When Roladeva said this, the king said to him--"Then shew her as

she is represented on the canvas you have brought with you." Then the

painter looked out a piece of canvas which was in a bag, and shewed the

king Madanasundarí in a painting. And the king Kanakavarsha, seeing

that even in a painting she was wonderfully beautiful, immediately

became enamoured of her. And he loaded that painter with much gold,

and taking the picture of his beloved, retired into his private

apartments. There he remained with his mind fixed on her alone,

abandoning all occupations, and his eyes were never satisfied with

gazing on her beauty. It seemed as if the god of love was jealous

of his good looks, for now that he had obtained an opportunity, he

tormented him, smiting him with his arrows and robbing him of his

self-control. And the love-pain, which he had inflicted on women

enamoured of his handsome shape, was now visited on that king a

hundredfold.

And in the course of some days, being pale and emaciated, he told

to his confidential ministers, who questioned him, the thought of

his heart. And after deliberating with them, he sent to the king

Devasakti, as ambassador, to ask for the hand of his daughter,

a trustworthy Bráhman of good birth, named Sangamasvámin, who was

skilled in affairs, knew times and seasons, and could speak in a sweet

and lofty style. That Sangamasvámin went to Vidarbha with a great

retinue, and entered the city of Kundina. And there he had a formal

interview with the king Devasakti, and on behalf of his master asked

for the hand of his daughter. And Devasakti reflected--"I must give

away this daughter of mine to some one, and this king Kanakavarsha

has been described as my equal, and he asks for her; so I will give

her to him." Accordingly he granted the prayer of Sangamasvámin,

and the king displayed to the ambassador the astonishing elegance in

the dance of his daughter Madanasundarí. Then the king sent away,

after honouring him, and promising to give his daughter, that

Sangamasvámin, who was charmed with his sight of her. And he sent

with him a counter-ambassador to say, "Fix an auspicious moment and

come here for the marriage. And Sangamasvámin returned, accompanied

by the counter-ambassador, and told the king Kanakavarsha that his

object was effected. Then the king ascertained a favourable moment,

and honoured that ambassador, and heard from him over and over again

how Madanasundarí was in love with him. And then the king Kanakavarsha

set out for the city of Kundina, in order to marry her, with mind

at ease on account of his own irresistible valour, mounted on the

horse Asíkala, [760] and he smote the Savaras that inhabited the

border-forests, and took the lives of living creatures, like lions

and other wild beasts. And he reached Vidarbha, and entered that city

of Kundina, with king Devasakti, who came out to meet him. Then he

entered the king's palace, in which preparations had been made for

the marriage, robbing the ladies of the city of the feast which he

had given to their eyes. And there he rested a day with his retinue,

pleased at the noble reception which king Devasakti gave him. And on

the next day Devasakti gave him his daughter Madanasundarí, together

with all his wealth, retaining only his kingdom.

And king Kanakavarsha, after he had remained there seven days,

returned to his own city with his recently-married bride. And when

he arrived with his beloved, giving joy to the world, like the moon

with the moonlight, that city was full of rejoicing. Then that queen

Madanasundarí was dearer than life to that king, though he had many

wives, as Rukminí is to Vishnu. And the wedded couple remained fastened

together by their eyes with lovely eyelashes, which were fixed on one

another's faces, resembling the arrows of love. And in the meanwhile

arrived the lion of spring, with a train of expanding filaments for

mane, tearing to pieces the elephant of female coyness. And the garden

made ready blossoming mango-plants, by way of bows for the god of Love,

with rows of bees clinging to them by way of bowstring. And the wind

from the Malaya mountain blew, swaying the love-kindled hearts of the

wives of men travelling in foreign lands, as it swayed the suburban

groves. And the sweetly-speaking cuckoos seemed to say to men,

"The brimming of the streams, the flowers of the trees, the digits

of the moon wane and return again, but not the youth of men. [761]

Fling aside coyness and quarrelling, and sport with your beloved ones."

And at that time king Kanakavarsha went with all his wives to a

spring-garden, to amuse himself. And he eclipsed the beauty of the

asokas with the red robes of his attendants, and with the songs of

his lovely ladies the song of the cuckoos and bees. There the king,

though all his wives were with him, amused himself with Madanasundarí

in picking flowers and other diversions. And after roaming there a

long time, the king entered the Godávarí with his wives to bathe,

and began the water-game. His ladies surpassed the lotuses with their

faces, with their eyes the blue water-lilies, with their breasts the

couples of Brahmany ducks, with their hips the sandbanks, and when

they troubled the bosom of the stream, it showed frowns of anger

in the form of curling waves. Then the mind of Kanakavarsha took

pleasure in them, while they displayed the contours of their limbs

in the splashing-game. And in the ardour of the game, he splashed

one queen with water from his palms on her breast.

When Madanasundarí saw it, she was jealous, and got angry with him,

and in an outburst of indignation said to him, "How long are you

going to trouble the river?" And going out of the water, she took her

other clothes and rushed off in a passion to her own palace, telling

her ladies of that fault of her lover's. Then king Kanakavarsha,

seeing her state of mind, stopped his water-game, and went off to her

apartments. Even the parrots in the cages warned him off in wrath,

when he approached, and entering he saw within the queen afflicted with

wrath: with her downcast lotus-like face supported on the palm of her

left hand, with tear-drops falling like transparent pearls. And she

was repeating, with accents charming on account of her broken speech,

in a voice interrupted with sobs, shewing her gleaming teeth, this

fragment of a Prákrit song: "If you cannot endure separation, you must

cheerfully abandon anger. If you can in your heart endure separation,

then you must increase your wrath. Perceiving this clearly, remain

pledged to one or the other; if you take your stand on both, you will

fall between two stools." And when the king saw her in this state,

lovely even in tears, he approached her bashfully and timidly. And

embracing her, though she kept her face averted, he set himself to

propitiate her with respectful words tender with love. And when her

retinue signified her scorn with ambiguous hints, he fell at her feet,

blaming himself as an offender. Then she clung to the neck of the king,

and was reconciled to him, bedewing him with the tears that flowed on

account of that very annoyance. And he, delighted, spent the day with

his beloved, whose anger had been exchanged for good-will, and slept

there at night.

But in the night he saw in a dream his necklace suddenly taken from

his neck, and his crest-jewel snatched from his head, by a deformed

woman. Then he saw a Vetála, with a body made up of the limbs of

many animals, and when the Vetála wrestled with him, he hurled him

to earth. And when the king sat on the Vetála's back, the demon flew

up with him through the air, like a bird, and threw him into the

sea. Then, after he had with difficulty struggled to the shore, he

saw that the necklace was replaced on his neck, and the crest-jewel

on his head. When the king had seen this, he woke up, and in the

morning he asked a Buddhist mendicant, who had come to visit him as

an old friend, the meaning of the dream. And the mendicant answered

clearly--"I do not wish to say what is unpleasant, but how can I help

telling you when I am asked? The fact that you saw your necklace and

crest-jewel taken away, means that you will be separated from your

wife and from your son. And the fact that, after you had escaped

from the sea, you found them again, means that you will be reunited

with them, when your calamity comes to an end." Then the king said,

"I have not a son as yet, let him be born first." Then the king

heard from a reciter of the Rámáyana, who visited his palace, how

king Dasaratha endured hardship to obtain a son; and so there arose

in his mind anxiety about obtaining a son, and the mendicant having

departed, the king Kanakavarsha spent that day in despondency.

And at night, as he was lying alone and sleepless upon his bed,

he saw a woman enter without opening the door. She was modest and

gentle of appearance, and, when the king bowed before her, she gave

him her blessing and said to him: "Son, know that I am the daughter

of Vásuki the king of the snakes, and the elder sister of thy father,

Ratnaprabhá by name. I always dwell near thee, invisible, to protect

thee, but to-day, seeing thee despondent, I have displayed to thee

my real form. I cannot bear to behold thy sorrow, so tell me the

cause." When the king had been thus addressed by his father's sister,

he said to her: "I am fortunate, mother, in that you shew me such

condescension. But know that my anxiety is caused by the fact that no

son is born to me. How can people like myself help desiring that, which

even heroic saints of old days, like Dasaratha and others, desired for

the sake of obtaining svarga." When the Nágí [762] Ratnaprabhá heard

this speech of that king, she said to her brother's son; "My son, I

will tell thee an admirable expedient, carry it out. Go and propitiate

Kártikeya with a view to obtain a son. I will enter thy body, and by

my power thou shalt support the rain of Kártikeya falling on thy head

to impede thee, difficult to endure. And after thou hast overcome a

host of other impediments, thou shalt obtain thy wish." When the Nágí

had said this, she disappeared, and the king spent the night in bliss.

The next morning he committed his realm to the care of his ministers,

and went, desiring a son, to visit the sole of Kártikeya's foot. There

he performed a severe penance to propitiate that lord, having power

given him by the Nágí that entered his body. Then the rain of Kumára

[763] fell on his head like thunderbolts, and continued without

ceasing. But he endured it by means of the Nágí that had entered his

body. Then Kártikeya sent Ganesa to impede him still further. And

Ganesa created in that rain a very poisonous and exceedingly terrible

serpent, but the king did not fear it. Then Ganesa, invincible [764]

even by gods, came in visible form, and began to give him bites on

the breast. Then king Kanakavarsha, thinking that he was a foe hard

to subdue, proceeded, after he had endured that ordeal, to propitiate

Ganesa with praises.

"Honour to thee, O god of the projecting belly, adorned with the

elephant's ornament, whose body is like a swelling pitcher containing

success in all affairs! Victory to thee, O elephant-faced one, that

makest even Brahmá afraid, shaking the lotus, which is his throne,

with thy trunk flung up in sport! Even the gods, the Asuras, and

the chief hermits do not succeed, unless thou art pleased, the only

refuge of the world, O thou beloved of Siva! The chief of the gods

praise thee by thy sixty-eight sin-destroying names, calling thee the

pitcher-bellied, the basket-eared one, [765] the chief of the Ganas,

the furious mast elephant, Yama the noose-handed, the Sun, Vishnu, and

Siva. With these names to the number of sixty-eight, corresponding to

so many parts of the body, do they praise thee. And when one remembers

thee, and praises thee, O Lord, fear produced by the battle-field, by

the king's court, by gambling, by thieves, by fire, by wild beasts,

and other harms, departs." With these laudatory verses, and with

many others of the same kind, king Kanakavarsha honoured that king

of impediments. And the conqueror of impediments said, "I will not

throw an impediment in thy way, obtain a son," and disappeared then

and there from the eyes of that king.

Then Kártikeya said to that king, who had endured the rain;

"Resolute man, I am pleased with thee, so crave thy boon." Then the

king, delighted, said to the god, "Let a son be born to me by thy

favour." Then the god said, "Thou shalt have a son, the incarnation of

one of my Ganas, and his name shall be Hiranyavarsha on the earth." And

then the rider on the peacock summoned him to enter his inmost shrine,

in order to shew him special favour. [766] Thereupon the Nágí left his

body invisibly, for females do not enter the house of Kártikeya through

dread of a curse. Then king Kanakavarsha entered the sanctifying

temple of that god, armed only with his human excellence. When the

god saw that he was deprived of the excellence he formerly had,

because he was no longer inhabited by the Nágí, he reflected--"What

can this mean?" And Kártikeya, perceiving by his divine meditation,

that that king had performed a very difficult vow by the secret

help of the Nágí, thus cursed him in his wrath: "Since thou didst

make use of deceit, intractable man, thou shalt be separated from

thy son, as soon as he is born, and from thy queen. When the king

heard this curse, terrible as a thunderstroke, he was not amazed,

but being a mighty poet, praised that god with hymns. Then the

six-faced god, pleased with his well turned language, said to him;

"King, I am pleased with thy hymns; I appoint thee this end of thy

curse; thou shalt be separated from thy wife and son for one year,

but after thou hast been saved from three great dangers, thou shalt

come to an end of the separation." When the six-faced god had said

this, he ceased to speak, and the king, satisfied with the nectar of

his favour, bowed before him, and went to his own city.

Then, in course of time, he had a son born to him by queen

Madanasundarí, as the nectar-stream is born of the light of the

cold-rayed moon. When the king and queen saw the face of that son,

being filled with great delight, they were not able to contain

themselves. [767] And at that time the king made a feast, and showered

riches, and made his name of Kanakavarsha [768] a literal fact on

the earth.

When five nights had passed, while guard was being kept in the

lying-in-house, on the sixth night a cloud suddenly came there. It

swelled, and gradually covered the whole sky, as a neglected enemy

overruns the kingdom of a careless king. Then the mast elephant

of the wind began to rush, showering drops of rain like drops

of ichor, and rooting up trees. At that moment a terrible woman,

sword in hand, opened the door, though it was bolted, and entered

that lying-in-chamber. She took that babe from the queen as she

was nursing it, and ran out, having bewildered the attendants. And

then the queen, distracted, and exclaiming, "Alas! a Rákshasí has

carried off my child," pursued that woman, though it was dark. And

the woman rushed on and plunged into a tank with the child, and

the queen, pursuing her, plunged in also, eager to recover her

offspring. Immediately the cloud disappeared, and the night came

to an end, and the lamentation of the attendants was heard in the

lying-in-chamber. Then the king Kanakavarsha, hearing it, came to

the lying-in-chamber, and seeing it empty of his son and wife, was

distracted. After he had recovered consciousness, he began to lament,

"Alas, my queen! Alas, my infant son!" and then he called to mind

that the curse was to end in a year. And he exclaimed, "Holy Skanda,

how could you give to ill-starred me a boon joined with a curse,

like nectar mixed with poison? Alas! how shall I be able to pass

a year, long as a thousand years, without the queen Madanasundarí,

whom I value more than my life?" And the king, though exhorted by the

ministers, who knew the circumstances, did not recover his composure,

which had departed with his queen.

And in course of time he left his city, distracted with a paroxysm

of love, and wandered through the Vindhya forest in a state of

bewilderment. There, as he gazed on the eyes of the young does,

he remembered the beauty of the eyes of his beloved, and the bushy

tails of the chamarís reminded him of the loveliness of her luxuriant

hair, and when he marked the gait of the female elephant, he called

to mind the languid grace of her gait, so that the fire of his love

broke out into a fiercer flame. And wandering about exhausted with

thirst and heat, he reached the foot of the Vindhya mountains, and,

after drinking the water of a stream, he sat down at the foot of a

tree. In the meanwhile a long-maned lion came out of a cavern of the

Vindhya hills, uttering a roar which resembled a loud demoniac laugh,

and rushed towards him to slay him. At that very moment a certain

Vidyádhara descended rapidly from heaven, and cleft that lion in two

with a sword-stroke. And that sky-goer, coming near, said to the king,

"King Kanakavarsha, how have you come to this region?" When the king

heard it, he recovered his memory, and said to him, "How do you know

me, who am tossed with the wind of separation?" Then the Vidyádhara

said, "I, when in old time I was a religious mendicant, of the name

of Bandhumitra, dwelt in your city. Then you helped me in my rites,

when I respectfully asked you to do so, and so I obtained the rank of

a Vidyádhara, by making a goblin my servant. Thus I recognized you,

and being desirous to confer on you a benefit by way of recompense,

I have slain this lion which I saw on the point of killing you.

"And my name has now become Bandhuprabha." When the Vidyádhara said

this, the king conceived an affection for him, and said, "Ah! I

remember, and this friendship has been nobly acted up to by you,

so tell me when I shall be reunited with my wife and son." When the

Vidyádhara Bandhuprabha heard that, he perceived it by his divine

knowledge, and said to the king--"By a pilgrimage to the shrine of

Durgá, in the Vindhya hills, you will recover your wife and son,

so go you to prosperity, and I will return to my own world." When he

had said this, he departed, and king Kanakavarsha, having recovered

his self-command, went to visit that shrine of Durgá.

As he was going along, a great and furious wild elephant, stretching

out its trunk, and shaking its head, charged him in the path. When the

king saw that, he fled by a way full of holes, so that the elephant,

pursuing him, fell into a chasm and was killed. Then the king, fatigued

with toil and exertion, slowly going along, reached a great lake full

of lotuses with straight upstanding stalks. There the king bathed,

drank the water of the lake, and ate the fibres of the lotuses, and

lying tired at the foot of a tree, was for a moment overpowered by

sleep. And some Savaras, returning that way from hunting, saw that king

with auspicious marks lying asleep. And they immediately bound him,

and took him to their king Muktáphala, in order that he might serve

as a victim. The king of the Savaras, for his part, seeing that the

king was a suitable victim, took him to the temple of Durgá to offer

him up. And when the king saw the goddess, he bowed before her, and by

her mercy and the favour of Skanda his bonds fell off. When the king

of the Savaras saw that miracle, he knew that it was a mark of the

goddess's favour towards him, and he spared his life. So Kanakavarsha

escaped the third danger, and accomplished the year of his curse.

And in the meanwhile the Nágí, the aunt of the king, came there,

bringing the queen Madanasundarí with her son, and said to the king--"O

king, when I heard the curse of Kártikeya, I took these away by an

artifice to my own dwelling, and preserved them there. Therefore,

Kanakavarsha, receive here your wife and son, enjoy this empire of

the earth, for now your curse is at an end." When the Nágí had said

this to the king, who bowed before her, she disappeared, and the king

looked upon the arrival of his wife and child as a dream. Then the

grief of separation of the king and queen, who had so long been forced

to live apart, trickled away in their tears of joy. Then Muktáphala,

the king of the Savaras, fell at the feet of the king Kanakavarsha,

on finding that he was his master, the lord of the whole earth. And

after he had propitiated him, and persuaded him to visit his town,

he furnished his wife and child with all kinds of luxuries, such

as it was in his power to give. Then the king, remaining there,

summoned by messengers his father-in-law Devasakti and his army

[769] from his own city. Then he sent on in front of him his beloved

wife Madanasundarí, mounted on a female elephant, and his son, who

Kártikeya said was to be called Hiranyavarsha, and went with his

father-in-law towards his father-in-law's house. [770] And in a few

days he reached the residence of his father-in-law, a hermitage in the

country of Vidarbha, and after that his wealthy city of Kundina, and

there he remained some time with his wife and son, and his army, being

entertained by his father-in-law. And setting out thence, he at last

reached his own town of Kanakapura, where he was, as it were, drunk in

by the eyes of the wives of the citizens, long desirous of beholding

him again. And with his son and Madanasundarí he entered the palace,

like an embodied feast, accompanied with joy and splendour. And there

he gave Madanasundarí a turban of honour, and made her his head wife,

and he honoured his subjects with gifts on this day of triumph. [771]

And then king Kanakavarsha ruled this circle of the earth, four-limited

by the sea, without opponents, in perpetual happiness, with his wife

and son, without experiencing again the grief of separation.

When the prince Naraváhanadatta heard this magnificent tale from

his head minister Gomukha, in the company of the fair Alankáravatí,

he was exceedingly delighted.

CHAPTER LVI.

Then the prince Naraváhanadatta, with his beloved by his side,

being much pleased at the tale of Gomukha, but seeing that Marubhúti

was quite put out, in order to pay him a compliment, said to him,

attempting to conciliate him; "Marubhúti, why do you not tell a tale

also?" Then he said, "Well, I will tell one," and with pleased soul

began to relate the following story.

Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála, and his daughter

Chandravatí.

There once lived in a town called Devakamalapura, belonging to the

king Kamalavarman, an excellent Bráhman, named Chandrasvámin. And

that wise man had a wife like himself, distinguished for modesty,

and she was a worthy match for Sarasvatí and Lakshmí. And to that

Bráhman was born a son with auspicious marks, and when he was born,

this voice was heard from heaven:

"Chandrasvámin, you must call your son Mahípála, [772] because he

shall be a king and long protect the earth." When Chandrasvámin heard

this, he made a feast and called that son Mahípála. And in course

of time Mahípála grew up, and was taught the science of missile and

hand to hand weapons, and was at the same time instructed in all

knowledge. And in the meanwhile his wife Devamati brought forth

to Chandrasvámin another child, a daughter, beautiful in all her

limbs. And the brother and sister, Mahípála and Chandravatí, grew up

together in their father's house.

Then a famine, caused by want of rain, sprang up in that country,

the corn having been scorched up by the rays of the sun. And owing

to that, the king began to play the bandit, leaving the right path,

and taking wealth from his subjects unlawfully. Then, as that land

was going rapidly to ruin, Chandrasvámin's wife said to her husband:

"Come to my father's house, let us leave this city, for our children

will perish here some day or other." When Chandrasvámin heard this,

he said to his wife--"By no means, for flight from one's own country

in time of famine is a great sin. So I will take these children

and deposit them in your father's house, and do you remain here;

I will return soon. She agreed, and then Chandrasvámin left her in

his house, and taking those two children, the boy Mahípála and the

girl Chandravatí, set out from that city for his father-in-law's

house. And in course of time, as he roamed on, he reached a great

wilderness, with sands heated by the rays of the sun, and with but

a few parched up trees in it. And there he left his two children,

who were exhausted with thirst, and went to a great distance to look

for water for them. Then there met him a chief of the Savaras, named

Sinhadanshtra, with his followers, going somewhere or other for his

own ends. The Bhilla saw him and questioned him, and finding out that

he was in search of water, said to his followers, "Take him to some

water," at the same time making a sign to them. When they heard it,

two or three of the Savara king's followers, perceiving his intention,

took the innocent Chandrasvámin to the village, and fettered him. And

he, learning from them that he was fettered in order to be offered as

a victim, lamented for his two children that he had left in the wild:

"Ah Mahípála! Ah dear Chandravatí! why did I foolishly abandon you in

the wilderness and make you the prey of lions and tigers? And I have

brought myself also into a position where I am sure to be slain by

bandits, and there is no escape for me." While he was thus lamenting

in his terror, he saw to his delight the sun. And exclaiming, "Ah! I

will fling aside bewilderment and fly for refuge to my own lord,"

the Bráhman began to praise the sun in the following verses--"Hail to

thee, O Lord, the brightness residing in the near and in the remote

ether, that dispersest the internal and external darkness. Thou art

Vishnu pervading the three worlds, thou art Siva the treasure-house

of blessings, thou art the supreme lord of creatures, calling into

activity the sleeping Universe. Thou deposest thy brightness in fire

and in the moon, out of pity, as it were, saying, 'Let these two dull

things shine,' and so thou dispellest the night. When thou risest,

the Rákshasas disperse, the Dasyus have no power, and the virtuous

rejoice. [773] So, thou matchless illuminator of the three worlds,

deliver me, who take refuge with thee. Disperse this darkness of my

grief, have mercy upon me." When the Bráhman had devoutly praised

the sun with these and other similar hymns, a voice was heard from

heaven--"Chandrasvámin, I am pleased with thee, thou shalt not be

put to death, and by my favour thou shalt be reunited with thy wife

and children." When the divine voice had said this to Chandrasvámin,

he recovered his spirits, and remained in a state of tranquillity,

being supplied with bathing requisites and food by the Savaras.

And in the meanwhile the boy Mahípála, left in the wilderness with his

sister, as his father did not return, remained lamenting bitterly,

supposing that some calamity had befallen him. And in this state

he was beheld by a great merchant, of the name of Sárthadhara,

who came that way, and the merchant asked him what had happened

to him. And feeling compassion, he consoled the boy, and observing

that he had auspicious marks, he took him and his sister to his own

country. There that Mahípála lived in the house of that merchant,

who looked upon him with all the affection of a father for his son;

and though a boy, he was occupied in the rites of the sacred fire.

But one day the minister of the king Tárávarman, who lived in the

city of Tárápura, the excellent Bráhman Anantasvámin, came that way on

business, with his elephants, horses and foot-soldiers, and entered the

house of that merchant, being a friend of his. After he had rested,

he saw the handsome boy Mahípála, engaged in muttering prayers and

in sacrificing to the fire, and asked his story; then the Bráhman

minister, finding that the boy was of his own caste, as he had no

children, begged the boy and his sister from the merchant. Then the

merchant, who was a Vaisya, gave him the children, and Anantasvámin

went with them to Tárápura. There Mahípála remained in the house of

that minister, which abounded in wealth on account of its master's

knowledge, and was treated by him as a son.

And in the meanwhile Sinhadanshtra, the king of the Bhillas, came

to Chandrasvámin, who was in captivity in that village, and said to

him; "Bráhman, I have been ordered in a dream by the Sun-god not to

slay you but to set you free, after doing you honour. So rise up,

and go where you please." After saying this, he let him go, giving

him pearls and musk, and supplying him with an escort through the

forest. And Chandrasvámin, being thus set at liberty, not finding his

son and his younger sister in the wood, wandered in search of them,

and as he wandered he found a city named Jalapura on the shore of the

sea, and entered as a guest the house of a certain Bráhman. There,

after he had taken refreshment, and then told his story, the Bráhman,

the master of the house, said to him; "A merchant named Kanakavarman

came here some days ago; he found in the forest a Bráhman boy with

his sister, and he has gone off with those two very handsome children

to the great island of Nárikela, but he did not tell his name." When

Chandrasvámin heard that, he made up his mind that those children

were his, and he determined to go to that beautiful island. And after

he had spent the night, and looked about him, he made acquaintance

with a merchant, named Vishnuvarman, who was about to go to the

isle of Nárikela. And with him he embarked in a ship, and went

across the sea to the island, out of love for his children. When he

began to enquire there, the merchants, who lived there, said to him;

"It is true that a merchant named Kanakavarman did come here, with

two beautiful Bráhman children, whom he found in a wood. But he has

now gone with them to the island of Katáha. When the Bráhman heard

that, he went in a ship with the merchant Dánavarman to the island of

Katáha. There he heard that the merchant Kanakavarman had gone from

that island to an island named Karpúra. In the same way he visited

in turn the islands of Karpúra, Suvarna, and Sinhala with merchants,

but he did not find the merchant whom he was in search of. But from

the people of Sinhala he heard that that merchant Kanakavarman had

gone to his own city, named Chitrakúta. Then Chandrasvámin went with

a merchant, named Kotísvara, to Chitrakúta, crossing the sea in his

ship. And in that city he found the merchant Kanakavarman, and longing

for his children, he told him the whole story. Then Kanakavarman,

when he knew the cause of his grief, showed him the children, whom

he had found in the forest and brought away. But when Chandrasvámin

looked at those two children, he saw that they were not his, but

some other children. Then he, being afflicted with tears and grief,

lamented in desperate mood--"Alas! though I have wandered so far,

I have not found my son or my daughter. Malignant Providence, like a

wicked master, has held out hopes to me but has not fulfilled them,

and has made me wander far and wide on a false surmise." While he

was indulging in such lamentations, he was at last, though with

difficulty, consoled by Kanakavarman, and exclaimed in his grief,

"If I do not find those children in a year, by wandering over the

earth, I will abandon the body by austerities on the bank of the

river Ganges. When he said this, a certain seer there said to him,

"Go, you will recover your children by the favour of Náráyaní. When

he heard that, he was delighted, remembering the compassion shown him

by the sun, and he departed from that city, honoured by the merchants.

Then, searching the lands which were royal grants to Bráhmans,

and the villages and the towns, he reached one evening a wood with

many tall trees in it. There he made a meal on fruits and water,

and climbed up into a tree to spend the night there, dreading the

lions, and tigers, and other noisome beasts. And being sleepless,

he saw in the night at the foot of the tree a great body of divine

Mothers assembled, with Náráyaní at their head; waiting for the

arrival of the god Bhairava, having brought with them all kinds of

presents suited to their resources. And thereupon the Mothers asked

Náráyaní why the god delayed, but she laughed and gave no reason. And

being persistently questioned by them, she answered--"He has stopped

to curse a Guhyaka who has incurred his displeasure." [774] And on

account of that business some delay has taken place about his arrival,

but know that he will be here soon. While Náráyaní was saying this to

the Mothers, there came there Bhairava [775] the lord of the company

of Mothers. And he, having been honoured with gifts by all the Mothers,

spent some time in dancing, and sported with the witches.

And while Chandrasvámin was surveying that from the summit of a

tree, he saw a slave belonging to Náráyaní, and she saw him. And

as chance would have it, they fell in love with one another, and

the goddess Náráyaní perceived their feelings. And when Bhairava had

departed, accompanied by the witches, she, lingering behind, summoned

Chandrasvámin who was on the tree. And when he came down, she said

to him and her slave: "Are you in love with one another?" And they

confessed the truth, and said they were, and thereupon she dismissed

her anger and said to Chandrasvámin, "I am pleased with thee for

confessing the truth, so I will not curse thee, but I will give

thee this slave, live in happiness." When the Bráhman heard this, he

said--"Goddess, though my mind is fickle, I hold it in check, I do not

touch a strange woman. For this is the nature of the mind, but bodily

sin should be avoided." When that firm-souled Bráhman said this, the

goddess said to him--"I am pleased with thee and I give thee this boon:

thou shalt quickly find thy children. And receive from me this unfading

lotus that destroys poison." When the goddess had said this, she gave

the Bráhman Chandrasvámin a lotus, and disappeared from his eyes.

And he, having received the lotus, set out, at the end of the night,

and roaming along reached the city of Tárápura, where his son Mahípála

and his daughter were living in the house of that Bráhman minister

Anantasvámin. There he went and recited at the door of that minister,

in order to obtain food, having heard that he was hospitable. And

the minister, having been informed by the door-keepers, had him

introduced by them, and when he saw that he was learned, invited

him to dinner. And when he was invited, having heard that there

was a lake there, named Anantahrada, that washed away sin, he went

to bathe there. While he was returning after bathing, the Bráhman

heard all round him in the city a cry of grief. And when he asked

the cause, the people said to him--"There is in this city a Bráhman

boy, of the name of Mahípála, who was found in the forest by the

merchant Sárthadhara. The minister Anantasvámin, observing that he

had auspicious marks, with some difficulty begged him and his sister

from the merchant, and brought them both here. And being without a

son, he has adopted the boy, whose excellent qualities have endeared

him to king Tárávarman and his people. To-day he has been bitten

by a poisonous snake; hence the cry of grief in the city." When

Chandrasvámin heard that, he said to himself, "This must be my son,"

and reflecting thus, he went to the house of that minister as fast as

he could. There he saw his son surrounded by all, and recognized him,

and rejoiced, having in his hand the lotus that was an antidote to

snake-poison. And he put that lotus to the nose of that Mahípála, and

the moment he smelt it, he was free from the effects of poison. And

Mahípála rose up, and was as one who had just awoke from sleep,

[776] and all the people in the city, and the king rejoiced. And

Chandrasvámin was honoured with wealth by Anantasvámin, the king, and

the citizens, who said "This is some incarnation of the divinity." And

he remained in the house of the minister in great comfort, honoured

by him, and he saw his son Mahípála and his daughter Chandravatí. And

the three, though they mutually recognized one another, said nothing,

for the wise have regard to what is expedient, and do not discover

themselves out of season.

Then the king Tárávarman, being highly pleased with the virtues of

Mahípála, gave him his daughter Bandhumatí. Then that king, after

giving him the half of the kingdom, being pleased with him, laid the

whole burden of the kingdom upon him, as he had no other son. And

Mahípála, after he had obtained the kingdom, acknowledged his father,

and gave him a position next to his, and so lived in happiness.

One day his father Chandrasvámin said to him, "Come, let us go to our

own country to bring your mother. For if she hears that you are the

occupant of a throne, having been long afflicted, she might think,

'How comes it that my son has forgotten me,' and might curse you

in her anger. But one who is cursed by his father and mother does

not long enjoy prosperity. In proof of this hear this tale of what

happened long ago to the merchant's son."

Story of Chakra. [777]

In the city of Dhavala there was a merchant's son, named Chakra. He

went on a trading voyage to Svarnadvípa against the will of his

parents. There he gained great wealth in five years, and in order

to return embarked on the sea in a ship laden with jewels. And when

his voyage was very nearly at an end, the sea rose up against him,

troubled with a great wind, and with clouds and rain. And the huge

billows broke his vessel, as if angry because he had come against the

wish of his parents. Some of the passengers were whelmed in the waves,

others were eaten by sea-monsters. But Chakra, as his allotted term of

life had not run out, was carried to the shore and flung up there by

the waves. While he was lying there in a state of exhaustion, he saw

as if in a dream, a man of black and terrible appearance come to him,

with a noose in his hand. Chakra was caught in the noose by that man,

who took him up and dragged him a long distance to a court presided

over by a man on a throne. By the order of the occupant of the throne,

the merchant's son was carried off by that noose-bearer, and flung

into a cell of iron.

In that cell Chakra saw a man being tortured by means of an iron

wheel [778] on his head, that revolved incessantly. And Chakra

asked him,--"Who are you, by what crime did you incur this, and

how do you manage to continue alive?" And the man answered--"I am a

merchant's son named Khadga, and because I did not obey the commands

of my parents, they were angry and in wrath laid this curse upon me:

[779] 'Because, wicked son, you torture us like a hot wheel placed

on the head, therefore such shall be your punishment.' When they had

said this they ceased, and as I wept, they said to me, 'Weep not,

your punishment shall only last for one month.' When I heard that,

I spent the day in grief, and at night when I was in bed, I saw,

as if in a dream, a terrible man come. He took me off and thrust me

by force into this iron cell, and he placed on my head this burning

and ever-revolving wheel. This was my parents' curse, hence I do not

die. And the month is at an end to-day; still I am not set free." When

Khadga said that, Chakra in pity answered him--"I too did not obey my

parents, for I went abroad to get wealth against their will, and they

pronounced against me the curse that my wealth, when acquired, should

perish. So I lost in the sea my whole wealth, that I had acquired

in a foreign island. My case is the same as yours. So what is the

use of my life? Place this wheel on my head. Let your curse, Khadga,

depart." When Chakra said this, a voice was heard in the air "Khadga,

thou art released, so place this wheel on the head of Chakra." When

Khadga heard this, he placed the wheel on the head of Chakra, and

was conveyed by some invisible being to his parents' house.

There he remained without disobeying again the orders of his parents:

but Chakra put that wheel upon his head, and then spake thus--"May

other sinners also on the earth be released from the result of their

sins; until all sins are cancelled, may this wheel revolve on my

head." When the resolute Chakra said this, the gods in heaven, being

pleased, rained flowers and thus addressed him: "Bravo! Bravo! man of

noble spirit, this compassion has cancelled thy sin, go; thou shalt

possess inexhaustible wealth." When the gods said this, that iron

wheel fell from the head of Chakra, and disappeared somewhere. Then

a Vidyádhara youth descended from heaven, and gave him a valuable

treasure of jewels, sent by Indra pleased with his self-abnegation,

and taking Chakra in his arms, carried him to his city named Dhavala,

and departed as he had come. Then Chakra delighted his relations

by his arrival at the house of his parents, and, after telling his

adventures, remained there without falling away from virtue.

When Chandrasvámin had told this story, he said again to Mahípála,

"Such evil fruits does opposition to one's parents produce, my son,

but devotion to them is a wishing-cow of plenty: in illustration of

this hear the following tale."

Story of the hermit and the faithful wife.

There was in old time a hermit of great austerity, who roamed in the

forest. And one day a hen-crow, as he was sitting under the shade of

a tree, dropped dirt upon him, so he looked at the crow with angry

eyes. And the crow, as soon as he looked at it, was reduced to ashes;

and so the hermit conceived a vain-glorious confidence in the might

of his austerities.

Once on a time, in a certain city, the hermit entered the house of a

Bráhman, and asked his wife for alms. And that wife, who was devoted

to her husband, answered him, "Wait a little, I am attending upon my

husband." Then he looked at her with an angry look, and she laughed

at him and said, "Remember, [780] I am not a crow." When the hermit

heard that, he sat down in a state of astonishment, and remained

wondering how she could possibly have come to know of the fate of the

crow. Then, after she had attended upon her husband in the oblation

to the fire and in other rites, the virtuous woman brought alms,

and approached that hermit. Then the hermit joined his hands in the

attitude of supplication, and said to that virtuous woman: "How did

you come to know of my adventure with the crow in the forest; tell

me first, and then I will receive your alms?" When the hermit said

this, that wife, who adored her husband, said, "I know of no virtue

other than devotion to my husband, accordingly by his favour I have

such power of discernment. But go and visit a man here who lives by

selling flesh, whose name is Dharmavyádha, from him thou shalt learn

the secret of blessedness free from the consciousness of self." The

hermit, thus addressed by the all-knowing faithful wife, took the

portion of a guest, and after bowing before her, departed.

Story of Dharmavyádha the righteous seller of flesh. [781]

The next day he went in search of that Dharmavyádha, and approached

him, as he was selling flesh in his shop. And as soon as Dharmavyádha

saw the hermit, he said, "Have you been sent here, Bráhman, by that

faithful wife?" When the hermit heard that, he said to Dharmavyádha

in his astonishment,--"How come you to have such knowledge, being a

seller of flesh?" When the hermit said this, Dharmavyádha answered

him--"I am devoted to my father and mother, that is my only object

in life. I bathe after I have provided them with the requisites for

bathing, I eat after I have fed them, I lie down after I have seen

them to bed; thus it comes to pass that I have such knowledge. And

being engaged in the duties of my profession, I sell only for my

subsistence the flesh of deer and other animals slain by others, not

from desire of wealth. And I and that faithful wife do not indulge

self-consciousness, the impediment of knowledge, so the knowledge

of both of us is free from hindrance. Therefore do you, observing

the vow of a hermit, perform your own duties, without giving way to

self-consciousness, with a view to acquiring purity, in order that

you may quickly attain the supreme brightness." When he had been thus

instructed by Dharmavyádha, he went to his house and observed his

practice, and afterwards he returned satisfied to the forest. And by

his advice he became perfected, and the faithful wife and Dharmavyádha

also attained perfection by such performance of their duties.

"Such is the power of those who are devoted to husband or father and

mother. So come, visit that mother who longs for a sight of you." When

thus addressed by his father Chandrasvámin, Mahípála promised to go

to his native land to please his mother. And he disclosed that of

his own accord to Anantasvámin his spiritual father, and when he took

upon him the burden of his kingdom, the king set out with his natural

father by night. And at last he reached his own country, and refreshed

his mother Devamati with a sight of him, as the spring refreshes the

female cuckoo. And Mahípála stayed there some time with his mother,

being welcomed by his relations, together with his father who related

their adventures.

In the meanwhile in Tárápura the princess, his wife Bandhumatí, who

was sleeping within the house, woke up at the close of night. And

discovering that her husband had gone somewhere, she was distressed at

her lonely state, and could not find solace in the palace, the garden,

or any other place. But she remained weeping, shedding tears that

seemed to double her necklace, intent on lamentation only, desiring

relief by death. But the minister Anantasvámin came and comforted her

with hope-inspiring words, saying, "Before your husband went, he said

to me, 'I am going away on some business and I will quickly return,'

so do not weep, my daughter." Then she recovered self-control,

though with difficulty. Then she remained continually honouring

with gifts excellent Bráhmans, that came from a foreign country, in

order to obtain news of her husband. And she asked a poor Bráhman,

named Sangamadatta, who came for a gift, for tidings of her husband,

having told him his name and the signs by which to recognize him. Then

the Bráhman said, "I have never beheld a man of that kind; but, queen,

you must not give way to excessive anxiety on this account. Doers of

righteous actions eventually obtain reunion with loved ones, and in

proof of that I will tell you a wonder which I saw, listen."

Story of the treacherous Pásupata ascetic.

As I was wandering round all the holy places, I came to the Mánasa

lake on the Himálayas, and in it I saw, as in a mirror, [782] a house

composed of jewels, and from that building there came out suddenly a

man with a sword in his hand, and he ascended the bank of the lake,

accompanied by a troop of celestial females. There he amused himself

with the females in a garden in the recreation of drinking, and I

was looking on from a distance unobserved, full of interest in the

spectacle. In the meanwhile a man of prepossessing appearance came

there from somewhere or other. And when he met me, I told him what I

had seen. And with much interest I pointed out to him that man from

a distance, and when he beheld him he told me his own story in the

following words:

Story of the king Tribhuvana.

I am a king named Tribhuvana in the city of Tribhuvana. There a certain

Pásupata ascetic for a long time paid me court. And being asked the

reason by me, he at once asked me to be his ally in obtaining a sword

concealed in a cavern, and I agreed to that. Then the Pásupata ascetic

went with me at night, and having by means of a burnt-offering and

other rites discovered an opening in the earth, the ascetic said to

me, "Hero! enter thou first, and after thou hast obtained the sword,

come out, and cause me also to enter; make a compact with me to do

this." When he said this, I made that compact with him, and quickly

entered the opening, and found a palace of jewels. And the chief

of the Asura maidens who dwelt there came out from the palace,

and out of love led me in, and there gave me a sword. She said,

"Keep this sword which confers the power of flying in the air, and

bestows all magical faculties." Then I remained there with her. But

I remembered my compact, and going out with the sword in my hand,

I introduced that ascetic into the palace of the Asuras by that

opening. There I dwelt with the first Asura lady who was surrounded

by her attendants, and he dwelt with the second. One day when I was

stupefied with drinking, the ascetic treacherously took away from

my side the sword, and grasped it in his own hand. When he had it in

his grasp, he possessed great power, and with his hand he seized me

and flung me out of the cavern. Then I searched for him for twelve

years at the mouths of caverns, hoping that some time I might find

him outside. And this very day the scoundrel has presented himself

to my eyes, sporting with that very Asura lady who belongs to me.

While the king Tribhuvana was relating this to me, O queen, that

ascetic, stupefied with drink, went to sleep. And while he was asleep,

the king went and took the sword from his side, and by its operation

he recovered celestial might. Then the hero woke up that ascetic with

a kick, and reproached the unfortunate man, but did not kill him. And

then he entered the palace with the Asura lady and her attendants,

recovered again like his own magic power. But the ascetic was much

grieved at having lost his magic power. For the ungrateful, though

long successful, are sure to fail at last.

"Having seen this with my own eyes, I have now arrived here in

the course of my wanderings; so be assured, queen, that you shall

eventually be reunited to your beloved, like Tribhuvana, for the

righteous does not sink." When Bandhumatí heard that from the Bráhman,

she was highly delighted, and made him successful by giving him

much wealth.

And the next day a distinguished Bráhman came there from a distant

land, and Bandhumatí eagerly asked him for tidings of her husband,

telling his name and the tokens by which he might be recognized. Then

that Bráhman said to her: "Queen, I have not seen your husband

anywhere, but I, who have to-day come to your house, am named not

without reason, the Bráhman Sumanas, [783] so you will quickly have

your wishes satisfied, thus my heart tells me. And reunions do take

place, even of the long separated. In proof of thus I will tell you

the following tale; listen, queen."

Story of Nala and Damayantí.

Of old time there lived a king named Nala, whose beauty, I fancy, so

surpassed that of the god of Love, that in disgust he offered his body

as a burnt-offering in the fire of the eye of the enraged Siva. He

had no wife, and when he made enquiries, he heard that Damayantí,

the daughter of Bhíma the king of Vidarbha, would make him a suitable

wife. And Bhíma, searching through the world, found that there was

no king except Nala fit to marry his daughter.

In the meanwhile Damayantí went down into a tank in her own city,

to amuse herself in the water. There the girl saw a swan that had

fed on blue and white lotuses, and by a trick she threw over it

her robe and made it a prisoner in sport. But the celestial swan,

when captured, said to her in accents that she could understand:

"Princess, I will do you a good turn, let me go. There is a king of

the name of Nala, whom even the nymphs of heaven bear on their hearts,

like a necklace strung with threads of merit. [784] You are a wife

fitted for him and he is a husband suited for you, so I will be an

ambassador of Love to bring like to like." When she heard that, she

thought that the celestial swan was a polished speaker, and so she

let him go, saying--"So be it."--And she said, "I will not choose

any husband but Nala," having her mind captivated by that prince,

who had entered by the channel of her ear.

And the swan departed thence, and quickly repaired to a tank resorted

to by Nala, when bent on sporting in the water. And Nala, seeing that

the swan was beautiful, took it captive out of curiosity by throwing

his robe over it in sport. Then the swan said--"Set me free, O king,

for I have come to benefit you; listen, I will tell you. There is

in Vidarbha one Damayantí, the daughter of king Bhíma, the Tilottamá

of the earth, to be desired even by gods. And she has chosen you as

her future husband, having fallen in love with you on account of my

description of your virtues; and I have come here to tell you. Nala

was at the same time pierced with the words of that excellent swan,

that were brightened by the splendid object they had in view, [785]

and with the sharp arrows of the god of the flowery shafts. And

he said to that swan, "I am fortunate, best of birds, in that I

have been selected by her, as if by the incarnate fulfilment of my

wishes." When the swan had been thus addressed by him and let go, it

went and related the whole occurrence to Damayantí, as it took place,

and then went whither it would.

Now Damayantí was longing for Nala; so, by way of a device to obtain

him, she sent her mother to ask her father to appoint for her the

ceremony of the Svayamvara. And her father Bhíma consented, and

sent messengers to all the kings on the earth, to invite them to the

Svayamvara. And all the kings, when they had received the summons, set

out for Vidarbha, and Nala went also eagerly, mounted on his chariot.

And in the meanwhile, Indra and the other Lokapálas heard from the

hermit Nárada of the Svayamvara of Damayantí, and of her love for

Nala. And of them Indra, the Wind, the god of Fire, Yama and Varuna,

longing for Damayantí, deliberated together, and went to Nala, and

they found Nala setting off on the journey, and when he prostrated

himself before them, they said to him "Go, Nala, and tell Damayantí

this from us--'Choose one of us five; what is the use of choosing

Nala who is a mortal? Mortals are subject to death, but the gods

are undying.' And by our favour, thou shalt enter where she is,

unperceived by the others." Nala said "So be it," and consented to do

the errand of the gods. And he entered the apartments of Damayantí

without being seen, and delivered that command of the gods, exactly

as it was given. But when the virtuous woman heard that, she said

"Suppose the gods are such, nevertheless Nala shall be my husband,

I have no need of gods." When Nala had heard her utter this noble

sentiment, and had revealed himself, he went and told it, exactly

as it was said, to Indra and the others; and they, pleased with him,

gave him a boon, saying, "We are thy servants from this time forth,

and will repair to thee as soon as thought of, truthful man."

Then Nala went delighted to Vidarbha, and Indra and the other gods

assumed the form of Nala, with intent to deceive Damayantí. And they

went to the court of Bhíma, assuming the attributes of mortals, and,

when the Svayamvara began, they sat near Nala. Then Damayantí came,

and leaving the kings who were being proclaimed one by one by her

brother, gradually reached Nala. And when she saw six Nalas, all

possessing shadows and the power of winking, [786] she thought in

her perplexity, while her brother stood amazed, "Surely these five

guardians of the world have produced this illusion to deceive me, but

I think that Nala is the sixth here, and so I cannot go in any other

direction." When the virtuous one had thus reflected, she stood facing

the sun, with mind fixed on Nala alone, and spoke thus--"O guardians

of the world, if even in sleep I have never fixed my heart on any

but Nala, on account of that loyal conduct of mine shew me your real

forms. And to a maiden any other men than her lover previously chosen

are strangers, and she is to them the wife of another, so how comes

this delusion upon you?" When the five, with Indra at their head,

heard that, they assumed their own forms, and the sixth, the true

Nala, preserved his true form. The princess in her delight cast upon

the king her eye, beautiful as a blown blue lotus, and the garland

of election. And a rain of flowers fell from heaven. Then king Bhíma

performed the marriage ceremony of her and Nala. And the kings and

the gods, Indra and the others, returned by the way that they came,

after due honour had been done to them by the king of Vidarbha.

But Indra and his companions saw on the way Kali and Dvápara, [787]

and knowing that they had come for Damayantí, they said to them,

"It is of no use your going to Vidarbha; we come thence; and the

Svayamvara has taken place; Damayantí has chosen king Nala. When

the wicked Kali and Dvápara heard that, they exclaimed in wrath,

"Since she has chosen that mortal in preference to gods like thyself,

we will certainly separate that couple." After making this vow they

turned round and departed thence. And Nala remained seven days in

the house of his father-in-law, and then departed, a successful man,

for Nishada, with his wife Damayantí. There their love was greater

than that of Siva and Párvatí. Párvatí truly is half of Siva, but

Damayantí was Nala's self. And in due time Damayantí brought forth to

Nala a son named Indrasena, and after that a daughter named Indrasená.

And in the meanwhile Kali, who was resolved on effecting what he had

promised, was seeking an occasion against Nala, who lived according

to the Sástras. Then, one day, Nala lost his senses from drunkenness,

and went to sleep without saying the evening prayer and without washing

his feet. After Kali had obtained this opportunity, for which he had

been watching day and night, he entered into the body of Nala. When

Kali had entered his body, king Nala abandoned righteous practices and

acted as he pleased. The king played dice, he loved female slaves,

he spoke untruths, he slept in the day, he kept awake at night, he

became angry without cause, he took wealth unjustly, he despised the

good, and he honoured the bad.

Moreover Dvápara entered into his brother Pushkara, having obtained

an opportunity, and made him depart from the true path. And one day

Nala saw, in the house of his younger brother Pushkara, a fine white

bull, named Dánta. And Pushkara would not give the bull to his elder

brother, though he wanted it and asked for it, because his respect

for him had been taken away by Dvápara. And he said to him, "If you

desire this bull, then win it from me at once at play." When Nala heard

that challenge, in his infatuation he accepted it, and then those two

brothers began to play against each other. Pushkara staked the bull,

Nala staked elephants and other things, and Pushkara continually won,

Nala as continually lost. In two or three days Nala had lost his

army and his treasure, but he still refused to desist from gambling,

though entreated to desist, for he was distracted by Kali. Damayantí,

thinking that the kingdom was lost, put her children in a splendid

chariot, and sent them to the house of her father. In the mean-while

Nala lost his whole kingdom; then the hypocritical Pushkara said,

"Since you have lost everything else, now stake Damayantí on the game

against that bull of mine."

This windy speech of Pushkara's, like a strong blast, made Nala blaze

like fire; but he did not say anything unbecoming, nor did he stake

his wife. Then Pushkara said to him, "If you will not stake your wife,

then leave this country of mine with her." When Nala heard this,

he left that country with Damayantí, and the king's officers saw him

as far as the frontier. Alas! when Kali reduced Nala to such a state,

say, what will be the lot of other mortals, who are like worms compared

with him? Curse on this gambling, the livelihood of Kali and Dvápara,

without law, without natural affection, such a cause of misfortunes

even to royal sages.

So Nala, having been deprived of his sovereignty by his brother,

started to go to another land with Damayantí, and as he was journeying

along, he reached the centre of a forest, exhausted with hunger. There,

as he was resting with his wife, whose soft feet were pierced with

darbha grass, on the bank of a river, he saw two swans arrive. And

he threw his upper garment over them, to capture them for food,

and those two swans flew away with it. And Nala heard a voice from

heaven,--"These are those two dice in the form of swans, they have

descended and flown off with your garment also." Then the king sat

down despondent, with only one garment on, and providently shewed to

Damayantí the way to her father's house; saying, "This is the way to

Vidarbha, my beloved, to your father's house, this is the way to the

country of the Angas, and this is the way to Kosala." When Damayantí

heard this, she was terrified, thinking to herself--"Why does my

husband tell me the way, as if he meant to abandon me?" Then the couple

fed on roots and fruits, and when night came on, lay down both of them,

wearied, in the wood, on a bed of kusa grass. And Damayantí, worn out

with the journey, gradually dropt off to sleep, but Nala, desiring to

depart, kept awake, deluded by Kali. So he rose up with one garment,

deserting that Damayantí, and departed thence, after cutting off half

her upper garment and putting it on. But Damayantí woke up at the end

of the night, and when she did not see in the forest her husband, who

had deserted her and gone, she thought for some time, and then lamented

as follows: "Alas, my husband, great of heart, merciful even to your

enemy! You that used to love me so well, what has made you cruel to

me? And how will you be able to go alone on foot through the forests,

and who will attend on you to remove your weariness? How will the

dust defile on the journey your feet, that used to be stained with the

pollen of the flowers in the garlands worn on the heads of kings! How

will your body, that could not endure to be anointed with the powder

of yellow sandal-wood, endure the heat of the sun in the middle of

the day? What do I care for my young son? What for my daughter? What

for myself? May the gods, if I am chaste, procure good fortune for

you alone!" Thus Damayantí lamented, in her loneliness, and then

set out by the path, which her husband had shewn her beforehand. And

with difficulty she crossed the woods, forests, rivers, and rocks,

and never did she depart from her devotion to her husband in, any

point. And the might of her chastity preserved her on the way, [788]

so that the hunter, who, after delivering her from the serpent, fell

in love with her for a moment, was reduced to ashes. Then she joined

a caravan of merchants, which she met on the way, and with them she

reached the city of a king named Subáhu. There the daughter of the

king saw her from her palace, and pleased with her beauty, had her

brought and gave her as a present to her mother. Then she remained

in attendance on the queen, respected by her, and when questioned,

she answered only--"My husband has abandoned me."

And in the meanwhile her father Bhíma, having heard the tidings of

Nala's misfortune, sent trustworthy men in every direction, to make

search for the royal couple. And one of them, his minister named

Suvena, as he was wandering about disguised as a Bráhman, reached that

palace of Subáhu. There he saw Damayantí, who always examined guests,

and she saw with sorrow her father's minister. And having recognized

one another, they wept together so violently, that Subáhu's queen

heard it. And the queen had them summoned, and asked them the truth

of the matter, and then she found out that the lady was Damayantí,

the daughter of her sister. Then she informed her husband, and after

shewing her honour, she sent her to the house of her father with Suvena

and an army. There Damayantí remained, reunited with her two children,

enquiring under her father's guidance for news of her husband. And her

father sent out spies to look for her husband, who was distinguished by

preternatural skill in cooking and driving. And king Bhíma commanded

the spies to say; "Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly,

deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster

of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?" [789] This he

told them to utter wherever they suspected the presence of Nala.

And in the meanwhile king Nala travelled a long way at night in

that forest, clothed with the half-garment, and at last he saw a

jungle-fire. And he heard some one exclaim--"Great-hearted one,

take me away from the neighbourhood of this fire, in order that I,

being helpless, may not be burned up by it." [790] When Nala heard

this, he looked round, and beheld a snake coiled up near the fire,

having his head encircled with the rays of the jewels of his crest,

[791] as if seized on the head by the jungle-fire, with terrible

flaming weapons in its hand. He went up to it, and in compassion put

it on his shoulder, and carried it a long distance, and when he wished

to put it down, the snake said to him--"Carry me ten steps further,

counting them as you go." Then Nala advanced, counting the steps, one,

two, three, four, five, six, seven--listen, snake--eight, nine, ten,

and when he said ten (dasa), [792] the snake took him at his word, and

bit him in the front of the forehead, as he lay on his shoulder. That

made the king small in the arms, deformed and black. Then the king

took down the snake from his shoulder, and said to him--"Who art

thou, and what kind of a return for my kindness is this which thou

hast made?" When the snake heard this speech of Nala's, he answered

him,--"King, know that I am a king of the snakes named Kárkotaka,

and I gave you the bite for your good; that you will come to learn;

when great ones wish to live concealed, a deformed appearance of body

furthers their plans. Receive also from me this pair of garments,

named the 'fire-bleached,' [793] you need only put them on and you

will recover your true form." When Kárkotaka had said this, and had

departed after giving those garments, Nala left that wood, and in

course of time reached the city of Kosala.

And going by the name of Hrasvabáhu, he took service as a cook in the

family of king Rituparna, the sovereign of Kosala. And he acquired

renown by making dishes of exquisite flavour, and by his skill in

chariot-driving. And while Nala was living there, under the name of

Hrasvabáhu, it happened that once upon a time one of the spies of the

king of Vidarbha came there. And the spy heard men there saying,--"In

this place there is a new cook, of the name of Hrasvabáhu, equal to

Nala in his own special art and also in the art of driving." The spy

suspected that the cook was Nala himself, and hearing that he was

in the judgment-hall of the king, he went there and repeated the

following Áryá verse, taught him by his master, "Moon, where have

you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the

forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of

her robe?" The people present in the judgment-hall, when they heard

that, thought that his words were those of a madman, but Nala, who

stood there disguised as a cook, answered him, "What cruelty was

there in the moon's becoming invisible to the lotus-cluster, when

it reached and entered another region, after one part of the heaven

[794] had become exhausted?"

When the spy heard this, he surmised that the supposed cook was really

Nala transformed by misfortune, and he departed thence, and when he

reached Vidarbha, he told king Bhíma and his queen and Damayantí all

that he had heard and seen.

Then Damayantí, of her own accord, said to her father, "Without

doubt that man is my husband disguised as a cook. So let this amusing

artifice be employed to bring him here. Let a messenger be sent to

king Rituparna, and the moment he arrives let him say to that king,

'Nala has gone off somewhere or other, no tidings are heard of him;

accordingly to-morrow morning Damayantí will again make her Svayamvara;

so come quickly to Vidarbha this very day;' and the moment the king

hears his speech, he will certainly come here in one day, together

with that husband of mine who is skilled in chariot-driving." Having

thus debated with her father, Damayantí sent off that very moment

a messenger to the city of Kosala with exactly this message. He

went and told it, as it was given him to Rituparna, and the king

thereupon, being excited, said affectionately to his attendant Nala,

who was disguised as a cook: "Hrasvabáhu, you said--'I possess skill

in chariot-driving.' So take me this very day to Vidarbha if you have

sufficient endurance." When Nala heard that, he said, "Good! I will

take you there," and thereupon he yoked swift horses, and made ready

the splendid chariot. He said to himself; "Damayantí has spread this

report of a Svayamvara in order to recover me, otherwise, I know,

she would not have behaved in this way even in her dreams. So I will

go there and see what happens." With such reflections he brought to

Rituparna the chariot ready. And as soon as the king had mounted it,

Nala proceeded to drive on that chariot with a speed exceeding even

that of Garuda. Then Rituparna dropped his garment, and wished to stop

the chariot in order to recover it, but Nala said to him,--"King, where

is that garment of yours? Why the chariot has in this moment left it

many yojanas behind." When Rituparna heard this, he said:--"Well, give

me this skill in chariot-driving, and I will give you my skill in dice,

so that the dice shall obey your command and you shall acquire skill

in numbers. And now look; I will give you a proof of the truth of what

I say. You see this tree in front of us; I will tell you the number

of its leaves and fruits, and then do you count them for yourself and

see." When he had said this, he told him the number of the leaves and

fruits on that tree, and Nala counted them and found them exactly as

many as he had said. Then Nala gave to Rituparna his skill in driving,

and Rituparna gave to Nala his skill in dice and numbers.

And Nala tested that skill on another tree, and found the number of

leaves and fruits to be exactly what he had guessed. And while he was

rejoicing, a black man issued from his body, and he asked him who he

was. Then he said, "I am Kali; when you were chosen by Damayantí,

I entered your body out of jealousy, so you lost your fortune at

play. And when Kárkotaka bit you in the forest, you were not consumed,

but I was burnt, as you see, being in your body. For to whom is a

treacherous injury done to another likely to be beneficial? So I

depart, my friend, for I have opportunities against others." After

saying this, Kali vanished from his sight, and Nala at once became

well-disposed as before, and recovered his former splendour. And he

returned and remounted the chariot; and in the course of the same

day he drove king Rituparna into Vidarbha, so rapidly did he get

over the ground, and there the king was ridiculed by the people,

who asked the cause of his coming; and he put up near the palace.

And when he arrived, Damayantí knew of it, having heard the wonderful

noise of the chariot, and she inly rejoiced, as she suspected that

Nala had come too. And she sent her own maid to find out the truth,

and she enquired into it, and came back and said to her mistress,

who was longing for her beloved lord; "Queen, I have enquired into the

matter; this king of Kosala heard a false report of your Svayamvara and

has come here, and he has been driven here in one day by Hrasvabáhu

his charioteer and cook, who is famous for his skill in managing

chariots. And I went into the kitchen and saw that cook. And he is

black and deformed, but possesses wonderful powers. It is miraculous

that water gushed up in his pots and pans, without being put in, and

wood burst into flames of its own accord, without having been lighted,

[795] and various cates were produced in a moment. After I had seen

this great miracle, I came back here." When Damayantí heard this from

the maid, she reflected--"This cook, whom the fire and the water obey,

and who knows the secret of chariot-driving, can be no other than my

husband, and I suspect he has become changed and deformed on account

of separation from me, but I will test him." When she had formed

this resolve, she sent, by way of stratagem, her two children with

that same maid, to shew them to him. And Nala, when he had seen his

children and taken them on his knees after a long separation, wept

silently with a flood of tears. And he said to the maid--"I have two

children like these in the house of their maternal grandfather, I have

been moved to sorrow by recollecting them." The maid returned with the

children and told all to Damayantí, and then she conceived much hope.

And early the next day she gave her maid this order; "Go and tell that

cook of Rituparna's from me; 'I hear that there is no cook like you

in the world, so come and prepare curry for me to-day.'" When the maid

communicated to Nala this politic request, he got leave from Rituparna

and came to Damayantí. And she said, "Tell me the truth; are you

the king Nala disguised as a cook? I am drowned in a sea of anxiety,

and you must to-day bring me safe to shore." When Nala heard that,

he was full of joy, love, grief and shame, and with downcast face,

he spoke, in a voice faltering from tears, this speech suited to the

occasion,--"I am in truth that wicked Nala, hard as adamant, who in

his madness behaved like fire in afflicting you." When he said this,

Damayantí asked him--"If it is so, how did you become deformed?" Then

Nala told her the whole of his adventures, from his making friends

with Kárkotaka to the departure of Kali from him. And immediately he

put on the pair of garments called the "fire-bleached," given him by

Kárkotaka, and recovered on the spot his own original shape.

When Damayantí saw that Nala had resumed his own charming form, the

lotus of her face quickly expanded, and she quenched, as it were,

with the waters of her eyes the forest-fire of her grief, and attained

indescribable unequalled happiness. And Bhíma, the king of Vidarbha,

quickly heard that intelligence from his joyful attendants, and coming

there he welcomed Nala, who showed him becoming respect, and he made

his city full of rejoicing. Then king Rituparna was welcomed with the

observance of all outward courtesy and every hospitable rite [796] by

king Bhíma, who in his heart could not help laughing, and after he had

in return honoured Nala, he returned to Kosala. Then Nala lived there

happily with his wife, describing to his father-in-law his outburst of

wickedness due to the influence of Kali. And in a few days he returned

to Nishada with the troops of his father-in-law, and he humbled his

younger brother Pushkara, beating him by his knowledge of dice, but,

righteous as he was, he gave him a share of the kingdom again, after

Dvápara had left his body, and glad at having recovered Damayantí,

he enjoyed his kingdom lawfully.

When the Bráhman Sumanas had told this story to the princess

Bandhumatí in Tárápura, whose husband was away, he went on to say to

her--"Even thus, queen, do great ones, after enduring separation,

enjoy prosperity, and following the example of the sun, after

suffering a decline, they rise again. So you also, blameless

one, shall soon recover your husband returning from his absence;

use patient self-control, banish grief, and console yourself with

the approaching gratification of your wishes in the return of your

husband." When the virtuous Bráhman had spoken these appropriate words,

she honoured him with much wealth, and taking refuge in patience,

she remained there awaiting her beloved. And in a few days her husband

Mahípála returned, with his father, bringing that mother of his from

a distant land. And when he returned, furnishing a feast to all eyes,

he gladdened Bandhumatí, as the full moon gladdens the lovely water of

the ocean. Then Mahípála, on whom her father had already devolved the

burden of the kingdom, enjoyed as a king desired pleasures with her.

When prince Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard

in the company of his wife, from the mouth of his minister Marubhúti,

this matchless romantic story, pleasing on account of its picture of

affection, he was exceedingly pleased.

BOOK X.

CHAPTER LVII.

We worship the elephantine proboseis of Ganesa, not to be resisted

by his enemies, reddened with vermilion, a sword dispelling great

arrogance. [1] May the third eye of Siva, which, when all three were

equally wildly-rolling, blazed forth beyond the others, as he made

ready his arrow upon the string, for the burning of Pura, protect

you. May the row of nails of the Man-lion, [2] curved and red with

blood, when he slew his enemy, and his fiery look askance, destroy

your calamities.

Story of the porter who found a bracelet.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, remained in

Kausámbí in happiness, with his wives, and his ministers. And

one day, when he was present, a merchant living in the city, came

to make a representation to his father, as he was sitting on his

throne. That merchant, of the name of Ratnadatta, entered, announced

by the warder, and bowing before the king, said as follows: "O king,

there is a poor porter here, of the name of Vasundhara; and suddenly

he is found of late to be eating, drinking, and bestowing alms. So,

out of curiosity, I took him to my house, and gave him food and drink

to his heart's content, and when I had made him drunk. I questioned

him, and he gave me this answer, 'I obtained from the door of the

king's palace a bracelet with splendid jewels, and I picked out one

jewel and sold it. And I sold it for a lakh of dínárs to a merchant

named Hiranyagupta; this is how I come to be living in comfort at

present." When he had said this, he shewed me that bracelet, which

was marked with the king's name, and therefore I have come to inform

your majesty of the circumstance." When the king of Vatsa heard that,

he had the porter and the merchant of precious jewels summoned with

all courtesy, and when he saw the bracelet, he said of himself;

"Ah! I remember, this bracelet slipped from my arm when I was going

round the city." And the courtiers asked the porter, "Why did you,

when you had got hold of a bracelet marked with the king's name,

conceal it?" He replied, "I am one who gets his living by carrying

burdens, and how am I to know the letters of the king's name? When I

got hold of it, I appropriated it, being burnt up with the misery of

poverty." When he said this, the jewel-merchant, being reproached for

keeping the jewel, said--"I bought it in the market, without putting

any pressure on the man, and there was no royal mark upon it, though

now it is said that it belongs to the king. And he has taken five

thousand of the price, the rest is with me." When Yaugandharáyana, who

was present, heard this speech of Hiranyagupta's, he said--"No one is

in fault in this matter. What can we say against the porter who does

not know his letters? Poverty makes men steal, and who ever gave up

what he had found? And the merchant who bought it from him cannot be

blamed." The king when he heard this decision of his prime minister's,

approved it. And he took back his jewel from the merchant, paying

him the five thousand dínárs, which had been spent by the porter,

and he set the porter at liberty, after taking back his bracelet,

and he, having consumed his five thousand, went free from anxiety

to his own house. And the king, though in the bottom of his heart he

hated that merchant Ratnadatta, as being a man who ruined those that

reposed confidence in him, honoured him for his service. When they

had all departed, Vasantaka came before the king, and said, "Ah! when

men are cursed by destiny, even the wealth they obtain departs, for

the incident of the inexhaustible pitcher has happened to this porter."

Story of the inexhaustible pitcher. [3]

For you must know that there lived long ago, in the city of

Pátaliputra, a man of the name of Subhadatta, and he every day carried

in a load of wood from the forest, and sold it, and so maintained

his household. Now one day he went to a distant forest, and, as

it happened, he saw there four Yakshas with heavenly ornaments

and dresses. The Yakshas, seeing he was terrified, kindly asked

him of his circumstances, and finding out that he was poor, they

conceived pity for him, and said--"Remain here as a servant in our

house, we will support your family for you without trouble on your

part." When Subhadatta heard that, he agreed, and remained with them,

and he supplied them with requisites for bathing and performed other

menial offices for them. When the time for eating came, those Yakshas

said to him--"Give us food from this inexhaustible pitcher." But he

hesitated, seeing that it was empty, and then the Yakshas again said

to him, smiling--"Subhadatta, do you not understand? Put your hand

in the pitcher, and you will obtain whatever you want, for this is

a pitcher that supplies whatever is required." When he heard that,

he put his hand in the pitcher, and immediately he beheld all the

food and drink that could be required. And Subhadatta out of that

store supplied them and ate himself.

Thus waiting on the Yakshas every day with devotion and awe, Subhadatta

remained in their presence anxious about his family. But his sorrowing

family was comforted by them in a dream, and this kindness on their

part made him happy. At the termination of one month the Yakshas said

to him, "We are pleased with this devotion of yours, we will grant you

a boon, say what it shall be." When he heard that, he said to them,

"Then give me this inexhaustible pitcher." Then the Yakshas said to

him, "You will not be able to keep it, for, if broken, it departs at

once, so choose some other boon." Though they warned him in these

words, Subhadatta would not choose any other boon, so they gave

him that inexhaustible pitcher. Then Subhadatta bowed before them

delighted, and, taking that pitcher, quickly returned to his house,

to the joy of his relations. Then he took out of that pitcher food and

drink, and in order to conceal the secret, he placed them in other

vessels, and consumed them with his relations. And as he gave up

carrying burdens, and enjoyed all kinds of delights, his kinsmen one

day said to him, when he was drunk; "How did you manage to acquire

the means of all this enjoyment?" He was too much puffed up with

pride to tell them plainly, but taking the wish-granting pitcher

on his shoulder, he began to dance. [4] And as he was dancing, the

inexhaustible pitcher slipped from his shoulder, as his feet tripped

with over-abundance of intoxication, and falling on the ground, was

broken in pieces. And immediately it was mended again, and reverted

to its original possessors, but Subhadatta was reduced to his former

condition, and filled with despondency.

"So you see that these unfortunate persons, whose intellects are

destroyed with the vice of drinking, and other vices, and with

infatuation, cannot keep wealth, even when they have obtained

it." When the king of Vatsa had heard this amusing story of the

inexhaustible pitcher, he rose up, and bathed, and set about the

other duties of the day. And Naraváhanadatta also bathed, and took

food with his father, and at the end of the day went with his friends

to his own house. There he went to bed at night, but could not sleep,

and Marubhúti said to him in the hearing of the ministers: "I know,

it is love of a slave-girl that prevents your summoning your wives,

and you have not summoned the slave-girl, so you cannot sleep. But

why in spite of your better knowledge do you still fall in love with

hetæræ? For they have no goodness of character; in proof that they

have not, hear the following tale:"

Story of the merchant's son, the hetæra, and the wonderful ape Ála.

There is in this country a great and opulent city named Chitrakúta. In

it there lived a merchant named Ratnavarman, a prince among the

wealthy. He had one son born to him by propitiating Siva, and he

gave that son the name of Ísvaravarman. After he had studied the

sciences, his father the rich merchant, who had no other son but

him, seeing that he was on the verge of manhood, said to himself:

"Providence has created in this world that fair and frail type

of woman, the hetæra, to steal the wealth and life of rich young

men blinded with the intoxication of youth. So I will entrust my

son to some kuttiní, in order that he may learn the tricks of the

hetæræ and not be deceived by them." Having thus reflected, he

went with his son Ísvaravarman to the house of a certain kuttiní,

whose name was Yamajihvá. There he saw that kuttiní, with massive

jaw, and long teeth, and snub nose, instructing her daughter in the

following words--"Every one is valued on account of wealth, a hetæra

especially; and hetæræ who fall in love do not obtain wealth, therefore

a hetæra should abandon passion. For rosy red, love's proper hue,

is the harbinger of eclipse to the hetæra as to the evening twilight;

a properly trained hetæra should exhibit love without sincerity, like

a well-trained actress. With that she should gain a man's affections,

then she should extract from him all his wealth, when he is ruined,

she should finally abandon him, but if he should recover his wealth,

she should take him back into favour. A hetæra, like a hermit, is

the same towards a young man, a child, an old man, a handsome man,

and a deformed man, and so she always attains the principal object of

existence." [5] While the kuttiní was delivering this lesson to her

daughter, Ratnavarman approached her, and after she had welcomed him,

he took a seat by her side. And he said to her--"Reverend mother, teach

my son this skill of the hetæra, in order that he may become clever in

it. And I will give you a thousand dínárs by way of recompense." When

the kuttiní heard his desire, she consented, and he paid the dínárs,

and made over his son Ísvaravarman to her, and then returned home.

Then Ísvaravarman, in the course of one year, learned in the house

of Yamajihvá all the graceful accomplishments, and then returned to

his father's house. And after he had attained sixteen years, he said

to his father--"Wealth gives us religion and love, wealth gives us

consideration and renown." When his father heard this, he exclaimed in

approval, "It is even so," and being delighted, he gave him five crores

by way of capital. The son took it, and set out on an auspicious day

with a caravan, with the object of journeying to Svarnadvípa. And on

the way he reached a town named Kánchanapura, and there he encamped

in a garden, at a short distance outside the town. And after bathing

and anointing himself, the young man entered the town, and went to a

temple to see a spectacle. And there he saw a dancing-girl, of the name

of Sundarí, dancing, like a wave of the sea of beauty [6] tossed up

by the wind of youth. And the moment he saw her, he became so devoted

to her, that the instructions of the kuttiní fled far from him, as if

in anger. At the end of the dance, he sent a friend to solicit her,

and she bowed and said--"I am highly favoured." And Ísvaravarman left

vigilant guards in his camp, to watch over his treasure, and went

himself to the house of that Sundarí. And when he came, her mother,

named Makarakatí, honoured him with the various rites of hospitality

which became the occasion. And at nightfall she introduced him into

a chamber with a canopy of flashing jewels and a bed. There he passed

the night with Sundarí, [7] whose name expressed her nature, and who

was skilled in all movements of the dance. And the next day he could

not bring himself to part from her, as she shewed great affection

for him, and never left his side. And the young merchant gave her

twenty-five lakhs of gold and jewels in those two days. But Sundarí,

with a false affectation of disinterestedness, refused to take them,

saying--"I have obtained much wealth, but I never found a man like

you; since I have obtained you, what should I do with wealth?" But her

mother Makarakatí, whose only child she was, said to her, "Henceforth,

whatever wealth belongs to us, is as much his as his own property,

so take it, my daughter, as a contribution to our common stock,

what harm is there in that?" When Sundarí's mother said this to her,

she took it with affected unwillingness, and the foolish Ísvaravarman

thought she was really in love with him. While the merchant remained

in her house, charmed by her beauty, her dancing, and singing, two

months passed, and in course of time he bestowed upon her two crores.

Then his friend, named Arthadatta, of his own accord came to him

and said--"Friend, has all that training of yours, though painfully

acquired from the kuttiní, proved useless, now that the occasion has

presented itself, as skill in the use of weapons does to a coward, in

that you believe that there is sincerity in this love of a hetæra? Is

water ever really found in desert-mirages? So let us go before all

your wealth is consumed, for, if your father were to hear of it, he

would be very angry." When his friend said this to him, the merchant's

son said, "It is true that no reliance can be placed upon hetæræ as

a rule, but Sundarí is not like the rest of her class, for, if she

were to lose sight of me for a moment, my friend, she would die. So

do you break it to her, if we must in any case go."

When he said this to Arthadatta, Arthadatta said to Sundarí, in the

presence of Ísvaravarman and her mother Makarakatí, "You entertain

extraordinary affection for Ísvaravarman, but he must certainly

go on a trading expedition to Svarnadvípa immediately. There he

will obtain so much wealth, that he will come and live with you

in happiness all his life, consent to it, my friend." When Sundarí

heard this, she gazed on the face of Ísvaravarman with tears in her

eyes and assumed despondency, and said to Arthadatta, "What am I to

say? you gentlemen know best. Who can rely on any one before seeing

the end? Never mind! Let fate deal with me as it will!" When she said

this, her mother said to her, "Do not be grieved, control yourself;

your lover will certainly return when he has made his fortune; he will

not abandon you." In these words her mother consoled her, but made

an agreement with her, and had a net secretly prepared in a well,

that lay in the road they must take. And then Ísvaravarman's mind

was in a state of tremulous agitation about parting, and Sundarí,

as if out of grief, took but little food and drink. And she shewed

no inclination for singing, music, or dancing, but she was consoled

by Ísvaravarman with various affectionate attentions.

Then, on the day named by his friend, Ísvaravarman set out from

the house of Sundarí, after the kuttiní had offered a prayer for his

success. And Sundarí followed him weeping, with her mother, outside the

city, as far as the well in which the net had been stretched. There he

made Sundarí turn back, and he was proceeding on his journey, when she

flung herself into the well on the top of the net. Then a loud cry was

heard from her mother, from the female slaves, and all the attendants,

"Ah! my daughter! Ah! mistress!" That made the merchant's son and

his friend turn round, and when he heard that his beloved had thrown

herself into a well, he was for a moment stupefied with grief. And

Makarakatí, lamenting with loud cries, made her servants, who were

attached to her, and in the secret, go down into the well. They let

themselves down by means of ropes, and exclaiming, "Thank heaven, she

is alive, she is alive," they brought up Sundarí from the well. When

she was brought up, she assumed the appearance of one nearly dead,

and after she had mentioned the name of the merchant's son, who had

returned, she slowly began to cry. But he, being comforted, took

her to her house in great delight, accompanied by his attendants,

returning there himself. And having made up his mind that the love

of Sundarí was to be relied on, and considering that, by obtaining

her, he had obtained the real end of his birth, he once more gave

up the idea of continuing his journey. And when he had taken up his

abode there, determined to remain, his friend said to him once more,

"My friend, why have you ruined yourself by infatuation? Do not rely

on the love of Sundarí simply because she flung herself into a well,

for the treacherous schemes of a kuttiní are not to be fathomed even

by Providence. And what what will you say to your father, when you

have spent all your property, or where will you go? So leave this

place even at this eleventh hour, if your mind is sound." When the

merchant's son heard this speech of his friend's, he paid no attention

to it, and in another month he spent those other three crores. Then

he was stripped of his all; and the kuttiní Makarakatí had him seized

by the back of the neck and turned out of Sundarí's house.

But Arthadatta and the others quickly returned to their own city,

and told the whole story, as it happened, to his father. His father

Ratnavarman, that prince of merchants, was much grieved when he heard

it, and in great distress went to the kuttiní Yamajihvá, and said to

her, "Though you received a large salary, you taught my son so badly,

that Makarakatí has with ease stripped him of all his wealth." When

he had said this, he told her all the story of his son. Then the

old kuttiní Yamajihvá said: "Have your son brought back here; I will

enable him to strip Makarakatí of all her wealth." When the kuttiní

Yamajihvá made this promise, Ratnavarman quickly sent off that moment

his son's well-meaning friend Arthadatta with a message, to bring him,

and to take at the same time means for his subsistence.

So Arthadatta went back to that city of Kánchanapura, and told the

whole message to Ísvaravarman. And he went on to say to him--"Friend,

you would not do what I advised you, so you have now had personal

experience of the untrustworthy dispositions of hetæræ. After you had

given that five crores, you were ejected neck and crop. What wise

man looks for love in hetæræ or for oil in sand? Or why do you put

out of sight this unalterable nature of things? [8] A man is wise,

self-restrained, and possesses happiness, only so long as he does not

fall within the range of woman's cajoleries. So return to your father

and appease his wrath." With these words Arthadatta quickly induced

him to return, and encouraging him, led him into the presence of his

father. And his father, out of love for his only son, spoke kindly

to him, and again took him to the house of Yamajihvá. And when she

questioned him, he told his whole story by the mouth of Arthadatta,

down to the circumstance of Sundarí's flinging herself into the

well, and how he lost his wealth. Then Yamajihvá said--"I indeed am

to blame, because I forgot to teach him this trick. For Makarakatí

stretched a net in the well, and Sundarí flung herself upon that,

so she was not killed. Still there is a remedy in this case." Having

said this, the kuttiní made her female slaves bring her monkey named

Ála. And in their presence she gave the monkey her thousand dínárs,

and said--"Swallow these," and the monkey, being trained to swallow

money, did so. Then she said, "Now, my son give twenty to him,

twenty-five to him, and sixty to him, and a hundred to him." And the

monkey, as often as Yamajihvá told him to pay a sum, brought up the

exact number of dínárs, and gave them as commanded. [9] And after

Yamajihvá had shewn this device of Ála, she said to Ísvaravarman,

"Now take with you this young monkey. And repair again to the house

of Sundarí, and keep asking him day by day for sums of money, which

you have secretly made him swallow. And Sundarí, when she sees Ála,

resembling in his powers the wishing-stone, will beg for him, and

will give you all she has so as to obtain possession of the ape,

and clasp him to her bosom. And after you have got her wealth, make

him swallow enough money for two days, and give him to her, and then

depart to a distance without delay."

After Yamajihvá had said this, she gave that ape to Ísvaravarman,

and his father gave him two crores by way of capital. And with the

ape and the money he went once more to Kánchanapura, and despatching

a messenger on in front, he entered the house of Sundarí. Sundarí

welcomed him as if he were an incarnation of perseverance,

which includes in itself all means for attaining an end, and his

friend with him, embracing him round the neck, and making other

demonstrations. Then Ísvaravarman, having gained her confidence,

said to Arthadatta in her presence in the house: "Go, and bring

Ála." He said, "I will," and went and brought the monkey. And as

the monkey had before swallowed a thousand dínárs, he said to him,

"Ála, my son, give us to-day three hundred dínárs for our eating and

drinking, and a hundred for betel and other expenses, and give one

hundred to our mother Makarakatí, and a hundred to the Bráhmans,

and give the rest of the thousand to Sundarí." When Ísvaravarman

said this, the monkey brought up the dínárs he had before swallowed,

to the amounts ordered, and gave them for the various objects required.

So by this artifice Ála was made to supply every day the necessary

expenses, for the period of a fortnight, and in the meanwhile

Makarakatí [10] and Sundarí began to think; "Why this is a very

wishing-stone which he has got hold of in the form of an ape, which

gives every day a hundred dínárs; if he would only give it us, all our

desires would be accomplished." Having thus debated in private with

her mother, Sundarí said to that Ísvaravarman, when he was sitting

at his ease after dinner,--"If you really are well pleased with me,

give me Ála." But when Ísvaravarman heard that, he answered laughingly,

"He is my father's all in the world, and it is not proper to give him

away." When he said this, Sundarí said to him again, "Give him me and

I will give you five crores." Thereupon Ísvaravarman said with an air

of decision, "If you were to give me all your property, or indeed this

city, it would not do to give him you, much less for your crores." When

Sundarí heard this, she said, "I will give you all I possess; but give

me this ape, otherwise my mother will be angry with me." And thereupon

she clung to Ísvaravarman's feet. Then Arthadatta and the others said,

"Give it her, happen what will." Then Ísvaravarman promised to give

it her, and he spent the day with the delighted Sundarí. And the

next day he gave to Sundarí, at her earnest entreaties, that ape,

which had in secret been made to swallow two thousand dínárs, and

he immediately took by way of payment all the wealth in her house,

and went off quickly to Svarnadvípa to trade.

And to Sundarí's delight, the monkey Ála, when asked, gave her

regularly a thousand dínárs for two days. But on the third day he did

not give her anything, though coaxed to do it, then Sundarí struck the

ape with her fist. And the monkey, being beaten, sprang up in a rage,

and bit and scratched the faces of Sundarí and her mother, who were

thrashing him. Then the mother, whose face was streaming with blood,

flew in a passion and beat the ape with sticks, till he died on the

spot. When Sundarí saw that he was dead, and reflected that all her

wealth was gone, she was ready to commit suicide for grief, and so

was her mother. And when the people of the town heard the story,

they laughed and said, "Because Makarakatí took away this man's

wealth by means of a net, he in his turn has stripped her of all

her property, like a clever fellow that he is, by means of a pet;

she was sharp enough to net him, but did not detect the net laid for

herself. Then Sundarí, with her scratched face and vanished wealth, was

with difficulty restrained by her relations from destroying herself,

and so was her mother. And Ísvaravarman soon returned from Svarnadvípa

to the house of his father in Chitrakúta. And when his father saw him

returned, having acquired enormous wealth, he rewarded the kuttiní

Yamajihvá with treasure, and made a great feast. And Ísvaravarman,

seeing the matchless deceitfulness of hetæræ, became disgusted with

their society, and taking a wife remained in his own house. [11]

"So you see, king, that there never dwells in the minds of hetæræ

even an atom of truth, unalloyed with treachery, so a man who desires

prosperity should not take pleasure in them, as their society is only

to be gained by the wealthy, any more than in uninhabited woods to

be crossed only with a caravan. [12]"

"When Naraváhanadatta heard, from the mouth of Marubhúti, the above

story, word for word, of Ála and the net, he and Gomukha approved it,

and laughed heartily.

CHAPTER LVIII.

When Marubhúti had thus illustrated the untrustworthy character of

hetæræ, the wise Gomukha told this tale of Kumudiká, the lesson of

which was the same.

Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra, and the young Bráhman.

There was in Pratishthána a king named Vikramasinha, who was made

by Providence a lion in courage, so that his name expressed his

nature. He had a queen of lofty lineage, beautiful and beloved, whose

lovely form was her only ornament, and she was called Sasilekhá. Once

on a time, when he was in his city, five or six of his relations

combined together, and going to his palace, surrounded him. Their

names were Mahábhata, Vírabáhu, Subáhu, Subhata and Pratápáditya, all

powerful kings. The king's minister was proceeding to try the effect

of conciliation on them, but the king set him aside, and went out to

fight with them. And when the two armies had begun to exchange showers

of arrows, the king himself entered the fray, mounted on an elephant,

confiding in his might. And when the five kings, Mahábhata and the

others, saw him, seconded only by his bow, dispersing the army of his

enemies, they all attacked him together. And as the numerous force

of the five kings made an united charge, the force of Vikramasinha,

being inferior in number, was broken. Then his minister Anantaguna,

who was at his side, said, "Our force is routed for the present, there

is no chance of victory to-day, and you would engage in this conflict

with an overwhelming force in spite of my advice, so now at the last

moment do what I recommend you, in order that the affair may turn out

prosperously; come now, descend from your elephant, and mount a horse,

and let us go to another country; if you live, you will conquer your

enemies on some future occasion." When the minister said this, the

king readily got down from his elephant, and mounted on a horse, and

left his army in company with him. And in course of time, the king,

in disguise, reached with his minister the city of Ujjayiní. There

he entered with his minister the house of a hetæra, named Kumudiká,

renowned for her wealth; and she, seeing him suddenly entering the

house, thought, "This is a distinguished hero that has come to my

house: and his majesty and the marks on his body shew him to be a

great king, so my desire is sure to be attained if I can make him my

instrument." Having thus reflected, Kumudiká rose up and welcomed him,

and entertained him hospitably, and immediately she said to the king,

who was wearied,--"I am fortunate, to-day the good deeds of my former

life have borne fruit, in that Your Majesty has hallowed my house

by coming to it in person. So by this favour Your Majesty has made

me your slave. The hundred elephants, and two myriads of horses,

and house full of jewels, which belong to me, are entirely at your

majesty's disposal." Having said this, she provided the king and his

minister with baths and other luxuries, all in magnificent style.

Then the wearied king lived in her palace, at his ease, with her,

who put her wealth at his disposal. He consumed her substance and

gave it away to petitioners, and she did not show any anger against

him on that account, but was rather pleased at it. Thereupon the king

was delighted, thinking that she was really attached to him, but his

minister Anantaguna, who was with him, said to him in secret: "Your

majesty, hetæræ are not to be depended upon, though, I must confess,

I cannot guess the reason why Kumudiká shews you love." When the

king heard this speech of his, he answered him: "Do not speak thus;

Kumudiká would even lay down her life for my sake. If you do not

believe it, I will give you a convincing proof." After the king had

said this to his minister, he adopted this artifice; he took little

to eat and little to drink, and so gradually attenuated his body,

and at last he made himself as dead, without movement, prostrate on

the ground. Then his attendants put him on a bier, and carried him

to the burning-ghat with lamentations, while Anantaguna affected a

grief which he did not feel. And Kumudiká, out of grief, came and

ascended the funeral pyre with him, though her relations tried to

prevent her. But before the fire was lighted, the king, perceiving

that Kumudiká had followed him, rose up with a yawn. And all his

attendants took him home with Kumudiká to his lodging, exclaiming,

"Fortunate is it that our king has been restored to life."

Then a feast was made, and the king recovered his normal condition,

and said in private to his minister,--"Did you observe the devotion of

Kumudiká?" Then the minister said,--"I do not believe even now. You may

be sure that there is some reason for her conduct, so we must wait to

get to the bottom of the matter. But let us reveal to her who we are,

in order that we may obtain a force granted by her, and another force

supplied by your ally, and so smite our enemies in battle." While he

was saying this, the spy, that had been secretly sent out, returned,

and when questioned, answered as follows; "Your enemies have overrun

the country, and queen Sasilekhá, having heard from the people a

false report of your majesty's death, has entered the fire." When

the king heard this, he was smitten by the thunderbolt of grief,

and lamented--"Alas! my queen! Alas, chaste lady!"

Then Kumudiká at last came to know the truth, and after consoling

the king Vikramasinha, she said to him; "Why did not the king give

me the order long ago? Now punish your enemies with my wealth and my

forces." When she said this, the king augmented the force by means

of her wealth, and repaired to a powerful king who was an ally of

his. And he marched with his forces and those forces of his own,

and after killing those five enemies in battle, he got possession

of their kingdoms into the bargain. Then he was delighted, and said

to Kumudiká who accompanied him; "I am pleased with you, so tell me

what I can do to gratify you." Then Kumudiká said--"If you are really

pleased, my lord, then extract from my heart this one thorn that has

long remained there. I have an affection for a Bráhman's son, of the

name of Srídhara, in Ujjayiní, whom the king has thrown into prison

for a very small fault, so deliver him out of the king's hand. Because

I saw by your royal marks, that your majesty was a glorious hero, and

destined to be successful, and able to effect this object of mine,

I waited on you with devoted attentions. Moreover, I ascended that

pyre out of despair of attaining my object, considering that life

was useless without that Bráhman's son. When the hetæra said this,

the king answered her; "I will accomplish it for you, fair one, do not

despair." After saying this, he called to mind his minister's speech,

and thought--"Anantaguna was right, when he said that hetæræ were not

to be depended upon. But I must gratify the wish of this miserable

creature." Thus resolved, he went with his troops to Ujjayiní, and

after getting Srídhara set at liberty, and giving him much wealth, he

made Kumudiká happy by uniting her with her beloved there. And after

returning to his city, he never disobeyed the advice of his minister,

and so in time he came to enjoy the whole earth.

"So you see, the hearts of hetæræ are fathomless and hard to

understand."

Then Gomukha stopped, after he had told this story. But then Tapantaka

said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta--"Prince, you must never

repose any confidence at all in women, for they are all light, even

those that, being married or unmarried, dwell in their father's house,

as well as those that are hetæræ by profession. I will tell you a

wonder which happened in this very place, hear it.

Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her husband's body.

There was a merchant in this very city named Balavarman, and he

had a wife named Chandrasrí, and she beheld from a window a handsome

merchant's son, of the name of Sílahara, and she sent her female friend

to invite him to her house, and there she used to have assignations

with him in secret. And while she was in the habit of meeting him

there every day, her attachment to him was discovered by all her

friends and relations. But her husband Balavarman was the only one

who did not discover that she was unchaste; very often men blinded

by affection do not discover the wickedness of their wives.

Then a burning fever seized Balavarman, and the merchant consequently

was soon reduced to a very low state. But, though he was in this

state, his wife went every day to her friend's house, to meet her

paramour. And the next day, while she was there, her husband died. And

on hearing of it she returned, quickly taking leave of her lover. And

out of grief for her husband, she ascended the pyre with his body,

being firmly resolved, though her attendants, who knew her character,

tried to dissuade her. [13]

"Thus is the way of a woman's heart truly hard to understand. They

fall in love with strange men, and die when separated from their

husbands." When Tapantaka said this, Harisikha said in his turn,

"Have you not heard what happened in this way to Devadása?"

Story of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered.

Of old time there lived in a village a householder, named Devadása, and

he had a wife named with good cause Duhsílá. [14] And the neighbours

knew that she was in love with another man. Now, once on a time,

Devadása went to the king's court on some business. And his wife, who

wished to have him murdered, took advantage of the occasion to bring

her paramour, whom she concealed on the roof of the house. And in the

dead of night she had her husband Devadása killed by that paramour,

when he was asleep. And she dismissed her paramour, and remained quiet

until the morning, when she went out, and exclaimed, "My husband has

been killed by robbers." Then his relations came there, and after

they had seen his body, they said, "If he was killed by thieves,

why did they not carry off anything?" After they had said this, they

asked her young son, who was there, "Who killed your father?" Then he

said plainly; "A man had gone up on the roof here in the day, he came

down in the night, and killed my father before my eyes; but first my

mother took me and rose up from my father's side." When the boy said

this, the dead man's relations knew that Devadása had been killed by

his wife's paramour, and they searched him out, and put him to death

then and there, and they adopted that boy and banished Duhsílá.

"So you see, a woman, whose heart is fixed on another man, infallibly

kills like the snake." When Harisikha said this, Gomukha said

again--"Why should we tell any out-of-the-way story? Listen to the

ridiculous fate that befell Vajrasára here, the servant of the king

of Vatsa."

Story of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears.

He, being brave and handsome, had a beautiful wife that came from

Málava, whom he loved more than his own body. Once on a time his wife's

father, longing to see her, came in person, accompanied by his son,

from Málava, to invite him and her. Then Vajrasára entertained him,

and informed the king, and went, as he had been invited to do, to

Málava with his wife and his father-in-law. And after he had rested a

month only in his father-in-law's house, he came back here to attend

upon the king, but that wife of his remained there. Then, after some

days had passed, suddenly a friend of the name of Krodhana came to him,

and said:--"Why have you ruined your family by leaving your wife in her

father's house? For the abandoned woman has there formed a connexion

with another man. This was told me to-day by a trustworthy person

who came from that place. Do not suppose that it is untrue; punish

her, and marry another." When Krodhana had said this, he went away,

and Vajrasára stood bewildered for a moment, and then reflected--"I

suspect this may be true; otherwise, why did she not come back,

though I sent a man to summon her? So I will go myself to bring her,

and see what the state of the case is."

Having formed this resolution, he went to Málava, and after taking

leave of his father-in-law and his mother-in-law, he set out with

his wife. And after he had gone a long distance, he eluded his

followers by a trick, and going by the wrong path, entered with his

wife a dense wood. He sat down in the middle of it, and said to her,

out of hearing of any one: "I have heard from a trustworthy friend,

that you are in love with another, and when I, remaining at home,

sent for you, you did not come; so tell me the truth; if you do not,

I will punish you." When she heard this, she said: "If this is your

intention, why do you ask me? Do what you like." When Vajrasára heard

this contemptuous speech of hers, he was angry and tied her up, and

began to beat her with creepers. But while he was stripping off her

clothes, he felt his passion renewed, and asked her to forgive him,

whereupon she said; "I will, if I may tie you up and beat you with

creepers, in the same way as you tied me up and beat me, but not

otherwise." Vajrasára, whose heart was made like stubble by love,

consented, for he was blinded by passion. Then she bound him firmly,

hand and foot, to a tree, and, when he was bound, she cut off his ears

and nose with his own sword, and the wicked woman took his sword and

clothes, and disguising herself as a man, departed whither she would.

But Vajrasára, with his nose and ears cut off, remained there,

depressed by great loss of blood, and loss of self-respect. Then a

certain benevolent physician, who was wandering through the wood in

search of healing herbs, saw him, and out of compassion unbound him,

and brought him home to his house. And Vajrasára, having been brought

round by him, slowly returned to his own house, but he did not find

that wicked wife, though he sought for her. And he described the

whole occurrence to Krodhana, and he related it in the presence of

the king of Vatsa; and all the people in the king's court mocked

him, saying, that his wife had justly taken away his man's dress

and suitably punished him, because he had lost all manly spirit and

faculty of just resentment, and so become a woman. But in spite of

their ridicule he remains there with heart of adamant, proof against

shame. So what confidence, your Royal Highness, can be placed in women?

When Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti went on to say, "The mind of

woman is unstable, hear a tale in illustration of this truth."

Story of king Sinhabala and his fickle wife.

Formerly there dwelt in the Deccan a king, of the name of

Sinhabala. And his wife named Kalyánavatí, the daughter of a prince

of Málava, was dear to him above all the women of his harem. And

the king ruled the realm with her as consort, but once on a time he

was expelled from his kingdom by his powerful relations, who banded

together against him. And then the king, accompanied by the queen,

with his weapons and but few attendants, set out for the house of

his father-in-law in Málava.

And as he was going along through a forest, which lay in his road,

a lion charged him, and the hero easily cut it in two with a stroke of

his sword. And when a wild elephant came at him trumpeting, he circled

round it and cut off with his sword its trunk and feet, and stripped

it of its jewel, and killed it. And alone he dispersed the hosts of

bandits like lotuses, and trampled them, as the elephant, lord of the

forest, tramples the beds of white water-lilies. Thus he accomplished

the journey, and his wonderful courage was seen, and so he reached

Málava, and then this sea of valour said to his wife: "You must not

tell in your father's house this that happened to me on the journey,

it will bring shame to me, my queen, for what is there laudable in

courage displayed by a man of the military caste?" After he had given

her this injunction, he entered his father-in-law's house with her,

and when eagerly questioned by him, told his story. His father-in-law

honoured him, and gave him elephants and horses, and then he repaired

to a very powerful king named Gajáníka. But being intent on conquering

his enemies, he left his wife Kalyánavatí there in her father's house.

Some days after he had gone, his wife, while standing at the window,

saw a certain man. The moment she saw him, he captivated her heart by

his good looks; and being drawn on by love, she immediately thought,

"I know, no one is more handsome or more brave than my husband, but

alas! my mind is attracted towards this man. So let what must be, be. I

will have an interview with him." So she determined in her own mind,

and told her desire to a female attendant, who was her confidante. And

she made her bring him at night, and introduce him into the women's

apartments by the window, pulling him up with a rope. When the man

was introduced, he had not courage to sit boldly on the sofa on which

she was, but sat apart on a chair. The queen, when she saw that,

was despondent, thinking he was a mean man, and at that very moment a

snake, which was roaming about, came down from the roof. When the man

saw the snake, he sprang up quickly in fear, and taking his bow, he

killed the snake with an arrow. And when it fell dead, he threw it out

of the window, and in his delight at having escaped that danger, the

coward danced for joy. When Kalyánavatí saw him dancing, she was cast

down, and thought to herself over and over again: "Alas! alas! What

have I to do with this mean-spirited coward?" And her friend, who

was a discerning person, saw that she was disgusted, and so she went

out, and quickly returned with assumed trepidation, and said, "Queen,

your father has come, so let this young man quickly return to his own

house by the way by which he came." When she said this, he went out

of the window by means of the rope, and being overpowered by fear,

he fell, but as luck would have it, he was not killed.

When he had gone, Kalyánavatí said to her confidante,--"My friend,

you have acted rightly in turning out this low fellow. [15] You

penetrated my feelings, for my heart is vexed. My husband, after

slaying tigers and lions, conceals it through modesty, and this

cowardly man, after killing a snake, dances for joy. So why should I

desert such a husband and fall in love with a common fellow? Curse

on my unstable mind, or rather curse on women, who are like flies

that leave camphor and haste to impurity!" The queen spent the

night in these self-reproaches, and afterwards remained waiting in

her father's house for the return of her husband. In the meanwhile

Sinhabala, having been supplied with another army by king Gajáníka,

slew those five wicked relations. Then he recovered his kingdom,

and at the same time brought back his wife from her father's house,

and after loading his father-in-law with abundance of wealth, he

ruled the earth for a long time without opposition.

"So you see, king, that the mind of even discerning women is fickle,

and, though they have brave and handsome husbands, wanders hither

and thither, but women of pure character are scarce."

When Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard this

story related by Marubhúti, he sank off into a sound sleep and so

passed the night.

CHAPTER LIX.

Early the next day, Naraváhanadatta, after he had performed his

necessary duties, went to his garden by way of amusement. And while

he was there, he saw first a blaze of splendour descend from heaven,

and after it a company of many Vidyádhara females. And in the middle

of those glittering ones, he saw a maiden charming to the eye like

a digit of the moon in the middle of the stars, with face like an

opening lotus, with rolling eyes like circling bees, with the swimming

gait of a swan, diffusing the perfume of a blue lotus, with dimples

charming like waves, with waist adorned with a string of pearls, like

the presiding goddess of the lovely lake in Cupid's garden, appearing

in bodily form. And the prince, when he saw that charming enamoured

creature, a medicine potent to revive the god of love, was disturbed

like the sea, when it beholds the orb of the moon. And he approached

her, saying to his ministers--"Ah! extraordinary is the variety in

producing fair ones that is characteristic of Providence!" And when

she looked at him with a sidelong look tender with passion, he asked

her--"Who are you, auspicious one, and why have you come here?" When

the maiden heard that, she said, "Listen, I will tell you."

"There is a town of gold on the Himálayas, named Kánchanasringa. In

it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas, named Sphatikayasas, who is

just, and kind to the wretched, the unprotected, and those who seek his

aid. Know that I am his daughter, born to him by the queen Hemaprabhá,

in consequence of a boon granted by Gaurí. And I, being the youngest

child, and having five brothers, and being dear to my father as his

life, kept by his advice propitiating Gaurí with vows and hymns. She,

being pleased, bestowed on me all the magic sciences, and deigned to

address me thus--'Thy might in science shall be tenfold that of thy

father, and thy husband shall be Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king

of Vatsa, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas. After the consort of

Siva had said this, she disappeared, and by her favour I obtained the

sciences and gradually grew up. And last night the goddess appeared to

me and commanded me--'To-morrow, my daughter, thou must go and visit

thy husband, and thou must return here the same day, for in a month

thy father, who has long entertained this intention, will give thee in

marriage.' The goddess, after giving me this command, disappeared, and

the night came to an end; so here I am come, your Highness, to pay you

a visit. So now I will depart." Having said this, Saktiyasas flew up

into the heaven with her attendants, and returned to her father's city.

But Naraváhanadatta, being eager to marry her, went in disappointed,

considering the month as long as a yuga. And Gomukha, seeing that

he was despondent, said to him, "Listen, prince, I will tell you a

delightful story."

Story of king Sumanas, the Nisháda maiden and the learned parrot. [16]

In old time there was a city named Kánchanapurí, and in it there

lived a great king named Sumanas. He was of extraordinary splendour,

and crossing difficult and inaccessible regions, he conquered the

fortresses and fastnesses of his foes. Once, as he was sitting in

the hall of assembly, the warder said to him--"King, the daughter of

the king of the Nishádas, named Muktálatá, is standing outside the

door with a parrot in a cage, accompanied by her brother Víraprabha,

and wishes to see your Majesty." The king said "Let her enter," and,

introduced by the warder, the Bhilla maiden entered the enclosure of

the king's hall of assembly. And all there, when they saw her beauty,

thought--"This is not a mortal maiden, surely this is some heavenly

nymph." And she bowed before the king and spoke as follows--"King,

here is a parrot that knows the four Vedas, called Sástraganja,

a poet skilled in all the sciences and in the graceful arts, and I

have brought him here to-day by the order of king Maya, so receive

him." With these words she handed over the parrot, and it was brought

by the warder near the king, as he had a curiosity to see it, and it

recited the following sloka:

"King, this is natural, that the black-faced smoke of thy valour

should be continually increased by the windy sighs of the widows

of thy enemies, but this is strange, that the strong flame of thy

valour blazes in the ten cardinal points all the more fiercely on

account of the overflowing of the copious tears wrung from them by

the humiliation of defeat."

When the parrot had recited this sloka, it began to reflect, and

said again, "What do you wish to know? tell me from what sástra I

shall recite."

Then the king was much astonished, but his minister said--"I suspect,

my lord, this is some rishi of ancient days become a parrot on account

of a curse, but owing to his piety he remembers his former birth,

and so recollects what he formerly read." When the ministers said this

to the king, the king said to the parrot--"I feel curiosity, my good

parrot, tell me your story, where is your place of birth? How comes it

that in your parrot condition you know the sástras? Who are you?" Then

the parrot shed tears and slowly spoke: "The story is sad to tell,

O king, but listen, I will tell it in obedience to thy command."

The parrot's account of his own life as a parrot.

Near the Himálayas, O king, there is a rohiní tree, which resembles

the Vedas, in that many birds take refuge in its branches that extend

through the heaven, as Bráhmans in the various branches of the sacred

tradition. [17] There a cock-parrot used to dwell with his hen, and to

that pair I was born, by the influence of my evil works in a former

life. And as soon as I was born, the hen-parrot, my mother, died,

but my old father put me under his wing, and fostered me tenderly. And

he continued to live there, eating what remained over from the fruits

brought by the other parrots, and giving some to me.