After the minister Gomukha had told Naraváhanadatta this tale

with the object of amusing him, he went on to say to the impatient

prince,--"Thus the resolute endure painful separation for a long

time, but how is it that you cannot endure it even for one night,

O king? For to-morrow your Highness shall marry Alankáravatí." When

Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyana came up at

that instant, and said, "What stuff will you not prate, being ungalled,

and never having felt the agony of love? A man possesses firmness and

discernment and morality, only so long as he does not come within

the range of the arrows of Love. Happy in the world are Sarasvatí,

Skanda, and Buddha, these three, who have brushed off and flung away

love, like a blade of grass clinging to the skirt of the robe." When

Marubhúti said this, Naraváhanadatta, perceiving that Gomukha was

distressed, said in order to comfort him,--"What Gomukha said to me

was appropriate, and it was said to amuse me, for what loving friend

exults over one in the agony of separation? One afflicted by the

pain of separation should be comforted by his friends to the best

of their ability, and the sequel should be left to the disposal of

the five-arrowed god." Talking in this style, and hearing various

tales from his attendants, Naraváhanadatta somehow managed to get

through that night. And when morning came, he rose up and performed

his necessary duties, and saw Kánchanaprabhá descending from heaven,

accompanied by her husband Alankárasíla, and her son Dharmasíla,

and that Alankáravatí her daughter; and they all descended from

the chariot and came near him, and he welcomed them as was fitting,

and they saluted him in like manner. And in the meanwhile thousands

of other Vidyádharas descended from heaven, carrying loads of gold,

jewels, and other valuables; and after hearing of this occurrence,

the king of Vatsa came there with his ministers and his queens,

delighted at the advancement of his son. After the king of Vatsa had

performed the rites of hospitality duly, the king Alankárasíla said

to him, bowing graciously,--"King, this is my daughter Alankáravatí,

and when she was born, she was declared by a voice, that came from

heaven, to be destined to be the wife of this thy son Naraváhanadatta,

the future emperor of all the Vidyádhara kings. So I will give her to

him, for this is a favourable moment for them; for this reason I have

come here with all these." The king of Vatsa welcomed that speech of

the Vidyádhara sovereign's, saying, "It is a great favour that you do

me." Then the ruler of the Vidyádharas sprinkled with water, produced

in the hollow of his hand by virtue of his science, the ground of

the courtyard. Immediately there was produced there an altar of gold,

covered with a heavenly cloth, and a pavilion, not made with hands,

for the preliminary ceremony, composed of various jewels. Then the

successful king Alankárasíla said to Naraváhanadatta--"Rise up, the

favourable moment has arrived--bathe." After he had bathed, and had

the marriage-thread put on, the king Alankárasíla, being delighted,

gave him with all his heart his daughter, after bringing her to

the altar in her bridal dress. And when the grain was thrown into

the fire, he and his son gave to his daughter thousands of loads of

jewels, gold, garments and ornaments, and heavenly nymphs. And after

the marriage was over, he honoured them all, and then took his leave

of them, and with his wife and son departed, as he came, through the

air. Then the king of Vatsa, seeing his son destined to advancement,

being honoured by the bending kings of the Vidyádharas, was delighted,

and prolonged that feast to a great length. And Naraváhanadatta, having

obtained Alankáravatí, charming on account of her good conduct, and of

noble virtues, like a skilful poet who has obtained a style, charming

on account of its excellent metre, and of splendid merits, remained

delighted with her. [711]

CHAPTER LII.

Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, being united

to Alankáravatí his new wife, remained in the house of his father,

pleased with the heavenly dancing and singing of her maids, and

enjoying banquets with his ministers.

And one day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá, the mother of

Alankáravatí, came to him and said, after he had hospitably

entertained her--"Come to our palace, behold that city of Sundarapura,

and take your delight in its gardens with Alankáravatí." When

he heard this, he consented, and he informed his father, and by his

advice took Vasantaka with him, and with his wife and his minister,

he ascended a splendid chariot created by his mother-in-law by her

science, and set out through the air, and while in the chariot,

he looked down from heaven, and beheld the earth of the size of a

mound, and the seas small as ditches, and in due course he reached

the Himálayas with his mother-in-law, wife, and attendants, and it

resounded with the songs of the Kinnarís, and was adorned with the

companies of heavenly nymphs. There he saw a great many wonderful

sights, and then he reached the city of Sundarapura. It was adorned

with many palaces of gold and jewels, and, thus, though it was on

the Himálayas, it made the beholder suppose that he was looking on

the peaks of mount Meru. [712] And he descended from the heaven, and

getting out of the carriage entered that city, which, as it were,

danced with the waving silk of its banners, in its joy at having

once more a king. And he entered that palace, with the auspicious

ceremony performed for him by his mother-in-law, accompanied by

Alankáravatí, and with his favourites and Vasantaka. There the

fortunate prince spent the day in his father-in-law's palace,

in enjoyments which were provided for him by the power of his

mother-in-law. And on the next day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá

said to him; "There is in this city an image of the holy self-existent

husband of Umá. [713] He, if visited and worshipped, gives enjoyment

and even salvation. Around it the father of Alankáravatí made

a great garden, and brought down to it a holy water, rightly named

the Ganges-pool: go there to-day to worship the god and to amuse

yourselves." When his mother-in-law said this to him, Naraváhanadatta,

accompanied by his wife Alankáravatí, and followed by his attendants,

went to that garden of Siva. It looked lovely with its golden-trunked

trees, which were charming with their branches of jewels, the clear

white flowers of which were clusters of pearls, and the shoots of

which were coral. [714] There he bathed in the Ganges-pool and

worshipped Siva, and wandered round the tanks that were adorned

with ladders of jewels and lotuses of gold. And, accompanied

by his attendants, he amused himself with Alankáravatí on their

charming banks, and in bowers of the wish-granting creeper. And in

those he delighted his soul with heavenly banquets and concerts,

and amusing jokes caused by the simplicity of Marubhúti. And so

Naraváhanadatta dwelt a month there, amusing himself in gardens,

thanks to the resources of his mother-in-law. Then that Kánchanaprabhá

bestowed on him, his wife, and his ministers, garments and ornaments

fit for gods, and with his mother-in-law and his attendants, he

returned in that same chariot to Kausámbí, accompanied by his wife,

and he gladdened the eyes of his parents.

There Alankáravatí was thus addressed by her mother in the presence

of the king of Vatsa; "You must never by jealous anger make your

husband unhappy, for the fruit of that fault, my daughter, is

separation that causes great affliction. Because I was jealous in

old time and afflicted my husband, I am now consumed with remorse,

as he has gone to the forest." After saying this, she embraced her

daughter with eyes blinded with tears, and flying up into the air

went to her own city.

Then, that day having come to an end, the next morning Naraváhanadatta,

having performed the appropriate duties, was sitting with his

ministers, when a woman rushed into the presence of Alankáravatí

and said--"Queen, I am a woman in the utmost terror, protect me,

protect me! For there is a Bráhman come to slay me, and he is standing

outside; through fear of him I have fled and come in here to implore

protection." The queen said, "Do not fear. Tell your tale. Who is

he? Why does he wish to slay you?" When thus questioned, the woman

began to say:--

Story of Asokamálá.

My sovereign, I am the daughter of a Kshatriya in this city,

named Balasena, and my name is Asokamálá. When I was a virgin,

I was demanded from my father by a rich Bráhman named Hathasarman,

who was captivated by my beauty. And I said to my father; "I do not

like this ugly grim-visaged man for a husband; if you give me to him,

I will not remain in his house." Though Hathasarman heard that, he

sat in dharna at the door of my father's house, until he gave me to

him, being afraid of causing the death of a Bráhman. Then the Bráhman

married me and carried me off reluctant, and I deserted him, and fled

to another man, the son of a Kshatriya. But that Hathasarman managed

to crush him by the power of his wealth, and then I went to another

Kshatriya, who was well off. Then this Bráhman went at night and

set his house on fire. Then he abandoned me, and I went to a third

Kshatriya, and this Bráhman burnt his house also at night. Then

I was abandoned by him also, and I became a fugitive, flying in

terror, as the sheep flies from the jackal, from that Hathasarman,

who wishes to slay me, and follows me step by step. In this very city

I entered the service of the mighty Vírasarman your servant, a Rájpút

who protects the helpless. When the wicked Hathasarman found that

out, he was miserable at having no hope of recovering me, and being

afflicted with separation, he was reduced to skin and bone. But the

Rájpút Vírasarman, when disposed to imprison him for my protection,

was prevented by me, O queen. To-day it chanced that I went outside

the house, and Hathasarman, seeing me, drew his sword and rushed on

me to kill me, but I thereupon fled here, and the female warder,

melted with compassion, opened the door and let me enter, but he,

I know, is waiting for me outside.

When she said this, the king had the Bráhman Hathasarman summoned

into his presence; he looked at Asokamálá with an eye inflamed with

anger, his form was distorted, he held a sword in his hand, and

the joints of his limbs trembled with rage. The king said to him,

"Wicked Bráhman, do you try to kill a woman, and for her sake set

on fire your neighbours' houses? Why are you so wicked?" When the

Bráhman heard that, he said, "She is my lawful wife. She has left

my protection and gone elsewhere, how could I endure that?" When he

said this, Asokamálá, in distress, exclaimed, "O guardians of the

world, tell me this; did he not in your presence marry me and carry

me off by force against my own will? And did I not say at the time,

'I will not dwell in his house?'" When she said this, a heavenly voice

said, "The statement of Asokamálá is true. But she is not a woman;

hear the truth about her. There is a heroic king of the Vidyádharas

named Asokakara. He had no sons, and once on a time it happened that a

daughter was born to him, and she grew up in the house of her father,

under the name of Asokamálá. And when she arrived at an adult age,

and he, desiring to perpetuate his race, offered her in marriage,

she would not take any husband, through exceeding pride in her own

beauty. For that reason her father, vexed with her obstinacy, denounced

this curse on her; 'Become a mortal, and in that state thou shalt

have the same name. And an ugly Bráhman shall marry thee by force;

thou shalt abandon him, and in thy fear resort to three husbands in

succession. Even then he shall persecute thee, and thou shalt take

refuge with a mighty Kshatriya as his slave, but even then the Bráhman

shall not desist from persecuting thee. And he shall see thee, and run

after thee, with the object of killing thee, but thou shalt escape,

and entering the king's palace, shalt be delivered from this curse.'

Accordingly that very Vidyádharí, Asokamálá, who was in old time cursed

by her father, has now been born as a woman under the same name. And

this appointed end of her curse has now arrived. She shall now repair

to her Vidyádhara home, and enter her own body which is there. There

she, remembering her curse, shall live happily with a Vidyádhara

prince, named Abhiruchita, who shall become her husband." When the

heavenly voice had said this, it ceased, and immediately that Asokamálá

fell dead on the ground. But the king and Alankáravatí, when they

saw that, had their eyes suffused with tears, and so had their

courtiers. But in Hathasarman grief overpowered anger, and he wept,

blinded with passion. Then his eyes suddenly became expanded with

joy. All of them thereupon said to him,--"What does this mean?" Then

that Bráhman said, "I remember my former birth, and I will give an

account of it, listen."

Story of Sthúlabhuja.

On the Himálayas there is a splendid city, named Madanapura; in it

dwelt a Vidyádhara prince, named Pralambabhuja. He had born to him,

my lord, a son named Sthúlabhuja, and he in course of time became a

handsome prince in the flower of youth. Then a king of the Vidyádharas,

named Surabhivatsa, came with his daughter to the palace of that

king Pralambabhuja, and said to him: "I give this daughter of mine,

called Surabhidattá, to your son Sthúlabhuja; let the accomplished

youth marry her now." When Pralambabhuja heard this, he approved it,

and summoning his son, he communicated the matter to him. Then his

son Sthúlabhuja, out of pride in his beauty, said to him, "I will

not marry her, my father, for she is not a first-class beauty." His

father thereupon said to him, "What does her plainness matter? For

she is of high lineage and must be honoured on that account, and

her father offered her to me for you, and I have accepted her, so do

not refuse." Although Sthúlabhuja was thus entreated a second time

by his father, he would not consent to marry her. Then his father,

in his anger, denounced against him the following curse--"On account

of this your pride in your good looks, be born as a man, and in that

state you shall be ugly and with a large mouth. And you shall acquire

by force a wife named Asokamálá, also fallen by a curse, and she,

not liking you, shall leave you, and you shall experience the grief of

separation. And as she shall be attached to another, you shall commit

for her sake arson and other crimes, being maddened with passion and

emaciated with grief." When Pralambabhuja had uttered this curse, that

virtuous Surabhidattá clung to his feet, weeping, and entreated him,

"Pronounce a curse on me also, let our lot be the same, let not my

husband alone suffer calamity owing to my fault." When she said this,

Pralambabhuja was pleased, and, in order to comfort that virtuous

woman, he appointed for her this end to his son's curse: "Whenever

Asokamálá shall be released from her curse, then he shall remember

his birth and be released from this curse, and he shall regain his

own body, and remembering his curse, he shall be free from pride,

and soon marry you; then he shall live with you in happiness." When

the virtuous woman was thus addressed by him, she managed to recover

her self-composure.

"Know that I am that very Sthúlabhuja, fallen here by a curse, and

I have experienced this great grief owing to the fault of pride. How

can proud men have happiness in a previous or in a present state of

existence? And that curse of mine is now at an end." After saying this,

Hathasarman abandoned that body, and became a Vidyádhara youth. And

he took by the might of his science the body of Asokamálá, and flung

it, without its being seen, into the Ganges, out of compassion. And

he sprinkled immediately the chamber of Alankáravatí all round with

water of the Ganges, brought by the might of his science, and after

bending before Naraváhanadatta, his future lord, he flew up into the

heaven to his destined prosperity.

All being astonished, Gomukha told this story of Anangarati, which

was appropriate to the incident--

Story of Anangarati and her four suitors.

There is on the earth a city, rightly named Súrapura, [715] and

in it there lived a king named Mahávaráha, the destroyer of his

foes. That king had a daughter named Anangarati, born to him by his

wife Padmarati, owing to his having propitiated Gaurí, and he had no

other children. And in course of time she attained womanhood, and proud

of her beauty, she did not wish to have any husband, though kings asked

her in marriage. But she said decidedly; "I must be given to a man

who is brave and handsome, and knows some one splendid accomplishment.

Then there came from the Dekhan four heroes, who, having heard

tidings of her, were eager to obtain her, and they were furnished

with the qualities which she desired. They were announced by the

warder and introduced, and then king Mahávaráha asked them in the

presence of Anangarati; "What are your names? what is your descent,

and what do you know?" When they heard this speech of the king's,

one of them said--"I am Panchaphuttika by name, a Súdra; I possess a

peculiar talent; I weave every day five pairs of garments, one of them

I give to a Bráhman, and the second I offer to Siva, and the third I

wear myself, and as for the fourth, if I had a wife, I would give it

to her, and the fifth I sell, and live upon the proceeds." Then the

second said, "I am a Vaisya named Bháshájna; I know the language of

all beasts and birds." [716]

Then the third said, "I am a Kshatriya named Khadgadhara, and no

one surpasses me in fighting with the sword." And the fourth said,

"I am an excellent Bráhman named Jívadatta; by means of the sciences

which I possess by the favour of Gaurí, I can raise to life a dead

woman." [717] When they had thus spoken, the Súdra, the Vaisya, and

the Kshatriya one after another praised their own beauty, courage

and might, but the Bráhman praised his might and valour, and said

nothing about his beauty.

Then king Mahávaráha said to his door-keeper--"Take all these

now and make them rest in your house." The door-keeper, when he

heard the order, took them to his house. Then the king said to his

daughter Anangarati, "My daughter, which of these four heroes do you

prefer?" When Anangarati heard that, she said to her father; "Father,

I do not like any one of the four; the first is a Súdra and a weaver,

what is the use of his good qualities? The second is a Vaisya, and what

is the use of his knowing the language of cattle, and so on? How can

I give myself to them, when I am a Kshatriya woman? The third indeed

is a meritorious Kshatriya, equal to me in birth, but be is a poor

man and lives by service, selling his life. As I am the daughter of a

king, how can I become his wife? The fourth, the Bráhman Jívadatta,

I do not like; he is ugly and is addicted to unlawful arts, and, as

he has deserted the Vedas, he has fallen from his high position. You

ought to punish him, why do you offer to give me to him? For you, my

father, being a king, are the upholder of the castes and the various

stages of life. And a king, who is a hero in upholding religion,

is preferred to a king, who is only a hero with the sword. A hero in

religion will be the lord of a thousand heroes with the sword." When

his daughter had said this, the king dismissed her to her own private

apartments, and rose up to bathe and perform his other duties.

And the next day, the four heroes went out from the house of the

door-keeper, and roamed about in the town out of curiosity. And at that

very time a vicious elephant, named Padmakabala, broke his fastening,

and in his fury rushed out from the elephant-stable, trampling down the

citizens. And that great elephant, when he saw the four heroes, rushed

towards them to slay them, and they too advanced towards him with

uplifted weapons. Then the one Kshatriya among them, named Khadgadhara,

putting aside the other three, alone attacked that elephant. And he

cut off with one blow the protended trunk of that roaring elephant,

with as much ease as if it had been a lotus-stalk. And after showing

his agility by escaping between his feet, he delivered a second blow

on the back of that elephant. And with the third he cut off both his

feet. Then that elephant gave a groan and fell down and died. All the

people were astonished when they beheld that valour of his, and king

Mahávaráha was also amazed when he heard of it.

The next day, the king went out to hunt, mounted on an elephant,

and the four heroes, with Khadgadhara at their head, accompanied

him. There the king with his army slew tigers, deer, and boars,

and the lions rushed out upon him in anger, hearing the trumpeting

of the elephants. Then that Khadgadhara cleft in twain, with one

blow of his sharp sword, the first lion that attacked them, and

the second he seized with his left hand by the foot, and dashing it

on the earth, deprived it of life. And in the same way Bháshájna,

and Jívadatta, and Panchaphuttika, each dashed a lion to pieces on

the earth. Thus in turn those heroes killed on foot many tigers, and

lions, and other animals, with ease, before the eyes of the king. Then

that king, being pleased and astonished, after he had finished his

hunting, entered his city, and those heroes went to the house of the

door-keeper. And the king entered the harem, and though tired, had

his daughter Anangarati quickly summoned. And after describing the

valour of those heroes, one by one, as he had seen it in the chase,

he said to her who was much astonished--"Even if Panchaphuttika and

Bháshájna are of inferior caste, and Jívadatta, though a Bráhman,

is ugly and addicted to forbidden practices, what fault is there in

the Kshatriya Khadgadhara, who is handsome, and of noble stature, and

is distinguished for strength and valour; who slew such an elephant,

and who takes lions by the foot and crushes them on the ground, and

slays others with the sword? And if it is made a ground of reproach

against him that he is poor and a servant, I will immediately make

him a lord to be served by others: so choose him for a husband,

if you please, my daughter." When Anangarati heard this from her

father, she said to him--"Well then, bring all those men here, and

ask the astrologer, and let us see what he says." When she said this

to him, the king summoned those heroes, and in their presence he,

accompanied by his wives, said to the astrologer with his own mouth:

"Find out with which of these Anangarati has conformity of horoscope,

and when a favourable moment will arrive for her marriage." When the

skilful astrologer heard that, he asked the stars under which they were

born, and after long considering the time, he said to that king--"If

you will not be angry with me, king, I will tell you plainly. Your

daughter has no conformity of lot with any one of them. And she will

not be married on earth, for she is a Vidyádharí fallen by a curse;

that curse of hers will be at an end in three months. So let these

wait here three months, and if she is not gone to her own world then,

the marriage shall take place." All those heroes accepted the advice

of that astrologer, and remained there for three months.

When three months had passed, the king summoned into his presence

those heroes, and that astrologer, and Anangarati. And the king, when

he saw that his daughter had suddenly become exceedingly beautiful,

rejoiced, but the astrologer thought that the hour of her death

had arrived. And while the king was saying to the astrologer--"Now

tell me what it is proper to do, for those three months are gone,"

Anangarati called to mind her former birth, and covering her face with

her garment, she abandoned that human body. The king thought--"Why

has she put herself in this position?" But when he himself uncovered

her face, he saw that she was dead, like a frost-smitten lotus-plant,

for her eyes like bees had ceased to revolve, the lotus-flower of her

face was pale, and the sweet sound of her voice had ceased, even as

the sound of the swans departs. Then the king suddenly fell to earth

motionless, smitten by the thunderbolt of grief for her, crushed by the

extinction of his race. [718] And the queen Padmarati also fell down

to the earth in a swoon, and with her ornaments fallen from her like

flowers, appeared like a cluster of blossoms broken by an elephant.

The attendants raised cries of lamentation, and those heroes were

full of grief, but the king, immediately recovering consciousness,

said to that Jívadatta, "In this matter those others have no power,

but now it is your opportunity; you boasted that you could raise to

life a dead woman; if you possess power by means of science, then

recall my daughter to life; I will give her, when restored to life,

to you as being a Bráhman." When Jívadatta heard this speech of the

king's, he sprinkled that princess with water, over which charms had

been said, and chanted this Áryá verse: "O thou of the loud laugh,

adorned with a garland of skulls, not to be gazed on, Chámundá, the

terrible goddess, assist me quickly." When, in spite of this effort of

Jívadatta's, that maiden was not restored to life, he was despondent,

and said--"My science, though bestowed by the goddess that dwells in

the Vindhya range, has proved fruitless, so what is the use to me of

my life that has become an object of scorn?" When he had said this, he

was preparing to cut off his head with a great sword, when a voice came

from the sky--"O Jívadatta, do not act rashly, listen now. This noble

Vidyádhara maiden, named Anangaprabhá, has been for so long a time

a mortal owing to the curse of her parents. She has now quitted this

human body, and has gone to her own world, and taken her own body. So

go and propitiate again the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills,

and by her favour you shall recover this noble Vidyádhara maiden. But

as she is enjoying heavenly bliss, neither you nor the king ought to

mourn for her." When the heavenly voice had told this true tale, it

ceased. Then the king performed his daughter's rites, and he and his

wife ceased to mourn for her, and those other three heroes returned

as they had come.

But hope was kindled in the breast of Jívadatta, and he went and

propitiated with austerities the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and

she said to him in a dream:

"I am satisfied with thee, so rise up and listen to this that I am

about to tell thee."

Story of Anangarati in a former birth when she was a Vidyádharí

named Anangaprabhá.

There is a city on the Himálayas named Vírapura; and in it there

dwells a sovereign of Vidyádharas named Samara. He had a daughter,

named Anangaprabhá, born to him by his queen Anangavatí. When, in

the pride of her youth and beauty, she refused to have any husband,

her parents, enraged at her persistence, cursed her--

"Become a human being, and even in that state you shall not enjoy the

happiness of married life. When you are a maiden of sixteen years,

you shall abandon the body and come here. But an ugly mortal, who

has become such by a curse, on account of his falling in love with

the daughter of a hermit, and who possesses a magic sword, shall then

become your husband, and he shall carry you off against your will to

the world of mortals. There you, being unchaste, shall be separated

from your husband. Because that husband in a former life carried

off the wives of eight other men, he shall endure sorrow enough for

eight births. And you, having become a mortal by the loss of your

supernatural science, shall endure in that one birth the sufferings

of eight births. [719] For to every one the association with the evil

gives an evil lot, but to women the union with an evil husband is

equivalent to evil. And having lost your memory of the past, you shall

there take many mortal husbands, because you obstinately persisted in

detesting the husband fitted for you. That Vidyádhara Madanaprabha,

who, being equal in birth, demanded you in marriage, shall become

a mortal king and at last become your husband. Then you shall be

freed from your curse, and return to your own world, and you shall

obtain that suitable match, who shall have returned to his Vidyádhara

state." So that maiden Anangaprabhá has become Anangarati on the earth,

and returning to her parents, has once more become Anangaprabhá.

"So go to Vírapura and conquer in fight her father, though he is

possessed of knowledge and protected by his high birth, and obtain that

maiden. Now take this sword, and as long as you hold it in your hand,

you will be able to travel through the air, and moreover you will be

invincible." Having said this, and having given the sword to him, the

goddess vanished, and he woke up, and beheld in his hand a heavenly

sword. Then Jívadatta rose up delighted and praised Durgá, and all

the exhaustion produced by his penance was removed by the refreshment

caused by the nectar of her favour. And he flew up into the air with

his sword in his hand, and after roaming all round the Himálayas, he

found that prince of the Vidyádharas Samara in Vírapura. He conquered

him in fight, and then the king gave him his daughter Anangaprabhá,

and he married her, and lived in heavenly felicity. And after he had

remained there some time, he said to his father-in-law Samara and to

his beloved Anangaprabhá, "Let us two go to the world of men, for

I feel a longing for it, for one's native land is exceedingly dear

to living beings, even though it may be an inferior place." [720]

When the father-in-law heard that, he consented, but the far-seeing

Anangaprabhá was with difficulty induced to consent; then Jívadatta

descended from heaven to the world of mortals, taking that Anangaprabhá

in his arms. And Anangaprabhá, beholding there a pleasant mountain,

being wearied, said to him--"Let us immediately rest here." Then he

consented, and descending there with her, he produced food and drink

by the power of the various sciences. Then Jívadatta, being impelled

by fate, said to Anangaprabhá--"Dear one, sing some sweet song." When

she heard that, she began to sing devoutly the praise of Siva, and

with that sound of her singing the Bráhman was sent to sleep.

In the meanwhile a king, named Harivara, wearied out with hunting, came

that way in search of spring-water; he was attracted by hearing the

sound of that singing, as deer are attracted, and, leaving his chariot,

he went there alone. The king first had happiness announced by omens,

and then he beheld that Anangaprabhá like the real brightness of the

god of love. Then, as his heart was distracted with her song and her

beauty, the god of love cleft it at will with his arrows. Anangaprabhá

too, seeing that he was handsome, came within the range of the god

of the flowery bow, and said to herself--"Who is this? is he the

god of love, without his flowery bow? Is he the incarnation of the

favour of Siva towards me, he being pleased with my song?" Then

maddened with love, she asked him--"Who are you, and how have you

come to this forest, tell me." Then the king told her who he was,

and why he had come; then he said to her, "Tell me, who are you,

fair one? And who is this, O lotus-faced one, who is sleeping

here?" When he asked these questions, she answered him briefly:

"I am a Vidyádharí, and this is my husband, who possesses a magic

sword, and now I have fallen in love with you at first sight. So

come, let us quickly go to your city, before he awakes; then I will

tell my story at length." When the king heard that, he agreed, and

felt as much delighted as if he had obtained the sovereignty of the

three worlds. And Anangaprabhá hurriedly thought in her heart, "I will

take this king in my arms, and quickly fly up to the heaven," but in

the meanwhile her knowledge was stripped from her by her treachery

to her husband; and remembering her father's curse, she became at

once despondent. When the king saw that, he asked the cause, and then

said to her--"This is not the time for despondency; your husband here

may awake. And you ought not to lament, my beloved, over this matter

which depends on destiny. For who can escape from the shadow of his

own head, or the course of destiny? So come, let us depart." When

the king Harivara said this, she consented to his proposal, and he

took her quickly up in his arms. Then he went off quickly thence, as

delighted as if he had obtained a treasure, and ascended his chariot,

welcomed with joy by his servants. And he reached his city in that

chariot, which travelled swift as thought, accompanied by his beloved,

and he aroused curiosity in his subjects. Then king Harivara remained

in heavenly enjoyments in that city, which was named after him, in

the society of that Anangaprabhá. And Anangaprabhá remained there

devotedly attached to him, forgetting all her supernatural power,

bewildered by the curse.

In the meanwhile Jívadatta woke up on the mountain, and saw that not

only Anangaprabhá was gone, but his sword also. He thought "Where is

that Anangaprabhá? Alas! Where is that sword? Has she gone off with

it? Or were they both carried off by some being?" In his perplexity,

he made many surmises of this sort, and he searched that mountain

for three days, being consumed with the fire of love. Then he came

down, and wandered through the forests for ten days, but did not

find a trace of her anywhere. He kept crying out--"Alas spiteful

fortune, how did you carry off, together with the magic power of

the sword, my beloved Anangaprabhá, both which you granted with

difficulty?" Thus employed he wandered about without food, and at

last reached a village, and there he entered the opulent mansion of

a Bráhman. There the handsome and well-dressed mistress of the house,

Priyadattá by name, made him sit down on a seat, and immediately gave

this order to her maids--"Wash quickly the feet of this Jívadatta, for

to-day is the thirteenth day that he has gone without food on account

of his separation." When Jívadatta heard that, he was astonished,

and reflected in his own mind--"Can Anangaprabhá have come here, or is

this woman a witch?" Thus he reflected, and after his feet were washed,

and he had eaten the food that she gave, he humbly asked Priyadattá

in his great grief--"Tell me one thing: how do you know my history,

blameless one? And tell me another thing, where are my sword and

my beloved gone?" When the devoted wife Priyadattá heard that, she

said--"No one but my husband has any place in my heart even in a dream,

my son, and I look on all other men as brothers, and no guest leaves

my house without entertainment; by virtue of that I know the past,

the present and the future. And that Anangaprabhá of yours has been

carried off by a king named Harivara, living in a town named after him,

who, as destiny would have it, came that way, while you were asleep,

attracted by her song. And you cannot recover her, for that king is

very powerful; moreover that unchaste woman will in turn leave him

and go to another man. And the goddess Durgá gave you that sword only

that you might obtain that lady; having accomplished that, the weapon,

in virtue of its divine nature, has returned to the goddess, as the

lady has been carried off. Moreover, how have you forgotten what the

goddess was pleased to tell you, when she told the story of the curse

of Anangaprabhá? So why are you so distracted about an event, which was

destined to take place? Abandon this chain of sins, which again and

again produces extreme sorrow. And of what profit can be to you now,

my brother, that wicked female, who is attached to another, and who

has become a mortal, having lost her science by her treachery against

you?" When that virtuous woman said this to Jívadatta, he abandoned

all passion for Anangaprabhá, being disgusted with her fickleness, and

thus answered the Bráhman lady--"Mother, my delusion has been brought

to an end by this true speech of thine; whom does not association with

persons of virtuous conduct benefit? This misfortune has befallen

me in consequence of my former crimes, so I will abandon jealousy,

and go to holy places to wash them out. What can I gain by taking up

an enmity with others on account of Anangaprabhá? For one, who has

conquered anger, conquers this whole world." While he was saying this,

the righteous husband of Priyadattá, who was hospitable to guests,

returned to the house. The husband also welcomed him, and made him

forget his grief, and then he rested, and taking leave of them both,

started on his pilgrimage to holy places.

Then, in course of time, he roamed round to all the holy bathing-places

on the earth, enduring many toils in difficult ways, living on roots

and fruits. And after visiting holy bathing-places, he went to the

shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills; there he went through

a severe penance, without food, on a bed of kusa grass. And Ambiká,

satisfied with his asceticism, said to him, appearing to him in bodily

form--"Rise up, my son, for you four are four ganas of mine. Three

are Panchamúla, Chaturvaktra, and Mahodaramukha, and thou art the

fourth, last in order, and thy name is Vikatavadana. You four once

went to the sand of the Ganges to amuse yourselves, and saw there a

hermit's daughter bathing. She was called Chápalekhá, the daughter

of Kapilajata. And she was solicited by all of you, distracted

with love. When she said 'I am a maiden, go away all of you,' the

three others remained quiet, but thou didst forcibly seize her by

the arm. And she cried out--'Father, Father, deliver me.' Then the

hermit, who was near, came up in wrath. Then thou didst let go her

arm; then he immediately cursed you, saying--'Wicked ones, be born,

all of you, as human beings.' Then you asked the hermit that the

curse might end, and he said--'When the princess Anangarati shall be

demanded in marriage by you, and shall go to the Vidyádhara world,

then three of you shall be released from your curse. But when she

has become a Vidyádharí, then thou, Vikatavadana, shalt gain her,

and lose her again, and then thou shalt suffer great sorrow. But

after propitiating the goddess Durgá for a long time, thou shalt be

released from this curse. This will happen to thee, because thou didst

touch the hand of this Chápalekhá, and also because thou hast much

guilt attaching to thee, on account of having carried off the wives

of others.' You four ganas of mine, whom that hermit thus cursed,

became four heroes in the Dekhan, Panchaphuttika, and Bháshájna, and

Khadgadhara, these three friends, and you the fourth Jívadatta. Now the

first three, when Anangarati returned to her own place, came here, and

by my favour were freed from their curse. And thou hast propitiated me

now, therefore thy curse is at an end. So take this fiery meditation,

and abandon this body; and consume at once the guilt, which it would

take eight births to exhaust." When the goddess Durgá had said this,

she gave him the meditation, and disappeared. And with that meditation

he burned up his wicked mortal body, and at last was freed from the

curse, and became once more an excellent gana. When even gods have

to endure so much suffering by associating with the wives of others,

what must be the result of it to inferior beings?

In the meanwhile Anangaprabhá became head-queen in Harivara, the city

of the king Harivara. And the king remained day and night with his

mind fixed on her, and entrusted the great burden of his kingdom

to his minister named Sumantra. And once on a time there came to

that king from Madhyadesa, [721] a fresh teacher of dancing, named

Labdhavara. The king, having seen his skill in music and dancing,

honoured him, and made him the instructor in dancing of the ladies

of the harem. He brought Anangaprabhá to such excellence in dancing,

that she was an object of admiration even to her rival wives. And from

associating with the professor of dancing, and from the delight she

took in his teaching, she fell in love with him. And the professor

of dancing, attracted by her youth and beauty, gradually learnt a

new strange [722] dance, thanks to the god of Love. And once she

approached the professor of dancing secretly in the dancing-hall,

and being desperately in love with him, said to him--"I shall not be

able to live for a moment without you, and the king Harivara, when he

hears of it, will not tolerate it, so come, let us depart elsewhere,

where the king will not find us out. You have wealth in the form of

gold, horses, and camels, given by the king, pleased with your dancing,

and I have ornaments. So let us quickly go and dwell where we shall be

secure." The professor of dancing was pleased with her proposal, and

consented to this. Then she put on the dress of a man, and went to the

house of the professor of dancing, accompanied by one female servant,

who was exceedingly devoted to her. Thence she started on horseback,

with that teacher of dancing, who placed his wealth on the back of a

camel. First she abandoned the splendour of the Vidyádharas, then of a

throne, and now she put herself under the shelter of a bard's fortune;

alas! fickle is the mind of women! And so Anangaprabhá went with the

teacher of dancing, and reached a distant city named Viyogapura. There

she dwelt in happiness with him, and the distinguished dancer thought

that by obtaining her his name of Labdhavara [723] had been justified.

And in the meanwhile king Harivara, finding out that his beloved

Anangaprabhá had gone somewhere or other, was ready to abandon the

body out of grief. Then the minister Sumantra said to the king to

comfort him, "Why do you appear as if you do not understand the

matter? Consider it yourself? How, my sovereign, could you expect

that a woman, who deserted a husband, that had by means of his sword

obtained the power of a Vidyádhara, and repaired to you as soon as

she saw you, would be faithful even to you? She has gone off with

something that she has managed to get, having no desire for anything

good, as one to whom a blade of grass is a sprout of jewels, falling in

love at sight with a blade of grass. Certainly the teacher of dancing

has gone off with her, for he is nowhere to be seen. And I hear that

they both were in the concert-hall in the morning. So tell me, king;

why are you so persistent about her, though you know all this? The

truth is, a fickle dame is like a sunset, momentarily aglow for every

one." When the minister said this to him, the king fell into a musing,

and thought--"Yes, that wise man has told me the truth. For a fickle

dame is like human life; connexion with her is unstable, she changes

every moment, and is terrible, bringing disgust at the end. The

wise man never falls into the power of deep rivers or of women,

both which drown him who falls into their power, while they exhibit

wanton sportfulness. Those men are truly masters of themselves,

who are free from excitement about pleasures, who are not puffed

up in prosperity, and who are unshrinking in dangers; such men have

conquered the world." After saying this, king Harivara abandoned his

grief by the advice of his minister, and remained satisfied with the

society of his own wives.

And after Anangaprabhá had dwelt some time with the teacher of dancing,

in the city named Viyogapura, he, as fate would have it, struck up an

acquaintance with a young gambler named Sudarsana; then the gambler,

before the eyes of Anangaprabhá, soon stripped the teacher of dancing

of all his wealth. Then Anangaprabhá deserted her husband, who was

stripped of all his fortune, as if in anger on that account, and threw

herself into the arms of Sudarsana. Then the teacher of dancing,

having lost his wife and his wealth, having no refuge, in disgust

with the world, matted his hair in a knot, and went to the banks of

the Ganges to practise mortification of the flesh. But Anangaprabhá,

who was ever taking new paramours, remained with that gambler. But

one night, her lord Sudarsana was robbed of all that he had by some

robbers, who entered his house in the darkness. Then Sudarsana, seeing

that Anangaprabhá was uncomfortable and unhappy on account of their

poverty, said to her: "Come and let us borrow something from a rich

friend of mine, named Hiranyagupta, a distinguished merchant." After

saying this, he, being deprived of his senses by destiny, went with

his wife, and asked that great merchant Hiranyagupta to lend him some

money. And the merchant, when he saw her, immediately fell in love

with her, and she also with him, the moment that she beheld him. And

the merchant said politely to Sudarsana--"To-morrow I will give you

gold, but dine here to-day." When Sudarsana heard this, beholding the

altered bearing of those two, he said--"I did not come here to-day to

dine." Then the great merchant said--"If this be the case, at any rate

let your wife dine here, my friend, for this is the first time that

she has visited my house." When Sudarsana was thus addressed by him,

he remained silent in spite of his cunning, and that merchant went

into his house with Anangaprabhá. There he indulged in drinking and

other pastimes with that fair one, unexpectedly thrown in his way,

who was merry with all the wantonness of wine. But Sudarsana, who

was standing outside, waiting for her to come out, had the following

message brought to him by the merchant's servants, in accordance

with their master's orders: "Your wife has dined and gone home; you

must have failed to see her going out. So what are you doing here so

long? Go home." He answered--"She is within the house, she has not

come out, and I will not depart." Thereupon the merchant's servants

drove him away from the house with kicks. Then Sudarsana went off,

and sorrowfully reflected with himself: "What! has this merchant,

though my friend, robbed me of my wife? Or rather, in this very birth

the fruit of my sin has in such a form fallen to my lot. For what I

did to one, another has done to me. Why should I then be angry with

another, when my own deeds merit anger? So I will sever the chain of

works, so that I may not be again humiliated." Thus reflecting, the

gambler abandoned his anger, and going to the hermitage of Badariká,

[724] he proceeded to perform such austerities as would cut the bonds

of mundane existence.

And Anangaprabhá, having obtained that exceedingly handsome merchant

for a dear husband, was as pleased as a bee that has lighted on a

flower. And in course of time she attained undisputed control over

the wealth, as well as over the heart of that opulent merchant,

who was deeply in love with her. But the king Vírabáhu, though he

heard of the matchless beauty residing there, did not carry her off,

but remained strictly within the limits of virtue. And in course of

time, the wealth of the merchant began to diminish, on account of

the expenditure of Anangaprabhá; for, in a house presided over by

an unchaste woman, Fortune pines as well as virtuous women. Then the

merchant Hiranyagupta got together wares, and went off to an island

named Suvarnabhúmi to trade, and he took that Anangaprabhá with him,

out of fear of being separated from her, and journeying on his way,

he at last reached the city of Ságarapura. There he fell in with

a chief of fishermen, a native of that place, Ságaravíra by name,

whom he found in that city near the sea. He went with that sea-faring

man to the shore of the sea, and with his beloved embarked on a ship

which he provided. And after the merchant had travelled in anxiety

for some days over the sea, in that ship, accompanied by Ságaravíra,

one day a terrible black cloud of doom appeared, with flashing eyes

of lightning, filling them with fear of destruction. Then that ship,

smitten by a mighty wind, with a violent shower of rain, began to

sink in the waves. That merchant Hiranyagupta, when the crew raised

a cry of lamentation, and the ship began to break up like his own

hopes, fastened his cloak round his loins, and looking at the face of

Anangaprabhá, exclaimed "Ah! my beloved, where art thou," and threw

himself into the sea. And he oared himself along with his arms, and,

as luck would have it, he reached a merchant-ship, and he caught hold

of it, and climbed up into it.

But that Ságaravíra tied together some planks with a cord, and quickly

placed Anangaprabhá upon them. And he himself climbed up upon them,

and comforted that terrified woman, and went paddling along in the sea,

throwing aside the water with his arms. And as soon as the ship had

been broken to pieces, the clouds disappeared from the heaven, and the

sea was calm, like a good man whose wrath is appeased. But the merchant

Hiranyagupta, after climbing up into the ship, which was impelled by

the wind, as fate would have it, reached in five days the shore of

the sea. Then he went on shore, grieved at the loss of his beloved,

but he reflected that the dispensations of Destiny were irremediable;

and he went slowly home to his own city, and being of resolute soul,

he recovered his self-command, and again acquired wealth, and lived

in great comfort.

But Anangaprabhá, seated on the plank, was piloted to the shore

of the sea in one day by Ságaravíra. And there that chief of the

fishermen, consoling her, took her to his own palace in the city of

Ságarapura. There Anangaprabhá, reflecting that that chief of the

fishermen was a hero who had saved her life, and was equal to a king

in opulence, and in the prime of youth and good looks, and obedient

to her orders, made him her husband: a woman who has lost her virtue

does not distinguish between high and low. Then she dwelt with that

chief of fishermen, enjoying in his house his wealth that he put at

her disposal.

One day she saw from the roof of the palace a handsome Kshatriya youth,

named Vijayavarman, going along the high street of the town. Falling

in love with his good looks, she went up to him, and said--"Receive

me, who am in love with you, for my mind has been fascinated by

the sight of you." And he gladly welcomed that fairest woman of the

three worlds, who had fallen to him, as it were, from the sky, and

took her home to his house. But Ságaravíra, finding that his beloved

had gone somewhere or other, abandoned all, and went to the river

Ganges, intending to leave the body by means of ascetic practices;

and no wonder that his grief was great, for how could a man of servile

caste ever have expected to obtain such a Vidyádharí? But Anangaprabhá

lived at ease in that very town with Vijayavarman, free from restraint.

Then, one day the king of that place, named Ságaravarman, mounted a

female elephant and went out to roam round his city. And while the king

was looking at that well-built city named after him, he came along

the street where the house of Vijayavarman was. And Anangaprabhá,

finding out that the king was coming that way, went up to the top of

the house, out of curiosity to behold him. And, the moment she saw the

king, she fell so desperately in love with him, that she insolently

exclaimed to the elephant-driver--"Mahout, I never in my life have

ridden on an elephant, so give me a ride on yours, and let me see how

pleasant it is." When the elephant-driver heard this, he looked at

the face of the king, and in the meanwhile the king beheld her, like

the splendour of the moon fallen from heaven. And the king, drinking

her in with insatiate eye like a partridge, having conceived the hope

of gaining her, said to his elephant-driver--"Take the elephant near

and comply with her wish, and without delay seat this moon-faced dame

on the elephant." When the king said this, the elephant-driver at

once brought that elephant close under the house. When Anangaprabhá

saw that the elephant had come near, she immediately flung herself

into the lap of the king Ságaravarman. How came it that, though at

first she was averse to a husband, she now showed such an insatiable

appetite for husbands? Surely her father's curse made her exhibit a

great change of character. And she clasped the king round the neck,

as if afraid of falling, and he, when his limbs were irrigated with

the nectar of her touch, was much delighted. And the king quickly

carried off to his own palace her, who had surrendered herself by

an artifice, being desirous of being kissed. There he made that

Vidyádharí enter his harem, and after she had told him her story, he

made her his principal wife. And then that young Kshatriya, finding

out that she had been carried off by the king, came and attacked the

king's servants outside the palace, and there he left his corpse,

not turning his back in fight, for brave men do not submit to insult

on account of a woman. And it seemed as if he was carried off to the

abode of the gods by the nymphs of heaven, saying--"What have you to

do with this contemptible woman? Come to Nandana and court us."

As for that Anangaprabhá, when she had come into the possession of

the king Ságaravarman, she roamed no more, but remained faithful to

him, as rivers are at rest in the bosom of the sea. And owing to the

force of destiny, she thought herself fortunate in having obtained

that husband, and he thought that his life was complete by his having

obtained her for a wife.

And in some days Anangaprabhá, the queen of that king Ságaravarman,

became pregnant, and in due time gave birth to a son. And the king

made a great feast on account of the birth of a noble son, and

gave the boy the name of Samudravarman. And when that son attained

his full stature, and became a young man distinguished for might,

the king appointed him crown-prince. Then he brought to his court

Kamalavatí the daughter of a certain king named Samaravarman, to be

married to him. And when that son Samudravarman was married, the king,

being impressed by his virtues, gave him his own kingdom. That brave

son Samudravarman, being thoroughly acquainted with the duties of

Kshatriyas, when he had obtained the kingdom, said to his father,

bowing before him: "Father, give me leave to depart; I am setting

out to conquer the regions. A lord of earth, that is not intent on

conquest, is to be blamed as much as the effeminate husband of a

woman. And in this world, only that fortune of kings is righteous and

glorious, which is acquired by one's own strength after conquering the

kingdoms. What is the use, father, of the sovereignty of those kings,

who hold it merely for the sake of oppressing the poor? They devour

their own subjects, ravenous like cats." [725] When he had said this,

his father Ságaravarman replied, "Your rule, my boy, is young; so

for the present secure that; no demerit or disgrace attaches to one

who rules his subjects justly. And war is not meet for kings without

considering their power; though, you my child, are a hero, and your

army is numerous, still you ought not to rely upon the fortune of

victory, which is fickle in fight." Though his father used these

and similar arguments with him, the brave Samudravarman at last,

with great difficulty, induced him to consent, and marched out to

conquer the regions. And having conquered the regions in due course,

and reduced the kings under his sway, he returned to his own city

in possession of elephants, horses, gold, and other tributes. And

there he humbly honoured the feet of his delighted parents with great

jewels produced in various regions. And the glorious prince gave, by

their orders, to the Bráhmans great gifts of elephants, horses, gold

and jewels. Then he showered gold in such profusion upon suppliants

and servants, that the only thing in the country devoid of wealth

was the word poor, which had become without meaning. [726] The king

Ságaravarman, dwelling with Anangaprabhá, when he beheld the glory

of his son, considered that his objects in life had been accomplished.

And the king, after spending those days in feasting, said to his son

Samudravarman in the presence of the ministers--"I have accomplished,

my son, what I had to accomplish in this birth; I have enjoyed the

pleasures of rule, I have not experienced defeat from my enemies, and

I have seen you in possession of sovereignty, what else does there

remain for me to obtain? So I will retire to a holy bathing-place,

while my body retains strength. For see, old age whispers at the root

of my ear--'Since this body is perishable, why do you still remain

in your house?'" Having said this, the king Ságaravarman, all whose

ends were attained, went, though his son was opposed to it, to Prayága

with his beloved. And Samudravarman escorted his father there, and,

after returning to his own city, ruled it in accordance with the law.

And the king Ságaravarman, accompanied by his wife Anangaprabhá,

propitiated the god Siva in Prayága with asceticism. And at the end

of the night, the god said to him in a dream--"I am pleased with this

penance of yourself and your wife, so hear this--This Anangaprabhá and

you, my son, are both of the Vidyádhara race, and to-morrow the curse

will expire, and you will go to your own world." When the king heard

that, he woke up, and Anangaprabhá too, who had seen a similar dream,

and they told their dreams to one another. And then Anangaprabhá,

delighted, said to the king--"My husband, I have now remembered all

the history of my former birth; I am the daughter of Samara, a prince

of the Vidyádharas, in the city of Vírapura, and my name has always

been Anangaprabhá. And I came here owing to the curse of my father,

having become a human being by the loss of my science, and I forgot my

Vidyádharí nature. But now I have recovered consciousness of it." While

she was saying this, her father Samara descended from heaven; and

after he had been respectfully welcomed by the king Ságaravarman,

he said to that daughter Anangaprabhá, who fell at his feet, "Come,

daughter, receive these sciences, your curse is at an end. For you

have endured in one birth the sorrows of eight births." [727] Saying

this, he took her on his lap, and gave her back the sciences; then he

said to the king Ságaravarman--"You are a prince of the Vidyádharas,

named Madanaprabha, and I am by name Samara, and Anangaprabhá is my

daughter. And long ago, when she ought to have been given in marriage,

her hand was demanded by several suitors, but being intoxicated by

her beauty, she did not desire any husband. Then she was asked in

marriage by you, who were equal in merit, and very eager to marry her,

but as fate would have it, she would not then accept even you. For that

reason I cursed her, that she might go to the world of mortals. And

you, being passionately in love with her, fixed your heart on Siva

the giver of boons, and wished intently that she might be your wife

in the world of mortals, and then you abandoned your Vidyádhara body

by magic art. Then you became a man and she became your wife. Now

return to your own world linked together." When Samara said this to

Ságaravarman, he, remembering his birth, abandoned his body in the

water of Prayága, [728] and immediately became Madanaprabha. And

Anangaprabhá was rekindled with the brightness of her recovered

science, and immediately becoming a Vidyádharí, gleamed with that very

body, which underwent a heavenly change. And then Madanaprabha, being

delighted, and Anangaprabhá also, feeling great passion stir in both

their hearts at the sight of one another's heavenly bodies, and the

auspicious Samara, king of the sky-goers, all flew up into the air,

and went together to that city of the Vidyádharas, Vírapura. And there

Samara immediately gave, with due rites, his daughter Anangaprabhá to

the Vidyádhara king, Madanaprabha. And Madanaprabha went with that

beloved, whose curse had been cancelled, to his own city, and there

he dwelt at ease.

"Thus divine beings fall by virtue of a curse, and owing to the

consequences of their own wickedness, are incarnate in the world of

men, and after reaping the fruit appropriate to their bad conduct, they

again go to their own home on account of previously acquired merit."

When Naraváhandadatta heard this tale from his minister Gomukha, he

and Alankáravatí were delighted, and then he performed the duties of

the day.

CHAPTER LIII.

Then, on the next day, Naraváhanadatta's friend Marubhúti said to him,

when he was in the company of Alankáravatí--"See, king, this miserable

dependent [729] of yours remains clothed with one garment of leather,

with matted hair, thin and dirty, and never leaves the royal gate,

day or night, in cold or heat; so why do you not shew him favour at

last? For it is better that a little should be given in time, than

much when it is too late; so have mercy on him before he dies." When

Gomukha heard this, he said--"Marubhúti speaks well, but you, king,

are not the least in fault in this matter; for until a suitor's guilt,

which stands in his way, is removed, a king, even though disposed to

give, cannot give; but when a man's guilt is effaced, a king gives,

though strenuously dissuaded from doing so; this depends upon works

in a previous state of existence. And à propos of this, I will tell

you, O king, the story of Lakshadatta the king, and Labdhadatta the

dependent; listen."

Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta. [730]

There was on the earth a city named Lakshapura. In it there lived a

king named Lakshadatta, chief of generous men. He never knew how to

give a petitioner less than a lac of coins, but he gave five lacs

to any one with whom he conversed. As for the man with whom he was

pleased, he lifted him out of poverty, for this reason his name was

called Lakshadatta. A certain dependent named Labdhadatta stood day and

night at his gate, with a piece of leather for his only loin-rag. He

had matted hair, and he never left the king's gate for a second, day

or night, in cold, rain, or heat, and the king saw him there. And,

though he remained there long in misery, the king did not give him

anything, though he was generous and compassionate.

Then, one day the king went to a forest to hunt, and his dependent

followed him with a staff in his hand. There, while the king seated

on an elephant, armed with a bow, and followed by his army, slew

tigers, bears, and deer, with showers of arrows, his dependent, going

in front of him, alone on foot, slew with his staff many boars and

deer. When the king saw his bravery, he thought in his heart--"It

is wonderful that this man should be such a hero," but he did not

give him anything. And the king, when he had finished his hunting,

returned home to his city, to enjoy himself, but that dependent stood

at his palace-gate as before. Once on a time, Lakshadatta went out to

conquer a neighbouring king of the same family, and he had a terrible

battle. And in the battle the dependent struck down in front of him

many enemies, with blows from the end of his strong staff of acacia

wood. And the king, after conquering his enemies, returned to his own

city, and though he had seen the valour of his dependent, he gave him

nothing. In this condition the dependent Labdhadatta remained, and many

years passed over his head, while he supported himself with difficulty.

And when the sixth year had come, king Lakshadatta happened to see

him one day, and feeling pity for him, reflected--"Though he has been

long afflicted, I have not as yet given him anything, so why should

I not give him something in a disguised form, and so find out whether

the guilt of this poor man has been effaced, or not, and whether even

now Fortune will grant him a sight of her, or not." Thus reflecting,

the king deliberately entered his treasury, and filled a citron with

jewels, as if it were a casket. And he held an assembly of all his

subjects, having appointed a meeting outside his palace, and there

entered the assembly all his citizens, chiefs, and ministers. And

when the dependent entered among them, the king said to him with an

affectionate voice, "Come here;" then the dependent, on hearing this,

was delighted, and coming near, he sat in front of the king. Then

the king said to him--"Utter some composition of your own." Then the

dependent recited the following Áryá verse--"Fortune ever replenishes

the full man, as all the streams replenish the sea, but she never

even comes within the range of the eyes of the poor." When the king

had heard this, and had made him recite it again, he was pleased,

and gave him the citron full of valuable jewels. And the people said,

"This king puts a stop to the poverty of every one with whom he is

pleased; so this dependent is to be pitied, since this very king,

though pleased with him, after summoning him politely, has given him

nothing but this citron; a wishing-tree, in the case of ill-starred

men, often becomes a palása-tree." [731] These were the words which

all in the assembly said to one another in their despondency, when

they saw that, for they did not know the truth.

But the dependent went out, with the citron in his hand, and when he

was in a state of despondency, a mendicant came before him. And that

mendicant, named Rájavandin, seeing that the citron was a fine one,

obtained it from that dependent by giving him a garment. And then

the mendicant entered the assembly, and gave that fruit to the king,

and the king, recognizing it, said to that hermit, [732] "Where,

reverend sir, did you procure this citron." Then he told the king

that the dependent had given it to him. Then the king was grieved and

astonished, reflecting that his guilt was not expiated even now. The

king Lakshadatta took the citron, rose up from the assembly, and

performed the duties of the day. And the dependent sold the garment,

and after he had eaten and drunk, remained at his usual post at the

king's gate.

And on the second day the king held a general assembly, and everybody

appeared at it again, citizens and all. And the king, seeing that the

dependent had entered the assembly, called him as before, and made him

sit near him. And after making him again recite that very same Áryá

verse, being pleased, he gave him that very same citron with jewels

concealed in it. And all there thought with astonishment--"Ah! this

is the second time that our master is pleased with him without his

gaining by it. And the dependent, in despondency, took the citron in

his hand, and thinking that the king's good will had again been barren

of results, went out. At that very moment a certain official met him,

who was about to enter that assembly, wishing to see the king. He,

when he saw that citron, took a fancy to it, and regarding the omen,

procured it from the dependent by giving him a pair of garments. And

entering the king's court, he fell at the feet of the sovereign, and

first gave him the citron, and then another present of his own. And

when the king recognised the fruit, he asked the official where he got

it, and he replied--"From the dependent." And the king, thinking in

his heart that Fortune would not even now give the dependent a sight

of her, was exceedingly sad. [733] And he rose up from the assembly

with that citron, and the dependent went to the market with the pair

of garments he had got. And by selling one garment he procured meat

and drink, and tearing the other in half he made two of it. Then

on the third day also the king held a general assembly, and all

the subjects entered, as before, and when the dependent entered,

the king gave him the same citron again, after calling him and

making him recite the Áryá verse. Then all were astonished, and the

dependent went out, and gave that citron to the king's mistress. And

she, like a moving creeper of the tree of the king's regard, gave

him gold, which was, so to speak, the flower, the harbinger of the

fruit. The dependent sold it, and enjoyed himself that day, and the

king's mistress went into his presence. And she gave him that citron,

which was large and fine, and he, recognising it, asked her whence she

procured it. Then she said--"The dependent gave it me." Hearing that,

the king thought, "Fortune has not yet looked favourably upon him;

his merit in a former life must have been slight, since he does not

know that my favour is never barren of results. And so these splendid

jewels come back to me again and again." Thus the king reflected,

and he took that citron, and put it away safely, and rose up and

performed the duties of the day. And on the fourth day the king held

an assembly in the same way, and it was filled with all his subjects,

feudatories, ministers and all. And the dependent came there again,

and again the king made him sit in front of him, and when he bowed

before him, the king made him recite the Áryá verse: and gave him the

citron, and when the dependent had half got hold of it, he suddenly

let it go, and the citron fell on the ground and broke in half. And

as the joining of the citron, which kept it together, was broken,

there rolled out of it many valuable jewels, illuminating that place

of assembly. All the people, when they saw it, said, "Ah! we were

deluded and mistaken, as we did not know the real state of the case,

but such is the nature of the king's favour." When the king heard

that, he said--"By this artifice I endeavoured to ascertain, whether

Fortune would now look on him or not. But for three days his guilt

was not effaced; now it is effaced, and for that reason Fortune has

now granted him a sight of herself." After the king had said this,

he gave the dependent those jewels, and also villages, elephants,

horses and gold, and made him a feudal chief. And he rose up from

that assembly, in which the people applauded, and went to bathe; and

that dependent too, having obtained his ends, went to his own dwelling.

So true is it that, until a servant's guilt is effaced, he cannot

obtain the favour of his master; even by going through hundreds

of hardships.

When Gomukha the prime-minister had told this tale, he again said to

his master Naraváhanadatta; "So, king, I know that even now the guilt

of that dependent of yours is not expiated, since even now you are

not pleased with him." When the son of the king of Vatsa heard this

speech of Gomukha's, he said, "Ha! good!" and he immediately gave

to his own dependent, who was named Kárpatika, a number of villages,

elephants and horses, a crore of gold pieces, and excellent garments,

and ornaments. Then that dependent, who had attained prosperity,

became like a king; how can the attendance on a grateful king, who

has excellent courtiers, be void of fruit.

When Naraváhanadatta was thus employed, there came one day,

to take service with him, a young Bráhman from the Dekhan, named

Pralambabáhu. That hero said to the prince: "I have come to your feet,

my sovereign, attracted by your renown; and I on foot will never

leave your company for a step, as long as you travel on the earth

with elephants, horses, and chariots; but in the air I cannot go; I

say this because it is rumoured that my lord will one day be emperor

of the Vidyádharas. A hundred gold pieces should be given to me every

day as salary." When that Bráhman, who was really of incomparable

might, said this, Naraváhanadatta gave him this salary. And thereupon

Gomukha said--"My lord, kings have such servants: à propos of this,

hear this story."

Story of the Bráhman Víravara. [734]

There is in this country a great and splendid city of the name of

Vikramapura. In it there lived long ago a king named Vikramatunga. He

was distinguished for statesmanship, and though his sword was

sharp, his rod of justice was not so; and he was always intent on

righteousness, but not on women, hunting, and so forth. And while he

was king, the only atoms of wickedness were the atoms of earth in the

dust, the only departure from virtue was the loosing of arrows from

the string, the only straying from justice was the wandering of sheep

in the folds of the keepers of cattle. [735] Once on a time a heroic

and handsome Bráhman, from the country of Málava, named Víravara, came

there to take service under that king; he had a wife named Dharmavatí,

a daughter named Víravatí, and a son named Sattvavara; these three

constituted his family; and his attendants consisted of another three:

at his hip a dagger, in one hand a sword, and in the other a polished

shield. Though he had such a small following, he demanded from that

king five hundred dínárs every day by way of salary. And the king

gave him that salary, perceiving his courage, and thinking to himself,

"I will make trial of his excellence." And the king set spies on him,

to find out what this man, with only two arms, would do with so many

dínárs. And Víravara, every day, gave his wife a hundred of those

dínárs for food and other purposes; and with another hundred he bought

clothes, and garlands, and so on; and he appointed a third hundred,

after bathing, for the worship of Vishnu and Siva; and the remaining

two hundred he gave to Bráhmans, the poor and so on; and so he expended

every day the whole five hundred. And he stood at the palace-gate of

the king for the first half of the day, and after he had performed

his daily prayers and other duties, he came back and remained there

at night also. The spies reported to the king continually that daily

practice of his, and then the king, being satisfied, ordered those

spies to desist from observing him. And Víravara remained day and

night at the gate of the king's palace, sword in hand, excepting only

the time set apart for bathing and matters of that kind. Then there

came a collection of clouds, bellowing terribly, as if determined

to conquer that Víravara, being impatient of his valour. And then,

though the cloud rained a terrible arrow-shower of drops, Víravara

stood like a column and did not leave the palace-gate. And the king

Vikramatunga, having beheld him from the palace in this position,

went up to the roof of the palace at night to try him again. And he

called out from above--"Who waits at the palace-gate?" And Víravara,

when he heard that, answered--"I am here." The king hearing this,

thought--"Surely this brave man deserves high rank, for he does not

leave the palace-gate, though such a cloud is raining." While engaged

in these reflections, the king heard a woman weeping bitterly in

the distance; and he thought--"There is not an afflicted person in my

dominions, so why does she weep?" Thereupon he said to Víravara, "Hark,

Víravara, there is some woman weeping at some distance from this place,

so go, and find out who she is, and what is her sorrow." When Víravara

heard that, he set out, brandishing his sword, with his dagger at his

side. Then the king, seeing that he had set out when such a cloud was

blazing with lightning, and when the interval between heaven and earth

[736] was full of descending drops of rain, being moved with curiosity

and pity, came down from the roof of his palace, and set out behind

him, sword in hand, unobserved.

And Víravara, going in the direction of the wailing, [737] followed

unperceived by the king, reached a lake outside the city. And he saw

a woman lamenting in the midst of it; "Ah lord! Ah merciful one! Ah

hero! How shall I exist abandoned by thee?" He asked her; "Who are you,

and what lord do you lament?" Then she said; "My son, know that I am

this earth. At present Vikramatunga is my righteous lord, and his death

will certainly take place on the third day from now. And how shall I

obtain such a lord again? For with divine foresight I behold the good

and evil to come, as Suprabha, the son of a god, did, when in heaven."

Story of Suprabha.

For he, possessing divine foresight, foresaw that in seven days he

would fall from heaven on account of the exhaustion of his merits,

and be conceived in the body of a sow. Then that son of a god,

reflecting on the misery of dwelling in the body of a sow, regretted

with himself those heavenly enjoyments: "Alas for heaven! Alas for

the Apsarases! Alas for the arbours of Nandana! Alas! how shall I

live in the body of a sow, and after that in the mire?" When the

king of the gods heard him indulging in these lamentations, he came

to him, and questioned him, and that son of a god told him the cause

of his grief. Then Indra said to him, "Listen, there is a way out of

this difficulty open to you. Have recourse to Siva as a protector,

exclaiming 'Om! Honour to Siva!' If you resort to him as a protector,

you shall escape from your guilt and obtain merit, so that you shall

not be born in the body of a pig nor fall from heaven." When the

king of the gods said this to Suprabha, he followed his advice, and

exclaiming "Om! Honour to Siva!" he fled to Siva as an asylum. After

remaining wholly intent on him for six days, he not only by his favour

escaped being sent into the body of a pig, but went to an abode of

bliss higher than Svarga. And on the seventh day, when Indra, not

seeing him in heaven, looked about, he found he had gone to another

and a superior world.

"As Suprabha lamented, beholding pollution impending, so I lament,

beholding the impending death of the king." When Earth said this,

Víravara answered her:--"If there is any expedient for rescuing this

king, as there was an expedient for rescuing Suprabha in accordance

with the advice of Indra, pray tell it me." When Earth was thus

addressed by Víravara, she answered him: "There is an expedient in

this case, and it is in your hands." When the Bráhman Víravara heard

this, he said joyfully-- [738]

"Then tell me, goddess, quickly; if my lord can be benefited by

the sacrifice of my life, or of my son or wife, my birth is not

wasted." When Víravara said this, Earth answered him--"There is

here an image of Durgá near the palace; if you offer to that image

your son Sattvavara, then the king will live, but there is no other

expedient for saving his life." When the resolute Víravara heard

this speech of the goddess Earth, he said--"I will go, lady, and do

it immediately." And Earth said "What other man is so devoted to his

lord? Go, and prosper." And the king, who followed him, heard all.

Then Víravara went quickly to his house that night, and the king

followed him unobserved. There he woke up his wife Dharmavatí and told

her, that, by the counsel of the goddess Earth, he must offer up his

son for the sake of the king. She, when she heard it, said--"We must

certainly do what is for the advantage of the king; so wake up our son

and tell him." Then Víravara woke up his son, and told him all that

the goddess Earth had told him, as being for the interest of the king,

down to the necessity of his own sacrifice. When the child Sattvavara

heard this, he, being rightly named, said to his father, [739] "Am I

not fortunate, my father, in that my life can profit the king? I must

requite him for his food which I have eaten; so take me and sacrifice

me to the goddess for his sake." When the boy Sattvavara said this,

Víravara answered him undismayed, "In truth you are my own son." When

king Vikramatunga, who was standing outside, heard this, he said to

himself--"Ah! the members of this family are all equally brave."

Then Víravara took that son Sattvavara on his shoulder, and his wife

Dharmavatí took his daughter Víravatí on her back, and the two went

to the temple of Durgá by night.

And the king Vikramatunga followed them, carefully concealing

himself. When they reached the temple, Sattvavara was put down by

his father from his shoulder, and, though he was a boy, being a

store-house of courage, he bowed before the goddess, and addressed

this petition to her: "Goddess, may our lord's life be saved by the

offering of my head! And may the king Vikramatunga rule the earth

without an enemy to oppose him!" When the boy said this, Víravara

exclaimed, "Bravo! my son!" And drawing his sword, he cut off his

son's head, and offered it to the goddess Durgá, saying, "May the

king be prosperous!" Those who are devoted to their master grudge

them neither their sons' lives nor their own. Then a voice was heard

from heaven, saying, "Bravo, Víravara! you have bestowed life on your

master by sacrificing even the life of your son." Then, while the

king was seeing and hearing with great astonishment all that went

on, the daughter of Víravara, named Víravatí, who was a mere girl,

came up to the head of her slain brother, and embraced it, and kissed

it, and crying out "Alas! my brother!" died of a broken heart. When

Víravara's wife, Dharmavatí, saw that her daughter also was dead,

in her grief she clasped her hands together, and said to Víravara;

"We have now ensured the prosperity of the king, so permit me to

enter the fire with my two dead children. Since my infant daughter,

though too young to understand anything, has died out of grief for her

brother, what is the use of my life, my two children being dead?" When

she spoke with this settled purpose, Víravara said to her; "Do so, what

can I say against it? For, blameless one, there remains no happiness

for you in a world, which will be all filled for you with grief

for your two children; so wait a moment while I prepare the funeral

pyre." Having said this, he constructed a pyre with some wood, that

was lying there to make the fence of the enclosure of the goddess's

temple, and put the corpses of his children upon it, and lit a fire

under it, so that it was enveloped in flames. Then his virtuous wife,

Dharmavatí, fell at his feet, and exclaiming, "May you, my husband,

be my lord in my next birth, and may prosperity befall the king!" she

leapt into that burning pyre, with its hair of flame, as gladly as into

a cool lake. And king Vikramatunga, who was standing by unperceived,

remained fixed in thought as to how he could possibly recompense them.

Then Víravara, of resolute soul, reflected--"I have accomplished

my duty to my master, for a divine voice was heard audibly, and so

I have requited him for the food which I have eaten, but now that I

have lost all the dear family I had to support, [740] it is not meet

that I should live alone, supporting myself only, so why should I not

propitiate this goddess Durgá by offering up myself?" Víravara, firm

in virtue, having formed this determination, first approached with

a hymn of praise that goddess Durgá, the granter of boons. "Honour

to thee, O great goddess, that givest security to thy votaries,

rescue me plunged in the mire of the world, that appeal to thee

for protection. Thou art the principle of life in creatures, by

thee this world moves. In the beginning of creation Siva beheld thee

self-produced, blazing and illuminating the world with brightness hard

to behold, like ten million orbs of fiery suddenly-produced infant

suns rising at once, filling the whole horizon with the circle of

thy arms, bearing a sword, a club, a bow, arrows and a spear. And

thou wast praised by that god Siva in the following words--'Hail

to thee Chandí, Chámundá, Mangalá, Tripurá, Jayá, Ekánansá, Sivá,

Durgá, Náráyaní, Sarasvatí, Bhadrakálí, Mahálakshmí, Siddhá, slayer

of Ruru. Thou art Gáyatrí, Mahárájní, Revatí, and the dweller in the

Vindhya hills; thou art Umá and Kátyáyaní, and the dweller in Kailása,

the mountain of Siva.' When Skandha, and Vasishta, and Brahmá, and the

others heard thee praised, under these and other titles, by Siva well

skilled in praising, they also praised thee. And by praising thee, O

adorable one, immortals, rishis, and men obtained, and do now obtain,

boons above their desire. So be favourable to me, O bestower of boons

and do thou also receive this tribute of the sacrifice of my body,

and may prosperity befall my lord the king!" After saying this, he

was preparing to cut off his own head, [741] but a bodiless voice

was heard at that moment from the air, "Do not act rashly, my son,

for I am well-pleased with this courage of thine, so crave from me

the boon that thou dost desire." When Víravara heard that, he said,

"If thou art pleased, goddess, then may king Vikramatunga live another

hundred years. And may my wife and children return to life." When

he craved this boon, there again sounded from the air the words

"So be it!" And immediately the three, Dharmavatí, Sattvavara, and

Víravatí rose up with unwounded bodies. Then Víravara was delighted,

and took home to his house all those who had been thus restored to

life by the favour of the goddess, and returned to the king's gate.

But the king, having beheld all this with joy and astonishment, went

and again ascended the roof of his palace unobserved. And he cried

out from above--"Who is on guard at the palace-gate?" When Víravara,

who was below, heard that, he answered--"I am here, and I went to

discover that woman, but she vanished somewhere as soon as I saw her,

like a goddess." When king Vikramatunga heard this, as he had seen

the whole transaction, which was exceedingly wonderful, he reflected

with himself alone in the night: "Oh! surely this man is an unheard of

marvel of heroism, to perform such an exceedingly meritorious action,

and not to give any account of it. The sea, though deep, and broad, and

full of great monsters, [742] does not vie with this man, who is firm

even in the shock of a mighty tempest. What return can I make to him,

who secretly redeemed my life this night by the sacrifice of his son

and wife?" Thus reflecting, the king descended from the roof of the

palace, and went into his private apartments, and passed that night

in smiling. And in the morning, when Víravara was present in the great

assembly, he related his wonderful exploit that night. Then all praised

that Víravara, and the king conferred on him and his son a turban of

honour. And he gave him many domains, horses, jewels, and elephants,

and ten crores of gold pieces, and a salary sixty times as great as

before. And immediately the Bráhman Víravara became equal to a king,

with a lofty umbrella, being prosperous, himself and his family.

When the minister Gomukha had told this tale, he again said to

Naraváhanadatta, summing up the subject--"Thus, king, do sovereigns,

by their merit in a previous life, sometimes fall in with exceptionally

heroic servants, who, in their nobility of soul, abandoning regard

for their lives and all other possessions for the sake of their

master, conquer completely the two worlds. And Pralambabáhu, this

lately arrived heroic Bráhman servant of yours, my king, is seen to

be such, of settled virtue and character, a man in whom the quality

of goodness is ever on the increase." When the noble-minded prince

Naraváhanadatta heard this from his minister, the mighty-minded

Gomukha, he felt unsurpassed satisfaction in his heart.

CHAPTER LIV.

Thus Naraváhanadatta dwelt in the house of his father the king of

Vatsa, being attended by his affectionate ministers, Gomukha and the

others, and amusing himself with his loving queen Alankáravatí, whose

jealousy was removed by her great love, that refused to be hampered by

female pride. Then, once on a time, he went to a forest of wild beasts,

mounted on a chariot, with Gomukha seated behind him. And, with that

heroic Bráhman Pralambabáhu going in front of him, he indulged in

silvan sports, accompanied by his attendants. And though the horses

of his chariot galloped at the utmost of their speed, Pralambabáhu

outstripped their swiftness, and still kept in front of them. The

prince from his position on the chariot killed lions, and tigers,

and other wild beasts with arrows, but Pralambabáhu, going on foot,

slew them with his sword. And Naraváhanadatta, as often as he beheld

that Bráhman, said in astonishment--"What courage, and what fleetness

of foot he possesses!"

And the prince, being wearied at the end of his hunting, and overcome

with thirst, went in search of water, mounted on his chariot, with

Gomukha and his charioteer, and preceded by that champion Pralambabáhu,

and in the course of his search he reached another great forest far

distant. There he came to a great and charming lake with full-blown

golden lotuses, looking like a second sky on earth, studded with

many solar orbs. There he bathed and drank water, and, after he and

his companions had performed their ablutions and other duties, he

beheld at one end of the lake, at a distance, four men of heavenly

appearance, dressed in heavenly garments, adorned with heavenly

ornaments, engaged in culling golden lotuses from that lake. And out

of curiosity he approached them, and when they asked him who he was,

he told them his descent, his name and his history.

And they, pleased at seeing him, told him their story when he asked

them; "There is in the midst of the great sea a great, prosperous

and splendid island, which is called the island of Nárikela, and is

renowned in the world for its beauty. [743] And in it there are four

mountains with splendid expanses of land, named Maináka, Vrishabha,

Chakra, and Baláhaka, in those four we four live. One of us is named

Rúpasiddhi, and he possesses the power of assuming various forms;

another is by name Pramánasiddhi, who can measure the most minute as

well as the largest things; and the third is Jnánasiddhi, who knows the

past, the present, and the future; and the fourth is Devasiddhi, who

possesses the power of calling down to his aid all the deities. We have

now gathered these golden lotuses, and are going to offer them to the

god, the husband of Srí, in Svetadvípa. For we are all of us devoted to

him, and it is by his favour that we possess rule over those mountains

of ours, and prosperity accompanied with supernatural power. So come,

we will shew you the lord Hari in Svetadvípa; we will carry you through

the air, friend, if you approve." When those sons of gods said this,

Naraváhanadatta consented, and leaving Gomukha and the others in that

place, where they could obtain water, fruits and so on, he went with

them to Svetadvípa through the air, for Devasiddhi, one of the four

brothers, carried him in his lap. There he descended from heaven,

and beheld Vishnu, and approached him from a distance, introduced by

those four sons of gods. The god was reclining upon the snake Sesha,

in front of him sat Garuda, at his side was the daughter of the sea,

[744] at his feet was the Earth, he was waited upon by the discus,

the conch, the club, and the lotus, incarnate in bodily form, and the

Gandharvas, with Nárada at their head, were piously chanting hymns in

his honour, and the gods, Siddhas, and Vidyádharas were bowing before

him. To whom is not association with the good a cause of exaltation?

Then, after that Lord had been honoured by those sons of gods, and

praised by Kasyapa and others, Naraváhanadatta thus praised him with

folded hands, "All hail to thee, venerable one, the wishing-tree

of thy worshippers, whose body is encircled with the wish-granting

creeper of Lakshmí, who art the granter of all desires; hail to thee,

the divine swan, dwelling in the Mánasa-lake of the minds of the good,

[745] ever soaring and singing in the highest ether. Hail to thee, who

dost transcend all, and dwell within all, who hast a form transcending

qualities, and whose shape is the full aggregate of the six kingly

measures; [746] Brahmá is the bee on the lotus of thy navel, O Lord,

humming with the soft sound of Veda-murmur, though from him spring

many verses; [747] thy foot is the earth, the heaven is thy head,

the cardinal points are thy ears, the sun and moon are thy eyes; thy

belly is the egg of Brahmá, the globe of the world; thou art hymned

by the wise as the infinite soul. From thee, the home of brightness,

spring all these creatures, O Lord, as the host of sparks from the

blazing fire, and when the time of destruction comes, they again enter

thy essence, as at the end of the day a flock of birds enters the

great tree in which they dwell. Thou flashest forth, and createst

these lords of the world, who are parts of thee, as the ocean,

disturbed with a continual flow, creates waves. Though the world

is thy form, thou art formless; though the world is thy handiwork,

thou art free from the bondage of works; though thou art the support

of the world, thou art thyself without support; who is he that knows

thy real nature? The gods have obtained various stages of prosperity

by being looked upon by thee with a favourable eye; so be propitious,

and look upon me, thy suppliant, with an eye melting with love."

When Naraváhanadatta had in these words praised Vishnu, the god

looked upon him with a favourable eye, and said to Nárada: "Go and

demand back from Indra in my name those lovely Apsarases of mine,

who long ago sprang from the sea of milk, and whom I deposited in his

hand, and make them mount the chariot of Indra, and quickly bring them

here." When Nárada received this command from Hari, he said "So be it,"

and with Mátali he brought the Apsarases from Indra in his chariot,

and then bowing he presented the Apsarases to Vishnu, and the Holy

one spake thus to the son of the king of Vatsa--"Naraváhanadatta,

I give these Apsarases to thee, the future emperor of the kings

of the Vidyádharas. Thou art a fitting husband for them, and they

are fitting wives for thee, for thou hast been created by Siva as

an incarnation of the god of Love." When Vishnu said that, the son

of the king of Vatsa fell at his feet, delighted at having obtained

favour, and Vishnu thus commanded Mátali,--"Let this Naraváhanadatta,

together with the Apsarases, be taken back by thee to his palace,

by whatever path he desires."

When the Holy one gave this command, Naraváhanadatta, with the

Apsarases and those sons of gods who invited him, mounted the chariot

which was driven by Mátali, and went to the island of Nárikela, being

envied even by gods. There the successful hero, honoured by those four

sons of gods, Rúpasiddhi and his brethren, and accompanied by Indra's

chariot, sported in succession on those four mountains on which they

dwelt, Maináka, Vrishabha, and the others, that vied with heaven,

in the company of those Apsarases. And he roamed, full of joy, in

the thickets of their pleasure-grounds, the various splendid trees

of which were in blossom on account of the arrival of the month of

spring. And those sons of gods said to him: "See! these clusters on

the trees seem to be regarding with the expanded eyes of their open

flowers their beloved spring that has arrived. See! the full-blown

lotuses shield the lake, as if to prevent their place of birth from

being afflicted by the warmth of the sun's rays. See! the bees,

after resorting to a Karnikára splendid with blossoms, leave it

again, finding it destitute of perfume, as good men leave a rich man

of mean character. See! a concert is being held in honour of spring,

the king of the seasons, with the songs of the Kinnarís, the notes of

the cuckoos, and the humming of bees." With such words those sons of

gods shewed Naraváhanadatta the range of their pleasure-grounds. And

the son of the king of Vatsa amused himself also in their cities,

beholding the merry-makings of the citizens, who danced without

restraint in honour of the spring-festival. And he enjoyed with the

Apsarases delights fitted for gods; wherever the virtuous go, their

good fortunes precede them.

After remaining there for four days thus occupied, Naraváhanadatta said

to those sons of gods his friends; "I now wish to go to my own city,

being anxious to behold my father; [748] so come you also to that

city and bless it with a visit." When they heard that, they said:

"We have seen you, the choicest jewel in that town; what more do we

require? But when you have obtained the sciences of the Vidyádharas,

you must not forget us." With these words they dismissed him, and

Naraváhanadatta said to Mátali, who brought him the splendid chariot

of Indra; "Take me to the city of Kausámbí by a course leading

past that lovely lake, on the bank of which I left Gomukha and the

others." Mátali consented, and the prince ascended the chariot with

the Apsarases, and reached that lake, and saw Gomukha and the others,

and said to them, "Come quickly by your own way, I will tell you

all when I get home." Having said this, he went to Kausámbí in the

chariot of Indra. There he descended from heaven, and dismissed Mátali

after honouring him, and entered his own palace accompanied by those

Apsarases. And leaving them there, he went and prostrated himself

before the feet of his father, who was delighted at his arrival,

and also of Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, and they welcomed him,

and their eyes were never satisfied with gazing on him. And in the

meanwhile Gomukha came, riding on the chariot, with the charioteer,

and that Bráhman Pralambabáhu. Then, being questioned by his father,

Naraváhanadatta related in the presence of all his ministers his very

wonderful adventures. And all said--"God grants to that virtuous man,

whom he wishes to favour, association with good friends." When all

said this, the king was pleased, and ordered a festival for his son on

account of the favour which Vishnu had shewed towards him. And he and

his wives saw those Apsarases his daughters-in-law, obtained by the

favour of Vishnu, whom Gomukha brought to fall at his feet, Devarupá,

and Devarati, and Devamálá, and the fourth Devapriyá, whose names

he enquired by the mouth of their maids. And the city of Kausámbí,

making festival, appeared as if scattering red paint with its waving

scarlet banners, as much as to say: "What am I that Apsarases should

dwell in me? Blessed am I that the prince Naraváhanadatta has made me a

heavenly city upon earth." And Naraváhanadatta, after he had rejoiced

the eyes of his father, visited his other wives, who were anxiously

awaiting him, and they, who had been emaciated by those four days,

as if they were four years, exulted, relating the various woes of

their separation. And Gomukha described the valour of Pralambabáhu,

while he was protecting the horses during their sojourn in the forest,

in killing lions and other noxious beasts. Thus listening to pleasing

unrestrained conversation, and contemplating the beauty of his beloved

ones, that was as nectar to his eyes, and making flattering speeches,

and drinking wine in the company of his ministers, Naraváhanadatta

passed that time there in happiness.

Once on a time, as he was in the apartments of Alankáravatí with his

ministers, he heard a loud sound of drums outside. Then he said to his

general Harisikha: "What may be the cause of this sudden great noise of

drums outside?" When Harisikha heard this, he went out, and entering

again immediately said to the prince, the son of the king of Vatsa;

"There is in this town a merchant of the name of Rudra, and he went

to the island of Suvarnadvípa on a mercantile expedition. As he was

returning, the hoard of wealth, that he had managed to acquire, was

lost, being sunk in the sea by his ship foundering. And he himself

happened to escape from the sea alive. And to-day is the sixth day

since he arrived in misery at his own house. After he had been living

here for some days in distress, it happened that he found a great

treasure in his garden. And the king of Vatsa heard of it from his

relations, so the merchant came to-day and represented the matter to

the king; saying--'I have obtained four crores of gold pieces with

a multitude of valuable jewels, so, if the king commands me, I will

hand them over.' The king of Vatsa thereupon gave this command to the

merchant--'Who that had any sense, [749] after seeing you in distress,

plundered by the sea, would plunder you again, now that you have been

supplied with wealth by the mercy of Providence. Go and enjoy at will

the wealth obtained from your own ground.' The merchant fell at the

king's feet full of joy, and it is this very man that is now returning

to his house, with his attendants beating drums." When Harisikha said

this, Naraváhanadatta praised the justice of his father, and said in

astonishment to his ministers--"If Destiny sometimes takes away wealth,

does she not sometimes afterwards give it. She sports in a strange

way with the raising and depressing of men." When Gomukha heard that,

he said--"Such is the course of Destiny! And in proof of this, hear

the story of Samudrasúra."

Story of the merchant Samudrasúra.

In old times there was a splendid city, belonging to the king

Harshavarman, called Harshapura, the citizens of which were made

happy by good government. In this city there was a great merchant,

named Samudrasúra; he was of good family, just, of resolute courage,

a lord of much wealth. He was once compelled by his business to go

to Suvarnadvípa, and reaching the shore of the sea, he embarked on

a ship. As he was travelling over the sea, when his journey was very

nearly at an end, a terrible cloud arose and a wind that agitated the

deep. The wind tossed the ship about with the violence of the waves,

and it was struck by a sea-monster and split asunder; and then the

merchant, girding up his loins, plunged into the sea. And after the

brave man had made some way by swimming, he found the corpse of a man

long dead, driven hither and thither by the wind. And he climbed up

on the corpse, and skilfully paddling himself along with his arms,

he was carried to Suvarnadvípa by a favourable wind. There he got

off that corpse on to the sand, and he perceived that it had a cloth

tied round its loins, with a knot in it. When he unfastened the cloth

from its loins, and examined it, he found inside it a necklace richly

studded with jewels. He saw that it was of inestimable value, and he

bathed and remained in a state of great felicity, thinking that the

wealth he had lost in the sea was but straw in comparison with it. Then

he went on to a city called Kalasapura, and with the bracelet in his

hand, entered the enclosure of a great temple. There he sat in the

shade, and being exceedingly tired with his exertions in the water,

he slowly dropped off to sleep, bewildered by Destiny. And while

he was asleep, the policemen came and saw that necklace in his hand

exposed to view. They said--"Here is the necklace stolen from the neck

of the princess Chakrasená; without doubt this is the thief." And so

they woke the merchant up and took him to the palace. There the king

himself questioned him, and he told him what had taken place. The king

held out the necklace, and said to the people present in court,--"This

man is speaking falsely; he is a thief, look at this necklace." And

at that very moment a kite saw it glittering, and quickly swooping

down from heaven, carried off the necklace, and disappeared where he

could not be traced. Then the king, in his anger, commanded that the

merchant should be put to death, and he, in great grief, invoked the

protection of Siva. Then a voice was heard from heaven--"Do not put

this man to death: he is a respectable merchant named Samudrasúra

from the city of Harshapura, that has landed on your territory. The

thief, who stole the necklace, fled, beside himself with fear of the

police, and falling into the sea at night, perished. But this merchant

here, when his ship foundered, came upon the body of that thief,

and climbing up on it, he crossed the sea and came here. And then he

found the necklace in the knot of the cloth fastened round his loins;

he did not take it from your house. So let go, king, this virtuous

merchant, who is not a thief; dismiss him with honour." Having said

this, the voice ceased. When the king heard this, he was satisfied,

and revoking the capital sentence passed on the merchant, he honoured

him with wealth, and let him go. And the merchant, having obtained

wealth, bought wares, and again crossed the terrible ocean in a ship,

in order to return to his own native land.

And after he had crossed the sea, he travelled with a caravan, and one

day, at evening time, he reached a wood. The caravan encamped in the

wood for the night, and while Samudrasúra was awake, a powerful host

of bandits attacked it. While the bandits were massacring the members

of the caravan, Samudrasúra left his wares and fled, and climbed up a

banyan-tree without being discovered. The host of bandits departed,

after they had carried off all the wealth, and the merchant spent

that night there, perplexed with fear, and distracted with grief. In

the morning he cast his eye towards the top of the tree, and saw, as

fate would have it, what looked like the light of a lamp, trembling

among the leaves. And in his astonishment he climbed up the tree, and

saw a kite's nest, in which there was a heap of glittering priceless

jewelled ornaments. He took them all out of it, and found among the

ornaments that necklace, which he had found in Svarnadvípa and the

kite had carried off. He obtained from that nest unlimited wealth,

and, descending from the tree, he went off delighted, and reached

in course of time his own city of Harshapura. There the merchant

Samudrasúra remained, enjoying himself to his heart's content with

his family, free from the desire of any other wealth.

"So you have that merchant's whelming in the sea, and that loss of

his wealth, and the finding of the necklace, and again the losing of

it, and his undeserved degradation to the position of a malefactor,

and his immediate obtaining of wealth from the satisfied king, and

his return-voyage over the sea, and his being stripped of all his

wealth by falling in with bandits on the journey, and at last his

acquisition of wealth from the top of a tree. So you see, prince, such

is the various working of destiny, but a virtuous man, though he may

have endured sorrow, obtains joy at the last." When Naraváhanadatta

heard this from Gomukha, he approved it, and rising up, he performed

his daily duties, such as bathing and the like.

And the next day, when he was in the hall of assembly, the heroic

prince Samaratunga, who had been his servant ever since he was a

boy, came and said to him--"Prince, my relation Sangrámarvarsha

has ravaged my territory, with the help of his four sons, Vírajita

and the others. So I will go myself, and bring them all five here as

prisoners. Let my lord know this." After saying this he departed. And

the son of the king of Vatsa, knowing that he had but a small force,

and that those others had large forces, ordered his own army to follow

him. But that proud man refused to receive this accession to his force,

and went and conquered those five enemies in fight by the help of his

own two arms only, and brought them back prisoners. Naraváhanadatta

honoured and praised his follower, when he came back victorious,

and said--"How wonderful! This man has conquered his five enemies,

though with their forces they had overrun his territory, and has

done the deed of a hero, as a man conquers the senses, when they have

laid hold upon outward objects, and are powerful, and so accomplishes

emancipation, the work of the soul." [750] When Gomukha heard that,

he said--"If, prince, you have not heard the tale of king Chamarabála,

which is similar, listen, I will tell it."

Story of king Chamarabála.

There is a city named Hastinápura, and in it there lived a king named

Chamarabála, who possessed treasure, a fort, and an army. And he had,

as neighbours to his territory, several kings of the same family as

himself, the chief of whom was Samarabála, and they put their heads

together and reflected: "This king Chamarabála defeats us all, one by

one; so we will join together and accomplish his overthrow." After thus

deliberating, those five kings' being anxious to march out against him

to conquer him, secretly asked an astrologer when a favourable moment

would come. The astrologer, not seeing a favourable moment, and not

seeing good omens, said--"There is no favourable moment for you this

year. Under whatever circumstances you set out on your expedition, you

will not be victorious. And why are you so eager for the undertaking,

beholding his prosperity? Enjoyment is after all the fruit [751]

of prosperity, and you have enjoyments in abundance. And now hear,

if you have not heard it before, the story of the two merchants."

Story of Yasovarman and the two fortunes.

There was in old time in this country a city, named Kautukapura. In it

there lived a king, called Bahusuvarnaka, [752] rightly named. And he

had a young Kshatriya servant named Yasovarman. To that man the king

never gave anything, though he was generous by nature. Whenever in his

distress he asked the king, the king said to him, pointing to the sun,

"I wish to give to you, but this holy god will not permit me to give

to you. Tell me what I am to do." While he remained distressed,

watching for an opportunity, the time for an eclipse of the sun

arrived. Then Yasovarman, who had constantly served the king, went

and said to him, when he was engaged in giving many valuable presents:

"Give me something, my sovereign, while this sun, who will not permit

you to give, is in the grasp of his enemy." When the king, who had

given many presents, heard that, he laughed, and gave garments, gold,

and other things to him.

In course of time that wealth was consumed, and he, being afflicted,

as the king gave him nothing, and having lost his wife, went to

the shrine of the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills. [753]

He said--"What is the use of this profitless body that is dead even

while alive? I will abandon it before the shrine of the goddess,

or gain the desired boon." Resolved on this course, he lay down on

a bed of darbha grass in front of the goddess, with his mind intent

on her, and fasting he performed a severe penance. And the goddess

said to him in a dream, "I am pleased with thee, my son; tell me,

shall I give thee the good fortune of wealth, or the good fortune

of enjoyment?" When Yasovarman heard this, he answered the goddess,

"I do not precisely know the difference between these two good

fortunes." Then the goddess said to him: "Return to thy own country,

and there go and examine into the good fortunes of the two merchants,

Arthavarman and Bhogavarman, and find out which of the two pleases

thee, and then come here and ask a like fortune for thyself." When

Yasovarman heard this, he woke up, and next morning he broke his fast,

and went to his own country of Kautukapura.

There he first went to the house of Arthavarman, [754] who had

acquired much wealth, in the form of gold, jewels, and other precious

things, by his business transactions. Seeing that prosperity of his,

he approached him with due politeness, and was welcomed by him,

and invited to dinner. Then he sat by the side of that Arthavarman,

and ate food appropriate to a guest, with meat-curry and ghee. But

Arthavarman ate barley-meal, with half a pal of ghee and a little rice,

and a small quantity of meat-curry. Yasovarman said to the merchant out

of curiosity--"Great merchant, why do you eat so little?" Thereupon

the merchant gave him this answer: "To-day out of regard for you I

have eaten a little rice with meat-curry and half a pal of ghee;

I have also eaten some barley-meal. But as a general rule, I eat

only a karsha of ghee and some barley-meal, I have a weak digestion,

and cannot digest more in my stomach." When Yasovarman heard that, he

turned the matter over in his mind, and formed an unfavourable opinion

of that prosperity of Arthavarman's, as being without fruit. Then, at

nightfall, that merchant Arthavarman again brought rice and milk for

Yasovarman to eat. And Yasovarman again ate of it to his fill, and then

Arthavarman drank one pala of milk. And in that same place Yasovarman

and Arthavarman both made their beds, and gradually fell asleep.

And at midnight Yasovarman suddenly saw in his sleep some men of

terrible appearance with clubs in their hands, entering the room. And

they exclaimed angrily--"Fie! why have you taken to-day one karsha more

of ghee than the small amount allowed to you, and eaten meat-curry,

and drunk a pala of milk?" Then they dragged Arthavarman by his foot

and beat him with clubs. And they extracted from his stomach the karsha

of ghee, and the milk, flesh, and rice, which he had consumed above his

allowance. When Yasovarman had seen that, he woke up and looked about

him, and lo! Arthavarman had woke up, and was seized with colic. Then

Arthavarman, crying out, and having his stomach rubbed by his servants,

vomited up all the food he had eaten above the proper allowance. After

the merchant's colic was allayed, Yasovarman said to himself: "Away

with this good fortune of wealth, which involves enjoyment of such an

equivocal kind! This would be altogether neutralized by such misery

of ill health." In such internal reflections he passed that night.

And in the morning he took leave of Arthavarman, and went to the house

of that merchant Bhogavarman. There he approached him in due form,

and he received him with politeness, and invited him to dine with him

on that day. Now he did not perceive any wealth in the possession of

that merchant, but he saw that he had a nice house, and dresses, and

ornaments. While Yasovarman was waiting there, the merchant Bhogavarman

proceeded to do his own special business. He took merchandise from

one man, and immediately handed it over to another, and without

any capital of his own, gained dínárs by the transaction. And he

quickly sent those dínárs by the hand of his servant to his wife,

in order that she might procure all kinds of food and drink. And

immediately one of that merchant's friends, named Ichchhábharana,

rushed in and said to him: "Our dinner is ready, rise up and come

to us, and let us eat, for all our other friends have assembled and

are waiting for you." He answered, "I shall not come to-day, for

I have a guest here." Thereupon his friend went on to say to him,

"Then let this guest come with you; is he not our friend also? Rise

up quickly." Bhogavarman, being thus earnestly invited by that friend,

went with him, accompanied by Yasovarman, and ate excellent food. And,

after drinking wine, he returned, and again enjoyed all kinds of

viands and wines at his own house in the evening. And when night

came on, he asked his servants--"Have we enough wine left for the

latter part of the night or not?" When they replied, "No, master,"

the merchant went to bed, exclaiming, "How are we to drink water in

the latter part of the night?"

Then Yasovarman, sleeping at his side, saw in a dream two or three

men enter, and some others behind them. And those who entered last,

having sticks in their hands, exclaimed angrily to those who entered

first--"You rascals! Why did you not provide wine for Bhogavarman

to drink in the latter half of the night? Where have you been all

this time?" Then they beat them with strokes of their sticks. The

men who were beaten with sticks, said, "Pardon this single fault on

our part." And then they and the others went out of the room.

Then Yasovarman, having seen that sight, woke up and reflected,

"The good fortune of enjoyment of Bhogavarman, in which blessings

arrive unthought of, is preferable to the good fortune of wealth

of Arthavarman, which, though attended with opulence, is devoid

of enjoyment."

In these reflections he spent the rest of the night.

And early the next morning Yasovarman took leave of that excellent

merchant, and again repaired to the feet of Durgá, the goddess that

dwells in the Vindhya range. And he chose out of those two good

fortunes mentioned by the goddess, when she appeared to him on a

former occasion, [755] while he was engaged in austerities, the

good fortune of enjoyment, and the goddess granted it to him. Then

Yasovarman returned home and lived in happiness, thanks to the good

fortune of enjoyment, which, owing to the favour of the goddess,

continually presented itself to him unthought of.

"So a smaller fortune, accompanied with enjoyment, is to be preferred

to a great fortune, which, though great, is devoid of enjoyment and

therefore useless. So why are you annoyed at the good fortune of king

Chamarabála, which is combined with meanness, and do not consider your

own fortune, which is rich in the power of giving and in enjoyment?

"So an attack on him by you is not advisable, and there is no

auspicious moment for commencing the expedition, and I do not foresee

victory to you." Though those five kings were thus warned by the

astrologer, they marched in their impatience against king Chamarabála.

And when king Chamarabála heard that they had reached the border,

he bathed in the morning, and worshipped Siva duly by his auspicious

names referring to sixty-eight excellent parts of the body, [756]--his

names that destroy sin and grant all desires. And then he heard

a voice coming from heaven, "King, fight without fear, thou shalt

conquer thy enemies in battle." Then king Chamarabála was delighted,

and girded on his armour, and accompanied by his army, marched out to

fight with those foes. In the army of his enemies there were thirty

thousand elephants, and three hundred thousand horses, and ten million

foot-soldiers. And in his own army there were twenty hundred thousand

foot-soldiers, and ten thousand elephants, and a hundred thousand

horses. Then a great battle took place between those two armies,

and king Chamarabála, preceded by his warder Víra, [757] who was

rightly so named, entered that field of battle, as the holy Vishnu,

in the form of the great boar, entered the great ocean. And though he

had but a small army, he so grievously smote that great army of his

foes, that slain horses, elephants, and footmen lay in heaps. And when

king Samarabála came across him in the battle, he rushed upon him,

and smote him with an iron spear, and drawing him towards him with a

lasso, made him prisoner. And then in the same way he smote the second

king Samarasúra in the heart with an arrow, and drawing him towards

him with a noose, made him also prisoner. And his warder, named Víra,

captured the third king, named Samarajita, and brought him to him. And

his general, named Devabala, brought and presented to him the fourth

king, named Pratápachandra, wounded with an arrow. Then the fifth king

Pratápasena, beholding that, fell furiously upon king Chamarabála in

the fight. But he repelled his arrows with the multitude of his own,

and pierced him with three arrows in the forehead. And when he was

bewildered with the blows of the arrows, Chamarabála, like a second

Destiny, flung a noose round his neck, and dragging him along made him

a captive. When those five kings had in this way been taken prisoners

in succession, as many of their soldiers, as had escaped slaughter,

fled, dispersing themselves in every direction. And king Chamarabála

captured an infinite mass of gold and jewels, and many wives belonging

to those kings. And among them, the head queen of king Pratápasena,

called Yasolekhá, a lovely woman, fell into his hands.

Then he entered his city, and gave turbans of honour to the warder Víra

and the general Devabala, and loaded them with jewels. And the king

made Yasolekhá an inmate of his own harem, on the ground that she,

being the wife of Pratápasena, was captured according to the custom

of the Kshatriyas. And she, though flighty, submitted to him because

he had won her by the might of his arm; in those abandoned to the

intoxication of love the impressions of virtue are evanescent. And

after some days, king Chamarabála, being solicited by the queen

Yasolekhá, let go those five captive kings, Pratápasena and the others,

after they had learnt submission and done homage, and after honouring

them, dismissed them to their own kingdoms. And then king Chamarabála

long ruled his own wealthy kingdom, in which there were no opponents,

and the enemies of which had been conquered, and he sported with that

Yasolekhá, who surpassed in form and loveliness beautiful Apsarases,

being, as it were, the banner that announced his victory over his foes.

"Thus a brave man, though unsupported, conquers in the front of battle

even many enemies coming against him in fight, distracted with hate,

and not considering the resources of themselves and their foe, and

by his surpassing bravery puts a stop to the fever of their conceit

and pride."

When Naraváhanadatta had heard this instructive tale told by Gomukha,

he praised it, and set about his daily duties of bathing and so on. And

he spent that night, which was devoted to the amusement of a concert,

in singing with his wives in such a ravishing way, that Sarasvatí from

her seat in heaven gave him and his beloved ones high commendation.

CHAPTER LV.

Then, the next day, as Naraváhanadatta was sitting in the apartments

of Alankáravatí, a servant of Marubhúti's, the brother of Sauvidalla

the guard of the prince's harem, came and said to him in the presence

of all his ministers--"King, I have attended on Marubhúti for two

years; he has given food and clothing to me and my wife: but he

will not give me the fifty dínárs a year, which he promised me in

addition. And when I asked him for it, he gave me a kick. So I am

sitting in dharna against him at your Highness's door. If your Highness

does not give judgment in this case, I shall enter the fire. What

more can I say? For you are my sovereign." When he had said this,

he stopped, and Marubhúti said--"I must give him the dínárs, but

I have not got the money at present." When he said this, all the

ministers laughed at him, and Naraváhanadatta said to the minister

Marubhúti: "What are you thinking about, you fool? Your intentions

are not over-creditable. Rise up, give him the hundred dínárs without

delay." When Marubhúti heard this speech of his sovereign's, he was

ashamed, and immediately brought that hundred dínárs and gave it to

him. Then Gomukha said--"Marubhúti is not to be blamed, because the

works of the Creator's hand have varying moods of mind. Have you not

heard the story of king Chiradátri, and his servant named Prasanga?"

Story of Chiradátri.

In old time there was a king named Chiradátri, sovereign or

Chirapura. Though he was an excellent man, his followers were extremely

wicked. And that king had a servant, named Prasanga, who had come

from another country, and was accompanied by two friends. And five

years passed, while he was performing his duties, but the king gave

him nothing, not even when an occasion was presented by a feast or

something of the kind. And owing to the wickedness of the courtiers,

he never obtained an opportunity of representing his case to the king,

though his friends were continually instigating him to do so.

Now one day the king's infant son died, and when he was grieved at

it, all his servants came and crowded round him. And among them the

servant, named Prasanga, out of pure sorrow, said to the king as

follows, though his two friends tried to prevent him, "We have been

your servants, your Highness, for a long time, and you have never

given us anything, nevertheless we have remained here because we had

hopes from your son; for we thought that, although you have never

given us anything, your son would certainly give us something. If

Fate has carried him off, what is the use of remaining here now? We

will immediately take our departure." Thus he exclaimed, and fell

at the feet of the king, and went out with his two friends. The

king reflected--"Ah! though these men had fixed their hopes on my

son, they have been faithful servants to me, so I must not abandon

them." Thereupon he immediately had Prasanga and his companions

summoned, and loaded them so with wealth that poverty did not again

lay hold on them.

"So you see, men have various dispositions, for that king did not

give at the proper season, but did give in the unseasonable hour of

calamity." When Gomukha, skilful in story-telling, had said this,

he went on, at the instigation of the son of the sovereign of Vatsa,

to tell the following tale:

Story of king Kanakavarsha and Madanasundarí.

There was in old time on the banks of the Ganges an excellent city,

named Kanakapura, the people of which were purified in the water

of the river; and which was a delightful place on account of its

good government. In this city the only imprisonment seen was the

committing to paper of the words of poets, the only kind of defeat

was the curling in the locks of the women, the only contest was the

struggle of getting the corn into the granary. [758]

In that city there dwelt in old time a glorious king, named

Kanakavarsha, who was born to Priyadarsana, the son of Vásuki,

king of the snakes, by the princess Yasodhará. Though he bore the

weight of the whole earth, he was adorned with innumerable virtues,

he longed for glory, not for wealth, he feared sin, not his enemy. He

was dull in slandering his neighbour, but not in the holy treatises;

there was restraint in the high-souled hero's wrath, not in his favour;

he was resolute-minded; he was niggardly in curses, not in gifts; he

ruled the whole world; and such was his extraordinary beauty that all

women, the moment they saw him, were distracted with the pain of love.

Once on a time, in an autumn, that was characterized by heat, that

maddened elephants, that was attended by flocks of swans, and delighted

the subjects with rejoicings, [759] he entered a picture-palace which

was cooled by winds that blew laden with the scent of lotuses. There

he observed and praised the display of pictures, and in the meanwhile

there entered the warder, who said to the king--

"Your majesty, an unequalled painter has arrived here from Ujjayiní,

boasting himself to be matchless in the art of painting. His name

is Roladeva, and he has to-day set up a notice at the palace gate to

the above effect." When the king heard that, he felt respect for him,

and ordered him to be introduced, and the warder immediately went and

brought him in. The painter entered, and beheld the king Kanakavarsha

amusing himself in private with looking at pictures, reclining his

body on the lap of beautiful women, and taking in carelessly crooked

fingers the prepared betel. And the painter Roladeva made obeisance

to the king, who received him politely, and sitting down said slowly

to him--"O king, I put up a notice principally through the desire of

beholding your feet, not out of pride in my skill, so you must excuse

this deed of mine. And you must tell me what form I am to represent

on canvas, let not the trouble I took in learning this accomplishment

be thrown away, O king." When the painter said this to the king,

he replied, "Teacher, paint anything you will, let us give our eyes

a treat: what doubt can there be about your skill?"

When the king said this, his courtiers exclaimed--"Paint the king:

what is the use of painting others, ugly in comparison with him?" When

the painter heard this, he was pleased, and painted the king, with

aquiline nose, with almond-shaped fiery eye, with broad forehead, with

curly black hair, with ample breast, glorious with the scars of wounds

inflicted by arrows and other weapons, with handsome arms resembling

the trunks of the elephants that support the quarters, with waist

capable of being spanned with the hand, as if it had been a present

from the lion-whelps conquered by his might, and with thighs like the

post for fastening the elephant of youth, and with beautiful feet,

like the shoots of the asoka. And all, when they beheld that life-like

likeness of the king, applauded that painter, and said to him; "We

do not like to see the king alone on the picture-panel, so paint on

it one of these queens by his side, carefully choosing one, that will

be a worthy pendant to him; let the feast of our eyes be complete."

When they said this, the painter looked at the picture and said,

"Though there are many of these queens, there is none among them like

the king, and I believe there is no woman on the earth a match for

him in beauty, except one princess--listen, I will tell you about her.

"In Vidarbha there is a prosperous town named Kundina, and in it

there is a king of the name of Devasakti. And he has a queen named

Anantavatí, dearer to him than life, and by her there was born to him a

daughter named Madanasundarí. How could one like me presume to describe

her beauty with this one single tongue, but so much will I say. When

the Creator had made her, through delight in her he conceived a desire

to make another like her, but he will not be able to do it even in the

course of yugas. That princess, alone on the earth, is a match for

this king in shape, beauty and refinement, in age and birth. For I,

when I was there, was once summoned by her by the mouth of a maid,

and I went to her private apartments. There I beheld her, freshly

anointed with sandal unguent, having a necklace of lotus-fibres,

tossing on a bed of lotuses, being fanned by her ladies-in-waiting

with the wind of plantain leaves, pale and emaciated, exhibiting

the signs of love's fever. And in these words was she dissuading

her ladies occupied in fanning her,--'O my friends, away with this

sandal unguent and these breezes wafted by plantain leaves; for these,

though cool, scorch up unhappy me.' And when I saw her in this state,

I was troubled to divine the reason, and after doing obeisance, I

sat down in front of her. And she said, 'Teacher, paint such a form

as this on canvas and give it me.'

"And then she made me paint a certain very handsome youth, slowly

tracing out the form on the ground with trembling, nectar-distilling

hand, to guide me. And when I had so painted that handsome youth, I

said to myself--'She has made me paint the god of Love in visible form;

but, as I see that the flowery bow is not represented in his hand, I

know that it cannot be the god of Love, it must be some extraordinarily

handsome young man like him. And her outburst of love-sickness has

to do with him. So I must depart hence, for this king, her father

Devasakti, is severe in his justice, and if he heard of this proceeding

of mine, he would not overlook it.' Thus reflecting, I did obeisance

to that princess Madanasundarí, and departed, honoured by her.

"But when I was there, O king, I heard from her attendants, as they

talked freely together, that she had fallen in love with you from

hearing of you only. So I have secretly taken a picture of that

princess on a sheet of canvas, and have come here quickly to your

feet. And when I beheld your majesty's appearance, my doubt was at

an end, for it was clearly your majesty that the princess caused to

be painted by my hand. And as it is not possible to paint her twice,

such as she is, I will not represent her in the picture as standing

at your side, though she is equal to you in beauty."