Once on a time there was a large banyan tree outside the city of

Vidisá. In that vast tree dwelt four creatures, an ichneumon, an owl,

a cat, and a mouse, [496] and their habitations were apart. The

ichneumon and the mouse dwelt in separate holes in the root, the

cat in a great hollow in the middle of the tree: but the owl dwelt

in a bower of creepers on the top of it, which was inaccessible

to the others. Among these the mouse was the natural prey of all

three, three out of the four of the cat. The mouse, the ichneumon,

and the owl ranged for food during the night, the two first through

fear of the cat only, the owl partly because it was his nature to

do so. But the cat fearlessly wandered night and day through the

neighbouring barley-field, in order to catch the mouse, while the

others went there by stealth at a suitable time out of desire for

food. One day a certain hunter of the Chandála caste came there. He

saw the track of the cat entering that field, and having set nooses

all round the field in order to compass its death, departed. So the

cat came there at night to slay the mouse, and entering the field

was caught in one of the hunter's nooses. The mouse, for his part,

came there secretly in search of food, and seeing the cat caught

in the noose, danced for joy. While it was entering the field, the

owl and ichneumon came from afar by the same path, and seeing the

cat fast in the noose, desired to capture the mouse. And the mouse,

beholding them afar off, was terrified and reflected--"If I fly to

the cat, which the owl and the ichneumon are afraid of, that enemy,

though fast in the noose, may slay me with one blow, but if I keep

at a distance from the cat, the owl and the ichneumon will be the

death of me. So being compassed about with enemies, where shall I go,

what shall I do? Ah! I will take refuge with the cat here, for it is

in trouble, and may save me to preserve its own life, as I shall be

of use to gnaw through the noose." Thus reflecting the mouse slowly

approached the cat, and said to it, "I am exceedingly grieved at your

being caught, so I will gnaw through your noose; the upright come to

love even their enemies by dwelling in their neighbourhood. But I do

not feel confidence in you, as I do not know your intentions." When

the cat heard that, he said "Worthy mouse, be at rest, from this day

forth you are my friend as giving me life." The moment he heard this

from the cat, he crept into his bosom; when the owl and ichneumon saw

that, they went away hopeless. Then the cat, galled with the noose,

said to the mouse, "My friend, the night is almost gone, so quickly

gnaw through my bonds." The mouse for its part, waiting for the

arrival of the hunter, slowly nibbled the noose, and protracted the

business, making a continual munching with its teeth, which was all

pretence. Soon the night came to an end, and the hunter came near;

then the mouse, at the request of the cat, quickly gnawed through the

noose which held it. So the cat's noose was severed, and it ran away,

afraid of the hunter; and the mouse, delivered from death, fled into

its hole. But when called again by the cat, it reposed no confidence

in him, but remarked, "The truth is, an enemy is occasionally made

a friend by circumstances, but does not remain such for ever."

"Thus the mouse, though an animal, saved its life from many foes,

much more ought the same thing to take place among men. You heard that

speech which I uttered to the king on that occasion, to the effect

that by wisdom he should guard his own interests by preserving the

life of the queen. And wisdom is in every exigency the best friend, not

valour, Yogesvara; in illustration of this hear the following story."

The story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his treasure.

There is a city named Srávastí, and in it there lived in old time a

king of the name of Prasenajit, and one day a strange Bráhman arrived

in that city. A merchant, thinking he was virtuous, because he lived

on rice in the husk, provided him a lodging there in the house of

a Bráhman. There he was loaded by him every day with presents of

unhusked rice and other gifts, and gradually by other great merchants

also, who came to hear his story. In this way the miserly fellow

gradually accumulated a thousand dínárs, and, going to the forest,

he dug a hole and buried it in the ground, [497] and he went every

day and examined the spot. Now one day he saw that the hole, in which

he had hidden his gold, had been re-opened, and that all the gold had

gone. When he saw that hole empty, his soul was smitten, and not only

was there a void in his heart, but the whole universe seemed to him to

be void also. And then he came crying to the Bráhman, in whose house

he lived, and when questioned, he told him his whole story: and he

made up his mind to go to a holy bathing-place, and starve himself to

death. Then the merchant, who supplied him with food, hearing of it,

came there with others, and said to him, "Bráhman, why do you long to

die for the loss of your wealth? Wealth, like an unseasonable cloud,

suddenly comes and goes." Though plied by him with these and similar

arguments, he would not abandon his fixed determination to commit

suicide, for wealth is dearer to the miser than life itself. But when

the Bráhman was going to the holy place to commit suicide, the king

Prasenajit himself, having heard of it, came to him and asked him,

"Bráhman, do you know of any mark by which you can recognize the place

where you buried your dínárs?" When the Bráhman heard that, he said:

"There is a small tree in the wood there, I buried that wealth at its

foot." When the king heard that, he said, "I will find that wealth and

give it back to you, or I will give it you from my own treasury, do

not commit suicide, Bráhman." After saying this, and so diverting the

Bráhman from his intention of committing suicide, the king entrusted

him to the care of the merchant, and retired to his palace. There

he pretended to have a headache, and sending out the door-keeper, he

summoned all the physicians in the city by proclamation with beat of

drum. And he took aside every single one of them and questioned him

privately in the following words: "What patients have you here, and

how many, and what medicine have you prescribed for each?" And they

thereupon, one by one, answered all the king's questions. Then one

among the physicians, when his turn came to be questioned, said this,

"The merchant Mátridatta has been out of sorts, O king, and this is

the second day, that I have prescribed for him nágabalá. [498] When

the king heard that, he sent for the merchant, and said to him--"Tell

me, who fetched you the nágabalá?" The merchant said--"My servant,

your highness." When the king got this answer from the merchant, he

quickly summoned the servant and said to him--"Give up that treasure

belonging to a Bráhman, consisting of a store of dínárs, which you

found when you were digging at the foot of a tree for nágabalá." When

the king said this to him, the servant was frightened and confessed

immediately, and bringing those dínárs left them there. So the king

for his part summoned the Bráhman and gave him, who had been fasting

in the meanwhile, his dínárs, lost and found again, like a second

soul external to his body.

"Thus that king by his wisdom recovered for the Bráhman his wealth,

which had been taken away from the root of the tree, knowing that

that simple grew in such spots. So true is it, that intellect

always obtains the supremacy, triumphing over valour, indeed in

such cases what could courage accomplish? Accordingly, Yogesvara,

you ought to bring it to pass by your wisdom, that some peccadillo be

discovered in Kalingasená. And it is true that the gods and Asuras

are in love with her. This explains your hearing at night the sound

of some being in the air. And if we could only obtain some pretext,

calamity would fall upon her, not on us; the king would not marry

her, and yet we should not have dealt unrighteously with her." When

the Bráhman-Rákshasa Yogesvara heard all this from the sagacious

Yaugandharáyana, he was delighted and said to him--"Who except the

god Vrihaspati can match thee in policy? This counsel of thine waters

with ambrosia the tree of empire. I, even I, will investigate with

wisdom and might the proceedings of Kalingasená." Having said this,

Yogesvara departed thence.

And at this time Kalingasená, while in her palace, was continually

afflicted by beholding the king of Vatsa roaming about in his palace

and its grounds. Thinking on him, she was inflamed with love, and

though she wore a bracelet and necklace of lotus fibres, she never

obtained relief thereby, nor from sandal-ointment, or other remedies.

In the meanwhile the king of the Vidyádharas, named Madanavega, who had

seen her before, remained wounded by the arrow of ardent love. Though

he had performed a vow to obtain her, and had been granted a boon by

Siva, still she was not easy to gain, because she was living in the

land of another, and attached to another, so the Vidyádhara prince

was wandering about at night in the air over her palace, in order to

obtain an opportunity. But, remembering the order of Siva pleased

with his asceticism, he assumed one night by his skill the form of

the king of Vatsa. And in his shape he entered her palace, saluted

with praises by the door-keepers, who said--"Unable to bear delay,

the king has come here without the knowledge of his ministers." And

Kalingasená, on beholding him, rose up bewildered with agitation,

though she was, so to speak, warned by her ornaments which jingled

out the sounds--"This is not the man." Then she by degrees gained

confidence in him, and Madanavega, wearing the form of the king

of Vatsa, made her his wife by the Gándharva rite. At that moment

Yogesvara entered, invisible by his magic, and, beholding the incident,

was cast down, supposing that he saw the king of Vatsa before him. He

went and told Yaugandharáyana, who, on receiving his report, saw by

his skill that the king was in the society of Vásavadattá. So by the

order of the prime minister he returned delighted, to observe the shape

of that secret paramour of Kalingasená, when asleep. And so he went

and beheld that Madanavega asleep in his own form on the bed of the

sleeping Kalingasená, a heavenly being, the dustless lotus of whose

foot was marked with the umbrella and the banner; and who had lost

his power of changing his form, because his science was suspended

during sleep. Then Yogesvara, full of delight, went and told what

he had seen in a joyful mood to Yaugandharáyana. He said--"One like

me knows nothing, you know everything by the eye of policy; by your

counsel this difficult result has been attained for your king. What

is the sky without the sun? What is a tank without water? What is a

realm without counsel? What is speech without truth?" When Yogesvara

said this, Yaugandharáyana took leave of him, much pleased, and went

in the morning to visit the king of Vatsa. He approached him with

the usual reverence, and in course of conversation said to the king,

who asked him what was to be done about Kalingasená--"She is unchaste,

O king, and does not deserve to touch your hand. For she went of her

own accord to visit Prasenajit. When she saw that he was old, she was

disgusted, and came to visit you out of desire for your beauty, and now

she even enjoys at her pleasure the society of another person." When

the king heard this, he said--"How could a lady of birth and rank do

such a deed? Or who has power to enter my harem?" When the king said

this, the wise Yaugandharáyana answered him, "I will prove it to you

by ocular testimony this very night, my sovereign. For the divine

Siddhas and other beings of the kind are in love with her. What can

a man do against them? And who here can interfere with the movements

of gods? So come and see it with your own eyes." When the minister

said this, the king determined to go there with him at night.

Then Yaugandharáyana came to the queen, and said--"To-day, O queen,

I have carried out what I promised, that the king should marry no

other wife except queen Padmávatí, and thereupon he told her the whole

story of Kalingasená. And the queen Vásavadattá congratulated him,

bowing low and saying--"This is the fruit which I have reaped from

following your instructions."

Then, at night, when folk were asleep, the king of Vatsa went with

Yaugandharáyana to the palace of Kalingasená. And entering unperceived,

he beheld Madanavega in his proper form, sleeping by the side of

the sleeping Kalingasená. And when the king was minded to slay that

audacious one, the Vidyádhara prince was roused by his own magic

knowledge, and when awake, he went out, and immediately flew up into

the heaven. And then Kalingasená awoke immediately. And seeing the bed

empty, she said, "How is this, that the king of Vatsa wakes up before

me, and departs, leaving me asleep?" When Yaugandharáyana heard that,

he said to the king of Vatsa--"Listen, she has been beguiled by that

Vidyádhara wearing your form. He was found out by me by means of my

magic power, and now I have exhibited him before your eyes, but you

cannot kill him on account of his heavenly might." After saying this,

he and the king approached her, and Kalingasená, for her part, seeing

them, stood in a respectful attitude. But when she began to say to the

king--"Where, O king, did you go only a moment ago, so as to return

with your minister?"--Yaugandharáyana said to her--"Kalingasená,

you have been married by some being, who beguiled you by assuming

the shape of the king of Vatsa, and not by this lord of mine."

When Kalingasená heard this, she was bewildered, and as if pierced

through the heart by an arrow, she said to the king of Vatsa with

tear-streaming eyes,--"Have you forgotten me, O king, after marrying

me by the Gándharva rite, as Sakuntalá long ago was forgotten by

Dushyanta?" [499] When the king was thus addressed by her, he said

with downcast face, "In truth you were not married by me, for I never

came here till this moment." When the king of Vatsa had said this,

the minister said to him--"Come along"--and conducted him at will to

the palace.

When the king had departed thence with his minister, that lady

Kalingasená, sojourning in a foreign country, like a doe that

had strayed from the herd, having deserted her relations, with

her face robbed of its painting by kissing, as a lotus is robbed

of its leaves by cropping, having her braided tresses disordered,

even as a bed of lotuses trampled by an elephant has its cluster

of black bees dispersed; now that her maidenhood was gone for ever,

not knowing what expedient to adopt or what course to pursue, looked

up to heaven and spake as follows--"Whoever that was that assumed

the shape of the king of Vatsa and married me, let him appear,

for he is the husband of my youth." When invoked in these words,

that king of the Vidyádharas descended from heaven, of divine shape,

adorned with necklace and bracelet. And when she asked him who he

was, he answered her;--"I, fair one, am a prince of the Vidyádharas,

named Madanavega. And long ago I beheld you in your father's house,

and by performing penance obtained a boon from Siva, which conferred

on me the attainment of you. So, as you were in love with the king

of Vatsa, I assumed his form, and quickly married you by stealth,

before your contract with him had been celebrated." By the nectar of

this speech of his, entering her ears, the lotus of her heart was a

little revived. Then Madanavega comforted that fair one, and made her

recover her composure, and bestowed on her a heap of gold, and when

she had conceived in her heart affection for her excellent husband,

as being well suited to her, he flew up into the heaven to return

again. And Kalingasená, after obtaining permission from Madanavega,

consented to dwell patiently where she was, reflecting that the

heavenly home, the abode of her husband, could not be approached by

a mortal, and that through passion she had left her father's house.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Then the king of Vatsa, thinking on the peerless beauty of

Kalingasená, was one night seized with love, so he rose up and went

sword in hand, and entered her palace alone; and she welcomed him and

received him politely. Then the king asked her to become his wife,

but she rejected his addresses, saying, "You should regard me as the

wife of another." Whereupon he answered--"Since you are unchaste as

having resorted to three men, I shall not by approaching you incur

the guilt of adultery." When the king said this to Kalingasená, she

answered him, "I came to marry you, O king, but I was married by the

Vidyádhara Madanavega at his will, for he assumed your shape. And

he is my only husband, so why am I unchaste? But such are the

misfortunes even of ordinary women who desert their relations,

having their minds bewildered with the love of lawless roaming,

much more of princesses? And this is the fruit of my own folly in

sending a messenger to you, though I had been warned not to do so by

my friend, who had seen an evil omen. So if you touch me by force,

I will abandon life, for what woman of good family will injure her

husband? And to prove this I will tell you a tale--listen O king."

The story of king Indradatta.

There lived in old time in the land of Chedi a great king called

Indradatta, he founded for his glory a great temple at the holy

bathing-place of Pápasodhana, desiring the body of good reputation,

as he saw that our mortal body is perishable. And the king in the

ardour of his devotion was continually going to visit it, and all

kinds of people were continually coming there to bathe in the holy

water. Now, one day the king saw a merchant's wife, whose husband was

travelling in foreign parts, who had come there to bathe in the holy

water; she was steeped in the nectar of pure beauty, and adorned

with various charms, like a splendid moving palace of the god of

Love. She was embraced on both her feet by the radiance of the two

quivers of the five-arrowed god, [500] as if out of love, believing

that with her he would conquer the world. [501] The moment the king

saw her, she captivated his soul so entirely that, unable to restrain

himself, he found out her house and went there at night. And when he

solicited her, she said to him--"You are a protector of the helpless,

you ought not to touch another man's wife. And if you lay violent

hands on me, you will commit a great sin; and I will die immediately,

I will not endure disgrace." Though she said this to him, the king

still endeavoured to use force to her, whereupon her heart broke in a

moment through fear of losing her chastity. When the king saw that,

he was at once abashed, and went back by the way that he came, and

in a few days died out of remorse for that crime.

Having told this tale, Kalingasená bowed in timid modesty, and

again said to the king of Vatsa--"Therefore, king, set not your

heart on wickedness that would rob me of breath; since I have come

here, allow me to dwell here; if not, I will depart to some other

place." Then the king of Vatsa, who knew what was right, hearing

this from Kalingasená, after reflecting, desisted from his intention,

and said to her--"Princess, dwell here at will with this husband of

yours; I will not say anything to you, henceforth fear not." When

the king had said this, he returned of his own accord to his house,

and Madanavega, having heard the conversation, descended from heaven,

and said--"My beloved, you have done well, if you had not acted thus,

O fortunate one, good fortune would not have resulted, for I should

not have tolerated your conduct." When the Vidyádhara had said this,

he comforted her, and passed the night there, and continued going

to her house and returning again. And Kalingasená, having a king of

the Vidyádharas for her husband, remained there, blessed even in

her mortal state with the enjoyment of heavenly pleasures. As for

the king of Vatsa, he ceased to think about her, and remembering the

speech of his minister, he rejoiced, considering that he had saved

his queens and kingdom and also his son. And the queen Vásavadattá

and the minister Yaugandharáyana were at ease, having reaped the

fruit of the wishing-tree of policy.

Then, as days went on, Kalingasená had the lotus of her face a

little pale, and was pregnant, having longing produced in her. Her

lofty breasts, with extremities a little dark, appeared like

the treasure-vessels of Love, marked with his seal of joy. [502]

Then her husband Madanavega came to her and said, "Kalingasená, we

heavenly beings are subject to this law, that, when a mortal child

is conceived we must abandon it, and go afar. Did not Menaká leave

Sakuntalá in the hermitage of Kanva? And though you were formerly an

Apsaras, you have now, goddess, become a mortal by the curse of Siva,

inflicted on account of your disobedience. Thus it has come to pass

that, though chaste, you have incurred the reproach of unchastity;

so guard your offspring, I will go to my own place. And whenever

you think upon me, I will appear to you." Thus the prince of the

Vidyádharas spake to the weeping Kalingasená, and consoled her,

and gave her a heap of valuable jewels, and departed with his mind

fixed on her, drawn away by the law. Kalingasená, for her part,

remained there; supported by the hope of offspring as by a friend,

protected by the shade of the king of Vatsa's arm.

In the meanwhile the husband of Ambiká [503] gave the following

order to Rati, the wife of the god of Love, who had performed

penance in order to get back her husband with his body restored:

"That husband of thine who was formerly consumed, has been born in

the palace of the king of Vatsa, under the name of Naraváhanadatta,

conceived in a mortal womb on account of disrespect shewn to me. But

because thou hast propitiated me, thou shalt also be born in the world

of mortals, without being conceived in a mortal womb; and then thou

shalt be reunited to thy husband, once more possessing a body." Having

said this to Rati, Siva then gave this command to the Creator; [504]

"Kalingasená shall give birth to a son of divine origin. By thy power

of illusion thou shalt remove her son, and substitute in his place

this very Rati, who shall abandon her heavenly body, and be moulded

by thee in the form of a mortal maiden." The Creator, in obedience to

the order of Siva, [505] went down to earth, and when the appointed

time came, Kalingasená gave birth to a son. The Creator abstracted,

by his divine power of illusion, her son, the moment he was born,

and substituted Rati, whom he had turned into a girl, in his place,

without the change being detected. And all present there saw that girl

born, and she seemed like the streak of the new moon suddenly rising

in broad daylight, for she illuminated with her splendour the lying-in

chamber, and eclipsing the long row of flames of the jewel-lamps [506]

robbed them of lustre, and made them, as it were, abashed. Kalingasená,

when she saw that incomparable daughter born, in her delight made

greater rejoicing, than she would have made at the birth of a son.

Then the king of Vatsa, with his queen and his ministers, heard that

such a lovely daughter had been born to Kalingasená. And when the

king heard of it, he suddenly, under the impulsion of the god Siva,

said to the queen Vásavadattá, in the presence of Yaugandharáyana;

"I know, this Kalingasená is a heavenly nymph, who has fallen down to

earth in consequence of a curse, and this daughter born to her will

also be heavenly, and of wonderful beauty. So this girl, being equal

in beauty to my son Naraváhanadatta, ought to be his head-queen." When

the queen Vásavadattá heard that, she said to the king--"Great king,

why do you suddenly say this now? What similarity can there possibly

be between this son of yours, of pure descent by both lines, and the

daughter of Kalingasená, a girl whose mother is unchaste." When the

king heard that, he reflected, and said, "Truly, I do not say this

of myself, but some god seems to have entered into me, and to be

forcing me to speak. And I seem to hear a voice uttering these words

from heaven--'This daughter of Kalingasená is the appointed wife

of Naraváhanadatta.' Moreover, that Kalingasená is a faithful wife,

of good family; and her reproach of unchastity has arisen from the

influence of her actions in a former birth." When the king had said

this, the minister Yaugandharáyana spoke--"We hear, king, that when

the god of Love was consumed, Rati performed asceticism. And Siva

granted to Rati, who wished to recover her husband, the following boon:

'Thou shalt assume the condition of a mortal, and be reunited to thy

husband, who has been born with a body in the world of mortals.' Now,

your son has long ago been declared by a heavenly voice to be an

incarnation of Káma, and Rati by the order of Siva has to become

incarnate in mortal form. And the midwife said to me to-day--'I

inspected previously the fetus when contained in the uterus, and

then I saw one quite different from what has now appeared. Having

beheld this marvel I have come here to tell you.' This is what that

woman told me, and now this inspiration has come to you. So I am

persuaded that the gods have stolen the real child of Kalingasená

and substituted this daughter not born in the ordinary way, who is

no other than Rati, ordained beforehand to be the wife of your son,

who is an incarnation of Káma, O king. To illustrate this, hear the

following story concerning a Yaksha."

Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha.

The god of wealth had for servant a Yaksha, named Virúpáksha, who

had been appointed chief guardian of lacs of treasure. [507] And he

delegated a certain Yaksha to guard a treasure lying outside the town

of Mathurá, posted there like an immovable pillar of marble. And

once on a time a certain Bráhman, a votary of Pasupati, who made

it his business to exhume treasures, went there in search of hidden

wealth. While he was examining that place, with a candle made of human

fat in his hand, the candle fell from his grasp. By that sign he knew

that treasure was concealed there; and he attempted to dig it up with

the help of some other Bráhmans his friends. Then the Yaksha, who was

told off to guard that treasure, beholding that, came and related

the whole circumstance to Virúpáksha. And Virúpáksha in his wrath

gave the following command to the Yaksha--"Go and slay immediately

those mean treasure-hunters." Then the Yaksha went and slew by his

power those Bráhmans, who were digging for treasure, before they had

attained their object. Then the god of wealth came to hear of it, and

being angry he said to Virúpáksha, "Why did you, evil one, recklessly

order the slaughter of a Bráhman? What will not poor people, who are

struggling for a livelihood, [508] do out of desire for gain? But

they must be prevented by being terrified with various bug-bears,

they must not be slain." When the god of Wealth had said this, he

cursed that Virúpáksha as follows--"Be born as a mortal on account of

your wicked conduct." Then that Virúpáksha, smitten with the curse,

was born on the earth as the son of a certain Bráhman who lived on a

royal grant. Then the Yakshiní his wife implored the lord of wealth,

"O god, send me whither my husband has gone; be merciful to me,

for I cannot live without him." When the virtuous lady addressed

this prayer to him, Vaisravana said--"Thou shalt descend, without

being born, into the house of a female slave of that very Bráhman, in

whose house thy husband is born. There thou shalt be united to that

husband of thine, and by thy power he shall surmount his curse and

return to my service." In accordance with this decree of Vaisravana,

that virtuous wife became a mortal maiden, and fell at the door of

that Bráhman's female slave's house. And the slave suddenly saw that

maiden of marvellous beauty, and took her and exhibited her to her

master the Bráhman. And the Bráhman rejoiced, and said to the female

slave--"This is without doubt some heavenly maiden not born in the

ordinary way; so my soul tells me. Bring here this girl who has entered

your house, for, I think, she deserves to be my son's wife." Then in

course of time that girl and the son of the Bráhman, having grown

up, were smitten with ardent reciprocal affection at the sight of

one another. Then they were married by the Bráhman; and the couple,

though they did not remember their previous births, felt as if a long

separation had been brought to an end. Then at last the Yaksha died,

and as his wife burnt herself with his mortal body, his sins were

wiped away by her sufferings, and he regained his former rank.

"Thus, you see, heavenly beings, on account of certain causes, descend

from heaven to the earth, by the appointment of fate, and, because they

are free from sin, they are not born in the usual way. What does this

girl's family matter to you? So this daughter of Kalingasená is, as I

said, the wife appointed for your son by destiny." When Yaugandharáyana

had said this to the king of Vatsa and the queen Vásavadattá, they

both consented in their hearts that it should be so. Then the prime

minister returned to his house, and the king, in the company of his

wife, spent the day happily, in drinking and other enjoyments.

Then, as time went on, that daughter of Kalingasená, who had lost

her recollection of her former state through illusion, gradually

grew up, and her dower of beauty grew with her; and her mother and

her attendants gave her the name of Madanamanchuká, because she was

the daughter of Madanavega, saying, "Surely the beauty of all other

lovely women has fled to her; else how could they have become ugly

before her?" And the queen Vásavadattá, hearing she was beautiful,

one day had her brought into her presence out of curiosity. Then the

king and Yaugandharáyana and his fellows beheld her clinging to the

face of her nurse, as the candle-flame clings to the wick. And there

was no one present, who did not think that she was an incarnation

of Rati, when they beheld her matchless body, which was like nectar

to their eyes. And then the queen Vásavadattá brought there her son

Naraváhanadatta, who was a feast to the eyes of the world. He beheld,

with the lotus of his face expanded, the gleaming Madanamanchuká, as

the bed of water-lilies beholds the young splendour of the sun. The

girl gazed with dilated countenance upon that gladdener of the eyes,

and could not gaze enough, as the female partridge can never be sated

with gazing on the moon. Henceforth these two children could not

remain apart even for a moment, being, as it were, fastened together

with the nooses of glances.

But, in course of time, the king of Vatsa came to the conclusion

that that marriage was made in heaven, [509] and turned his mind

to the solemnization of the nuptials. When Kalingasená heard that,

she rejoiced, and fixed her affection upon Naraváhanadatta out

of love for her daughter's future husband. And then the king of

Vatsa, after deliberating with his ministers, had made for his son

a separate palace like his own. Then that king, who could discern

times and seasons, collected the necessary utensils, and anointed

his son as crown-prince, since it was apparent that he possessed all

praiseworthy qualities. First there fell on his head the water of his

father's tears, and then the water of holy bathing-places, purified by

Vaidik spells of mickle might. When the lotus of his face was washed

with the water of inauguration, wonderful to say, the faces of the

cardinal points became also clear. When his mothers threw on him the

flowers of the auspicious garlands, the heaven immediately shed a

rain of many celestial wreaths. As if in emulation of the thunder

of the drums of the gods, the echoes of the sound of the cymbals

of rejoicing floated in the air. Every one there bowed before him,

as soon as he was inaugurated as crown-prince; then by that alone he

was exalted, without his own power.

Then the king of Vatsa summoned the good sons of the ministers, who

were the playfellows of his son, and appointed them to their offices

as servants to the crown-prince. He appointed to the office of prime

minister Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyana, and then Harisikha the

son of Rumanvat to the office of commander-in-chief, and he appointed

Tapantaka the son of Vasantaka as the companion of his lighter hours,

and Gomukha the son of Ityaka to the duty of chamberlain and warder,

and to the office of domestic chaplains the two sons of Pingaliká,

Vaisvánara and Sántisoma, the nephews of the king's family priest. When

these men had been appointed by the king servants to his son, there

was heard from heaven a voice preceded by a rain of flowers: "These

ministers shall accomplish all things prosperously for the prince,

and Gomukha shall be his inseparable companion." When the heavenly

voice had said this, the delighted king of Vatsa honoured them all

with clothes and ornaments; and while that king was showering wealth

upon his dependents, none of them could claim the title of poor on

account of the accumulation of riches. And the city was filled with

dancing girls and minstrels, who seemed to be invited by the rows of

silken streamers fanned and agitated by the wind.

Then Kalingasená came to the feast of her future son-in-law, looking

like the Fortune of the Vidyádhara race which was to attend him,

present in bodily form. Then Vásavadattá and Padmávatí and she

danced, all three of them, for joy, like the three powers [510] of

a king united together. And all the trees there seemed to dance,

as their creepers waved in the wind, much more did the creatures

possessing sense.

Then the crown-prince Naraváhanadatta, having been inaugurated in

his office, ascended an elephant of victory, and went forth. And

he was sprinkled by the city wives with their upcast eyes, blue,

white and red, resembling offerings of blue lotuses, parched grain

and water-lilies. And after visiting the gods worshipped in that city,

being praised by heralds and minstrels, he entered his palace with his

ministers. Then Kalingasená gave him, to begin with, celestial viands

and drinks far exceeding what his own magnificence could supply, and

she presented to him and his ministers, friends and servants, beautiful

robes and heavenly ornaments, for she was overpowered with love for

her son-in-law. So the day passed in high festivity for all these,

the king of Vatsa and the others, charming as the taste of nectar.

Then the night arrived, and Kalingasená pondering over her daughter's

marriage, called to mind her friend Somaprabhá. No sooner had she

called to mind the daughter of the Asura Maya, than her husband,

the much-knowing Nadakúvara, thus addressed that noble lady, his

wife--"Dear one, Kalingasená is now thinking on thee with longing,

therefore go and make a heavenly garden for her daughter." Having said

this, and revealed the future and the past history of that maiden,

her husband dismissed that instant his wife Somaprabhá. And when she

arrived, her friend Kalingasená threw her arms around her neck, having

missed her so long, and Somaprabhá, after asking after her health,

said to her--"You have been married by a Vidyádhara of great power,

and your daughter is an incarnation of Rati by the favour of Siva, and

she has been brought into the world as the wife, in a previous state

of existence, of an incarnation of Love, that has taken his birth from

the king of Vatsa. He shall be emperor of the Vidyádharas for a kalpa

of the gods; and she shall be honoured above his other wives. But

you have descended into this world, being an Apsaras degraded by the

curse of Indra, and after you have brought your duties to completion,

you shall obtain deliverance from your curse. All this was told me,

my friend, by my wise husband, so you must not be anxious; you will

enjoy every prosperity. And I will now make here for your daughter

a heavenly garden, the like of which does not exist on earth,

in heaven, or in the nether regions." Having said this, Somaprabhá

made a heavenly garden by her magic power, and taking leave of the

regretful Kalingasená, she departed. Then, at the dawn of day, people

beheld that garden, looking like the garden of Nandana suddenly fallen

down from heaven to earth. Then the king of Vatsa heard of it, and

came there with his wives and his ministers, and Naraváhanadatta with

his companions. And they beheld that garden, the trees of which bore

both flowers and fruits all the year round, [511] with many jewelled

pillars, walls, lawns, and tanks; with birds of the colour of gold,

with heavenly perfumed breezes, like a second Svarga descended to

earth from the region of the gods. The lord of Vatsa, when he saw that

wonderful sight, asked Kalingasená, who was intent on hospitality,

what it was. And she thus answered the king in the hearing of all:

"There is a great Asura, Maya by name, an incarnation of Visvakarman,

who made the assembly-hall of Yudhishthira, and the city of Indra:

he has a daughter, Somaprabhá by name, who is a friend of mine. She

came here at night to visit me, and out of love made this heavenly

garden by her magic power, for the sake of my daughter." After saying

this, she told all the past and future fortunes of her daughter,

which Somaprabhá had revealed to her, letting the king know that

she had heard them from her friend. Then all there, perceiving that

the speech of Kalingasená tallied with what they previously knew,

dismissed their doubts and were exceedingly delighted. And the king

of Vatsa, with his wives and his son, spent that day in the garden,

being hospitably entertained by Kalingasená.

The next day, the king went to visit a god in a temple, and he saw

many women well-clothed and with beautiful ornaments. And when he

asked them who they were, they said to him--"We are the sciences,

and these are the accomplishments; and we are come here on account of

your son: we shall now go and enter into him." Having said this they

disappeared, and the king of Vatsa entered his house astonished. There

he told it to the queen Vásavadattá and to the circle of his ministers,

and they rejoiced at that favour of the deity. Then Vásavadattá, by

the direction of the king, took up a lyre as soon as Naraváhanadatta

entered the room. And while his mother was playing, Naraváhanadatta

said modestly to her, "This lyre is out of tune." His father said,

"Take it, and play on it," whereupon he played upon the lyre so as to

astonish even the Gandharvas. When he was thus tested by his father

in all the sciences and the accomplishments, he became endowed with

them all, and of himself knew all knowledge. When the king of Vatsa

beheld his son endowed with all talents, he taught Madanamanchuká,

the daughter of Kalingasená, dancing. As fast as she became perfect

in accomplishments, [512] the heart of the prince Naraváhanadatta was

disturbed. So the sea is disturbed, as fast as the orb of the moon

rounds off its digits. And he delighted in beholding her singing and

dancing, accomplished in all the gestures of the body, so that she

seemed to be reciting the decrees of Love. As for her, if she did not

see for a moment that nectar-like lover, the tears rose to her eyes,

and she was like a bed of white lotuses, wet with dew at the hour

of dawn. [513] And Naraváhanadatta, being unable to live without

continually beholding her face, came to that garden of hers. There

he remained, and Kalingasená out of affection did all she could to

please him, bringing her daughter to him. And Gomukha, who saw into

his master's heart, and wished to bring about his long stay there,

used to tell various tales to Kalingasená. The king was delighted by

his friend's penetrating his intentions, for seeing into one's lord's

soul is the surest way of winning him. And Naraváhanadatta himself

perfected Madanamanchuká in dancing and other accomplishments, giving

her lessons in a concert-hall that stood in the garden, and while his

beloved danced, he played on all instruments so as to put to the blush

the most skilful minstrels. And he conquered also various professors

that came from all quarters, and were skilful in managing elephants,

horses, and chariots, in the use of hand-to-hand and missile weapons,

in painting and modelling. [514] In these amusements passed during

childhood the days of Naraváhanadatta, who was the chosen bridegroom

of Science.

Now, once on a time the prince, with his ministers, and accompanied by

his beloved, went on a pilgrimage to a garden called Nágavana. There a

certain merchant's wife fell in love with Gomukha, and being repulsed,

tried to kill him by offering to him a poisoned drink. But Gomukha

came to hear of it from the lips of her confidante, and did not take

that drink, but broke out into the following denunciation of women:

"Alas! the Creator first created recklessness, and then women in

imitation of it; by nature nothing is too bad for them to do. Surely

this being they call woman, is created of nectar and poison, for,

when she is attached to one, she is nectar, and when estranged she

is indeed poison. Who can see through a woman, with loving face

secretly planning crime? A wicked woman is like a lotus-bed with

its flowers expanded, and an alligator concealed in it. But now and

then there falls from heaven, urging on a host of virtues, a good

woman that brings praise to her husband, like the pure light of the

sun. But another, of evil augury, attached to strangers, not free

from inordinate desires, wicked, bearing the poison of aversion,

[515] slays her husband like a female snake."

Story of Satrughna and his wicked wife.

For instance, in a certain village there was a certain man named

Satrughna, and his wife was unchaste. He once saw in the evening his

wife in the society of her lover, and he slew that lover of hers,

when he was in the house, with the sword. And he remained at the door

waiting for the night, keeping his wife inside, and at night-fall

a traveller came there to ask for a lodging. He gave him refuge,

and artfully carried away with his help the corpse of that adulterer

at night, and went with it to the forest. And there, while he was

throwing that corpse into a well, the mouth of which was overgrown

with plants, his wife came behind him, and pushed him in also.

"What reckless crime of this kind will not a wicked wife commit?" In

these words Gomukha, though still a boy, denounced the conduct

of women.

Then Naraváhanadatta himself worshipped the snakes in that grove of

snakes, [516] and went back to his palace with his retinue.

While he was there, he desired one day to prove his ministers, Gomukha

and the others, so he asked them, though he himself knew it well, for

a summary of the policy of princes. They consulted among themselves,

and said--"You know all things, nevertheless we will tell you this,

now that you ask us," and so they proceeded to relate the cream of

political science.

"A king should first tame and mount the horses of the senses,

and should conquer those internal foes, love, anger, avarice and

delusion, and should subdue himself as a preparation for subduing

other enemies, for how can a man, who has not conquered himself,

being helpless, conquer others? Then he should procure ministers,

who, among other good qualities, possess that of being natives of his

own country, and a skilful family priest, knowing the Atharva Veda,

gifted with asceticism. He should test his ministers with respect to

fear, avarice, virtue and passion, by ingenious artifices, and then he

should appoint them to appropriate duties, discerning their hearts. He

should try their speech, when they are deliberating with one another

on affairs, to see if it is truthful, or inspired by malice, spoken

out of affection, or connected with selfish objects. He should be

pleased with truth, but should punish untruth as it deserves, and

he should continually inquire into the conduct of each of them by

means of spies. Thus he should look at business with unhooded eye,

and by rooting up opponents, [517] and acquiring a treasure, a force,

and the other means of success, should establish himself firmly

on the throne. Then, equipped with the three powers of courage,

kingly authority, and counsel, he should be eager to conquer the

territory of others, considering the difference between the power

of himself and his foe. He should continually take counsel with

advisers, who should be trusty, learned and wise, and should correct

with his own intellect the policy determined on by them, in all its

details. Being versed in the means of success, [518] (conciliation,

bribery and the others,) he should attain for himself security,

and he should then employ the six proper courses, of which alliance

and war are the chief. [519] Thus a king acquires prosperity, and as

long as he carefully considers his own realm and that of his rival,

he is victorious but never vanquished. But an ignorant monarch, blind

with passion and avarice, is plundered by wicked servants, who shew

him the wrong path, and leading him astray, fling him into pits. On

account of these rogues a servant of another kind is never admitted

into the presence of the king, as a husbandman cannot get at a crop of

rice enclosed with a palisade. For he is enslaved by those faithless

servants, who penetrate into his secrets; and consequently Fortune

in disgust flies from him, because he does not know the difference

between man and man. Therefore a king should conquer himself, should

inflict due chastisement, and know the difference of men's characters,

for in this way he will acquire his subjects' love and become thereby

a vessel of prosperity."

Story of king Súrasena and his ministers.

In old time a king named Súrasena, who relied implicitly upon his

servants, was enslaved and plundered by his ministers, who had formed

a coalition. Whoever was a faithful servant to the king, the ministers

would not give even a straw to, though the king wished to bestow a

reward upon him; but if any man was a faithful servant to them, they

themselves gave him presents, and by their representations induced

the king to give to him, though he was undeserving. When the king

saw that, he gradually came to be aware of that coalition of rogues,

and set those ministers at variance with one another by a clever

artifice. When they were estranged, and the clique was broken up,

and they began to inform against one another, the king ruled the

realm successfully, without being deceived by others.

Story of Harisinha.

And there was a king named Harisinha, of ordinary power but versed in

the true science of policy, who had surrounded himself with devoted

and wise ministers, possessed forts, and stores of wealth; he made

his subjects devoted to him and conducted himself in such a way that,

though attacked by an emperor, he was not defeated.

"Thus discernment and reflection are the main things in governing a

kingdom; what is of more importance?" Having said this, each taking

his part, Gomukha and his fellows ceased. Naraváhanadatta, approving

that speech of theirs, though he knew that heroic action is to be

thought upon, [520] still placed his reliance upon destiny whose

power surpasses all thought.

Then he rose up, and his ardour being kindled by delay, he went with

them to visit his beloved Madanamanchuká; when he had reached her

palace and was seated on a throne, Kalingasená, after performing the

usual courtesies, said with astonishment to Gomukha, [521] "Before

the prince Naraváhanadatta arrived, Madanamanchuká, being impatient,

went up to the top of the palace to watch him coming, accompanied by

me, and while we were there, a man descended from heaven upon it,

he was of divine appearance, wore a tiara, and a sword, and said

to me 'I am a king, a lord of the Vidyádharas named Mánasavega,

and you are a heavenly nymph named Surabhidattá who by a curse have

fallen down to earth, and this your daughter is of heavenly origin,

this is known to me well. So give me this daughter of yours in

marriage, for the connexion is a suitable one.' When he said this,

I suddenly burst out laughing, and said to him, 'Naraváhanadatta has

been appointed her husband by the gods, and he is to be the emperor

of all you Vidyádharas.' When I said this to him, the Vidyádhara

flew up into the sky, like a sudden streak of lightning dazzling

the eyes of my daughter." When Gomukha heard that, he said, "The

Vidyádharas found out that the prince was to be their future lord,

from a speech in the air, by which the future birth of the prince

was made known to the king in private, and they immediately desired

to do him a mischief. What self-willed one would desire a mighty

lord as his ruler and restrainer? For which reason Siva has made

arrangements to ensure the safety of this prince, by commissioning

his attendants to wait on him in actual presence. I heard this speech

of Nárada's being related by my father. So it comes to pass that the

Vidyádharas are now hostile to us." When Kalingasená heard this,

she was terrified at the thought of what had happened to herself,

and said, "Why does not the prince marry Madanamanchuká now, before

she is deceived, like me, by delusion?" When Gomukha and the others

heard this from Kalingasená, they said, "Do you stir up the king of

Vatsa to this business." Then Naraváhanadatta, with his heart fixed on

Madanamanchuká only, amused himself by looking at her in the garden

all that day, with her face like a full-blown lotus, with her eyes

like opening blue water-lilies, with lips lovely as the bandhúka,

with breasts like clusters of mandáras, with body delicate as the

sirísha, like a matchless arrow, composed of five flowers, appointed

by the god of love for the conquest of the world.

The next day Kalingasená went in person, and proffered her petition to

the king for the marriage of her daughter. The king of Vatsa dismissed

her, and summoning his ministers, said to them in the presence of

the queen Vásavadattá, "Kalingasená is impatient for the marriage of

her daughter: so how are we to manage it, for the people think that

that excellent woman is unchaste? And we must certainly consider the

people: did not Rámabhadra long ago desert queen Sítá, though she

was chaste, on account of the slander of the multitude? Was not Ambá,

though carried off with great effort by Bhíshma for the sake of his

brother, reluctantly abandoned, because she had previously chosen

another husband? In the same way this Kalingasená, after spontaneously

choosing me, was married by Madanavega; for this reason the people

blame her. Therefore let this Naraváhanadatta himself marry by the

Gándharva ceremony her daughter, who will be a suitable wife for

him." When the king of Vatsa said this, Yaugandharáyana answered,

"My lord, how could Kalingasená consent to this impropriety? For I

have often observed that she, as well as her daughter, is a divine

being, no ordinary woman, and this was told me by my wise friend the

Bráhman-Rákshasa." While they were debating with one another in this

style, the voice of Siva was heard from heaven to the following effect:

"The god of love, after having been consumed by the fire of my eye,

has been created again in the form of Naraváhanadatta, and having been

pleased with the asceticism of Rati I have created her as his wife in

the form of Madanamanchuká. And dwelling with her, as his head-wife,

he shall exercise supreme sovereignty over the Vidyádharas for a kalpa

of the gods, after conquering his enemies by my favour." After saying

this the voice ceased.

When he heard this speech of the adorable Siva, the king of Vatsa,

with his retinue, worshipped him, and joyfully made up his mind to

celebrate the marriage of his son. Then the king congratulated his

prime minister, who had before discerned the truth, and summoned the

astrologers, and asked them what would be a favourable moment, and

they, after being honoured with presents, told him that a favourable

moment would arrive within a few days. Again those astrologers

said to him--"Your son will have to endure some separation for a

short season from this wife of his; this we know, O lord of Vatsa,

by our own scientific foresight." Then the king proceeded to make the

requisite preparations for the marriage of his son, in a style suited

to his own magnificence, so that not only his own city, but the whole

earth was made to tremble with the effort of it. Then, the day of

marriage having arrived, Kalingasená adorned her daughter, to whom

her father had sent his own heavenly ornaments, and Somaprabhá came

in obedience to her husband's order. Then Madanamanchuká, adorned

with a heavenly marriage thread, looked still more lovely; is not

the moon truly beautiful, when accompanied by Kártika? And heavenly

nymphs, by the order of Siva, sang auspicious strains in her honour:

they were eclipsed by her beauty and remained hidden as if ashamed,

but the sound of their songs was heard. They sang the following hymn

in honour of Gaurí, blended with the minstrelsy of the matchless

musicians of heaven, so as to make unequalled harmony--"Victory to

thee, O daughter of the mountain, that hast mercy on thy faithful

votaries, for thou hast thyself come to-day and blessed with success

the asceticism of Rati." Then Naraváhanadatta, resplendent with

excellent marriage-thread, entered the wedding-pavilion full of various

musical instruments. And the bride and bridegroom, after accomplishing

the auspicious ceremony of marriage, with intent care, so that no rite

was left out, ascended the altar-platform where a fire was burning,

as if ascending the pure flame of jewels on the heads of kings. If the

moon and the sun were to revolve at the same time round the mountain

of gold, [522] there would be an exact representation in the world

of the appearance of those two, the bride and the bridegroom, when

circumambulating the fire, keeping it on their right. Not only did

the drums of the gods in the air drown the cymbal-clang in honour of

the marriage festival, but the rain of flowers sent down by the gods

overwhelmed the gilt grain thrown by the women. Then also the generous

Kalingasená honoured her son-in-law with heaps of gold studded with

jewels, so that the lord of Alaká was considered very poor compared

with him, and much more so all miserable earthly monarchs. And then

the bride and bridegroom, now that the delightful ceremony of marriage

was accomplished in accordance with their long-cherished wishes,

entered the inner apartments crowded with women, adorned with pure and

variegated decoration, even as they penetrated the heart of the people

full of pure and various loyalty. Moreover, the city of the king of

Vatsa was quickly filled with kings, surrounded with splendid armies,

who, though their valour was worthy of the world's admiration, had

bent in submission, bringing in their hands valuable jewels by way of

presents, as if with subject seas. [523] On that high day of festival,

the king distributed gold with such magnificence to his dependants,

that the children in their mothers' wombs were at any rate the only

beings in his kingdom not made of gold. [524] Then on account of the

troops of excellent minstrels and dancing girls, that came from all

quarters of the world, with hymns, music, dances and songs on all

sides, the world seemed full of harmony. And at that festival the

city of Kausámbí seemed itself to be dancing, for the pennons agitated

by the wind seemed like twining arms, and it was beautified with the

toilettes of the city matrons, as if with ornaments. And thus waxing

in mirth every day, that great festival continued for a long time,

and all friends, relations and people generally were delighted by it,

and had their wishes marvellously fulfilled. And that crown-prince

Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Madanamanchuká, enjoyed, though intent

on glory, the long-desired pleasures of this world.

BOOK VII.

CHAPTER XXXV.

May the head of Siva, studded with the nails of Gaurí engaged in

playfully pulling his hair, and so appearing rich in many moons,

[525] procure you prosperity.

May the god of the elephant face, [526] who, stretching forth his

trunk wet with streaming ichor, curved at the extremity, seems to be

bestowing successes, protect you.

Thus the young son of the king of Vatsa, having married in Kausámbí

Madanamanchuká, whom he loved as his life, remained living as he chose,

with his ministers Gomukha and others, having obtained his wish.

And once on a time, when the feast of spring had arrived, adorned

with the gushing notes of love-intoxicated cuckoos, in which the

wind from the Malaya mountain set in motion by force the dance of the

creepers,--the feast of spring delightful with the hum of bees, the

prince went to the garden with his ministers to amuse himself. After

roaming about there, his friend Tapantaka suddenly came with his

eyes expanded with delight, and stepping up to him, said--"Prince,

I have seen not far from here a wonderful maiden, who has descended

from heaven and is standing under an asoka-tree, and that very maiden,

who illumines the regions with her beauty, advancing towards me with

her friends, sent me here to summon you." When Naraváhanadatta heard

that, being eager to see her, he went quickly with his ministers to

the foot of the tree. He beheld there that fair one, with her rolling

eyes like bees, with her lips red like shoots, beautiful with breasts

firm as clusters, having her body yellow with the dust of flowers,

removing fatigue by her loveliness, [527] like the goddess of the

garden appearing in a visible shape suited to her deity. And the prince

approached the heavenly maiden, who bowed before him, and welcomed

her, for his eyes were ravished with her beauty. Then his minister

Gomukha, after all had sat down, asked her, "Who are you, auspicious

one, and for what reason have you come here?" When she heard that,

she laid aside her modesty in obedience to the irresistible decree

of Love, and frequently stealing sidelong glances at the lotus of

Naraváhanadatta's face with an eye that shed matchless affection,

she began thus at length to relate her own history.

Story of Ratnaprabhá.

There is a mountain-chain called Himavat, famous in the three worlds;

it has many peaks, but one of its peaks is the mount of Siva which

is garlanded with the brightness of glittering jewels, and flashes

with gleaming snow, and like the expanse of the heaven, cannot be

measured. Its plateaux are the home of magic powers and of magic

herbs, which dispel old age, death, and fear, and are to be obtained

by the favour of Siva. With its peaks yellow with the brightness of

the bodies of many Vidyádharas, it transcends the glory of the peaks

of Sumeru itself, the mighty hill of the immortals.

On it there is a golden city called Kánchanasringa, which gleams

refulgent with brightness, like the palace of the Sun. It extends

many yojanas, and in it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas named

Hemaprabha, who is a firm votary of the husband of Umá. And though he

has many wives, he has only one queen, whom he loves dearly, named

Alankáraprabhá, as dear to him as Rohiní to the moon. With her the

virtuous king used to rise up in the morning and bathe, and worship

duly Siva and his wife Gaurí, and then he would descend to the world

of men, and give to poor Bráhmans every day a thousand gold-pieces

mixed with jewels. And then he returned from earth and attended

to his kingly duties justly, and then he ate and drank, abiding by

his vow like a hermit. While days elapsed in this way, melancholy

arose once in the bosom of the king, caused by his childlessness, but

suggested by a passing occasion. And his beloved queen Alankáraprabhá,

seeing that he was in very low spirits, asked him the cause of his

sadness. Then the king said to her--"I have all prosperity, but the

one grief of childlessness afflicts me, O queen. And this melancholy

has arisen in my breast on the occasion of calling to mind a tale,

which I heard long ago, of a virtuous man who had no son." Then the

queen said to him, "Of what nature was that tale?" When asked this

question, the king told her the tale briefly in the following words:

Story of Sattvasíla and the two treasures.

In the town of Chitrakúta there was a king named Bráhmanavara, rightly

named, for he was devoted to honouring Bráhmans. He had a victorious

servant named Sattvasíla who devoted himself exclusively to war,

and every month Sattvasíla received a hundred gold-pieces from that

king. But as he was munificent, that gold was not enough for him,

especially as his childlessness made the pleasure of giving the

sole pleasure to which he was addicted. Sattvasíla was continually

reflecting--"The Disposer has not given me a son to gladden me, but he

has given me the vice of generosity, and that too without wealth. It is

better to be produced in the world as an old barren tree or a stone,

than as a poor man altogether abandoned to the vice of giving away

money." But once on a time Sattvasíla, while wandering in a garden,

happened by luck to find a treasure: and with the help of his servants

he quickly brought home that hoard, which gleamed with much gold and

glittered with priceless stones. Out of that he provided himself

with pleasures, and gave wealth to Bráhmans, slaves, and friends,

and thus the virtuous man spent his life. Meanwhile his relations,

beholding this, guessed the secret, and went to the king's palace,

and of their own accord informed the king that Sattvasíla had found

a treasure. Then Sattvasíla was summoned by the king, and by order

of the door-keeper remained standing for a moment in a lonely part

of the king's courtyard. There, as he was scratching the earth with

the hilt of a lílávajra, [528] that was in his hand, he found another

large treasure in a copper vessel. It appeared like his own heart,

displayed openly for him by Destiny pleased with his virtue, in order

that he might propitiate the king with it. So he covered it up again

with earth as it was before, and when summoned by the door-keeper,

entered the king's presence. When he had made his bow there, the king

himself said, "I have come to learn that you have obtained a treasure,

so surrender it to me." And Sattvasíla for his part answered him then

and there, "O king, tell me: shall I give you the first treasure I

found, or the one I found to-day." The king said to him--"Give the

one recently found." And thereupon Sattvasíla went to a corner of

the king's courtyard, and gave him up the treasure. Then the king,

being pleased with the treasure, dismissed Sattvasíla with these

words--"Enjoy the first-found treasure as you please." So Sattvasíla

returned to his house. There he remained increasing the propriety of

his name with gifts and enjoyments, and so managing to dispel somehow

or other the melancholy caused by the affliction of childlessness.

"Such is the story of Sattvasíla, which I heard long ago, and because

I have recalled it to mind, I remain sorrowful through thinking over

the fact that I have no son." When the queen Alankáraprabhá was thus

addressed by her husband Hemaprabha, the king of the Vidyádharas, she

answered him, "It is true: Fortune does assist the brave in this way;

did not Sattvasíla, when in difficulties, obtain a second treasure? So

you too will obtain your desire by the power of your courage, as an

example of the truth of this, hear the story of Vikramatunga."

Story of the brave king Vikramatunga.

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

with various beautiful jewels, the colours of which are so disposed as

to form a perfect scale of colour. In that city there dwelt long ago

a brave king, named Vikramatunga, who in giving [529] never turned

his back on a suppliant, nor in fighting on an enemy. That king one

day entered the forest to hunt, and saw there a Bráhman offering a

sacrifice with vilva [530] fruits. When he saw him, he was desirous

to question him, but avoided going near him, and went off to a great

distance with his army in his ardour for the chase. For a long time

he sported with deer and lions, that rose up and fell slain by his

hand, as if with foes, and then he returned and beheld the Bráhman

still intent on his sacrifice as before, and going up to him he

bowed before him, and asked him his name and the advantage he hoped

to derive from offering the vilva fruits. Then the Bráhman blessed

the king and said to him, "I am a Bráhman named Nágasarman, and bear

the fruit I hope from my sacrifice. When the god of Fire is pleased

with this vilva sacrifice, then vilva fruits of gold will come out

of the fire-cavity. Then the god of Fire will appear in bodily form

and grant me a boon; and so I have spent much time in offering vilva

fruits. But so little is my merit that even now the god of Fire is not

propitiated." When he said this, that king of resolute valour answered

him--"Then give me one vilva fruit that I may offer it, and I will

to-day, O Bráhman, render the god of Fire propitious to you." Then

the Bráhman said to the king, "How will you, unchastened and impure,

propitiate that god of Fire, who is not satisfied with me, who remain

thus faithful to my vow, and am chastened?" When the Bráhman said this

to him, the king said to him again, "Never mind, give me a vilva fruit,

and in a moment you shall behold a wonder." Then the Bráhman, full

of curiosity, gave a vilva fruit to the king, and he then and there

meditated with soul of firm valour--"If thou art not satisfied with

this vilva fruit, O god of Fire, then I will offer thee my own head,"

and thereupon offered the fruit. And the seven-rayed god appeared from

the sacrificial cavity, bringing the king a golden vilva fruit as the

fruit of his tree of valour. And the Fire-god, present in visible form,

said to that king--"I am pleased with thy courage, so receive a boon,

O king." When the magnanimous king heard that, he bowed before him and

said--"Grant this Bráhman his wish. What other boon do I require?" On

hearing this speech of the king's, the Fire-god was much pleased and

said to him--"O king, this Bráhman shall become a great lord of wealth,

and thou also by my favour shalt have the prosperity of thy treasury

ever undiminished." When the Fire-god had, in these words, bestowed

the boon, the Bráhman asked him this question; "Thou hast appeared

swiftly to a king that acts according to his own will, but not to me

that am under vows: why is this, O revered one?" Then the Fire-god,

the giver of boons, answered--"If I had not granted him an interview,

this king of fierce courage would have offered his head in sacrifice to

me. In this world successes quickly befall those of fierce spirit, but

they come slowly, O Bráhman, to those of dull spirit like thee." Thus

spake the god of Fire, and vanished, and the Bráhman Nágasarman took

leave of the king and in course of time became very rich. But the

king Vikramatunga, whose courage had been thus seen by his dependents,

returned amid their plaudits to his town of Pátaliputra.

When the king was dwelling there, the warder Satrunjaya entered

suddenly one day, and said secretly to him; "There is standing at

the door, O king, a Bráhman lad, who says his name is Dattasarman,

he wishes to make a representation to you in private." The king gave

the order to introduce him, and the lad was introduced, and after

blessing the king, he bowed before him, and sat down. And he made

this representation--"King, by a certain device of powder I know

how to make always excellent gold out of copper. For that device was

shewn me by my spiritual teacher, and I saw with my own eyes that he

made gold by that device." When the lad said this, the king ordered

copper to be brought, and when it was melted, the lad threw the powder

upon it. But while the powder was being thrown, an invisible Yaksha

carried it off, and the king alone saw him, having propitiated the

god of Fire. And that copper did not turn into gold, as the powder

did not reach it; thrice did the lad make the attempt and thrice his

labour was in vain. Then the king, first of brave men, took the powder

from the desponding lad, and himself threw it on the melted copper;

when he threw the powder, the Yaksha did not intercept it, but went

away smiling. Accordingly the copper became gold by contact with that

powder. Then the boy, astonished, asked the king for an explanation,

and the king told him the incident of the Yaksha, just as he had seen

it. And having learned in this way the device of the powder from that

lad, the king made him marry a wife, and gave him all he wished, and

having his treasury prosperously filled by means of the gold produced

by that device, he himself enjoyed great happiness together with his

wives, and made Bráhmans rich.

"Thus you see that the Lord grants their desires to men of fierce

courage, seeming to be either terrified or pleased by them. And who,

O king, is of more firm valour or more generous than you? So Siva, when

propitiated by you, will certainly give you a son; do not sorrow." The

king Hemaprabha, when he heard this noble speech from the mouth of

queen Alankáraprabhá, believed it and was pleased. And he considered

that his own heart, radiant with cheerfulness, indicated that he would

certainly obtain a son by propitiating Siva. The next day after this,

he and his wife bathed and worshipped Siva, and he gave 90 millions of

gold-pieces to the Bráhmans, and without taking food he went through

ascetic practices in front of Siva, determined that he would either

leave the body or propitiate the god, and continuing in asceticism,

he praised the giver of boons, the husband of the daughter of the

mountain, [531] that lightly gave away the sea of milk to his votary

Upamanyu, saying, "Honour to thee, O husband of Gaurí, who art the

cause of the creation, preservation, and destruction of the world,

who dost assume the eight special forms of ether and the rest. [532]

Honour to thee, who sleepest on the ever-expanded lotus of the heart,

that art Sambhu, the swan dwelling in the pure Mánasa lake. [533]

Honour to thee, the exceeding marvellous Moon, of divine brightness,

pure, of watery substance, to be beheld by those whose sins are

put away; to thee whose beloved is half thy body, [534] and who

nevertheless art supremely chaste. Honour to thee who didst create

the world by a wish, and art thyself the world."

When the king had praised Siva in these words and fasted for three

nights, the god appeared to him in a dream, and spake as follows:

"Rise up, O king, there shall be born to thee a heroic son that

shall uphold thy race. And thou shalt also obtain by the favour of

Gaurí, a glorious daughter who is destined to be the queen of that

treasure-house of glory, Naraváhanadatta, your future emperor." When

Siva had said this, he disappeared, and Hemaprabha woke up, delighted,

at the close of night. And by telling his dream he gladdened his

wife Alankáraprabhá, who had been told the same by Gaurí in a dream,

and dwelt on the agreement of the two visions. And then the king rose

up and bathed and worshipped Siva, and after giving gifts, broke his

fast, and kept high festival.

Then, after some days had passed, the queen Alankáraprabhá became

pregnant by that king, and delighted her beloved by her face redolent

of honey, with wildly rolling eyes, so that it resembled a pale lotus

with bees hovering round it. Then she gave birth in due time to a son,

(whose noble lineage was proclaimed by the elevated longings of her

pregnancy,) as the sky gives birth to the orb of day. As soon as he

was born, the lying-in chamber was illuminated by his might, and

so was made red as vermilion. And his father gave to that infant,

that brought terror to the families of his enemies, the name of

Vajraprabha, that had been appointed for him by a divine voice. Then

the boy grew by degrees, being filled with accomplishments, and causing

the exultation of his family, as the new moon fills out with digits,

[535] and causes the sea to rise.

Then, not long after, the queen of that king Hemaprabha again became

pregnant. And when she was pregnant, she sat upon a golden throne,

and became truly the jewel of the harem, adding special lustre to

her settings. And in a chariot, in the shape of a beautiful lotus,

manufactured by help of magic science, she roamed about in the sky,

since her pregnant longings assumed that form. But when the due

time came, a daughter was born to that queen, whose birth by the

favour of Gaurí was a sufficient guarantee of her loveliness. And

this voice was then heard from heaven--"She shall be the wife of

Naraváhanadatta"--which agreed with the words of Siva's revelation. And

the king was just as much delighted at her birth as he was at that

of his son, and gave her the name of Ratnaprabhá. And Ratnaprabhá,

adorned with her own science, grew up in the house of her father,

producing illumination in all the quarters of the sky. Then the king

made his son Vajraprabha, who had begun to wear armour, take a wife,

and appointed him crown-prince. And he devolved on him the burden of

the kingdom and remained at ease; but still one anxiety lingered in

his heart, anxiety about the marriage of his daughter.

One day the king beheld that daughter, who was fit to be given away

in marriage, sitting near him, and said to the queen Alankáraprabhá,

who was in his presence; "Observe, queen, a daughter is a great misery

in the three worlds, even though she is the ornament of her family,

a misery, alas! even to the great. For this Ratnaprabhá, though

modest, learned, young and beautiful, afflicts me because she has not

obtained a husband." The queen said to him--"She was proclaimed by the

gods as the destined wife of Naraváhanadatta, our future emperor,

why is she not given to him?" When the queen said this to him,

the king answered: "In truth the maiden is fortunate, that shall

obtain him for a bridegroom. For he is an incarnation of Káma upon

earth, but he has not as yet attained his divine nature: therefore

I am now waiting for his attainment of superhuman knowledge." [536]

While he was thus speaking, Ratnaprabhá, by means of those accents of

her father, which entered her ear like the words of the bewildering

spell of the god of love, became as if bewildered, as if possessed,

as if asleep, as if in a picture, and her heart was captivated by

that bridegroom. Then with difficulty she took a respectful leave

of her parents, and went to her own private apartments, and managed

at length to get to sleep at the end of the night. Then the goddess

Gaurí, being full of pity for her, gave her this command in a dream;

"To-morrow, my daughter, is an auspicious day; so thou must go to the

city of Kausámbí and see thy future husband, and thence thy father,

O auspicious one, will himself bring thee and him into this his city,

and celebrate your marriage." So in the morning, when she woke up,

she told that dream to her mother. Then her mother gave her leave to

go, and she, knowing by her superhuman knowledge that her bridegroom

was in the garden, set out from her own city to visit him.

"Thou knowest, O my husband, that I am that Ratnaprabhá, arrived to-day

in a moment, full of impatience, and you all know the sequel." When

he heard this speech of hers, that in sweetness exceeded nectar,

and beheld the body of the Vidyádharí that was ambrosia to the

eyes, Naraváhanadatta in his heart blamed the Creator, saying to

himself--"Why did he not make me all eye and ear?" And he said to

her--"Fortunate am I; my birth and life has obtained its fruit,

in that I, O beautiful one, have been thus visited by thee out of

affection!" When they had thus exchanged the protestations of new

love, suddenly the army of the Vidyádharas was beheld there in the

heaven. Ratnaprabhá said immediately, "Here is my father come," and

the king Hemaprabha descended from heaven with his son. And with his

son Vajraprabha he approached that Naraváhanadatta, who gave him a

courteous welcome. And while they stood for a moment paying one another

the customary compliments, the king of Vatsa, who had heard of it,

came with his ministers. And then that Hemaprabha told the king,

after he had performed towards him the rites of hospitality, the

whole story exactly as it had been related by Ratnaprabhá, and said,

"I knew by the power of my supernatural knowledge that my daughter had

come here, and I am aware of all that has happened in this place. [537]

For he will afterwards possess such an imperial chariot. Pray consent,

and then thou shalt behold in a short time thy son, the prince,

returned here, united to his wife Ratnaprabhá." After he had addressed

this prayer to the king of Vatsa, and he had consented to his wish,

that Hemaprabha, with his son, prepared that chariot by his own magic

skill, and made Naraváhanadatta ascend it, together with Ratnaprabhá,

whose face was cast down from modesty, followed by Gomukha and the

others, and Yaugandharáyana, who was also deputed to accompany him

by his father, and thus Hemaprabha took him to his own capital,

Kánchanasringaka.

And Naraváhanadatta, when he reached that city of his father-in-law,

saw that it was all of gold, gleaming with golden ramparts, embraced,

as it were, on all sides with rays issuing out like shoots, and

so stretching forth innumerable arms in eagerness of love for

that son-in-law. There the king Hemaprabha, of high emprise, gave

Ratnaprabhá with due ceremonies to him, as the sea gave Lakshmí to

Vishnu. And he gave him glittering heaps of jewels, gleaming like

innumerable wedding fires lighted. [538] And in the city of that

festive prince, who was showering wealth, even the houses, being draped

with flags, appeared as if they had received changes of raiment. And

Naraváhanadatta, having performed the auspicious ceremony of marriage,

remained there enjoying heavenly pleasures with Ratnaprabhá. And he

amused himself by looking in her company at beautiful temples of the

gods in gardens and lakes, having ascended with her the heaven by

the might of her science.

So, after he had lived some days with his wife in the city of the

king of the Vidyádharas, the son of the king of Vatsa determined,

in accordance with the advice of Yaugandharáyana, to return to his

own city. Then his mother-in-law performed for him the auspicious

ceremonies previous to starting, and his father-in-law again honoured

him and his minister, and then he set out with Hemaprabha and his son,

accompanied by his beloved, having again ascended that chariot. He soon

arrived, like a stream of nectar to the eyes of his mother, and entered

his city with Hemaprabha and his son and his own followers, bringing

with him his wife, who made the king of Vatsa rejoice exceedingly

with delight at beholding her. The king of Vatsa of exalted fortune,

with Vásavadattá, welcomed that son, who bowed at his feet with his

wife, and honoured Hemaprabha his new connexion, as well as his son,

in a manner conformable to his own dignity. Then, after that king of

the Vidyádharas, Hemaprabha, had taken leave of the lord of Vatsa and

his family, and had flown up into the heaven and gone to his own city,

that Naraváhanadatta, together with Ratnaprabhá and Madanamanchuká,

spent that day in happiness surrounded by his friends.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

When that Naraváhanadatta had thus obtained a new and lovely bride

of the Vidyádhara race, and was the next day with her in her house,

there came in the morning to the door, to visit him, his ministers

Gomukha and others. They were stopped for a moment at the door by

the female warder, and announced within; then they entered and were

courteously received, and Ratnaprabhá said to the warder, "The door

must not again be closed against the entrance of my husband's friends,

for they are as dear to me as my own body. And I do not think that

this is the way to guard female apartments." After she had addressed

the female warder in these words, she said in turn to her husband,

"My husband, I am going to say something which occurs to me, so

listen. I consider that the strict seclusion of women is a mere

social custom, or rather folly produced by jealousy. It is of no use

whatever. Women of good family are guarded by their own virtue, as

their only chamberlain. But even God himself can scarcely guard the

unchaste. Who can restrain a furious river and a passionate woman? And

now listen, I will tell you a story."

Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant Svetarasmi.

There is here a great island in the midst of the sea, named

Ratnakúta. In it there lived in old times a king of great courage,

a devoted worshipper of Vishnu, rightly named Ratnádhipati. [539]

That king, in order to obtain the conquest of the earth, and all

kings' daughters as his wives, went through a severe penance,

to propitiate Vishnu. The adorable one, pleased with his penance,

appeared in bodily form, and thus commanded him--"Rise up, king,

I am pleased with thee, so I tell thee this--listen! There is in

the land of Kalinga a Gandharva, who has become a white elephant by

the curse of a hermit, and is known by the name of Svetarasmi. On

account of the asceticism he performed in a former life, and on

account of his devotion to me, that elephant is supernaturally wise,

and possesses the power of flying through the sky, and of remembering

his former birth. And I have given an order to that great elephant,

in accordance with which he will come of himself through the air,

and become thy beast of burden. That white elephant thou must mount,

as the wielder of the thunderbolt mounts the elephant of the gods,

[540] and whatever king thou shalt travel through the air to visit,

in fear shall bestow on thee, who art of god-like presence, tribute in

the form of a daughter, for I will myself command him to do so in a

dream. Thus thou shalt conquer the whole earth, and all zenanas, and

thou shalt obtain eighty thousand princesses." When Vishnu had said

this, he disappeared, and the king broke his fast, and the next day

he beheld that elephant, which had come to him through the air. And

when the elephant had thus placed himself at the king's disposal,

he mounted him, as he had been bidden to do by Vishnu, and in this

manner he conquered the earth, and carried off the daughters of

kings. And then the king dwelt there in Ratnakúta with those wives,

eighty thousand in number, amusing himself as he pleased. And in order

to propitiate Svetarasmi, that celestial elephant, he fed every day

five hundred Bráhmans.

Now once on a time the king Ratnádhipati mounted that elephant,

and, after roaming through the other islands, returned to his own

island. And as he was descending from the sky, it came to pass that

a bird of the race of Garuda struck that excellent elephant with

his beak. And the bird fled, when the king struck him with the

sharp elephant-hook, but the elephant fell on the ground stunned

by the blow of the bird's beak. The king got off his back, but the

elephant, though he recovered his senses, was not able to rise up in

spite of the efforts made to raise him, and ceased eating. For five

days the elephant remained in the same place, where it had fallen,

and the king was grieved and took no food, and prayed as follows:

"Oh guardians of the world, teach me some remedy in this difficulty;

otherwise I will cut off my own head and offer it to you." When he had

said this, he drew his sword and was preparing to cut off his head,

when immediately a bodiless voice thus addressed him from the sky--"O

king do nothing rash; if some chaste woman touches this elephant with

her hand, it will rise up, but not otherwise." When the king heard

that, he was glad, and summoned his own carefully guarded chief queen,

Amritalatá. When the elephant did not rise up, though she touched it

with her hand, the king had all his other wives summoned. But though

they all touched the elephant in succession, he did not rise up; the

fact was, not one among them was chaste. Then the king, having beheld

all those eighty thousand wives openly humiliated in the presence of

men, being himself abashed, summoned all the women of his capital,

and made them touch the elephant one after another. And when in

spite of it the elephant did not rise up, the king was ashamed,

because there was not a single chaste woman in his city.

And in the meanwhile a merchant named Harshagupta, who had arrived

from Támraliptí, [541] having heard of that event, came there full

of curiosity. And in his train there came a servant of the name of

Sílavatí, who was devoted to her husband; when she saw what had taken

place, she said to him--"I will touch this elephant with my hand:

and if I have not even thought in my mind of any other man than

my husband, may it rise up." No sooner had she said this, than she

came up and touched the elephant with her hand, whereupon it rose up

in sound health and began to eat. [542] But when the people saw the

elephant Svetarasmi rise up, they raised a shout and praised Sílavatí,

saying--"Such are these chaste women, few and far between, who, like

Siva, are able to create, preserve and destroy this world." The king

Ratnádhipati also was pleased, and congratulated the chaste Sílavatí,

and loaded her with innumerable jewels, and he also honoured her

master, the merchant Harshagupta, and gave him a house near his own

palace. And he determined to avoid all communication with his own

wives, and ordered that henceforth they should have nothing but food

and raiment.

Then the king, after he had taken his food, sent for the chaste

Sílavatí, and said to her at a private interview in the presence

of Harshagupta, "Sílavatí, if you have any maiden of your father's

family, give her to me, for I know she will certainly be like

you." When the king said this to her, Sílavatí answered--"I have a

sister in Támraliptí named Rájadattá; marry her, O king, if you wish,

for she is of distinguished beauty." When she said this to the king,

he consented and said, "So be it," and having determined on taking

this step, he mounted, with Sílavatí and Harshagupta, the elephant

Svetarasmi, that could fly though the air, and going in person to

Támraliptí, entered the house of that merchant Harshagupta. There

he asked the astrologers that very day, what would be a favourable

time for him to be married to Rájadattá, the sister of Sílavatí. And

the astrologers, having enquired under what stars both of them were

born, said, "A favourable conjuncture will come for you, O king,

in three months from this time. But if you marry Rájadattá in the

present position of the constellations, she will without fail prove

unchaste." Though the astrologers gave him this response, the king,

being eager for a charming wife, and impatient of dwelling long alone,

thus reflected--"Away with scruples! I will marry Rájadattá here

this very day. For she is the sister of the blameless Sílavatí and

will never prove unchaste. And I will place her in that uninhabited

island in the middle of the sea, where there is one empty palace, and

in that inaccessible spot I will surround her with a guard of women;

so how can she become unchaste, as she can never see men?" Having

formed this determination, the king that very day rashly married that

Rájadattá, whom Sílavatí bestowed upon him. And after he had married

her, and had been received with the customary rites by Harshagupta,

he took that wife, and with her and Sílavatí, he mounted Svetarasmi,

and then in a moment went through the air to the land of Ratnakúta,

where the people were anxiously expecting him. And he rewarded

Sílavatí again so munificently, that she attained all her wishes,

having reaped the fruit of her vow of chastity. Then he mounted his

new wife Rájadattá on that same air-travelling elephant Svetarasmi,

and conveyed her carefully, and placed her in the empty palace in the

island in the midst of the sea, inaccessible to man, with a retinue

of women only. And whatever article she required, he conveyed there

through the air on that elephant, so great was his distrust. And being

devotedly attached to her, he always spent the night there, but came

to Ratnakúta in the day to transact his regal duties. Now one morning

the king, in order to counteract an inauspicious dream, indulged with

that Rájadattá in a drinking-bout for good luck. And though his wife,

being intoxicated with that banquet, did not wish to let him go, he

left her, and departed to Ratnakúta to transact his business, for the

royal dignity is an ever-exacting wife. There he remained performing

his duties with anxious mind, which seemed ever to ask him, why he

left his wife there in a state of intoxication? And in the meanwhile

Rájadattá, remaining alone in that inaccessible place, the female

servants being occupied in culinary and other duties, saw a certain man

come in at the door, like Fate determined to baffle all expedients for

guarding her, and his arrival filled her with astonishment. And that

intoxicated woman asked him when he approached her, "Who are you,

and how have you come to this inaccessible place?" Then that man,

who had endured many hardships, answered her--

Story of Yavanasena.

Fair one, I am a merchant's son of Mathurá named Yavanasena. And when

my father died, I was left helpless, and my relations took from me my

property, so I went to a foreign country, and resorted to the miserable

condition of being servant to another man. Then I with difficulty

scraped together a little wealth by trading, and as I was going to

another land, I was plundered by robbers who met me on the way. Then

I wandered about as a beggar, and, with some other men like myself,

I went to a mine of jewels called Kanakakshetra. There I engaged to

pay the king his share, and after digging up the earth in a trench for

a whole year, I did not find a single jewel. So, while the other men

my fellows were rejoicing over the jewels they had found, smitten with

grief I retired to the shore of the sea, and began to collect fuel.

And while I was constructing with the fuel a funeral pyre, in

order that I might enter the flame, a certain merchant named

Jívadatta happened to come there; that merciful man dissuaded me

from suicide, and gave me food, and as he was preparing to go in a

ship to Svarnadvípa he took me on board with him. Then, as we were

sailing along in the midst of the ocean, after five days had passed,

we suddenly beheld a cloud. The cloud discharged its rain in large

drops, and that vessel was whirled round by the wind like the head of

a mast elephant. Immediately the ship sank, but as fate would have it,

I caught hold of a plank, just as I was sinking. I mounted on it,

and thereupon the thunder-cloud relaxed its fury, and, conducted

by destiny, I reached this country; and have just landed in the

forest. And seeing this palace, I entered, and I beheld here thee,

O auspicious one, a rain of nectar to my eyes, dispelling pain.

When he had said this, Rájadattá maddened with love and wine, placed

him on a couch and embraced him. Where there are these five fires,

feminine nature, intoxication, privacy, the obtaining of a man, and

absence of restraint, what chance for the stubble of character? So

true is it, that a woman maddened by the god of Love is incapable of

discrimination; since this queen became enamoured of that loathsome

castaway. In the meanwhile the king Ratnádhipati, being anxious,

came swiftly from Ratnakúta, borne along on the sky-going elephant;

and entering his palace he beheld his wife Rájadattá in the arms of

that creature. When the king saw the man, though he felt tempted to

slay him, he slew him not, because he fell at his feet, and uttered

piteous supplications. And beholding his wife terrified, and at

the same time intoxicated, he reflected, "How can a woman that is

addicted to wine, the chief ally of lust, be chaste? A lascivious

woman cannot be restrained even by being guarded. Can one fetter a

whirlwind with one's arms? This is the fruit of my not heeding the

prediction of the astrologers. To whom is not the scorning of wise

words bitter in its after-taste? When I thought that she was the

sister of Sílavatí, I forgot that the Kálakúta poison was twin-born

with the amrita. [543] Or rather who is able, even by doing the utmost

of a man, to overcome the incalculable freaks of marvellously working

Destiny." Thus reflecting, the king was not wroth with any one, and

spared the merchant's son, her paramour, after asking him the story

of his life. The merchant's son, when dismissed thence, seeing no

other expedient, went out and beheld a ship coming, far off in the

sea. Then he again mounted that plank, and drifting about in the sea,

cried out, puffing and blowing, "Save me! Save me!" So a merchant, of

the name of Krodhavarman, who was on that ship, drew that merchant's

son out of the water, and made him his companion. Whatever deed is

appointed by the Disposer to be the destruction of any man, dogs

his steps whithersoever he runneth. For this fool, when on the ship,

was discovered by his deliverer secretly associating with his wife,

and thereupon was cast by him into the sea and perished.

In the meanwhile the king Ratnádhipati caused the queen Rájadattá

with her retinue to mount Svetarasmi, without allowing himself to

be angry, and he carried her to Ratnakúta, and delivered her to

Sílavatí, and related that occurrence to her and his ministers. And

he exclaimed, "Alas! How much pain have I endured, whose mind has

been devoted to these unsubstantial insipid enjoyments. Therefore I

will go to the forest, and take Hari as my refuge, in order that I

may never again be a vessel of such woes." Thus he spake, and though

his sorrowing ministers and Sílavatí endeavoured to prevent him, he,

being disgusted with the world, would not abandon his intention. Then,

being indifferent to enjoyments, he first gave half of his treasure to

the virtuous Sílavatí, and the other half to the Bráhmans, and then

that king made over in the prescribed form his kingdom to a Bráhman

of great excellence, named Pápabhanjana. And after he had given away

his kingdom, he ordered Svetarasmi to be brought, with the object

of retiring to a grove of asceticism, his subjects looking on with

tearful eyes. No sooner was the elephant brought, than it left the

body, and became a man of god-like appearance, adorned with necklace

and bracelet. When the king asked him who he was, and what was the

meaning of all this, he answered:

"We were two Gandharva brothers, living on the Malaya mountain: I was

called Somaprabha, and the eldest was Devaprabha. And my brother had

but one wife, but she was very dear to him. Her name was Rájavatí. One

day he was wandering about with her in his arms, and happened to

arrive, with me in his company, at a place called the dwelling of the

Siddhas. There we both worshipped Vishnu in his temple, and began all

of us to sing before the adorable one. In the meanwhile a Siddha came

there, and stood regarding with fixed gaze Rájavatí, who was singing

songs well worth hearing. And my brother, who was jealous, said in

his wrath to that Siddha; 'Why dost thou, although a Siddha, cast a

longing look at another's wife?' Then the Siddha was moved with anger,

and said to him by way of a curse--'Fool, I was looking at her out of

interest in her song, not out of desire. So fall thou, jealous one,

into a mortal womb together with her; and then behold with thy own eyes

thy wife in the embraces of another.' When he had said this, I, being

enraged at the curse, struck him, out of childish recklessness, with a

white toy elephant of clay, that I had in my hand. Then he cursed me

in the following words--"Be born again on the earth as an elephant,

like that with which you have just struck me." Then being merciful,

that Siddha allowed himself to be propitiated by that brother of mine

Devaprabha, and appointed for us both the following termination of the

curse; "Though a mortal thou shalt become, by the favour of Vishnu,

the lord of an island, and shalt obtain as thy servant this thy younger

brother, who will have become an elephant, a beast of burden fit for

gods. Thou shalt obtain eighty thousand wives, and thou shalt come

to learn the unchastity of them all in the presence of men. Then thou

shalt marry this thy present wife, who will have become a woman, and

shalt see her with thy own eyes embracing another. Then, thou shalt

become sick in thy heart of the world, and shalt bestow thy realm on

a Bráhman, but when after doing this thou shalt set out to go to a

forest of ascetics, thy younger brother shall first be released from

his elephant nature, and thou also with thy wife shalt be delivered

from thy curse.' This was the termination of the curse appointed for

us by the Siddha, and we were accordingly born with different lots,

on account of the difference of our actions in that previous state,

and lo! the end of our curse has now arrived." When Somaprabha

had said this, that king Ratnádhipati remembered his former birth,

and said--"True! I am that very Devaprabha; and this Rájadattá is

my former wife Rájavatí." Having said this, he, together with his

wife, abandoned the body. In a moment they all became Gandharvas,

and, in the sight of men, flew up into the air, and went to their own

home, the Malaya mountain. Sílavatí too, through the nobleness of her

character, obtained prosperity, and going to the city of Támraliptí,

remained in the practice of virtue.

"So true is it, that in no case can any one guard a woman by force in

this world, but the young woman of good family is ever protected by the

pure restraint of her own chastity. And thus the passion of jealousy is

merely a purposeless cause of suffering, annoying others, and so far

from being a protection to women, it rather excites in them excessive

longing." When Naraváhanadatta had heard this tale full of good sense

related by his wife, he and his ministers were highly pleased.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Then Naraváhanadatta's minister Gomukha said to him, by way of capping

the tale, which had been told by Ratnaprabhá: "It is true that chaste

women are few and far between, but unchaste women are never to be

trusted; in illustration of this, hear the following story."

Story of Nischayadatta.

There is in this land a town of the name of Ujjayiní, famous throughout

the world: in it there lived of old time a merchant's son, named

Nischayadatta. He was a gambler and had acquired money by gambling,

and every day the generous man used to bathe in the water of the Siprá,

and worship Mahákála: [544] his custom was first to give money to the

Bráhmans, the poor, and the helpless, and then to anoint himself and

indulge in food and betel.

Every day, when he had finished his bathing and his worship, he used

to go and anoint himself in a cemetery near the temple of Mahákála,

with sandalwood and other things. And the young man placed the

unguent on a stone pillar that stood there, and so anointed himself

every day alone, rubbing his back against it. In that way the pillar

eventually became very smooth and polished. Then there came that way

a draughtsman with a sculptor; the first, seeing that the pillar

was very smooth, drew on it a figure of Gaurí, and the sculptor

with his chisel in pure sport carved it on the stone. Then, after

they had departed, a certain daughter of the Vidyádharas came there

to worship Mahákála, and saw that image of Gaurí on the stone. From

the clearness of the image she inferred the proximity of the goddess,

and, after worshipping, she entered that stone pillar to rest. In the

meanwhile Nischayadatta, the merchant's son, came there, and to his

astonishment beheld that figure of Umá carved on the stone. He first

anointed his limbs, and then placing the unguent on another part of the

stone, began to anoint his back by rubbing it against the stone. When

the rolling-eyed Vidyádhara maiden inside the pillar saw that, her

heart being captivated by his beauty, she reflected--"What! has this

handsome man no one to anoint his back? Then I will now rub his back

for him." Thus the Vidyádharí reflected, and, stretching forth her

hand from inside the pillar, she anointed his back then and there

out of affection. Immediately the merchant's son felt the touch, and

heard the jingling of the bracelet, and caught hold of her hand with

his. And the Vidyádharí, invisible as she was, said to him from the

pillar--"Noble sir, what harm have I done you? let go my hand." Then

Nischayadatta answered her--"Appear before me, and say who you are,

then I will let go your hand." Then the Vidyádharí affirmed with an

oath--"I will appear before your eyes, and tell you all." So he let

go her hand. Then she came out visibly from the pillar, beautiful

in every limb, and sitting down, with her eyes fixed on his face,

said to him, "There is a city called Pushkarávatí [545] on a peak of

the Himálayas, in it there lives a king named Vindhyapara. I am his

maiden daughter, named Anurágapará. I came to worship Mahákála, and

rested here to-day. And thereupon you came here, and were beheld by me

anointing your back on this pillar, resembling the stupefying weapon

of the god of love. Then first my heart was charmed with affection

for you, and afterwards my hand was smeared with your unguent, as I

rubbed your back. [546] The sequel you know. So I will now go to my

father's house."

When she said this to the merchant's son, he answered--"Fair one,

I have not recovered my soul which you have taken captive; how can

you thus depart, without letting go the soul which you have taken

possession of?" When he said this to her, she was immediately overcome

with love, and said--"I will marry you, if you come to my city. It is

not hard for you to reach; your endeavour will be sure to succeed. For

nothing in this world is difficult to the enterprising." Having said

this, Anurágapará flew up into the air and departed; and Nischayadatta

returned home with mind fixed upon her. Recollecting the hand that

was protruded from the pillar, like a shoot from the trunk of a tree,

he thought--"Alas! though I seized her hand I did not win it for my

own. Therefore I will go to the city of Pushkarávatí to visit her, and

either I shall lose my life, or Fate will come to my aid." So musing,

he passed that day there in an agony of love, and he set out from that

place early the next morning, making for the north. As he journeyed,

three other merchants' sons, who were travelling towards the north,

associated themselves with him as companions. In company with them

he travelled through cities, villages, forests, and rivers, and at

last reached the northern region abounding in barbarians.

There he and his companions were found on the way by some Tájikas, who

took them and sold them to another Tájika. He sent them in the care of

his servants as a present to a Turushka, named Muravára. Then those

servants took him and the other three, and hearing that Muravára

was dead, they delivered them to his son. The son of Muravára

thought--"These men have been sent me as a present by my father's

friend, so I must send them to him to-morrow by throwing them into

his grave." [547] Accordingly the Turushka fettered Nischayadatta and

his three friends with strong chains, that they might be kept till

the morning. Then, while they were remaining in chains at night,

Nischayadatta said to his three friends, the merchant's sons,

who were afflicted with dread of death--"What will you gain by

despondency? Maintain steadfast resolution. For calamities depart

far away from the resolute, as if terrified at them. Think on the

peerless adorable Durgá, that deliverer from calamity."

Thus encouraging them, he devoutly worshipped that goddess Durgá:

"Hail to thee, O goddess! I worship thy feet that are stained with

a red dye, as if it were the clotted gore of the trampled Asura

clinging to them. Thou, as the all-ruling power of Siva, dost govern

the three worlds, and inspired by thee they live and move. Thou didst

deliver the worlds, O slayer of the Asura Mahisha. Deliver me that

crave thy protection, O thou cherisher of thy votaries." In these

and similar words he and his companions duly worshipped the goddess,

and then they all fell asleep, being weary. And the goddess Durgá

in a dream commanded Nischayadatta and his companions--"Rise up,

my children, depart, for your fetters are loosed." Then they woke up

at night, and saw that their fetters had fallen off of themselves,

and after relating to one another their dream, they departed thence

delighted. And after they had gone a long journey, the night came

to an end, and then those merchant's sons, who had gone through such

terrors, said to Nischayadatta; "Enough of this quarter of the world

infested with barbarians! We will go to the Deccan, friend, but do

you do as you desire."--When they said this to him, he dismissed

them to go where they would, and set out alone vigorously on his

journey, making towards that very northern quarter, drawn by the

noose of love for Anurágapará, flinging aside fear. As he went

along, he fell in, in course of time, with four Pásupata ascetics,

and reached and crossed the river Vitastá. And after crossing it,

he took food, and as the sun was kissing the western mountain,

he entered with them a forest that lay in their path. And there

some woodmen, that met them, said to them: "Whither are you going,

now that the day is over. There is no village in front of you: but

there is an empty temple of Siva in this wood. Whoever remains there

during the night inside or outside, falls a prey to a Yakshiní, who

bewilders him, making horns grow on his forehead, and then treats him

as a victim, and devours him." Those four Pásupata ascetics, who were

travelling together, though they heard this, said to Nischayadatta,

"Come along! what can that miserable Yakshiní do to us? For we have

remained many nights in various cemeteries." When they said this,

he went with them, and finding an empty temple of Siva, he entered

it with them to pass the night there. In the court of that temple

the bold Nischayadatta and the Pásupata ascetics quickly made a great

circle with ashes, and entering into it, they lighted a fire with fuel,

and all remained there, muttering a charm to protect themselves.

Then at night there came there dancing the Yakshiní Sringotpádiní,

[548] playing from afar on her lute of bones, and when she came near,

she fixed her eye on one of the four Pásupata ascetics, and recited

a charm, as she danced outside the circle. That charm produced horns

on him, [549] and bewildered he rose up, and danced till he fell

into the blazing fire. And when he had fallen, the Yakshiní dragged

him half-burnt out of the fire, and devoured him with delight. Then

she fixed her eye on the second Pásupata ascetic, and in the same

way recited the horn-producing charm and danced. The second one also

had horns produced by that charm, and was made to dance, and falling

into the fire, was dragged out and devoured before the eyes of the

others. In this way the Yakshiní maddened one after another at night

the four ascetics, and after horns had been produced on them, devoured

them. But while she was devouring the fourth, it came to pass that,

being intoxicated with flesh and blood, she laid her lute down on the

ground. Thereupon the bold Nischayadatta rose up quickly, and seized

the lute, and began to play on it, and dancing round with a laugh, to

recite that horn-producing charm, which he had learnt from hearing it

often, fixing at the same time his eye on the face of the Yakshiní. By

the operation of the charm she was confused, and dreading death, as

horns were just about to sprout on her forehead, she flung herself

prostrate, and thus entreated him; "Valiant man, do not slay me,

a helpless woman. I now implore your protection, stop the recital of

the charm, and the accompanying movements. Spare me! I know all your

story, and will bring about your wish; I will carry you to the place,

where Anurágapará is." The bold Nischayadatta, when thus confidingly

addressed by her, consented, and stopped the recital of the charm,

and the accompanying movements. Then, at the request of the Yakshiní,

he mounted on her back, and being carried by her through the air,

he went to find his beloved. [550]

And when the night came to an end, they had reached a mountain wood;

there the Guhyakí bowing thus addressed Nischayadatta; "Now that the

sun has risen, I have no power to go upwards, [551] so spend this

day in this charming wood, my lord; eat sweet fruits and drink the

clear water of the brooks. I go to my own place, and I will return

at the approach of night; and then I will take you to the city of

Pushkarávatí, the crown of the Himálayas, and into the presence of

Anurágapará." Having said this, the Yakshiní with his permission set

him down from her shoulder, and departed to return again according

to her promise.

When she had gone, Nischayadatta beheld a deep lake, transparent and

cool, but tainted with poison, lit up by the sun, that stretching

forth the fingers of its rays, revealed it as an example illustrative

of the nature of the heart of a passionate woman. He knew by the

smell that it was tainted with poison, and left it, after necessary

ablutions, and being afflicted with thirst he roamed all over that

heavenly mountain in search of water. And as he was wandering about,

he saw on a lofty place what seemed to be two rubies glittering,

and he dug up the ground there.

And after he had removed the earth, he saw there the head of a living

monkey, and his eyes like two rubies. While he was indulging his

wonder, thinking what this could be, that monkey thus addressed him

with human voice; "I am a man, a Bráhman transformed into a monkey;

release me, and then I will tell you all my story, excellent sir." As

soon as he heard this, he removed the earth, marvelling, and drew the

ape out of the ground. When Nischayadatta had drawn out the ape, it

fell at his feet, and continued--"You have given me life by rescuing

me from calamity. So come, since you are weary, take fruit and water,

and by your favour I also will break my long fast. Having said this,

the liberated monkey took him to the bank of a mountain-torrent

some distance off, where there were delicious fruits, and shady

trees. There he bathed and took fruit and water, and coming back,

he said to the monkey who had broken his fast--"Tell me how you have

become a monkey, being really a man." Then that monkey said, "Listen,

I will tell you now."

Story of Somasvámin.

In the city of Váránasí there is an excellent Bráhman named

Chandrasvámin, I am his son by his virtuous wife, my friend. And my

father gave me the name of Somasvámin. In course of time it came to

pass that I mounted the fierce elephant of love, which infatuation

makes uncontrollable. When I was at this stage of my life, the youthful

Bandhudattá, the daughter of the merchant Srígarbha, an inhabitant of

that city, and the wife of the great merchant of Mathurá Varáhadatta,

who was dwelling in her father's house, beheld me one day, as she was

looking out of the window. She was enamoured of me on beholding me,

and after enquiring my name, she sent a confidential female friend

to me, desiring an interview. Her friend came up secretly to me

who was blind with love, and, after telling her friend's desire,

took me to her house. There she placed me, and then went and brought

secretly Bandhudattá, whose eagerness made her disregard shame. And

no sooner was she brought, than she threw her arms round my neck,

for excessive love in women is your only hero for daring. Thus every

day Bandhudattá came at will from her father's house, and sported

with me in the house of her female friend.

Now one day the great merchant, her husband, came from Mathurá to

take her back to his own house, as she had been long absent. Then

Bandhudattá, as her father ordered her to go, and her husband was eager

to take her away, secretly made a second request to her friend. She

said "I am certainly going to be taken by my husband to the city of

Mathurá, and I cannot live there separated from Somasvámin. So tell

me what resource there is left to me in this matter." When she said

this, her friend Sukhasayá, who was a witch, answered her, "I know two

spells; [552] by reciting one of them a man can be in a moment made

an ape, if a string is fastened round his neck, and by the second,

if the string is loosed, he will immediately become a man again;

and while he is an ape his intelligence is not diminished. So if you

like, fair one, you can keep your lover Somasvámin; for I will turn

him into an ape on the spot, then take him with you to Mathurá as a

pet animal. And I will shew you how to use the two spells, so that

you can turn him, when near you, into the shape of a monkey, and when

you are in a secret place, make him once more a beloved man." When

her friend had told her this, Bandhudattá consented, and sending

for me in secret, told me that matter in the most loving tone. I

consented, and immediately Sukhasayá fastened a thread on my neck

and recited the spell, and made me a young monkey. And in that shape

Bandhudattá brought and shewed me to her husband, and she said--"A

friend of mine gave me this animal to play with." And he was delighted

when he saw me in her arms as a plaything, and I, though a monkey,

retained my intelligence, and the power of articulate speech. And I

remained there, saying to myself with inward laughter--"Wonderful are

the actions of women." For whom does not love beguile? The next day

Bandhudattá, having been taught that spell by her friend, set out from

her father's house to go to Mathurá with her husband. And the husband

of Bandhudattá, wishing to please her, had me carried on the back of

one of his servants during the journey. So the servant and I and the

rest went along, and in two or three days reached a wood, that lay

in our way, which was perilous from abounding in monkeys. Then the

monkeys, beholding me, attacked me in troops on all sides, quickly

calling to one another with shrill cries. And the irrepressible apes

came and began to bite that merchant's servant, on whose back I was

sitting. He was terrified at that, and flung me off his back on to

the ground, and fled for fear, so the monkeys got hold of me then

and there. And Bandhudattá, out of love for me, and her husband and

his servants, attacked the apes with stones and sticks, but were not

able to get the better of them. Then those monkeys, as if enraged

with my evil actions, pulled off with their teeth and nails every

hair from every one of my limbs, as I lay there bewildered. At last,

by the virtue of the string on my neck, and by thinking on Siva, I

managed to recover my strength, and getting loose from them, I ran

away. And entering into the depths of the wood, I got out of their

sight, and gradually, roaming from forest to forest, I reached this

wood. And while I was wandering about here in the rainy season, blind

with the darkness of grief, saying to myself, "How is it that even in

this life adultery has produced for thee the fruit of transformation

into the shape of a monkey, and thou hast lost Bandhudattá?" Destiny,

not yet sated with tormenting me, inflicted on me another woe, for a

female elephant suddenly came upon me, and seizing me with her trunk

flung me into the mud of an ant-hill that had been saturated with

rain. I know it must have been some divinity instigated by Destiny,

for, though I exerted myself to the utmost, I could not get out of

that mud. And while it was drying up, [553] not only did I not die,

but knowledge was produced in me, while I thought continually upon

Siva. And all the while I never felt hunger nor thirst, my friend,

until to-day you drew me out of this trap of dry mud. And though I have

gained knowledge, I do not even now possess power sufficient to set

myself free from this monkey nature. But when some witch unties the

thread on my neck, reciting at the same time the appropriate spell,

then I shall once more become a man.

"This is my story, but tell me now, my friend, how you came to this

inaccessible wood, and why." When Nischayadatta was thus requested

by the Bráhman Somasvámin, he told him his story, how he came from

Ujjayiní on account of a Vidyádharí, and how he was conveyed at night

by a Yakshiní, whom he had subdued by his presence of mind. Then the

wise Somasvámin, who wore the form of a monkey, having heard that

wonderful story, went on to say; "You, like myself, have suffered

great woe for the sake of a female. But females, like prosperous

circumstances, are never faithful to any one in this world. Like the

evening, they display a short-lived glow of passion, their hearts

are crooked like the channels of rivers, like snakes they are not to

be relied on, like lightning they are fickle. So, that Anurágapará,

though she may be enamoured of you for a time, when she finds a

paramour of her own race, will be disgusted with you, who are only

a mortal. So desist now from this effort for the sake of a female,

which you will find like the fruit of the Colocynth, bitter in its

after-taste. Do not go, my friend, to Pushkarávatí, the city of the

Vidyádharas, but ascend the back of the Yakshiní and return to your

own Ujjayiní. Do what I tell you, my friend; formerly in my passion I

did not heed the voice of a friend, and I am suffering for it at this

very moment. For when I was in love with Bandhudattá, a Bráhman named

Bhavasarman, who was a very dear friend of mine, said this to me in

order to dissuade me;--'Do not put yourself in the power of a female,

the heart of a female is a tangled maze; in proof of it I will tell

you what happened to me--listen!'"

Story of Bhavasarman.

In this very country, in the city of Váránasí, there lived a young and

beautiful Bráhman woman named Somadá, who was unchaste and secretly a

witch. And as destiny would have it, I had secret interviews with her,

and in the course of our intimacy my love for her increased. One day

I wilfully struck her in the fury of jealousy, and the cruel woman

bore it patiently, concealing her anger for the time. The next day

she fastened a string round my neck, as if in loving sport, and I was

immediately turned into a domesticated ox. Then I, thus transformed

into an ox, was sold by her, on receiving the required price, to a

man who lived by keeping domesticated camels. When he placed a load

upon me, a witch there, named Bandhamochaniká, beholding me sore

burdened, was filled with pity. [554] She knew by her supernatural

knowledge that I had been made an animal by Somadá, and when my

proprietor was not looking, she loosed the string from my neck. So I

returned to the form of a man, and that master of mine immediately

looked round, and thinking that I had escaped, wandered all about

the country in search of me. And as I was going away from that place

with Bandhamochiní, it happened that Somadá came that way and beheld

me at a distance. She, burning with rage, said to Bandhamochiní, who

possessed supernatural knowledge,--"Why did you deliver this villain

from his bestial transformation? Curses on you! wicked woman, you shall

reap the fruit of this evil deed. To-morrow morning I will slay you,

together with this villain." When she had gone after saying this,

that skilful sorceress Bandhamochiní, in order to repel her assault,

gave me the following instructions--"She will come to-morrow morning

in the form of a black mare to slay me, and I shall then assume the

form of a bay mare. And when we have begun to fight, you must come

behind this Somadá, sword in hand, and resolutely strike her. In this

way we will slay her; so come to-morrow morning to my house." After

saying this, she pointed out to me her house. When she had entered

it, I went home, having endured more than one birth in this very

life. And in the morning I went to the house of Bandhamochiní, sword

in hand. Then Somadá came there, in the form of a black mare. [555]

And Bandhamochiní, for her part, assumed the form of a bay mare; and

then they fought with their teeth and heels, biting and kicking. Then I

struck that vile witch Somadá a blow with my sword, and she was slain

by Bandhamochiní. Then I was freed from fear, and having escaped the

calamity of bestial transformation, I never again allowed my mind to

entertain the idea of associating with wicked women. Women generally

have these three faults, terrible to the three worlds, flightiness,

recklessness, and a love for the congregation of witches. [556] So why

do you run after Bandhudattá, who is a friend of witches? Since she

does not love her husband, how is it possible that she can love you?

"Though my friend Bhavasarman gave me this advice, I did not do what he

told me; and so I am reduced to this state. So I give you this counsel;

do not suffer hardship to win Anurágapará, for when she obtains a lover

of her own race, she will of a surety desert you. A woman ever desires

fresh men, as a female humble bee wanders from flower to flower; so

you will suffer regret some day, like me, my friend." This speech of

Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, did not penetrate

the heart of Nischayadatta, for it was full of passion. And he said

to that monkey; "She will not be unfaithful to me, for she is born of

the pure race of the Vidyádharas." Whilst they were thus conversing,

the sun, red with the hues of evening, went to the mountain of setting,

as if wishing to please Nischayadatta. Then the night arrived, as the

harbinger of the Yakshiní Sringotpádiní, and she herself came soon

afterwards. And Nischayadatta mounted on her back, and went off to

go to his beloved, taking leave of the ape, who begged that he might

ever be remembered by him. And at midnight he reached that city of

Pushkarávatí, which was situated on the Himálayas, and belonged to

the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of Anurágapará. At that very

moment Anurágapará, having known by her power of his arrival, came out

from that city to meet him. Then the Yakshiní put down Nischayadatta

from her shoulder, and pointing out to him Anurágapará, said--"Here

comes your beloved, like a second moon giving a feast to your eyes in

the night, so now I will depart," and bowing before him, she went her

way. Then Anurágapará, full of the excitement produced by expectation,

went up to her beloved, and welcomed him with embraces and other signs

of love. He too embraced her, and now that he had obtained the joy of

meeting her after enduring many hardships, he could not be contained

in his own body, and as it were entered hers. So Anurágapará was made

his wife by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage, and she immediately

by her magic skill created a city. In that city, which was outside

the metropolis, he dwelt with her, without her parents suspecting it,

as their eyes were blinded by her skill. And when, on her questioning

him, he told her those strange and painful adventures of his journey,

she respected him much, and bestowed on him all the enjoyments that

heart could wish.

Then Nischayadatta told that Vidyádharí the strange story of

Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, and said to her,

"If this friend of mine could by any endeavour on your part be freed

from his monkey condition, then my beloved, you would have done a good

deed." When he told her this, Anurágapará said to him--"This is in

the way of witches' spells, but it is not our province. Nevertheless

I will accomplish this desire of yours, by asking a friend of mine,

a skilful witch named Bhadrarúpá. When the merchant's son heard that,

he was delighted, and said to that beloved of his--"So come and see

my friend, let us go to visit him." She consented, and the next day,

carried in her lap, Nischayadatta went through the air to the wood,

which was the residence of his friend. When he saw his friend there

in monkey form, he went up to him with his wife, who bowed before

him, and asked after his welfare. And the monkey Somasvámin welcomed

him, saying--"It is well with me to-day, in that I have beheld you

united to Anurágapará," and he gave his blessing to Nischayadatta's

wife. Then all three sat down on a charming slab of rock there, and

held a conversation [557] about his story, the various adventures of

that ape, previously discussed by Nischayadatta with his beloved. Then

Nischayadatta took leave of that monkey, and went to the house of

his beloved, flying up into the air, carried by her in her arms.

And the next day he again said to that Anurágapará, "Come, let us go

for a moment to visit that ape our friend;" then she said to him--"Go

to-day yourself, receive from me the science of flying up, and also

that of descending." When she had said this to him, he took those two

sciences, and flew through the air to his friend the ape. And as he

remained long conversing with him, Anurágapará went out of the house

into the garden. While she was seated there, a certain Vidyádhara

youth, who was wandering at will through the air, came there. The

Vidyádhara, knowing by his art that she was a Vidyádharí who had

a mortal husband, the moment he beheld her, was overpowered with a

paroxysm of love, and approached her. And she, with face bent on the

ground, beheld that he was handsome and attractive, and slowly asked

him out of curiosity, who he was and whence he came. Then he answered

her, "Know, fair one, that I am a Vidyádhara, by name Rágabhanjana,

distinguished for my knowledge of the sciences of the Vidyádharas. The

moment I beheld you, O gazelle-eyed one, I was suddenly overpowered

by love, and made your slave, so cease to honour, O goddess, a mortal,

whose abode is the earth, and favour me, your equal, before your father

finds out your intrigue." When he said this, the fickle-hearted one,

looking timidly at him with a sidelong glance, thought--"Here is a fit

match for me." When he had thus ascertained her wishes, he made her

his wife: when two are of one mind, what more does secret love require?

Then Nischayadatta arrived from the presence of Somasvámin, after that

Vidyádhara had departed. And when he came, Anurágapará, having lost

her love for him, did not embrace him, giving as an excuse that she had

a headache. But the simple-minded man, bewildered by love, not seeing

through her excuse, thought that her pain was due to illness and spent

the day in that belief. But the next day, he again went in low spirits

to see his friend the ape, flying through the air by the force of the

two sciences he possessed. When he had gone, Anurágapará's Vidyádhara

lover returned to her, having spent a sleepless night without her. And

embracing round the neck her, who was eager for his arrival owing to

having been separated during the night, he was at length overcome

by sleep. She by the power of her science concealed her lover, who

lay asleep in her lap, and weary with having kept awake all night,

went to sleep herself. In the meanwhile Nischayadatta came to the

ape, and his friend, welcoming him, asked him--"Why do I seem to see

you in low spirits to-day? Tell me." Then Nischayadatta said to that

ape, "Anurágapará is exceedingly ill, my friend; for that reason I

am grieved, for she is dearer to me than life." Then that ape, who

possessed supernatural knowledge, said to him--"Go, take her in your

arms asleep as she is, and flying through the air by the help of the

science she bestowed, bring her to me, in order that I may this very

day shew you a great marvel." When Nischayadatta heard this, he went

through the air and lightly took up that sleeping fair, but he did not

see that Vidyádhara, who was asleep in her lap, and had been previously

made invisible by the power of her science. And flying up into the air,

he quickly brought Anurágapará to that ape. That ape, who possessed

divine insight, immediately shewed him a charm, by which he was able

to behold the Vidyádhara clinging to her neck. When he saw this, he

exclaimed--"Alas! what does this mean?" And the ape, who was able to

discern the truth, told him the whole story. Then Nischayadatta fell

into a passion, and the Vidyádhara, who was the lover of his wife,

woke up, and flying up into the air, disappeared. Then Anurágapará

woke up, and seeing that her secret was revealed, stood with face cast

down through shame. Then Nischayadatta said to her with eyes gushing

with tears--"Wicked female, how could you thus deceive me who reposed

confidence in you? Although a device is known in this world for fixing

that exceedingly fickle metal quicksilver, no expedient is known for

fixing the heart of a woman." While he was saying this, Anurágapará,

at a loss for an answer, and weeping, slowly soared up into the air,

and went to her own home.

Then Nischayadatta's friend, the ape, said to him--"That you are

grieved is the fruit of the fierce fire of passion, in that you ran

after this fair one, though I tried to dissuade you. For what reliance

can be placed on fickle fortunes and fickle women? So cease your

regret. Be patient now. For even the Disposer himself cannot o'erstep

destiny." When Nischayadatta heard this speech from the ape, he flung

aside that delusion of grief, and abandoning passion, fled to Siva as

his refuge. Then, as he was remaining in that wood with his friend the

ape, it happened that a female hermit of the name of Mokshadá came near

him. She seeing him bowing before her, proceeded to ask him--"How comes

this strange thing to pass that, though a man, you have struck up a

friendship with this ape?" Then he related to her his own melancholy

story and afterwards the sad tale of his friend, and thereupon thus

said to her; "If you, reverend lady, know any incantation or spell

by which it can be done, immediately release this excellent Bráhman,

my friend, from his ape-transformation." When she heard that, she

consented, and employing a spell, she loosed the string from his

neck, and Somasvámin abandoned that monkey form and became a man as

before. Then she disappeared like lightning, clothed with celestial

brightness, and in time Nischayadatta and the Bráhman Somasvámin,

having performed many austerities, attained final beatitude.

"Thus fair ones, naturally fickle, bring about a series of evil actions

which produce true discernment, and aversion to the world. But here and

there you will find a virtuous one among them, who adorns a glorious

family, as the streak of the moon the broad sky."