When Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Ratnaprabhá, heard this wonderful

tale from the mouth of Gomukha, he was highly pleased.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

Then Marubhúti, perceiving that Naraváhanadatta was pleased with the

tale of Gomukha, in order to rival him, said, "Women are generally

fickle, but not always, for even hetæræ are seen to be rich in

good qualities, much more others; in proof of this, king, hear this

famous tale."

Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra.

There was in Pátaliputra a king named Vikramáditya; he had two

cherished friends the king Hayapati, [558] and the king Gajapati, [559]

who had large armies of horse and elephants. And that proud sovereign

had a mighty enemy named Narasinha [560] the lord of Pratishthána, a

king who had a large force of infantry. Being angry with that enemy,

and puffed up on account of the power of his allies, Vikramáditya

rashly made this vow--"I will so completely conquer that king, the lord

of men, that the heralds and bards shall proclaim him at the door as my

slave." Having made this vow, he summoned those allies, Hayapati and

Gajapati, and accompanied with a large force, shaking the earth with

elephants and horses, marched with them to make a fierce attack on the

lord of men, Narasinha. When he arrived near Pratishthána, Narasinha,

the lord of men, put on his armour and went out to meet him. Then

there took place between the two kings a battle that excited wonder,

in which footmen fought with elephants and horses. And at last the

army of Vikramáditya was routed by the forces of Narasinha, the lord

of men, which contained many crores of footmen. And Vikramáditya,

being routed, fled to his city Pátaliputra, and his two allies fled

to their own countries. And Narasinha, the lord of men, entered his

own city Pratishthána, accompanied by heralds who praised his might.

Then Vikramáditya, not having gained his end, thought--"Well! as

that enemy is not to be conquered by arms, I will conquer him by

policy; let some blame me if they like, but let not my oath be made

void." Thus reflecting, he entrusted his kingdom to suitable ministers,

and secretly went out of the city with one chief minister, named

Buddhivara, and with five hundred well-born and brave Rájpúts and in

the disguise of a candidate for service, [561] went to Pratishthána,

the city of his enemy. There he entered the splendid mansion of a

beautiful hetæra named Madanamálá, that resembled the palace of a

king. It seemed to invite him with the silk of its banners, hoisted

on the pinnacles of high ramparts, the points of which waved to and

fro in the soft breeze. It was guarded at the principal entrance, the

east door, day and night, by twenty thousand footmen, equipped with all

kinds of weapons. At each of the other three doors, looking towards

the other cardinal points, it was defended by ten thousand warriors

ever on the qui vive. In such guise the king entered, proclaimed by

the warders, the enclosure of the palace, which was divided into seven

zones. In one zone it was adorned with many long lines of horses. In

another the path was impeded by dense troops of elephants. In another

it was surrounded with an imposing array of dense weapons. In another

it was resplendent with many treasure-houses, that gleamed with the

flash of jewels. In another a circle was always formed by a dense

crowd of attendants. In another it was full of the noise of many

bards reciting aloud, and in another resounding with the sound of

drums beaten in concert. Beholding all these sights the king at last

reached, with his retinue, the splendid edifice in which Madanamálá

dwelt. She having heard with great interest from her attendants that,

as he passed through the zones, the horses and other creatures were

cured of their wounds, [562] thought that he must be some great one

in disguise, and so she went to meet him, and bowed before him with

love and curiosity, and bringing him in, seated him on a throne fit

for a king. The king's heart was ravished by her beauty, gracefulness

and courtesy, and he saluted her without revealing who he was. Then

Madanamálá honoured that king with costly baths, flowers, perfumes,

garments and ornaments. And she gave daily subsistence to those

followers of his, and feasted him and his minister with all kinds

of viands. And she spent the day with him in drinking, and other

diversions, and surrendered herself to him, having fallen in love

with him at first sight. Vikramáditya, being thus entertained by her,

day by day, continued, though in disguise, to live in a style suited

to an emperor. And whatever and howmuchsoever wealth he was in the

habit of giving to suppliants, Madanamálá gladly furnished him with

from her own store. And she thought her body and wealth well employed,

while enjoyed by him, and she remained averse to gain and to other

men. For out of love to him she even kept off by stratagems Narasinha,

the king of that land, who came there being enamoured of her.

While the king was being waited on in this fashion by Madanamálá, he

one day said in secret to his minister Buddhivara, who accompanied him,

"A hetæra desires wealth, and not even if she feels love, does she

become attached without it, for when Providence framed suitors, he

bestowed greed on these women. But this Madanamálá, though her wealth

is being consumed by me, through her great love is not estranged

from me, on the contrary she delights in me. So how can I now make

her a recompense, in order that my vow may in course of time be fully

accomplished?" When the minister Buddhivara heard this, he said to the

king; "If this be so, give her some of those priceless jewels which

the mendicant Prapanchabuddhi gave you." When the king heard that, he

answered him, "If I were to give them all to her, I should not have

made her a recompense worth speaking of; but I can free myself from

obligation in another way, which is connected also with the story of

that mendicant." When the minister heard this, he said--"King, why

did that mendicant court you? Tell me his story." When his minister

Buddhivara proffered this request, the king said, "Listen: I will

tell you his story."

Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant.

Long ago a mendicant named Prapanchabuddhi used to enter my hall of

audience in Pátaliputra every day and give me a box. For a whole year

I gave these boxes, just as they were, unopened into the hand of my

treasurer. One day, one of those boxes presented by the mendicant

by chance fell from my hand on to the ground, and burst open. And a

great jewel fell out of it, glittering like fire, and it appeared as

if it were the mendicant's heart which I had not discerned before,

revealed by him. When I saw that, I took it, and I had those other

boxes brought which he had presented to me, and opened them, and

took a jewel out of every one of them. Then in astonishment I asked

Prapanchabuddhi--"Why do you court me with such splendid jewels?" Then

that mendicant took me aside, and said to me--"On the fourteenth day

of the black fortnight now approaching I have to perform a certain

incantation at night-fall, in a cemetery outside this town. I desire

you, my hero, to come and take part in that enterprise, for success is

easily obtained, when the obstacles to it are swept away by the aid

of a hero." When the mendicant said this to me, I agreed. So he went

off delighted, and in a few days the fourteenth night of the black

fortnight came, and I remembered the speech of that ascetic. [563]

Then I performed my daily observances, and waited for the night, and

after I had recited the evening prayer, it happened that I rapidly fell

asleep. Then the adorable Hari, who is compassionate to his votaries,

appeared to me in a dream, mounted on Garuda, with his breast marked

with a lotus, and thus commanded me--"My son, this Prapanchabuddhi

[564] is rightly named, for he will inveigle you into the cemetery to

take part in the incantation of the circle, [565] and will offer you

up as a victim. So do not do what he tells you to do with the object

of slaying you, but say to him--'You do it first, and when I have

learned the way, I will do it.' Then, as he is shewing you the way,

take advantage of the opportunity, and slay him immediately, and

you will acquire the power that he desires to obtain." When Vishnu

had said this, he disappeared, and I woke up and thought--"By the

favour of Hari I have detected that magician, and this day I must

slay him." Having thus reflected, when the first watch of the night

was gone, I went, sword in hand, alone to that cemetery. There I

beheld that mendicant, who had performed the ceremony of the circle

incantation, and when the treacherous fellow saw me, he welcomed me,

and said, "King, close your eyes, and fall at full length on the ground

with your face downwards, and in this way both of us will attain our

ends." Then I answered him--"Do it yourself first. Shew me how to do

it, and, after I have learned, I will do precisely as you do." When

the mendicant heard that, like a fool, he fell on the earth, and I

cut off his head with a stroke of my sword. [566] Then a voice was

heard from the air--"Bravo, king! By offering up to-day this rascally

mendicant thou hast obtained the power of going through the air, which

he wished to obtain. I, the god of wealth, that move about at will,

am pleased with thy courage. So, ask me for another boon, whatever

thou mayest desire." After saying this, he manifested himself, and I,

bowing before him, said,--"When I shall supplicate thee, adorable one,

thou shalt appear on my thinking of thee, and grant me a suitable

boon." The god of wealth said--"So be it"--and disappeared. And having

obtained magic power, I went back quickly to my own palace. Thus I

have told you my adventure, so by means of that boon of Kuvera I must

now recompense Madanamálá. And you must now go back to Pátaliputra,

taking with you my disguised Rájpút retinue, and I, as soon as I have

in a novel way recompensed my beloved, will immediately go there,

with the intention of returning here." Having said this, and having

performed his daily duties, the king dismissed his minister with his

retinue. He said, "So be it" and departed, and the king spent that

night with Madanamálá, anxious about his approaching separation. She

too, embracing him frequently, because her heart seemed to tell her

that he was going to a distance, did not sleep all that night.

In the morning the king, having performed all his necessary duties,

entered a chapel for the daily worship of the gods, on the pretence

of repeating prayers. And there the god of wealth appeared before

him on his thinking of him, and bowing before him the king craved

that boon formerly promised, in the following words--"O god, give me

here to-day in accordance with that boon, which you promised me, five

great indestructible golden figures of men, such that, though their

limbs may be continually cut off for any desired use, those very limbs

will grow again, exactly as before." The god of wealth said, "Even so;

be there unto thee five such figures as thou desirest!" Having said

this, he immediately disappeared. And the king immediately beheld

those five great golden figures of men suddenly standing in the

chapel; then he went out delighted, and not forgetting his promise,

he flew up into the air and went to his city of Pátaliputra. There

he was welcomed by his ministers, and the citizens and his wives,

and he remained engaged in his kingly duties, while his heart was far

away in Pratishthána. In the meanwhile, in Pratishthána, that beloved

of his entered that chapel to see her love, who had entered it long

before. And when she entered, she did not perceive that beloved king

anywhere, but she beheld five gigantic golden figures of men. When she

saw them, and did not find him, she reflected in her grief--"Surely

that love of mine was some Vidyádhara or Gandharva, who bestowed upon

me these men and flew away up to heaven.

"So what am I to do with these figures, which are all a mere

burden, now that I am deprived of him?" Thus reflecting she asked

her servants over and over again for news of him, and went out and

roamed all about her domain. And she found no satisfaction anywhere,

either in the palaces, the gardens, the chambers or other places,

but she kept lamenting, grieved at being separated from her lover,

ready to abandon the body.

Her attendants tried to comfort her, saying, "Do not despair, mistress,

for he is some god roaming about at will, and when he pleases, he will

return to you, fair one." With such hope-inspiring words did they at

length so far console her that she made this vow--"If in six months he

does not grant me to behold him, I will give away all my property and

enter the fire." With this promise she fortified herself, and remained

every day giving alms, thinking on that beloved of hers. And one day,

she cut off both the arms of one of those golden men, and gave them

to the Bráhmans, being intent on charity only. And the next day she

perceived with astonishment that both arms had grown again, exactly

as they were before. Then she proceeded to cut off the arms of the

others, to give them away, and the arms of all of them grew again

as they were before. Then she saw that they were indestructible,

and every day she cut off the arms of the figures and gave them to

studious Bráhmans, according to the number of the Vedas they had read.

And in a few days a Bráhman, named Sangrámadatta, having heard

the fame of her bounty, which was spread abroad in every direction,

came from Pátaliputra. He being poor, but acquainted with four Vedas,

and endowed with virtues, entered into her presence desiring a gift,

being announced by the door-keepers. She gave him as many arms of the

golden figures as he knew Vedas, after bowing before him with limbs

emaciated with her vow and pale with separation from her beloved. Then

the Bráhman, having heard from her sorrow-stricken attendants the

whole of her story, ending in that very terrible vow, was delighted,

but at the same time despondent, and loading two camels with those

golden arms went to his native city, Pátaliputra. Then that Bráhman,

thinking that his gold would not be safe there, unless guarded by

the king, entered the king's presence and said to him, while he was

sitting in the hall of judgment; "Here I am, O great king, a Bráhman

who am an inhabitant of thy town. I, being poor, and desiring wealth,

went to the southern clime, and arrived at a city named Pratishthána,

belonging to king Narasinha. There, being desirous of a donation, I

went to the house of Madanamálá, a hetæra of distinguished fame. For

with her there lived long some divine being, who departed somewhere

or other, after giving her five indestructible figures of men. Then

the high-spirited woman became afflicted at his departure, and

considering life to be poison-agony, and the body, that fruitless

accumulation of delusion, to be merely a punishment for thieving, lost

her patience, and being with difficulty consoled by her attendants

made this vow--"If in the space of six months he does not visit me,

I must enter the fire, my soul being smitten by adversity." Having

made this vow she, being resolved on death, and desiring to perform

good actions, gives away every day very large gifts. And I beheld her,

king, with tottering feet, conspicuous for the beauty of her person,

though it was thin from fasting; with hand moistened with the water of

giving, surrounded with maids like clustering bees, sorely afflicted,

looking like the incarnation of the mast condition of the elephant

of love. [567] And I think that lover who deserts her, and causes by

his absence that fair one to abandon the body, deserves blame, indeed

deserves death. She to-day gave to me, who know the four Vedas, four

golden arms of human figures, according to right usage, proportioning

her gift to the number of my Vedas. So I wish to purify my house with

sacrifice, and to follow a life of religion here; therefore let the

king grant me protection."

The king Vikramáditya, hearing these tidings of his beloved from the

mouth of the Bráhman, had his mind suddenly turned towards her. And

he commanded his door-keeper to do what the Bráhman wished, and

thinking how constant was the affection of his mistress, who valued

her life as stubble, and in his impatience supposing that she would

be able to assist him in accomplishing his vow, and remembering that

the time fixed for her abandoning the body had almost arrived, he

quickly committed his kingdom to the care of his ministers, and flying

through the air reached Pratishthána, and entered the house of his

beloved. There he beheld his beloved, with raiment pellucid like the

moonlight, having given her wealth away to Pandits, [568] attenuated

like a digit of the moon at the time of its change. Madanamálá, for

her part, on beholding him arrived unexpectedly, the quintessence

of nectar to her eyes, was for a moment like one amazed. Then she

embraced him, and threw round his neck the noose of her arms, as

if fearing that he would escape again. And she said to him with a

voice, the accents of which were choked with tears, "Cruel one, why

did you depart and forsake my innocent self?" The king said, "Come,

I will tell you in private," and went inside with her, welcomed by

her attendants. There he revealed to her who he was, and described

his circumstances, how he came there to conquer king Narasinha by

an artifice, and how, after slaying Prapanchabuddhi, he acquired the

power of flying in the air, and how he was enabled to reward her by

a boon that he obtained from the lord of wealth, and how, hearing

tidings of her from a Bráhman, he had returned there. Having told the

whole story beginning with the subject of his vow, he again said to

her--"So my beloved, that king Narasinha, being very mighty, is not

to be conquered by armies, and he contended with me in single combat,

but I did not slay him, for I possess the power of flying in the air,

and he can only go on the earth, for who, that is a true Kshatriya,

would desire to conquer in an unfair combat? The object of my vow is,

that that king may be announced by the heralds as waiting at the door;

do you assist me in that?"

When the hetæra heard this, she said, "I am honoured by your

request," and summoning her heralds she said to them--"When the king

Narasinha shall come to my house, you must stand near the door with

attentive eyes, and while he is entering, you must say again and

again--"King, prince Narasinha is loyal and devoted to thee." And

when he looks up and asks--"Who is here?"--you must immediately say

to him--"Vikramáditya is here." After giving them these orders, she

dismissed them, and then she said to the female warder--"You must

not prevent king Narasinha from entering here." After issuing these

orders, Madanamálá remained in a state of supreme felicity, having

regained the lord of her life, and gave away her wealth fearlessly.

Then king Narasinha, having heard of that profuse liberality of hers,

which was due to her possession of the golden figures, though he

had given her up, came to visit her house. And while he entered, not

being forbidden by the warder, all the heralds shouted in a loud voice,

beginning at the outer door, "King, prince Narasinha is submissive and

devoted." When that sovereign heard that, he was angry and alarmed, and

when he asked who was there, and found out that king Vikramáditya was

there, he waited a moment and went through the following reflections;

"So this king has forced his way into my kingdom, and carried out the

vow he made long ago, that I should be announced at his door. In truth

this king is a man of might, since he has thus beaten me to-day. And

I must not slay him by force, since he has come alone to a house in

my dominions. So I had better enter now." Having thus reflected, king

Narasinha entered, announced by all the heralds. And king Vikramáditya,

on beholding him enter with a smile on his face, rose up also with

smiling countenance and embraced him. Then those two kings sat down

and enquired after one another's welfare, while Madanamálá stood by

their side.

And in the course of conversation Narasinha asked Vikramáditya where he

had obtained those golden figures. Then Vikramáditya told him the whole

of that strange adventure of his, how he had slain the base ascetic,

and acquired the power of flying through the air, and how, by virtue

of the boon of the god of wealth, he had obtained five indestructible

gigantic golden figures. Then king Narasinha chose that king for his

friend, discovering that he was of great might, that he possessed the

power of flying, and that he had a good heart. And having made him

his friend, he welcomed him with the prescribed rites of hospitality,

and taking him to his own palace, he entertained him with all the

attentions paid to himself. And king Vikramáditya, after having been

thus honoured, was dismissed by him, and returned to the house of

Madanamálá. Then Vikramáditya, having accomplished his difficult vow

by his courage and intelligence, determined to go to his own city. And

Madanamálá, being unable to remain separated from him, was eager to

accompany him, and with the intention of abandoning her native land,

she bestowed her dwelling upon the Bráhmans. Then Vikramáditya,

the moon of kings, went with her, whose mind was exclusively fixed

on him, to his own city of Pátaliputra, followed by her elephants,

horses, and footmen. There he remained in happiness, (accompanied by

Madanamálá, who had abandoned her own country for his love,) having

formed an alliance with king Narasinha.

"Thus, king, even hetæræ are occasionally of noble character and

as faithful to kings as their own wives, much more then matrons of

high birth." On hearing this noble tale from the mouth of Marubhúti,

the king Naraváhanadatta, and his new wife Ratnaprabhá sprung from

the glorious race of the Vidyádharas, were much delighted.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

When Marubhúti had told this story there, the commander-in-chief

Harisikha said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta--"It is true, good

women value nothing more than their husbands, and in proof of it,

listen now to this still more wonderful tale."

Story of Sringabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa.

There is a city on the earth named Vardhamána, and in it there dwelt

a king named Vírabhuja, chief of righteous men. And though he had a

hundred wives, one queen of the name of Gunavará was dearer to him than

his life. And in spite of his hundred wives, it happened, as Fate would

have it, that not one of them bore him a son. So he asked a physician

named Srutavardhana--"Is there any medicine able to bring about

the birth of a son?" When the physician heard that, he said--"King,

I can prepare such a medicine, [569] but the king must procure for

me a wild goat." When he heard this speech of the physician's, the

king gave an order to the warder, and had a goat brought for him from

the forest. The physician handed over the goat to the king's cooks,

and with its flesh prepared a sovereign elixir for the queens. The

king went off to worship his god, after ordering the queens to

assemble in one place. And ninety-nine of those queens did assemble

in one place, but the queen Gunavará alone was not present there,

for she was at that time near the king, who was engaged in praying

to his god. And when they had assembled, the physician gave them the

whole of the elixir to drink mixed with powder, not perceiving the

absence of Gunavará. Immediately the king returned with his beloved,

having performed his devotions, and perceiving that that drug was

completely finished, he said to the physician--"What! did you not keep

any for Gunavará? You have forgotten the principal object with which

this was undertaken." After saying this to the abashed physician,

the king said to the cooks--"Is there any of the flesh of that goat

left?" The cooks said, "The horns only remain." Then the physician

said, "Bravo! I can make an admirable elixir out of the centre of the

horns." After saying this, the physician had an elixir prepared from

the fleshy part of the horns, and gave it to queen Gunavará mixed with

powder. Then the ninety-nine wives of the king became pregnant, and

all in time brought forth sons. But the head queen Gunavará conceived

last of all, and afterwards gave birth to a son with more auspicious

marks than the sons of all the others. And as he was sprung from the

juice of the fleshy part of the horns, his father, the king, gave him

the name of Sringabhuja, and rejoiced greatly at his birth. He grew up

with those other brothers, and though in age he was the youngest of

all, he was superior to all in good qualities. And in course of time

that prince became like the god of Love in beauty, and like Arjuna

in his skill in archery, and like Bhíma in strength. Accordingly the

other queens, seeing that queen Gunavará, now that she had this son,

was more than ever dear to king Vírabhuja, became jealous of her.

Then an evil-minded queen among them, named Ayasolekhá, deliberated

with all the others and entered into a conspiracy; and when the

king came home one day, she exhibited an assumed sadness in her

face. The king asked her the reason, and she said with apparent

reluctance--"My husband, why do you endure patiently the disgrace

of your house? you avert disgrace from others, why do you not avert

it from yourself? You know the young superintendent of the women's

apartments named Surakshita; your queen Gunavará is secretly devoted

to him. Since no man but he can penetrate into the women's apartments,

which are strictly watched by guards, she associates with him. And this

is a well-known subject of gossip in the whole harem." When she said

this to the king, he pondered and reflected; and went and asked the

other queens one after another in private, and they were faithful to

their treacherous plot, and told him the same story. Then that wise

king conquered his anger, and reflected--"This accusation against

these two is improbable, and yet such is the gossip. So I must not

without reflecting reveal the matter to any one; but they must by an

artifice be separated now, to enable me to see the termination of

the whole matter." Having determined on this, next day he summoned

Surakshita, the superintendent of the womens' apartments, into his

judgment-hall, and with assumed anger, said to him--"I have learned,

villain, that you have slain a Bráhman, so I cannot endure to see

your face until you have made a pilgrimage to holy places." When he

heard that, he was amazed and began to murmur--"How can I have slain a

Bráhman, my sovereign?" But the king went on to say; "Do not attempt

to brazen it out, but go to Kásmír to wash away your sin, (where are

those holy fields, Vijayakshetra, and Nandikshetra the purifying,

and the kshetra [570] of the Boar), the land which was hallowed by

Vishnu the bow-handed god, where the stream of the Ganges bears the

name of Vitastá, where is the famous Mandapakshetra, and where is

Uttaramánasa; when your sin has been washed away by a pilgrimage to

these holy places, you shall behold my face again, but not till then."

With this speech the king Vírabhuja dismissed the helpless Surakshita,

sending him to a distance on the pretence of a pilgrimage to holy

places. Then the king went into the presence of that queen Gunavará,

full of love and anger and sober reflection. Then she, seeing that

his mind was troubled, asked him anxiously, "My husband, why are

you seized to-day with a sudden fit of despondency?" When the king

heard that, he gave her this feigned answer--"To-day, queen, a great

astrologer came to me and said--'King, you must place the queen

Gunavará for some time in a dungeon, and you must yourself live a

life of chastity, otherwise your kingdom will certainly be overthrown,

and she will surely die.' Having said this, the astrologer departed;

hence my present despondency." When the king said this, the queen

Gunavará, who was devoted to her husband, distracted with fear

and love, said to him--"Why do you not cast me this very day into

a dungeon, my husband? I am highly favoured, if I can benefit you

even at the sacrifice of my life. Let me die, but let not my lord

have misfortune. For a husband is the chief refuge of wives in this

world and in the next." Having heard this speech of hers, the king

said to himself with tears in his eyes; "I think there is no guilt

in her, nor in that Surakshita, for I saw that the colour of his

face did not change, and he seemed without fear. Alas! nevertheless

I must ascertain the truth of that rumour." After reflecting thus,

the king in his grief said to the queen--"Then it is best that a

dungeon should be made here, queen!" She replied--"Very good"--so the

king had a dungeon easy of access made in the women's apartments,

and placed the queen in it. And he comforted her son Sringabhuja,

(who was in despair and asked the reason,) by telling him exactly what

he told the queen. And she, for her part, thought the dungeon heaven,

because it was all for the king's good. For good women have no pleasure

of their own; to them their husbands' pleasure is pleasure. [571]

When this had been done, that other wife of the king's, named

Ayasolekhá, said of her own accord to her son, who was named

Nirvásabhuja,--"So, our enemy Gunavará has been thrown into a dungeon,

and it would be a good thing if her son were banished from this

country. So, my boy, devise a scheme with the help of your other

brothers by which Sringabhuja may be quickly banished from the

country." Having been addressed in this language by his mother,

the jealous Nirvásabhuja told his other brothers, and continued to

ponder over a scheme.

And one day, as the king's sons were practising with their weapons

of war, they all saw an enormous crane in front of the palace. And

while they were looking with astonishment at that misshapen bird,

a Buddhist mendicant, who possessed supernatural knowledge, came

that way and said to them--"Princes, this is not a crane, it is

a Rákshasa named Agnisikha, who wanders about in an assumed shape

destroying towns. So pierce him with an arrow, that being smitten he

may depart hence." When they heard this speech of the mendicant's,

the ninety-nine elder brothers shot their arrows, but not one struck

the crane. Then that naked mendicant again said to them--"This younger

brother of yours, named Sringabhuja, is able to strike this crane,

so let him take a bow suitable for the purpose." When Nirvásabhuja

heard that, the treacherous one remembered the injunction of his

mother, an opportunity for carrying out which had now arrived, and

reflected--"This will be a means of getting Sringabhuja out of the

country. [572] So let us give him the bow and arrow belonging to

our father. If the crane is pierced and goes off with our father's

golden arrow sticking in it, Sringabhuja will follow it, while we

are searching for the arrow. And when he does not find, in spite of

his search, that Rákshasa transformed into a crane, he will continue

to roam about hither and thither, he will not come back without the

arrow." Thus reflecting, the treacherous one gave to Sringabhuja

his father's bow with the arrow, in order that he might smite the

crane. The mighty prince took it and drew it, and pierced that crane

with the golden arrow, the notch of which was made of a jewel. The

crane, as soon as it was pierced, went off with the arrow sticking in

its body, and flying away departed with drops of blood falling from

the wound. Then the treacherous Nirvásabhuja and the other brothers,

instigated by his hints, said to the brave Sringabhuja--"Give us

back the golden arrow that belongs to our father, otherwise we will

abandon our bodies before your eyes. For unless we produce it, our

father will banish us from this country, and its fellow is not to be

made or obtained." When Sringabhuja heard that, he said to those crafty

ones--"Be of good cheer! Do not be afraid--Abandon your terror! I will

go and slay that miserable Rákshasa and bring back the arrow." Having

said this, Sringabhuja took his own bow and arrows, and went in the

same direction in which the Rákshasa had gone, quickly following up

the track of the drops of blood, that had fallen on the ground. The

other sons returned delighted to their mothers, and Sringabhuja, as he

went on step by step, at last reached a distant forest. Seeking about

in it, he found in the wood a great city, like the fruit of his own

tree of merit fallen to him in due time for enjoyment. There he sat

down at the root of a tree to rest, and as if in a moment beheld a

maiden of wonderful beauty coming there, appearing to have been made

by the Creator in some strange way of ambrosia and poison; since by

her absence she deprived of life, and by her presence she bestowed

it. And when the maiden slowly approached him, and looked at him

with an eye raining love, the prince fell in love with her and said

to her--"Gazelle-eyed one, what is the name of this city, and to whom

does it belong? Who are you, and why have you come here? tell me." Then

the pearly-toothed maid turned her face sideways, and fixed her eye

on the ground, and spake to him with sweet and loving voice--"This

city is Dhúmapura, the home of all felicity; in it lives a mighty

Rákshasa by name Agnisikha; know that I am his matchless daughter,

Rúpasikhá by name, who have come here with mind captivated by your

unparalleled beauty. Now you must tell me who you are, and why you

have come here." When she said this, he told her who he was, and

of what king he was the son, and how he had come to Dhúmapura for

the sake of an arrow. Then Rúpasikhá, having heard the whole story,

said--"There is no archer like you in the three worlds, since you

pierced even my father with a great arrow, when he was in the form

of a crane. And I took that golden arrow for my own, by way of a

plaything. But my father's wound was at once healed by the minister

Mahádanshtra, who excels all men in knowledge of potent drugs for

curing wounds. So I will go to my father, and after I have explained

the whole matter, I will quickly introduce you into his presence,

my husband; so I call you, for my heart is now fully set upon you."

Having said this, Rúpasikhá left Sringabhuja there, and immediately

went into the presence of her father Agnisikha, and said--"Father,

there has come here a wonderful prince named Sringabhuja, matchless

for gifts of beauty, birth, character and age. I feel certain that

he is not a man, he is some portion of a god incarnate here below,

so, if he does not become my husband, I will certainly abandon my

life." When she said this to him, her father the Rákshasa said to

her--"My daughter, men are our appropriate food, nevertheless, if

your heart is set upon it, let it be so; bring your prince here, and

shew him to me." When Rúpasikhá heard that, she went to Sringabhuja,

and after telling him what she had done, she took him into the presence

of her father. He prostrated himself, and Agnisikha, the father of the

maiden, after saluting him courteously, said to him--"Prince, I will

give you my daughter Rúpasikhá, if you never disobey my orders." When

he said this, Sringabhuja, bending low, answered him--"Good! I will

never disobey your orders." When Sringabhuja said this to him,

Agnisikha was pleased and answered--"Rise up! Go and bathe, and

return here from the bath-room." After saying this to him, he said

to his daughter--"Go and bring all your sisters here quickly." When

Agnisikha had given these orders to Sringabhuja and Rúpasikhá, they

both of them went out, after promising to obey them.

Then the wise Rúpasikhá said to Sringabhuja--"My husband, I have a

hundred sisters, who are princesses, and we are all exactly alike,

with similar ornaments and dresses, and all of us have similar

necklaces upon our necks. So our father will assemble us in one

place, and in order to bewilder you, will say 'Choose your own love

out of the midst of these.' For I know that such is his treacherous

intention, otherwise why is he assembling all of us here. So when we

are assembled, I will put my necklace on my head instead of my neck,

by that sign you will recognise me; then throw over my neck the garland

of forest flowers. And this father of mine is somewhat silly, he has

not a discerning intellect; besides what is the use against me of

those powers which he possesses by being a Rákshasa? So, whatever he

says to entrap you, you must agree to, and must tell it to me, and I

shall know well enough what further steps to take." Having said this,

Rúpasikhá went to her sisters, and Sringabhuja, having agreed to do

what she said, went to bathe. Then Rúpasikhá came with her sisters into

the presence of her father, and Sringabhuja returned, after he had been

washed by a female servant. Then Agnisikha gave a garland of forest

flowers to Sringabhuja, saying, "Give this to that one of these ladies,

who is your own love." He took the garland and threw it round the neck

of Rúpasikhá, [573] who had previously placed the necklace on her head

by way of token. Then Agnisikha said to Rúpasikhá and Sringabhuja,--"I

will celebrate your marriage ceremony to-morrow morning."

Having said this, he dismissed those two lovers and his other

daughters to their apartments, and in a short time he summoned

Sringabhuja and said this to him; "Take this yoke of oxen, and go

outside this town, and sow in the earth the hundred khárís [574]

of sesame-seed which are piled there in a heap." When Sringabhuja

heard that, he was troubled, and he went and told it to Rúpasikhá,

and she answered him as follows--"My husband, you need not be in the

least despondent about this, go there at once; I will easily perform

this by my magic power." When he heard this, the prince went there,

and, seeing the sesame-seeds in a heap, despondently began to plough

the land and sow them, but while he was beginning, he saw the land

ploughed and all the seeds sown in due course by the might of his

lady-love's magic power, and he was much astonished.

So he went to Agnisikha, and told him that this task was accomplished;

then that treacherous Rákshasa again said to him--"I do not want

the seeds sown, go and pile them up again in a heap." When he heard

that, he again went and told Rúpasikhá. She sent him to that field,

and created innumerable ants, [575] and by her magic power made them

gather together the sesame-seeds. When Sringabhuja saw that, he went

and told Agnisikha that the seeds had been piled up again in a heap.

Then the cunning but stupid Agnisikha said to him--"Only two yojanas

from this place, in a southerly direction, there is an empty temple

of Siva in a wood. In it lives my dear brother Dhúmasikha--go there

at once, and say this in front of the temple, 'Dhúmasikha, I am

sent by Agnisikha as a messenger to invite you and your retinue:

come quickly, for to-morrow the ceremony of Rúpasikhá's marriage is

to take place.' Having said this, come back here to-day with speed,

and to-morrow marry my daughter Rúpasikhá." When Sringabhuja was thus

addressed by the rascal, he said--"So be it"--and went and recounted

the whole to Rúpasikhá. The good girl gave him some earth, some

water, some thorns, and some fire, and her own fleet horse, and said

to him--"Mount this horse and go to that temple, and quickly repeat

that invitation to Dhúmasikha as it was told to you, and then you must

at once return on this horse at full gallop, and you must often turn

your head and look round; and if you see Dhúmasikha coming after you,

you must throw this earth behind you in his way; if in spite of that,

Dhúmasikha pursues you, you must in the same manner fling the water

behind you in his path; if in spite of that he comes on, you must in

like manner throw these thorns in his way. If in spite of them he

pursues, throw this fire in his way; and if you do this, you will

return here without the Daitya; so do not hesitate--go, you shall

to-day behold the power of my magic."--When she said this to him,

Sringabhuja took the earth and the other things and said, "I will

do so," and mounting her horse went to the temple in the wood. There

he saw an image of Siva, with one of Párvatí on his left and one of

Ganesa on his right, and, after bowing before the Lord of the Universe,

[576] he quickly addressed to Dhúmasikha the form of invitation told

him by Agnisikha, and fled from the place at full speed, urging on his

horse. And he soon turned his head and looked round, and he beheld

Dhúmasikha coming after him. And he quickly threw that earth behind

him in his way, and the earth, so flung, immediately produced a great

mountain. When he saw that the Rákshasa had, though with difficulty,

climbed over that mountain, and was coming on, the prince in the same

way threw the water behind him. That produced a great river in his

path with rolling waves: the Rákshasa with difficulty got across it

and was coming on, when Sringabhuja quickly strewed those thorns behind

him. They produced a dense thorny wood in Dhúmasikha's path. When the

Rákshasa emerged from it, the prince threw the fire behind him, which

set on fire the path with the herbs and the trees. When Dhúmasikha

saw that the fire was hard to cross, like Khándava, [577] he returned

home, tired and terrified. For on that occasion the Rákshasa was so

bewildered by the magic of Rúpasikhá that he went and returned on

his feet, he did not think of flying through the air.

Then Sringabhuja returned to Dhúmapura, free from fear, commending in

his heart that display of his love's magic power. He gave up the horse

to the delighted Rúpasikhá, and related his adventure, and then went

in to the presence of Agnisikha. He said, "I went and invited your

brother Dhúmasikha." When he said this, Agnisikha being perplexed,

said to him--"If you really went there, mention some peculiarity of

the place." When the crafty Rákshasa said this to Sringabhuja, he

answered him--"Listen, I will tell you a token: in that temple there

is a figure of Párvatí on the left side of Siva, and of Ganesa on his

right." When Agnisikha heard that, he was astonished and thought for a

moment--"What! did he go there, and was my brother not able to devour

him? Then he cannot be a mere man, he must be a god, so let him marry

my daughter, as he is a fitting match for her." After thus reflecting,

he sent Sringabhuja as a successful suitor to Rúpasikhá, but he never

suspected that there was a traitor in his own family. So Sringabhuja

went, eager for his marriage, and after eating and drinking with

her, managed somehow to get through the night. And the next morning

Agnisikha gave to him Rúpasikhá with all the magnificence appropriate

to his magic power, according to due form, in the presence of the

fire. Little in common have Rákshasas' daughters and princes, and

strange the union of such! Wonderful indeed are the results of our

deeds in a previous state of existence! The prince, after he had

obtained that beloved daughter of the Rákshasa, seemed like a swan

who had got hold of a soft lotus, sprung from mud. And he remained

there with her, who was devoted to him alone, enjoying various dainty

delights provided by the magic power of the Rákshasa.

When some days had passed there, he said in secret to the

Rákshasa's daughter, "Come, my beloved, let us return to the city of

Vardhamána. For that is my capital city, and I cannot endure to be

banished from my capital city by my enemies, for people like myself

hold honour dear as life. So leave for my sake the land of your birth,

though it is hard to leave; inform your father, and bring that golden

arrow in your hand." When Sringabhuja said this to Rúpasikhá, she

answered--"I must immediately obey your command. I care not for the

land of my birth, nor for my relatives, you are all those to me. [578]

Good women have no other refuge than their husbands. But it will

never do to communicate our intention to my father, for he would not

let us go. So we must depart without that hot-tempered father of mine

knowing of it. And if he hears from the attendants and comes after us,

I will bewilder him by my knowledge, for he is senseless and like an

idiot." When he heard this speech of hers, he set out delighted on the

next day, with her who gave him the half of her kingdom, and filled

a casket with priceless jewels, and brought that golden arrow; and

they both mounted her splendid horse Saravega, [579] having deceived

the attendants by representing that they were going for a pleasure

excursion in the park, and journeyed towards Vardhamána.

When the couple had gone a long distance, the Rákshasa Agnisikha

found it out, and in wrath pursued after them through the air. And

hearing afar off the noise produced by the speed of his flight,

Rúpasikhá said to Sringabhuja on the road, "My husband, my father

has come to make us turn back, so remain here without fear: see how I

will deceive him. For he shall neither see you nor the horse, since I

shall conceal both by my deluding power." After saying this, she got

down from the horse and assumed by her deluding power the form of a

man. [580] And she said to a woodcutter, who had come to the forest

to cut wood--"A great Rákshasa is coming here, so remain quiet for a

moment." Then she continued to cut wood with his axe. And Sringabhuja

looked on with a smile on his face. In the meanwhile that foolish

Rákshasa arrived there, and lighted down from the air, on beholding

his daughter in the shape of a woodcutter, and asked her whether she

had seen a man and woman pass that way. [581] Then his daughter, who

had assumed the form of a man, said with great effort as if tired,

"We two have not seen any couple, as our eyes are fatigued with

toil, for we two woodcutters have been occupied here in cutting a

great quantity of wood to burn Agnisikha the king of the Rákshasas,

who is dead." When that silly Rákshasa heard that, he thought,

"What! am I dead? What then does that daughter matter to me? I will

go and ask my own attendants at home whether I am dead or not." [582]

Thus reflecting, Agnisikha went quickly home, and his daughter set

out with her husband as before, laughing as she went.

And soon the Rákshasa returned in high spirits, for he had asked his

attendants, who could not help laughing in their sleeves, whether he

was alive, and had learned that he was. Then Rúpasikhá, knowing from

the terrible noise that he was coming again, though as yet far off,

got down from the horse and concealed her husband as before by her

deluding power, and taking letters from the hand of a letter-carrier,

who was coming along the road, she again assumed the form of a man.

And so the Rákshasa arrived as before, and asked his daughter, who was

disguised as a man--"Did you see a man and a woman on the road?" Then

she, disguised as a man, answered him with a sigh,--"I beheld no such

person, for my mind was absorbed with my haste, for Agnisikha, who was

to-day mortally wounded in battle, and has only a little breath left

in his body, and is in his capital desiring to make over his kingdom,

has despatched me as a messenger to summon to his presence his brother

Dhúmasikha, who is living an independent life." When Agnisikha heard

that, he said, "What! am I mortally wounded by my enemies?" And

in his perplexity he returned again home to get information on

the point. But it never occurred to him to say to himself--"Who is

mortally wounded? Here I am safe and sound." Strange are the fools

that the Creator produces, and wonderfully obscured with the quality

of darkness! And when he arrived at home and found that the tale

was false, he would not expose himself again to the laughter of the

people, tired of being imposed upon, and forgetting his daughter. And

Rúpasikhá, after deluding him, returned to her husband as before,

for virtuous women know of no other good than the good of their

husbands. Then Sringabhuja, mounted on the wonderful horse, again

proceeded rapidly with his wife towards the city of Vardhamána. Then

his father Vírabhuja, having heard that he was returning in company

with her, went out much pleased to meet him. The king, when he saw

him adorned with that wife, like Krishna with Bhámá, considered that

he had gained afresh the bliss of sovereign sway. And when his son

got down from his horse, and clung to his feet with his beloved,

he raised him up and embraced him, and with his eye, in which stood

the water of joyful tears, performed in noble wise the auspicious

ceremony that put an end to his own despondency, and then conducted

him into his palace, making high festival. And when he asked his son

where he had been, Sringabhuja told him his whole history from the

beginning. And after summoning his brothers, Nirvásabhuja and all,

into his father's presence, he gave them the golden arrow. Then the

king Vírabhuja, after what he had heard and seen, was displeased with

those other sons, and considered Sringabhuja his only true son.

Then that wise king drew this true conclusion--"I suspect that, as

this son of mine out of spite was banished by these enemies, brothers

only in name, though he was all the while innocent, so his mother

Gunavará, whom I love so well, was falsely accused by their mothers,

and was all the while innocent. So what is the use of delay? I will

find out the truth of it immediately." [583] After these reflections,

the king spent that day in performing his duties, and went at night

to sift his other wife Ayasolekhá. She was delighted to see him,

and he made her drink a great quantity of wine, and she in her

sleep murmured out, while the king was awake--"If we had not falsely

slandered Gunavará, would the king ever have visited me here?" [584]

When the king heard this speech of the wicked queen uttered in her

sleep, he felt he had attained certainty, and rose up in wrath and

went out; and going to his own chamber, he had the eunuchs summoned,

and said to them; "Take that Gunavará out of the dungeon, and after

she has bathed bring her quickly; for the present moment was appointed

by the astrologer as the limit of her stay in the dungeon for the

purpose of averting the evil omens." When they heard that, they said,

"So be it," and they went and quickly brought the queen Gunavará into

the presence of the king, bathed and adorned. Then that wedded pair,

happy in having crossed the sea of separation, spent that night unsated

with mutual embraces. Then the king related to the queen with delight

that adventure of Sringabhuja's, and told his son the circumstances

of his mother's imprisonment and release. In the meanwhile Ayasolekhá,

waking up, found out that the king was gone, and guessing that he had

entrapped her with his conversation, fell into deep despondency. And

in the morning the king Vírabhuja conducted his son Sringabhuja, with

his wife Rúpasikhá, into the presence of Gunavará. He came, and was

delighted to behold his mother emerged from the dungeon, and with his

new wife he worshipped the feet of his parents. Gunavará, embracing

her son, who had returned from his journey, and her daughter-in-law,

obtained in the way above related, went from joy to joy. Then by the

order of his father, Sringabhuja related to her at length his own

adventure, and what Rúpasikhá did. Then queen Gunavará delighted,

said to him, "My son, what has not that Rúpasikhá done for you? For

she, a heroine of wonderful exploits, has given up and sacrificed for

you her life, her family, her native land, these three. She must be

some goddess, become incarnate for your sake by the appointment of

Destiny. For she has placed her foot on the head of all women that

are devoted to their husbands." When the queen had said this, the

king applauded her speech, and so did Rúpasikhá with head modestly

bent. Just at that moment the superintendent of the womens' apartments,

Surakshita, who had been long ago slandered by that Ayasolekhá,

returned from visiting all the holy bathing places. He was announced

by the door-keeper, and bowed delighted at the king's foot, and then

the king, who now knew the facts, honoured him exceedingly. And by

his mouth he summoned the other queens who were wicked, and said to

him--"Go! fling all these into the dungeon." When the queen Gunavará

heard that, and the terrified women were thrown into the dungeon,

she said out of compassion to the king, clinging to his feet, "King,

do not keep them for a long time in the dungeon! Have mercy, for I

cannot bear to see them terrified." By thus entreating the king she

prevented their imprisonment, for the only vengeance that the great

make use of against their enemies is compassion. Then those queens,

dismissed by the king, went ashamed to their houses, and would even

have preferred to have been in the embrace of death. And the king

thought highly of the great-hearted Gunavará, and considered, because

he possessed that wife, that he must have accomplished virtuous acts

in a former state of existence. Then the king, determining to banish

his other sons by an artifice, had them summoned, and spake to them

this feigned speech--"I have heard that you villains have slain a

Bráhman traveller, so go and visit all the holy bathing-places in

succession, do not remain here." When the sons heard that, they were

not able to persuade the king of the truth, for when a ruler is bent

on violence, who can convince him? Then Sringabhuja, beholding those

brothers departing, with his eyes full of tears produced by pity,

thus addressed his father. "Father, pity their one fault, have mercy

upon them." Having said this, he fell at the feet of that king. And

the king, thinking that that son was able to bear the burden of

sovereignty, being even in his youth like an incarnation of Vishnu,

full of glory and compassion, hiding his real sentiments and cherishing

his anger against them, nevertheless did what Sringabhuja asked. And

all those brothers considered their younger brother as the saviour

of their lives. And all the subjects, beholding the exceeding virtue

of Sringabhuja, became attached to him.

Then the next day, his father, king Vírabhuja, anointed as crown-prince

Sringabhuja, who was the oldest in virtue of them all, though he had

elder brothers. And then Sringabhuja, having been anointed and having

obtained the leave of his father, went with all his forces to conquer

the world. And having brought back the wealth of numerous kings, whom

he overcame by the might of his arm, he returned, having diffused

the splendour of his glory through all the earth. Then bearing the

weight of the realm with his submissive brothers, the successful

prince Sringabhuja, giving pleasure to his parents, who remained in

the enjoyment of comfort free from anxiety, and bestowing gifts on

Bráhmans, dwelt at ease with Rúpasikhá as if with incarnate success.

"Thus virtuous women serve their husbands in every way, devoted

to them alone, like Gunavará, and Rúpasikhá, the mother-in-law and

daughter-in-law."

When Naraváhanadatta, in the society of Ratnaprabhá, heard this story

from the lips of Harisikha, he was much delighted and exclaimed,

"Bravo!" Then he rose up, and quickly performed the religious ceremony

for the day, and went with his wife into the presence of his father,

the king of Vatsa, and after eating, and whiling away the afternoon

with singing and playing, he spent the night with his beloved in his

own private apartments.

NOTE ON CHAPTER XXXIX.

In a Norwegian tale, called "The Widow's Son," page 295 of Thorpe's

Yule-Tide Stories, will be found an incident closely resembling

the pursuit of Sringabhuja by Dhúmasikha. The widow's son has,

contrary to the orders of a Troll, in whose house he found himself,

entered several chambers, in one of which he found a thorn-whip,

in another a huge stone, and a water-bottle. In the third he found

a boiling copper kettle, with which he scalded his finger, but the

Troll cured it with a pot of ointment. In the fourth room he found a

black horse in a stall, with a trough of burning embers at its head,

and a basket of hay at its tail. The youth thought this cruel, so he

changed their position. The horse, to reward him, informed him that

the Troll on his return would certainly kill him, and then continued,

"Lay the saddle on me, put on the armour, and take the whip of thorn,

the stone, and the water-flask and the pot of ointment, and then we

will set out." When the youth mounted the horse, it set off at a rapid

rate. After riding some time, the horse said--"I think I hear a noise;

look round, can you see anything?" "A great many are coming after us,

certainly a score at least," answered the youth. "Ah! that is the

Troll," said the horse, "he is coming with all his companions." They

travelled for a time until their pursuers were gaining on them. "Throw

now the thorn whip over your shoulder," said the horse,--"but throw

it far away from me." The youth did so, and at the same moment there

sprang up a large thick wood of briars. The youth now rode on a long

way, while the Troll had to go home to fetch something wherewith to

hew a road through the wood. After some time the horse again said,

"Look back, can you see anything now?" "Yes, a whole multitude of

people" said the youth, "like a church congregation." "That is the

Troll, now he has got more with him, throw out now the large stone,

but throw it far from me." When the youth had done what the horse

desired, there arose a large stone mountain behind them. So the Troll

was obliged to go home after something with which to bore through

the mountain; and while he was thus employed, the youth rode on a

considerable way. But now the horse bade him again look back; he then

saw a multitude like a whole army, they were so bright, that they

glittered in the sun. "Well that is the Troll with all his friends,"

said the horse. "Now throw the water-bottle behind you, but take good

care to spill none on me." The youth did so, but notwithstanding his

caution he happened to spill a drop on the horse's loins. Immediately

there arose a vast lake, and the spilling of a few drops caused the

horse to stand far out in the water; nevertheless he at last swam to

the shore. When the Trolls came to the water, they lay down to drink it

all up, and they gulped and gulped it down till they burst. (Folk-lore

demons experience great difficulty in crossing water.) "Now we are

quit of them," said the horse.

In Laura von Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 57,

we find a similar incident. In the story of Fata Morgana, a prince,

who carries off a bottle filled with her perspiration, but imprudently

wakes her by kissing her, is pursued by her with two lions. He throws

three pomegranates behind him: the first produces a river of blood,

the second a thorny mountain, the third a volcano. This he does

by the advice of his horse, who is really Fata Morgana's brother

transformed by magic: see also Vol. I, p. 343; cp. also the 79th tale

in Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmärchen (sixteenth edition in one volume)

Die Wassernixe.

In Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 113, Dr. Reinhold Köhler, in his

remarks on the West Highland Stories collected by J. F. Campbell,

compares the story of Agnisikha with the second story in Campbell's

collection, entitled: "The Battle of the Birds." In this a king's son

wishes to marry the youngest daughter of a giant. The giant sets him

three tasks to do; to clean out a stable, to thatch it with feathers,

and to fetch eggs from a magpie's nest in the top of a tree more than

five hundred feet high. All these tasks he accomplishes by the help

of the young lady herself. In the last task she makes a ladder of her

fingers for him to ascend the tree by, but in so doing she loses her

little finger. The giant requires the prince to choose his wife from

among three sisters similarly dressed. He recognizes her by the loss

of the little finger. When bed-time came, the giant's daughter told the

prince that they must fly, or the giant would kill him. They mounted on

the gray filly in the stable. But before starting the daughter cut an

apple into nine shares; she put two at the head of the bed, two at the

foot, two at the door of the kitchen, two at the house-door, and one

outside the house. The giant awoke and called "Are you asleep?" several

times, and the shares answered "No." At last he went and found the bed

empty and cold, and pursued the fugitive couple. At the break of day

the giant's daughter felt her father's breath burning her back. She

told the prince to put his hand in the horse's ear, and fling what

he found behind him. He found a sprig of sloe, flung it behind him,

and produced a wood twenty miles long. The giant had to go back for

his axe and wood-knife. In the middle of the day the prince finds

in the ear of the filly a piece of gray stone. This produces twenty

miles of gray rock behind them. The giant has to go back for his lever

and mattock. The next thing, that the prince finds and flings behind

him, is a bladder of water. This produces a fresh-water loch twenty

miles broad. In it the giant is happily drowned. The rest of the

story has no bearing upon the tale of Sringabhuja. Köhler compares

a story in William Carleton's stories of the Irish peasantry. Here

there is a sprig, a pebble and a drop of water producing a wood,

a rock and a lake. He compares also a Norwegian story, Ashbjörnsen,

No. 46, and some Swedish stories collected by Hylten Cavallius and

G. Stephens. The three tasks are very different in the different forms

of the tale. The ladder of fingers is only found in the Celtic form.

It is only in the Gaelic and Irish forms that the objects thrown

behind to check pursuit are found in the ear of the horse.

In the latter form of the story of the Mermaid, Thorpe's Yule-Tide

Stories, p. 205, we have the pursuit with much the same incidents as

in our text. See also Ralston's remarks on the story in our text at

pp. 132 and 143 of his Russian Folk-Tales. Cp. also Veckenstedt's

Wendische Sagen, p. 216. An Indian parallel will be found in Miss

Frere's Old Deccan Days, pp. 62 and 63. A Modern Greek one in Bernhard

Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, pp. 76-79.

Cp. also for the tasks the story of Bisara in Kaden's Unter den

Olivenbäumen, and that of Die schöne Fiorita. Herr Kaden aptly compares

the story of Jason and Medea. Another excellent parallel is furnished

by the story of Schneeweiss-Feuerroth in the same collection, where

we have the pursuit much as in our text.

The pursuit and the tasks are found in the tale called La Montagne

Noire, on p. 448 of Melusine, a periodical which appeared in the

year 1878, and in Branca-flor, No. XIV in Coelho's Contos Populares

Portuguezes, and in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren, p. 60. The tasks are

found in the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 226, and in Vol. II,

p. 186; in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 182, (the title of the tale

is Die dankbaren Thiere; some grateful ants are found at page 339;)

in Grössler's Sagen aus der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 60 and 61; in

Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, pp. 18, 142, 262; in Kuhn's Westfälische

Märchen, Vol. II. p. 249, frogs, ants, and wasps help the hero. Cp. for

the pursuit Liebrecht's translation of the Pentamerone of Basile,

Vol. I, pp. 74-76 and 160.

CHAPTER XL.

Then, the next morning, when Naraváhanadatta was in Ratnaprabhá's

house, Gomukha and the others came to him. But Marubhúti, being a

little sluggish with intoxication produced by drinking spirits,

approached slowly, decorated with flowers, and anointed with

unguents. Then Gomukha, with face amused at his novel conception

of statesman-like behaviour, out of fun ridiculed him by imitating

his stammering utterance and staggering gait, and said to him, "How

comes it that you, though the son of Yaugandharáyana, do not know

policy, that you drink spirits in the morning, and come drunk into

the presence of the prince?" When the intoxicated Marubhúti heard

this, he said to him in his anger, "This should be said to me by the

prince or some superior. But, tell me, who are you that you take upon

you to instruct me, you son of Ityaka?" When he said this, Gomukha

replied to him smiling, "Do princes reprove with their own mouths

an ill-behaved servant? Undoubtedly their attendants must remind

him of what is proper. And it is true that I am the son of Ityaka,

but you are an ox of ministers, [585] your sluggishness alone would

show it; the only fault is that you have no horns." When Gomukha said

this to him Marubhúti answered, "You too, Gomukha, have much of the

ox-nature about you; but you are clearly of mixed breed, for you are

not properly domesticated." When all laughed at hearing this, Gomukha

said, "This Marubhúti is literally a jewel, for who can introduce the

thread of virtue [586] into that which cannot be pierced even by a

thousand efforts? But a jewel of a man is a different kind of thing,

for that is easily penetrated; as an illustration listen to the story

of the bridge of sand."

Story of Tapodatta.

There lived in Pratishthána a Bráhman of the name of Tapodatta. He,

though his father kept worrying him, would not learn the sciences

in his boyhood. Subsequently he found himself censured by all, and

being filled with regret, he went to the bank of the Ganges, in order

to perform asceticism for the acquisition of knowledge. [587] There

he betook himself to severe mortification of the flesh, and while he

was thus engaged, Indra, who had beheld him with astonishment, came

to him to prevent him, disguised as a Bráhman. And when he had come

near him, he kept taking grains of sand from the bank, and throwing

them into the billowy water of the Ganges. When Tapodatta saw that,

he broke his silence, and asked him out of curiosity--"Bráhman, why do

you do this unceasingly?" And Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, when he

had been persistently questioned by him, said, "I am making a bridge

over the Ganges for man and beast to cross by." Then Tapodatta said,

"You fool, is it possible to make a bridge over the Ganges with sand,

which will be carried away at some future time by the current?" When

Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, heard that, he said to him--"If you

know this truth, why do you attempt to acquire knowledge by vows and

fasting, without reading or hearing lectures? The horn of a hare

[588] may really exist, and the sky may be adorned with painting,

and writing may be performed without letters, if learning may be

acquired without study. If it could be so acquired, no one in this

world would study at all." When Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, had

said this to Tapodatta, Tapodatta reflected, and thinking that he

had spoken truth, put a stop to his self-mortification, and went home.

"So, you see, a wise man is easily made to listen to reason, but the

foolish Marubhúti cannot be induced to listen to reason, but when

you admonish him, he flies into a passion." When Gomukha said this,

Harisikha said before the company--"It is true, O king, that the wise

are easily induced to listen to reason."

Story of Virúpasarman.

For instance, there lived of old time in Benares a certain excellent

Bráhman, named Virúpasarman, who was deformed and poor. And he, being

despondent about his misshapen form and his poverty, went to the

grove of ascetics there, and began to practise severe mortification

of the flesh, through desire for beauty and wealth. Then the king

of the gods [589] assumed the vile shape of a deformed jackal with

a diseased body, and went and stood in front of him. When he saw

that unfortunate [590] creature with its body covered with flies,

Virúpasarman slowly reflected in his mind,--"Such creatures are born

into the world on account of actions done in a former life, so is it

a small thing for me that I was not made thus by the Creator? Who can

overstep the lot prescribed by destiny?" When Virúpasarman perceived

this, he brought his self-mortification to an end and went home.

"So true is it, O king, that a wise man is instructed with little

effort, but one, whose mind is void of discernment, is not instructed

even with great exertion." Thus spoke Harisikha, and Gomukha assented,

but Marubhúti, who was drunk and did not understand a joke, said

in great anger, "There is power in the speech of Gomukha, but there

is no might in the arms of men like you. A garrulous, quarrelsome,

effeminate person makes heroes blush." When Marubhúti said this, being

eager for a fight, king Naraváhanadatta, with a smile on his face,

himself tried to appease him, and after dismissing him to his house,

the king, who loved the friends of his youth, performed the duties of

the day, and so spent it in great comfort. And the next day, when all

these ministers came, and among them Marubhúti bowed down with shame,

his beloved Ratnaprabhá spake thus to the prince: "You, my husband,

are very fortunate in that you have these pure-hearted ministers bound

to you by the fetters of a love dating from early childhood, and they

are happy in possessing such an affectionate master; you have been

gained by one another through actions in a former state of existence;

of that there can be no doubt." When the queen said this, Tapantaka

the son of Vasantaka, the companion in amusements of Naraváhanadatta,

remarked--"It is true; our master has been gained by our actions in

a former life. For every thing depends upon the power of actions in

a former life--Hear in illustration of it the following tale."

Story of king Vilásasíla and the physician Tarunachandra.

There dwelt in a city named Vilásapura, the home of Siva, a king

rightly named Vilásasíla. [591] He had a queen named Kamalaprabhá,

whom he valued as his life, and he long remained with her addicted

to pleasure only. Then in course of time there came upon the king

old age, the thief of beauty, and when he beheld it, he was sorely

grieved. He thought to himself--"How can I shew to the queen my face

marred with grey hairs like a snow-smitten lotus? Alas! it is better

that I should die." Busied with reflections like these, the king

summoned into his hall of audience a physician named Tarunachandra

[592] and thus spake to him respectfully--"My good man, because

you are clever and devoted to me, I ask you whether there is any

artifice by which this old age can be averted." When Tarunachandra,

who was rightly named as being only of the magnitude of one digit,

and desiring to become a full moon, heard that, the cunning fellow

reflected--"I must make my profit out of this blockhead of a king, and

I shall soon discover the means of doing it." Having thus reflected,

the physician said to the king: "If you will remain in an underground

chamber alone, O king, for eight months, and take this medicine,

I engage to remove your old age." [593] When the king heard this,

he had such an underground chamber prepared, for fools intent on

objects of sense cannot endure reflection. But the ministers used

arguments like the following with him--"O king, by the goodness and

asceticism and self-denial of men of old time, and by the virtue

of the age, elixirs were produced. But these forest remedies, [594]

which we hear of now, O king, owing to the want of proper materials,

produce the opposite effect to that which is intended, and this is

quite in accordance with the treatises; for rogues do in this way make

sport with fools. Does time past ever return, O king?"--Still these

arguments did not penetrate into his soul, for it was encased in the

thick armour of violent sensual desire. And in accordance with the

advice of that physician, he entered that underground chamber alone,

excluding the numerous retinue that usually waits upon a king. And

alone with one servant belonging to that physician, he made himself

a slave to the taking of drugs and the rest of the treatment. And

the king remained there in that dark subterranean den, which seemed

as if it were the overflowing, through abundance, of the ignorance of

his heart. And after the king had spent six months in that underground

chamber, that wicked physician, seeing that his senility had increased,

brought a certain young man who resembled him in appearance, with whom

he had agreed that he would make him king. Then he dug a tunnel into

that underground chamber from a distance, and after killing the king

in his sleep, he brought his corpse out by the underground passage,

and threw it into a dark well. All this was done at night. And by

the same tunnel he introduced that young man into the underground

chamber, and closed that tunnel. What audacious wickedness will not

a low fellow, who is held in check by no restraints, commit, when he

gets a favourable chance of practising upon fools? Then, the next day,

the physician said to all the subjects,--"This king has been made young

again by me in six months, and in two months his form will be changed

again--So show yourselves to him now at a little distance." Thus he

spake, and brought them all to the door of the underground chamber,

and shewed them to the young man, telling him at the same time their

names and occupations. By this artifice he kept instructing that young

man in the underground chamber in the names of all the subjects every

day for two months, not excepting even the inhabitants of the harem.

And when a fitting time came, he brought the young man, after he

had been well fed, [595] out of the subterranean chamber, saying,

"This king has become young again." And then the young man was

surrounded by the delighted subjects, who exclaimed "This is our own

king restored by drugs." Then the young man, having thus obtained

the kingdom, bathed, and performed with much pleasure by the help of

his ministers the kingly duties. And from that time forth he lived

in much felicity, transacting regal business, and sporting with the

ladies of the harem, having obtained the name of Ajara. [596] And all

the subjects considered that he was their former king transformed by

drugs, not guessing the truth, and not suspecting the proceedings

of the physician. And king Ajara, having gained over the subjects

and the queen Kamalaprabhá by kind treatment, enjoyed the royal

fortune together with his friends. Then he summoned a friend called

Bheshajachandra and another called Padmadarsana, and made both of

them like himself, satisfying them with gifts of elephants, horses,

and villages. And he honoured the physician Tarunachandra on account

of the advancement he had conferred on him, but he did not repose

confidence in him because his soul had fallen from truth and virtue.

And once on a time the physician of his own motion said to the king,

"Why do you make me of no account and act independently? Have you

forgotten the occasion on which I made you king?" When king Ajara heard

that, he said to the physician, "Ha! you are a fool: what man does

anything for any one, or gives anything to any one? My friend, it is

our deeds in a former state of existence that give and do. Therefore

do not boast yourself, for this elevation I attained by asceticism:

and I will soon shew you this by ocular proof." When he said this to

the physician, the latter reflected as one terrified--"This man is

not to be intimidated and speaks like a resolute sage. It is better

to overawe that master, the secret of whose character is instability,

but that cannot be done with this man, so I must submit to him. In the

meanwhile let me wait and see what he will shew me so manifestly." Thus

reflecting, the physician said, "It is true," and held his peace.

And the next day king Ajara went out to roam about and amuse himself

with his friends, waited on by Tarunachandra and others. And as

he was strolling, he reached the bank of a river, and in it he saw

five golden lotuses come floating down the current. And he made his

servants bring them, and taking them and looking at them, he said to

the physician Tarunachandra, who was standing near him, "Go up along

the bank of this river, and look for the place where these lotuses

are produced: and when you have seen it, return, for I feel great

curiosity about these wonderful lotuses, and you are my skilful

friend." When he was thus commissioned by the king, the physician,

not being able to help himself, said, "So be it," and went the way he

was ordered. And the king returned to his capital, but the physician

travelled on, and in course of time reached a temple of Siva that

stood on the bank of that river. And in front of it, on the shore of

a holy bathing-place in that stream, he beheld a great banyan-tree,

and a man's skeleton suspended on it. And while, fatigued with his

journey, he was resting after bathing and worshipping the god, a cloud

came there and rained. And from that human skeleton, hanging on the

branches of the banyan-tree, when rained upon by the cloud, there

fell drops of water. [597] And when they fell into the water of the

bathing-place in that river, the physician observed that those golden

lotuses were immediately produced from them. The physician said to

himself, "Ha! what is this wonder? Whom can I ask in the uninhabited

wood? Or rather who knows the creation of Destiny that is full of so

many marvels? I have beheld this mine of golden lotuses; so I will

throw this human skeleton into the sacred water. Let right be done,

and let golden lotuses grow from its back." After these reflections, he

flung the skeleton down from the top of that tree: and after spending

the day there, the physician set out the next day for his own country,

having accomplished the object for which he was sent. And in a few

days he reached Vilásapura, and went, emaciated and soiled with his

journey, to the court of king Ajara. The door-keeper announced him,

and he went in and prostrated himself at the feet of the king; the

king asked him how he was, and while he was relating his adventure,

the king put every one else out of the hall, and himself said; "So you

have seen, my friend, the place where the golden lotuses are produced,

that most holy sanctuary of Siva; and you saw there a skeleton on a

banyan-tree; know that that is my former body. I hung there in old

time by my feet; and in that way performed asceticism, until I dried

up my body and abandoned it. And owing to the nobility of my penance,

from the drops of rain-water, that fall from that skeleton of mine,

are produced golden lotuses. And in that you threw my skeleton into

the water of that holy bathing-place, you did what was right, for

you were my friend in a former birth. And this Bheshajachandra and

this Padmadarsana, they also were friends, who associated with me

in a former birth. So it is owing to the might of that asceticism,

my friend, that recollection of my former birth, and knowledge and

empire have been bestowed on me. By an artifice I have given you

ocular proof of this, and you have described it with a token, telling

how you flung down the skeleton; so you must not boast to me, saying,

that you gave me the kingdom, and you must not allow your mind to be

discontented, for no one gives anything to any one without the help

of actions in a former life. From his birth a man eats the fruit

of the tree of his former actions." When the king said this to the

physician, he saw that it was true, and he remained satisfied with

the king's service, and was never afterwards discontented. And that

noble-minded king Ajara, who remembered his former birth, honoured the

physician becomingly with gifts of wealth, and lived comfortably with

his wives and friends, enjoying the earth conquered by his policy,

and originally obtained by his good actions, without an opponent.

"Thus in this world all the good and bad fortune, that befalls all

men at all times, is earned by actions in a former life. For this

reason I think we must have earned you for our lord in a former birth,

otherwise how could you be so kind to us, while there are other men

in existence?" Then Naraváhanadatta, having heard in the company of

his beloved from the mouth of Tapantaka this strangely pleasing and

entertaining tale, rose up to bathe. And after he had bathed, he

went into the presence of his father the king of Vatsa, frequently

raining nectar into the eyes of his mother, and after taking food,

he spent that day and that night in drinking and other pleasures with

his parents, and his wife, and his ministers.

CHAPTER XLI.

And the next day, as Naraváhanadatta was in the apartments of

Ratnaprabhá, talking over various subjects with his ministers,

he suddenly heard a sound, which appeared to be like that of a

man weeping outside in the court-yard of the palace. And when some

one asked--"What is that?"--the female attendants came and said,

"My lord, the chamberlain Dharmagiri is weeping here. For a foolish

friend of his came here just now, and said that his brother, who

went on a pilgrimage to holy places, was dead in a foreign land. He,

bewildered with grief, forgot that he was in the court and began

to lament, but he has been just now taken outside by the servants

and conducted to his own house." When the prince heard this, he

was grieved, and Ratnaprabhá moved with pity said in a despondent

tone--"Alas! the grief which is produced by the loss of dear relatives

is hard to bear! Why did not the Creator make men exempt from old age

and death?" When Marubhúti heard this speech of the queen's, he said;

"Queen, how can mortals ever attain this good fortune? For listen to

the following story, which I will tell you, bearing on this question."

Story of king Chiráyus and his minister Nágárjuna.

In the city of Chiráyus there was in old time a king, named Chiráyus,

[598] who was indeed long-lived, and the home of all good fortune. He

had a compassionate, generous and gifted minister, named Nágárjuna,

who was sprung from a portion of a Bodhisattva, who knew the use of all

drugs, and by making an elixir he rendered himself and that king free

from old age, and long-lived. One day an infant son of that minister

Nágárjuna, whom he loved more than any of his other children, died. He

felt grief on that account, and by the force of his asceticism and

knowledge proceeded to prepare out of certain ingredients the Water

of Immortality, [599] in order to prevent mortals from dying. But

while he was waiting for the auspicious moment in which to infuse

a particular drug, Indra found out what was going on. And Indra,

having consulted with the gods, said to the two Asvins--"Go and give

this message to Nágárjuna on the earth from me--'Why have you, though

a minister, begun this revolutionary proceeding of making the Water

of Life? Are you determined now to conquer the Creator, who indeed

created men subject to the law of death, since you propose to make

men immortal by preparing the Water of Life? If this takes place, what

difference will there be between gods and men? And the constitution of

the universe will be broken up, because there will be no sacrificer

and no recipient of sacrifice. So by my advice discontinue this

preparation of the Water of Life, otherwise the gods will be angry,

and will certainly curse you. And your son, through grief for whom you

are engaged in this attempt, is now in Svarga.'" With this message

Indra despatched the two Asvins. And they arrived at the house of

Nágárjuna and, after receiving the argha, [600] told Nágárjuna,

who was pleased with their visit, the message of Indra, and informed

him that his son was with the gods in heaven. Then Nágárjuna, being

despondent, thought; "Never mind the gods, but if I do not obey the

command of Indra, these Asvins will inflict a curse on me. So let this

Water of Life go, I have not accomplished my desire; however my son,

on account of my good deeds in a former life, has gone to the abode

of bliss." Having thus reflected, Nágárjuna said to these two gods,

the Asvins, "I obey the command of Indra, I will desist from making

the Water of Life. If you two had not come, I should have completed

the preparation of the Water of Life in five days, and freed this

whole earth from old age and death." When Nágárjuna had said this, he

buried by their advice the Water of Life, which was almost completed,

in the earth before their eyes. Then the Asvins took leave of him,

and went and told Indra in heaven that their errand was accomplished,

and the king of gods rejoiced.

And in the meanwhile Nágárjuna's master, the king Chiráyus, anointed

his son Jívahara crown-prince. And when he was anointed, his mother,

the queen Dhanapará, on his coming in great delight to salute her, said

to him, as soon as she saw him, "Why do you rejoice without cause,

my son, at having obtained this dignity of crown-prince, for this

is not a step to the attainment of the kingly dignity, not even by

the help of asceticism? For many crown-princes, sons of your father,

have died, and not one of them has obtained the throne, they have

all inherited disappointment. For Nágárjuna has given this king an

elixir, by the help of which he is now in the eighth century of his

age. And who knows how many more centuries will pass over the head of

this king, who makes his short-lived sons crown-princes." When her

son heard that, he was despondent, and she went on to say to him,

"If you desire the throne, adopt this expedient. This minister

Nágárjuna every day, after he has performed the day's devotions,

gives gifts at the time of taking food, and makes this proclamation;

'Who is a suppliant? Who wants anything? To whom can I give anything,

and what?' At that moment go to him and say, 'Give me your head,'--Then

he, being a truthful man, will have his head cut off, and out of sorrow

for his death this king will die, or retire to the forest; then you

will obtain the crown; there is no other expedient available in this

matter." When he heard this speech from his mother, the prince was

delighted, and he consented, and determined to carry her advice into

effect, for the lust of sovereign sway is cruel, and overcomes one's

affection for one's friends. Then that prince went, the next day,

of his own accord to the house of that Nágárjuna, at the time when

he took his food. And when the minister cried out, "Who requires

anything, and what does he require?" he entered and asked him for

his head. The minister said, "This is strange, my son; what can you

do with this head of mine? For it is only an agglomeration of flesh,

bone and hair. To what use can you put it? Nevertheless, if it is of

any use to you, cut it off, and take it." With these words he offered

his neck to him. But it had been so hardened by the elixir that, though

he struck at it for a long time, he could not cut it, but broke many

swords over it. In the meanwhile the king, hearing of it, arrived, and

asked him not to give away his head, but Nágárjuna said to him: "I can

remember my former births, and I have given away my head ninety-nine

times in my various births. This, my lord, will be the hundredth time

of my giving away my head. So do not say anything against it, for no

suppliant ever leaves my presence disappointed. So I will now present

your son with my head; for this delay was made by me only in order to

behold your face." Thus he spoke, and embraced that king, and brought

a powder out of his closet, with which he smeared the sword of that

prince. Then the prince cut off the head of the minister Nágárjuna

with a blow of that sword, as a man cuts a lotus from its stalk. Then

a great cry of wailing was raised, and the king was on the point of

giving up his own life, when a bodiless voice sounded from the heaven

in these words--"Do not do what you ought not, king. You should not

lament your friend Nágárjuna, for he will not be born again, but has

attained the condition of a Buddha." When king Chiráyus heard this,

he gave up the idea of suicide, but bestowed great gifts, and out

of grief left his throne, and went to the forest. There in time he

obtained by asceticism eternal bliss. Then his son Jívahara obtained

his kingdom, and soon after his accession he allowed dissension to

arise in his realm, and was slain by the sons of Nágárjuna remembering

their father's murder. Then through sorrow for him his mother's heart

broke. How can prosperity befall those who walk in the path trodden by

the ignoble? And a son of that king Chiráyus, born to him by another

wife, named Satáyus, was placed on his throne by his chief ministers.

"Thus, as the gods would not permit Nágárjuna to carry out the task

of destroying death, which he had undertaken, he became subject to

death. Therefore it is true that this world of living beings was

appointed by the Creator unstable, and full of grief hard to ward

off, and even with hundreds of efforts it is impossible for any one

to do anything here, which the Creator does not wish him to do." When

Marubhúti had told this story, he ceased speaking, and Naraváhanadatta

rose up with his ministers and performed his daily duties.

CHAPTER XLII.

Then, early the next day, Naraváhanadatta went off to the forest for

the purpose of hunting, surrounded with elephants, in the company

of his father and his friends; but before going he comforted his

beloved Ratnaprabhá, who was anxious about him, by saying that he

would quickly return.

Then the scene of the chase became like a garden adorned with lovely

creepers for his delight, for in it the pearls that dropped from the

claws of the lions, that had cleft the foreheads of elephants, and now

fell asleep in death, were sown like seeds; and the teeth of the tigers

that were cut out by the crescent-headed arrows were like buds, and

the flowing blood of the deer seemed like shoots, and the wild boars,

in which stuck the arrows adorned with heron feathers, seemed like

clusters, and the fallen bodies of Sarabhas [601] shewed like fruit,

and the arrows falling with deep hum appeared like bees. Gradually

the prince became wearied, and desisted from the chase, and went on

horseback to another wood with Gomukha, who was also riding. There

he began to play at ball, and while he was thus engaged, a certain

female ascetic came that way. Then the ball slipped from his hand

and fell on her head; whereupon the female ascetic laughed a little,

and said to him--"If your insolence is so great now, what will it be

if you ever obtain Karpúriká for a wife." [602] When Naraváhanadatta

heard this, he dismounted from his horse, and prostrating himself

at the feet of that female ascetic, said to her--"I did not see you,

and my ball fell on your head by chance--Reverend one, be propitiated,

and pardon that fault of mine." When the female ascetic heard that,

she said, "My son, I am not angry with you," and being victorious over

her wrath she comforted him with blessings. And then, thinking that

the wise truthful ascetic was well disposed to him, Naraváhanadatta

respectfully asked her--"Who, reverend lady, is this Karpúriká spoken

of by you? Condescend to inform me, if you are pleased with me, for

I am curious on this head." When he said this, bending before her,

the female ascetic said to him: "There is on the other side of the

sea a city named Karpúrasambhava; [603] in it there is a king rightly

named Karpúraka, he has a daughter, a lovely maiden, named Karpúriká,

who appears like a second Lakshmí, deposited in security there by

the ocean, having seen that the first Lakshmí had been carried

away by the gods after the churning. And she, as she hates men,

does not desire to be married, but she will desire it, if at all,

when she sees you. So go there, my son, and you shall win that fair

one; nevertheless, while you are going there, you will suffer great

hardship in the forest. But you must not be perplexed at that, for all

shall end well." When the ascetic had said this, she flew up into the

air and disappeared. Then Naraváhanadatta, drawn on by the command

of Love uttered through her voice, said to his attendant Gomukha,

"Come, let us go to Karpúriká in the city of Karpúrasambhava, for I

cannot remain a moment without beholding her." When Gomukha heard that,

he said--"King, desist from your rashness. Consider how far off you

are from the sea and from that city, and whether the journey is worth

taking for the sake of that maiden? Why, on merely hearing her name,

do you abandon celestial wives, and alone run after a mere woman who

is enveloped in doubt, owing to your not knowing what her intention

is." When Gomukha said this to him, the son of the king of Vatsa said,

"The speech of that holy ascetic cannot be false. So I must certainly

go to find that princess." Having said this, he set out thence on

horseback that very moment. And Gomukha followed him silently, though

it was against his wish: when a lord does not act on the advice of

his servants, their only course is to follow him.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, having finished his hunting,

returned to his city, thinking that that son of his was returning

among his own armed followers. And the prince's followers returned

with Marubhúti and the others to the city, supposing that the prince

was with the armed followers of his father. When they arrived, the

king of Vatsa and the others searched for him, and finding that he had

not returned, they all went to the house of Ratnaprabhá. She at first

was grieved at that news, but she called up a supernatural science

and was told by it tidings of her husband, and said to her distressed

father-in-law; "My husband heard the princess Karpúriká mentioned by

a female ascetic in the forest, and in order to obtain her he has gone

to the city of Karpúrasambhava. And he will soon have accomplished his

object, and will return here with Gomukha. So dismiss anxiety, for this

I have learned from a science." By these words she comforted the king

of Vatsa and his retinue. And she despatched another science to wait

on her husband during his journey, and dispel his fatigue; for good

women who desire their husband's happiness do not account of jealousy.

In the meanwhile Naraváhanadatta performed a long journey on

horseback in that forest, accompanied by Gomukha. Then a maiden

suddenly came up to him in his path and said to him, "I am a science

sent by Ratnaprabhá, named Máyávatí, I will guard you on the path

without being seen, so proceed now without fear." Having said this,

the incarnate science disappeared, as he gazed at it. By virtue of

it, Naraváhanadatta continued his journey with his thirst and hunger

appeased, praising his beloved Ratnaprabhá. And in the evening he

reached a wood with a pure lake in it, and with Gomukha he bathed, and

took a meal of delicious fruit and water. And at night he tied up the

two horses underneath a large tree, after supplying them with grass,

and he and his minister climbed up into it to sleep. While reposing

on a broad bough of the tree, he was woke up by the neighings of the

terrified horses, and saw a lion that had come close underneath. When

he saw it, he wished [604] to get down for the sake of the horses,

but Gomukha said to him--"Alas! you are neglecting the safety of

your person, and acting without counsel; for kings the first duty

is the preservation of their persons, and counsel is the foundation

of rule. How can you desire to contend with wild beasts armed with

teeth and claws. For it was to avoid these that we just now got up

into this tree." When the king had been restrained from descending

by these words of Gomukha's, seeing the lion killing the horse,

he immediately threw his sword at it from the tree, and succeeded

in wounding it with the weapon which was buried in its body. The

mighty lion, though pierced with the sword, after killing that

horse, slew the other also. Then the son of the king of Vatsa took

Gomukha's sword from him, and throwing it, cut the lion in half in

the middle. And descending he recovered his sword from the body of

the lion, and ascending again to his sleeping place, he passed the

night there in the tree. In the morning Naraváhanadatta got down,

and set out to find Karpúriká, accompanied by Gomukha. Then Gomukha,

beholding him travelling on foot, as the lion had slain his horse, in

order to amuse him on the way said; "Listen, king, I will relate you

this story, which is particularly appropriate on the present occasion."

Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife and his two sons.

There is in this world a city named Irávatí, which surpasses Alaká;

[605] in it there dwelt a king named Parityágasena. And he had two

beloved queens, whom he valued as his life. One was the daughter of

his own minister and her name was Adhikasangamá, and the other was of

royal race, and was called Kávyálankárá. And with those two the king

propitiated Durgá to obtain a son, and performed penance without food,

sleeping on darbha grass. Then Bhavání, who is kind to her votaries,

pleased with his penance, appeared to him in a dream and gave him

two heavenly fruits, and thus commanded him: "Rise up and give your

two wives these two fruits to eat, and then, king, you will have

born to you two heroic sons." Having said this, Gaurí disappeared,

and the king woke up in the morning and rose delighted at beholding

those fruits in his hand. And by describing that dream of his he

delighted his wives, and bathed and worshipped the consort of Siva,

and broke his fast. And at night he first visited that wife of his

Adhikasangamá, and gave her one of the fruits, and she immediately ate

it. Then the king spent the night in her pavilion, out of respect for

her father, who was his own prime minister. And he placed near the

head of his bed the second fruit, which was intended for the other

queen. While the king was asleep, the queen Adhikasangamá rose up,

and desiring for herself two similar sons, she took from his head and

ate that second fruit also. For women are naturally envious of their

rivals. And in the morning, when the king rose up and was looking for

that fruit, she said--"I ate that second fruit also." Then the king

went away despondent, and after spending the day, he went at night

to the apartments of the second queen. And when she asked for that

other fruit, he said to her--"While I was asleep, your fellow-wife

treacherously devoured it." Then the queen Kávyálankárá, not having

obtained that fruit, which was to enable her to give birth to a son,

remained silently grieved.

In the course of some days that queen Adhikasangamá became pregnant,

and in due time gave birth to twin sons. And the king Parityágasena

rejoiced and made a great feast, since his desire was fulfilled

by their birth. And the king gave the name of Indívarasena to the

elder of the two, who was of wonderful beauty and had eyes like a

blue lotus. And he gave to the younger the name of Anichchhasena,

because his mother ate the second fruit against his wish. Then

Kávyálankárá, the second wife of that king, on beholding this, was

angry, and reflected--"Alas! I have been cheated by this rival wife

out of having children; so I must without fail revenge myself on

her; I must destroy these sons of hers by my cunning." Having thus

reflected, she remained thinking over a means of doing this. And as

fast as those two princes grew, the tree of enmity grew in her heart.

And in course of time those two princes, having attained manhood,

and being mighty of arm, and desirous of conquest, said to their

father--"We have attained manhood and we have been trained in the

use of weapons, so how can we remain here endowed to no profit with

these mighty arms? Out on the arms and the youth of a Kshatriya

that longs not for victory! So let us go now, father, and conquer

the regions." When the king Parityágasena heard this request of his

sons, he was pleased and consented, and made arrangements for their

expedition. And he said to them, "If ever you are in difficulties,

you must think upon the goddess Durgá the remover of sorrows, for

she gave you to me." Then the king sent forth those two sons on

their expedition, accompanied by his troops and feudal chiefs, after

their mother had performed the auspicious ceremonies to ensure them

success. And he sent after them his own sagacious prime minister,

their maternal grandfather, whose name was Prathamasangama. Then

those two mighty princely brothers, with their army, first marched

in due order to the eastern quarter, and subdued it. Then these two

irresistible heroes of approved might, to whom many kings had joined

themselves, went to the southern quarter to conquer it. And their

parents rejoiced on hearing these tidings of them, but their second

mother was consumed with the fire of concealed hate. The treacherous

queen then got the following false despatch written in the king's

name to the chiefs in the princes' camp, by means of the secretary

for foreign affairs, whom she had bribed with heaps of treasure--"My

two sons, having subdued the earth by the might of their arms, have

formed the intention of killing me and seizing my kingdom; so if

you are loyal to me, you must without hesitation put to death both

those sons of mine."--This letter Kávyálankárá sent off secretly by

a courier. And the courier went secretly to the camp of those two

princes, and gave that letter to the chiefs. And they all, after

reading it, reflecting that the policy of kings is very cruel, and

considering that that command of their master must not be disobeyed,

met and deliberated in the night, and as they saw no way out of the

difficulty, determined to kill those two princes, though they had

been fascinated by their virtues. But their maternal grandfather,

the minister, who was with them, heard of it from a friend that he

had among the chiefs, and after informing the princes of the state

of affairs, he thereupon mounted them on swift horses, and conveyed

them away safely out of the camp.

The two princes, when conveyed away by the minister at night,

travelled along with him, and entered the Vindhya forest out of

ignorance of the true road. Then, after the night had passed, as they

slowly proceeded on their way, about noon their horses died, overcome

with excessive thirst. And that aged maternal grandfather of theirs,

whose palate was dry with hunger and thirst, died exhausted with the

heat before the eyes of those two, who were also weary. Then those

afflicted brothers exclaimed in their sorrow--"Why has our father

reduced to this state us who are innocent, and fulfilled the desire of

that wicked second mother of ours?"--In the midst of their lamentation

they thought upon the goddess Ambiká, [606] whom their father had long

ago pointed out to them as their natural protectress. That moment,

by force of thinking on that kind protectress, their hunger, thirst

and fatigue left them, and they were strong. Then they were comforted

by faith in her, and without feeling the fatigue of the journey, they

went to visit that goddess who dwells in the Vindhya forest. And when

those two brothers had arrived there, they began a course of fasting

and asceticism to propitiate her. In the meanwhile those chiefs in

the camp assembled together in a band, and went with the intention of

doing the princes a mischief; but they could not find them, though they

searched everywhere. They said--"The princes have escaped somewhere

with their maternal grandfather," and fearing that the whole thing

would come out, they went in a fright to the king Parityágasena. And

shewing him the letters, they told him the whole story. He, when

he heard it, was agitated and said to them in his anger; "I did not

send this letter, this is some deception. And how comes it that you

did not know, you foolish creatures, that I should not be likely

to put to death two sons obtained by severe austerities? They have

been put to death as far as you are concerned, but they were saved

by their own merits, and their maternal grandfather has exhibited

a specimen of his statesmanship." He said this to the chiefs, and

though the secretary who wrote the treacherous letter fled, the king

quickly had him brought back by his royal power, and after thoroughly

investigating the whole matter, punished him as he deserved. And he

threw into a dungeon his wicked wife Kávyálankárá, who was guilty of

such a crime as trying to slay his sons. For how can an evil deed

audaciously done, the end of which is not considered through the

mind being blinded with excessive hate, help bringing ruin? And as

for those chiefs, who had set out with his two sons and returned,

the king dismissed them, and appointed others in their place. And

with their mother he continued to seek for tidings of those sons,

plunged in grief, devoted to righteousness, thinking upon Durgá.

In the meanwhile that goddess, who has her shrine in the Vindhya

mountains, was pleased with the asceticism of the prince Indívarasena

and his younger brother. And she gave Indívarasena a sword in a dream,

and appearing to him, thus addressed him--"By the power of this sword

thou shalt conquer enemies hard to overcome, and whatever thou shalt

think of thou shalt obtain, and by means of it you shall both gain the

success you desire." When the goddess had said that, she disappeared,

and Indívarasena, waking up, beheld that sword in his hand. Then

he comforted his younger brother by shewing him that sword, and

describing to him his dream, and in the morning he and his brother

broke their fast on wild fruits. Then he worshipped that goddess,

and having his fatigue removed by her favour, he departed rejoicing,

with the sword in his hand, in the company of his brother. And after

he had travelled a long distance, he found a great and splendid city,

looking like the peak of Meru on account of its golden houses. There

he beheld a terrible Rákshasa standing at the gate of the high street,

and the hero asked him what was the name of the town, and who was its

king. That Rákshasa said--"This city is called Sailapura, and it is

possessed by our lord Yamadanshtra, the slayer of his foes, king of

the Rákshasas." When the Rákshasa said this, Indívarasena attempted

to enter, in order to slay Yamadanshtra, but the Rákshasa at the door

tried to prevent him, upon which the mighty Indívarasena killed him,

cutting off his head with one stroke of his sword. After slaying him,

the hero entered the royal palace, and beheld inside it the Rákshasa

Yamadanshtra sitting on his throne, having a mouth terrible with tusks,

with a lovely woman at his left hand, and a virgin of heavenly beauty

on his right hand. And when Indívarasena saw him, he went with the

sword given him by Durgá in his hand, and challenged him to fight,

and the Rákshasa drew his sword and stood up to resist him. And in the

course of the fight Indívarasena frequently cut off the Rákshasa's

head, but it grew again. [607] Seeing that magic power of his,

and having had a sign made to him by the virgin at the Rákshasa's

side, who had fallen in love with him at first sight, the prince,

after cutting off the head of the Rákshasa, being quick of hand,

again cut it in two with a stroke of his sword. Then the Rákshasa's

magic was baffled by contrary magic, and his head did not grow again,

and the Rákshasa died of the wound.

When he was slain, the lovely woman and the princess were delighted,

and the prince with his younger brother sat down, and asked them the

following questions: "Why did this Rákshasa live in such a city as

this, guarded by one warder only, and who are you two, and why do

you rejoice at his being slain?" When they heard this, the virgin

was the one that answered, and she spoke as follows: "In this city

of Sailapura there lived a king of the name of Vírabhuja, and this

is his wife Madanadanshtrá, and this Rákshasa came and devoured him

by the help of his magic power. And he ate up his attendants, but he

did not eat this Madanadanshtrá, whom alone he spared because she

was beautiful, but he made her his wife. Then he became disgusted

with this city though beautiful, and building in it houses of gold,

he remained here sporting with Madanadanshtrá, having dismissed his

retinue. And I am the younger sister of this Rákshasa, and unmarried,

but the moment I saw you, I fell in love with you. Accordingly she is

glad at his having been slain, and so also am I; so marry me here now,

my husband, since love makes me offer myself to you."

When Khadgadanshtrá said this, Indívarasena married her then and

there by the Gándharva form of marriage. And he remained in that

very city, having everything brought to him, on his thinking of it,

by the virtue of the sword of Durgá, married and accompanied by his

younger brother. And once on a time he made a chariot that would fly

through the air, produced by thought through the virtue of his sword,

that resembled in its powers the philosopher's stone, and placed in

it his heroic younger brother Anichchhasena, and sent him off from his

retreat to bear tidings of him to his parents. Anichchhasena, for his

part, travelled quickly through the air in that chariot, and reached

Irávatí that city of his father. There he refreshed his grief-worn

parents with the sight of him, as the moon refreshes the partridges

when exhausted with severe heat. And he approached them, and fell at

their feet, and was embraced by them, and when they questioned him,

he dispelled their apprehensions with good news of his brother. And he

told in their presence the whole adventure of himself and his brother,

which in the beginning was sad, but in the end was happy. And there he

heard the treacherous device, which his wicked second mother had out

of enmity contrived for his destruction. Then Anichchhasena remained

there in tranquillity, in the company of his delighted father and

his mother, honoured by the subjects. But after some days had passed,

his fears were aroused by a threatening dream, and he yearned to see

his brother again, and said to his father; "I will depart, and by

telling my brother Indívarasena that you are anxiously awaiting him,

I will bring him back; give me leave to depart, my father." When his

father heard that, being anxious for the sight of his son, he and his

wife gave Anichchhasena leave to depart, and he immediately mounted

his chariot, and reached through the air that city of Sailapura. And

when he arrived there, he entered the palace of that brother of

his. He saw there his elder brother lying senseless in the presence of

Khadgadanshtrá and Madanadanshtrá, who were weeping. In his perplexity

he asked, "What does this mean?" And then Khadgadanshtrá said with

her eyes fixed on the ground, though the other blamed her for it;

"When you were away, your brother one day, on my going to bathe,

had a secret intrigue with this Madanadanshtrá. And I, on returning

from bathing, found him with her, and I abused him. Then he tried

to propitiate me, but I, being exceedingly bewildered by unforgiving

jealousy, that seemed to have possessed me, thought thus with myself,

'Ah! without taking me into account, he favours another; I believe

he shews this insolence confiding in the magic properties of his

sword, so I will hide this weapon of his.' After thus reflecting,

in my folly I thrust his sword into the fire at night, while he

was asleep. The consequence was that his sword was dimmed and he

was reduced to this state. And I am grieved for this myself and

upbraided by Madanadanshtrá. So you have come here now when both

our minds are blinded with grief, and we have resolved on death. So

take this sword and kill me with it, since I have proved true to the

customs of my race and acted cruelly." When Anichchhasena was thus

entreated by his brother's wife, he thought that he ought not to

slay her on account of her repentance, but prepared to cut off his

own head. But at that moment, he heard the following voice come from

the air--"Do not act thus, prince, your brother is not dead, but he

has been struck senseless by Durgá, who is angry at his not having

taken sufficient care of the sword, and you must not impute guilt to

Khadgadanshtrá, for this circumstance is the consequence of your all

having been born into this world on account of a curse. And they were

both of them your brother's wives in a former life. So propitiate

Durgá in order to gain your object." Accordingly Anichchhasena gave

up his intention of slaying himself. But he mounted that chariot,

and took that fire-dimmed sword, and went to propitiate the soles of

the feet of Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya range. There he fasted,

and was about to propitiate the goddess with the offering of his head,

when he heard this voice from heaven--"Do not be rash, my son, go;

thy elder brother shall live, and the sword shall become pure from

stain, for I am pleased with thy devotion." When Anichchhasena heard

this speech of the goddess, he immediately saw that the sword in his

hand had recovered its brightness, and he walked round the goddess,

keeping his right hand towards her; and ascending his swift magic

car, as if it were his own desire, [608] he returned in a state of

anxious expectation to that Sailapura. There he saw that his elder

brother had just risen up, having suddenly regained consciousness,

and weeping he seized his feet, and his elder brother threw his arms

round his neck. And both the wives of Indívarasena fell at the feet of

Anichchhasena and said--"You have saved the life of our husband." Then

he told the whole story to his brother Indívarasena who questioned

him, and he, when he heard it, was not angry with Khadgadanshtrá,

but was pleased with his brother. [609]

And he heard from the lips of his brother that his parents were

eager to see him, and of the fraud of his second mother, that had

brought about his separation from them; then he took the sword which

his brother handed to him, and mounted a large chariot, which came

to him the moment he thought of it, owing to the virtue of the sword,

and with his golden palaces, and his two wives, and his younger brother

Indívarasena, returned to his own city Irávatí. There he alighted from

the air, beheld with wonder by the subjects, and entered the palace,

and went with his attendants into the presence of the king. And

in that condition he beheld his father and his mother, and fell at

their feet with his eyes bathed in streaming tears. And they, the

moment they beheld their son, embraced him and his younger brother,

and having their bodies, as it were, bathed in nectar, they were

relieved from their sorrow. And when their daughters-in-law, those

two wives of Indívarasena, of heavenly beauty, fell at their feet,

they looked on them with delight and welcomed them. And the parents,

learning in course of conversation, that they were said by a divine

voice to have been appointed in a previous life as his wives, were

exceedingly delighted. And they rejoiced with astonishment at the power

of their son, which enabled him to travel through the air, and bring

golden palaces and do other things of this kind. Then Indívarasena

remained, with those two wives and his attendants, in the society of

his parents, causing delight to the subjects. And once on a time he

took leave of his father, king Parityágasena, and went forth again

to conquer the four quarters, accompanied by his younger brother. And

the mighty-armed hero conquered the whole earth by the virtue of his

sword, and came back bringing with him the gold, elephants, horses

and jewels of conquered kings. And he reached his capital, followed

out of fear by the conquered earth in the form of the army of dust,

that his forces raised. And he entered the palace, where his father

advanced to meet him, and he and his brother delighted their mother

Adhikasangamá by their return. And after he had honoured the kings,

Indívarasena spent that day in pleasure, accompanied by his wives

and his followers. And on the next day the prince made over the

earth to his father by way of tribute from the kings, and suddenly

recollected his former birth. Then, like one waking up from sleep,

he said to his father--"Father, I remember my former birth; listen,

I will tell you all about it. There is a city on the plateau of the

Himálayas named Muktápura; in it there lives a king named Muktásena,

a king of the Vidyádharas. And by a queen named Kambuvatí he had

born to him in course of time two virtuous sons, Padmasena and

Rúpasena. Then a maiden, named Ádityaprabhá, the daughter of a chief

of the Vidyádharas, of her own accord, out of love, chose Padmasena

for her husband. Hearing of that, a Vidyádhara maiden, of the name

of Chandravatí, became love-sick also, and came and chose him for her

husband. Then Padmasena, having two wives, was continually worried by

that wife Ádityaprabhá, who was jealous of her rival. And so Padmasena

over and over again importuned his father Muktásena to the following

effect: 'I cannot endure every day the ill-temper of my wife, who

is blind with jealousy, let me retire to a wood of ascetics to put

an end to this misery. Therefore, father, give me permission.' His

father, annoyed at his persistence, cursed him and his wives, saying;

'What need is there of your going to a wood of ascetics? Fall into the

world of mortals. There this quarrelsome wife of yours, Ádityaprabhá,

shall be born in the race of Rákshasas, and become your wife again. And

this second, Chandravatí, who is virtuous and attached to you, her

husband, shall be the wife of a king, and the paramour of a Rákshasa,

and shall obtain you as her beloved. And since this Rúpasena has been

observed by me to follow you his elder brother with affection, he

shall be your brother also in that world. There too you shall endure

some affliction caused by your wives.' Thus he spoke and ceased, and

appointed this as the termination of the curse; 'When you, being a

prince, shall conquer the earth and give it to your father, then you

and they shall remember your former birth, and be freed from your

curse.' When Padmasena had been thus addressed by his own father,

he went with those others to the world of mortals. I am that very

Padmasena, born here as your son, Indívarasena by name, and I have

done what I was appointed to do. And the other Vidyádhara prince,

Rúpasena, has been born as Anichchhasena my younger brother. And as for

my wives Ádityaprabhá [610] and Chandravatí, know that they have been

born here as these two, Khadgadanshtrá and Madanadanshtrá. And now we

have reached that appointed end of our curse. So let us go, father,

to our own Vidyádhara home." Having said this, he together with his

brother and his wives, who remembered their former existence, abandoned

the human and assumed the Vidyádhara form. And having worshipped the

feet of his father, and taken his two wives in his arms, he went with

his younger brother through the air to his own city Muktápura. There

the wise prince, gladly welcomed by his father Muktásena, a joy to

the eyes of his mother, accompanied by his brother Rúpasena, lived

with his Ádityaprabhá, who did not again display jealousy, and with

Chandravatí in happiness.

The minister Gomukha, having told this delightful tale on the road,

again said to Naraváhanadatta; "Thus the great must endure great pains

and gain great glory, but others have little pain and little glory. But

you, protected by the might of the science of queen Ratnaprabhá,

shall without difficulty gain that princess Karpúriká."

When Naraváhanadatta heard this from the lips of the eloquent Gomukha,

he set out on the path with him, insensible to fatigue. And as he

travelled, he came in the evening to a pellucid lake, the lotuses

on which were in full bloom, and which was full of an abundant

supply of cold water, delicious as nectar. Its banks were adorned

with pomegranate trees, bread-fruit trees, and rows of mango-trees,

and on it the swans sang sweetly. They bathed in it, and devoutly

worshipped the beloved [611] of the daughter of Himálaya and refreshed

themselves with various fragrant, sweet-tasting, delightful fruits,

and then the son of the king of Vatsa and his friend spent the night on

the bank of the lake, sleeping on a bed strewn with soft young shoots.

CHAPTER XLIII.

The next morning, Naraváhanadatta rose up from the bank of that lake,

[612] and setting out on his journey, said to his minister Gomukha;

"My friend, I remember, a certain princess of heavenly beauty,

dressed in white garments, came to me towards the end of last night

in a dream, and said this to me--'Lay aside your anxiety, dear one,

for you will quickly reach a large and wonderful town situated in a

forest, on the shore of the sea. And after resting there, you shall

with ease find that town Karpúrasambhava, and then win that princess

Karpúriká.' Having said this, she disappeared, and I immediately woke

up." When he said that, Gomukha was delighted and said to him--"King,

you are favoured by the gods; what is difficult to you? So your

enterprise will certainly succeed without difficulty." When Gomukha

had said this, Naraváhanadatta hastened along the path with him. And

in course of time he reached a city of vast extent on the shore of the

sea, furnished with lofty mansions resembling the peaks of mountains,

with streets, and arches, adorned with a palace all golden like

mount Meru, looking like a second Earth. He entered that city by the

market-street, and beheld that all the population, merchants, women,

and citizens were wooden automata, that moved as if they were alive,

but were recognised as lifeless by their want of speech. This aroused

astonishment in his mind. And in due course he arrived with Gomukha

near the king's palace, and saw that all the horses and elephants there

were of the same material; and with his minister he entered, full of

wonder, that palace, which was resplendent with seven ranges of golden

buildings. There he saw a majestic man sitting on a jewelled throne,

surrounded by warders and women, who were also wooden automata, the

only living being there, who produced motion in those dull material

things, like the soul presiding over the senses. He, for his part,

seeing that that hero Naraváhanadatta was of noble form, rose up

and welcomed him, and made him sit down on his own seat, and sitting

in front of him, he thus questioned him, "Who are you; how and why

have you come to this uninhabited land with one companion?" Then

Naraváhanadatta told his own story from the beginning, and asked that

hero, who was prostrating himself before him,--"Who are you, my good

sir, and what is this wonderful city of yours? Tell me." That man,

when he heard that, began to tell his own story.

Story of the two brothers Pránadhara and Rájyadhara.

There is a city named Kánchí possessed of great excellences, [613]

which, like a girdle, well adorns the earth-bride. In it there was a

famous king of the name of Báhubala, who won fortune by the might of

his arm, and imprisoned her in his treasury, though she is a gadding

dame. We were two brothers in his kingdom, carpenters by trade, skilful

in making ingenious automata of wood and other materials, such as

Maya [614] first invented. My elder brother was by name Pránadhara,

and he was infatuated with love for a fickle dame, and I, my lord,

am named Rájyadhara, and I was ever devoted to him. That brother of

mine consumed all my father's property and his own, and some portion

of what I had acquired, which melted by affection I made over to

him. Then he, being much infatuated about the lady, out of desire

to steal wealth for her sake, made a couple of swans of wood with

mechanism and strings attached to them. That pair of swans was sent

out at night by pulling the strings, and entering by means of the

mechanical contrivance into the king's treasury through a window, they

took from it with their beaks jewels placed in a basket, and returned

to the house of my brother. And my elder brother sold the jewels and

spent the money so acquired with his paramour, and in that way he

robbed the king's treasury every night, and though I tried to prevent

him, he would not give up that improper proceeding, for who, when

blinded by passion, distinguishes between right and wrong? And then

the keeper of the treasury, as the king's treasure-house was plundered

night after night without the bolt being moved, though there were no

mice in it, for several days in succession enquired into the matter,

without saying anything, out of fear, and then being exceedingly

vexed, went and told the whole matter plainly to the king. Then the

king posted him and some other guards in the treasure-house at night,

with orders to keep awake in order to find out the truth of it. Those

guards went into the treasure-house at midnight, and while there,

saw my brother's two swans entering there by the window, impelled

by strings. The swans moved round by means of their mechanism and

took the jewels, then the guards cut the strings, and took the swans

to shew the king in the morning. And then my elder brother said in a

state of bewilderment--"Brother, my two swans have been seized by the

guards of the treasury, for the strings have become slack, and the

pin of the mechanism has dropped. So we must both of us leave this

place immediately, for the king, when he hears of it in the morning,

will punish us as thieves. For we are both known to be skilled in

mechanical contrivances. And I have here a chariot with a pneumatic

contrivance, which quickly goes eight hundred yojanas, if you press

a spring. Let us go by means of it to-day to a distant foreign land,

though exile may be disagreeable; for how can an evil deed, that is

done in despite of good advice, bring pleasure to any one? This is

the mature fruit of my wickedness in not obeying your advice, which

has extended to innocent you, as well as to me." After saying this, my

brother Pránadhara immediately mounted with his family that chariot,

that flew through the air. But though he urged me, I would not mount

it, as it was laden with many people, so he flew up in it to the sky

and went off to some distant place.

When that Pránadhara, [615] who was rightly named, had gone

off somewhere, I, expecting that in the morning I singly should

he exposed to danger at the hands of the king, mounted another

chariot with a pneumatic mechanism, which I had myself made, and

quickly travelled two hundred yojanas from that place. Then I again

started that air-travelling chariot, and went another two hundred

yojanas. Then I left my chariot, terrified at finding that I was near

the sea, and travelling on my feet, reached in course of time this

city which was empty. And out of curiosity I entered this palace,

which was filled with garments, ornaments, and couches and all the

other conveniences fit for a king. And in the evening I bathed in the

water of the garden-lake, and ate fruits, and going to the royal bed

reflected alone at night--"What am I to do in this uninhabited spot? So

to-morrow I will go hence to some place or other, for I no longer need

fear danger from king Báhubala." When I had thus reflected, I went

to sleep, and towards the end of night a hero of divine appearance,

mounted on a peacock, thus addressed me in a dream; "You must live

here, good sir, you must not depart elsewhere, and at the time of meals

you must go up to the middle court of the palace, and wait there." Thus

he spoke, and disappeared, and I woke up and reflected--"Undoubtedly

this heavenly place has been made by Kártikeya, and he has favoured

me with this dream on account of my merits in a former life. I have

turned up here because I am to be happy dwelling in this town." I

conceived this hope and rose up, and said the prayer for the day,

and at the time of eating I went up to the middle court, and while

I was waiting there, golden dishes were placed in front of me, and

there fell into them from heaven food consisting of ghee, milk, rice,

boiled rice and other things; [616] and any other kinds of food that I

thought of, came to me as fast as I thought of them. After eating all

this, I felt comforted by the favour of the god. So, my lord, I took

up my abode in this city, with kingly luxuries coming to me every day

as fast as I wished for them. But I do not obtain wives and retinue

by thinking of them, so I made all these people of wood. Though I am

a carpenter, since I have come here I enjoy alone all the pleasures

of a king by the power of Destiny, and my name is Rájyadhara. [617]

"So repose, now, a day in this god-built town, and I will attend upon

you to the best of my ability." After saying this, Rájyadhara led off

with him Naraváhanadatta and Gomukha to the city garden, there the

prince bathed in the water of the lake and offered lotuses to Siva,

and was conducted to the feasting-place in the middle court, and there

he and his minister enjoyed viands which were placed before them by

Rájyadhara, who stood in front of them, to whom they came as soon as

he thought of them. Then the eating-ground was swept by some unseen

hand, and after they had taken betel, they drank wine and remained

in great felicity. And after Rájyadhara had eaten, the prince retired

to a gorgeous couch, astonished at the wonderful nature of the town,

which resembled the philosopher's stone. And when he could not sleep,

on account of his recently conceived longing for Karpúriká, Rájyadhara,

who was also in bed, asked her story, and then said to him--"Why do

you not sleep, auspicious sir? You will obtain your desired love. For

a fair woman, like Fortune, of her own accord chooses a man of high

courage. I have had ocular proof of this, so hear the story; I will

relate it to you."

Story of Arthalobha and his beautiful wife.