by works in a former birth, falls as it were before his feet,
and he attains it with ease, though apparently unattainable." When
Naraváhanadatta heard this tale of Gomukha's, he was enabled to sleep
that night, though pining for Saktiyasas.
CHAPTER LXVI.
The next night Gomukha told the following story to Naraváhanadatta
to amuse him.
In the holy place of Siva, called Dhanesvara, there lived long ago
a great hermit, who was waited upon by many pupils. He once said
to his pupils, "If any one of you has seen or heard in his life a
strange occurrence of any kind, let him relate it." When the hermit
said this, a pupil said to him, "Listen, I will tell a strange story
which I once heard."
Story of the mendicant who travelled from Kasmíra to Pátaliputra.
There is in Kasmíra a famous holy place, sacred to Siva, called
Vijaya. In it there lived a certain mendicant, who was proud of his
knowledge. He worshipped Siva, and prayed--"May I be always victorious
in controversy,"--and thereupon he set out for Pátaliputra to exhibit
his skill in dispute. And on the way he passed forests, rivers,
and mountains, and having reached a certain forest, he became tired,
and rested under a tree. And immediately he saw, as he was refreshing
himself in the cool breeze of the tank, a student of religion, who had
come there dusty with a long journey, with his staff and water-pot
in his hand. When he sat down, the wandering mendicant asked him
whence he came and whither he was going. The student of religion
answered, "I come from that seat of learning Pátaliputra, and I am
going to Kasmíra to conquer the Pandits there in discussion. When the
mendicant heard this speech of the religious student's, he thought,
"If I cannot conquer this one man who has left Pátaliputra, how shall
I manage to go and overcome the many who remain there?"
So reflecting, he began to reproach that religious student, "Tell me,
religious student, what is the meaning of this inconsistent conduct
on your part? How comes it that you are at the same time a religious
student, eager for liberation, and a man afflicted with the madness of
disputatiousness? Do you seek to be delivered from the world by binding
yourself with the conceit of controversy? You are quenching heat with
fire, and removing the feeling of cold with snow; you are trying to
cross the sea on a boat of stone; you are striving to put out a fire
by fanning it. The virtue of Bráhmans is patience, that of Kshatriyas
is the rescue of the distressed; the characteristic quality of one who
desires liberation is quietism; disputatiousness is said to be the
characteristic of Rákshasas. Therefore a man who desires liberation
must be of a quiet temperament, putting away the pain arising from
alternations of opposites, fearing the hindrances of the world. So
cut down with the axe of quietism this tree of mundane existence,
and do not water it with the water of controversial conceit." When he
said this to the religious student, he was pleased, and bowed humbly
before him, and saying, "Be you my spiritual guide,"--he departed by
the way that he came. And the mendicant remained, laughing, where
he was, at the foot of the tree, and then he heard from within it
the conversation of a Yaksha, who was joking with his wife. [145]
And while the mendicant was listening, the Yaksha in sport struck
his wife with a garland of flowers, and she, like a cunning female,
pretended that she was dead, and immediately her attendants raised a
cry of grief. And after a long time she opened her eyes, as if her
life had returned to her. Then the Yaksha her husband said to her;
"What have you seen?" Then she told the following invented story;
"When you struck me with the garland, I saw a black man come, with
a noose in his hand, with flaming eyes, tall, with upstanding hair,
terrible, darkening the whole horizon with his shadow. The ruffian took
me to the abode of Yama, but his officers there turned him back, and
made him let me go." When the Yakshiní said this, the Yaksha laughed,
and said to her, "O dear! women cannot be free from deception in any
thing that they do. Who ever died from being struck with flowers? Who
ever returned from the house of Yama? You silly woman, you have
imitated the tricks of the women of Pátaliputra."
Story of the wife of king Sinháksha, and the wives of his principal
courtiers.
For in that city there is a king named Sinháksha: and his wife, taking
with her the wives of his minister, commander-in-chief, chaplain,
and physician, went once on the thirteenth day of the white fortnight
to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Sarasvatí, the protecting deity
of that land. There they, queen and all, met on the way sick persons,
humpbacked, blind, and lame, and were thus implored by them, "Give
medicine to us wretched diseased men, in order that we may be delivered
from our infirmity; have mercy upon the distressed. For this world
is wavering as a wave of the sea, transient as a flash of lightning,
and its beauty is short-lived like that of a religious festival. So
in this unreal world the only real thing is mercy to the wretched,
and charity to the poor; it is only the virtuous person that can
be said truly to live. What is the use of giving to the rich or the
comfortable? [146] What does the cold moon profit a shivering man,
or what is the use of a cloud when winter has arrived? So rescue us
miserable creatures from the affliction of sickness."
When the queen and the other ladies had been thus supplicated by these
diseased persons, they said to one another; "These poor afflicted men
say what is true, and to the point, so we must endeavour to restore
them to health even at the cost of all our substance." Then they
worshipped the goddess, and each took one of those sick people to
her own house, and, urging on their husbands, they had them treated
with the potent drugs of Mahádeví, and they never left off watching
them. And from being always with them, they fell in love with them,
and became so attached to them that they thought of nothing else in
the world. And their minds, bewildered with love, never reflected what
a difference there was between these wretched sick men and their own
husbands, the king and his chief courtiers.
Then their husbands remarked that they had on them the marks of
scratches and bites, due to their surprising intimacy with these
invalids. And the king, the commander-in-chief, the minister, the
chaplain, and the physician talked of this to one another without
reserve, but not without anxiety. Then the king said to the others,
"You keep quiet at present; I will question my wife dexterously." So
he dismissed them, and went to his private apartments, and assuming an
expression of affectionate anxiety, he said to his wife, "Who bit you
on the lower lip? Who scratched you on the breast? If you tell me the
truth, it will be well with you, but not otherwise." When the queen was
thus questioned by the king, she told him a fictitious tale, saying,
"Ill-fated that I am, I must tell this wonder, though it ought not to
be revealed. Every night a man, with a discus and club, comes out of
the painted wall, and does this to me, and disappears into it in the
morning. And though you, my husband, are alive, he reduces to this
state my body, which not even the sun or moon has ever beheld." When
the foolish king heard this story of hers, told with much semblance
of grief, he believed it, and thought that it was all a trick played
by Vishnu. And he told it to the minister and his other servants,
and they, like blockheads, also believed that their wives had been
visited by Vishnu, and held their tongues.
"In this way wicked and cunning females, of bad character, by
concurring in one impossible story, deceive silly people, but I am
not such a fool as to be taken in." The Yaksha by saying this covered
his wife with confusion. And the mendicant at the foot of the tree
heard it all. Then the mendicant folded his hands, and said to that
Yaksha, "Reverend sir, I have arrived at your hermitage, and now
I throw myself on your protection. So pardon my sin in overhearing
what you have been saying." By thus speaking the truth he gained the
good will of the Yaksha. And the Yaksha said to him, "I am a Yaksha,
Sarvasthánagaváta by name, and I am pleased with you. So choose a
boon." Then the mendicant said to the Yaksha; "Let this be my boon that
you will not be angry with this wife of yours." Then the Yaksha said,
"I am exceedingly pleased with you. This boon is already granted,
so choose another." Then the mendicant said, "Then this is my second
petition, that from this day forward you and your wife will look
upon me as a son." When the Yaksha heard this, he immediately became
visible to him with his wife, and said, "I consent, my son, we regard
you as our own child. And owing to our favour you shall never suffer
calamity. And you shall be invincible in disputation, altercation,
and gambling." When the Yaksha had said this, he disappeared, and the
mendicant worshipped him, and after spending the night there, he went
on to Pátaliputra. Then he announced to king Sinháksha, by the mouth
of the doorkeeper, that he was a disputant come from Kasmíra. And
the king permitted him to enter the hall of assembly, and there he
tauntingly challenged the learned men to dispute with him. And after he
had conquered them all by virtue of the boon of the Yaksha, he again
taunted them in the presence of the king in these words: "I ask you
to explain this. What is the meaning of this statement, 'A man with a
discus and mace comes out of the painted wall, and bites my lower lip,
and scratches my chest, and then disappears in the wall again.' Give
me an answer." [147] When the learned men heard his riddle, as they
did not know the real reference, they gave no answer, but looked at
one another's faces. Then the king Sinháksha himself said to him,
"Explain to us yourself the meaning of what you said." Thereupon
the mendicant told the king of the deceitful behaviour of his wife,
which he had heard about from the Yaksha. And he said to the king,
"So a man should never become attached to women, which will only
result in his knowing wickedness." The king was delighted with the
mendicant, and wished to give him his kingdom. But the mendicant,
who was ardently attached to his own native land, would not take
it. Then the king honoured him with a rich present of jewels. The
mendicant took the jewels and returned to his native land of Kasmíra,
and there by the favour of the Yaksha he lived in great comfort.
When Gomukha had said this, he remarked, "So strange are these actions
of bad women, and the dispensations of Providence, and the conduct of
mankind. Now hear this story of another woman who killed eleven. [148]
Story of the woman who had eleven husbands.
There was in Málava a certain householder, who lived in a village. He
had born to him a daughter, who had two or three elder brothers. Now,
as soon as she was born her mother died, and a few days after one of
the man's sons died. And then his brother was gored by an ox and died
of it. So the householder named his daughter, "Three-slayer," because
owing to the birth of this ill-omened girl three had met their death.
In course of time she grew up, and then the son of a rich man, who
lived in that village, asked her in marriage, and her father gave
her to him with the usual rejoicings. She lived for some time with
that husband, but he soon died. In a few days the fickle woman took
another husband. And the second husband met his death in a short
time. Then, led astray by her youthful feelings, she took a third
husband. And the third husband of this husband-slayer died like the
others. In this way she lost ten husbands in succession. So she got
affixed to her by way of ridicule the name of "Ten-slayer." Then
her father was ashamed and would not let her take another husband,
and she remained in her father's house avoided by people. But one day
a handsome young traveller entered it, and was allowed by her father
to stop as his guest for a night. When Ten-slayer saw him, she fell
in love with him, and when he looked at that charming young woman,
he too was captivated. Then Love robbed her of her modesty, and she
said to her father, "I choose this traveller as one husband more;
if he dies I will then take a vow." She said this in the hearing of
the traveller, but her father answered her, "Do not think of such a
thing, it is too disgraceful; you have lost ten husbands, and if this
one dies too, people will laugh consumedly. When the traveller heard
this, he abandoned all reserve, and said, "No chance of my dying,
I have lost ten wives one after another. So we are on a par; I swear
that it is so by the touch of the feet of Siva." When the traveller
said this, every body was astonished. And the villagers assembled, and
with one consent gave permission to Ten-slayer to marry the traveller,
and she took him for her husband. And she lived some time with him,
but at last he was seized with an ague and died. Then she was called
"Eleven-slayer," and even the stones could not help laughing at her:
so she betook herself in despondency to the bank of the Ganges and
lived the life of an ascetic.
The story of the man, who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox.
When Gomukha had told this amusing story, he went on to say--"Hear
also the story of the man who subsisted on one ox."
There was a certain poor householder in a certain village; and the
only wealth he had in his house was one ox. He was so mean-spirited
that, though his family was on the point of perishing for want of food,
and he himself had to fast, he could not make up his mind to part with
that ox. But he went to the shrine of Durgá in the Vindhya hills, and
throwing himself down on a bed of darbha-grass, he performed asceticism
without taking food, in order that he might obtain wealth. The goddess
said to him in a dream, "Rise up; your wealth shall always consist of
one ox, and by selling it you shall live in perpetual comfort." So
the next morning he woke, and got up, took some food, and returned
to his house. But even then he had not strength of mind to sell that
ox, for he thought that, if he sold it, he would have nothing left
in the world, and be unable to live. Then, as, thin with fasting,
he told his dream with reference to the command of the goddess, a
certain intelligent friend said to him, "The goddess told you that
you should always have one ox, and that you should live by selling it,
so why did you not, foolish man, obey the command of the goddess? So,
sell this ox, and support your family. When you have sold this one,
you will get another, and then another." The villager, on receiving
this suggestion from his friend, did so. And he received ox after ox,
and lived in perpetual comfort by selling them.
"So you see, Destiny produces fruit for every man according to his
resolution. So a man should be resolute; good fortune does not select
for favour a man wanting in resolution. Hear now this story of the
cunning rogue who passed himself off as a minister."
Story of the rogue who managed to acquire wealth by speaking to the
king. [149]
There was a certain king in a city in the Dekkan. In that city there
was a rogue who lived by imposing upon others. And one day he said
to himself, being too ambitious to be satisfied with small gains;
"Of what use to me is this petty rascality, which only provides me
with subsistence? Why should I not do a stroke of business which would
bring me great prosperity?" Having thus reflected, he dressed himself
splendidly as a merchant, and went to the palace-gate and accosted
the warder. And he introduced him into the king's presence, and he
offered a complimentary gift, and said to the king, "I wish to speak
with your Majesty in private." The king was imposed upon by his dress,
and much influenced in his favour by the present, so he granted him a
private interview, and then the rogue said to him, "Will your Majesty
have the goodness every day, in the hall of assembly, to take me aside
for a moment in the sight of all, and speak to me in private? And as
an acknowledgment of that favour I will give your Majesty every day
five hundred dínárs, and I do not ask for any gift in return." When
the king heard that, he thought to himself, "What harm can it do? What
does he take away from me? On the contrary he is to give me dínárs
every day. What disgrace is there in carrying on a conversation with
a great merchant?" So the king consented, and did as he requested,
and the rogue gave the king the dínárs as he had promised, and the
people thought that he had obtained the position of a Cabinet Minister.
Now one day the rogue, while he was talking with the king, kept
looking again and again at the face of one official with a significant
expression. And after he came out, that official asked him why he
had looked at his face so, and the rogue was ready with this fiction;
"The king is angry because he supposes that you have been plundering
his realm. This is why I looked at your face, but I will appease
his anger." When the sham minister said this, the official went home
in a state of anxiety, and sent him a thousand gold pieces. And the
next day the rogue talked in the same way with the king, and then he
came out and said to the official, who came towards him; "I appeased
the king's anger against you with some judicious words. Cheer up;
I will now stand by you in all emergencies." Thus he artfully made
him his friend, and then dismissed him, and then the official waited
upon him with all kinds of presents.
Thus gradually this dexterous rogue, by means of his continual
conversations with the king, and by many artifices, extracted from the
officials, the subordinate monarchs, the Rájpúts, and the servants,
so much wealth, that he amassed altogether fifty millions of gold
pieces. Then the scoundrelly sham minister said in secret to the king,
"Though I have given you every day five hundred dínárs, nevertheless,
by the favour of your Highness, I have amassed fifty millions of
gold pieces. So have the goodness to accept of this gold. What have
I to do with it?" Then he told the king his whole stratagem. But it
was with difficulty that the king could be induced to take half the
money. Then he gave him the post of a Cabinet Minister, and the rogue,
having obtained riches and position, kept complimenting the people
with entertainments.
"Thus a wise man obtains great wealth without committing a very great
crime, and when he has gained the advantage, he atones for his fault
in the same way as a man who digs a well." Then Gomukha went on to
say to the prince; "Listen now to this one story, though you are
excited about your approaching marriage."
Story of Ratnarekhá and Lakshmísena.
There lived in a city, named Ratnákara, a king, named Buddhiprabha,
who was a very lion to the infuriated elephant-herd of his enemies, and
there was born to him by his queen, named Ratnarekhá, a daughter, named
Hemaprabhá, the most beautiful woman in the whole world. And since she
was a Vidyádharí, that had fallen to earth by a curse, she was fond
of amusing herself by swinging, on account of the pleasure that she
felt in recalling the impressions of her roaming through the air in
her former existence. Her father forbade her, being afraid that she
would fall, but she did not desist, so her father was angry and gave
her a slap. The princess was angry at receiving so great an indignity,
and wishing to retire to the forest, she went to a garden outside
the city, on the pretence of amusing herself. She made her servants
drunk with wine, and roaming on, she entered a dense tree-jungle,
and got out of their sight. And she went alone to a distant forest,
and there she built herself a hut, and remained feeding on roots and
fruits, engaged in the adoration of Siva. As for her father, he found
out that she had fled to some place or other, and made search for
her, but did not find her. Then he fell into great grief. And after
some time the king's grief abated a little, so he went out hunting to
distract his mind. And, as it happened, that king Buddhiprabha went
to that distant forest, in which his daughter Hemaprabhá was engaged
in ascetic practices. There the king saw her hut, and he went into it,
and unexpectedly beheld there his own daughter emaciated with ascetic
practices. And she, when she saw him, rose up at once and embraced
his feet, and her father embraced her with tears and seated her on
his lap. And seeing one another again after so long a separation,
they wept so that even the eyes of the deer in the forest gushed with
tears. Then the king at last comforted his daughter, and said to her,
"Why did you abandon, my daughter, the happiness of a palace, and act
thus? So come back to your mother, and give up this forest." When
her father said this to her, Hemaprabhá answered him, "I have been
commanded by the god to act thus. What choice have I in the matter? So
I will not return to the palace to indulge in pleasure, and I will
not abandon the joys of asceticism." When the king discovered from
this speech of hers that she would not abandon her intention, he had
a palace made for her in that very forest. And when he returned to
his capital, he sent her every day cooked food and wealth, for the
entertainment of her guests. And Hemaprabhá remained in the forest,
honouring her guests with wealth and jewels, while she lived herself
on roots and fruits.
Now one day there came to the hermitage of that princess a female
mendicant, who was roaming about, having observed a vow of chastity
from her earliest youth. This lady, who had been a mendicant from
her childhood, was honoured by Hemaprabhá, and when asked by her the
reason why she took the vow, she answered, "Once, when I was a girl,
I was shampooing my father's feet, and my eyes closed in sleep,
and I let my hands drop. Then my father gave me a kick, and said,
'Why do you go to sleep?' And I was so angry at that that I left his
house and became a mendicant." Then Hemaprabhá was so delighted with
the female mendicant, on account of the resemblance of her character
to her own, that she made her share her forest life. And one morning
she said to that friend; "My friend, I remember that I crossed in my
dreams a broad river, then I mounted a white elephant, after that
I ascended a mountain, and there I saw in a hermitage the holy god
Siva. And having obtained a lyre, I sang and played on it before him,
and then I saw a man of celestial appearance approach. When I saw
him, I flew up into the sky with you, and when I had seen so much,
I awoke, and lo! the night was at an end." When the friend heard
this, she said to Hemaprabhá, "Undoubtedly, auspicious girl, you
must be some heavenly being born on earth in consequence of a curse;
and this dream means that your curse is nearly at an end." When the
princess heard this speech of her friend's, she received it with joy.
And when the sun, the lamp of the world, had mounted high in
the heaven, there came there a certain prince on horseback. When
he saw Hemaprabhá dressed as an ascetic, he dismounted from his
horse, and conceiving admiration for her, he went and saluted her
respectfully. She, for her part, entertained him, and made him take a
seat, and feeling love for him, said, "Who are you, noble sir?" Then
the prince said, "Noble lady, there is a king of auspicious name,
called Pratápasena. He was once going through a course of asceticism
to propitiate Siva, with the view of obtaining a son. And that merciful
god appeared to him, and said, 'Thou shalt obtain one son, who shall be
an incarnation of a Vidyádhara, and he, when his curse is at an end,
shall return to his own world. And thou shalt have a second son, who
shall continue thy race and uphold thy realm.' When Siva said this
to him, he rose up in high spirits, and took food. Then he had one
son born to him, named Lakshmísena, and in course of time a second,
named Súrasena. Know, lovely one, that I am that same Lakshmísena,
and that to-day when I went out to hunt, my horse, swift as the wind,
ran away with me and brought me here." Then he asked her history,
and she told it him, and thereupon she remembered her former birth,
and was very much elated, and said to him, "Now that I have seen you, I
have remembered my birth and the sciences which I knew as a Vidyádharí,
[150] for I and this friend of mine here are both Vidyádharís, that
have been sent down to earth by a curse. And you were my husband,
and your minister was the husband of this friend of mine. And now
that curse of me and of my friend has lost its power. We shall all
meet again in the world of Vidyádharas." Then she and her friend
assumed divine forms and flew up to heaven, and went to their own
world. But Lakshmísena stood for a moment lost in wonder, and then
his minister arrived tracking his course. While the prince was
telling the whole story to him, king Buddhiprabha arrived, anxious
to see his daughter. When he could not see his daughter, but found
Lakshmísena there, he asked for news of her, and Lakshmísena told him
what had happened. Then Buddhiprabha was cast down, but Lakshmísena
and his minister remembered their former existence, their curse
having spent its force, and they went to their own world through
the air. He recovered his wife Hemaprabhá and returned with her,
and then taking leave of Buddhiprabha, he went to his own town. And
he went with his minister, who had recovered his wife, and told their
adventures to his father Pratápasena, who bestowed on him his kingdom
as his successor by right of birth. But he gave it to his younger
brother Súrasena, and returned to his own city in the country of the
Vidyádharas. There Lakshmísena, united with his consort Hemaprabhá,
and assisted by his minister, long enjoyed the delights of sovereignty
over the Vidyádharas.
By hearing these stories told one after another by Gomukha,
Naraváhanadatta, though he was excited about his approaching marriage
with his new wife Saktiyasas, spent that night as if it were a
moment. In this way the prince whiled away the days, until the day of
his marriage arrived, when, as he was in the presence of his father
the king of Vatsa, he suddenly saw the army of the Vidyádharas descend
from heaven, gleaming like gold. And he saw, in the midst of them,
Sphatikayasas the king of the Vidyádharas, who had come out of love,
holding the hand of his dear daughter, whom he wished to bestow on
the prince, and he joyfully went towards him, and saluted him by
the title of father-in-law, after his father had first entertained
him with the arghya and other usual ceremonies. And the king of the
Vidyádharas stated the object of his coming, and immediately created
a display of heavenly magnificence becoming his high position, and
by the might of his supernatural power loaded the prince with jewels,
and then bestowed on him in due form his daughter previously promised
to him. And Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that Saktiyasas, the
daughter of the king of the Vidyádharas, was resplendent as the lotus
after collecting the rays of the sun. Then Sphatikayasas departed,
and the son of the king of Vatsa remained in the city of Kausámbí,
with his eyes fixed on the face of Saktiyasas, as the bee clings to
the lotus.
BOOK XI.
CHAPTER LXVII.
Honour to the elephant-headed god who averts all hindrances, who is the
cause of every success, who ferries us over the sea of difficulties.
Thus Naraváhanadatta obtained Saktiyasas, and besides he had those
wives he married before, Ratnaprabhá and others, and his consort
the head wife Madanamanchuká, and with them and his friends he led
a happy life at the court of his father in Kausámbí.
Story of the race between the elephant and the horses.
And one day, when he was in the garden, two brothers, who were princes,
and who had come from a foreign land, suddenly paid him a visit. He
received them cordially, and they bowed before him, and one of them
said to him; "We are the sons by different mothers of a king in the
city of Vaisákha. My name is Ruchiradeva and the name of this brother
of mine is Potraka. I have a swift female elephant, and he has two
horses. And a dispute has arisen between us about them; I say that
the elephant is the fleetest, he maintains that his horses are both
fleeter. I have agreed that if I lose the race, I am to surrender the
elephant, but if he loses, he is to give me both his horses. Now no
one but you is fit to be a judge of their relative speed, so come
to my house, my lord, and preside over this trial. Accede to our
request. For you are the wishing-tree that grants all petitions,
and we have come from afar to petition you about this matter."
When the prince received this invitation from Ruchiradeva, he
consented out of good nature, and out of the interest he took in the
elephant and the horses. He set out in a chariot drawn by swift horses,
which the brothers had brought, and he reached with them that city of
Vaisákha. When he entered that splendid city, the ladies, bewildered
and excited, beheld him with eyes the lashes of which were turned up,
and made these comments on him; "Who can this be! Can it be the god of
Love new-created from his ashes without Rati? Or a second moon roaming
through the heaven without a spot on its surface? Or an arrow of desire
made by the Creator, in the form of a man, for the sudden complete
overthrow of the female heart." Then the king beheld the all-lovely
temple of the god of Love, whose worship had been established there
by men of old time. He entered and worshipped that god, the source of
supreme felicity, and rested for a moment, and shook off the fatigue
of the journey. Then he entered as a friend the house of Ruchiradeva,
which was near that temple, and was honoured by being made to walk
in front of him. He was delighted at the sight of that magnificent
palace, full of splendid horses and elephants, which was in a state
of rejoicing on account of his visit. There he was entertained with
various hospitalities by Ruchiradeva, and there he beheld his sister
of splendid beauty. His mind and his eyes were so captivated by her
glorious beauty, that he forgot all about his absence from home and
his separation from his family. She too threw lovingly upon him her
expanded eye, which resembled a garland of full blown blue lotuses,
and so chose him as her husband. [151] Her name was Jayendrasená,
and he thought so much upon her that the goddess of sleep did not
take possession of him at night, much less did other females. [152]
The next day Potraka brought that pair of horses equal to the wind
in swiftness; but Ruchiradeva, who was skilled in all the secrets of
the art of driving, himself mounted the female elephant, and partly
by the animal's natural speed, partly by his dexterity in urging it
on, beat them in the race. When Ruchiradeva had beaten those two
splendid horses, the son of the king of Vatsa entered the palace,
and at that very moment arrived a messenger from his father. The
messenger, when he saw the prince, fell at his feet, and said; "The
king, hearing from your retinue that you have come here, has sent me
to you with this message. 'How comes it that you have gone so far from
the garden without letting me know? I am impatient for your return,
so abandon the diversion that occupies your attention, and return
quickly.'" When he heard this message from his father's messenger,
Naraváhanadatta, who was also intent on obtaining the object of his
flame, was in a state of perplexity.
And at that very moment a merchant, in a great state of delight, came,
bowing at a distance, and praised that prince, saying, "Victory to
thee, O thou god of love without the flowery bow! Victory to thee,
O Lord, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas! Wast thou not seen to
be charming as a boy, and when growing up, the terror of thy foes? So
surely the gods shall behold thee like Vishnu, striding victorious
over the heaven, conquering Bali." With these and other praises the
great merchant magnified the prince; then having been honoured by him,
he proceeded at his request to tell the story of his life.
Story of the merchant and his wife Velá.
There is a city called Lampá, the crown of the earth; in it there
was a rich merchant named Kusumasára. I, prince of Vatsa, am the son
of that merchant, who lives and moves in religion, and I was gained
by the propitiation of Siva. Once on a time I went with my friends
to witness a procession of idols, and I saw other rich men giving
to beggars. Then I formed the design of acquiring wealth to give
away, as I was not satisfied with the vast fortune accumulated by my
father. So I embarked in a ship, laden with many jewels, to go across
the sea to another country. And my ship, impelled by a favorable
wind, as if by fate, reached that island in a few days. There the
king found out that I was an unknown man dealing in valuable jewels,
and out of avarice he threw me into prison. While I was remaining
in that prison, which resembled hell, on account of its being full
of howling criminals, suffering from hunger and thirst, like wicked
ghosts, a merchant, named Mahídhara, a resident in that town, who knew
my family, went and interceded with the king on my behalf, and said;
"King, this is the son of a great merchant, who lives in the city of
Lampá, and, as he is innocent, it is not creditable to your majesty
to keep him in prison." On his making representations of this kind,
the king ordered me to be released from prison, and summoned me into
his presence, and honoured me with a courteous reception. So, by the
favour of the king and the support of that merchant, I remained there
doing a splendid business.
One day I saw, at a spring festival in a garden, a handsome girl,
the daughter of a merchant named Sikhara. I was quite carried off
my feet by her, who was like a wave of the sea of Love's insolence,
and when I found out who she was, I demanded her in marriage from her
father. Her father reflected for a moment, and at last said to me;
"I cannot give her to you myself, there is a reason for my not doing
so. But I will send her to her grandfather by the mother's side,
in the island of Ceylon; go there and ask for her again, and marry
her. And I will send her there with such instructions that your suit
will certainly be accepted." When Sikhara had said this, and had
paid me the usual courtesies, he dismissed me to my own house. And
the next day he put the maiden on board ship, with her attendants,
and sent her to the island of Ceylon, across the sea.
I was preparing with the utmost eagerness to go there, when this
rumour, which was terrible as a lightning-stroke, was spread abroad
where I was; "The ship, in which the daughter of Sikhara started,
has gone to pieces in the open sea, and not a soul has been saved
out of it." That report altogether broke down my self-command, and
being anxious about the ship, I suddenly fell into a hopeless sea of
despondency. So I, though comforted by my elders, made up my mind to
throw away my property and prospects, and I determined to go to that
island to ascertain the truth. Then, though patronized by the king
and loaded with all manner of wealth, I embarked in a ship on the sea
and set out. Then a terrible pirate, in the form of a cloud, suddenly
arose against me as I was pursuing my course, and discharged at me
pattering drops of rain, like showers of arrows. The contrary wind,
which it brought with it, tossed my ship to and fro like powerful
destiny, and at last broke it up. My attendants and my wealth were
whelmed in the sea, but I myself, when I fell into the water, laid
hold of a large spar. [153] By the help of this, which seemed like
an arm suddenly extended to me by the Creator, I managed to reach
the shore of the sea, being slowly drifted there by the wind. I
climbed up upon it in great affliction, exclaiming against destiny,
and suddenly I found a little gold which had been left by accident
in an out-of-the-way part of the shore. I sold it in a neighbouring
village, and bought with it food and other necessaries, and after
purchasing a couple of garments, I gradually began to get over to a
certain extent the fatigue produced by my immersion in the sea.
Then I wandered about, not knowing my way, separated from my beloved,
and I saw the ground full of lingas of Siva formed of sand. And
daughters of hermits were wandering about among them. And in one place
I saw a maiden engaged in worshipping a linga, who was beautiful,
although dressed in the garb of a dweller in the forest. I began
to think, "This girl is wonderfully like my beloved. Can she be my
beloved herself? But how comes it, that I am so lucky as to find her
here?" And while these thoughts were passing in my mind, my right eye
throbbed frequently, as if with joy, [154] and told me that it was no
other than she. And I said to her, "Fair one, you are fitted to dwell
in a palace, how comes it that you are here in the forest?" But she
gave me no answer. Then, through fear of being cursed by a hermit,
I stood concealed by a bower of creepers, looking at her with an eye
that could not have enough. And after she had performed her worship,
she went slowly away from the spot, as if thinking over something,
and frequently turned round to look at me with loving eye. When
she had gone out of sight, the whole horizon seemed to be obscured
with darkness as I looked at it, and I was in a strange state of
perturbation like the Brahmany drake at night.
And immediately I beheld the daughter of the hermit Mátanga,
who appeared unexpectedly. She was in brightness like the sun,
subject to a vow of chastity from her earliest youth, with body
emaciated by penance, she possessed divine insight, and was of
auspicious countenance like Resignation incarnate. She said to me,
"Chandrasára, call up all your patience and listen. There is a great
merchant in another island named Sikhara. When a lovely girl was
born to him, he was told by a mendicant, his friend, who possessed
supernatural insight, and whose name was Jinarakshita, [155]
'You must not give away this maiden yourself, for she has another
mother. You would commit a crime in giving her away yourself, such
is the righteous prescription of the law.' Since the mendicant had
told him this, the merchant wished to give his daughter, when she was
of marriageable age, and you asked her hand, to you, by the agency
of her maternal grandfather. Then she was sent off on a voyage to
her maternal grandfather in the island of Ceylon, but the vessel was
wrecked, and she fell into the sea. And as she was fated not to die,
a great wave brought her here like destiny, and flung her up upon
the shore. Just at that time my father, the hermit Mátanga, came to
the sea to bathe with his disciples, and saw her almost dead. He,
being of compassionate nature, brought her round, and took her to his
hermitage, and entrusted her to me saying--'Yamuná, you must cherish
this girl.' And because he found her on the shore (velá) of the sea,
he called the girl, who was beloved by all the hermits, Velá. And
though I have renounced the world by a vow of perpetual chastity,
it still impedes my soul, on account of my affection for her, in the
form of love and tenderness for offspring. And my mind is grieved,
Chandrasára, as often as I look upon her, unmarried, though in the
bloom of youth and beauty. Moreover she was your wife in a former
life. So knowing, my son, by the power of my meditation that you had
come here, I have come to meet you. Now follow me and marry that Velá,
whom I will bestow on you. Let the sufferings, which you have both
endured, produce fruits of happiness."
Speaking thus, the saintly woman refreshed me with her voice as with
cloudless rain, and then she took me to the hermitage of her father,
the great hermit Mátanga. And at her request the hermit bestowed on
me that Velá, like the happiness of the kingdom of the imagination
incarnate in bodily form. But one day, as I was living happily
with Velá, I commenced a splashing match with her in the water of a
tank. And I and Velá, not seeing the hermit Mátanga, who had come there
to bathe, sprinkled him inopportunely with some of the water which we
threw. That annoyed him, and he denounced a curse on me and my wife,
saying, "You shall be separated, you wicked couple." Then Velá clung
to his knees, and asked him with plaintive voice to appoint a period
for the duration of our curse, and he, after thinking, fixed its end
as follows, "When thou shalt behold at a distance Naraváhanadatta
the future mighty emperor of the Vidyádharas, who shall beat with
a swift elephant a pair of fleet horses, then thy curse shall be at
an end, and thou shalt be re-united with thy wife." When the rishi
Mátanga had said this, he performed the ceremony of bathing and other
ceremonies, and went to Svetadvípa through the air, to visit the
shrine of Vishnu. And Yamuná said to me and my wife--"I give you now
that shoe covered with valuable jewels, which a Vidyádhara long ago
obtained, when it had slipped off from Siva's foot, and which I seized
in childish sport." Thereupon Yamuná also went to Svetadvípa. Then
I having obtained my beloved, and being disgusted with dwelling in
the forest, through fear of being separated from my wife, felt a
desire to return to my own country. And setting out for my native
land, I reached the shore of the sea; and finding a trading vessel,
I put my wife on board, and was preparing to go on board myself,
when the wind, conspiring with the hermit's curse, carried off that
ship to a distance. When the ship carried off my wife before my eyes,
my whole nature was stunned by the shock, and distraction seemed
to have found an opening in me, and broke into me and robbed me of
consciousness. Then an ascetic came that way, and seeing me insensible,
he compassionately brought me round and took me to his hermitage. There
he asked me the whole story, and when he found out that it was the
consequence of a curse, and that the curse was to end, he animated
me with resolution to bear up. Then I found an excellent friend, a
merchant, who had escaped from his ship that had foundered in the sea,
and I set out with him in search of my beloved. And supported by the
hope of the termination of the curse, I wandered through many lands and
lasted out many days, until I finally reached this city of Vaisákha,
and heard that you, the jewel of the noble family of the king of Vatsa,
had come here. Then I saw you from a distance beat that pair of swift
horses with the female elephant, and the weight of the curse fell from
me, and I felt my heart lightened. [156] And immediately I saw that
dear Velá coming to meet me, whom the good merchants had brought in
their ship. Then I was re-united with my wife, who had with her the
jewels bestowed by Yamuná, and having by your favour crossed the ocean
of separation, I came here, prince of Vatsa, to pay you my respects,
and I will now set out cheerfully for my native land with my wife.
When that excellent merchant Chandrasára, who had accomplished his
object, had gone, after prostrating himself before the prince, and
telling his story, Ruchiradeva, pleased at beholding the greatness of
his guest, was still more obsequious to him. And in addition to the
elephant and the pair of horses, he gave his sister, making the duty of
hospitality an excuse for doing so, to the prince who was captivated
by her beauty. She was a good match for the prince, and her brother
had long desired to bestow her upon him in marriage. Naraváhanadatta
then took leave of Ruchiradeva, and with his new wife, the elephant,
and the two horses, returned to the city of Kausámbí. And he remained
there, gladdening his father with his presence, living happily with
her and his other wives, of whom Madanamanchuká was the chief.
BOOK XII.
CHAPTER LXVIII.
May Ganesa protect you, who, when he sports, throws up his trunk,
round which plays a continual swarm of bees, like a triumphal pillar
covered with letters, erected on account of the overthrow of obstacles!
We worship Siva, who, though free from the hue of passion, abounds in
colours, the skilful painter who is ever producing new and wonderful
creations. Victorious are the arrows of the god of love, for, when
they descend, though they are made of flowers, the thunderbolt and
other weapons are blunted in the hands of those who bear them.
So the son of the king of Vatsa remained in Kausámbí, having obtained
wife after wife. But though he had so many wives, he ever cherished the
head queen Madanamanchuká more than his own life, as Krishna cherishes
Rukminí. But one night he saw in a dream that a heavenly maiden came
and carried him off. And when he awoke, he found himself on a slab
of the tárkshya gem, on the plateau of a great hill, a place full of
shady trees. And he saw that maiden near him, illuminating the wood,
though it was night, [157] like a herb used by the god of love for
bewildering the world. He thought that she had brought him there,
and he perceived that modesty made her conceal her real feelings;
so the cunning prince pretended to be asleep, and in order to test
her, he said, as if talking in his sleep, "Where are you, my dear
Madanamanchuká? Come and embrace me." When she heard it, she profited
by his suggestion, and assumed the form of his wife, and embraced
him without the restraint of modesty. Then he opened his eyes, and
beholding her in the form of his wife, he said, "O how intelligent you
are!" and smiling threw his arms round her neck. Then she dismissed all
shame, and exhibiting herself in her real shape, she said--"Receive,
my husband, this maiden, who chooses you for her own." And when she
said that, he married her by the Gándharva form of marriage.
But next morning he said to her, by way of an artifice to discover
her lineage, about which he felt curious; "Listen, my dear, I will
tell you a wonderful story."
Story of the jackal that was turned into an elephant.
There lived in a certain wood of ascetics a hermit, named Brahmasiddhi,
who possessed by meditation supernatural power, and near his hermitage
there was an old female jackal dwelling in a cave. One day it was
going out to find food, having been unable to find any for some time
on account of bad weather, when a male elephant, furious on account of
its separation from its female, rushed towards it to kill it. When the
hermit saw that, being compassionate as well as endowed with magical
power, he turned the female jackal into a female elephant, by way of a
kindness, to please both. Then the male elephant, beholding a female,
ceased to be furious, and became attached to her, and so she escaped
death. Then, as he was roaming about with the jackal transformed into
a female elephant, he entered a tank full of the mud produced by the
autumn rains, to crop a lotus. He sank in the mud there, and could not
move, but remained motionless, like a mountain that has fallen owing
to its wings having been cut off by the thunderbolt. When the female
elephant, that was before a jackal, saw the male in this distress,
she went off that moment and followed another male elephant. Then
it happened that the elephant's own mate, that he had lost, came
that way in search of her spouse. The noble creature, seeing her
husband sinking in the mud, entered the mud of the tank in order to
join him. At that moment the hermit Brahmasiddhi came that way with
his disciples, and was moved with pity when he saw that pair. And
he bestowed by his power great strength on his disciples, and made
them extricate the male and female from the mud. Then the hermit went
away, and that couple of elephants, having been delivered both from
separation and death, roamed where they would.
"So you see, my dear, that even animals, if they are of a noble strain,
do not desert a lord or friend in calamity, but rescue him from it. But
as for those which are of low origin, they are of fickle nature, and
their hearts are never moved by noble feelings or affection." When
the prince of Vatsa said this, the heavenly maiden said to him--"It
is so, there can be no doubt about this. But I know what your real
object is in telling me this tale; so in return, my husband, hear
this tale from me."
Story of Vámadatta and his wicked wife.
There was an excellent Bráhman in Kányakubja, named Súradatta,
possessor of a hundred villages, respected by the king Báhusakti. And
he had a devoted wife, named Vasumatí, and by her he begot a
handsome son, named Vámadatta. Vámadatta, the darling of his father,
was instructed in all the sciences, and soon married a wife, of the
name of Sasiprabhá. In course of time his father went to heaven,
and his wife followed him, [158] and the son undertook with his wife
the duties of a householder. But without his knowledge his wife was
addicted to following her lusts, and by some chance or other she
became a witch possessed of magical powers. [159]
One day, when the Bráhman was in the king's camp, engaged in his
service, his paternal uncle came and said to him in secret, "Nephew,
our family is disgraced, for I have seen your wife in the company of
your cowherd." When Vámadatta heard this, he left his uncle in the
camp in his stead, and went, with his sword for his only companion,
back to his own house. He went into the flower-garden and remained
there in concealment, and in the night the cowherd came there. And
immediately his wife came eagerly to meet her paramour, with all kinds
of food in her hand. After he had eaten, she went off to bed with him,
and then Vámadatta rushed upon them with uplifted sword, exclaiming,
"Wretches, where are you going?" When he said that, his wife rose up
and said, "Away fool," and threw some dust in his face. Then Vámadatta
was immediately changed from a man into a buffalo, but in his new
condition he still retained his memory. Then his wicked wife put him
among the buffaloes, and made the herdsman beat him with sticks. [160]
And the cruel woman immediately sold him in his helpless bestial
condition to a trader, who required a buffalo. The trader put a load
upon the man, who found his transformation to a buffalo a sore trial,
and took him to a village near the Ganges. He reflected, "A wife of
very bad character that enters unsuspected the house of a confiding
man, is never likely to bring him prosperity, any more than a snake
which gets into the female apartments." While full of these thoughts,
he was sorrowful, with tears gushing from his eyes, moreover he
was reduced to skin and bone by the fatigue of carrying burdens,
and in this state he was beheld by a certain white witch. She knew
by her magic power the whole transaction, and sprinkling him with
some charmed water, she released him from his buffalo condition. And
when he had returned to human form, she took him to her own house,
and gave him her virgin daughter named Kántimatí. And she gave him
some charmed mustard-seeds, and said to him; "Sprinkle your wicked
former wife with these, and turn her into a mare." Then Vámadatta,
taking with him his new wife, went with the charmed mustard-seeds to
his own house. Then he killed the herdsman, and with the mustard-seeds
he turned [161] his former wife into a mare, and tied her up in the
stable. And in order to revenge himself, he made it a rule to give
her every day seven blows with a stick, before he took any food. [162]
One day, while he was living there in this way with Kántimatí, a
guest came to his house. The guest had just sat down to his meal, when
suddenly Vámadatta got up and rushed quickly out of the room without
eating anything, because he recollected that he had not beaten his
wicked wife with a stick that day. And after he had given his wife,
in the form of a mare, the appointed number of blows, he came in with
his mind easy, and took his food. Then the guest, being astonished,
asked him, out of curiosity, where he had gone in such a hurry,
leaving his food. Thereupon Vámadatta told him his whole story from
the beginning, and his guest said to him, "What is the use of this
persistent revenge? Petition that mother-in-law of yours, who first
released you from your animal condition, and gain some advantage for
yourself." When the guest gave this advice to Vámadatta, he approved
it, and the next morning dismissed him with the usual attentions.
Then that witch, his mother-in-law, suddenly paid him a visit, and
he supplicated her persistently to grant him a boon. The powerful
witch instructed him and his wife in the method of gaining the
life-prolonging charm, with the proper initiatory rites. [163] So he
went to the mountain of Srí and set about obtaining that charm, and
the charm, when obtained, appeared to him in visible shape, and gave
him a splendid sword. And when the successful Vámadatta had obtained
the sword, he and his wife Kántimatí became glorious Vidyádharas. Then
he built by his magic power a splendid city on a peak of the Malaya
mountain, named Rajatakúta. There, in time, that prince among the
Vidyádharas had born to him by his queen an auspicious daughter,
named Lalitalochaná. And the moment she was born, she was declared
by a voice, that came from heaven, to be destined to be the wife of
the future emperor of the Vidyádharas.
"Know, my husband, that I am that very Lalitalochaná, and that knowing
the facts by my science and being in love with you, I have brought
you to this very Malaya mountain, which is my own home." When she had
in these words told him her story, Naraváhanadatta was much pleased,
and entertained great respect for his new wife. And he remained there
with her, and immediately the king of Vatsa and his entourage learnt
the truth, by means of the supernatural knowledge of Ratnaprabhá,
and the other wives of Naraváhanadatta that possessed the same powers.
CHAPTER LXIX.
Then Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that new bride Lalitalochaná,
sported with her on that very Malaya mountain, delightful on account
of the first burst of spring, in various forest purlieus adorned with
flowering trees.
And in one grove his beloved, in the course of gathering flowers,
disappeared out of his sight into a dense thicket, and while he was
wandering on, he saw a great tank with clear water, that, on account
of the flowers fallen from the trees on its bank, resembled the heaven
studded with stars. [164]
And he thought--"I will wait until my beloved, who is gathering
flowers, returns to me; and in the meanwhile I will bathe in this lake
and rest for a little upon its bank." So he bathed and worshipped
the gods, and then he sat down on a slab of rock in the shade of
a sandal-wood tree. While sitting there he thought of his beloved
Madanamanchuká, who was so far off, beholding the gait of the female
swans that rivalled hers, and hearing the singing of the female cuckoos
in the mango-creepers that equalled hers, and seeing the eyes of the
does that recalled hers to his mind. And as soon as he recollected
her, the fire of love sprang up in his breast, and tortured him so
that he fainted; and at that moment a glorious hermit came there to
bathe, whose name was Pisangajata. He, seeing the prince in such a
state, sprinkled him with sandal-water, refreshing as the touch of
his beloved. Then he recovered consciousness and bowed before the
hermit. But the hermit said to him, "My son, in order that you may
obtain your wish, acquire endurance. For by means of that quality every
thing is acquired, and in order that you may understand this, come
to my hermitage and hear the story of Mrigánkadatta, if you have not
already heard it. When the hermit had said this, he bathed and took the
prince to his hermitage, and quickly performed his daily prayers. And
Pisangajata entertained him there with fruits, and ate fruits himself,
and then he began to tell him this tale of Mrigánkadatta.
Story of Mrigánkadatta. [165]
There is a city of the name of Ayodhyá famous in the three worlds. In
it there lived in old time a king named Amaradatta. He was of
resplendent brightness, and he had a wife named Surataprabhá, who
was as closely knit to him as the oblation to the fire. [166] By her
there was born to him a son named Mrigánkadatta, who was adored for
his ten million virtues, as his bow was bent by the string reaching
the notches. [167]
And that young prince had ten ministers of his own, Prachandasakti
and Sthúlabáhu, and Vikramakesarin, Dridhamushti, and Meghabala and
Bhímaparákrama, and Vimalabuddhi, and Vyághrasena and Gunákara, and
the tenth Vichitrakatha. They were all of good birth, young, brave,
and wise, and devoted to their master's interests. And Mrigánkadatta
led a happy life with them in his father's house, but he did not
obtain a suitable wife.
And one day his minister Bhímaparákrama said to him in secret,--"Hear,
prince, what happened to me in the night. I went to sleep last night
on the roof of the palace, and I saw in a dream a lion, with claws
terrible as the thunderbolt, rushing upon me. I rose up, sword in
hand, and then the lion began to flee, and I pursued him at my utmost
speed. He crossed a river, and stuck out his long tongue [168] at me,
and I cut it off with my sword. And I made use of it to cross that
river, for it was as broad as a bridge. And thereupon the lion became
a deformed giant. I asked him who he was and the giant said, 'I am a
Vetála, and I am delighted with your courage, my brave fellow.' Then
I said to him, 'If this is the case, then tell me who is to be the
wife of my master Mrigánkadatta.' When I said this to the Vetála,
he answered,--'There is in Ujjayiní a king named Karmasena. He has a
daughter, who in beauty surpasses the Apsarases, being, as it were, the
receptacle of the Creator's handiwork in the form of loveliness. Her
name is Sasánkavatí, and she shall be his wife, and by gaining her,
he shall become king of the whole earth.' When the Vetála had said
this, he disappeared, and I came home; this is what happened to me
in the night, my sovereign."
When Mrigánkadatta heard this from Bhímaparákrama, he summoned all his
ministers, and had it told to them, and then he said, "Hear, what I
too saw in a dream; I thought we all entered a certain wood; and in it,
being thirsty with travelling, we reached with difficulty some water;
and when we wished to drink it, five armed men rose up and tried to
prevent us. We killed them, and then in the torments of our thirst we
again turned to drink the water, but lo! neither the men nor the water
were to be seen. Then we were in a miserable state; but on a sudden
we saw the god Siva come there, mounted on his bull, resplendent
with the moon on his forehead; we bent before him in prayer and he
dropped from his right eye a tear-drop on the ground. That became
a sea, and I drew from it a splendid pearl-necklace and fastened it
round my neck. And I drank up that sea in a human skull stained with
blood. And immediately I awoke, and lo! the night was at an end."
When Mrigánkadatta had described this wonderful sight that he had
seen in his dream, the other ministers rejoiced, but Vimalabuddhi
said; "You are fortunate, prince, in that Siva has shewn you this
favour. As you obtained the necklace and drank up the sea, you shall
without fail obtain Sasánkavatí and rule the whole earth. But the
rest of the dream indicates some slight amount of misfortune." When
Vimalabuddhi had said this, Mrigánkadatta again said to his ministers,
"Although the fulfilment of my dream will no doubt come to pass in
the way which my friend Bhímaparákrama heard predicted by the Vetála,
still I must win from that Karmasena, who confides in his army and
his forts, his daughter Sasánkavatí by force of policy. And the force
of policy is the best instrument in all undertakings. Now listen,
I will tell you a story to prove this."
Story of king Bhadrabáhu and his clever minister.
There was a king in Magadha, named Bhadrabáhu. He had a minister named
Mantragupta, most sagacious of men. That king once said of his own
accord to that minister; "The king of Váránasí, named Dharmagopa, has
a daughter named Anangalílá, the chief beauty of the three worlds. I
have often asked for her in marriage, but out of hostility that king
will not give her to me. And he is a formidable foe, on account of
his possessing an elephant named Bhadradanta. Still I cannot bear to
live any longer without that daughter of his. So I have no measure
which I can adopt in this business. Tell me, my friend, what I am to
do." When the king said this, his minister answered him; "Why, king,
do you suppose that courage and not policy ensures success? Dismiss
your anxiety; I will manage the matter for you by my own ingenuity."
So, the next day, the minister set out for Váránasí, disguised as a
Pásupata ascetic, and he took six or seven companions with him, who
were disguised as his pupils, and they told all the people, who came
together from all quarters to adore him, that he possessed supernatural
powers. Then, as he was roaming about one night to find out some
means of accomplishing his object, he saw in the distance the wife
of the keeper of the elephants leave her house, going along quickly
through fear, escorted in some direction or other by three or four
armed men. He at once said to himself, "Surely this lady is eloping
somewhere, so I will see where she is going." So he followed her with
his attendants. And he observed from a distance the house into which
she went, and then he returned to his own lodging. And the next day,
as the elephant-keeper was wandering about in search of his wife, who
had gone off with his wealth, the minister contrived to send his own
followers to meet him. They found that he had just swallowed poison
because he could not find his wife, and they counteracted by their
knowledge the effect of the poison, pretending that they did it out
of pure compassion. And they said to him; "Come to our teacher, for
he is a seer and knows every thing:" and so they brought him to the
minister. And the elephant-keeper fell at the feet of the minister,
who was rendered more majestic by the insignia of his vow, and asked
him for news of his wife. The minister pretended to meditate, and
after a time told him the place where she was taken by the strange
men at night, with all the signs by which he might recognise it. Then
the elephant-keeper bowed again before him, and went with a host of
policemen and surrounded that place. And he killed those wicked men
who had carried off his wife, and recovered her, together with her
ornaments and his wealth.
And the next day he went and bowed before, and praised that supposed
seer, and invited him to an entertainment. And as the minister did not
wish to enter a house, and said that he must eat at night, he made an
entertainment for him at nightfall in the elephant-stables. So the
minister went there and feasted with his followers, taking with him
a concealed serpent, that he had by means of a charm got to enter the
hollow of a bamboo. Then the elephant-keeper went away, and while the
others were asleep, the minister introduced, by means of the bamboo,
the serpent into the ear of the elephant Bhadradanta, while it was
asleep, and he spent the night there, and in the morning went back
to Magadha his native land; but the elephant died from the bite of
the snake.
When the clever minister returned, having smitten down the elephant as
if it were the pride of that king Dharmagopa, the king Bhadrabáhu was
in ecstasies. Then he sent off an ambassador to Váránasí to ask for
the hand of Anangalílá. The king, who was helpless from the loss of
his elephant, gave her to him; for kings, who know times and seasons,
bend like canes, if it is expedient to do so.
"So, by the sagacity of that minister Mantragupta, the king Bhadrabáhu
obtained Anangalílá. And in the same way I must obtain that wife by
wisdom." When Mrigánkadatta said this, his minister Vichitrakatha
said to him--"You will succeed in all by the favour of Siva which was
promised you in a dream. What will not the effective favour of the
gods accomplish? Hear in proof of it the story I am now going to tell."
Story of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí.
There was in the city of Takshasilá a king of the name of
Bhadráksha. He, desiring a son, was worshipping Lakshmí every day
with one hundred and eight white lotuses upon a sword. One day, as
the king was worshipping her without breaking silence, he happened to
count the lotuses mentally, and found that there was one missing. He
then gave the goddess the lotus of his heart spitted on the sword, and
she was pleased and granted him a boon that would ensure his having
a son that would rule the whole earth. And she healed the wound of
the king and disappeared. Then there was born a son to the king by
his queen, and he possessed all the auspicious marks. And the king
called him Pushkaráksha, because he obtained him by the gift of the
lotus of his heart. And when the son, in course of time, grew up to
manhood, Bhadráksha anointed him king, as he possessed great virtues,
and himself repaired to the forest.
Pushkaráksha, for his part, having obtained the kingdom, kept
worshipping Siva every day, and one day at the end of his worship,
he asked him to bestow on him a wife. Then he heard a voice come from
heaven, saying, "My son, thou shalt obtain all thy desire." Then he
remained in a happy state, as he had now a good hope of success. And
it happened that one day he went to a wood inhabited by wild beasts,
to amuse himself with hunting. There he saw a camel about to eat two
snakes entwined together, and in his grief he killed the camel. The
camel immediately became a Vidyádhara, abandoning its camel body,
and being pleased said to Pushkaráksha "You have done me a benefit. So
hear what I have to tell you."
Story of the birth of Vinayavatí.
There is, king, a mighty Vidyádhara named Rankumálin. And a beautiful
maiden of the Vidyádhara race, named Tárávalí, who admired good looks,
saw him and fell in love with him, and chose him for her husband. And
then her father, angry because they had married without consulting
anything but their own inclination, laid on them a curse that would
separate them for some time. Then the couple, Tárávalí and Rankumálin,
sported, with ever-growing love, in various regions belonging to them.
But one day, in consequence of that curse, they lost sight of one
another in a wood, and were separated. Then Tárávalí, in her search
for her husband, at last reached a forest on the other side of the
western sea, inhabited by a hermit of supernatural powers. There
she saw a large jambu-tree in flower, which seemed compassionately
to console her with the sweet buzzing of its bees. And she took the
form of a bee, and sat down on it to rest, and began to drink the
honey of a flower. And immediately she saw her husband, from whom she
had been so long separated, come there, and she bedewed that flower
with a tear of joy. And she abandoned the body of a bee, and went
and united herself to her husband Rankumálin, who had come there in
search of her, as the moonlight is united to the moon.
Then she went with him to his home: but from the jambu-flower bedewed
with her tear a fruit was produced. [169] And in course of time a
maiden was produced inside the fruit. Now once on a time the hermit,
who was named Vijitásu, was wandering about in search of fruits
and roots, and came there, and that fruit, being ripe, fell from
the jambu-tree and broke, and a heavenly maiden came out of it, and
respectfully bowing, saluted the feet of that hermit. That hermit,
who possessed divine insight, when he beheld her, at once knew her
true history, and being astonished, took her to his hermitage, and
gave her the name of Vinayavatí. Then in course of time she grew up
to womanhood in his hermitage, and I, as I was roaming in the air,
saw her, and being infatuated by pride in my own good looks and by
love, I went to her, and tried to carry her off by force against
her will. At that moment the hermit Vijitásu, who heard her cries,
came in, and denounced this curse upon me, "O thou whose whole body
is full of pride in thy beauty, become an ugly camel. But when thou
shalt be slain by king Pushkaráksha, thou shalt be released from thy
curse. And he shall be the husband of this Vinayavatí."
"When cursed in these words by the hermit I became a camel on this
earth, and now, thanks to you, my curse is at an end; so go to that
forest on the other side of the western sea, named Surabhimáruta, and
obtain for a wife that heavenly creature, who would make Srí herself
lose all pride in her own beauty." When the heavenly Vidyádhara had
said this to Pushkaráksha, he flew up to the sky. Then Pushkaráksha
returned to his city, and entrusted his kingdom to his ministers, and
mounting his horse, went off alone at night. And at last he reached
the shore of the western sea, and there he reflected, "How shall I
cross over this sea?" Then he saw there an empty temple of Durgá,
and he entered it, and bathed, and worshipped the goddess. And he
found there a lyre, which had been deposited there by some one, and
he devoutly sang to it in honour of the goddess songs composed by
himself. And then he lay down to sleep there. And the goddess was so
pleased with his lyric worship, that in the night she had him conveyed
across the sea by her attendant demons, while he was asleep.
Then he woke up in the morning on the other side of the sea, and saw
himself no longer in the temple of Durgá, but in a wood. And he rose
up in astonishment, and wandered about, and beheld a hermitage, which
seemed to bow before him hospitably by means of its trees weighed down
with fruit, and to utter a welcome with the music of its birds. So
he entered it, and saw a hermit surrounded by his pupils. And the
king approached the hermit, and bowed at his feet. The hermit, who
possessed supernatural insight, received him hospitably and said to
him; "King Pushkaráksha, Vinayavatí, for whom you have come, has gone
out for a moment to fetch firewood, so wait a little: you shall to-day
marry her who was your wife in a former life." Then Pushkaráksha said
to himself--"Bravo! this is that very hermit Vijitásu, and this is
that very wood, no doubt the goddess has had me carried across the
ocean. But this that the hermit tells me is strange, that she was my
wife in a previous state of existence." Then he asked the hermit in
his joy the following question, "Tell me, reverend sir, how was she
my wife before?" Then the hermit said, "Listen, if you feel curious
on the point."
The adventures of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí in a former life.
There was in old time a merchant in Támraliptí, named Dharmasena,
and he had a beautiful wife named Vidyullekhá. As it happened, he
was robbed by bandits and wounded with weapons by them, and longing
for death, he went out with his wife to enter the fire. And the two
saw suddenly a beautiful couple of swans coming through the air. Then
they entered the fire, and died with their minds fixed on those swans,
and so the husband and wife were born in the next birth as swans.
Now, one day in the rains, as they were in their nest in a
date-palm-tree, a storm uprooted the tree and separated them. The next
day the storm was at an end, and the male swan went to look for his
female, but he could not find her in the lakes or in any quarter of
the sky. At last he went, distracted with love, to the Mánasa lake,
the proper place for swans at that season of the year, and another
female swan, that he met on the way, gave him hopes that he would
find her there. There he found his female, and he spent the rainy
season there, and then he went to a mountain-peak to enjoy himself
with her. There his female was shot by a fowler; when he saw that,
he flew away distracted with fear and grief. The fowler went off,
taking with him the dead female swan, and on the way he saw many armed
men at a distance, coming towards him, and he thought that they would
perhaps take the bird from him, so he cut some grass with his knife,
and covering up the bird with that, left her on the ground. After
the men had gone, the fowler returned to take the female swan. But
it happened that among the grass which he had cut was a herb, which
possessed the power of raising the dead to life. By means of the
juice of this herb the female swan was restored to life, [170] and
before his eyes she flung off the grass, and flew up into the sky,
and disappeared.
But in the meanwhile the male swan went and settled on the shore of
a lake among a flock of swans, distracted with grief at seeing his
mate in this state. [171] Immediately a certain fisherman threw a
net, and caught all those birds, and thereupon sat down to take his
food. Then the female swan came there in search of her husband, and
found him caught in the net, and in her grief she cast her eyes in
every direction. Then she saw on the bank of the lake a necklace of
gems, which a certain person, who had gone into the water to bathe,
had laid on top of his clothes. She went and carried off the necklace
without that person seeing her do it, and she flew gently through
the air past the fisherman, to shew him the necklace. The fisherman,
when he saw the female swan with the necklace in her beak, left the
net full of birds, and ran after her, stick in hand. But the female
swan deposited the necklace upon the top of a distant rock, and the
fisherman proceeded to climb up the rock to get the necklace. When the
female swan saw that, she went and struck in the eye with her beak a
monkey that was asleep on a tree, near where her husband lay caught
in the net. The monkey, being terrified by the blow, fell on the net
and tore it, and so all the swans escaped from it. Then the couple
of swans were re-united, and they told one another their adventures,
and in their joy amused themselves as they would. The fisherman,
after getting the necklace, came back to fetch the birds, and the man
whose necklace had been taken away, met him as he was looking for it,
and as the fact of the fisherman's being in possession of the necklace
was revealed by his fear, he recovered it from him and cut off his
right hand with his sword. And the two swans, sheltering themselves
under one lotus by way of umbrella, rose up in the middle of the day
from the lake and roamed in the sky.
And soon the two birds reached the bank of a river haunted by a
certain hermit, who was employed in worshipping Siva. Then the couple
of swans were shot through with one arrow by a fowler, as they were
flying along, and fell together to the earth. And the lotus, which
they had used as an umbrella, fell on the top of a linga of Siva,
while the hermit was engaged in worship. Then the fowler, seeing them,
took the male swan for himself, and gave the female swan to the hermit,
who offered it to Siva. [172]
"Now you, Pushkaráksha, were that very male swan; and by the virtue of
that lotus, which fell on the top of the linga, you have been now born
in a royal family. And that female swan has been born in a family of
Vidyádharas as Vinayavatí, for Siva was abundantly worshipped with
her flesh. Thus Vinayavatí was your wife in a former birth." When
the hermit Vijitásu said this to Pushkaráksha, the king asked him
another question; How comes it, hermit, that the entering the fire,
which atones for a multitude of sins, produced in our case the fruit
of birth in the nature of a bird? Thereupon the hermit replied,
"A creature receives the form of that which it was contemplating at
the moment of death."
Story of Lávanyamanjarí.
For there was in the city of Ujjayiní a holy Bráhman virgin of the
name of Lávanyamanjarí, who observed a vow of perpetual chastity;
she once saw a Bráhman youth of the name of Kamalodaya, and her mind
was suddenly attracted to him, and she was consumed with the fire of
love but she did not abandon her vow. She went to the shore of the
Gandhavatí, and abandoned her life in a holy place, with her thoughts
intently fixed on his love.
But on account of that intent meditation she was born in the
next birth as a hetæra, of the name of Rúpavatí, in a town named
Ekalavyá. However, owing to the virtue of her vow and of the holy
bathing-place, she remembered her former birth, and in conversation she
related that secret of her former birth to a Bráhman named Chodakarna,
who was always engaged in muttering prayers, in order to cure him of
his exclusive devotion to muttering, and at last, though she was a
hetæra, as her will was purified she attained blessedness.
"So, king, you see that a person attains similarity to that which he
thinks of. Having said this to the king, the hermit dismissed him to
bathe, and he himself performed his midday ablutions."
But the king Pushkaráksha went to the bank of the river, that flowed
through the forest, and saw Vinayavatí there gathering flowers. Her
body gleamed as if she were the light of the sun, come to visit the
wood out of curiosity, as it had never been able to penetrate its
thickets. He thought to himself, "Who can this be?" And she, as she
was sitting in conversation with her maid, said to her; "My friend,
the Vidyádhara, who wished long ago to carry me off, came here to-day
released from his curse, and announced the arrival of my husband." When
the friend heard that, she answered the hermit-maiden; "It is true,
for this morning the hermit Vijitásu said to his pupil Munjakesa;
'Go and bring here quickly Tárávalí and Rankumálin, for to-day will
certainly take place the marriage of their daughter Vinayavatí to king
Pushkaráksha.' When Munjakesa received this order from his teacher,
he said, 'I obey,' and started on his journey. So come, my friend,
let us now go to the hermitage."
When she said this, Vinayavatí departed, and Pushkaráksha heard the
whole conversation from a distance without being seen. And the king
returned quickly to the hermitage of Vijitásu, after he had plunged
in the river, as if to cool the burning heat of love. There Tárávalí
and Rankumálin, who had arrived, honoured him when he bent before
them, and the hermits gathered round him. Then, on an altar-platform
illuminated by the great hermit Vijitásu with his austerities, as if
by a second fire in human form, Rankumálin gave that Vinayavatí to the
king, and he bestowed on him at the same time a heavenly chariot, that
would travel in the sky. And the great hermit Vijitásu conferred on
him this boon; "Rule, together with her, the earth with its four seas."
Then, with the permission of the hermit, the king Pushkaráksha took
his new wife with him, and mounted that heavenly chariot that travelled
through the air, and, crossing the sea, went quickly to his own city,
being like the rising of the moon to the eyes of his subjects.
And then he conquered the earth and became emperor of it by virtue
of his chariot, and lived a long time in enjoyment with Vinayavatí
in his own capital.
"So a task, which is very difficult in itself, succeeds in this world,
if the gods are propitious, and so, king, you may be certain that
your enterprise also will succeed soon by the favour of the god Siva,
promised you in a dream."
When Mrigánkadatta had heard this romantic story from his minister,
being very eager to obtain Sasánkavatí, he made up his mind to go to
Ujjayiní with his ministers.
CHAPTER LXX.
Accordingly Mrigánkadatta, being desirous to obtain Sasánkavatí the
daughter of king Karmasena, who had been described by the Vetála,
planned with his ministers to leave his city secretly, disguised as
a Pásupata ascetic, in order to travel to Ujjayiní. And the prince
himself directed his minister Bhímaparákrama to bring the necessary
staves like bed-posts, the skulls, and so on. And the head minister of
the king his father found out, by means of a spy, that Bhímaparákrama
had collected all these things in his house. And at that time it
happened that Mrigánkadatta, while walking about on the top of his
palace, spit down some betel-juice. And as ill-luck would have it,
it fell on the head of his father's minister, who happened to be
walking below, unseen by the prince. [173] But the minister, knowing
that Mrigánkadatta had spit down that betel-juice, bathed, and laid up
in his heart a grudge against Mrigánkadatta on account of the insult.
Now it happened that the next day king Amaradatta, the father of
Mrigánkadatta, had an attack of cholera, and then the minister saw
his chance, and, after imploring an assurance of safety, he said
in secret to the king, who was tortured with his sudden attack of
disease, "The fact is, my sovereign, your son Mrigánkadatta has begun
incantations against you in the house of Bhímaparákrama, that is why
you are suffering. I found it out by means of a spy, and the thing is
obvious for all to see, so banish your son from your realm and your
disease from your body at the same time." When the king heard that, he
was terrified, and sent his own general to the house of Bhímaparákrama,
to investigate the matter. And he found the hair, and the skulls, and
other articles, [174] and immediately brought those very things and
shewed them to the king. And the king in his anger said to the general,
"That son of mine is conspiring against me, because he wishes to reign
himself, so expel him from the kingdom this very moment without delay,
together with his ministers." For a confiding [175] king never sees
through the wicked practices of his ministers. So the general went
and communicated that order of the king's, and expelled Mrigánkadatta
from the city, together with his ministers. [176]
Then Mrigánkadatta was delighted at having obtained his object,
and he worshipped Ganesa, and mentally took a humble leave of his
parents, and started off. And after they had gone a great distance
from the town of Ayodhyá, the prince said to Prachandasakti and the
other nine ministers who were travelling with him, "There is here a
great king of the Kirátas, named Saktirakshita; he is a student in
the sciences, observing a vow of chastity, and he is a friend of mine
from childhood. For, when his father was long ago captured in battle,
he sent him here to be imprisoned as a substitute for himself, in order
to obtain his own release. And when his father died, his relations by
the father's side rose against him, and at my instigation my father
established him on the throne of his father with a military force. So
let us go to him, my friends, and then we will travel on to Ujjayiní,
to find that Sasánkavatí."
When he said this, all the ministers exclaimed, "So be it," and he
set out with them and reached in the evening a great wilderness. It
was devoid of trees and water, and it was with difficulty that
at last he found a tank, with one withered tree growing upon its
banks. There he performed the evening ceremonies, and drank water,
and being fatigued, he went to sleep with his ministers under that dry
tree. And in the night, which was illuminated by the moon, he woke
up, and saw that the tree first put forth abundance of leaves, then
of flowers, then of fruit. And when he saw its ripe fruit falling,
he immediately woke up his ministers, and pointed out that marvel
to them. Then they were astonished, and as they were hungry, he
and they ate the delicious fruits of that tree together, and after
they had eaten them, the dry tree suddenly became a young Bráhman,
before the eyes of them all. And when Mrigánkadatta questioned him,
he told his tale in the following words.
Story of Srutadhi.
There was an excellent Bráhman in Ayodhyá named Dámadhi. I am his son,
and my name is Srutadhi. And once in a time of famine he was wandering
about with me, and he reached this place almost dead. Here he got
five fruits which some one gave him, and though he was exhausted with
hunger, he gave three to me, and set aside two for himself. Then he
went into the water of the lake to bathe, and in the meanwhile I ate
all the five fruits, and pretended to be asleep. He returned after
bathing, and beholding me cunningly lying here as motionless as a
log, he cursed me, saving, "Become a dry tree here on the bank of the
lake. And on moonlight nights flowers and fruit shall spring from you,
and when once on a time you shall have refreshed guests with fruits,
you shall be delivered from your curse." [177] As soon as my father
had pronounced this curse on me, I became a dry tree, but now that
you have tasted my fruit, I have been delivered from the curse,
after enduring it for a long time.
After Srutadhi had related his own history, he asked Mrigánkadatta
for his, and he told it him. Then Srutadhi, who had no relations,
and was well-read in policy, asked Mrigánkadatta to permit him, as
a favour, to attach himself to his service. So, after he had spent
the night in this way, Mrigánkadatta set out next morning with his
ministers. And in the course of his journey he came to a forest named
Karimandita. There he saw five wild looking men with long hair, who
aroused his wonder. Then the five men came and respectfully addressed
him as follows:
"We were born in the city of Kásí as Bráhmans who lived by keeping
cows. And during a famine we came from that country, where the grass
was scorched by drought, with our cows, to this wood which abounds
in grass. And here we found an elixir in the form of the water of
a tank, continually flavoured with the three kinds of fruits [178]
that drop from the trees growing on its bank. And five hundred years
have passed over our heads in this uninhabited wood, while we have
been drinking this water and the milk of cows. It is thus, prince,
that we have become such as you see, and now destiny has sent you to
us as guests, so come to our hermitage."
When thus invited by them, Mrigánkadatta went with them to their
hermitage, taking his companions with him, and spent the day there
living on milk. And he set out from it in the morning, and in course
of time he reached the country of the Kirátas, seeing other wonderful
sights on the way. And he sent on Srutadhi to inform his friend
Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas, of his arrival. When the
sovereign of the Kirátas heard of it, he went to meet Mrigánkadatta
with great courtesy, and conducted him with his ministers into his
city. Mrigánkadatta told him the cause of his arrival, and remained
there for some days, being entertained by him. And the prince arranged
that Saktirakshita should be ready to assist him in his undertaking
when the proper time came, and then he set out, on an auspicious day,
for Ujjayiní, with his eleven companions, having been captivated
by Sasánkavatí.
And as he went along, he reached an uninhabited forest and saw standing
under a tree an ascetic, with ashes on his body, a deer-skin, and
matted hair. So he went up to him, with his followers, and said
to him; "Reverend sir, why do you live alone in this forest in
which there is no hermitage?" Then the hermit answered him, "I am
a pupil of the great sage named Suddhakírti and I know innumerable
spells. Once on a time I got hold of a certain Kshatriya boy with
auspicious marks, and I exerted all my diligence to cause him to be
possessed, while alive, by a spirit, and, when the boy was possessed,
I questioned him, and he told me of many places for potent drugs and
liquors, and then said this; 'There is in this Vindhya forest in the
northern quarter a solitary asoka-tree, and under it there is a great
palace of a snake-king. [179] In the middle of the day its water
is concealed with moistened dust, but it can be discovered by the
couples of swans sporting there together with the water-cranes. [180]
There dwells a mighty chief of the snakes, named Párávatáksha, and
he obtained a matchless sword from the war of the gods and Asuras,
named Vaidúryakánti; whatever man obtains that sword will become a
chief of the Siddhas and roam about unconquered, and that sword can
only be obtained by the aid of heroes.' When the possessed boy had
said this, I dismissed him. So I have wandered about over the earth
desirous to obtain that sword, and caring for nothing else, but,
as I have not been able to find men to help me, in disgust I have
come here to die." When Mrigánkadatta heard the ascetic say this, he
said to him, "I and my ministers will help you." The ascetic gladly
accepted his offer, and went with him and his followers, by the help
of an ointment rubbed on the feet, to the dwelling-place of that
snake. There he found the sign by which it could be recognised, and he
placed there at night Mrigánkadatta and his companions, duly initiated,
fixed with spells; and throwing enchanted mustard-seed he cleared the
water from dust, and began to offer an oblation with snake-subduing
spells. And he conquered by the power of his spells the impediments,
such as earthquakes, clouds, and so on. Then there came out from that
asoka-tree a heavenly nymph, as it were, murmuring spells with the
tinkling of her jewelled ornaments, and approaching the ascetic she
pierced his soul with a sidelong glance of love. And then the ascetic
lost his self-command and forgot his spells; and the shapely fair one,
embracing him, flung from his hand the vessel of oblation. And then
the snake Párávatáksha had gained his opportunity, and he came out
from that palace like the dense cloud of the day of doom. Then the
heavenly nymph vanished, and the ascetic beholding the snake terrible
with flaming eyes, roaring horribly, died of a broken heart.
When he was destroyed, the snake laid aside his awful form, and
cursed Mrigánkadatta and his followers, for helping the ascetic,
in the following words, "Since you did what was quite unnecessary
after all coming here with this man, you shall be for a certain time
separated from one another." Then the snake disappeared, and all of
them at the same time had their eyes dimmed with darkness, and were
deprived of the power of hearing sounds. And they immediately went
in different directions, separated from one another by the power
of the curse, though they kept looking for one another and calling
to one another. And when the delusion of the night was at an end,
Mrigánkadatta found himself roaming about in the wood without his
ministers.
And, after two or three months had passed, the Bráhman Srutadhi,
who was looking for him, suddenly fell in with him. Mrigánkadatta
received him kindly, and asked for news of his ministers, whereupon
Srutadhi fell at his feet weeping, and consoled him, and said to him,
"I have not seen them, prince, but I know they will go to Ujjayiní,
for that is the place we all have to go to." With these and similar
speeches he urged the prince to go there, so Mrigánkadatta set out
with him slowly for Ujjayiní.
And after he had journeyed a few days, he found his own minister
Vimalabuddhi who suddenly came that way. When the minister saw him,
he bowed before him with eyes filled with tears at seeing him, and
the prince embraced him, and making him sit down, he asked him for
tidings of the other ministers. Then Vimalabuddhi said to that prince,
who was so beloved by his servants, "I do not know, king, where each
of them has gone in consequence of the curse of the snake. But hear
how I know that you will find them again."
The adventures of Vimalabuddhi after he was separated from the prince.
When the snake cursed me, I was carried far away by the curse, and
wandered in the eastern part of the forest. And being fatigued, I was
taken by a certain kind person to the hermitage of a certain hermit,
named Brahmadandin. There my fatigue was removed by the fruits and
water which the sage gave me, and, roaming away far from the hermitage,
I saw a vast cave. I entered it out of curiosity, and I saw inside it a
palace made of jewels, and I began to look into the palace through the
lattice-windows. And lo! there was in it a woman causing to revolve
a wheel with bees, and those bees made some of them for a bull, and
others for a donkey, both which creatures were standing there. And
some drank the foam of milk sent forth by the bull, and others the
foam of blood sent forth by the donkey, and became white and black,
according to the colour of the two objects on which they settled;
and then they all turned into spiders. And the spiders, which were
of two different colours, made two different-coloured webs with their
excrements. And one set of webs was hung on wholesome flowers, and the
other on poisonous flowers. And the spiders, that were clinging to
those webs as they pleased, were bitten by a great snake which came
there, having two mouths, one white, and the other black. Then the
woman put them in various pitchers, but they got out again, and began
to occupy the same webs again respectively. Then those, that were on
the webs attached to the poisonous flowers, began to cry out, owing
to the violence of the poison. And thereupon the others, that were
on the other webs, began to cry out also. But the noise interrupted
the meditation of a certain merciful ascetic who was there, who
discharged fire at the webs. Then the webs, in which the spiders were
entangled, were burnt up, and the spiders entered a hollow coral rod,
and disappeared in a gleaming light at the top of it. In the meanwhile
the woman disappeared with her wheel, her bull, and her donkey.
When I had seen this, I continued to roam about there in a state of
astonishment; and then I saw a charming lake, which seemed by means
of its lotuses, round which bees hummed, to summon me thither to
look at it. And while I sat on the bank and looked at it, I beheld a
great wood inside the water, and in the wood was a hunter, and the
hunter had got hold of a lion's cub with ten arms which he brought
up, and then banished from the wood in anger, on the ground that it
was disobedient. [181] The lion then heard the voice of a lioness in
a neighbouring wood, and was going in the direction of the sound,
when his ten arms were scattered by a whirlwind. Then a man with a
protuberant belly came and restored his arms as they were before,
and he went to that forest in search of the lioness. He endured for
her sake much hardship in that other forest, and at last obtained her
whom he had had for a wife in a former state, and with her returned
to his own forest. And when the hunter saw that lion return with his
mate to the forest, which was his hereditary abode, [182] he resigned
it to him and departed.
When I had seen this, I returned to the hermitage and described both
those very wonderful spectacles to Brahmadandin. And that hermit,
who knows the past, present, and future, kindly said to me, "You
are fortunate; Siva has shewn you all this by way of favour. That
woman, whom you saw, is Illusion, and the wheel which she caused to
revolve, is the wheel of mundane existence, and the bees are living
creatures. And the bull and the donkey are respectively symbols of
Righteousness and Unrighteousness, and the foam of milk and the foam
of blood discharged by them, to which the bees repaired, are typical
of good and evil actions. And they acquired properties arising from
the things on which they respectively settled, and became spiders of
two kinds, white and foul respectively; and then with their energy,
which was symbolized by excrement, they produced entangling nets of two
kinds, such as offspring and so on, which were attached to wholesome
and poisonous flowers, which signify happiness and misery. And while
clinging each to its own web, they were bitten by a snake, typical
of Death, with its two mouths, the white set with the white mouth
symbolical of good fortune, the other with the black mouth symbolical
of evil fortune.
Then that female, typifying Illusion [183] plunged them into various
wombs typified by the jars, and they again emerged from them, and
assuming forms white and black, corresponding to what they had before,
they fell into entangling webs, which are symbolical of sons and
other worldly connexions, resulting in happiness and misery. Then
the black spiders, entangled in their webs, being tortured by the
poison, symbolical of pain, began in their affliction to invoke the
supreme lord as their help. When the white spiders, who were in their
own webs, perceived that, they also became averse to their state,
and began to invoke that same lord. Then the god, who was present
in the form of an ascetic, awoke from his trance, and consumed all
their entangling webs with the fire of knowledge. Accordingly they
ascended into the bright coral tube, typical of the orb of the sun,
and reached the highest home, which lies above it. And then Illusion
vanished, with the revolving wheel of births, and with her ox, and
her ass, typical of Righteousness and Unrighteousness.
Even thus in the circle of existence revolve creatures, fair and foul
according to their actions, and they are liberated by propitiating
Siva; and this spectacle has been shown to you by Siva to teach you
this lesson, and to put an end to your delusion. As for that sight
which you saw in the water of the tank, this is the explanation of
it. The holy god produced this apparent reflection in the water,
in order to teach you what was destined to befall Mrigánkadatta. For
he may be compared to a young lion-whelp, and he was brought up with
ten ministers round him resembling ten arms, and he was banished in
anger by his father, (typified by the hunter) from his native land,
typified by the forest: and on hearing the report of Sasánkavatí,
(who may be compared to a lioness,) coming from the land of Avanti,
(symbolized by the other wood, [184]) he made towards her, and the
wind which stripped him of his arms is the curse of the snake, which
separated him from his ministers. Then Vináyaka [185] appeared as a
man with a pendulous belly, and restored to him his arms, (that is to
say, his ministers,) and so he recovered his former condition. Then
he went and after enduring great hardship, obtained from another place
the lioness, (that is Sasánkavatí,) and returned. And when the hunter,
(that is his father,) saw him coming near with his wife, having swept
away the obstacles which his foes put in his way, [186] he resigned
to him the whole of his forest, (that is his kingdom,) and retired
to a grove of ascetics. Thus has Siva shewn you the future as if it
had already taken place. So you may be sure, your master will recover
you, his ministers, and obtain his wife and his kingdom." When the
excellent hermit had thus instructed me, I recovered hope and left
that hermitage, and travelling along slowly I have met you here,
prince, to-day. So you may rest assured, prince, that you will recover
Prachandasakti, and your other ministers, and gain your object; you
certainly gained the favour of Ganesa by worshipping him before you
set out.
When Mrigánkadatta had listened for a while to this strange story of
Vimalabuddhi's, he was much pleased, and after he had again deliberated
with him, he set out for the city of Avanti, with the double object
of accomplishing his enterprise and recovering his other ministers.
CHAPTER LXXI.
Then, as Mrigánkadatta was journeying to Ujjayiní, with Srutadhi
and Vimalabuddhi, to find Sasánkavatí, he reached the Narmadá which
lay in his path. The fickle stream, when she beheld him, shook her
waves like twining arms, and gleamed white with laughing foam, as
if she were dancing and smiling because he had so fortunately been
reunited with his ministers. And when he had gone down into the bed
of the river to bathe, it happened that a king of the Savaras, named
Máyávatu, came there for the same purpose. When he had bathed, three
water-genii [187] rose up at the same time and seized the Bhilla,
whose retinue fled in terror. When Mrigánkadatta saw that, he went
into the water with his sword drawn, and killed those water-genii,
and delivered that king of the Bhillas. When the king of the Bhillas
was delivered from the danger of those monsters, he came up out of the
water and fell at the feet of the prince, and said to him,--"Who are
you, that Providence has brought here to save my life on the present
occasion? Of what virtuous father do you adorn the family? And what is
that country favoured by fortune to which you are going?" When he said
this, Srutadhi told him the prince's whole story from the beginning,
and then the Savara king shewed him exceeding respect, and said to him;
"Then I will be your ally in this undertaking which you have in view,
as you were directed by the god, and with me will come my friend
Durgapisácha the king of Mátangas. So do me the favour, my lord,
of coming to my palace, since I am your slave."
Thus he entreated Mrigánkadatta with various humble speeches, and
then took him to his own village. And there he entertained the prince
fittingly with all the luxuries he could command, and all the people
of the village shewed him respect. And the king of the Mátangas came
and honoured him as the saviour of his friend's life, and placed his
head on the ground to shew that he was his slave. Then Mrigánkadatta
remained there some days, to please that Máyávatu, the king of the
Bhillas.
And one day, while he was staying there, that king of the Savaras began
to gamble with Chandaketu his own warder. And while he was playing, the
clouds began to roar, and the domestic peacocks lifted up their heads
and began to dance, and king Máyávatu rose up to look at them. Then
the warder, who was an enthusiastic gambler, said to his sovereign,
"What is the use, my master, of looking at these peacocks which are
not skilled in dancing? I have a peacock in my house, to which you
would not find an equal in the world. I will show it you to-morrow,
if you take pleasure in such things." When the king heard that, he
said to the warder, "You must certainly shew it to me," and then he
set about the duties of the day. And Mrigánkadatta, when he heard all
that, rose up with his companions, and performed his duties such as
bathing and eating.
The adventures of Mrigánkadatta and the warder.
And when the night came, and thick darkness was diffused over the face
of things, the prince went out alone and self-impelled from the chamber
in which his companions were sleeping, in search of adventures, with
his body smeared with musk, wearing dark-blue garments and with his
sword in his hand. And as he was roaming about, a certain man, who was
coming along the road and did not see him on account of the darkness,
jostled against him, and struck his shoulder against his. Then he
rushed at him angrily and challenged him to fight. But the person
challenged, being a man not easily abashed, made an appropriate reply,
"Why are you perplexed by want of reflection? If you reflect, you will
see that you ought to blame the moon for not lighting up this night,
or the Governor of the world for not appointing that it should rule
with full sway here, [188] since in such darkness causeless quarrels
take place."
Mrigánkadatta was pleased with this clever answer and he said
to him, "You are right. Who are you?" The man answered, "I am a
thief." Whereupon the prince said falsely, "Give me your hand,
you are of the same profession as myself." And the prince made
an alliance with him, and went along with him out of curiosity,
and at last reached an old well covered with grass. And there the
man entered a tunnel, and Mrigánkadatta went along it with him,
and reached the harem of that king Máyávatu. And when he got there,
he recognized the man by the light of the lamp, and lo! it was the
warder Chandaketu, and not a robber. But the warder, who was the
secret paramour of the king's wife, did not recognize the prince,
because he had other garments on than those he usually wore, [189]
and kept in a corner where there was not much light.
But the moment the warder arrived, the king's wife, who was named
Manjumatí, and was desperately in love with him, rose up and threw her
arms round his neck. And she made him sit down on a sofa, and said to
him, "Who is this man that you have brought here to-day?" Then he said
to her, "Make your mind easy, it is a friend of mine." But Manjumatí
said excitedly, "How can I, ill-starred woman that I am, feel at ease,
now that this king has been saved by Mrigánkadatta, after entering the
very jaws of death?" When the warder heard her say that, he answered,
"Do not grieve, my dear! I will soon kill the king and Mrigánkadatta
too." When he said this, she answered, as fate would have it, "Why
do you boast? When the king was seized that day by monsters in the
water of the Narmadá, Mrigánkadatta alone was ready to rescue him;
why did you not kill him then? The fact is, you fled in fear. So be
silent, lest some one hear this speech of yours, and then you would
certainly meet with calamity at the hands of Mrigánkadatta, who is
a brave man." When she said this, her paramour the warder lost his
temper with her. He said, "Wretched woman, you are certainly in love
with Mrigánkadatta, so receive now from me the just recompense of that
taunt." And he rose up to kill her, dagger in hand. Then a maid, who
was her confidante, ran and laid hold of the dagger with her hand and
held it. In the meanwhile Manjumatí escaped into another room. And
the warder dragged the dagger out of the maid's hand, cutting her
fingers in the process; and returned home by the way which he came,
somewhat confused, with Mrigánkadatta, who was much astonished.
Then Mrigánkadatta, who could not be recognized in the darkness,
said to the warder, "You have reached your own house, so I will
leave you." But the warder said to the prince, "Sleep here to-night,
without going further, for you are very tired." Then the prince
consented, as he wished to learn something of his goings on; and
the warder called one of his servants and said to him, "Take this
man to the room where the peacock is, and let him rest there and
give him a bed." The servant said--"I will do as you command," and
took the prince to the room and placed a light in it, and gave him
a bed. He then departed, fastening the outer door with a chain, and
Mrigánkadatta saw the peacock there in a cage. He said to himself,
"This is the very peacock, that the warder was speaking of," and out
of curiosity he opened its cage. And the peacock came out and, after
looking intently at Mrigánkadatta, it fell down and rolled at his
feet again and again. And as it was rolling, the prince saw a string
tied round its neck and at once untied it, thinking that it gave the
bird pain. The peacock, the moment that the thread was loosed from
its neck, became before his eyes his minister Bhímaparákrama. Then
Mrigánkadatta embraced the affectionate minister, who bowed before
him, and in his astonishment said to him, "Tell me, friend, what is
the meaning of this?" Then Bhímaparákrama said to him in his delight,
"Listen, prince, I will tell you my story from the beginning."
The adventures of Bhímaparákrama after his separation from the prince.
When I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága, I wandered
about in the wood until I reached a salmali tree. [190] And I saw an
image representing Ganesa carved in the tree, which I worshipped,
and then I sat down at the foot of the tree being tired, and I
said to myself, "All this mischief has been brought about by me,
by telling my master that time the incident of the Vetála which took
place at night. So I will abandon here this my sinful body." In this
frame of mind I remained there, fasting, in front of the god. And
after some days an old traveller came that way, and sat in the shade
of that tree. And the good man, seeing me, questioned me with much
persistence, saying, "Why do you remain in this solitary place, my son,
with such a downcast face?" Then I told him my story, exactly as it
took place, and the old traveller kindly said to me, to encourage me;
"Why, being a man, are you killing yourself like a woman? Moreover,
even women do not lose their courage in calamity; hear the following
tale in proof of it."
Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí.
In the city of Kosala there was a king, named Vimalákara, and he
had a son named Kamalákara, who was made by the Creator admirable in
respect of the qualities of courage, beauty and generosity, as if to
outdo Skanda, Kandarpa, and the wishing-tree of heaven. Then one day
a bard, whom he had known before, came and recited a certain stanza
in the presence of that prince, who deserved to be praised by bards in
all the regions of the world. "Where can the row of swans [191] obtain
satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed, [192] round which sings a
host of many noisy birds [193] delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower
[194]?" When the bard, named Manorathasiddhi, had frequently recited
this stanza, prince Kamalákara questioned him, and he said to him:
"Prince, as I was roaming about, I reached the city of king Meghamálin,
named Vidisá, the pleasure-ground of the goddess of prosperity. There
I was staying in the house of a professor of singing, named Dardura,
and one day he happened to say to me, 'To-morrow the daughter of
the king, named Hansávalí, will exhibit in his presence her skill
in dancing, which she has lately been taught.' When I heard that,
I was filled with curiosity, and managed to enter the king's palace
with him the following day, and went into the dancing-hall. There I
saw the slender-waisted princess Hansávalí dancing before her father,
to the music of a great tabor, looking like a creeper of the tree of
Love agitated by the wind of youth, shaking her ornaments like flowers,
curving her hand like a shoot. Then I thought, 'There is no one fitted
to be the husband of this fawn-eyed one, except the prince Kamalákara;
so, if she, being such, is not joined to him, why has the god of love
taken the trouble of stringing his bow of flowers thus fruitlessly? So
I will adopt some expedient in this matter.' Thus minded I went, after
I had seen the spectacle, to the door of the king's court, and I put up
a notice with this inscription on it; 'If there is any painter here,
who is a match for me, let him paint a picture.' When no one else
dared to tear it down, the king coming to hear of it, appointed me
to paint his daughter's bower. Then I painted you and your servants,
prince Kamalákara, on the wall of the bower of that Hansávalí.
"I thought to myself, 'If I declare the matter openly, she will know
that I am scheming, so I will let the princess know it by means of
an artifice.' So I persuaded a handsome fellow, who was an intimate
friend of mine, to come near the palace, and pretend to be mad, and
I arranged with him beforehand how he was to behave. Now he was seen
a long way off by the princes, as he was roaming about singing and
dancing, and they had him brought into their presence to make game of
him. Then Hansávalí saw him, and had him brought by way of a joke into
her bower, and, when he saw the picture of you, which I had painted
there, he began to praise you, saying, 'I am fortunate in beholding
this Kamalákara, who is, like Vishnu, an endless store of virtues,
with his hand marked with the lotus and conch, the object of the favour
of the goddess of Fortune.' When the princess heard him singing such
songs, as he danced, she said to me, 'What does this fellow mean? Who
is it that you have painted here?' When she asked me this persistently,
I said, 'This mad fellow must have previously seen this prince, whom I
have painted here out of regard for his beauty.' And then I told her
your name, and described to her your good qualities. Then the young
tree of passion grew up in the heart of Hansávalí, which was irrigated
by the overflowing streams of gushing love for you. Then the king her
father came and saw what was going on, and in wrath had the pretended
madman, who was dancing, and myself, both turned out of doors. After
that she pined away day by day with longing, and was reduced to such
a state that, like a streak of the moon during the wane, she had only
her beauty left. And on the pretence of illness she went to a temple
of Vishnu that dispels calamity, and so managed to live a solitary
life by the permission of her father. And being unable to sleep,
owing to thinking on you, she could not endure the cruel moonlight,
and remained there ignorant of the changes of day and night. Then she
saw me one day from a window, as I was entering there, and she summoned
me, and honoured me respectfully with dresses and ornaments. [195]
And then I went out, and saw this stanza which I have repeated to
you written on the border of a garment that she had given me: hear
it again; 'Where can the row of swans obtain satisfaction, until it
reaches the lotus-bed, round which sings a host of many noisy birds
delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower.' And when I read it, I knew
for certain how she felt towards you, and I came here to inform you
and recited the stanza in your presence, and here is the garment on
which she wrote the stanza." When Kamalákara heard the speech of the
bard, and saw the stanza, he joyed exceedingly, thinking on Hansávalí,
who had entered his heart, he knew not whether by eye or ear.
Now it happened that, while he was thinking with eager longing about
the best means of obtaining this princess, his father summoned him
and said to him; "My son, unenterprising kings perish like snakes
arrested by a charm, and how can kings rise up again when they have
once perished? But you have been addicted to pleasures, and up to the
present time you have not been visited by any longing for conquest;
so arouse yourself, and fling off sloth; advance and conquer that
enemy of mine the king of Anga, who has left his own country on an
enterprise against me, and I will remain at home. When the brave
Kamalákara heard this, he agreed to undertake the enterprise, being
desirous of marching towards the country of his beloved. Then he
set out with the forces which his father assigned him, making the
earth and the hearts of his enemies tremble. And he reached in a few
marches the army of the king of Anga, and when that prince turned
round to make a counter-attack, he fought with him. And the brave
hero drank up his army, as Agastya did the water of the sea, and being
victorious, captured the king alive. And he sent that enemy in chains
to his father, committing him to the care of the principal warder in
accordance with a letter, which he sent with him. But he commissioned
the warder to give the following message by word of mouth to the king,
"I now leave this place, my father, to conquer other enemies." So
he went on conquering other enemies, and with his army augmented by
their forces, he at last arrived in the vicinity of the city of Vidisá.
And encamping there he sent an ambassador to Meghamálin the father
of Hansávalí, to ask for her in marriage. When that king learnt from
the ambassador that he had come, not as an enemy, but for the sake of
his daughter, he paid a friendly visit to him in person. The prince
welcomed him; and Meghamálin, after he had complimented the prince,
said to him, "Why did you take the trouble of coming in person about
a business which might have been negotiated by an ambassador? For
I desire this marriage; hear the reason. Seeing that this Hansávalí
was even in her childhood devoted to the worship of Vishnu, and that
she had a frame delicate as a sirísha, I became anxious about her,
and kept saying to myself, 'Who will be a fitting husband for this
girl.' And, as I could not think of a suitable husband for her, I was
deprived of sleep by my anxiety about the matter, and contracted a
violent fever. And in order to allay it, I worshipped and petitioned
Vishnu, and one night, when I was only able to sleep a little on
account of pain, Vishnu said to me in a dream, 'Let that Hansávalí,
on account of whom you have contracted this fever, touch you with
her hand, my son, then your fever will be allayed. For her hand is so
holy from worshipping me, that whenever she touches any one with it,
his fever, even though incurable, will certainly pass away. And you
need have no more anxiety about her marriage, since prince Kamalákara
is destined to be her husband. But she will endure some misery for
a short time.' When I had been thus instructed by Vishnu in a dream,
I woke up at the end of the night. Then my fever was removed by the
touch of Hansávalí's hand. And so the union of you two is appointed
by the god. Accordingly I bestow on you Hansávalí." When he had said
this, he had an auspicious moment fixed for the marriage and returned
to his capital.
There he told all that he had done, and when Hansávalí had heard it,
she said in secret to her confidante, named Kanakamanjarí, "Go and
see with your own eyes whether that prince, to whom I am to be given,
is the same as he, who, when painted here by the artist, captivated my
heart. For it is just possible that my father may wish, out of fear,
to bestow me as a gift on some prince of the same name, that has
come here with an army." With these words she sent off Kanakamanjarí,
acting in accordance with her own will only.
And the confidante, having assumed the complete disguise of an ascetic,
with rosary of Aksha beads, deer-skin, and matted hair, went to
the camp of that prince, and entered introduced by his attendants,
and beheld him looking like the god that presides over the weapon
with which the god of love conquers the world. And her heart was
fascinated by his beauty, and she remained a moment looking as if she
were in profound meditation. And full of longing she said to herself,
"If I am not united with this charming prince, I shall have been born
in vain. So I will take the necessary steps to ensure that, whatever
comes of it." Then she went up to him, and gave him her blessing,
and bestowed on him a jewel, and he received the gem politely and sat
down; then she said to him, "This is an excellent jewel of which I
have often seen the properties tested. By holding it in your hand you
can render ineffectual the best weapon of your enemy. And I give it
you out of regard for your excellence, for it is not of so much use
to me, prince, as it is to you." When she said this, the prince began
to speak to her, but she forbade him, on the ground that she had vowed
an exclusive devotion to the life of a beggar, and departed thence.
Then she laid aside the dress of a female ascetic, and assumed a
downcast expression of face, and went into the presence of Hansávalí,
and when questioned by her, made the following false statement;
"I must out of love for you reveal the king's secret, although it is
a matter which ought to be concealed. When I went from here to the
camp of the prince dressed as a female ascetic, a man came up to me
of his own accord and said in a low voice, 'Reverend madam, do you
know the rites for exorcising demons?' When I heard that, I said to
him, looking upon him as the warder, 'I know them very well. This is
a trifling matter for me.' Then I was immediately introduced into
the presence of that prince Kamalákara. And I saw him crouching,
possessed by a demon, having horns on his head, and his attendants
were trying to restrain him; besides he had herbs and a talismanic
jewel on him. I performed certain pretended ceremonies to avert evil,
and went out immediately, saying, 'To-morrow I will come and take
away his affliction.' Accordingly, being exceedingly grieved with the
sight of such an unexpected calamity, I have come here to tell you;
it is for you to decide what you will do next."
When the unsuspecting Hansávalí heard this trumped-up tale of
her maid's, terrible as a thunderstroke, she was distracted and
said to her, "Out on the spite of destiny! she brings trouble on
her handiwork, even when full of excellences; indeed the spot on
the moon is a disgrace to him who created it. As for this prince,
I chose him as my husband, but I cannot see him, so it is best for me
to die or to retire into some forest. So tell me what I had better do
in this matter." When the guileless lady said this, the treacherous
Kanakamanjarí answered, "Have some maid of yours, dressed in your
clothes, married to him, and we will escape to some place of refuge;
for the people of the palace will be all in a state of excitement
at that time." When the princess heard that, she said to her wicked
confidante, "Then do you put on my clothes, and marry that prince; who
else is as faithful to me as you?" The wicked Kanakamanjarí answered,
"Cheer up, I will manage to effect this by a stratagem, happen to me
what may. But when the time comes, you must do as I direct you." When
she had consoled her with these words, she went and told an intimate
friend of hers, named Asokakarí, her secret object. And with her she
waited during three days on the desponding Hansávalí, who agreed with
them on the measures to he taken.
And when the wedding-day came, the bridegroom Kamalákara arrived
at night, with a train of elephants, horses, and footmen. While
all the people of the palace were occupied with festal rejoicing,
Kanakamanjarí, keeping by an artifice the other maids out of the way,
quickly took Hansávalí into her chamber, ostensibly for the purpose
of decking her, and put the princess's dress on herself, and clothed
her in the dress of Asokakarí, and put her own dress on her accomplice
Asokakarí, and when night came, said to Hansávalí, "If you go out only
the distance of a cos from the western gate of this city, you will
find an old hollow Salmali-tree. Go and hide inside it, and await my
arrival. And after the business is accomplished, I will certainly come
there to you." When Hansávalí heard these words of her treacherous
friend, she agreed, and went out from the female apartments at night
clad in her garments, and she passed out unperceived by the western
gate of the city, which was crowded with the bridegroom's attendants,
and reached the foot of that Salmali-tree. But when she saw that the
hollow of it was black with thick darkness, she was afraid to go into
it, so she climbed up a banyan-tree near it. There she remained hidden
by the leaves, watching for the arrival of her treacherous friend,
for she did not see through her villainy, being herself of a guileless
nature. [196]