conclusion. A king finds a girl being carried off by robbers. He
delivers her and places her in a temple, promising to bring her
food. But on his way he meets a kuttiní, who conducts him to another
girl, with whom he falls desperately in love, and so forgets the girl
he rescued. She is found by a merchant. He takes her to his house and
sets food before her. He then kills a rat, and boasts of his valour;
(see page 16 of this volume.) This conduct, contrasted with that
of the king, makes the girl die of disgust. The merchant kills
himself. The king, not finding the first girl where he left her,
commits suicide. The kuttiní considers that she has caused the death
of three persons, and kills herself in a fit of remorse. The Vetála
asks, "Which of these four deaths was the most extraordinary?" The
king answers, "That of the kuttiní, for the others died of excess
of passion."
CHAPTER XCVI.
(Vetála 22.)
Then king Trivikramasena again fetched the Vetála from the top of the
asoka-tree, and put him on his shoulder, and as he was going along,
the Vetála said to him on the way, "King, you are good and brave,
so hear this matchless tale."
Story of the four Bráhman brothers who resuscitated the tiger.
There lived once on the earth a king, named Dharanívaráha, who was
lord of the town of Pátaliputra. [400] In his realm, which abounded
in Bráhmans, there was a royal grant to Bráhmans named Brahmasthala;
and on it there lived a Bráhman of the name of Vishnusvámin. He had a
wife that was as well-suited to him as the oblation to the fire. And
in course of time he had four sons by her. And when they had learnt
the Vedas, and passed their childhood, Vishnusvámin went to heaven,
and his wife followed him.
Then all his sons there, being in a miserable state, as they had no
protectors, and having had all their property taken from them by their
relations, deliberated together, and said, "We have no means of support
here, so why should we not go hence to the house of our maternal
grandfather in the village named Yajnasthala?" Having determined on
this, they set out, living on alms, and after many days they reached
the house of their maternal grandfather. Their grandfather was dead,
but their mother's brothers gave them shelter and food, and they lived
in their house, engaged in reading the Vedas. But after a time, as
they were paupers, their uncles came to despise them, and neglected
to supply them with food, clothes, and other necessaries.
Then their hearts were wounded by the manifest contempt shewn for
them by their relations, and they brooded over it in secret, and then
the eldest brother said to the rest; "Well! brothers, what are we
to do? Destiny performs every thing, no man can do anything in this
world at any place or time. For to-day, as I was wandering about in
a state of distraction, I reached a cemetery; and in it I saw a man
lying dead upon the ground, with all his limbs relaxed. And when I saw
him, I envied his state, and I said to myself; 'Fortunate is this man,
who is thus at rest, having got rid of his burden of grief.' Such was
the reflection that then occurred to me; so I determined to die: and
I tried to hang myself by means of a rope fastened to the branch of a
tree. I became unconscious, but my breath did not leave my body; and
while I was in this state, the rope broke, and I fell to the earth. And
as soon as I recovered consciousness, I saw that some compassionate
man was fanning me with his garment. He said to me, 'Friend, say,
why do you allow yourself to be thus afflicted, though you are
wise? For joy springs from good deeds, and pain from evil deeds,
these are their only sources. If your agitation is due to pain, then
perform good deeds; how can you be so foolish as to desire to incur
the pains of hell by suicide?' With these words that man consoled
me, and then departed somewhere or other, but I have come here,
having abandoned my design of committing suicide. So, you see that,
if Destiny is adverse, it is not even possible to die. Now I intend
to go to some holy water, and there consume my body with austerities,
in order that I may never again endure the misery of poverty."
When the eldest brother said this, his younger brothers said to him,
"Sir, why are you, though wise, afflicted with pain merely because
you are poor? Do you not know that riches pass away like an autumn
cloud. Who can ever count on retaining Fortune or a fickle woman,
though he carry them off and guard them carefully, for both
are insincere in their affection and secretly hostile to their
possessor? So a wise man must acquire by vigorous exertion some eminent
accomplishment, which will enable him frequently to bind [401] and lead
home by force riches which are like bounding deer." When the eldest
brother was addressed in this language by his brothers, he at once
recovered his self-control, and said, "What accomplishment of this kind
should we acquire?" Then they all considered and said to one another,
"We will search through the earth and acquire some magic power." So
having adopted this resolution, and fixed upon a trysting-place at
which to meet, the four separated, going east, west, north and south.
And in course of time they met again at the appointed spot, and asked
one another what each had learned. Then one of them said, "I have
learned this magic secret; if I find a bit of a bone of any animal,
I can immediately produce on it the flesh of that animal." When the
second heard this speech of his brother's, he said, "When the flesh of
any animal has been superinduced upon a piece of bone, I know how to
produce the skin and hair appropriate to that animal." Then the third
said, "And when the hair and flesh and skin have been produced, I am
able to create the limbs of the animal to which the bone belonged." And
the fourth said, "When the animal has its limbs properly developed,
I know how to endow it with life."
When they had said this to one another, the four brothers went
into the forest to find a piece of bone, on which to display their
skill. There it happened that they found a piece of a lion's bone,
and they took it up without knowing to what animal it belonged. Then
the first covered it with the appropriate flesh, and the second in
the same way produced on it all the requisite skin and hair, and the
third completed the animal by giving it all its appropriate limbs,
and it became a lion, and then the fourth endowed it with life. Then
it rose up a very terrible lion, furnished with a dense shaggy mane,
having a mouth formidable with teeth, [402] and with hooked claws
at the end of its paws. And charging the four authors of its being,
it slew them on the spot, and then retired glutted to the forest. So
those Bráhmans perished by making the fatal mistake of creating a lion:
for who can give joy to his own soul by raising up a noisome beast?
So, if Fate be not propitious, an accomplishment, though painfully
acquired, not only does not bring prosperity, but actually brings
destruction. For the tree of valour only bears fruit, as a general
rule, when the root, being uninjured, [403] is watered with the water
of wisdom, and when it is surrounded with the trench of policy.
When the Vetála, sitting on the shoulder of the king, had told this
tale on the way, that night, to king Trivikramasena, he went on to
say to him, "King, which of these four was guilty in respect of
the production of the lion, that slew them all? Tell me quickly,
and remember that the old condition is still binding on you." When
the king heard the Vetála say this, he said to himself, "This demon
wishes me to break silence, and so to escape from me. Never mind,
I will go and fetch him again." Having formed this resolution in his
heart, he answered that Vetála, "That one among them, who gave life
to the lion, is the guilty one. For they produced the flesh, the skin,
the hair, and the limbs, by magic power, without knowing what kind of
animal they were making: and therefore no guilt attaches to them on
account of their ignorance. But the man, who, when he saw that the
animal had a lion's shape, gave life to it, in order to display his
skill, was guilty of the death of those Bráhmans."
When the mighty Vetála heard this speech of the king's, he again
left his shoulder by magic power and went back to his own place,
and the king again went in pursuit of him.
NOTE.
The story, as given in the Panchatantra (Benfey, Vol. II, p. 332), is
somewhat different. Here we have four brothers of whom three possess
all knowledge, but one only possesses common sense. The first brother
joins together the bones of the lion, the second covers them with
skin, flesh, and blood, the third is about to give the animal life,
when the brother, who possesses common sense, says "If you raise him
to life, he will kill us all." Finding that the third brother will not
desist from his intention, he climbs up a tree and so saves his life,
while his three brothers are torn to pieces.
In the Bahar-Danush (Scott) Vol. II, p. 290, the bones of a cow are
joined together by being sprinkled with water. See Benfey, Vol. I,
p. 489. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 211-212.)
CHAPTER XCVII.
(Vetála 23.)
Then the noble king Trivikramasena went back, and again took down
that Vetála from the asoka-tree, and though the Vetála transformed
himself in all possible ways, he put him on his shoulder and started
off with him in silence, and then the Vetála said to him, "King,
though the business in which you are engaged is not becoming to you,
you exhibit in it undaunted perseverance; so listen, I will tell you
a tale to dispel your fatigue."
Story of the Hermit who first wept and then danced.
There is in the land of Kalinga a city named Sobhávatí, like the
city of Indra in heaven, the abode of those that act aright. It was
ruled by a king named Pradyumna, whose sway was mighty, and who,
like the god Pradyumna, was celebrated for his exceeding power and
valour. The only detraction heard in his realm was that of the string
from the bow, the only pressure that of the fingers on the cymbal,
vice was only known in the name of the age, [404] and keenness only
in the pursuit of knowledge.
In a certain part of that town there was a grant named Yajnasthala,
given by that king, on which many Bráhmans were settled. There lived
on it a very wealthy Bráhman who had mastered the Vedas, whose name
was Yajnasoma. He maintained a sacrificial fire, and honoured guests,
and the gods. After his youth was past, there was born to him by his
wife, who was in every way a suitable match for him, an only son,
the child of a hundred wishes. And that promising boy grew up in his
father's house, and the Bráhmans duly named him Devasoma. And when he
had attained the age of sixteen years, that boy, who captivated all
by his knowledge, modesty, and other good qualities, suddenly died of
a fever. Then Yajnasoma, together with his wife, remained lovingly
embracing that dead boy, and lamenting over him, and refused for a
long time to let him be taken away to be burnt.
Then the old men assembled and reproved that Bráhman in the following
words, "Bráhman, are you not aware, though you know what is near and
far, that the condition of this Fata Morgana of a world is frail
as a bubble on water? Look at those kings who filled the earth
with their armies, and enjoyed themselves in this world, deeming
themselves immortal, lying on jewelled couches on the delightful
summits of palaces, that resounded with the warbling of music, having
their bodies anointed with sandal-wood ointment and other fragrant
unguents, and begirt with beautiful women. Even these no one could
save from being consumed by flesh-devouring flames, lying alone on
the funeral pyre in the cemetery whither the dead are followed by
weeping friends, and when their extremities had been shrivelled,
from being at last devoured by the jackals: much less can any others
escape this fate. So tell us, wise man, what mean you by embracing
that corpse?" Many other speeches of this kind did they address to him.
At last with difficulty his relations got him to stop clinging to his
dead son, and then, after the body had been laid out, they put it on
a bier, and with loud lamentations carried it to the burning-place,
accompanied by many people who shed tears on account of the calamity.
Now at that time there was dwelling in that cemetery an old Pásupata
ascetic possessing supernatural power, who lived in a hut. His name was
Vámasiva. His body was emaciated with age and excessive asceticism,
and bound round with veins, as if for fear that it would break. He
was covered all over with hair white with ashes, his matted locks were
yellow as lightning, and he looked like a second Siva. When that hermit
heard in the distance the lamentation of those people outside his hut,
he said to the pupil that lived with him, "Rise up! go and find out
the meaning of this confused noise outside in the cemetery, such as I
never heard before, and come back quickly, and tell me." Now this pupil
was one who had taken a vow of living on the products of begging; he
was a fool, and a rogue, and an egoist, puffed up with contemplation,
magical powers, and other things of the kind, and at this time he was
annoyed because his teacher had rebuked him. So, when his teacher gave
him this order, he answered him, "I will not go; go yourself, for my
time for begging is fast slipping away." When the teacher heard that,
he said, "Out on you, fool, devoted to your belly! Only half one watch
of the day has passed: how can it be your time for begging now?" When
the wicked pupil heard that, he was angry, and said to his teacher;
"Out on you, you decrepit old creature! I am no longer your pupil,
and you are no longer my teacher. I will go elsewhere, carry this
vessel yourself." When he had said this, he put down in front of him
his stick and water-vessel, and got up and went away.
Then the hermit left his hut, laughing as he went, and came to the
place where the young Bráhman had been brought to be burned. And when
the hermit saw him, with the people lamenting for the flower of his
youth, being afflicted with old age, and possessed of magical powers,
he determined to enter his body. So he quickly went aside, and first
wept aloud, and immediately afterwards he danced with appropriate
gesticulations. [405] Then the ascetic, longing to be young again,
abandoned his own body, and at once entered by magic power that young
Bráhman's body. And immediately the young Bráhman on the pyre, which
was ready prepared, returned to life, and rose up with a yawn. When
his relations and all the people saw that, they raised a loud shout of
"Hurrah! he is alive! he is alive!"
Then that ascetic, who was a mighty sorcerer, and had thus entered the
young Bráhman's body, not intending to abandon his vow, told them all
the following falsehood; "Just now, when I went to the other world,
Siva himself restored my life to me, telling me that I must take upon
me the vow of a Pásupata ascetic. And I must this moment go into
a solitary place and support this vow, otherwise I cannot live, so
depart you, and I also will depart." Saying this to all those present,
the resolute votary, bewildered with mixed feelings of joy and grief,
dismissed them to their own homes. And he himself went, and threw
that former body of his into a ravine; and so that great magician,
who had taken the vow, having become young, went away to another place.
When the Vetála had told this story that night on the way, he again
said to king Trivikramasena, "Tell me, king, why did that mighty
magician, when entering another body, first weep, and then dance? I
have a great desire to know this."
When that king, who was a chief of sages, heard this question of
the Vetála's, fearing the curse, he broke silence, and gave him this
answer, "Hear what the feelings of that ascetic were. He was grieved
because he thought that he was just going to abandon that body, which
had grown up with him through many years, by living in which he had
acquired magic power, and which his parents had fondled, when he
was a child, so he wept violently; for affection for one's body is
a deeply rooted feeling. But he danced for joy, because he thought
that he was about to enter a new body, and that by means of that he
would acquire greater magic power; for to whom is not youth pleasing."
When the Vetála, who was inside that corpse, heard this speech of
the king's, he left his shoulder and went back to that asoka-tree;
but that exceedingly undaunted monarch again ran after him, to recover
him; for the resolution of determined men surpasses in firmness the
mighty mountains, and remains unshaken even at the end of a kalpa.
CHAPTER XCVIII.
(Vetála 24.)
Then the brave king Trivikramasena, disregarding the awful night,
which in that terrible cemetery assumed the appearance of a Rákshasí,
being black with darkness, and having the flames of the funeral pyres
for fiery eyes, again went to the asoka-tree, and took from it the
Vetála, and put him on his shoulder.
And while he was going along with him, as before, the Vetála again
said to that king, "O king, I am tired out with going backwards and
forwards, though you are not: so I will put to you one difficult
question, and mind you listen to me."
Story of the father that married the daughter and the son that married
the mother.
There was in the Dekkan a king of a small province, who was named
Dharma; he was the chief of virtuous men, but he had many relations
who aspired to supplant him. He had a wife named Chandravatí, who
came from the land of Málava; she was of high lineage, and the most
virtuous of women. And that king had born to him by that wife one
daughter, who was not without cause named Lávanyavatí. [406]
And when that daughter had attained a marriageable age, king Dharma
was ejected from his throne by his relations, who banded together and
divided his realm. Then he fled from his kingdom at night with his
wife and that daughter, taking with him a large number of valuable
jewels, and he deliberately set out for Málava the dwelling-place of
his father-in-law. And in the course of that same night he reached the
Vindhya forest with his wife and daughter. And when he entered it, the
night, that had escorted him thus far, took leave of him with drops
of dew by way of tears. And the sun ascended the eastern mountain,
stretching forth its first rays, like a warning hand, to dissuade him
from entering that brigand-haunted wood. Then he travelled on through
it with his wife and daughter, having his feet wounded with sharp
points of kusa-grass, and he reached a village of the Bhillas. It
was full of men that robbed their neighbours of life and property,
and shunned by the virtuous, like the strong city of Death.
Then beholding the king from a distance with his dress and ornaments,
many Savaras, armed with various weapons, ran to plunder him. When king
Dharma saw that, he said to his daughter and wife, "The barbarians will
seize on you first, so enter the wood in this direction." When the king
said this to them, queen Chandravatí and her daughter Lávanyavatí,
in their terror, plunged into the middle of the wood. And the brave
king, armed with sword and shield, killed many of the Savaras, who came
towards him, raining arrows. Then the chief summoned the whole village,
and falling on the king, who stood there alone, they slashed his shield
to pieces and killed him; and then the host of bandits departed with
his ornaments. And queen Chandravatí, concealed in a thicket of the
wood, saw from a distance her husband slain: so in her bewilderment
she fled with her daughter, and they entered another dense forest a
long distance off. There they found that the shadows of the trees,
afflicted by the heat of midday, had laid themselves at their cool
roots, imitating travellers. So, tired and sad, the queen sat down
weeping with her daughter, in a spot on the bank of a lotus-lake,
under the shade of an asoka-tree.
In the meanwhile a chief, who lived near, came to that forest on
horseback, with his son, to hunt. He was named Chandasinha, and
when he saw their footsteps imprinted in the dust, he said to his
son Sinhaparákrama, "We will follow up these lovely and auspicious
tracks, and if we find the ladies to whom they belong, you shall
choose whichever you please of them." When Chandasinha said this, his
son Sinhaparákrama said to him, "I should like to have for a wife the
one that has these small feet, for I know that she will be young and
suited to me. But this one with large feet, being older than the other,
will just suit you. When Chandasinha heard this speech of his son's,
he said to him, "What is this that you say? Your mother has only
recently gone to heaven, and now that I have lost so good a wife,
how can I desire another?" When Chandasinha's son heard that, he
said to him, "Father, do not say so, for the home of a householder
is empty without a wife. Moreover, have you not heard the stanza
composed by Múladeva? 'Who, that is not a fool, enters that house in
which there is no shapely love eagerly awaiting his return, which,
though called a house, is really a prison without chains.' So, father,
my death will lie at your door, if you do not take as your wife that
companion of the lady whom I have chosen."
When Chandasinha heard this speech of his son's, he approved it,
and went on slowly with him, tracking up their footsteps. And he
reached that spot near the lake, and saw that dark queen Chandravatí,
adorned with many strings of pearls, sitting in the shade of a
tree. She looked like the midnight sky in the middle of the day,
and her daughter Lávanyavatí, like the pure white moonlight, seemed
to illumine her. And he and his son eagerly approached her, and she,
when she saw him, rose up terrified, thinking that he was a bandit.
But the queen's daughter said to her, "Mother, do not be afraid,
these are not bandits, these two gentle-looking well-dressed
persons are certainly some nobles come here to hunt." However the
queen still continued to hesitate; and then Chandasinha got down
from his horse and said to the two ladies, "Do not be alarmed; we
have come here to see you out of love; so take confidence [407] and
tell us fearlessly who you are, since you seem like Rati and Príti
fled to this wood in sorrow at Cupid's having been consumed by the
flames of Siva's fiery eye. And how did you two come to enter this
unpeopled wood? For these forms of yours are fitted to dwell in a
gem-adorned palace. And our minds are tortured to think how your feet,
that deserve to be supported by the lap of beautiful women, can have
traversed this ground full of thorns. And, strange to say, the dust
raised by the wind, falling on your faces, makes our faces lose their
brightness from despondency. [408] And the furious heat of the beams
of the fierce-rayed sun, as it plays on your flower-soft bodies,
burns us. So tell us your story; for our hearts are afflicted; we
cannot bear to see you thus abiding in a forest full of wild beasts."
When Chandasinha said this, the queen sighed, and full of shame and
grief, slowly told him her story. Then Chandasinha, seeing that she had
no protector, comforted her and her daughter, and coaxed them with kind
words into becoming members of his family. And he and his son put the
queen and her daughter on their horses, and conducted them to their
rich palace in Vittapapurí. And the queen, being helpless, submitted
to his will, as if she had been born again in a second life. What
is an unprotected woman, fallen into calamity in a foreign land,
to do? Then Sinhaparákrama, the son of Chandasinha, made Chandravatí
his wife, on account of the smallness of her feet. And Chandasinha
made her daughter, the princess Lávanyavatí, his wife, on account of
the largeness of her feet. For they made this agreement originally,
when they saw the two tracks of the small footsteps and the large
footsteps: and who ever swerves from his plighted word?
So, from the mistake about the feet, the daughter became the wife of
the father, and the mother the wife of the son, and so the daughter
became the mother-in-law of her own mother, and the mother became
the daughter-in-law of her own daughter. And in course of time,
both of them had by those husbands sons and daughters, and they
also had sons and daughters in due course of time. So Chandasinha
and Sinhaparákrama lived in their city, having obtained as wives
Lávanyavatí and Chandravatí.
When the Vetála had told this story on the way at night, he again put
a question to king Trivikramasena; "Now, king, about the children who
were in course of time born to the mother and daughter by the son
and the father in those two lines--what relationship did they bear
to one another? Tell me if you know. And the curse before threatened
will descend on you, if you know and do not tell."
When the king heard this question of the Vetála's, he turned the
matter over and over again in his mind, but he could not find out, so
he went on his way in silence. Then the Vetála in the dead man's body,
perched on the top of his shoulder, laughed to himself, and reflected;
"Ha! Ha! The king does not know how to answer this puzzling question,
so he is glad, and silently goes on his way with very nimble feet. Now
I cannot manage to deceive this treasure-house of valour any further;
[409] and this is not enough to make that mendicant stop playing tricks
with me. So I will now deceive that villain, and by an artifice bestow
the success, which he has earned, upon this king, whom a glorious
future awaits."
When the Vetála had gone through these reflections, he said to the
king, "King, though you have been worried with so many journeys to and
fro in this cemetery terrible with black night, you seem quite happy,
and you do not shew the least irresolution. I am pleased with this
wonderful courage that you shew. [410] So now carry off this body,
for I am going out of it; and listen to this advice which I give you
for your welfare, and act on it. That wicked mendicant, for whom you
have fetched this human corpse, will immediately summon me into it,
and honour me. And wishing to offer you up as a victim, the rascal
will say to you, 'King, prostrate yourself on the ground in such a way
that eight limbs will touch it.' Then, great king, you must say to that
ascetic, [411] 'Shew me first how to do it, and then I will do exactly
as you do.' Then he will fling himself on the ground, and shew you
how to perform the prostration, and that moment you must cut off his
head with the sword. Then you will obtain that prize which he desires,
the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas; enjoy this earth by sacrificing
him! But otherwise that mendicant will offer you up as a victim; it
was to prevent this that I threw obstacles in your way for such a long
time here. So depart; may you prosper!" When the Vetála had said this,
he went out of that human corpse, that was on the king's shoulder.
Then the king was led by the speech of the Vetála, who was pleased
with him, to look upon the ascetic Kshántisíla as his enemy, but he
went to him in high spirits, where he sat under that banyan-tree,
and took with him that human corpse.
CHAPTER XCIX.
(Vetála 25.)
Then king Trivikramasena came up to that mendicant Kshántisíla,
carrying that corpse on his shoulder. And he saw that ascetic, alone at
the foot of a tree, in the cemetery that was terrible with a night of
the black fortnight, eagerly awaiting his arrival. He was in a circle
made with the yellow powder of bones, the ground within which was
smeared with blood, and which had pitchers full of blood placed in the
direction of the cardinal points. [412] It was richly illuminated with
candles of human fat, [413] and near it was a fire fed with oblations,
it was full of all the necessary preparations for a sacrifice, and
in it the ascetic was engaged in worshipping his favourite deity.
So the king came up to him, and the mendicant, seeing that he had
brought the corpse, rose up delighted, and said, praising him; "Great
king, you have conferred on me a favour difficult to accomplish. To
think that one like you should undertake this enterprise in such a
place and at such a time! Indeed they say with truth that you are
the best of all noble kings, being a man of unbending courage, [414]
since you forward the interests of another with such utter disregard
of self. And wise men say that the greatness of great ones consists
in this very thing, that they swerve not from what they have engaged
to do, even though their lives are in danger."
With these words the mendicant, thinking he had gained his end, took
the corpse down from the shoulder of that king. And he bathed it, and
anointed it, and threw a garland round it, and placed it within that
circle. And he smeared his limbs with ashes, and put on a sacrificial
thread of hair, and clothed himself in the garments of the dead,
and thus equipped he continued for a time in meditation. Then the
mendicant summoned that mighty Vetála by the power of spells, and made
him enter the corpse; and proceeded to worship him. He offered to him
an argha of white human teeth in a skull by way of an argha-vessel;
and he presented to him flowers and fragrant unguents; and he gratified
him with the savoury reek of human eyes, [415] and made an offering
to him of human flesh. And when he had finished his worship, he said
to the king, who was at his side, "King, fall on the ground, and do
obeisance with all your eight limbs to this high sovereign of spells
who has appeared here, in order that this bestower of boons may grant
you the accomplishment of your heart's desire."
When the king heard that, he called to mind the words of the Vetála,
and said to the mendicant, "I do not know how to do it, reverend sir;
do you shew me first, and then I will do exactly as you." Then the
mendicant threw himself on the ground, to shew the king what he was to
do, and then the king cut off his head with a stroke of his sword. And
he tore and dragged [416] the lotus of his heart out of his inside,
and offered his heart and head as two lotuses to that Vetála.
Then the delighted hosts of goblins uttered shouts of applause on every
side, and the Vetála said to the king from inside the corpse, "King,
the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas, which this mendicant was aiming at,
shall fall to your lot after you have finished the enjoyment of your
earthly sway. Since I have given you much annoyance, choose whatever
boon you desire." When the Vetála said this, the king said to him,
"Since you are pleased with me, every boon that I could desire is
obtained; nevertheless, as your words cannot be uttered in vain, I
crave this boon of you:--may these first twenty-four questions and
answers, charming with their various tales, and this conclusion,
the twenty-fifth of the series, be all famous and honoured on the
earth!" When the king made this request to the Vetála, the latter
replied, "So be it! and now listen, king; I am going to mention a
peculiar excellence which it shall possess. This string of tales,
consisting of the twenty-four first, and this final concluding tale,
shall become, under the title of the Twenty-five Tales of a Vampire,
famous and honoured on the earth, as conducing to prosperity! Whosoever
shall read respectfully even a sloka of it, or whosoever shall hear it
read, even they two shall immediately be freed from their curse. And
Yakshas, and Vetálas, and Kushmándas, and witches, and Rákshasas, and
other creatures of the kind shall have no power where this shall be
recited." When the Vetála had said this, he left that human corpse, and
went by his supernatural deluding power to the habitation he desired.
Then Siva, being pleased, appeared, accompanied by all the gods, to
that king, visibly manifest, and said to him, as he bowed before him;
"Bravo! my son, for that thou hast to-day slain this hypocritical
ascetic, who was so ardently in love with the imperial sovereignty
over the Vidyádharas! I originally created thee out of a portion of
myself, as Vikramáditya, in order that thou mightest destroy the
Asuras, that had become incarnate in the form of Mlechchhas. And
now thou hast again been created by me as a heroic king of the name
of Trivikramasena, in order that thou mightest overcome an audacious
evildoer. So thou shalt bring under thy sway the earth with the islands
and the realms below, and shalt soon become supreme ruler over the
Vidyádharas. And after thou hast long enjoyed heavenly pleasures,
thou shalt become melancholy, and shalt of thy own will abandon them,
and shalt at last without fail be united with me. Now receive from me
this sword named Invincible, by means of which thou shalt duly obtain
all this." When the god Siva had said this to the king, he gave him
that splendid sword, and disappeared after he had been worshipped
by him with devout speeches and flowers. Then king Trivikramasena,
seeing that the whole business was finished, and as the night had come
to an end, entered his own city Pratishthána. There he was honoured
by his rejoicing subjects, who in course of time came to hear of
his exploits during the night, and he spent the whole of that day
in bathing, giving gifts, in worshipping Siva, in dancing, singing,
music, and other enjoyments of the kind. And in a few days that king,
by the power of the sword of Siva, came to enjoy the earth, that
was cleared of all enemies, together with the islands and the lower
regions; and then by the appointment of Siva he obtained the high
imperial sovereignty over the Vidyádharas, and after enjoying it long,
at last became united with the blessed one, so attaining all his ends.
(Here ends the Vetálapanchavinsati.)
When [417] that minister Vikramakesarin, meeting in the way the
successful [418] prince Mrigánkadatta, after he had been long separated
from him by a curse, had told him all this, he went on to say to him,
"So, prince, after that old Bráhman had told me in that village this
story, called the Twenty-five Tales of a Vampire, he went on to say
to me, 'Well, my son, did not that heroic king Trivikramasena obtain
from the favour of a Vetála the thing that he desired? So do you also
receive from me this spell, and laying aside your state of despondency,
win over a chief among the Vetálas, in order that you may obtain
reunion with prince Mrigánkadatta. For nothing is unattainable by
those who possess endurance; who, my son, will not fail, if he allows
his endurance to break down? So do what I recommend you to do out of
affection; for you kindly delivered me from the pain of the bite of
a poisonous serpent.' When the Bráhman said this, I received from
him the spell with the practice to be employed with it, and then,
king, I took leave of him, and went to Ujjayiní. There I got hold
of a corpse in the cemetery at night, and I washed it, and performed
all the other necessary processes with regard to it, and I summoned a
Vetála into it by means of that spell, and duly worshipped him. And to
satisfy his hunger, I gave him human flesh to eat; and being greedy
for the flesh of men, he ate that up quickly, and then said to me;
'I am not satisfied with this; give me some more.' And as he would
not wait any time, I cut off my own flesh, [419] and gave it to him to
please him: and that made that prince of magicians exceedingly pleased
with me. Then he said to me, 'My friend, I am much pleased now with
this intrepid valour of thine, so become whole in thy limbs as thou
wast before, and crave from me whatever boon thou desirest.' When the
Vetála said this to me, I answered him then and there: 'Convey me, god,
to that place where my master Mrigánkadatta is; there is no other boon
which I desire more than this.' Then the mighty Vetála said to me;
'Then quickly get up on my shoulder, that I may carry thee rapidly
to that master of thine.' When the Vetála said this, I consented,
and eagerly climbed up on his shoulder, and then the Vetála, that was
inside that human corpse, rapidly set out through the air, carrying
me with him. And he has brought me here to-day, king, and when that
mighty Vetála saw you on the way, he brought me down from the air,
and thus I have been made to reach the sole of your foot. And I have
to-day been reunited with my master, and the Vetála has departed,
having accomplished what was required of him. This, O bestower of
honour, [420] is my great adventure, since I was separated from you
by the curse of the Nága."
When Mrigánkadatta, as he was going to Ujjayiní to win his beloved,
had heard, on the way, from his minister Vikramakesarin, this account
of his adventures since he had been separated from him, that prince
rejoiced, as he had in course of time found some of his ministers,
who were separated from him by the curse of Párávatáksha, and as he
augured therefrom success in all that he had in hand.
NOTE.
Properly speaking, there are 24 instead of 25 stories in this version
of the Vetála Panchavinsati. The same appears to be the case with the
redaction ascribed to Sivadása, according to Oesterley, and with the
Tamul version. The 24th tale in Oesterley's translation is simply a
repetition of the 22nd.
CHAPTER C.
Honour to the vanquisher of obstacles, [421] round whose knees,
when he is dancing at night, there winds a garland of stars, which
appears as if it had fallen from the globes on his forehead!
Then, the story being ended, the delighted Mrigánkadatta rose up from
the middle of the path, and set out again for Ujjayiní for which he had
long ago started in order to find Sasánkavatí, with a party of eight,
including himself, having recovered Vikramakesarin, accompanied by
Gunákara, and Vimalabuddhi, and Vichitrakatha, and Bhímaparákrama,
and Prachandasakti, and the Bráhman Srutadhi, and he kept looking
out for those of his companions separated from him by the curse of
the Nága, whom he had not yet recovered.
And in course of time, he reached a treeless desert, all the water in
which had been dried up by the heat, and which was full of sand heated
by the fierce blaze of the sun. And as the prince was traversing it,
he said to his ministers, "Observe how long, terrible, and difficult to
cross is this great desert; for it has in it no refuge, it is pathless
and abandoned by men; and the blaze of its fire of grief seems to
ascend in these sandy mirages; its rough and dishevelled locks are
represented by the dry rustling blades of grass; and its thorns make
it appear to have its hair standing on end through fear of the lions,
tigers, and other noisome beasts; and it laments in the cries of its
deer exhausted by the heat and longing for water. So we must cross
this terrible desert as quickly as we can."
When Mrigánkadatta had said this, he quickly crossed that desert
with his ministers, who were afflicted with hunger and thirst. And
he beheld in front of him a great lake filled with pellucid and
cold water, looking like streams that had flowed down from the moon
after it had been melted with the heat of the sun. It was so broad
that it filled the whole horizon, and it looked like a jewel-mirror
made by the Fortune of the three worlds, in order to behold in it
the reflection of herself. That lake resembled the Mahábhárata, for
in it the Dhártaráshtras [422] were making a disturbance, and many
Arjuna trees were reflected; [423] and it was refreshing and sweet
to the taste; it was like the churned sea of doom, for its precious
fluid was drunk by the blue-necked jays that assembled near it, [424]
and Vishnu might have resorted to it to find the goddess of Beauty:
[425] it resembled an earthly Pátála, for its profound cool depths
were never reached by the rays of the sun, and it was an unfailing
receptacle of lotuses. [426]
And on the western shore of that lake the prince and his ministers saw
a great and wonderful tree. Its numerous far-reaching boughs, agitated
by the wind, appeared like arms, and the cloud-stream that clung to its
head was like the Ganges, so that it resembled Siva dancing. With its
lofty top, that pierced the sky, it seemed to be standing erect out
of curiosity to see the beauty of the garden Nandana. It was adorned
with fruit of heavenly flavour, that clung to its branches, and so
it looked like the wishing-tree of heaven, with goblets of nectar
suspended on it by the gods. It waved its shoots like finger-tips,
and seemed with the voices of its birds to say again and again,
"Let no one question me in any way!"
While prince Mrigánkadatta was looking at that tree, his ministers,
worn out with hunger and thirst, ran towards it, and the moment they
saw those fruits on it, they climbed up to eat them, and immediately
they lost their human form, and were all six suddenly turned into
fruits. Then Mrigánkadatta was bewildered at not seeing those friends
of his, and he called on every one of them there by name. But when they
gave no answer, and could not be seen anywhere, the prince exclaimed
in a voice agonized with despair, "Alas! I am undone!" and fell on
the ground in a swoon. And the Bráhman Srutadhi, who had not climbed
up the tree, was the only one left at his side.
So the Bráhman Srutadhi at once said to him by way of consolation,
"Why, my sovereign, do you lose your firmness, and despair, though
you have learned wisdom? For it is the man, who is not distracted in
calamity, that obtains prosperity. Did you not find those ministers,
after they had been separated from you by the curse of the Nága? In
like manner shall you again recover them, and get back the others also,
and moreover you shall soon be united with Sasánkavatí." When Srutadhi
said this to the prince, he answered him; "How can this be? The truth
is that all this train of events was arranged for our ruin by the
Disposer. If it was not so arranged, how came the Vetála to appear
in the night, and Bhímaparákrama to do as he did, and how came it to
pass that I heard about Sasánkavatí through the conversation that took
place between them, and that I set out from Ayodhyá to fetch her? How
came it to pass also that we were all separated from one another
in the Vindhya forest by the curse of the Nága, and that some of us
were in course of time reunited, and that this second separation has
now taken place and with it the ruin of all my plans? It all tallies
together, my friend. The fact is they have been devoured in that tree
by a demon, and without them what is Sasánkavatí to me, or what is
my life worth to me? So away with delusions?" When Mrigánkadatta had
said this, he rose up to throw himself into the lake out of sorrow,
although Srutadhi tried to prevent him.
At that moment a bodiless voice came from the air, "My son, do not
act rashly, for all will end well for thee. The god Ganesa himself
dwells in this tree, and he has been to-day insulted by thy ministers
unwittingly. For they, king, being pinched with hunger, climbed up
into the tree in which he dwells, to pick its fruits, in a state of
impurity, having neither rinsed their mouths nor washed their hands
and feet; so the moment that they touched the fruits, they became
fruits themselves. For Ganesa inflicted on them this curse, 'Let them
become that on which their minds are fixed?' Moreover, thy four other
ministers, who, the moment they arrived here, climbed up the tree in
the same way, were turned into fruits by the god. Therefore do thou
propitiate this Ganesa with ascetic practices, and by his favour thou
shalt attain all thy objects."
When Mrigánkadatta had been thus addressed by the voice from the
air, that seemed to rain nectar into his ears, hope again sprang
up in his bosom, and he gave up all idea of suicide. So he bathed
in the lake, and worshipped Ganesa, who dwelt in that tree, without
taking food, and joining his palms in an attitude of supplication,
praised him in the following words; "Hail thou elephant-faced lord,
who art, as it were, worshipped by the earth, that with its plains,
rocks, and woods, bows under the crushing weight of thy tumultuous
dance! Hail thou that hast the twin lotuses of thy feet worshipped
by the three worlds, with the gods, Asuras, and men, that dwell in
them; thou, whose body is in shape like a pitcher for the abundant
storing of various splendid successes! Hail, thou, the flame of
whose might blazes forth like twelve fierce suns rising at once;
thou that wast a premature day of doom to the race of the Daityas,
whom Siva, Vishnu, and Indra found hard to conquer! Hail, thou that
wardest off calamity from thy votaries! Hail, thou that diffusest a
blaze of flame with thy hand, while it glitters with thy mighty axe,
that seems anxious to illuminate thee in sport! I fly for refuge to
thee, O Ganesa, that wast worshipped even by Gaurí, in order that her
husband might successfully accomplish his undertaking in the conquest
of Tripura; honour to thee!" When Mrigánkadatta had in these words
praised Ganesa, he spent that night fasting, on a bed of kusa-grass
under that tree. In the same way that prince spent eleven nights,
being engaged in propitiating Ganesa, the king of impediments; and
Srutadhi remained in attendance on him.
And on the night of the twelfth day Ganesa said to him in a dream,
"My son, I am pleased with thee; thy ministers shall be released
from their curse, and thou shalt recover them; and with them thou
shalt go and win Sasánkavatí in due course; and thou shalt return
to thy own city, and rule the whole earth." After Mrigánkadatta had
been thus informed in a dream by the god Ganesa, he woke up, when
the night came to an end, and told Srutadhi the vision that he had
seen. Srutadhi congratulated him on it; and then, in the morning,
the prince bathed and worshipped Ganesa, and proceeded to walk round
the tree in which the god dwelt, with his right hand towards it,
[427] and while he was thus engaged, all his ten ministers came down
from the tree, having been released from the form of fruits, and fell
at his feet. Besides the six who were mentioned before, there were
Vyághrasena and Sthúlabáhu, and Meghabala, and the fourth Dridhamushti.
Then the prince, having recovered all those ministers at the same
instant, with eye, with gestures, [428] and with voice agitated by the
workings of joy, looked at his ministers, one by one, again and again,
exceedingly lovingly, and embraced them, and then spoke to them;
having successfully attained his object. And they, beholding with
tears in their eyes their master, who, after the asceticism which he
had gone through, was slender as a new moon, and having been told the
true explanation of the whole by Srutadhi, felicitated themselves on
having truly a protecting lord.
Then Mrigánkadatta, having attained good hope of accomplishing his
enterprise, joyfully broke his fast with those ministers, who had
performed all necessary ablutions in the tank.
CHAPTER CI.
Then Mrigánkadatta, refreshed by breaking his fast, sat down
with those ministers of his on the bank of that lake. Then he
courteously asked those four ministers, whom he had recovered
that day, for an account of their adventures during the time that
he was separated from them. Thereupon that one of them, who was
called Vyághrasena, said to him, "Listen, prince, I now proceed to
relate our adventures. When I was carried to a distance from you by
the curse of the Nága Párávatáksha, I lost my senses, and in that
state I wandered through the forest by night. At last I recovered
consciousness, but the darkness, which enveloped me, prevented me
from seeing where the cardinal points lay, and what path I ought to
take. At last the night, that grief made long, [429] came to an end;
and in course of time the sun arose, that mighty god, and revealed
all the quarters of the heaven. Then I said to myself 'Alas! Where
can that master of mine be gone? And how will he manage to exist
here alone separated from us? And how am I to recover him? Where
shall I look for him? What course shall I adopt? I had better go to
Ujjayiní; for I may perhaps find him there; for he must go there,
to find Sasánkavatí.' With such hopes I set out slowly for Ujjayiní,
threading that difficult forest that resembled calamity, scorched by
the rays of the sun, that resembled showers of fiery powder.
"And at last, somehow or other, I reached a lake, with full-blown
lotuses for expanded eyes, that seemed to hold converse with me
by means of the sweet cries of its swans and other water-birds;
it stretched forth its ripples like hands; its surface was calm and
broad; [430] the very sight of it took away all grief; and so in all
points it resembled a good man. I bathed in it, and ate lotus-fibres,
and drank water; and while I was lingering on its bank, I saw these
three arrive there, Dridhamushti, and Sthúlabáhu, and Meghabala. And
when we met, we asked one another for tidings of you. And as none of
us knew anything about you, and we suspected the worst, we made up our
minds to abandon the body, being unable to endure separation from you.
"And at that moment a hermit-boy came to bathe in that lake; his name
was Mahátapas, and he was the son of Dírghatapas. He had matted hair,
he diffused a brightness of his own, and he seemed like the god of
Fire, blazing with mighty flame, having become incarnate in the body
of a Bráhman, in order to consume once more the Khándava forest; [431]
he was clothed in the skin of a black antelope, he had an ascetic's
water-vessel in his left hand, and on his right wrist he bore a rosary
of Aksha-seeds by way of a bracelet; the perfumed earth that he used
in bathing was stuck on the horns of the deer that came with him, and
he was accompanied by some other hermit-boys like himself. The moment
he saw us about to throw ourselves into the lake, he came towards us;
for the good are easily melted with compassion, and shew causeless
friendship to all. And he said to us, 'You ought not to commit a crime
characteristic of cowards, for poltroons, with their minds blinded with
grief, fall into the gulfs of calamity, but resolute men, having eyes
enlightened by discernment, behold the right path, and do not fall
into the pit, but assuredly attain their goal. And you, being men of
auspicious appearance, will no doubt attain prosperity; so tell me,
what is your grief? For it grieves my heart to see you thus.'
"When the hermit-boy had said this, I at once told him the whole of
our adventure from the beginning; then that boy, who could read the
future, [432] and his companions, exhorted us with various speeches,
and diverted our minds from suicide. Then the hermit-boy, after he
had bathed, took us to his father's hermitage, which was at no great
distance, to entertain us.
"There that hermit's son bestowed on us the arghya, and made us sit
down in a place, in which even the trees seemed to have entered on a
course of penance, for they stood aloft on platforms of earth, and
lifted on high their branches like arms, and drank in the rays of
the sun. And then he went and asked all the trees in the hermitage,
one after another, for alms. And in a moment his alms-vessel was
filled with fruits, that of themselves dropped from the trees; and
he came back with it to us. And he gave us those fruits of heavenly
flavour, and when we had eaten them, we became, as it were, satisfied
with nectar.
"And when the day came to an end, and the sun descended into the sea,
and the sky was filled with stars, as if with spray flung up by his
fall, and the moon, having put on a white bark-robe of moonlight, had
gone to the ascetic grove on the top of the eastern mountain, [433] as
if desiring to withdraw from the world on account of the fall of the
sun, we went to see the hermits, who had finished all their duties,
and were sitting together in a certain part of the hermitage. We
bowed before them, and sat down, and those great sages welcomed us,
and with kindly words at once asked us whence we came. Then that
hermit-boy told them our history until the time of our entering the
hermitage. Then a wise hermit there, of the name of Kanva, said to us,
'Come, why have you allowed yourselves to become so dispirited, being,
as you are, men of valour? For it is the part of a brave man to display
unbroken firmness in calamity, and freedom from arrogance in success,
and never to abandon fortitude. And great men attain the title of great
by struggling through great difficulties by the aid of resolution,
and accomplishing great things. In illustration of this, listen to
this story of Sundarasena, and hear how he endured hardship for the
sake of Mandáravatí?' When the hermit Kanva had said this, he began, in
the hearing of us and of all the hermits, to tell the following tale."
Story of Sundarasena and Mandáravatí.
There is a country named Nishada, that adorns the face of the northern
quarter; in it there was of old a city of the name of Alaká. In this
city the people were always happy in abundance of all things, [434]
and the only things that never enjoyed repose were the jewel-lamps. In
it there lived a king of the name of Mahásena, and not without reason
was he so named, for his enemies were all consumed by the wonderful
and terrible fire of his valour, which resembled that of the god of
war. That king had a prime minister named Gunapálita, who was like
a second Sesha, for he was a mine of valour, and could bear up, like
that serpent, the weight of the earth. The king, having destroyed his
enemies, laid upon him the weight of his kingdom and devoted himself to
pleasure; and then he had a son born to him by his queen Sasiprabhá,
named Sundarasena. Even when he was a child, he was no child in good
qualities, and the goddesses of valour and beauty chose him for their
self-elected husband.
That prince had five heroic ministers, equal in age and
accomplishments, who had grown up with him from their childhood,
Chandaprabha, and Bhímabhuja, and Vyághraparákrama, and the heroic
Vikramasakti, and the fifth was Dridhabuddhi. And they were all
men of great courage, endowed with strength and wisdom, well-born,
and devoted to their master, and they even understood the cries
of birds. [435] And the prince lived with them in his father's
house without a suitable wife, being unmarried, though he was
grown up. And that heroic Sundarasena and his ministers reflected,
"Courage invincible in assault, and wealth won by his own arm, and a
wife equal to him in beauty become a hero on this earth. Otherwise,
what is the use of this beauty?"
And one day the prince went out of the town to hunt, accompanied by
his soldiers, and by those five companions, and as he was going out, a
certain famous female mendicant named Kátyáyaní, bold from the maturity
of her age, who had just returned from a distant foreign country,
saw him, and said to herself, when she beheld his superhuman beauty,
"Is this the Moon without Rohiní or the god of Love without Rati?" But
when she asked his attendants, and found out that it was the prince,
she was astonished, and praised the marvellousness of the creation of
the Disposer. [436] Then she cried out to the prince from a distance
with a shrill and far reaching voice, "Be victorious, O prince," and
so saying she bowed before him. But at that moment the mind of the
prince was wholly occupied by a conversation which he had begun with
his ministers, and he went on without hearing the female ascetic. But
she was angry, and called out to him in such a loud voice that he
could not help hearing her, "Ho! prince! why do you not listen to
the blessing of such a one as I am? What king or prince is there
on the earth that does not honour me? [437] But if your youth and
other advantages render you so proud now, it is certain that, if you
obtain for a wife that ornament of the world, the maiden Mandáravatí,
the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa, you will be too much puffed
up with arrogance to listen to the speech of Siva, [438] the great
Indra, and other gods, much less to the words of wretched men."
When the ascetic had said this, Sundarasena, being full of curiosity,
called her to him, and bent before her and propitiated her. And being
anxious to question her, he sent her under the care of his servants
to rest in the house of his minister Vikramasakti. Then the prince
went off, and after he had enjoyed the sport of hunting, he returned
to his palace, and said his daily prayers, and took his food, and
then he sent for the ascetic, and put the following question to her,
"Reverend mother, who is this maiden named Mandáravatí, that you
spoke of to-day? Tell me, for I feel great curiosity about her."
When the ascetic heard this, she said to him, "Listen, I will tell you
the whole story. I am in the habit of wandering about the whole of this
earth and the islands, for the sake of visiting sacred bathing-places
and other holy spots. And in the course of my travels I happened
to visit Hansadvípa. There I saw the daughter of king Mandáradeva,
a suitable match for the sons of gods, not to be beheld by those
who have done evil works; she bears the name of Mandáravatí, and
has a form as charming as the presiding goddess of the garden of the
gods; the sight of her kindles love, and she seems like another moon
all composed of nectar, created by the Disposer. There is no other
beauty on the earth equal to hers; [439] only you, prince, I think,
emulate her wealth of loveliness. As for those who have not seen her,
their eyes are useless, and they have been born in vain."
When the prince heard this from the mouth of the female ascetic, he
said, "Mother, how are we to get a sight of her beauty, which is so
surpassing?" When the female ascetic heard this speech of his, she
said, "I took such interest in her on that occasion that I painted
a picture of her on canvas; and I have it with me in a bag; if you
feel any curiosity about it, look at it." When she had said this,
she took the picture of the lady out of the bag, and shewed it to
the gratified prince. And Sundarasena, when he beheld that maiden,
who, though she was present there only in a picture, seemed to be of
romantic beauty, and like a flowing forth of joy, immediately felt
his limbs covered all over with hairs erect from horripilation, as if
he had been pierced with the dense arrows of the god of the flowery
bow. [440] He remained motionless, hearing nothing, speaking nothing,
seeing nothing; and with his whole heart fixed on her, was for a long
time as if painted in a picture.
When the prince's ministers saw that, they said to that female ascetic,
"Reverend mother, paint prince Sundarasena on this piece of canvas,
and let us have a specimen of your skill in catching likenesses." The
moment she heard that, she painted the prince on canvas. And when they
saw that it was a striking likeness, all, who were present there, said,
"The reverend lady's likenesses exactly resemble the originals, for
when one looks at this picture, one thinks that one sees the prince
himself; so the beauty of the princess Mandáravatí is sure to be such
as it is represented in the picture."
When the ministers had said this, prince Sundarasena took the two
pictures, and being pleased, honoured that female ascetic. And he
dismissed with appropriate honours that dweller in a lonely spot. And
he entered the inner part of the palace, carrying with him the picture
of his beloved. He flung himself on a bed and said to himself "Can
this be my charmer's face, or a moon that has purged away the spot
that defiles its beauty?" [441] In this way he remained examining
Mandáravatí, limb by limb, though he had only her painted form before
him: and in this state he continued every day, abstaining from meat and
drink; and so in the course of a few days he was completely exhausted
by the pain of love's fever.
When his parents, Sasiprabhá and Mahásena, found that out, they
came of their own accord and asked his friends the cause of his
indisposition. And his companions told them the whole story, as it had
happened, how the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa had come to be the
cause of his complaint. Then Mahásena said to Sundarasena, "My son, why
do you so improperly conceal this attachment of yours? For Mandáravatí
is a pearl of maidens, and she will be a good match for you. Besides,
her father Mandáradeva is a great friend of mine. So why do you torment
yourself about a matter of this kind, which is quite becoming, and
can be easily arranged by an ambassador?" When king Mahásena had said
this, he deliberated, and sent off an ambassador named Surathadeva
to Hansadvípa, to ask for the daughter of king Mandáradeva. And he
put into his hand the portrait of Sundarasena, executed on canvas by
that female ascetic, which shewed how wonderfully handsome he was.
The ambassador travelled quickly, and reached the city of king
Mahendráditya on the shore of the sea, named Sasánkapura. There
he embarked on a ship, and after some days he reached the palace
of king Mandáradeva in Hansadvípa. He was announced by the wardens
and entered the palace, and saw that king, and after he had in due
form delivered to him the present, he said to him, "Great monarch,
king Mahásena sends you this message, 'Give your daughter to my son
Sundarasena; for a female ascetic, of the name of Kátyáyaní, made a
portrait of her, and brought it here, and shewed it to my son, as the
picture of a pearl of maidens. And as Sundarasena's beauty so nearly
resembled hers, I felt a desire to have his form painted on canvas
also, and herewith I send the picture. Look at it. Moreover, my son,
who is of such astonishing beauty, does not wish to be married,
unless he can find a wife that resembles him, and nobody but your
daughter is a match for him in appearance.' This is the message the
king entrusted to me, when he put this portrait into my hand; look
at it, king, let the spring-flower creeper be united to the spring."
When the king heard this speech of the ambassador's, he was delighted,
and he sent for his daughter Mandáravatí and the queen her mother. And
in their company he opened and looked at that portrait, and immediately
he ceased to cherish the proud thought, that there was no fitting match
for his daughter on the earth. And he said, "My daughter's beauty will
not have been created in vain, if she is united to this prince. She
does not look her best without him, nor is he complete without her;
what is the lotus-bed without the swan, and what is the swan without
the lotus-bed?"
When the king said this, and the queen expressed her complete
approbation of it, Mandáravatí suddenly became bewildered with
love. She remained with her wide expanded eyes immoveably fixed on the
picture, as if possessed, as if asleep, (though she was wide awake,)
as if herself a painting. Then Mandáradeva, seeing his daughter in
that state, consented to give her in marriage, and he honoured that
ambassador.
And on the next day the king sent off his counter-ambassador, who was
a Bráhman named Kumáradatta, to king Mahásena. And he said to the two
ambassadors, "Go quickly to that king Mahásena, the lord of Alaká,
and say to him from me, 'I give you my daughter out of friendship;
so tell me, will your son come here, or shall I send my daughter to
you?'" When the two ambassadors had received this message from the
king, they immediately started off together on the sea in a ship;
and they reached Sasánkapura, and thence they travelled by land, and
reached that opulent city of Alaká, which seemed like the original
Alaká. [442] They went to the king's palace, and entered it with
the usual courtesies, and saw king Mahásena who welcomed them. And
they told that king the answer which Mandáradeva entrusted to them;
and when the king heard it, he was pleased, and shewed both of them
great honour.
Then the king found out the star, under which the princess was born,
from her father's ambassador; and he asked his astrologers when a
favourable time would arrive for the marriage of his son. And they
answered that an auspicious time would present itself in three months
for bridegroom and bride, on the fifth day of the white fortnight
of the month Kártika. And so the king of Alaká informed Mandáradeva
that the marriage ought to take place on that day, and that he would
send his son, and this he wrote in a letter, and committed it to the
care of the ambassador Kumáradatta, and another ambassador of his own
named Chandrasvámin. So the ambassadors departed, and gave the letter
as they were directed, and told the king of Hansadvípa all that had
taken place. The king approved, and after honouring Chandrasvámin,
the ambassador of Mahásena, he sent him back to his master. And he
returned to Alaká, and reported that the business was satisfactorily
settled; and then all on both sides remained eagerly expecting the
auspicious day.
And in the meanwhile Mandáravatí in Hansadvípa, who had long ago
fallen in love with the prince from seeing his picture, thought
that the auspicious day for the marriage was a long way off, and
felt unable to endure so much delay; and being affectionate, she
became desperately enamoured, and was grievously tormented with the
fire of love. And in the eager longing of her heart for Sundarasena,
even the anointing with sandal-wood ointment became a shower of hot
coals on her body, and a bed of lotus-leaves was to her a bed of hot
sand, and the rays of the moon seemed like the scorching points of
flame of a forest conflagration. She remained silent, avoiding food,
adopting a vow of loneliness; and when her confidante questioned
her in her anxiety, she was at last, with difficulty, induced to
make the following avowal; "My friend, my marriage is far off, and I
cannot bear to wait for the time, separated from my intended husband,
the son of the king of Alaká. Distant is the time, and the place, and
various is the course of Fate; so who knows what will happen to any one
here in the meantime? So I had better die." Saying this, Mandáravatí,
being sick with separation, passed immediately into a miserable state.
When her father and mother heard that from the mouth of her confidante,
and saw her in such a condition, they deliberated with the ministers,
and came to the following conclusion, "That king Mahásena, the
sovereign of Alaká, is on good terms with us, and the princess
Mandáravatí is unable to endure the delay here, so why should we feel
any delicacy about it? Happen what will, let us send her to Alaká,
for when she is near her beloved, she will be able patiently to endure
the delay." When king Mandáradeva had gone through these deliberations,
he comforted his daughter Mandáravatí, and made her embark on a ship
with wealth and attendants, and after her mother had recited a prayer
for her good fortune, he sent her off from Hansadvípa by sea on an
auspicious day, to travel to Alaká, in order that she might be married
there; and he sent with her a minister of his own, named Vinítamati.
And after the princess, travelling in a ship on the ocean, had left
Hansadvípa some days' sail behind her, there suddenly rose up against
her a roaring cloud, as it were a bandit, showering raindrops like
arrows, that sang terribly in the whistling wind. And the gale, like
mighty fate, in a moment dragged her ship to a distance, and smote it,
and broke it in pieces. And those attendants were drowned, and among
them Vinítamati; and all her treasure was whelmed in the ocean.
But the sea lifted up the princess with a wave, as it were with an arm,
and flung her up alive in a forest on the shore, near the scene of
the shipwreck. To think that she should have fallen into the sea, and
that a towering wave should have landed her in a forest! Behold now,
how nothing is impossible to Destiny! Then she, in such a situation,
terrified and confused, seeing that she was alone in a solitary wood,
was again plunged in a sea, but this time it was the sea of grief. She
exclaimed, "Where have I arrived? Surely it is a very different place
from that for which I set out! Where too are those attendants of
mine? Where is Vinítamati? Why has this suddenly happened to me? Where
shall I go, ill-starred as I am? Alas! I am undone! What shall I
do? Cursed Fate, why did you rescue me from the sea? Ah! father! Ah,
mother! Ah, husband, son of the king of Alaká! Look; I am perishing
before I reach you; why do you not deliver me?" While uttering these
and similar exclamations, Mandáravatí wept copiously with tears that
resembled the pearls of a broken necklace.
And at that very time a hermit, named Matanga, came there from his
hermitage, which was not far off, to bathe in the sea. That sage,
who was accompanied by his daughter, named Yamuná, who had observed a
vow of virginity from her childhood, heard the sound of Mandáravatí's
weeping. And with his daughter he approached her kindly, and he saw
her, looking like a doe separated from a herd of deer, casting her
sorrowing eyes in every direction. And the great sage said to her with
an affectionate voice, "Who are you, and how did you get into this
wood, and why do you weep?" Then Mandáravatí, seeing that he was a
compassionate man, slowly recovered herself, and told him her story,
with face dejected from shame.
Then the hermit Matanga, after meditating, said to her, "Princess,
cease to despair; recover your composure! Though you are delicate
of body as a sirísha-flower, the calamity of sorrow afflicts you;
do misfortunes ever consider whether their victim is tender or
not? But you shall soon obtain the husband you desire; so come to
this hermitage of mine, which is at no great distance from this
place; and remain there with this daughter of mine as in your own
house." When the great hermit had comforted her with these words,
he bathed, and accompanied by his daughter, led Mandáravatí to his
hermitage. There she remained leading an ascetic life, longing to
meet her husband, delighting herself with waiting upon that sage,
accompanied by his daughter.
And in the meanwhile Sundarasena, who was emaciated with long
expectation, remained killing the time in Alaká, continually counting
the days, eager for his marriage with Mandáravatí, and his friend
Chandaprabha and the rest were trying to console him. And in course
of time, as the auspicious day drew nigh, his father, the king, made
preparations for his journey to Hansadvípa. And after prayers had
been offered for a prosperous journey, prince Sundarasena started
from his home on an auspicious day, shaking the earth with his armies.
And as he was marching along with his ministers, he reached in course
of time, to his delight, that city Sasánkapura, which adorned the
shore of the sea. There king Mahendráditya, hearing of his approach,
came to meet him, bowing humbly, and the prince entered the city with
his followers, and mounted on an elephant, he reached the palace
of the king. And as he went along, the splendour of his beauty
fluttered the hearts of the ladies of the city, as the hurricane
flutters the lotus-bed. In the palace, king Mahendráditya shewed him
every attention, and promised to accompany him: and so he rested
there that day. And he spent the night in such thoughts as these,
"Shall I ever get across the sea, and win that blushing bride?"
And next morning he left his army in that very city, and went with king
Mahendráditya to the shore of the sea. There he and his ministers,
together with that king, embarked on a large ship, that was well
supplied with food and water. And the prince made the small retinue,
that he could not help taking, embark on a second ship. Then the ship
was let go, and its flag fluttered in the wind, and those two kings,
who were in it, shaped their course towards the south-western quarter.
And after two or three days had passed, as they were sailing on the
sea, there suddenly arose a great hurricane. And the ranges of forest
on the shores of the sea shook to and fro, as if in astonishment at
the unprecedented character of the gale. And the waters of the sea,
inverted by the wind, were turned upside down, again and again, as
affections are by lapse of time. And an offering of jewels was made to
the sea accompanied by a loud cry of woe; and the pilots let loose the
sail and relaxed their efforts at the same time; and all excitedly
flung out very heavy stones on all sides, fastened by chains, and
flung away their hopes of life at the same time; and the two vessels,
driven to and fro by the waves, as elephants by elephant-drivers,
[443] wandered about in the sea, as if in the mêlée of a battle.
Then Sundarasena, beholding that, was moved from his seat, as if
from his self-command, [444] and said to king Mahendráditya, "It
is through my demerits in former births that this day of doom has
suddenly come upon you. So I cannot endure to witness it; I will fling
myself into the sea." When the prince had said this, he quickly girt
his upper garment round his loins, and flung himself then and there
into the sea. And when his five friends, Chandaprabha and the others,
saw that, they too flung themselves in, and Mahendráditya did the
same. And while, having recovered their presence of mind, they were
swimming across the ocean, they all went in different directions,
being separated by the force of the waves. And immediately the wind
fell, and the sea became hushed and calm, and bore the semblance of
a good man whose wrath is appeased. [445]
And in the meanwhile Sundarasena, with whom was Dridhabuddhi, found
a ship that had been driven from somewhere or other by the wind,
and with that minister of his as his only companion he climbed up on
it, as it were on a second swing of incertitude oscillating between
rescue and destruction. Then, having lost all courage, he drifted,
not knowing his bearings, looking on the whole world as made of water,
confiding in his god: and the ship, which was wafted along by a gentle
and favourable breeze, as if by a deity, carried him to the shore in
three days. There it stuck fast, and he and his companion sprang to
shore and to a hope of life at the same moment.
And when there, he recovered breath, and said to Dridhabuddhi; "I
have escaped even from the sea, from the infernal regions, though I
went below; but since I have not been able to do so without causing
the death of my ministers Vikramasakti, and Vyághraparákrama, and
Chandaprabha and Bhímabhuja, such fine fellows as they were, and also
of king Mahendráditya, who became without cause so good a friend to
me,--of all these,--how can I now live with honour?" When he said
this, his minister Dridhabuddhi said to him, "Prince, recover your
composure; I am persuaded that we shall have good fortune; for they
may perhaps make their way across the sea, as we have done. Who can
discern the mysterious way of Destiny?"
While Dridhabuddhi was saying this and other things of the same
kind, two hermits came there to bathe. The good men, seeing that the
prince was despondent, came up to him, and asked him his story, and
said kindly to him; "Wise sir, even the gods are not able to alter
the mighty influence of actions in a previous state of existence,
that bestow joy and sorrow. So a resolute man, who wishes to take
leave of sorrow, should practise right doing; for right doing is
the true remedy for it, not regrets, nor emaciation of the body. So
abandon despondency, and preserve your body by resolute endurance;
as long as the body is preserved, what object of human endeavour
cannot be attained? Moreover, you possess auspicious marks; you are
certain to enjoy prosperity." Saying this the hermits consoled him,
and took him to their hermitage.
And prince Sundarasena remained waiting there for some days,
accompanied by Dridhabuddhi.
And in the meanwhile his ministers Bhímabhuja and Vikramasakti,
having swum across the sea, reached the shore in a separate place. And
hoping that perhaps the prince might have escaped from the sea like
themselves, they entered that great forest, and searched for him
bewildered with grief. And his other two ministers, Chandaprabha and
Vyághraparákrama, and king Mahendráditya, in the same way escaped
from the sea, and sorrowfully sought for Sundarasena, and when they
did not find him, were afflicted; and at last they found their ship
unharmed and went to Sasánkapura. Then those two ministers, and the
army that had been left in that city, hearing what had happened,
[446] went weeping to their own city Alaká. And when they arrived
without the prince, lamenting their loss, the citizens wept, and
one universal wail was heard in the city. When king Mahásena and
his queen heard that news of their son, they were in such a state
that they would have died, if it were not that their allotted term
of life had not yet expired. And when the king and the queen were
bent on suicide, the ministers dissuaded them with various speeches,
which gave them reasons for entertaining hope. Then the king remained
in a temple of Svayambhú [447] outside the town, engaged in asceticism
with his attendants, enquiring for news of his son.
And in the meanwhile king Mandáradeva, in Hansadvípa, heard the
news of the shipwreck of his daughter, and of that of his proposed
son-in-law. And he also came to know that his son-in-law's two
ministers had arrived in Alaká, and that king Mahásena there
was keeping himself alive by hope, being engaged in practising
austerities. Then that king also, who was afflicted by grief for the
loss of his daughter, and was only prevented by his ministers from
committing suicide, entrusted to them the care of his kingdom, and
with the queen Kandarpasená went to the city of Alaká to visit king
Mahásena, who was his partner in misfortune. And he made up his mind
that he would do whatever that king did, as soon as he had trustworthy
intelligence with regard to the fate of his son. And so he came to
king Mahásena, who was still more grieved when he heard of the fate
of Mandáravatí, and sorrowed in sympathy with him. Then that king of
Hansadvípa remained practising austerities with the king of Alaká,
restraining his senses, eating little, sleeping on darbha-grass.
When they had been all scattered in this way in different directions
by the Disposer, as leaves by a wind, it happened that Sundarasena set
forth from the hermitage in which he was, and reached that hermitage
of Matanga, in which Mandáravatí was staying. There he beheld a lake
of clear water, the bank of which was thickly planted with trees bent
down with the weight of many ripe fruits of various flavours. As he was
weary, he bathed in that lake, and ate sweet fruits, and then walked
on with Dridhabuddhi, and reached a forest stream. And going along
its bank, he saw some hermit maidens engaged in gathering flowers
near a temple containing a Linga. And in the midst of them he beheld
one hermit maiden, who seemed to be the peerless beauty of the world,
illuminating the whole wood with her loveliness, as if with moonlight,
making all the regions full of blown blue lilies with her glance,
and sowing with her foot-falls a thicket of lotuses in the forest.
Then the prince said to Dridhabuddhi, "Who can this be? Can she be a
nymph of heaven worthy of being gazed upon by the hundred-eyed Indra;
or is she the presiding goddess of the forest with her shoot-like
fingers clinging to the flowers? Surely the Creator framed this very
wonderful form of hers after he had perfected his skill by continual
practice in creating many nymphs of heaven. And lo! she exactly
resembles in appearance my beloved Mandáravatí, whose beauty I beheld
in a picture. Why should she not be the lady herself? But how can this
be? She is in Hansadvípa far away from this heart of the forest. So
I cannot [448] conceive who this fair one is, and whence she comes,
and how she comes to be here." And Dridhabuddhi, when he saw that fair
maid, said to the prince, "She must be whom you suppose her to be,
otherwise how could her ornaments, though made of forest flowers,
thus resemble a necklace, a zone, a string of bells, and the other
ornaments usually worn? Moreover, this beauty and delicacy are not
produced in a forest; so you may be certain that she is some heavenly
nymph, or some princess, not the daughter of a hermit. Let us rise
up and stand here [449] a moment to find out." When Dridhabuddhi had
said this, they both of them stood there concealed by a tree.
And in the meanwhile those hermit maidens, having gathered their
flowers, went down into that river with that lovely girl to bathe. And
while they were amusing themselves by splashing about in it, it
happened that an alligator came and seized that lovely girl. When those
maidens saw that, they were bewildered, and they cried out in their
sorrow, "Help, help, ye woodland deities! For here is Mandáravatí,
while bathing in the river, suddenly and unexpectedly seized by an
alligator, and perishing." When Sundarasena heard that, he thought
to himself, "Can this really be that beloved of mine?" and rushing
forward he quickly killed that alligator with his dagger. And when
she fell from the monster's mouth, as it were from the mouth of death,
he carried her up on the bank, and comforted her.
And she, for her part, having got over her fear, and seeing that he was
a charming person, said to herself, "Who is this great-hearted one that
my good fortune has brought here to save my life? Wonderful to say,
he bears a close resemblance to that lover of mine whom I saw in a
picture, the high-born son of the king of Alaká. Can he possibly be
that very man? But out on my evil thought! Heaven forefend! May such
a man never be an exile from his native land! So it is not fitting
for me now to remain in the society of a strange man. Accordingly, I
will leave this place: may prosperity be the lot of this great-souled
one!" After going through these reflections, Mandáravatí said to
those companions of hers, "First take a respectful leave of this
noble gentleman, and then come with me; we will now depart."
When prince Sundarasena, whose doubts were before unsatisfied,
heard this, he conceived great confidence from merely hearing his
own name, and he questioned one of her companions, saying to her,
"Auspicious one, whose daughter and of what condition is this
friend of yours? Tell me, for I feel a great desire to know." When
he questioned the hermit maiden in these words, she said to him,
"This is the princess Mandáravatí, the daughter of king Mandáradeva,
the sovereign of Hansadvípa. She was being conducted to the city of
Alaká to be married to prince Sundarasena, when her ship was wrecked
in the sea, and the waves flung her up upon the shore: and the hermit
Matanga found her there and brought her to his hermitage."
When she said this, Sundarasena's friend Dridhabuddhi, dancing
like one bewildered with joy and despondency, said to the prince,
"I congratulate you on having now been successful in obtaining the
princess Mandáravatí; for is not this that very lady of whom we were
thinking?" When he had said this, her companions the hermit maidens
questioned him, and he told them his story; and they gladdened with it
that friend of theirs. Then Mandáravatí exclaimed, "Ah, my husband,"
and fell weeping at the feet of that Sundarasena. He, for his part,
embraced her and wept, and while they were weeping there, even stocks
and herbs wept, melted with compassion.
Then the hermit Matanga, having been informed of all this by those
hermit maidens, came there quickly, accompanied by Yamuná. He comforted
that Sundarasena, who prostrated himself at his feet, and took him
with Mandáravatí to his own hermitage. And that day he refreshed
him by entertaining him, and made him feel happy; and the next day
the great hermit said to that prince, "My son, I must to-day go for a
certain affair to Svetadvípa, so you must go with Mandáravatí to Alaká;
there you must marry this princess and cherish her; for I have adopted
her as my daughter, and I give her to you. And you shall rule the
earth for a long time with her; and you shall soon recover all those
ministers of yours." When the hermit had said this to the prince and
his betrothed, he took leave of them, and went away through the air
with his daughter Yamuná, who was equal to himself in power.
Then Sundarasena, with Mandáravatí, and accompanied by Dridhabuddhi,
set out from that hermitage. And when he reached the shore of
the sea, he saw coming near him a light ship under the command
of a young merchant. And in order to accomplish his journey more
easily, he asked the young merchant who was the owner of that ship,
through Dridhabuddhi, hailing him from a distance, to give him a
passage in it. The wicked merchant, who beheld Mandáravatí, and was
at once distracted with love, consented, and brought his ship near
the shore. Then Sundarasena first placed his beloved on board the
ship, and was preparing to get on board himself from the bank where
he stood, when the wicked merchant, coveting his neighbour's wife,
made a sign to the steersman, and so set the ship in motion. And the
ship, on board of which the princess was crying piteously, rapidly
disappeared from the view of Sundarasena, who stood gazing at it.
And he fell on the ground crying out, "Alas! I am robbed by thieves,"
and wept for a long time, and then Dridhabuddhi said to him, "Rise
up! Abandon despondency! this is not a course befitting a hero. Come
along! Let us go in that direction to look for that thief: for even in
the most grievous hour of calamity the wise do not take leave of their
fortitude." When Sundarasena had been thus exhorted by Dridhabuddhi, he
was at last induced to rise up from the shore of the sea and set out.
And he went on his way weeping, and crying out, "Alas, queen! Alas,
Mandáravatí!" continually scorched by the fire of separation,
fasting, accompanied only by the weeping Dridhabuddhi; and almost
beside himself with distraction he entered a great wood. And when
in it, he paid no attention to the wise counsels of his friend,
but ran hither and thither, thinking only of his beloved. When he
saw the creepers in full bloom, he said, "Can this be my beloved
come here, adorned with blown flowers, having escaped from that
merchant-robber?" When he saw the beautiful lotuses, he said,
"Can she have dived into a tank in her fear, and is she lifting
up her face with long-lashed eyes and looking at me?" And when he
heard the cuckoos singing concealed by the leafy creepers, he said,
"Is the sweet-voiced fair one here addressing me?" Thus raving at
every step, he wandered about for a long time, scorched by the moon,
as if it were the sun; and so to him the night was the same as the day.
And at last the prince with Dridhabuddhi emerged from that wood,
though with difficulty, and having lost his way, reached a great
wilderness. It was perilous with fierce rhinoceroses, dangerous as
being inhabited by lions, and so was as formidable [450] as an army,
and moreover it was beset by a host of bandits. When the prince entered
this wilderness, which was refugeless, and full of many misfortunes,
like misery, he was set upon with uplifted weapons, by some Pulindas,
who happened to be on the look out for human victims to offer to
Durgá, by order of Vindhyaketu the king of the Pulindas, who lived
in that region. When the prince was tormented with five fires, of
misfortune, exile, the grief of separation, that affront from a base
man, fasting, and the fatigue of the journey; alas! Fate created a
sixth fire in the form of an attack of bandits, as if in order to
exhaust his self-command.
And when many of the bandits rushed towards him to seize him, showering
arrows, he, with only one companion to help him, killed them with his
dagger. When king Vindhyaketu discovered that, he sent forward another
force, and Sundarasena, being skilled in fighting, killed a great many
bandits belonging to that force also. At last he and his companion
fainted from the exhaustion of their wounds; and then those Savaras
bound them, and took them and threw them into prison. The prison was
full of multitudes of vermin, filthy with cobwebs, and it was evident
that snakes frequented it, as they had dropped there the skins that
clung to their throats. The dust in it rose as high as the ancle,
[451] it was honey-combed with the holes and galleries of mice,
and full of many terrified and miserable men that had been thrown
into it. In that place, which seemed the very birthplace of hells,
they saw those two ministers Bhímabhuja and Vikramasakti, who, like
themselves, had entered that wilderness after escaping from the sea,
in order to look for their master, and had been already bound and
thrown into prison. They recognised the prince and fell weeping at
his feet, and he recognised them, and embraced them, bathed in tears.
Then their woes were increased a hundredfold by seeing one another;
but the other prisoners there said to them, in order to console them,
"Enough of grief! Can we avoid the effect of acts done in a previous
state of existence? Do you not see that the death of all of us together
is imminent? For we have been collected here by this king of the
Pulindas, in order that he may offer us up to Durgá on the coming
fourteenth day of the month. So why should you grieve? The way of
Fate, that sports with living beings, is strange; as she has given
you misfortune, she may in the same way give you prosperity." When
the other prisoners had said this to them, they remained there bound
with them; it is terrible to see how little respect calamities shew
even for the great.
And when the fourteenth day arrived, they were all taken thence by the
orders of the king to the temple of Durgá to be sacrificed. It seemed
like the mouth of death, the flame of the lamp being its lolling
tongue, the range of bells being its row of teeth, to which the
heads of men clung. [452] Then Sundarasena, when he saw that goddess,
bowed before her, and praised her with mind humbled by devotion, and
uttered this prayer, "O thou goddess that didst quell the oppression
of the Asuras with thy blood-streaming trident, which mangled haughty
Daityas, thou that givest security to thy votaries, look upon me,
goddess, that am burned up with the forest-fire of grief, with a
favourable nectar-shedding eye, and refresh me. Honour to thee!"
While the prince was saying this, Vindhyaketu, that king of the
Pulindas, came there to worship the goddess Durgá. The moment the
prince saw the king of the Bhillas, he recognised him, and being
bowed down with shame, said of his own accord to his friends,
"Ha! this is that very Vindhyaketu, the chief of the Pulindas, who
comes to my father's court to pay him homage, and is the lord of this
vast wilderness. Whatever may happen, we must not say anything here,
for it is better for a man of honour to die, than to make known who
he is under such circumstances."
While the prince was saying this to his ministers, king Vindhyaketu
said to his servants, "Come now, shew me this heroic human victim,
who killed so many of my warriors when he was being captured." As soon
as his servants heard this, they brought Sundarasena, smeared with
clotted blood, and defiled with wounds, into the presence of that
king. When the king of the Bhillas saw him, he half recognised him,
and being terrified, said to him, "Tell me, who are you, and whence
do you come?" Sundarasena answered the king of the Bhillas, "What does
it matter who I am, or whence I come? Do what you are about to do."
Then Vindhyaketu recognised him completely by his voice, and exclaiming
excitedly, "Alas! Alas!" fell on the ground. Then he embraced the
prince, and said, "Alas, great king Mahásena, see what a fitting
return I, villain that I am, have now made for your numerous benefits,
in that I have here reduced to such a state your son, whom you value
as your life, prince Sundarasena, who has come here from somewhere
or other!" This and many other such laments he uttered in such a way
that all there began to shed tears. But the delighted companions
of Sundarasena comforted the Bhilla king, saying to him, "Is not
this much that you recognised the prince before any misfortune had
happened? What could you have done after the event had taken place? So
why do you despond in the midst of this joy?"
Then the king fell at the feet of Sundarasena, and lovingly honoured
him, and Sundarasena got him to set all the human victims free. And
after he had shown him all due respect, he took him to his village
and his friends with him, and proceeded to bandage his wounds and
administer medicines to him; and he said to him, "Tell me, prince, what
brought you to this place, for I have a great desire to know." Then
Sundarasena related to him all his adventures. And that prince of the
Savaras, being astonished, said to him, "What a wonderful chain of
events! That you should have set out to marry Mandaravatí, and that
you should then have been wrecked [453] in the sea, and that this
should have led to your reaching the hermitage of Matanga, and to
your meeting your beloved there, and that this merchant, in whom you
confided, should have carried her off from you, and that you should
have entered the wilderness, and have been imprisoned for sacrifice,
and recognised by me and delivered from that death--how strangely does
all this hang together! Therefore honour by all means to mysteriously
working Destiny! And you must not feel anxious about your beloved,
for, as Destiny has done all this, she will also do you that other
service soon."
While the king of the Pulindas was saying this, his commander-in-chief
came quickly in a state of high delight, and entering said to him,
"King, a certain merchant entered this wilderness with his followers,
and he had with him much wealth and a very beautiful lady, a very gem
of women; and when I heard of this, I went with an army, and seized
him and his followers, with the wealth and the lady, and I have them
here outside." When Sundarasena and Vindhyaketu heard this, they said
to themselves "Can these be that merchant and Mandáravatí?" And they
said, "Let the merchant and the lady be brought in here at once," and
thereupon the commander-in-chief brought in that merchant and that
lady. When Dridhabuddhi saw them, he exclaimed, "Here is that very
princess Mandáravatí, and here is that villain of a merchant. Alas,
princess! How came you to be reduced to this state, like a creeper
scorched by the heat, with your bud-like lip dried up, and with your
flower-ornaments stripped off?" While Dridhabuddhi was uttering this
exclamation, Sundarasena rushed forward, and eagerly threw his arms
round the neck of his beloved. Then the two lovers wept for a long
time, as if to wash off from one another, by the water of a shower
of tears, the defilement of separation.
Then Vindhyaketu, having consoled them both, said to that merchant,
"How came you to carry off the wife of one who confided in
you?" Then the merchant said, with a voice trembling with fear,
"I have fruitlessly done this to my own destruction, but this holy
saint was preserved by her own unapproachable splendour; I was no
more able to touch her, than if she had been a flame of fire; and I
did intend, villain that I was, to take her to my own country, and
after her anger had been allayed, and she had been reconciled to me,
to marry her." When the merchant had said this, the king ordered him to
be put to death on the spot; but Sundarasena saved him from execution;
however he had his abundant wealth confiscated, a heavier loss than
that of life; for those that have lost their wealth die daily, not
so those that have lost their breath.
So Sundarasena had that merchant set at liberty, and the wretched
creature went where he would, pleased at having escaped with life; and
king Vindhyaketu took Mandáravatí, and went with her and Sundarasena to
the palace of his own queen. There he gave orders to his queen, and had
Mandáravatí honoured with a bath, with clothes and with unguents, and
after Sundarasena had been in the same way bathed and adorned, he made
him sit down on a splendid throne, and honoured him with gifts, pearls,
musk, and so on. And on account of the reunion of that couple, the king
made a great feast, at which all the Savara women danced delighted.
Then, the next day, Sundarasena said to the king, "My wounds are
healed, and my object is attained, so I will now go hence to my own
city; and, please, send off at once to my father a messenger with a
letter, to tell the whole story, and announce my arrival." [454] When
the Savara chief heard this, he sent off a messenger with a letter,
and gave him the message which the prince suggested.
And just as the letter-carrier was reaching the city of Alaká, it
happened that king Mahásena and his queen, afflicted because they
heard no tidings of Sundarasena, were preparing to enter the fire in
front of a temple of Siva, surrounded by all the citizens, who were
lamenting their approaching loss. Then the Savara, who was bearing the
letter, beholding king Mahásena, came running up proclaiming who he
was, stained with dust, bow in hand, with his hair tied up in a knot
behind with a creeper, black himself, and wearing a loin-cincture
of vilva-leaves. That letter-carrier of the king of the Bhillas
said, "King, you are blessed with good fortune to-day, as your son
Sundarasena has come with Mandáravatí, having escaped from the sea; for
he has arrived at the court of my master Vindhyaketu, and is on his way
to this place with him, and has sent me on before." Having said this,
and thus discharged his confidential commission, the letter-carrier
of the Bhilla king laid the letter at the monarch's feet. Then all
the people there, being delighted, raised a shout of joy; and the
letter was read out, and the whole of the wonderful circumstances
became known; and king Mahásena recompensed the letter-carrier, and
abandoned his grief, and made great rejoicings, and entered his palace
with all his retainers. And the next day, being impatient, he set out
to meet his son, whose arrival he expected, accompanied by the king
of Hansadvípa. And his force of four arms marched along with him,
innumerable, so that the earth trembled, dreading insupportable weight.
In the meanwhile Sundarasena set out from that village of the Bhillas
for his own home, with Mandáravatí. And he was accompanied by his
friends Vikramasakti and Bhímabhuja, whom he found in the prison,
and Dridhabuddhi too was with him. He himself rode on a horse swift
as the wind, by the side of Vindhyaketu, and seemed by the hosts of
Pulindas that followed him, to be exhibiting the earth as belonging
to that race. And as he was marching along, in a few days he beheld
on the road his father coming to meet him, with his retinue and his
connections. Then he got down from his horse, and the people beheld him
with joy, and he and his friends went up and fell at the feet of his
father. His father, when he beheld his son looking like the full moon,
felt like the sea which surges up with throbbings of joy, and overflows
its bounds, and could not contain himself for happiness. [455] And
when he saw Mandáravatí, his daughter-in-law, bowing at his feet,
he considered himself and his family prosperous, and rejoiced. And
the king welcomed Dridhabuddhi and the other two ministers of his
son, who bowed at his feet, and he received Vindhyaketu with still
warmer welcome.
Then Sundarasena bowed before his father-in-law Mandáradeva, whom his
father introduced to him, and rejoiced exceedingly; and beholding
his ministers Chandaprabha and Vyághraparákrama, who had arrived
before, clinging to his feet, he considered that all his wishes were
accomplished. And immediately king Mahendráditya, who was delighted
at hearing what had happened, came there from Sasánkapura out of
affection. Then prince Sundarasena, mounted on a splendid horse,
escorting his beloved, as Nadakúvara did Rambhá, went with all those to
his own home, the city of Alaká, the dwelling-place of all felicities,
abounding in virtuous men. And accompanied by his beloved he entered
the palace of his father, being sprinkled, as he passed through the
city, by the wives of the citizens, who were all crowding to the
windows, with the blue lotuses of their eyes. And in the palace he
bowed at the feet of his mother, whose eyes were full of tears of joy,
and then spent that day in rejoicings, in which all his relations
and servants took part.
And the next day, in the long desired hour fixed by the astrologers,
the prince received the hand of Mandáravatí, who was bestowed on him by
her father. And his father-in-law, king Mandáradeva, as he had no son,
bestowed on him many priceless jewels, in his joy, and the reversion
of his kingdom after his own death. And his father, king Mahásena,
without exhausting the earth, made a great feast, in a style suitable
to his desires and means, in which all prisoners were released, and a
rain of gold was seen. [456] And having beheld Sundarasena prosperous
by his union with Mandáravatí, and having taken part in his wedding
festivities, in which all the women danced to song, and having been
honoured by king Mahásena, king Mandáradeva returned to his own
territory, and the king of Sasánkapura returned to that city, and
Vindhyaketu, the lord of the great wilderness, returned to his domain.
And after some days had elapsed, king Mahásena, perceiving that his son
Sundarasena was virtuous and beloved by the subjects, established him
in his throne, and went himself to the forest. And prince Sundarasena,
having thus obtained the kingdom, and having conquered all his enemies
by the might of his arm, ruled with those ministers the whole earth,
and found his joy in the possession of Mandáravatí ever increasing.
When the minister Vyághrasena had told this story on the bank of the
lake to Mrigánkadatta, he went on to say to him, "This wonderful tale,
prince, did the hermit Kanva relate to us in the hermitage, and at
the end of the tale the compassionate man said to us, to comfort
us, 'So, my sons, those who endure with resolute hearts terrible
misfortunes hard to struggle through, attain in this way the objects
they most desire; but those others, whose energies are paralysed by
loss of courage, fail. Therefore abandon this despondency, and go
on your way. Your master also, prince Mrigánkadatta, shall recover
all his ministers, and shall long rule the earth, after having been
united with Sasánkavatí.' When that great hermit had said this to
us, we plucked up courage, and spent the night there, and then set
out from that hermitage, and in course of time reached this wood,
travel-worn. And while here, being tortured with excessive thirst
and hunger, we climbed up this tree sacred to Ganesa, to get fruits,
and we were ourselves turned into fruits, and we have now, prince,
been released from our fruit-transformation by your austerities. Such
have been the adventures of us four, during our separation from you
[457] brought about by the curse of the Nága; and now that our curse
is expired, advance, united with us all, towards the attainment of
your object."
When Mrigánkadatta had heard all this from his minister Vyághrasena,
he conceived hopes of obtaining Sasánkavatí, and so passed that
night there.
CHAPTER CII.
Then, the next morning, Mrigánkadatta rose up from the shore of that
beautiful lake, together with all his ministers, who had rejoined
him; and in company with them, and the Bráhman Srutadhi, set out for
Ujjayiní, to win Sasánkavatí, after he had paid his orisons to that
tree of Ganesa. [458]
Then the heroic prince, accompanied by his ministers, again crossed
various stretches of woodland, which contained many hundreds of lakes,
and were black with tamála-trees [459] throughout their whole expanse,
looking like nights in the rainy season, when the clouds collect;
and others which had their canes broken by terrible infuriated
elephants roaming through them, in which the arjuna-trees formed a
strong contrast to the tamála-trees, [460] and which thus resembled
so many cities of king Viráta; and ravines of mighty mountains,
which were pure, though strewn with flowers, and though frequented
by subdued hermits, were haunted by fierce beasts; and at last came
near the city of Ujjayiní.
Then he reached the river Gandhavatí, and dispelled his fatigue by
bathing in it, and after crossing it, he arrived with his companions
in that cemetery of Mahákála. There he beheld the image of mighty
Bhairava, black with the smoke from neighbouring pyres, surrounded
with many fragments of bones and skulls, terrible with the skeletons
of men which it held in its grasp, worshipped by heroes, frequented
by many troops of demons, dear to sporting witches.
And after crossing the cemetery, he beheld the city of Ujjayiní,
a yuga old, ruled by king Karmasena. Its streets were watched by
guards with various weapons, who were themselves begirt by many brave
high-born Rájpúts; it was surrounded with ramparts resembling the
peaks of mighty mountains; it was crowded with elephants, horses,
and chariots, and hard for strangers to enter.
When Mrigánkadatta beheld that city, which was thus inaccessible
on every side, he turned his face away in despondency, and said to
his ministers, "Alas! ill-starred man that I am! though it has cost
me hundreds of hardships to reach this city, I cannot even enter it;
what chance then have I of obtaining my beloved?" When they heard this,
they said to him, "What! do you suppose, prince, that this great city
could ever be stormed by us, who are so few in number? We must think
of some expedient to serve in this emergency, and an expedient will
certainly be found; how comes it that you have forgotten that this
expedition has frequently been enjoined by the gods?"
When Mrigánkadatta had been thus addressed by his ministers, he
remained for some days roaming about outside the city.
Then his minister Vikramakesarin called to mind that Vetála, which he
had long ago won over, intending to employ him to fetch the prince's
love from her dwelling-house. And the Vetála came, black in hue,
tall, with a neck like a camel, elephant-faced, with legs like a bull,
eyes like an owl, and the ears of an ass. But finding that he could
not enter the city, he departed; the favour of Siva secures that city
against being invaded by such creatures.
Then the Bráhman Srutadhi, who was versed in policy, said to
Mrigánkadatta, as he was sitting in gloom, surrounded by his ministers,
longing in his heart to enter the city; "Why, prince, though you
know the true principles of policy, do you remain bewildered, like
one ignorant of them? Who will ever be victorious in this world by
disregarding the difference between himself and his foe? For at every
one of the four gates of this city, two thousand elephants, twenty-five
thousand horses, ten thousand chariots, and a hundred thousand footmen
remain harnessed and ready, day and night, to guard it; and they are
hard to conquer, being commanded by heroes. So, as for a handful of
men, like ourselves, entering it by force, that is a mere chimerical
fancy, [461] not a measure calculated to ensure success. Moreover,
this city cannot be overthrown by a small force; and a contest with an
overwhelming force is like fighting on foot against an elephant. So
join with your friend Máyávatu the king of the Pulindas, whom you
delivered from the terrible danger of the water-monsters in the
Narmadá, and with his friend Durgapisácha the very powerful king of the
Mátangas, who is attached to you on account of his alliance with him,
[462] and with that king of the Kirátas, named Saktirakshita, who is
famous for his valour and has observed a vow of strict chastity from
his youth upwards, and let them all bring their forces, and then do
you, thus strengthened by allies, fill every quarter with your hosts,
and so accomplish the object you have in view. Moreover, the king
of the Kirátas is awaiting your coming from a distance in accordance
with your agreement; how have you come to forget this? And no doubt,
Máyávatu is ready awaiting your arrival, in the territory of [463]
the king of the Mátangas, for you made this agreement with him. So
let us go to the castle named Karabhagríva, on the southern slope of
the Vindhyas, in which that chief of the Mátangas dwells. And let us
summon there Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas, and united with
them all make a fortunate expedition with every chance of success.
When Mrigánkadatta and his ministers heard this speech of Srutadhi's,
which was full of sense and such as the wise would approve, they
eagerly accepted it, saying, "So be it." And the next day the prince
adored that unresting traveller of the sky, the sun, the friend
of the virtuous, that had just arisen, revealing every quarter of
the world, [464] and set out for the abode of Durgapisácha king
of the Mátangas on the southern slope of the Vindhya range. And
his ministers Bhímaparákrama, and Vyághrasena, and Gunákara, and
Meghabala with Vimalabuddhi, and Sthúlabáhu with Vichitrakatha, and
Vikramakesarin, and Prachandasakti, and Srutadhi and Dridhamushti
followed him. With them he successively crossed forests wide-ranging
as his own undertakings, and stretches of woodland profound as his
own schemes, with no better refuge at night than the root of a tree
[465] on the shore of a lake, and reached and ascended the Vindhya
mountain lofty as his own soul.
Then the prince went from the summit of the mountain down its
southern slope, and beholding afar off the villages of the Bhillas
full of elephants' tusks and deer-skins, he said to himself, "How am
I to know where the dwelling of that king of the Mátangas is?" While
engaged in such reflections, he and his ministers saw a hermit boy come
towards them, and after doing obeisance to him, they said, "Fair Sir,
do you know in what part of this region the palace of Durgapisácha,
the king of the Mátangas, is? For we wish to see him."
When that good young ascetic heard this, he said, "Only a kos distant
from this place is a spot called Panchavatí, and not far from it was
the hermitage of the hermit Agastya, who with small effort cast down
from heaven the haughty king Nahusha; where Ráma, who by command of
his father took up his dwelling in a forest, accompanied by Lakshmana
and his wife Sítá, long waited on that hermit; where Kabandha, [466]
who guided Ráma to the slaughter of the Rákshasas, proceeded to attack
Ráma and Lakshmana, as Ráhu does the sun and moon, whose arm a yojana
in length Ráma felled, so that it resembled Nahusha in his serpent
form, come to supplicate Agastya; where even now the Rákshasas hearing
the roaring of the clouds at the beginning of the rainy season, call
to mind the twanging of the bow of Ráma; where the aged deer, that
were fed by Sítá, beholding the regions deserted in every direction,
with eyes filling with tears, reject the mouthful of grass; where
Márícha, who brought about Sítá's separation from her husband,
assumed the form of a golden deer and enticed away Ráma, as if to
save from slaughter those deer, that were still left alive; where,
in many a great lake full of the water of the Káverí, it appears as if
Agastya had vomited up in driblets the sea that he swallowed. Not far
from that hermitage, on a table-land of the Vindhya, is a stronghold
tangled and inaccessible, named Karabhagríva. In it dwells that mighty
Durgapisácha of terrible valour, chief of the Mátangas, whom kings
cannot conquer. And he commands a hundred thousand bowmen of that
tribe, every one of whom is followed by five hundred warriors. With
the aid of those brigands he robs caravans, destroys his enemies, and
enjoys this great forest, caring nought for this or that king. [467]
When Mrigánkadatta had heard this from the young hermit, he took
leave of him, and went quickly, with his companions, in the direction
indicated by him, and in course of time he arrived in the environs of
Karabhagríva that stronghold of the king of the Mátangas, which were
crowded with Bhilla villages. And within them he beheld near at hand
on every side crowds of Savaras, adorned with peacocks' feathers and
elephants' teeth, clothed in tigers' skins, and living on the flesh of
deer. When Mrigánkadatta saw those Bhillas, he said to his ministers,
"See! these men live a wild forest life like animals, and yet, strange
to say, they recognise Durgapisácha as their king. There is no race
in the world without a king; I do believe the gods introduced this
magical name among men in their alarm, fearing that otherwise the
strong would devour the weak, as great fishes eat the little." [468]
And while he was saying this, and trying to find the path that led to
the stronghold Karabhagríva, the scouts of Máyávatu, the king of the
Savaras, who had already arrived there, recognized him, having seen him
before. They immediately went and told that Máyávatu of his arrival;
and he with his army went to meet him. And when that king of the
Pulindas came near, and saw the prince, he alighted from his horse,
and ran forward, and fell at his feet. And he embraced the prince,
who asked after his health, and then mounted him and his ministers
on horses, and brought them to his own camp. And that king of the
Savaras sent his own warder to inform the king of the Mátangas of
the prince's arrival.
And Durgapisácha, the king of the Mátangas, quickly came there from
his own place, and his appearance justified his name. [469] He seemed
like a second Vindhya range, for his body was firm as a rocky peak,
his hue was black as tamála, and Pulindas lay at his foot. His
face was rendered terrible by a natural three-furrowed frown, and
so he appeared as if Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya range, had
marked him with the trident, to claim him as her own. Though young,
he had seen the death of many "secular birds;" though black, he was
not comely; and he crouched to none, though he hugged the foot of a
mountain. [470] Like a fresh cloud, he displayed the peacock tail and
the gay-coloured bow; like Hiranyáksha, [471] his body was scarred
by the furious boar; like Ghatotkacha, he was mighty and possessed a
haughty and terrible shape; [472] like the Kali age, he allowed those
born under his sway to take pleasure in wickedness and break through
the bonds of rule. And the mass of his host came filling the earth,
like the stream of the Narmadá, when let loose from the embrace of
Arjuna. [473] And so the aggregated army of the Chandálas moved on,
blackening all the horizon with a dark hue, making those who beheld it
say in perplexity to themselves "Can this be a mass of rock that has
rolled down from the Anjana mountain, [474] or is it a premature bank
of the clouds of the day of doom, that has descended upon the earth?"
And their chief Durgapisácha came up to Mrigánkadatta, placing his
head upon the ground even when at a distance, and bowed before him,
and said "To-day the goddess Durgá is pleased with me, in that
your Highness, of such a noble race, has come to my house. On that
account I consider myself fortunate and successful. When the king of
the Mátangas had said this, he gave him a present of pearls, musk,
and other rarities. And the prince kindly accepted it with the usual
courtesies. Then they all encamped there. That great forest was covered
all over with elephants fastened to posts, with horses in stables,
and tented footmen; and was scarcely able to contain itself, being
confused with its good fortune in thus being assimilated to a city,
which was unprecedented in the course of its existence.
Then, in that wood, when Mrigánkadatta had bathed in the river for
good fortune, and had taken food, and was sitting at his ease,
in a secluded spot, surrounded by his ministers, Máyávatu also
being present, Durgapisácha said to Mrigánkadatta, in the course of
conversation, speaking in a tone softened by affection and regard,
"This king Máyávatu came here a long time ago, and has been remaining
here with me, my lord, awaiting your orders. So where, my prince,
have you all remained so long? And what have you done? Tell me, now,
the business that detained you." When the prince heard this speech of
his, he said, "After I had left the palace of our friend here Máyávatu,
with Vimalabuddhi and Gunákara, and Srutadhi, and Bhímaparákrama,
whom I had also recovered, I found on my way this Prachandasakti and
Vichitrakatha, and in course of time also this Vikramakesarin. Then
these men here found on the borders of a beautiful lake a tree sacred
to Ganesa, and climbed up it to pick its fruit, and so were turned
into fruits themselves by the curse of the god. Then I propitiated
Ganesa, and not without difficulty set them free, and at the same
time I delivered these other four ministers of mine, Dridhamushti
and Vyághrasena and Meghabala and Sthúlabáhu, who had previously
suffered the same transformation. With all these, thus recovered, I
went to Ujjayiní; but the gates were guarded, and we could not even
enter the town; much less could we think of any device for carrying
off Sasánkavatí. And as I had no army with me, I had no locus standi
for sending an ambassador. So we deliberated together, and came here
to you. Now, my friend, you and your allies have to decide whether
we shall attain our end or no."
When Mrigánkadatta had related his adventures in these words,
Durgapisácha and Máyávatu said, "Be of good courage; this is but a
little matter for us to accomplish at once; our lives were originally
created for your sake. We will bring here that king Karmasena in
chains, and we will carry off his daughter Sasánkavatí by force."
When the king of the Mátangas and Máyávatu said this, Mrigánkadatta
said lovingly and very respectfully, "What will you not be able
to accomplish, for this resolute courage of yours is a sufficient
guarantee that you will carry out that furtherance of your friend's
interests which you have undertaken. When the Creator made you
here, he infused into your composition qualities borrowed from your
surroundings, the firmness of the Vindhya hills, the courage of
the tigers, and the warm attachment to friends of the forest [475]
lotuses. So deliberate and do what is fitting." While Mrigánkadatta was
saying this, the sun retired to rest on the summit of the mountain
of setting. Then they also rested that night in the royal camp,
as was meet, sleeping in booths made by the workmen.
And the next morning Mrigánkadatta sent off Gunákara to bring
his friend Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas. He went and
communicated the state of affairs to that sovereign; and in a very
few days the king of the Kirátas returned with him, bringing a very
large force. Ten hundred thousand footmen, and two hundred thousand
horse, and a myriad of furious elephants on which heroes were mounted,
and eighty-eight thousand chariots followed that king, who darkened
the heaven with his banners and his umbrella. And Mrigánkadatta,
with his friends and ministers, went to meet him in high spirits and
honoured him and conducted him into the camp. And in the meanwhile
other friends and relations of the king of the Mátangas, and all those
of king Máyávatu, having been summoned by messengers, came in. [476]
And the camp swelled like the ocean, giving joy to the heart of
Mrigánkadatta: with shouts rising up like the roar of the waves,
and hundreds of battalions pouring in like rivers. And Durgapisácha
honoured [477] those assembled kings with musk, and garments, and
pieces of flesh, and spirits distilled from fruits. And Máyávatu the
king of the Savaras gave them all splendid baths, unguents, food,
drink, and beds. And Mrigánkadatta sat down to eat with all those
kings who were seated in their proper places. [478] He even went so
far as to make the king of the Mátangas eat in his presence though
at a little distance from him: the fact is, it is necessity and place
and time that take precedence, not one man of another.
And the next day, when the newly arrived force of Kirátas and others
had rested, Mrigánkadatta, sitting on a throne of ivory in the assembly
of the kings, where he had been duly honoured, after he had had the
place cleared of attendants, said to his friends, the king of the
Mátangas, and the others, "Why do we now delay? Why do we not quickly
march towards Ujjayiní with the whole of this force?" When the Bráhman
Srutadhi heard this, he said to that prince, "Listen prince, I now
speak according to the opinion of those who know policy. A king who
wishes to be victorious must first see the distinction between what is
practicable and what is not practicable. What cannot be accomplished by
an expedient, he should reject as impracticable. That is practicable
which can be accomplished by an expedient. Now expedients in this
matter are of four kinds, and are enumerated as conciliation, gifts,
division and force. This order represents their comparative advantages,
the first being better than the second, and so on. So, my prince,
you ought first to make use of conciliation in this business. For, as
king Karmasena is not greedy of gain, gifts are not likely to succeed;
nor is division likely to be of any use, for none of his servants
are angry, or covetous, or indignant with him, on account of having
been treated with neglect. As for force, its employment is risky; as
that king lives in a difficult country, has a very formidable army,
and has never been conquered by any king before. Moreover even mighty
ones cannot always be assured of having the fortune of victory on their
side in battles; besides, it is not becoming in one, who is a suitor
for a maiden's hand, to slaughter her relations. So let us send an
ambassador to that monarch, adopting the method of conciliation. If
that does not succeed, the method of force shall be employed as being
unavoidable." All there, when they heard this speech of Srutadhi's,
approved it, and praised his statesmanship.
Then Mrigánkadatta deliberated with them all, and sent a servant of
the king of the Kirátas, a noble Bráhman, Suvigraha by name, who
possessed all the requisites of a diplomatist, to king Karmasena,
as an ambassador to communicate the result of their deliberations,
and he carried with him a letter, and was also entrusted with a verbal
message. The ambassador went to Ujjayiní, and, being introduced by the
warder, entered the king's palace, the interior of which looked very
magnificent, as its zones were crowded with splendid horses, and with
elephants; and he saw that king Karmasena, sitting on his throne,
surrounded by his ministers. He did obeisance to that sovereign,
who welcomed him; and after he had sat down, and his health had
been enquired after, he proceeded to deliver to him his letter. And
the king's minister, named Prajnákosa, took it, and broke the seal,
and unfolding the letter, proceeded to read it out to the following
effect. "All-Hail! The auspicious Mrigánkadatta, ornament of the
circle of the earth, son of the great king of kings who is lord of
the city of Ayodhyá, the fortunate Amaradatta, from the slope of the
forest at the foot of the castle of Karabhagríva, where he now is,
with kings submissive and obedient to him, sends this plain message
to the great king Karmasena in Ujjayiní, who is the moon of the
sea of his own race, with all due respect; You have a daughter,
and you must without fail give her to another, so give her to me;
for she has been declared by the gods a suitable wife for me. In this
way we shall become allies, and our former enmity will be at an end;
if you do not consent, I will appeal to my own strong arms to give
me this object of my desires." When the letter had been thus read by
the minister Prajnákosa, king Karmasena, inflamed with rage, said to
his ministers, "These people are always hostile to us; and observe,
this man, not knowing his place, has on the present occasion worded
his communication in an objectionable form. He has put himself first
and me last, out of contempt; and at the end the conceited fellow has
bragged of the might of his arm. So, I do not consider that I ought
to send any reply; as for giving him my daughter, that is out of the
question. Depart, ambassador; let your master do what he can." [479]