capable
of wise discrimination, said--"It is so; there can be no doubt about
it; all this fabric of my happiness would be overthrown. So what is
the use of my marrying Kalingasená? Accordingly the astrologers did
well in mentioning a distant hour as auspicious for the marriage:
and there cannot after all be much sin in abandoning one who had
come to select me as her husband." When Yaugandharáyana heard this,
he reflected with joy, "Our business has almost turned out according
to our wishes. Will not that same great plant of policy, watered with
the streams of expedient, and nourished with due time and place, truly
bring forth fruit?" Thus reflecting, and meditating upon fitting
time and place, the minister Yaugandharáyana went to his house,
after taking a ceremonious farewell of the king.
The king too went to the queen Vásavadattá, who had assumed to welcome
him a manner which concealed her real feelings, and thus spoke to her
to console her: "Why do I speak? you know well, O gazelle-eyed one,
that your love is my life, even as the water is of the lotus. Could I
bear even to mention the name of another woman? But Kalingasená came
to my house of her own impetuous motion. And this is well known, that
Rambhá, who came to visit Arjuna of her own impetuous will, having
been rejected by him, as he was engaged in austerities, inflicted on
him a curse which made him a eunuch. That curse was endured by him
to the end, living in the house of the king of Viráta in the garb
of a eunuch, though he displayed miraculous valour. So I did not
reject this Kalingasená when she came, but I cannot bring myself to
do anything without your wish." Having comforted her in these words,
and having perceived by the flush of wine which rose to her cheek, as
if it were her glowing passionate heart, that her cruel design was a
reality, the king of Vatsa spent that night with the queen Vásavadattá,
delighted at the transcendent ability of his prime minister.
And in the meanwhile that Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara, who was
a friend of Yaugandharáyana, and whom he had commissioned beforehand
to watch day and night the proceedings of Kalingasená, came that very
night of his own accord and said to the prime minister: "I remain
ever at Kalingasená's house, either without it or within it, and I
have never seen man or god come there. But to-day I suddenly heard an
indistinct noise in the air, at the commencement of the night, as I was
lying hid near the roof of the palace. Then my magic science was set
in motion to ascertain the cause of the sound, but prevailed not; so
I pondered over it, and came to this conclusion: 'This must certainly
be the voice of some being of divine power, enamoured of Kalingasená,
who is roaming in the sky. Since my science does not succeed, I must
look for some opening, for clever people who remain vigilant, find
little difficulty in discovering holes in their opponents' armour. And
I know that the prime minister said--"Divine beings are in love with
her"--moreover I overheard her friend Somaprabhá saying the same. After
arriving at this conclusion I came here to make my report to you. This
I have to ask you by the way, so tell me so much I pray you. By my
magic power I heard, without being seen, what you said to the king,
'Even animals understand self-protection.' Now tell me, sagacious
man, if there is any instance of this."--When Yogesvara asked him
this question, Yaugandharáyana answered. "There is, my friend, and
to prove it, I will tell you this tale. Listen!"
The tale of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat, and the mouse.