In the palace meanwhile, the auspicious moment having arrived, the

king brought Kanakamanjarí, who was dressed as Hansávalí, and placed

her on the sacrificial platform, and Kamalákara married that fair-hued

maid, and on account of its being night nobody detected her. And the

moment the marriage was over, the prince set out for his own camp

at full speed by that same western gate of the city, in order to

gain the benefit of propitious constellations, and he took with him

the supposed Hansávalí, together with Asokakarí, who was personating

Kanakamanjarí. And as he went along, he came near that Salmali-tree,

in the banyan-tree near which was concealed Hansávalí, who had been so

cruelly deceived. And when he arrived there, the supposed Hansávalí,

who was on the back of the elephant, which the king had mounted,

embraced him, as if she were terrified. And he asked her eagerly the

reason of that terror, whereupon she artfully replied with gushing

tears; "My husband, I remember that, last night, in a dream, a woman

like a Rákshasí rushed out from this tree, and seized me to eat

me. Then a certain Bráhman ran forward and delivered me, and after

he had consoled me, he said, 'My daughter, you should have this tree

burnt, and if this woman should come out of it, she must be thrown

back into it. So all will turn out well.' When the Bráhman had said

this, he disappeared. And I woke up. Now that I have seen this tree

I remember it. That is why I am frightened." When she said this,

Kamalákara immediately ordered his servants to burn the tree and

the woman too. So they burned the tree; and the pretended Hansávalí

thought that her mistress was burned in it, as she did not come out

of it. Then she was satisfied, and Kamalákara returned with her to

the camp, thinking that he had got the real Hansávalí. And the next

morning he returned rapidly from that place to his city of Kosala,

and he was anointed king by his father, who was pleased at his

success. And after his father had gone to the forest, he ruled the

earth, having for his wife Kanakamanjarí the pretended Hansávalí. But

the bard Manorathasiddhi kept at a distance from the palace, because

he feared for his own safety in case she were to find out who he was.

But when Hansávalí, who remained that night in the banyan-tree,

heard and saw all that, she perceived that she had been tricked. And

she said to herself, as soon as Kamalákara had departed; "Alas! my

wicked confidante has robbed me of my lover by treachery. Alas! she

even desires to have me burned in order to ensure her own peace of

mind. But to whom is reliance upon treacherous people not a source

of calamity? So I will throw my unlucky self into the glowing

ashes of the Salmali-tree, that was burnt for me, and so pay my

debt to the tree." After these reflections she descended from the

tree, determined to destroy herself, but as fate would have it,

she returned to her sober reason, and thought thus within herself;

"Why should I destroy myself without reason? If I live, I shall soon be

revenged on that betrayer of her friend. For when my father was seized

with that fever, Vishnu appeared to him in a dream, and after saying

that he was to be healed by the touch of my hand, said this to him,

'Hansávalí shall obtain Kamalákara, who will be a suitable husband

for her, but she shall endure calamity for a short time.' So I will

go somewhere and wait a little." When she had formed this resolution,

she set out for an uninhabited forest.

And after she had gone a long distance, and was weary, and her

steps began to falter, the night disappeared, as if out of pity,

in order to let her see her way. And the heaven being, as it were,

moved with compassion at beholding her, let fall a flood of tears in

the form of drops of dew. And the sun, the friend of the virtuous,

rose up so as to comfort her, by revealing to her both hopes and the

face of the country, and stretched out the fingers of his rays to

wipe away her tears. Then the princess, being a little consoled, went

on slowly by by-paths, avoiding the sight of men; and wounded by the

spikes of kusa grass, she at last reached with difficulty a certain

forest, full of birds which seemed to be singing, "Come here, come

here!" She entered the wood fatigued, and was, as it were, courteously

fanned by the trees with their creepers waving in the wind. So she,

full of longing for her beloved, beheld that wood in all the pomp of

spring, where the cuckoos cooed sweetly on fragrant mango-trees in

full blossom. And in her despondency she said to herself; "Although

this breeze from the Malaya mountain, red with the pollen of flowers,

scorches me like a fire, and these showers of flowers falling from

the trees, while the bees hum, strike me like showers of the arrows

of Love, still I will remain here worshipping with these flowers the

husband of Ramá, [197] and by so doing purge away my sin." Having

formed this resolution, she remained bathing in tanks and living on

fruit, devoted to the worship of Vishnu, in order to gain Kamalákara.

In the meanwhile it happened that Kamalákara was seized with a chronic

quartan fever. Then the wicked Kanakamanjarí, who personated Hansávalí,

was terrified, and thought thus in her heart, "I have always one

fear in my heart, lest Asokakarí should reveal my secret, and now a

second has come on the top of it. For the father of Hansávalí said

to my husband, in the presence of a large number of persons, that

the touch of his daughter's hand removed fever; and as soon as in his

present attack he shall call that to mind, I shall be exposed, as not

having that power, and ruined. So I will perform on his behalf with

all due rites an incantation for obtaining control over an imp of the

fever-demon, who has the power of removing fever, and who was mentioned

to me long ago by a certain witch. And I will by a stratagem kill this

Asokakarí, in front of the imp, in order that the offering to him may

be made with human flesh, and so he may be enlisted in my service and

bring about the desired result. So the king's fever will be cured and

Asokakarí removed at the same time, and both my fears will be ended;

I do not see any chance of a prosperous issue in any other way."

Having formed this resolution, she told Asokakarí all the harmless

points of her plan, taking care to omit the necessity of slaying

a human being. Then Asokakarí consented, and brought the necessary

utensils, and Kanakamanjarí by an artifice dismissed her attendants,

and, accompanied by Asokakarí only, went out from the women's

apartments secretly at night by a postern-door, and sword in hand,

[198] made for a deserted temple of Siva in which there was one

linga. There she killed with the sword a goat, and anointed the

linga with its blood, and made an offering to it of its flesh,

and threw the animal's entrails round it by way of a garland, and

honoured it by placing on its summit the goat's lotus-like heart,

and fumigated it with the smoke of its eyes, and lastly presented to

it the animal's head by way of oblation. Then she smeared the front

of the sacrificial platform with blood and sandalwood, and painted on

it with yellow paint a lotus, having eight leaves, and on its pericarp

she traced with crushed mango a representation of the demon of fever,

with three feet and three mouths, and with a handful of ashes by way of

weapon; and she represented on the leaves the fever's attendant imps in

proper form, and summoned them with a spell which she knew. [199] And

then she wished to make an offering to them, preparatory to bathing,

with human flesh, as I said before, so she said to Asokakarí, "Now,

my friend, prostrate yourself flat on the earth before the god, for

thus you will obtain prosperous fortune." Then she consented, and

flung herself flat on the earth, and the wicked Kanakamanjarí gave

her a cut with the sword. As it happened, the sword only wounded her

slightly on the shoulder, and she rose up terrified, and ran away,

and seeing Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, she exclaimed again and again,

"Help, help!" And thereupon some policemen, who happened to be near,

ran to her assistance. When they saw Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, sword

in hand, with a ferocious expression of countenance, they thought she

was a Rákshasí, and slashed her with their swords till she was almost

dead. But when they heard from the lips of Asokakarí the real state

of the case, they took both the women to the king's court, with the

governor of the town at their head. When king Kamalákara heard their

story, he had that wicked wife and her confidante brought into his

presence. And when they were brought, what with fear and the severe

pain of her wounds, Kanakamanjarí died on the spot.

Then the king, in great despondency, said to Asokakarí, who was

wounded, "What is the meaning of this? Tell me without fear." Then

Asokakarí related from the very beginning the history of the daring

treachery accomplished by Kanakamanjarí. Then king Kamalákara,

having found out the truth, thus bewailed his lot on that occasion,

"Alas! I have been deceived by this supposed Hansávalí into burning

the real Hansávalí with my own hand, fool that I was! Well! this

wicked woman has met the just reward of her actions, in that, after

becoming the wife of a king, she has been thus put to death. But

how came I to permit cruel Destiny to deceive me with mere outward

appearances, like a child, and so to rob me by taking away my jewel

and giving me glass instead. Moreover, I did not remember that touch

of the hand of Hansávalí, of which Vishnu spoke to her father, which

has given evidence of its power to remove fever." While Kamalákara

was thus lamenting, he suddenly recollected the words of Vishnu and

said to himself, "Her father Meghamálin told me that Vishnu said that

she should obtain a husband, but that she should suffer some little

affliction, and that word of the god, made known to men, will not

have been spoken in vain. So it is quite possible that she may have

gone somewhere else, and be still alive, for who knows the mysterious

ways of a woman's heart, any more than those of destiny? So in this

matter the bard Manorathasiddhi must once more be my refuge."

Thus reflecting, the king sent for that excellent bard, and said

to him, "How is it, my good friend, that you are never seen in the

palace?" But how can those obtain their wishes, who are deceived by

rogues? When the bard heard that, he said, "My excuse is that this

Asokakarí was well nigh slain, out of fear that she would reveal the

secret. But you must not be despondent about Hansávalí, for Vishnu

revealed that she would suffer calamity for a short time. And he

certainly protects her, because she is ever intent on worshipping him;

for virtue prevails; has it not been seen in the present instance? So

I will go, king, to obtain tidings of her." When the bard said this

to the king, he answered him, "I myself will go in search of her with

you. For otherwise my mind cannot be at rest even for a moment."

When the king had said this, he resolved on the course to be taken,

and next day he entrusted his kingdom to the care of his minister

Prajnádhya. And though the minister did all he could to dissuade

him, the king left the town unobserved with Manorathasiddhi. And he

went round to many holy places, hermitages, and forests in search of

her, disregarding physical suffering, for weighty is the command of

Love. And it happened that he and Manorathasiddhi at last reached the

wood, where Hansávalí was performing austerities. There he saw her

at the foot of a red Asoka-tree, thin and pale, but yet charming,

like the last digit of the gleaming moon. And he said to the bard;

"Who is this silent and motionless, engaged in meditation? Can she

be a goddess, for her beauty is more than human?" When the bard

heard that, he looked and said, "You are fortunate, my sovereign, in

finding Hansávalí; for it is she herself that is standing there." When

Hansávalí heard that, she looked at them, and recognising that bard,

she cried out with renewed grief; "Alas! my father, I am ruined! alas

my husband, Kamalákara! alas Manorathasiddhi! alas, Destiny, source

of untoward events!" Thus lamenting, she fell on the ground in a

faint, and when Kamalákara heard and saw her, he too fell on the

earth overpowered with grief. Then they were both brought round by

Manorathasiddhi; and when they had recognised one another for certain,

they were much delighted, and, having crossed the ocean of separation,

they experienced indescribable joy, and they told one another in due

course all their adventures. Then Kamalákara returned with Hansávalí

and that bard to the city of Kosala. There he received in marriage her

hand that had the power of removing disease, after summoning her father

the famous Meghamálin. Then Kamalákara shone exceedingly bright, being

united with Hansávalí, both whose wings were pure. [200] And having

attained his object in life, he lived happily with her whose endurance

had borne fruit, ruling the earth, inseparable from Manorathasiddhi.

"So you see those who do not lose heart, even in calamity, obtain

all they desire, and on the same principle you should abstain from

suicide, for, if you live, you will be reunited to that lord." With

these words the old traveller closed his tale, and after dissuading

me from death, departed whither he would.

After Bhímaparákrama had told all this to Mrigánkadatta at night in

the house of Chandaketu, he went on to say:

Continuation of the adventures of Bhímaparákrama.

So, having received useful admonition, I left that forest and went

to the city of Ujjayiní, for which I knew you were making, to find

you. When I did not find you there, I entered the house of a certain

woman to lodge, as I was worn out, and gave her money for food. She

gave me a bed, and being tired I slept for some time, but then I

woke up, and out of curiosity I remained quiet, and watched her, and

while I was watching, the woman took a handful of barley, and sowed

it all about inside the house, her lip trembling all the time with

muttering spells. Those grains of barley immediately sprang up, and

produced ears, and ripened, and she cut them down, and parched them,

and ground them, and made them into barley-meal. And she sprinkled

the barley-meal with water, and put it in a brass pot, and, after

arranging her house as it was before, she went out quickly to bathe.

Then, as I saw that she was a witch, I took the liberty of rising up

quickly; and taking that meal out of the brass pot, I transferred it

to the meal-bin, and I took as much barley-meal out of the meal-bin,

and placed it in the brass vessel, taking care not to mix the two

kinds. Then I went back again to bed, and the woman came in, and roused

me up, and gave me that meal from the brass pot to eat, and she ate

some herself, taking what she ate from the meal-bin, and so she ate

the charmed meal, not knowing that I had exchanged the two kinds. The

moment she had eaten that barley-meal, she became a she-goat; then

I took her and sold her by way of revenge to a butcher. [201]

Then the butcher's wife came up to me and said angrily, "You have

deceived this friend of mine--you shall reap the fruit of this." When

I had been thus threatened by her, I went secretly out of the town,

and being weary I lay down under a banyan-tree, and went to sleep. And

while I was in that state, that wicked witch, the butcher's wife, came

and fastened a thread on my neck. Then the wicked woman departed, and

immediately I woke up, and when I began to examine myself, lo! I had

turned into a peacock, though I still retained my intelligence. [202]

Then I wandered about for some days much distressed, and one day

I was caught alive by a certain fowler. He brought me here and

gave me to this Chandaketu, the principal warder of the king of the

Bhillas, by way of a complimentary present. The warder, for his part,

immediately made me over to his wife, and she put me in this house as

a pet bird. And to-day, my prince, you have been guided here by fate,

and have loosened the thread round my neck, and so I have recovered

my human shape.

"So let us leave this place quickly, for this warder always murders

next morning [203] the companions of his midnight rambles, for fear

his secrets should be disclosed. And to-day he has brought you here,

after you have been a witness of his nightly adventures, so fasten,

my prince, on your neck this thread prepared by the witch, and turn

yourself into a peacock, and go out by this small window; then I

will stretch out my hand and loosen the thread from your neck, which

you must put up to me, and I will fasten it on my own neck and go

out quickly in the same way. Then you must loosen the thread round

my neck, and we shall both recover our former condition. But it is

impossible to go out by the door which is fastened from outside."

When the sagacious Bhímaparákrama had said this, Mrigánkadatta

agreed to his proposal and so escaped from the house with him; and

he returned to his lodging where his other two friends were; there

he and his friends all spent the night pleasantly in describing to

one another all their adventures.

And in the morning Máyávatu, the Bhilla king, the head of that town,

came to Mrigánkadatta, and after asking him whether he had spent the

night pleasantly, he said to amuse him, "Come, let us play dice." Then

Mrigánkadatta's friend Srutadhi, observing that the Bhilla had come

with his warder, said to him, "Why should you play dice? Have you

forgotten? To-day we are to see the dance of the warder's peacock,

which was talked about yesterday." When the Savara king heard that,

he remembered, and out of curiosity sent the warder to fetch the

peacock. And the warder remembered the wounds he had inflicted,

and thought to himself, "Why did I in my carelessness forget to put

to death that thief, who witnessed my secret nightly expedition,

though I placed him in the peacock's house? So I will go quickly,

and do both the businesses." And thereupon he went quickly home.

But when he reached his own palace and looked into the house

where the peacock was, he could not find either the thief or the

peacock. Then terrified and despondent he returned and said to his

sovereign; "My lord, that peacock has been taken away in the night

by a thief." Then Srutadhi said smiling, "The man who took away your

peacock is renowned as a clever thief." And when Máyávatu saw them

all smiling, and looking at one another, he asked with the utmost

eagerness what it all meant. Then Mrigánkadatta told the Savara king

all his adventures with the warder; how he met him in the night,

and how the warder entered the queen's apartment as a paramour, and

how he drew his knife in a quarrel; how he himself went to the house

of the warder, and how he set Bhímaparákrama free from his peacock

transformation, and how he escaped thence.

Then Máyávatu, after hearing that, and seeing that the maid in

the harem had a knife-wound in the hand, and that when that thread

was replaced for a moment on the neck of Bhímaparákrama, he again

became a peacock, put his warder to death at once as a violator of

his harem. But he spared the life of that unchaste queen, on the

intercession of Mrigánkadatta, and renouncing her society, banished

her to a distance from his court. And Mrigánkadatta, though eager

to win Sasánkavatí, remained some more days in the Pulinda's town,

treated with great consideration by him, looking for the arrival of

the rest of his friends and his re-union with them.

CHAPTER LXXII.

While Mrigánkadatta was thus residing in the palace of Máyávatu, the

king of the Bhillas, accompanied by Vimalabuddhi and his other friends,

one day the general of the Bhilla sovereign came to him in a state of

great excitement, and said to him in the presence of Mrigánkadatta;

"As by your Majesty's orders I was searching for a man to offer as a

victim to Durgá, I found one so valiant that he destroyed five hundred

of your best warriors, and I have brought him here disabled by many

wounds." When the Pulinda chief heard that, he said to the general,

"Bring him quickly in here, and shew him to me." Then he was brought

in, and all beheld him smeared with the blood that flowed from his

wounds, begrimed with the dust of battle, bound with cords, and

reeling, like a mad elephant tied up that is stained with the fluid

that flows from his temples mixed with the vermilion painting on his

cheek. Then Mrigánkadatta recognised him as his minister Gunákara, and

ran and threw his arms round his neck, weeping. Then the king of the

Bhillas, hearing from Mrigánkadatta's friends that it was Gunákara,

bowed before him, and comforted him as he was clinging to the feet

of his master, and brought him into his palace, and gave him a bath,

and bandaged his wounds, and supplied him attentively with wholesome

food and drink, such as was recommended by the physicians. Then

Mrigánkadatta, after his minister had been somewhat restored, said to

him; "Tell me, my friend, what adventures have you had?" Then Gunákara

said in the hearing of all, "Hear, prince, I will tell you my story."

The adventures of Gunákara after his separation from the prince.

At that time when I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága,

I was so bewildered that I was conscious of nothing, but went on

roaming through that far-extending wilderness. At last I recovered

consciousness and thought in my grief, "Alas! this is a terrible

dispensation of unruly destiny. How will Mrigánkadatta, who would

suffer even in a palace, exist in this desert of burning sand? And how

will his companions exist? Thus reflecting frequently in my mind, I

happened, as I was roaming about, to come upon the abode of Durgá. And

I entered her temple, in which were offered day and night many and

various living creatures, and which therefore resembled the palace of

the god of Death. After I had worshipped the goddess there, I saw the

corpse of a man who had offered himself, and who held in his hand a

sword that had pierced his throat. When I saw that, I also, on account

of my grief at being separated from you, determined to propitiate the

goddess by the sacrifice of myself. So I ran and seized his sword. But

at that moment some compassionate female ascetic, after forbidding

me from a distance by a prohibitive shake of the head, came up to me,

and dissuaded me from death, and after asking me my story said to me;

"Do not act so, the re-union even of the dead has been seen in this

world, much more of the living. Hear this story in illustration of it."

Story of king Vinítamati who became a holy man.

There is a celebrated city on the earth, of the name of Ahichchhatrá,

[204] in it there dwelt of old time a mighty king, of the name of

Udayatunga. And he had a noble warder named Kamalamati. This warder had

a matchless son named Vinítamati. The lotus, in spite of its threads,

and the bow, in spite of its string, could not be compared to that

youth who possessed a string of good qualities, for the first was

hollow and the second crooked. One day, as he was on a platform on

the top of a palace white with plaster, he saw the moon rising in the

beginning of the night, like a splendid ear-ornament on the darkness of

the eastern quarter, made of a shoot from the wishing-tree of love. And

Vinítamati, seeing the world gradually illuminated with its numerous

rays, felt his heart leap within him, and said to himself, "Ha! the

ways are seen to be lighted up by the moonlight, as if whitened with

plaster, so why should I not go there and roam about? Accordingly

he went out with his bow and arrows, and roamed about, and after he

had gone only a cos, he suddenly heard a noise of weeping. He went

in the direction of the sound and saw a certain maiden of heavenly

appearance weeping, as she reclined at the foot of a tree. And he said

to her, "Fair one, who are you? And why do you make the moon of your

countenance like the moon when flecked with spots, by staining it

with tears?" When he said this to her, she answered, "Great-souled

one, I am the daughter of a king of the snakes named Gandhamálin,

and my name is Vijayavatí. Once on a time my father fled from battle,

and was thus cursed by Vásuki--'Wicked one, you shall be conquered

and become the slave of your enemy.' In consequence of that curse, my

father was conquered by his enemy, a Yaksha named Kálajihva, and made

his servant, and forced to carry a load of flowers for him. Grieved

thereat, I tried for his sake to propitiate Gaurí with asceticism,

and the holy goddess appeared to me in visible form, and said this

to me, 'Listen, my child; there is in the Mánasa lake a great and

heavenly lotus of crystal expanded into a thousand leaves. Its rays

are scattered abroad when it is touched by the sun-beams, and it

gleams like the many-crested head of Sesha, yellow with the rays of

jewels. Once on a time Kuvera beheld it, and conceived a desire for

that lotus, and after he had bathed in the Mánasa lake, he began to

worship Vishnu in order to obtain it. And at that time the Yakshas,

his followers, were playing in the water, in the shapes of Brahmany

ducks and geese, and other aquatic creatures. And it happened that

the elder brother of your enemy Kálajihva, a Yaksha named Vidyujjíva,

was playing with his beloved in the form of a Brahmany drake, and

while flapping his wings, he struck and upset the argha vessel held in

the extremity of Kuvera's hand. Then the god of wealth was enraged,

and by a curse made Vidyujjíva and his wife Brahmany ducks [205]

on this very Mánasa lake. And Kálajihva, now that his elder brother

is so transformed and is unhappy at night on account of the absence

of his beloved, assumes out of affection her form every night to

console him, and remains there in the day in his own natural form,

accompanied by your father Gandhamálin, whom he has made a slave. So

send there, my daughter, the brave and enterprising Vinítamati, of the

town of Ahichchhatrá, the son of the warder, and take this sword [206]

and this horse, for with these that hero will conquer that Yaksha, and

will set your father at liberty. And whatever man becomes the possessor

of this excellent sword, will conquer all his enemies and become a

king on the earth.' After saying this, the goddess gave me the sword

and horse, and disappeared. So I have come here to-day in due course

to excite you to the enterprise, and seeing you going out at night

with the favour of the goddess, I brought you here by an artifice,

having caused you to hear a sound of weeping. So accomplish for me

that desire of mine, noble sir!" When Vinítamati was thus entreated

by her, he immediately consented.

Then the snake-maiden went at once and brought that swift white

horse, that looked like the concentrated rays of the moon, rushing

forth into the extreme points of the earth to slay the darkness,

and that splendid sword, equal in brightness to the starlight sky,

appearing like a glance of the goddess of Fortune in search of

a hero, and gave them both to Vinítamati. And he set out with the

sword, after mounting that horse with the maiden, and thanks to its

speed he reached that very lake Mánasa. The lotus-clumps of the lake

were shaken by the wind, and it seemed by the plaintive cries of its

Brahmany ducks to forbid his approach out of pity for Kálajihva. And

seeing Gandhamálin there in the custody of some Yakshas, he wounded

those miserable creatures with his sword and dispersed them, in order

to set him at liberty. When Kálajihva saw that, he abandoned the form

of a Brahmany duck and rose from the middle of the lake, roaring like a

cloud of the rainy season. In the course of the fight Kálajihva soared

up into the air, and Vinítamati, with his horse, soared up after him,

and seized him by the hair. And when he was on the point of cutting off

his head with his sword, the Yaksha, speaking in a plaintive voice,

implored his protection. And being spared, he gave him his own ring,

that possessed the power of averting all the calamities called íti,

[207] and with all marks of deference he released Gandhamálin from

slavery, and Gandhamálin, in his delight, gave Vinítamati his daughter

Vijayavatí, and returned home. Then Vinítamati, being the possessor

of a splendid sword, ring, horse, and maiden, returned home as soon

as the day broke. There his father welcomed him and questioned him,

and was delighted at the account of his exploits, and so was his

sovereign, and then he married that Nága maiden. [208]

And one day his father Kamalamati said in secret to the youth,

who was happy in the possession of these four priceless things,

and of many accomplishments; "The king Udayatunga here has a

daughter named Udayavatí, well taught in all the sciences, and he

has publicly announced that he will give her to the first Bráhman or

Kshatriya who conquers her in argument. And by her wonderful skill

in argument she has silenced all other disputants, as by her beauty,

which is the theme of the world's wonder, she has put to shame the

nymphs of heaven. You are a distinguished hero, you are a disputant

of the Kshatriya caste; why do you remain silent? Conquer her in

argument, and marry her." [209] When Vinítamati's father said this

to him, he answered,--"My father, how can men like me contend with

weak women? Nevertheless, I will obey this order of yours." When

the bold youth said this, his father went to the king, and said to

him,--"Vinítamati will dispute with the princess to-morrow." And the

king approved the proposal, and Kamalamati returned home, and informed

his son Vinítamati of his consent.

The next morning the king, like a swan, took up his position in

the midst of the lotus-bed of the assembly of learned men, and the

disputant Vinítamati entered the hall, resplendent like the sun,

and being gazed on by the eyes of all the accomplished men who

were assembled there, that were turned towards him, he, as it were,

animated the lotus-bed with circling bees. And soon after the princess

Udayavatí came there slowly, like the bow of the god of love bent

with the string of excellence; adorned with splendid sweetly-tinkling

ornaments, that seemed, as it were, to intimate her first objection

before it was uttered. [210] A pure streak of the moon in a clear

heaven would give some idea of her appearance when she was seated on

her emerald throne. Then she made her first objection, stringing on

the threads of her glittering teeth a chain of elegant words like

jewels. But Vinítamati proved that her objection was based upon

premisses logically untenable, and he soon silenced the fair one,

refuting her point by point. Then the learned audience commended him,

and the princess, though beaten in argument, considered that she had

triumphed, as she had gained an excellent husband. And Udayatunga

bestowed on Vinítamati his daughter, whom he had won in the arguing

match. And the king loaded Vinítamati with jewels, and he lived united

to the daughter of a snake and the daughter of a king.

Once on a time, when he was engaged in gambling, and was being beaten

by other gamblers, and much distressed in mind thereat, a Bráhman

came and asked him for food with great importunity.

He was annoyed at that, and whispered in the ear of his servant, and

caused to be presented to the Bráhman a vessel full of sand wrapped

up in a cloth. The simple-minded Bráhman thought, on account of its

weight, that it must be full of gold, and went to a solitary place and

opened [211] it. And seeing that it was full of sand, he flung it down

on the earth, and saying to himself, "The man has deceived me," he went

home despondent. But Vinítamati thought no more of the matter, and left

the gambling, and remained at home with his wives in great comfort.

And in course of time, the king Udayatunga became unable to bear

the burden of the empire, as his vigour in negotiations and military

operations was relaxed by old age. [212] Then, as he had no son, he

appointed his son-in-law Vinítamati his successor, and went to the

Ganges to lay down his body. And as soon as Vinítamati obtained the

government, he conquered the ten cardinal points by the virtue of his

horse and his sword. And, by the might of his calamity-averting ring,

his kingdom was free from sickness and famine, like that of Ráma.

Now, once on a time, there came to that king from a foreign country

a mendicant, named Ratnachandrámati, who was among other disputants

like the lion among elephants. The king, who was fond of accomplished

men, entertained him, and the mendicant challenged him to dispute

on the following terms, which he uttered in the form of a verse;

"If thou art vanquished, O king, thou must adopt the law of Buddha;

if I am vanquished, I will abandon the rags of a Buddhist mendicant,

and listen to the teaching of the Bráhmans." The king accepted this

challenge, and argued with the mendicant for seven days, and on the

eighth day the mendicant conquered that king, who in the dispute with

Udayavatí had conquered the "Hammer of Shavelings." Then faith arose

in the breast of the king, and he adopted the Bauddha law taught by

that mendicant, which is rich in the merit of benefiting all creatures;

and becoming devoted to the worship of Jina, he built monasteries and

alms-houses for Buddhist mendicants, Bráhmans, and other sectaries,

and all men generally.

And being subdued in spirit by the practice of that law, he asked

that mendicant to teach him the rule for the discipline leading to the

rank of a Bodhisattva, a rule which involves benefits to all. And the

mendicant said to him; "King, the great discipline of a Bodhisattva is

to be performed by those who are free from sin, and by no others. Now

you are not tainted with any sin which is palpable, and therefore

visible to men like myself, but find out by the following method,

if you have any minute sin, and so destroy it." With these words

the mendicant taught him a charm [213] for producing dreams, and the

king, after having had a dream, said to the mendicant in the morning,

"Teacher, I fancied in my dream last night that I went to the other

world, and being hungry I asked for some food. And then some men with

maces in their hands said to me, 'Eat, O king, these numerous grains of

hot sand earned by you, which you gave long ago to the hungry Bráhman,

when he came to beg of you. If you give away ten crores of gold,

you will be liberated from this guilt.' When the men with maces had

said this to me, I woke up, and lo! the night had come to an end."

When the king had related his dream, he gave away, by order of the

mendicant, ten crores of gold as an atonement for his sin, and again

employed the charm for producing dreams. And again he had that dream,

and in the morning when he got up, he related it, and said; "Last night

also those mace-bearers in the other world gave me sand to eat, when

I was hungry, and then I said to them,--'Why should I eat this sand,

though I have bestowed alms?' Then they said to me--'Your gift was of

no avail, for among the gold coins was one belonging to a Bráhman;'

when I heard this I woke up." Having told his dream in these words,

the king gave away another ten crores of gold to beggars.

And again, when the night came, he used that charm for producing

dreams, and again he had a dream, and next morning when he got up, he

related it in the following words; "Last night too those men in the

other world gave me sand to eat in my dream, and when I questioned

them, they said this to me, 'King, that gift of yours also is of no

avail, for to-day a Bráhman has been robbed and murdered in a forest

in your country by bandits, and you did not protect him, so your gift

is of no avail on account of your not protecting your subjects; so

give to-day double the gift of yesterday.' When I heard this I woke

up." After the king had related his dream to his spiritual guide in

these words, he gave double his former gift.

Then he said to the mendicant, "Teacher, how can men like myself obey

in this world a law which admits of so many infractions."

When the mendicant heard that, he said, "Wise men should not allow

such a little thing to damp their ardour in the keeping of the law

of righteousness. The gods themselves protect firm men, endowed with

perseverance, that swerve not from their duty, and they bring their

wishes to fulfilment. Have you not heard the story of the adorable

Bodhisattva in his former birth as a boar? Listen, I will tell it you."

Story of the Holy Boar.

Long ago there dwelt in a cavern in the Vindhya mountains a wise

boar, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Buddha, together

with his friend a monkey. He was a benefactor of all creatures, and

he remained always in the society of that friend, honouring guests,

and so he spent the time in occupations suited to him. But once on a

time there came on a storm lasting for five days, which was terrible,

in that it hindered with its unintermitting rainfall the movements of

all living creatures. On the fifth day, as the boar was lying asleep

with the monkey at night, there came to the door of the cave a lion

with his mate and his cub. Then the lion said to his mate, "During

this long period of bad weather we shall certainly die of hunger from

not obtaining any animal to eat." The lioness answered, "It is clear

that hunger will prevent all of us from surviving, so you two had

better eat me and so save your lives. For you are my lord and master,

and this son of ours is our very life; you will easily get another

mate like me, so ensure the welfare of you two by devouring me."

Now, as chance would have it, that noble boar woke up and heard

the conversation of the lion and his mate. And he was delighted,

and thought to himself, "The idea of my receiving such guests on

such a night in such a storm! Ah! to-day my merit in a former state

of existence has brought forth fruit. So let me satiate these guests

with this body that perishes in a moment, while I have a chance of

doing so." Having thus reflected, the boar rose up, and went out,

and said to the lion with an affectionate voice; "My good friend,

do not despond. For here I am ready to be eaten by you and your

mate and your cub: so eat me." When the boar said this, the lion

was delighted and said to his mate, "Let this cub eat first, then

I will eat, and you shall eat after me." She agreed, and first the

cub ate some of the flesh of the boar, and then the lion himself

began to eat. And while he was eating, the noble boar said to him,

"Drink my blood quickly, before it sinks into the ground, and satisfy

your hunger with my flesh, and let your mate eat the rest." While

the boar was saying this, the lion gradually devoured his flesh until

nothing but bones was left, but still the virtuous boar did not die,

for his life remained in him, as if to see what would be the end of his

endurance. And in the meanwhile the lioness, exhausted with hunger,

died in the cave, and the lion went off somewhere or other with his

cub, and the night came to an end. At this juncture his friend the

monkey woke up, and went out, and seeing the boar reduced to such a

condition, said to him in the utmost excitement, "Who reduced you to

such a state? Tell me, my friend, if you can." Thereupon the heroic

boar told him the whole story. Then the monkey prostrated himself at

his feet, and said to him with tears,--"You must be a portion of some

divinity, since you have thus rescued yourself from this animal nature:

so tell me any wish that you may have, and I will endeavour to fulfil

it for you." When the monkey said this to the boar, the boar answered;

"Friend, the only wish that I have is one difficult for even Destiny

to fulfil. For my heart longs that I may recover my body as before,

and that this unfortunate lioness that died of hunger before my eyes,

may return to life, and satiate her hunger by devouring me."

While the boar was saying this, the god of Justice appeared in

bodily form, and stroking him with his hand, turned him into a

chief of sages possessing a celestial body. And he said to him;

"It was I that assumed the form of this lion, and lioness, and cub,

and produced this whole illusion, because I wished to conquer thee

who art exclusively intent on benefiting thy fellow-creatures; but

thou, possessing perfect goodness, gavest thy life for others, and

so hast triumphed over me the god of Justice, and gained this rank

of a chief of sages." The sage, hearing this, and seeing the god of

Justice standing in front of him, said, "Holy lord, this rank of chief

of sages, even though attained, gives me no pleasure, since my friend

this monkey has not as yet thrown off his animal nature." When the

god of Justice heard this, he turned the monkey also into a sage. Of

a truth association with the great produces great benefit. Then the

god of Justice and the dead lioness disappeared.

"So you see, king, that it is easy for those, who in the strength of

goodness do not relax their efforts after virtue, and are aided by

gods, to attain the ends which they desire." When the generous king

Vinítamati had heard this tale from the Buddhist mendicant, he again

used, when the night came, that charm for obtaining a dream. And after

he had had a dream, he told it the next morning to the mendicant:

"I remember, a certain divine hermit said to me in my dream 'Son,

you are now free from sin, enter on the discipline for obtaining the

rank of a Bodhisattva.' And having heard that speech I woke up this

morning with a mind at ease." When the king had said this to the

mendicant, who was his spiritual guide, he took upon himself, with

his permission, that difficult vow on an auspicious day; and then he

remained continually showering favours on suitors, and yet his wealth

proved inexhaustible, for prosperity is the result of virtue.

One day a Bráhman suitor came and said to him: "King, I am a Bráhman,

an inhabitant of the city of Pátaliputra. There a Bráhman-Rákshasa

has occupied my sacrificial fire-chamber and seized my son, and no

expedient, which I can make use of, is of any avail against him. So I

have come here to petition you, who are the wishing-tree of suppliants;

give me that ring of yours that removes all noxious things, in order

that I may have success." When the Bráhman made this request to the

king, he gave him without reluctance the ring he had obtained from

Kálajihva. And when the Bráhman departed with it, the fame of the

king's Bodhisattva-vow was spread abroad throughout the world.

Afterwards there came to him one day another guest, a prince named

Indukalasa, from the northern region. The self-denying king, who knew

that the prince was of high lineage, shewed him respect, and asked him

what he desired. The prince answered, "You are celebrated on earth as

the wishing-stone of all suitors, you would not send away disappointed

a man who even asked you for your life. Now I have come to you as a

suppliant, because I have been conquered and turned out of my father's

kingdom by my brother, whose name is Kanakakalasa. So give me, hero,

your excellent sword and horse, in order that by their virtue I may

conquer the pretender and obtain my kingdom." When king Vinítamati

heard that, be gave that prince his horse, and his sword, though

they were the two talismanic jewels that protected his kingdom, and

so unshaken was his self-denial that he never hesitated for a moment,

though his ministers heaved sighs with downcast faces. So the prince,

having obtained the horse and sword, went and conquered his brother

by their aid, and got possession of his kingdom.

But his brother Kanakakalasa, who was deprived of the kingdom he had

seized, came to the capital of that king Vinítamati; and there he was

preparing in his grief to enter the fire, but Vinítamati, hearing of

it, said to his ministers; "This good man has been reduced to this

state by my fault, so I will do him the justice, which I owe him,

by giving him my kingdom. Of what use is this kingdom to me, unless

it is employed to benefit my fellow-creatures? As I have no children,

let this man be my son and inherit my kingdom." After saying this,

the king summoned Kanakakalasa, and in spite of the opposition of

his ministers gave him the kingdom.

And after he had given away the kingdom, he immediately left the

city with unwavering mind, accompanied by his two wives. And his

subjects, when they saw it, followed him distracted, bedewing the

ground with their tears, and uttering such laments as these, "Alas! the

nectar-rayed moon had become full so as to refresh the world, and now

a cloud has suddenly descended and hid it from our eyes. Our king,

the wishing-tree of his subjects, had begun to satisfy the desires

of all living creatures, when lo! he is removed somewhere or other by

fate." Then Vinítamati at last prevailed on them to return, and with

unshaken resolution went on his way, with his wives, to the forest,

without a carriage.

And in course of time he reached a desert without water or tree, with

sands heated by the sun, which appeared as if created by Destiny to

test his firmness. Being thirsty and exhausted with the fatigue of

the long journey, he reclined for a moment in a spot in this desert,

and both he and his two wives were overtaken by sleep. When he woke

up and looked about him, he beheld there a great and wonderful garden

produced by the surpassing excellence of his own virtue. It had in

it tanks full of cool pure water adorned with blooming lotuses, it

was carpeted with dark green grass, its trees bent with the weight

of their fruit, it had broad, high, smooth slabs of rock in shady

places, in fact it seemed like Nandana drawn down from heaven by

the power of the king's generosity. The king looked again and again,

and was wondering whether it could be a dream, or a delusion, or a

favour bestowed on him by the gods, when suddenly he heard a speech

uttered in the air by two Siddhas, who were roaming through the sky

in the shape of a pair of swans, "King, why should you wonder thus

at the efficacy of your own virtue? So dwell at your ease in this

garden of perennial fruits and flowers." When king Vinítamati heard

this speech of the Siddhas, he remained in that garden with mind at

ease, practising austerities, together with his wives.

And one day, when he was on a slab of rock, he beheld near him a

certain man about to commit suicide by hanging himself. He went to him

immediately, and with kindly words talked him over, and prevailed on

him not to destroy himself, and asked him the reason of his wishing to

do so. Then the man said, "Listen, I will tell you the whole story from

the beginning. I am the son of Nágasúra, Somasúra by name, of the race

of Soma. It was said by those versed in the study of astrology, that

my nativity prognosticated that I should be a thief, so my father,

afraid that that would come to pass, instructed me diligently in

the law. Though I studied the law, I was led by association with bad

companions to take to a career of thieving. For who is able to alter

the actions of a man in his previous births?

"Then I was one day caught among some thieves by the police, and taken

to the place of impalement, in order to be put to death. At that

moment a great elephant belonging to the king, which had gone mad,

and broken its fastening, and was killing people in all directions,

came to that very place. The executioners, alarmed at the elephant,

left me and fled somewhere or other, and I escaped in that confusion

and made off. But I heard from people that my father had died on

hearing that I was being led off to execution, and that my mother

had followed him. Then I was distracted with sorrow, and as I was

wandering about despondent, intent on self-destruction, I happened to

reach in course of time this great uninhabited wood. No sooner had I

entered it, than a celestial nymph suddenly revealed herself to me,

and approached me, and consoling me said to me; 'My son, this retreat,

which you have come to, belongs to the royal sage Vinítamati, so your

sin is destroyed, and from him you shall learn wisdom.' After saying

this, she disappeared; and I wandered about in search of that royal

sage, but not being able to find him, I was on the point of abandoning

the body, out of disappointment, when I was seen by you."

When Somasúra had said this, that royal sage took him to his own hut,

and made himself known to him, and honoured him as a guest; and after

he had taken food, the kingly hermit, among many pious discourses,

told him, as he listened submissively, the following tale, with the

object of dissuading him from ignorance.

Story of Devabhúti.

Ignorance, my son, is to be avoided, for it brings harm in both

worlds upon men of bewildered intellects: listen to this legend of

sacred story. There lived in Panchála, of old time, a Bráhman named

Devabhúti, and that Bráhman, who was learned in the Vedas, had a

chaste wife named Bhogadattá. One day when he had gone to bathe,

his wife went into the kitchen-garden to get vegetables, and saw a

donkey belonging to a washerman eating them. So she took up a stick

and ran after the donkey, and the animal fell into a pit, as it was

trying to escape, and broke its hoof. When its master heard of that,

he came in a passion, and beat with a stick, and kicked the Bráhman

woman. Accordingly she, being pregnant, had a miscarriage; but the

washerman returned home with his donkey.

Then her husband, hearing of it, came home after bathing, and

after seeing his wife, went, in his distress, and complained to

the chief magistrate of the town. The foolish man immediately had

the washerman, whose name was Balásura, brought before him, and,

after hearing the pleadings of both parties, delivered this judgment,

"Since the donkey's hoof is broken, let the Bráhman carry the donkey's

load for the washerman, until the donkey is again fit for work. And

let the washerman make the Bráhman's wife pregnant again, since he

made her miscarry. Let this be the punishment of the two parties

respectively." When the Bráhman heard this, he and his wife, in their

despair, took poison and died. And when the king heard of it, he put to

death that inconsiderate judge, who had caused the death of a Bráhman,

and he had to be born for a long time in the bodies of animals.

"So people, who are obscured by the darkness of ignorance, stray

into the evil paths of their vices, and not setting in front of them

the lamp of sound treatises, of a surety stumble. When the royal

sage had said this, Somasúra begged him to instruct him further,

and Vinítamati, in order to train him aright, said, "Listen, my son,

I will teach you in due order the doctrine of perfections."

Story of the generous Induprabha.

There lived a long time ago in Kurukshetra a king of the name

of Malayaprabha. One day the king was about to give money to his

subjects in a time of famine. But his ministers dissuaded him from

doing so, out of avarice; thereupon his son Induprabha said to him;

"Father, why do you neglect your subjects at the bidding of wicked

ministers? For you are their wishing-tree, and they are your cows

of plenty." When his son persisted in saying this, the king, who

was under the influence of his ministers, got annoyed, and said to

him--"What, my son, do I possess inexhaustible wealth? If, without

inexhaustible wealth, I am to be a wishing-tree to my subjects,

why do you not take upon yourself that office." When the son heard

that speech of his father's, he made a vow that he would attain by

austerities the condition of a wishing-tree, or die in the attempt.

Having formed this determination, the heroic prince went off to a

forest where austerities were practised, and as soon as he entered

it, the famine ceased. And when Indra was pleased with his severe

austerities, he craved a boon from him, and became a wishing-tree

in his own city. And he seemed to attract the distant, and to summon

suitors with his boughs stretched out in all directions, and with the

songs of his birds. And every day he granted the most difficult boons

to his petitioners. And he made his father's subjects as happy as if

they were in Paradise, since they had nothing left to wish for. One day

Indra came to him and said to him, tempting him; "You have fulfilled

the duty of benefiting others; come to Paradise." Then that prince,

who had become a wishing-tree, answered him, "When these other

trees with their pleasing flowers and fruits are for ever engaged in

benefiting others, regardless of their own interests, how can I, who

am a wishing-tree, disappoint so many men, by going to heaven for the

sake of my own happiness?" When Indra heard this noble answer of his,

he said, "Then let all these subjects come to heaven also." Then the

prince, who had become a wishing-tree, replied, "If you are pleased

with me, take all these subjects to heaven; I do not care for it:

I will perform a great penance for the sole object of benefiting

others." When Indra heard this, he praised him as an incarnation

of Buddha, and being pleased, granted his petition, and returned to

heaven, taking those subjects with him. And Induprabha left the shape

of a tree, and living in the forest, obtained by austerities the rank

of a Bodhisattva.

"So those, who are devoted to charity, attain success, and now I have

told you the doctrine of the perfection of charity; hear that of the

perfection of chastity."

Story of the parrot, who was taught virtue by the king of the parrots.

A long time ago there lived on the Vindhya mountain a continent king

of parrots, named Hemaprabha, who was an incarnation of a portion of a

Buddha, and was rich in chastity that he had practised during a former

birth. He remembered his former state and was a teacher of virtue. He

had for warder a parrot named Chárumati, who was a fool enslaved to

his passions. Once on a time, a female parrot, his mate, was killed by

a fowler, who was laying snares, and he was so much grieved at being

separated from her, that he was reduced to a miserable condition. Then

Hemaprabha, the wise king of the parrots, in order by an artifice

to rescue him from his grief, told him this false tale for his good;

"Your wife is not dead, she has escaped from the snare of the fowler,

for I saw her alive a moment ago. Come, I will shew her to you." Having

said this, the king took Chárumati through the air to a lake. There

he shewed him his own reflection in the water, and said to him;

"Look! here is your wife!" When the foolish parrot heard that, and saw

his own reflection in the water, he went into it joyfully, and tried

to embrace and kiss his wife. But not being embraced in return by his

beloved, and not hearing her voice, he said to himself: "Why does not

my beloved embrace me and speak to me." Supposing therefore that she

was angry with him, he went and brought an ámalaka fruit, and dropped

it on his own reflection, thinking that it was his beloved, in order

to coax her. The ámalaka fruit sank into the water, and rose again to

the surface, and the parrot, supposing that his gift had been rejected

by his beloved, went full of grief to king Hemaprabha and said to him,

"King, that wife of mine will not touch me or speak to me. Moreover

she rejected the ámalaka fruit which I gave her." When the king heard

that, he said to him slowly, as if he were reluctant to tell it,

"I ought not to tell you this, but nevertheless I will tell you,

because I love you so much. Your wife is at present in love with

another, so how can she shew you affection? And I will furnish you

with ocular proof of it in this very tank." After saying this, he

took him there, and shewed him their two reflections close together

in the tank. When the foolish parrot saw it, he thought his wife was

in the embrace of another male parrot, and turning round disgusted,

he said to the king, "Your Majesty, this is the result of my folly

in not listening to your advice: So tell me, now, what I ought to

do." When the warder said this, king Hemaprabha, thinking that he

had now an opportunity of instructing him, thus addressed him; "It

is better to take Háláhala poison, it is better to wreathe a serpent

round one's neck, than to repose confidence in females, a calamity

against which neither charms nor talismanic jewels avail. Females,

being, like the winds, very changeful, and enveloped with a thick

cloud of passion, [214] defile those who are walking in the right

path, and disgrace them altogether. So wise men, of firm nature,

should not cleave to them, but should practise chastity, in order to

obtain the rank of sages who have subdued their passions." Chárumati,

having been thus instructed by the king, renounced the society of

females, and gradually became continent like Buddha.

"So you see, those that are rich in chastity deliver others; and,

now that I have instructed you in the perfection of chastity, listen

to the perfection of patience."

Story of the patient hermit Subhanaya.

There lived on the Kedára mountain a great hermit, named Subhanaya,

who was for ever bathing in the waters of the Mandákiní, and was

gentle and emaciated with penance. One night, some robbers came there

to look for some gold, which they had previously buried there, but

they could not find it anywhere. Accordingly, thinking that in that

uninhabited place it could only have been carried off by the hermit,

they entered his cell and said to him: "Ah! you hypocritical hermit,

give up our gold, which you have taken from the earth, for you have

succeeded in robbing us, who are robbers by profession." When the

hermit, who had not taken the treasure, was falsely reproached in

these words by the robbers, he said, "I did not take away your gold,

and I have never seen any gold." Then the good hermit was beaten

with sticks by those robbers, and yet the truthful man continued to

tell the same story; and then the robbers cut off, one after another,

his hands and his feet, thinking that he was obstinate, and finally

gouged out his eyes. But when they found that, in spite of all this,

he continued to tell the same tale without flinching, they came to

the conclusion that some one else had stolen their gold, and they

returned by the way that they came.

The next morning a king, named Sekharajyoti, a pupil of that

hermit's, who had come to have an interview with him, saw him in

that state. Then, being tortured with sorrow for his spiritual guide,

[215] he questioned him, and found out the state of the case, and had

a search made for those robbers, and had them brought to that very

spot. And he was about to have them put to death, when the hermit

said to him; "King, if you put them to death, I will kill myself. If

the sword did this work on me, how are they in fault? And if they

put the sword in motion, anger put them in motion, and their anger

was excited by the loss of their gold, and that was due to my sins

in a previous state of existence, and that was due to my ignorance,

so my ignorance is the only thing that has injured me. So my ignorance

should be slain by me. Moreover, even if these men deserved to be put

to death for doing me an injury, ought not their lives to be saved

on account of their having done me a benefit? For if they had not

done to me what they have done, there would have been no one with

regard to whom I could have practised patience, of which the fruit

is emancipation? So they have done me a thorough benefit." With many

speeches of this kind did the patient hermit instruct the king, and

so he delivered the robbers from punishment. And on account of the

excellence of his asceticism his body immediately became unmutilated

as before, and that moment he attained emancipation.

"Thus patient men escape from the world of births. I have now

explained to you the perfection of patience; listen to the perfection

of perseverance."

Story of the persevering young Bráhman.

Once on a time there was a young Bráhman of the name of Máládhara:

he beheld one day a prince of the Siddhas flying through the

air. Wishing to rival him, he fastened to his sides wings of grass,

and continually leaping up, he tried to learn the art of flying in

the air. And as he continued to make this useless attempt every day,

he was at last seen by the prince while he was roaming though the

air. And the prince thought, "I ought to take pity on this boy who

shews spirit in struggling earnestly to attain an impossible object,

for it is my business to patronize such." Thereupon, being pleased,

he took the Bráhman boy, by his magic power, upon his shoulder,

and made him one of his followers. "Thus you see that even gods are

pleased with perseverance; I have now set before you the perfection

of perseverance; hear the perfection of meditation."

Story of Malayamálin.

Of old time there dwelt in the Carnatic a rich merchant, named

Vijayamálin, and he had a son named Malayamálin. One day Malayamálin,

when he was grown up, went with his father to the king's court,

and there he saw the daughter of the king Indukesarin, Induyasas by

name. That maiden, like a bewildering creeper of love, [216] entered

the heart of the young merchant, as soon as he saw her. Then he

returned home, and remained in a state of pallor, sleepless at night,

and during the day cowering with contracted limbs, having taken upon

himself the kumuda-vow. [217] And thinking continually of her, he

was averse to food and all other things of the kind, and even when

questioned by his relations, he gave no more answer than if he had

been dumb.

Then, one day, the king's painter, whose name was Mantharaka, an

intimate friend of his, said to him in private, when in this state

owing to the sorrow of separation: "Friend, why do you remain leaning

against the wall like a man in a picture? Like a lifeless image, you

neither eat, nor hear, nor see." When his friend the painter asked

him this question persistently, the merchant's son at last told him

his desire. The painter said to him; "It is not fitting that you,

a merchant's son, should fall in love with a princess. Let the swan

desire the beautiful face of the lotuses of all ordinary lakes, but

what has he to do with the delight of enjoying the lotus of that

lake, which is the navel of Vishnu?" Still the painter could not

prevent him from nursing his passion; so he painted the princess on a

piece of canvas, and gave her picture to him to solace his longing,

and to enable him to while away the time. And the young merchant

spent his time in gazing on, coaxing, and touching, and adorning

her picture, and he fancied that it was the real princess Induyasas,

and gradually became absorbed in her, and did all that he did under

that belief. [218] And in course of time he was so engrossed by

that fancy, that he seemed to see her, though she was only a painted

figure, talking to him and kissing him. Then he was happy, because

he had obtained in imagination union with his beloved, and he was

contented, because the whole world was for him contained in that

piece of painted canvas.

One night, when the moon was rising, he took the picture and went

out of his house with it to a garden, to amuse himself with his

beloved. And there he put down the picture at the foot of a tree, and

went to a distance, to pick flowers for his darling. At that moment he

was seen by a hermit, named Vinayajyoti, who came down from heaven out

of compassion, to rescue him from his delusion. He by his supernatural

power painted in one part of the picture a live black cobra, and

stood near invisible. In the meanwhile Malayamálin returned there,

after gathering those flowers, and seeing the black serpent on the

canvas, he reflected, "Where does this serpent come from now? Has it

been created by fate to protect this fair one, the treasure-house of

beauty." Thus reflecting, he adorned with flowers the fair one on the

canvas, and fancying that she surrendered herself to him, he embraced

her, and asked her the above question, and at that very moment the

hermit threw an illusion over him, which made him see her bitten

by the black snake and unconscious. Then he forgot that it was only

canvas, and exclaiming, alas! alas! he fell distracted on the earth,

like a Vidyádhara brought down by the canvas acting as a talisman. But

soon he recovered consciousness, and rose up weeping and determined

on suicide, and climbed up a lofty tree, and threw himself from its

top. But, as he was falling, the great hermit appeared to him, and bore

him up in his hands, and consoled him, and said to him, "Foolish boy,

do you not know that the real princess is in her palace, and that this

princess on the canvas is a painted figure devoid of life? So who is

it that you embrace, or who has been bitten by the serpent? Or what

is this delusion of attributing reality to the creation of your own

desire, that has taken possession of your passionate heart? Why do

you not investigate the truth with equal intensity of contemplation,

in order that you may not again become the victim of such sorrows?"

When the hermit had said this to the young merchant, the night of

his delusion was dispersed, and he recovered his senses, and, bowing

before the hermit, he said to him; "Holy one, by your favour I have

been rescued from this calamity; do me the favour of rescuing me also

from this changeful world." When Malayamálin made this request to the

hermit, who was a Bodhisattva, he instructed him in his own knowledge

and disappeared. Then Malayamálin went to the forest, and by the power

of his asceticism he came to know the real truth about that which is

to be rejected and that which is to be chosen, with the reasons, and

attained the rank of an Arhat. And the compassionate man returned,

and by teaching them knowledge, he made king Indukesarin and his

citizens obtain salvation.

"So even untruth, in the ease of those mighty in contemplation,

becomes true. I have now explained the perfection of contemplation;

listen to the perfection of wisdom."

Story of the robber who won over Yama's secretary.

Long ago there lived in Sinhaladvípa a robber, of the name of

Sinhavikrama, who since his birth had nourished his body with other

men's wealth stolen from every quarter. In time he grew old, and

desisting from his occupation, he reflected; "What resources have I in

the other world? Whom shall I betake myself to for protection there? If

I betake myself to Siva or Vishnu, what value will they attach to me,

when they have gods, hermits, and others to worship them? So I will

worship Chitragupta [219] who alone records the good and evil deeds

of men. He may deliver me by his power. For he, being a secretary,

does alone the work of Brahmá and Siva: he writes down or erases in a

moment the whole world, which is in his hand." Having thus reflected,

he began to devote himself to Chitragupta; he honoured him specially,

and in order to please him, kept continually feeding Bráhmans.

While he was carrying on this system of conduct, one day Chitragupta

came to the house of that robber, in the form of a guest, to

examine into his real feelings. The robber received him courteously,

entertained him, and gave him a present, and then said to him, "Say

this, 'May Chitragupta be propitious to you'." Then Chitragupta,

who was disguised as a Bráhman, said, "Why do you neglect Siva, and

Vishnu, and the other gods, and devote yourself to Chitragupta?" When

the robber Sinhavikrama heard that, he said to him, "What business is

that of yours. I do not need any other gods but him." Then Chitragupta,

wearing the form of a Bráhman, went on to say to him, "Well, if you

will give me your wife, I will say it." When Sinhavikrama heard that,

he was pleased, and said to him: "I hereby give you my wife, in order

to please the god whom I have specially chosen for my own." When

Chitragupta heard that, he revealed himself to him and said, "I am

Chitragupta himself, and I am pleased with you, so tell me what I am

to do for you."

Then Sinhavikrama was exceedingly pleased and said to him, "Holy one,

take such order as that I shall not die." Then Chitragupta said,

"Death is one from whom it is impossible to guard people; but still

I will devise a plan to save you: listen to it. Ever since Death was

consumed by Siva, being angry on account of Sveta, and was created

again in this world because he was required, [220] wherever Sveta

lives, he abstains from injuring other people, as well as Sveta

himself, for he is restrained by the command of the god. And at

present the hermit Sveta is on the other side of the eastern ocean,

in a grove of ascetics beyond the river Taranginí. That grove cannot

be invaded by Death, so I will take you and place you there. But

you must not return to this side of the Taranginí. However, if you

do return out of carelessness, and Death seizes you, I will devise

some way of escape for you, when you have come to the other world."

When Chitragupta had said this, he took the delighted Sinhavikrama,

and placed him in that grove of asceticism belonging to Sveta, and

then disappeared. And after some time Death went to the hither bank

of the river Taranginí, to carry off Sinhavikrama. While there, he

created by his delusive power a heavenly nymph, and sent her to him,

as he saw no other means of getting hold of him. The fair one went and

approached Sinhavikrama, and artfully enslaved him, fascinating him

with her wealth of beauty. After some days had passed, she entered

the Taranginí, which was disturbed with waves, giving out that she

wished to see her relations. And while Sinhavikrama, who had followed

her, was looking at her from the bank, she slipped in the middle of

the river. And there she uttered a piercing cry, as if she was being

carried away by the stream, exclaiming, "My husband, can you see me

carried away by the stream without saving me? Are you a jackal in

courage, and not a lion as your name denotes?" When Sinhavikrama

heard that, he rushed into the river, and the nymph pretended to

be swept away by the current, and when he followed her to save her,

she soon led him to the other bank. When he reached it, Death threw

his noose over his neck, and captured him; for destruction is ever

impending over those whose minds are captivated by objects of sense.

Then the careless Sinhavikrama was led off by Death to the hall of

Yama, and there Chitragupta, whose favour he had long ago won, saw him,

and said to him in private; [221] "If you are asked here, whether you

will stay in hell first or in heaven, ask to be allowed to take your

period in heaven first. And while you live in heaven, acquire merit,

in order to ensure the permanence of your stay there. And then perform

severe asceticism, in order to expiate your sin." When Chitragupta

said this to Sinhavikrama, who was standing there abashed, with face

fixed on the ground, he readily consented to do it.

And a moment afterwards Yama said to Chitragupta, "Has this robber

any amount of merit to his credit or not?" Then Chitragupta said,

"Indeed he is hospitable, and he bestowed his own wife on a suitor,

in order to please his favourite deity; so he has to go to heaven for a

day of the gods." When Yama heard this, he said to Sinhavikrama; "Tell

me, which will you take first, your happiness or your misery?" Then

Sinhavikrama entreated that he might have his happiness first. So

Yama ordered his chariot to be brought, and Sinhavikrama mounted it,

and went off to heaven, remembering the words of Chitragupta.

There he rigidly observed a vow of bathing in the Ganges of heaven,

and of muttering prayers, and remained indifferent to the enjoyments

of the place, and so he obtained the privilege of dwelling there

for another year of the gods. Thus in course of time he obtained

a right to perpetual residence in heaven, by virtue of his severe

asceticism, and by propitiating Siva his sin was burnt up, and he

obtained knowledge. Then the messengers of hell were not able to look

him in the face, and Chitragupta blotted out the record of his sin

on his birch-bark register, and Yama was silent.

"Thus Sinhavikrama, though a robber, obtained emancipation by virtue

of true discernment; and now I have explained to you the perfection

of discernment. And thus, my son, the wise embark on these six

perfections taught by Buddha, as on a ship, and so cross the ocean

of temporal existence."

While Somasúra was being thus instructed in the forest by king

Vinítamati, who had attained the rank of a Bodhisattva, the sun

heard these religious lessons, and became subdued, and assuming the

hue of sunset as the red robe of a Buddhist, entered the cavern of

the western mountain. Then king Vinítamati and Somasúra performed

their evening rites, according to pious usage, and spent the night

there. And the next day, Vinítamati went on to teach Somasúra the law

of Buddha with all its secrets. [222] Then Somasúra built a hut at the

foot of a tree, and remained there in the wood, sitting at the feet

of that instructor, absorbed in contemplation. And in course of time

those two, the teacher and the pupil, attained supernatural powers,

the result of abstraction, and gained the highest illumination.

And in the meanwhile, Indukalasa came, out of jealousy, and by

the might of his sword and horse ejected his brother Kanakakalasa

from the kingdom of Ahichchhatra also, which Vinítamati gave him,

when he was afflicted at losing his first kingdom. He, having been

deposed from his throne, wandered about with two or three of his

ministers, and, as chance would have it, reached the grove, which

was the retreat of Vinítamati. And while he was looking for fruits

and water, as he suffered from severe hunger and thirst, Indra

burnt up the wood by his magic power, and made it as it was before,

wishing to entrap Vinítamati by making it impossible for him to shew

such hospitality to every wayfarer. [223] And Vinítamati, beholding

the grove, which was his retreat, suddenly turned into a desert,

roamed about hither and thither for a short time, in a state of

bewilderment. And then he saw Kanakalasa, who in the course of his

wanderings had come there with his followers, and was now his guest,

and he and his train were all on the point of death from hunger. And

the hospitable Bodhisattva approached the king, when he was in this

state, and asked him his story, and then he exerted his discernment,

and said to him, "Though this wood has become a desert, and affords

no hospitable entertainment, still I can tell you an expedient for

saving your lives in your present state of hunger. Only half a kos

from here there is a deer, which has been killed by falling into a

hole, go and save your lives by eating its flesh." His guest, who was

suffering from hunger, took his advice, and set out for that place

with his followers, but the Bodhisattva Vinítamati got there before

him. He reached that hole, and by his supernatural power assumed the

form of a deer, and then he threw himself into it, and sacrificed

his life for the sake of his petitioner. Then Kanakakalasa and his

followers slowly reached that hole, and found the deer lying dead in

it. So they pulled it out, and made a fire with grass and thorns,

and roasted its flesh, and devoured it all. In the meanwhile the

Bodhisattva's two wives, the daughter of the Nága and the princess,

seeing that the wood of their retreat had been destroyed, and not

seeing their husband, were much distressed, and went and told what

had happened, to Somasúra, whom they roused from deep meditation. He

soon discerned by contemplation what his spiritual teacher had done,

and he told the news to his wives, distressing as it was to them. And

he quickly went with them to that hole, in which his spiritual guide

had sacrificed himself for his guests. There the princess and the

Nága's daughter, seeing that only the bones and horns of the deer,

into which their husband had turned himself, remained, mourned for

him. And the two ladies, who were devoted to their husband, took his

horns and bones, and brought a heap of wood from their hermitage, and

entered the fire. And then Kanakakalasa and his companions, who were

there, being grieved when they heard the story, entered the fire also."

When all this had taken place, Somasúra, unable to endure the grief,

which he felt for the loss of his spiritual teacher, took to a bed of

darbha-grass with the intention of yielding up his breath. And then

Indra appeared to him in person and said to him, "Do not do so, for I

did all this to try your spiritual teacher. And I have now sprinkled

with amrita the ashes and bones, which were all that remained of him,

and his wives, and his guests, and restored them all to life." [224]

When Somasúra heard Indra say this, he worshipped him, and rose up

delighted, and went and looked, and lo! his spiritual guide the

Bodhisattva Vinítamati had risen up again alive, with his wives,

and Kanakakalasa, and his attendants. Then he honoured with an

inclination of the head, and worshipped with gifts of flowers and

respectful speeches, his spiritual father, who had returned from

the other world with his wives, and feasted his eyes upon him. And

while Kanakakalasa and his followers were respectfully testifying

their devotion to him, all the gods came there, headed by Brahmá and

Vishnu. And pleased with the goodness of Vinítamati, they all gave him

by their divine power boons earned by his disinterestedness, and then

disappeared. And Somasúra and the others told their history, and then

Vinítamati went with them to another and a heavenly wood of ascetics.

"So you see that in this world even those who are reduced to ashes meet

again, much more men who are alive and can go where they will. So,

my son, no more of abandoning the body! Go, for you are a brave man,

and you shall certainly be re-united with Mrigánkadatta." When I

had heard this tale from the old female ascetic, I bowed before her,

and set out, sword in hand, with renewed hope, and in course of time

I reached this forest, and was, as fate would have it, captured by

these Savaras, who were seeking a victim for Durgá. And after wounding

me in fight, they bound me, and brought me as a prisoner to this

king of the Savaras Máyávatu. Here I have found you, my sovereign,

accompanied by two or three of your ministers, and by your favour I

am as happy as if I were in my own house.

When Mrigánkadatta, who was in the palace of the Savara prince, had

heard this history of the adventures of his friend Gunákara told

by himself, he was much pleased, and after he had seen the proper

remedies applied to the body of that minister who had been wounded in

fight, as the day was advancing, he rose up with his other friends,

and performed the duties of the day.

And he remained there for some days engaged in restoring Gunákara to

health, though eager to go to Ujjayiní, in order to be re-united with

his other friends and to obtain Sasánkavatí. [225]

CHAPTER LXXIII.

Then Gunákara's wounds healed, and he recovered his health, so

Mrigánkadatta took leave of his friend the king of the Savaras, and

set out from his town on a lucky day for Ujjayiní, to find Sasánkavatí.

But his friend followed him a long way with his retinue, accompanied

by his ally Durgapisácha king of the Mátangas, and made a promise to

come to his assistance. And as he was going along with his friends

Srutadhi, and Vimalabuddhi, and Gunákara, and Bhímaparákrama, and

searching for his other friends in that Vindhya forest, it happened

that he slept one day on the road with his ministers at the foot of a

certain tree. And he suddenly awoke, and got up, and looked about him,

and beheld there another man asleep. And when he uncovered his face,

he recognised him as his own minister Vichitrakatha, who had arrived

there. And Vichitrakatha too woke up, and saw his master Mrigánkadatta,

and joyfully embraced his feet. And the prince embraced him, with

eyes wide open with delight at seeing him so unexpectedly, and all

his ministers woke up and welcomed him. Then all in turn told him

their adventures, and asked him to tell his, and Vichitrakatha began

to relate his story as follows:

Story of Vichitrakatha's adventures after his separation from the

prince.

At that time, when you were dispersed in all directions by the curse

of Párávatáksha, I too in my bewilderment wandered about alone for a

long time. And after I had roamed far, still unconscious, I suddenly

reached in the course of the next day, when I was tired out, a great

and heavenly town on the outskirts of the forest. There a godlike

being, accompanied by two consorts, beheld me, and had me bathed with

cool water, and restored my strength. And he made me enter his city,

and carefully fed me with heavenly food, then he ate himself, and

those two wives of his ate after him. And after the meal, [226] being

refreshed, I said to him, "Who are you, sir, and why have you thus

saved the life of me who am resolved on death? For I must certainly

abandon the body, as I have lost my master." When I had said this,

I told him my whole story. Then that noble and kind being said to me,

"I am a Yaksha, these are my wives, and you have come here to-day

as my guest, and you know that it is the duty of householders to

honour guests to the utmost of their power. I have accordingly

welcomed you. But why do you wish to abandon the body? For this

separation of yours is due to the curse of a Nága, and will last

only a short time. And you will certainly be all re-united, when the

curse pronounced on you has spent its force. And reflect, my good man;

who is born free from sorrow in this world? Hear what sorrow I have

gone through, though I am a Yaksha."

Story of Srídarsana.

There is a city named Trigartá, the garland that adorns the head of

this bride the earth, strung with virtues as with flowers. [227] In

it there lived a young Bráhman named Pavitradhara, who was himself

poor in worldly wealth, but rich in relations, high birth, and other

advantages. That high-spirited Bráhman, living in the midst of rich

people, reflected,--"Though I live up to the rules of my caste, I

do not cut a good figure in the midst of these rich people, like a

word without meaning [228] among the words of some splendid poem;

and being a man of honour, I cannot have recourse to service or

donations. So I will go into some out-of-the-way place and get into

my power a Yakshiní, [229] for my spiritual teacher taught me a charm

for accomplishing this." Having formed this resolution, the Bráhman

Pavitradhara went to the forest, and according to the prescribed method

he won for himself a Yakshiní, named Saudáminí. And when he had won

her, he lived united with her, like a banyan-tree, that has tided

through a severe winter, united to the glory of spring. One day the

Yakshiní, seeing her husband Pavitradhara in a state of despondency,

because no son had been born to him, thus addressed him, "Do not be

despondent, my husband, for a son shall be born to us. And now hear

this story which I am about to tell you."

Story of Saudáminí.

There is on the confines of the southern region a range of tamála

forests, dark with clouds that obscure the sun, looking like the home

of the monsoon. In it dwells a famous Yaksha of the name of Prithúdara,

and I am his only daughter, Saudáminí by name. My loving father led

me from one mighty mountain to another, and I was for ever amusing

myself in heavenly gardens.

And one day, as I was sporting on mount Kailása with my friend

Kapisabhrú, I saw a young Yaksha named Attahása. He too, as he

stood among his companions, beheld me; and immediately our eyes were

mutually attracted by one another's beauty. When my father saw that,

and ascertained that the match would be no mésalliance, he summoned

Attahása, and arranged our marriage. And after he had fixed an

auspicious day, he took me home, but Attahása returned to his home

with his friends in high spirits. But the next day my friend Kapisabhrú

came to me with a downcast air, and when I questioned her, she was at

length induced to say this; "Friend, I must tell you this bad news,

though it is a thing which should not be told. As I was coming to-day,

I saw your betrothed Attahása in a garden named Chitrasthala, on a

plateau of the Himálayas, full of longing for you. And his friends,

in order to amuse him, made him in sport king of the Yakshas, and

they made his brother Díptasikha personate Nadakúvara his son, and

they themselves became his ministers. While your beloved was being

solaced in this way by his friends, Nadakúvara, who was roaming at

will through the air, saw him. And the son of the king of wealth,

being enraged at what he saw, summoned him, and cursed him in the

following words; 'Since, though a servant, you desire to pose as a

lord, become a mortal, you villain! As you wish to mount, fall!' When

he laid this curse on Attahása, he answered despondingly, 'Prince,

I foolishly did this to dispel my longing, not through aspiring to

any lofty rank, so have mercy upon me.' When Nadakúvara heard this

sorrowful speech of his, he ascertained by meditation that the case was

so, and said to him by way of fixing an end for the curse, 'You shall

become a man, and beget on that Yakshiní, with whom you are in love,

your younger brother Díptasikha by way of son, [230] and so you shall

be delivered from your curse, and obtain your own rank once more,

together with your wife, and this brother of yours shall be born as

your son, and after he has reigned on earth, he shall be released

from his curse.' When the son of the god of wealth had said this,

Attahása disappeared somewhere or other by virtue of the curse. And

when I saw that, my friend, I came here to you grieved." When my

friend said this to me, I was reduced to a terrible state by grief,

and after I had bewailed my lot, I went and told it to my parents,

and I spent that time in hope of a re-union with my beloved.

"You are Attahása born again as a Bráhman, and I am that Yakshiní,

and we have been thus united here, so we shall soon have a son born

to us. When the Bráhman Pavitradhara's wise wife Saudáminí said

this to him, he conceived the hope that he would have a son, and

was much delighted. And in course of time a son was born to him by

that Yakshiní, whose birth cheered up their house and his mind. And

when Pavitradhara saw the face of that son, he immediately assumed

a celestial shape and became again the Yaksha Attahása. And he said

to that Yakshiní, "My dear, our curse is at an end. I have become

Attahása as before, come let us return to our own place."

When he said this, his wife said to him, "Think what is to become

of the child your brother, who through a curse has been born as

your son." When Attahása heard that, he saw what was to be done by

means of his powers of contemplation, and said to her; "My dear,

there is in this town a Bráhman of the name of Devadarsana. He is

poor in children and in wealth, and, though he keeps up five fires,

hunger makes two others burn more fiercely, namely, the fire of

digestion in his own stomach and in that of his wife. And one day,

as he was engaged in asceticism to obtain wealth and a son, the

holy god of fire, whom he was propitiating, said to him in a dream,

'You have not a son of your own, but you shall have an adopted son,

and by means of him, Bráhman, your poverty shall come to an end.' On

account of this revelation of the god of fire, the Bráhman is at the

present moment expecting that son, so we must give him this child of

ours, for this is the decree of fate." After Attahása had said this

to his beloved, he placed the child on the top of a pitcher full

of gold, and fastened round its neck a garland of heavenly jewels,

and deposited it in the house of that Bráhman at night when he and

his wife were asleep, and then went with his beloved to his own place.

Then the Bráhman Devadarsana and his wife woke up, and beheld that

young moon of a child glittering with resplendent jewels, and the

Bráhman thought in his astonishment, "What can be the meaning of

this?" but when he saw the pot of gold, he remembered what the god of

fire had told him in his dream, and rejoiced. And he took that young

son given him by fate, and that wealth, and in the morning he made a

great feast. And on the eleventh day he gave the child the appropriate

name of Srídarsana. [231] Then the Bráhman Devadarsana, having become

very rich, remained performing his sacrificial and other ceremonies,

and enjoying the good things of this world at the same time.

The brave Srídarsana grew up in his father's house, and acquired great

skill in the Vedas and other branches of learning, and in the use

of weapons. But in course of time, when he had grown up, his father

Devadarsana, who had gone on a pilgrimage to sacred bathing-places,

died at Prayága. His mother, hearing of that, entered the fire, and

then Srídarsana mourned for them, and performed on their behalf the

ceremonies enjoined in the sacred treatises. But in course of time his

grief diminished, and as he was not married, and had no relations, he

became, though well educated, devoted to gambling. And in a short time

his wealth was consumed by means of that vice, and he had difficulty

in obtaining even food.

One day, after he had remained in the gambling-hall without food for

three days, being unable to go out for shame, as he had not got a

decent garment to wear, and refusing to eat the food which others

gave him, a certain gambler, named Mukharaka, who was a friend of

his, said to him, "Why are you so utterly overwhelmed? Do you not

know that such is the nature of the sinful vice of gambling? Do you

not know that the dice are the sidelong loving looks of the goddess

of Ill Luck? Has not Providence ordained for you the usual lot of

the gambler? His arms are his only clothing, the dust is his bed,

the cross-roads are his house, ruin is his wife. [232] So why do you

refuse to take food? Why do you neglect your health, though you are

a wise man? For what object of desire is there that a resolute man

cannot obtain, as long as he continues alive? Hear in illustration

of this truth the following wonderful story of Bhúnandana."

Story of Bhúnandana.

There is here a region named Kasmíra, the ornament of the earth, which

the Creator made as a second heaven, after creating the first heaven,

for men who have done righteous deeds. The difference between the two

is that in heaven delights can only be seen, in Kasmíra they can be

actually enjoyed. The two glorious goddesses Srí and Sarasvatí both

frequent it, as if they vied with one another, saying--"I have the

preëminence here"--"No, it is I."--The Himálaya encircles it with

its embrace, as if to prevent Kali, the adversary of virtue, from

entering it. The Vitastá adorns it, and repels sin with its waves,

as if they were hands, and seems to say, "Depart far from this land

which is full of waters sacred to the gods." In it the long lines of

lofty palaces, whitened with silvery plaster, imitate the cliffs at

the foot of the neighbouring Himálaya. In this land there lived a

king, named Bhúnandana, who upheld as a spiritual guide the system

of the castes and the prescribed stages of life, learned in science

and traditional lore, the moon that delighted his subjects. His

valour was displayed in the kingdoms of his foes, on which he left

the impress of his nails. He was a politic governor, and his people

were ever free from calamity; he was exclusively devoted to Krishna,

and the minds of his people took no pleasure in vicious deeds. [233]

Once on a time, on the twelfth day of the month, the king, after

duly worshipping Vishnu, saw in a dream a Daitya maiden approach

him. When he woke up, he could not see her, and in his astonishment

he said to himself, "This is no mere dream; I suspect she is some

celestial nymph by whom I have been cajoled." Under this impression

he remained thinking of her, and so grieved at being deprived of her

society, that gradually he neglected all his duties as a king. Then

that king, not seeing any way of recovering her, said to himself;

"My brief union with her was due to the favour of Vishnu, so I will go

into a solitary place and propitiate Vishnu with a view to recovering

her, and I will abandon this clog of a kingdom, which without her

is distasteful." After saying this, king Bhúnandana informed his

subjects of his resolution, and gave the kingdom to his younger

brother named Sunandana.

But after he had resigned the kingdom, he went to a holy bathing-place

named Kramasaras; which arose from the footfall of Vishnu, for it

was made by him long ago in his Dwarf incarnation. It is attended by

the three gods Brahmá, Vishnu, and Siva, who have settled on the top

of the neighbouring mountains in the form of peaks. And the foot of

Vishnu created here in Kasmíra another Ganges, named Ikshuvatí, as

if in emulation of the Vitastá. There the king remained, performing

austerities, and pining, without desire for any other enjoyment,

like the chátaka in the hot season longing for fresh rainwater.

And after twelve years had passed over his head, while he remained

engaged in ascetic practices, a certain ascetic came that way who was

a chief of sages: he had yellow matted hair, wore tattered garments,

and was surrounded by a band of pupils; and he appeared like Siva

himself come down from the top of the hills that overhang that

holy bathing-place. As soon as he saw the king, he was filled with

love for him, and went up to him, and bowing before him, asked him

his history, and then reflected for a moment and said; "King, that

Daitya maiden that you love lives in Pátála, so be of good cheer,

I will take you to her. For I am a Bráhman named Bhúrivasu, the son

of a sacrificing Bráhman of the Dekkan, named Yajuh, and I am a chief

among magicians. My father communicated his knowledge to me, and I

learnt from a treatise on Pátála the proper charms and ceremonies for

propitiating Hátakesána. [234] And I went to Sríparvata and performed

a course of asceticism there for propitiating Siva, and Siva, being

pleased with it, appeared to me and said to me,

'Go; after you have married a Daitya maiden and enjoyed pleasures

in the regions below the earth, you shall return to me; and listen;

I will tell you an expedient for obtaining those delights. There

are on this earth many openings leading to the lower regions; but

there is one great and famous one in Kasmíra made by Maya, by which

Ushá the daughter of Bána introduced her lover Aniruddha into the

secret pleasure-grounds of the Dánavas, and made him happy there. And

Pradyumna, in order to deliver his son, laid it open, making a door

in one place with the peak of a mountain, and he placed Durgá there,

under the name of Sáriká, to guard that door, after propitiating her

with hundreds of praises. Consequently even now the place is called

by the two names of Peak of Pradyumna and Hill of Sáriká. So go and

enter Pátála with your followers by that famous opening, and by my

favour you shall succeed there.'

"When the god had said this, he disappeared, and by his favour I

acquired all knowledge at once, and now I have come to this land of

Kasmíra. So come with us, king, to that seat of Sáriká, in order that

I may conduct you to Pátála, to the maid that you love." When the

ascetic had said this to king Bhúnandana, the latter consented and

went with him to that seat of Sáriká. There he bathed in the Vitastá,

and worshipped Ganesa, and honoured the goddess Sáriká, and performed

the ceremony of averting evil spirits from all quarters by waving

the hand round the head, [235] and other ceremonies. And then the

great ascetic, triumphing by the favour of the boon of Siva, revealed

the opening by scattering mustard-seeds in the prescribed manner,

and the king entered with him and his pupils, and marched along the

road to Pátála for five days and five nights. [236] And on the sixth

day they all crossed the Ganges of the lower regions, and they beheld

a heavenly grove on a silver plain. It had splendid coral, camphor,

sandal, and aloes trees, and was perfumed with the fragrance of large

full-blown golden lotuses. And in the middle of it they saw a lofty

temple of Siva. It was of vast extent, adorned with stairs of jewels;

its walls were of gold, it glittered with many pillars of precious

stone; and the spacious translucent body of the edifice was built of

blocks of the moon-gem.

Then king Bhúnandana and the pupils of that ascetic, who possessed

supernatural insight, were cheered, and he said to them, "This is the

dwelling of the god Siva, who inhabits the lower regions in the form of

Hátakesvara, and whose praises are sung in the three worlds, so worship

him." Then they all bathed in the Ganges of the lower regions, and

worshipped Siva with various flowers, the growth of Pátála. And after

the brief refreshment of worshipping Siva, they went on and reached a

splendid lofty jambu-tree, the fruits of which were ripe and falling

on the ground. And when the ascetic saw it, he said to them; "You

must not eat the fruits of this tree, for, if eaten, they will impede

the success of what you have in hand." In spite of his prohibition

one of his pupils, impelled by hunger, ate a fruit of the tree, and,

as soon as he had eaten it, he became rigid and motionless. [237]

Then the other pupils, seeing that, were terrified, and no longer felt

any desire to eat the fruit; and that ascetic, accompanied by them

and king Bhúnandana, went on only a cos further, and beheld a lofty

golden wall rising before them, with a gate composed of a precious

gem. On the two sides of the gate they saw two rams with bodies of

iron, ready to strike with their horns, put there to prevent any one

from entering. But the ascetic suddenly struck them a blow on their

heads with a charmed wand, and drove them off somewhere, as if they

had been struck by a thunderbolt. Then he and his pupils and that

king entered by that gate, and beheld splendid palaces of gold and

gems. And at the door of every one they beheld warders terrible with

many teeth and tusks, [238] with iron maces in their hands. And then

they all sat down there under a tree, while the ascetic entered into a

mystic contemplation to avert evil. And by means of that contemplation

all those terrible warders were compelled to flee from all the doors,

and disappeared.

And immediately there issued from those doors lovely women with

heavenly ornaments and dresses, who were the attendants of those

Daitya maidens. They approached separately all there present, the

ascetic among them, and invited them in the name of their mistresses

into their respective palaces. And the ascetic, having now succeeded

in his enterprise, said to all the others,--"You must none of you

disobey the command of your beloved after entering her palace." Then

he entered with a few of those attendants a splendid palace, and

obtained a lovely Daitya maiden and the happiness he desired. And

the others singly were introduced into magnificent palaces by other

of the attendants, and were blessed with the love of Daitya maidens.

And the king Bhúnandana was then conducted by one of the attendants,

who bowed respectfully to him, to a palace built of gems outside the

wall. Its walls of precious stone were, so to speak, adorned all round

with living pictures, on account of the reflections on them of the

lovely waiting-women. It was built on a platform of smooth sapphire,

and so it appeared as if it had ascended to the vault of heaven, in

order to outdo a sky-going chariot. [239] It seemed like the house

of the Vrishnis, [240] made rich by means of the power of Vishnu. In

it sported fair ones wild with intoxication, and it was full of the

charming grace of Cupid. Even a flower, that cannot bear the wind and

the heat, would in vain attempt to rival the delicacy of the bodies

of the ladies in that palace. It resounded with heavenly music,

and when the king entered it, he beheld once more that beautiful

Asura maiden, whom he had seen in a dream. Her beauty illuminated

the lower world which has not the light of the sun or the stars,

and made the creation of sparkling jewels and other lustrous things,

an unnecessary proceeding on the part of the Creator. [241]

The king gazed with tears of joy on that indescribably beautiful

lady, and, so to speak, washed off from his eyes the pollution,

which they had contracted by looking at others. And that girl, named

Kumudiní, who was being praised by the songs of female attendants,

[242] felt indescribable joy when she saw the prince. She rose up,

and took him by the hand and said to him, "I have caused you much

suffering," and then with all politeness she conducted him to a

seat. And after he had rested a little while, he bathed, and the

Asura maiden had him adorned with robes and jewels, and led him out

to the garden to drink. Then she sat down with him on the brink of a

tank filled with wine, and with the blood and fat of corpses, that

hung from trees on its banks, and she offered that king a goblet,

full of that fat and wine, to drink, but he would not accept the

loathsome compound. And she kept earnestly saying to the king:

"You will not prosper if you reject my beverage." But he answered,

"I certainly will not drink that undrinkable compound, whatever may

happen." Then she emptied the goblet on his head and departed; and

the king's eyes and mouth were suddenly closed, and her maids took

him and flung him into the water of another tank.

And the moment he was thrown into the water, he found himself once more

in the grove of ascetics, near the holy bathing-place of Kramasaras,

where he was before. [243] And when he saw the mountain there, as it

were, laughing at him with its snows, [244] the disappointed king,

despondent, astonished, and bewildered, reflected as follows: "What

a difference there is between the garden of the Daitya maiden and

this mountain of Kramasaras. Ah! what is this strange event? Is it an

illusion or a wandering of the mind? But what other explanation can

there be than this, that undoubtedly this has befallen me, because,

though I heard the warning of the ascetic, I disobeyed the injunction

of that fair one. And after all the beverage was not loathsome; she

was only making trial of me; for the liquor, which fell upon my head,

has bestowed on it heavenly fragrance. So it is indubitable that,

in the case of the unfortunate, even great hardships endured bring

no reward, for Destiny is opposed to them." While king Bhúnandana

was engaged in these reflections, bees came and surrounded him on

account of the fragrant perfume of his body, that had been sprinkled

with the liquor offered by the Asura maiden. When those bees stung

the king, he thought to himself, "Alas! so far from my toils having

produced the desired fruit, they have produced disagreeable results,

as the raising of a Vetála does to a man of little courage." [245]

Then he became so distracted that he resolved on suicide.

And it happened that, at that very time, there came a young hermit

that way, who, finding the king in this state, and being of a merciful

disposition, went up to him and quickly drove away the bees, and

after asking him his story, said to him--"King, as long as we retain

this body, how can woes come to an end? So the wise should always

pursue without distraction the great object of human existence. And

until you perceive that Vishnu, Siva, and Brahmá are really one,

you will always find the successes, that are gained by worshipping

them separately, short-lived and uncertain. So meditate on Brahmá,

Vishnu, and Siva, in the light of their unity, and patiently perform

asceticism here for another twelve years. Then you shall obtain that

beloved, and eventually everlasting salvation; and observe, you have

already attained a body possessing heavenly fragrance. Now receive

from me this skin of a black antelope, to which a charm is attached,

and if you wrap yourself up in it, you will not be annoyed here by

bees." When the hermit had said this, he gave him the deer-skin and

the charm, and departed; and the king accepted his advice, and taking

to himself patience, so lived in that place. And after the king had

lived there twelve years, and propitiated Siva by penance, that Daitya

maiden, named Kumudiní, came to him of her own accord. And the king

went with that beloved to Pátála, and after he had lived with her a

long time in happiness, he attained salvation.

"So those fortunate ones, whose characters are free from perturbation,

and who betake themselves to patient endurance, obtain again their

own rank, though they may have fallen far from it. [246] And since

you, Srídarsana, are a man fated to be prosperous, being covered with

auspicious marks, why do you, out of perturbation, allow yourself to

go without food?" When Srídarsana, who was fasting, was thus addressed

in the gambling-hall by his friend Mukharaka, he said to him, "What

you say, is true, but being a man of good family, I cannot for shame

go out into this town, as I am reduced so low by gambling. So if

you will permit me, my friend, to go to some other country this very

night, I will take food." When Mukharaka heard that, he consented, and

brought food and gave it to him, and he ate it. And after Srídarsana

had eaten it, he set out for another country with that friend of his,

who followed him out of affection.

And as he was going along the road at night, it happened that the

two Yakshas, Attahása and Saudáminí, his father and mother, who had

deposited him, as soon as he was born, in the house of the Bráhman,

saw him while they were roaming through the air. When they saw him

in distress, impoverished by the vice of gambling, and on his way

to a foreign country, affection made them say to him, while still

remaining invisible, the following words; "Srídarsana, your mother,

the wife of Devadarsana, buried in her house some jewels. Take those,

and do not omit to go with them to Málava, for there is a magnificent

prince there of the name of Srísena. And since he was much afflicted

in his youth by miseries arising from gambling, he has made a large

and glorious asylum for gamblers. There gamblers live, and are fed

with whatever food they desire. So go there, darling, and you shall

be prosperous."

When Srídarsana heard this speech from heaven, he went back to his

house with his friend, and found those ornaments in it, in a hole in

the ground. Then he set out delighted for Málava, with his friend,

thinking that the gods had shewn him favour. So in that night and

the succeeding day he went a long distance, and the next evening he

reached with his friend a village named Bahusasya. And being weary,

he sat down with his friend on the bank of a translucent lake, not

far from that village. While he remained for a brief period on the

bank of that lake, after washing his feet and drinking water, there

came there a certain maiden, matchless in beauty, to fetch water. Her

body resembled a blue lotus in colour, and she seemed like Rati left

alone, and blackened by the smoke from the body of the god of Love,

when he had just been consumed by Siva. Srídarsana was delighted

to behold her, and she went up to him, and looked at him with an

eye full of love, and said to him and his friend, "Worthy sirs,

why have you come hither to your death? Why, through ignorance,

have you fallen like moths into burning fire?" When Mukharaka heard

this, he said to the maiden, without the least trepidation, "Who are

you? And what is the meaning of what you say? Tell us." Then she said,

"Listen both of you! I will tell you the whole story in few words.

"There is a large and famous royal grant to Bráhmans, named

Sughosha. In it there dwelt a Bráhman named Padmagarbha, who possessed

a thorough knowledge of the Vedas. He had a wife of very good family,

named Sasikalá. And the Bráhman had two children by that wife, a

son of the name of Mukharakha, and myself a daughter of the name of

Padmishthá. My brother Mukharaka was ruined by the vice of gambling in

early youth, and left his home and went off to some other country. My

mother died of grief on that account, and my father, afflicted with

two sorrows, abandoned the state of a householder. And he roamed about

from place to place, with no other companion than myself, to look for

that son, and, as it happened, he reached this village. Now in this

village there lives a great bandit, the chief of a gang of robbers,

called Vasubhúti, a Bráhman only by name. When my father arrived here,

that ruffian, with the help of his servants, killed him, and took away

the gold that he had about his person. And he made me a prisoner and

carried me off to his house, and he has made arrangements to give me

in marriage to his son Subhúti. But his son has gone off somewhere

to plunder a caravan, and, owing to my good fortune, the result of

good deeds in a former birth, he has not yet returned; now it remains

for Destiny to dispose of me. But, if this bandit were to see you,

he would certainly do you some violence: so think of some artifice

by which you may escape him."

When the maiden said this, Mukharaka recognized her, and at

once clasping her round the neck, said to her, "Alas, my sister

Padmishthá! I am that very brother of yours Mukharaka, the murderer of

his relations. Alas! wretched that I am, I am ruined." When Padmishthá

heard this, and saw her elder brother, pity caused her to be, as it

were, suddenly encircled with all sorrows. Then Srídarsana comforted

the brother and sister, who were lamenting their parents, and addressed

a timely admonition and encouragement to them. He said, "This is not

the time for lamentation, we must now save our lives even at the cost

of our wealth, and by means of it we must protect ourselves against

this bandit." When Srídarsana said this, they checked their grief

with self-control, and all three agreed together what each was to do.

Then Srídarsana, being thin by reason of his former fasts, flung

himself down on the bank of that tank, and pretended to be ill. And

Mukharaka remained holding his feet and weeping: but Padmishthá

immediately repaired to that bandit chief, and said, "A traveller

has arrived, and is lying ill on the border of the tank, and there is

another there who is his servant." When the bandit chief heard that,

he sent some of his followers there. They went, and seeing the two men

as had been described, asked Mukharaka why he wept so much for his

companion. When Mukharaka heard this, he said with affected sorrow,

"This Bráhman, who is my elder brother, left his native land to visit

holy bathing-places, but was attacked by disease, and slowly travelling

along he has arrived here, accompanied by me. And the moment he got

here, he became incapable of movement, and he said to me, 'Rise up, my

dear brother, and quickly prepare for me a bed of darbha-grass. And

fetch me some virtuous Bráhman from this village. On him I will

bestow all my wealth, for I cannot live through this night.' When

he said this to me in this foreign country after sunset, I felt

quite puzzled as to what I ought to do, and, being afflicted, I had

recourse to weeping. So bring here some Bráhman while he is alive,

in order that he may bestow on him with his own hand whatever wealth

we possess. For he will certainly not live through the night, and I

shall not be able to survive the sorrow of his loss, so to-morrow I

shall enter the fire. So do for us this which we ask, since we have

met with you here as compassionate men and friends without any cause."

When the bandits heard that, pity arose in their minds, and they

went and told the story, exactly as they had heard it, to their

master Vasubhúti, and went on to say, "So come and receive, as a

pious gift, from this Bráhman, who is eager to bestow it on you,

the wealth which ordinarily is to be obtained only by killing its

possessor." When they said this to Vasubhúti, he said, "What course is

this which you suggest? It is highly impolitic for us to take wealth

without killing its possessor, for, if he is deprived of his wealth,

without being killed, he will certainly do us an injury." When the

villain said this, those servants answered him, "What is there to

fear in this? There is some difference between taking wealth by

force, and receiving it as a pious gift from a dying man. Besides,

to-morrow morning we will kill those two Bráhmans, if they are still

alive. Otherwise, what is the use of incurring needlessly the guilt

of killing a Bráhman?" When Vasubhúti heard this, he consented,

and in the night he came to Srídarsana to receive his pious gift,

and Srídarsana concealed a part of his mother's ornaments, and gave

him the rest, assuming a faltering voice. Then the bandit, having

got what he wanted, returned home with his followers.

Then Padmishthá came at night to Srídarsana and Mukharaka, while

the bandits were asleep. Then they quickly deliberated together, and

set off at once from that place for Málava by a path not frequented

by the robbers. And during that night they went a long distance, and

reached a wood that seemed to be afraid of the roaring lions, tigers,

and other wild beasts within it. It seemed by its thorns to be in a

state of perpetual horripilation, and by its roaming black antelopes

to be rolling its eyes. The dry creepers shewed that its body was

dried up from fear, and the shrill whistling of the loose bark was

its screams of terror. And while they were journeying through that

forest, the sun, that had observed their sufferings all day, withdrew

its light, as if in compassion, and set. Then they sat down weary

and hungry at the foot of a tree, and in the early part of the night

they saw in the distance a light, as of fire. And Srídarsana said,

"Can there possibly be a village here? I will go and look." So he went

in the direction of the light. And when he reached it, and looked

at it, lo! it was a great palace built of jewels, and its splendour

produced that light as of fire. [247] And he saw inside it a Yakshiní

of heavenly beauty, surrounded by many Yakshas, with feet turned the

wrong way and squinting eyes. And the brave man, seeing that they had

brought there all kinds of meat and drink, went up to the Yakshiní,

and asked her to give him his share as a guest. And she was pleased

with his courage and gave him what he asked for, enough food and

water to satisfy himself and his two companions. The refreshment was

placed on the back of a Yaksha ordered off by her for that duty, and

Srídarsana returned with it to his friend and Padmishthá. And then he

dismissed the Yaksha, and partook there with them of all that splendid

food of various kinds, and drank pure cold water. Then Mukharaka was

pleased, perceiving that he must be an incarnation of a divinity, as

he was so rich in courage and might, and, desiring his own prosperity,

he said to him, "You are some incarnation of a divinity, and this

sister of mine Padmishthá is the greatest beauty in the world, so I

now give her to you as a wife meet for you." When Srídarsana heard

that, he was delighted, and said to his friend, "I accept with joy

this offer of yours which I have long desired. But when I reach my

goal I will marry her in proper form." This he said to those two,

and then passed the night in a joyful state of mind. And the next

morning they all set out from that place, and reached in due course

the city of that king Srísena, the sovereign of Málava. And arriving

tired, they immediately entered the house of an old Bráhman woman to

rest. And in the course of conversation they told her their story and

their names, and then they saw that the old woman was much disturbed,

and when they questioned her, she said to them:

"I am the well-born wife of a Bráhman here, named Satyavrata, who

was a servant of the king's, and my name is Yasasvatí. And after my

husband died, the compassionate king gave me the fourth part of his

salary to live upon, as I had not a son to support me. But now this

moon of kings, though his virtues are great, and though he is generous

enough to give away the whole world, has been seized by a consumption

[248] which the physicians cannot cure. And the drugs and charms of

those skilled in such things do not prevail against it; but a certain

enchanter made this promise in his presence, 'If I could only get a

hero, equal to the task, to help me, I would certainly put an end to

this illness by getting a Vetála into my power.' Then proclamation

was made by beat of drum, but no such hero was found. Then the king

gave the following order to his ministers; 'You must look out for

some daring gambler, who comes to reside in the great and well-known

asylum, which I built for such. For gamblers are reckless, abandoning

wife and relations, fearless, sleeping at the foot of trees and in

other exposed places, like ascetics.' When the king gave this order

to his ministers, they instructed to this effect the superintendent

of the asylum, and he is now on the lookout for some brave man who

may come there to reside awhile. Now you are gamblers, and if you,

Srídarsana, feel able to accomplish the undertaking, I will take

you to-day to that asylum. And you will be well treated by the king,

and you will confer a benefit on me, for grief is killing me."

When the old lady said this, Srídarsana answered her, "Agreed! I am

able to accomplish this, so lead me quickly to that asylum." When

she heard this, she took him, and Padmishthá, and Mukharaka,

to that asylum, and there said to the superintendent, "Here is a

Bráhman gambler arrived from a foreign land, a hero who is able to

assist that enchanter in performing incantations for the good of the

king." When the superintendent heard this, he questioned Srídarsana,

and when he confirmed the words of the old lady, he treated him with

great respect, and led him quickly into the presence of the king.

And Srídarsana, being introduced by him, beheld the king, who was

thin and pale as the new moon. And the king Srísena observed that

Srídarsana, who bowed before him and sat down, was of a taking

appearance, and pleased with his look, he felt comforted, and said

to him, "I know that your exertions will certainly put an end to

my disease; my body tells me this, for the mere sight of you has

quieted its sufferings. So aid the enchanter in this matter." When

the king said this, Srídarsana said to him "The enterprise is a mere

trifle." Then the king summoned the enchanter and said to him, "This

hero will aid you; do what you said." When that enchanter heard that,

he said to Srídarsana,

"My good sir, if you are able to assist me in raising a Vetála, come

to me in the cemetery at night-fall this very day, the fourteenth

of the black fortnight." When the ascetic, who practised magic, had

said this, he went away, and Srídarsana took leave of the king and

returned to that asylum.

There he took food with Padmishthá and Mukharaka, and at night he went

alone, sword in hand, to the cemetery. It was full of many ghosts,

empty of men, inauspicious, full of roaring jackals, covered with

impenetrable darkness, but shewed in some places a faint gleam where

the funeral pyres were. [249] The hero Srídarsana wandered about in

that place of horrors and saw the enchanter in the middle of it. His

whole body was smeared with ashes, he had a Bráhmanical thread of

hair, he wore a turban made of the clothes of the dead, and he was

clad in a black garment. Srídarsana approached him, and made himself

known to him, and then girding up his loins, he said, "Tell me,

what shall I do for you?" The enchanter answered in high spirits,

"Half a cos only to the west of this place there is an Asoka tree,

the leaves of which are burnt with the hot flame of funeral pyres. At

the foot of it there is a corpse, go and bring it here unharmed."

Then Srídarsana said, "I will," and going quickly to the place he

saw some one else taking away the corpse. So he ran and tried to

drag it from the shoulder of that person, who would not let it go,

and said to him,--"Let go this corpse: where are you taking my friend

whom I have to burn?" Then that second person said to Srídarsana,

"I will not let the dead man go; I am his friend; what have you to

do with him?" While they were dragging the corpse from one another's

shoulders, and making these mutual recriminations, the corpse itself,

which was animated by a Vetála, uttered a terrible shriek. That

terrified the second person so that his heart broke, and he fell down

dead, and then Srídarsana went off with that corpse in his arms. Then

the second man, though dead, rose up, being possessed by a Vetála,

and tried to stop Srídarsana, and said to him, "Halt! do not go off

with my friend on your shoulder." Then Srídarsana, knowing that his

rival was possessed by a Vetála, said to him, "What proof is there

that you are his friend? He is my friend." The rival then said,

"The corpse itself shall decide between us." Then Srídarsana, said,

"Well! let him declare who is his friend." Then the corpse, that

was on his back, being possessed by a Vetála, said, "I am hungry,

so I decide that whoever gives me food is my friend; let him take me

where he likes." When the second corpse, that was also possessed by

a Vetála, heard this, he answered,--"I have no food; if he has any,

let him give you some." Srídarsana, hearing this, said, "I will give

him food," and proceeded to strike with his sword at the second corpse,

in order to procure food for the Vetála that was on his shoulder. [250]

But that second corpse, which was also possessed by a Vetála, the

moment he began to strike it, disappeared by its supernatural power.

Then the Vetála, that was on Srídarsana's shoulder, said to him, "Now

give me the food that you promised me." So Srídarsana, not being able

to obtain any other flesh to give him to eat, cut off with his sword

some of his own flesh, and gave it to him. This pleased the Vetála,

and he said to him, "I am satisfied with you, brave man, let your

body be restored whole as before. Now take me off; this enterprise of

yours shall succeed, but that ascetic enchanter shall be destroyed,

for he is a great coward." When Srídarsana was thus addressed by

the Vetála, he immediately became whole as before, and taking the

corpse he handed it to that magician. And he received it joyfully,

and honoured it with unguents and garlands of blood, and he placed

the corpse, possessed by the Vetála, on its back in a great circle

marked out with powdered human bones, in the corners of which were

placed pitchers of blood, and which was lighted up with lamps fed

by oil from the human body. And he sat on the breast of the corpse,

and holding in his hand a ladle and spoon of human bone, he began to

make an oblation of clarified butter in its mouth. Immediately such a

flame issued from the mouth of that corpse possessed by the Vetála,

that the sorcerer rose up in terror and fled. When he thus lost his

presence of mind, and dropped his spoon and ladle; the Vetála pursued

him, and opening his mouth swallowed him whole. [251]

When Srídarsana saw that, he lifted up his sword and attacked

the Vetála, but the Vetála said to him, "Srídarsana, I am pleased

with this courage of yours, so take these mustard-seeds produced in

my mouth. If you place these on the head and hands of the king, the

malady of consumption will immediately leave him, and you in a short

time will become the king of the whole earth." When Srídarsana heard

this, he said, "How can I leave this place without that sorcerer? The

king is sure to say that I killed him out of a selfish regard to my

own interests." When Srídarsana said this to the Vetála, he answered,

"I will tell you a convincing proof, which will clear you. Cut open

the body of this corpse, and shew inside it this sorcerer dead, whom

I have swallowed." When the Vetála had said this, he gave him the

mustard-seeds, and went off somewhere or other, leaving that corpse,

and the corpse fell on the ground.

Then Srídarsana went off, taking with him the mustard-seeds, and

he spent that night in the asylum in which his friend was. And the

next morning he went to the king, and told him what had happened

in the night, and took and shewed to the ministers that sorcerer in

the stomach of the corpse. Then he placed the mustard-seeds on the

head and the hand of the king, and that made the king quite well,

as all his sickness at once left him. Then the king was pleased, and,

as he had no son, he adopted as his son Srídarsana, who had saved his

life. And he immediately anointed that hero crown-prince; for the

seed of benefits, sown in good soil, produces abundant fruit. Then

the fortunate Srídarsana married there that Padmishthá, who seemed

like the goddess of Fortune that had come to him in reward for his

former courting of her, and the hero remained there in the company

of her brother Mukharaka, enjoying pleasures and ruling the earth.

One day a great merchant, named Upendrasakti, found an image of Ganesa,

carved out of a jewel, on the border of a tank, and brought it and gave

it to that prince. The prince, seeing that it was of priceless value,

out of his fervent piety, set it up in a very splendid manner in a

temple. And he appointed a thousand villages there for the permanent

support of the temple, and he ordained in honour of the idol a festive

procession, at which all Málava assembled. And Ganesa, being pleased

with the numerous dances, songs, and instrumental performances in

his honour, said to the Ganas at night, "By my favour this Srídarsana

shall be a universal emperor on the earth. Now there is an island named

Hansadvípa in the western sea; and in it is a king named Anangodaya,

and he has a lovely daughter named Anangamanjarí. And that daughter

of his, being devoted to me, always offers to me this petition after

she has worshipped me, "Holy one, give me a husband who shall be the

lord of the whole earth." So I will marry her to this Srídarsana,

and thus I shall have bestowed on both the meet reward of their

devotion to me. So you must take Srídarsana there, and after you have

contrived that they should see one another, bring him back quickly;

and in course of time they shall be united in due form; but it cannot

be done immediately, for such is the will of destiny. Moreover I have

determined by these means to recompense Upendrasakti, the merchant,

who brought my image to the prince."

The Ganas, having received this order from Ganesa, took Srídarsana

that very night, while he was asleep, and carried him to Hansadvípa

by their supernatural power. And there they introduced him into the

chamber of Anangamanjarí, and placed him on the bed on which that

princess was lying asleep. Srídarsana immediately woke up, and saw

Anangamanjarí. She was reclining on a bed covered with a coverlet

of pure white woven silk, in a splendid chamber in which flashed

jewel-lamps, and which was illuminated by the numerous priceless

gems of the canopy and other furniture, and the floor of which was

dark with the rájávarta stone. As she lay there pouring forth rays

of beauty like the lovely effluence of a stream of nectar, she seemed

like the orb of the autumn moon lapped in a fragment of a white cloud,

in a sky adorned with a host of bright twinkling stars, gladdening

the eyes. Immediately he was delighted, astonished, and bewildered,

and he said to himself, "I went to sleep at home and I have woke

up in a very different place. What does all this mean? Who is this

woman? Surely it is a dream! Very well, let it be so. But I will

wake up this lady and find out." After these reflections he gently

nudged Anangamanjarí on the shoulder with his hand. And the touch

of his hand made her immediately awake and roll her eyes, as the

kumudvatí opens under the rays of the moon, and the bees begin to

circle in its cup. When she saw him, she reflected for a moment,

"Who can this being of celestial appearance be? Surely he must

be some god that has penetrated into this well-guarded room?" So

she rose up, and asked him earnestly and respectfully who he was,

and how and why he had entered there. Then he told his story, and

the fair one, when questioned by him, told him in turn her country,

name, and descent. Then they both fell in love with one another, and

each ceased to believe that the other was an object seen in a dream,

and in order to make certain, they exchanged ornaments.