being a man of spirit, gave him an answer well-suited to the occasion,
"Fool, you boast now, because you have not seen that prince; make
ready; when be arrives, you will learn the difference between yourself
and your opponent." When the ambassador said this, the whole court
was in a state of excitement; but the king, though in wrath, said,
"Away with you! Your person is inviolable, so what can we do?" Then
some of those present, biting their lips, and wringing their hands
together, said one to another, "Why do we not follow him and kill him
this moment." But others, being masters of themselves, said, "Let the
young fool of a Bráhman go! why do you trouble yourselves about the
speech of this babbler? We will shew what we can do." Others again,
appearing to foreshadow by their frowns the speedy bending of their
bows, remained silent, with faces red with rage.
The whole court being thus incensed, the ambassador Suvigraha went
out, and repaired to Mrigánkadatta in his camp. He told him and his
friends what Karmasena had said; and the prince, when he heard it,
ordered the army to march. Then the sea of soldiers, set in motion
by the order of the commander, as by a violent gust of wind, in which
men, horses, and elephants moved like bounding sea-monsters, exciting
satisfaction in the mind of the allied monarchs, [480] assumed an
agitation terrifying to the minds of timid men. Then Mrigánkadatta,
making the earth miry with the foam of high-mettled horses, and the
frontal ichor of elephants, and deafening the world with the noise
of his drums, moved on slowly to Ujjayiní to victory.
CHAPTER CIII.
Then Mrigánkadatta, accompanied by his friends, crossed the Vindhya
range, and with his army ready for battle, reached the frontier of
Ujjayiní. When the brave king Karmasena heard that, he also made
ready for the fight, and with his army moved out from the city
to meet him. And when those two armies came to close quarters,
and could see one another, a battle took place between them, that
gladdened heroes. The battlefield seemed like the dwelling-place of
Hiranyakasipu, as it was full of timid demons dispersed in terror
by the roar of the Man-lion; [481] the continued dense showers of
arrows flying through the air, and cutting one another, descended
on brave warriors, like locusts on the tender herb. Dense clouds of
pearls gleamed as they sprang from the frontal globes of elephants
struck with swords, resembling the necklace of the Fortune of that
battle broken in her agitation. That place of combat appeared like the
mouth of Death; and the sharp points of spears, that seized on men,
horses, and elephants, were like his fangs. The heads of strong-armed
warriors, cut off with crescent-headed arrows, flew up to heaven,
as if leaping up [482] to kiss the heavenly nymphs; and at every
moment trunks of brave heroes danced, as if in delight at the battle
of their noble leader being gloriously illuminated; and so for five
days that hero-destroying battle went on, with flowing rivers of blood,
rich in mountains of heads.
And in the evening of the fifth day the Bráhman Srutadhi came secretly
to Mrigánkadatta when he was closeted with his ministers, and said to
him, "While you were engaged in fighting, I went away from the camp,
in the disguise of a mendicant, and entered Ujjayiní, the gates of
which were almost deserted; and now listen; I will tell you truly what
I observed, being myself all the while, though near at hand, unseen in
virtue of my knowledge. As soon as king Karmasena went out to battle,
Sasánkavatí with the permission of her mother also left the palace, and
repaired to a temple of Gaurí in that city, to propitiate the goddess,
in order to ensure her father's success in the combat. And while she
was there, she said in secret to a devoted confidante 'My friend, it
is for my sake, that my father has become involved in this war. And if
he is conquered, he will give me to that prince; for kings disregard
love for offspring altogether, when the interests of their kingdoms
are at stake. And I do not know whether that prince is a suitable match
for me in respect of personal appearance, or not. I would sooner meet
my death than marry an ugly husband. I think a good-looking husband,
even though poor, is to be preferred to an ugly one, though he be
emperor over the whole earth. So you must go to the army and see what
he is like, and then return. For, my fortunate friend, Prudence [483]
is your name, and Prudence is your nature.'
"When the princess had given this order to her confidante, that girl
managed to come to our camp, and after seeing you, prince, went and
said to that princess, 'My friend, I can say nothing but this; even
Vásuki [484] himself has not got a tongue able to describe the beauty
of that prince. So far however I can give you an idea of it: as there
is no woman in the world equal to you in good looks, so there is no
man equal to him. But alas! that is but a feeble description of him;
I believe in these three worlds there is no Siddha, or Gandharva,
or god like him.' By this speech of her confidante's Sasánkavatí's
heart was fixed on you, and at the same moment it was nailed to you
by the god of love with his arrows. And from that time forth she has
remained desiring the welfare of you and also of her father, becoming
gradually attenuated by penance and the grief of separation from you."
"So go secretly this very night, and carry off that princess from
that sanctuary of Gaurí, which is now unfrequented, and bring her here
without being observed. Let her be conveyed to the palace of Máyávatu;
and then these kings, after securing your rear against the fury of
the foe, shall come there with me. Let this fighting be put an end
to. Do not allow any further slaughter of soldiers. And ensure the
personal safety of yourself and the king your father-in-law. For war,
that involves a great waste of human life, is an inexpedient expedient,
and sages affirm it to be the worst of all political measures."
When Srutadhi had said this to Mrigánkadatta, that prince and his
ministers mounted their horses and set out secretly at night. And
the prince arrived at the city of Ujjayiní, in which only women, and
children, and sleepy men were left, and entered it easily, as the gates
were kept by only a few drowsy guards. [485] And then he proceeded
to that famous sanctuary of Gaurí, which was easily discovered by the
description which Srutadhi had given of it. It was situated in a great
garden called Pushpakarnda, and was just then illuminated by the rays
of the moon, which at that time adorned the face of the East. [486]
In the meanwhile Sasánkavatí, who remained sleepless, though her
companions, worn out by attendance and other fatigues, were sleeping
around her, was saying to herself; "Alas! for my sake brave kings
and princes and heroes are being slain every day in battle in both
these armies. Moreover, that prince, who has appealed to the ordeal
of battle for my sake, was long ago designated as my husband by the
goddess Durgá in a dream; and the god of love has with unfailing
aim cut out my heart with a continual shower [487] of arrows, and
taken it, and presented it to him. But, ill-starred girl that I am,
my father will not give me to that prince, on account of the previous
enmity between them, and his own pride; so much I gathered from his
letter. So what is the use of a sure revelation by a goddess in a
dream, when Fate is adverse? The fact is, I see no chance of obtaining
my beloved in any way. So, why should I not abandon my hopeless life,
before I hear of some misfortune happening to my father or to my lover
in battle? [488]" With these words she rose up, and in her grief went
in front of the image of Gaurí and made a noose with her outer garment,
fastening it to an asoka-tree.
In the meanwhile Mrigánkadatta, with his companions, entered that
garden and fastened his horse to a tree in front of the temple and
sanctuary of Gaurí. Then Mrigánkadatta's minister Vimalabuddhi,
seeing the princess near, said of his own accord to the prince,
"Look prince, here is some lovely girl trying to hang herself; now,
who can she be?" When the prince heard that, he looked at her and
said, "Dear me! who can this girl be? Is she the goddess Rati? Or
is she happiness incarnate in bodily form? Or is she the beauty of
the moon, having taken shape, [489] or the command of Cupid living
and walking? Or is she a nymph of heaven? No, that cannot be. For
what can make heavenly nymphs desire to hang themselves? So let us
remain here for a time concealed by the trees, until we find out for
certain, somehow or other, who she is." When he had said this, he and
his ministers remained there in concealment; and in the meanwhile
the despondent Sasánkavatí offered this prayer to the goddess,
"O adorable Gaurí that deliverest the afflicted from their pain,
grant that, though, owing to my sins in a former state of existence,
prince Mrigánkadatta has not become my husband in this birth, he
may become such in a future life." When the princess had said this,
she bowed before the goddess, and fastened the noose round her neck
with eyes moist with tears.
At that moment her companions woke up, and distressed at not seeing
her, began to look for her, and quickly came where she was. And they
said, "Alas, friend, what is this that you have undertaken? Out on
your rashness!" With these words they removed the noose from her
neck. So, while the girl was standing there ashamed and despondent,
a voice came from the inner shrine of Gaurí's temple, "Do not despond,
my daughter Sasánkavatí; that word, fair one, that I spake to thee
in a dream, cannot prove false. Here is that husband of thine in a
former life, Mrigánkadatta, come to thy side; go and enjoy with him
the whole earth."
When Sasánkavatí heard this sudden utterance, she slowly looked aside
a little confused, and at that moment Vikramakesarin, the minister
of Mrigánkadatta, came up to her, and pointing out the prince with
his finger, said to her, "Princess, Bhavání has told you the truth,
for here is the prince, your future husband, come to you, drawn by
the cords of love." When the princess heard that, she cast a sidelong
glance, and beheld that noble lover of hers [490] standing in the
midst of his companions, looking like the moon having descended from
heaven begirt by the planets, like the standard by which beauty is
tested in others, raining nectar into the eyes.
Then she remained motionless as a pillar, and every hair stood erect
with joy on all her limbs, so that they appeared to be covered with
the feathers at the end of Cupid's arrows raining upon her; and at
that moment Mrigánkadatta came up to her, and in order to dispel her
shame, he addressed to her, with a voice raining the honey of love,
the following speech appropriate to the occasion, [491] "Fair one,
you have made me leave my own country and kingdom and relations,
and brought me from a distance, enslaving me and binding me with
the chain of your virtues. So now I have gained this fruit of my
dwelling in the forest, and of my sleeping on the ground, and of
my living on wild fruits, and enduring the fierce heat of the sun,
and of my emaciation with asceticism, that I have beheld this form
of yours which rains nectar into my eyes. And if you love me enough
to care to please me, bestow also, gazelle-eyed one, that feast of
the eyes upon the ladies of our city. Let the war cease; let the
welfare of both armies be ensured; let my birth be made a success,
and let my father's blessing be gained for me at the same time!"
When Mrigánkadatta had said this to Sasánkavatí, she slowly answered
with eyes fixed on the ground, "I indeed have been purchased with
your virtues and made your slave, so do, my husband, what you think
will be for our good." When Mrigánkadatta had been refreshed by
this nectar-like speech of hers, and saw that his point was gained,
he praised the goddess Gaurí and bowed before her, and then he made
the princess get up behind him on his horse, and his ten [492] brave
ministers mounted and took her ladies-in-waiting up behind them;
and then the prince, with his sword drawn, set out from that city at
night, accompanied by them sword in hand. And though the city-guards
saw those eleven heroes, they did not dare to stop them, for they
looked as formidable as so many angry Rudras. And leaving Ujjayiní,
they went with Sasánkavatí to the palace of Máyávatu, in accordance
with the advice of Srutadhi.
While the guards were exclaiming in their distraction, "Who are these,
and whither are they gone?" it gradually became known in Ujjayiní that
the princess had been carried off. And the queen-consort hurriedly
despatched the governor of the city to the camp, to tell king Karmasena
what had taken place. But in the meanwhile the head of the scouts
came to king Karmasena in the camp there at night, and and said to
him, "King, Mrigánkadatta and his ministers left the army secretly
in the early part of this night, and went on horseback to Ujjayiní,
to carry off Sasánkavatí, who is in the temple of Gaurí. So much I
have discovered for certain; your Highness knows what step it is now
desirable to take."
When king Karmasena heard this, he sent for his general, and
communicated to him privately the information he had received,
and said to him, "Choose five hundred swift horses, and set picked
men on them, and go with them secretly and rapidly to Ujjayiní, and
wherever you find that villain Mrigánkadatta, kill him, or make him
prisoner: know that I will follow you quickly, leaving my army behind
me." When the general received this order from the king, he said,
"So be it," and set out by night for Ujjayiní with the prescribed
force. And on the way he met the governor of the town, from whom he
heard that the princess had been carried off by some daring men in
another direction. Then he returned with the governor of the town,
and told king Karmasena what had taken place. When the king heard it,
he thought it impossible, and remained quiet during the night, without
making an attack. And in the camp of Mrigánkadatta Máyávatu and the
other kings passed the night under arms, by the advice of Srutadhi.
And next morning the sagacious king Karmasena found out the real state
of the case, and sent off an ambassador to the kings in the camp of
Mrigánkadatta, and he instructed the ambassador to give this message
by word of mouth, "Mrigánkadatta has carried off my daughter by a
stratagem; never mind that; for what other man would be as suitable
a match for her? So now let him come to my palace, and do you come
too, in order that I may celebrate my daughter's marriage with
appropriate ceremonies." [493] And the kings and Srutadhi approved
of this proposal, [494] and said to the ambassador, "Then let your
master retire to his own city, and we will ourselves go and bring
the prince there." When the ambassador heard that proposal, he went
and reported it to his master, and Karmasena agreed to it, and left
for Ujjayiní with his army. When the kings saw that, they went, with
Máyávatu at their head, and accompanied by Srutadhi, to Mrigánkadatta.
And in the meanwhile Mrigánkadatta, with Sasánkavatí, had reached
the palace of Máyávatu in the city of Kánchanapura. There the queens
of Máyávatu welcomed him, and his companions, and his beloved,
with becoming hospitality, and he rested there with them, having
successfully accomplished his object. And the next day the kings came
there with Srutadhi; the heroic king of the Kirátas Saktirakshita with
his army, and the mighty king Máyávatu leader of the Savaras, and the
hero Durgapisácha lord of the host of the Mátangas; and all of them,
when they beheld Mrigánkadatta united to Sasánkavatí like the white
water-lily to the night, rejoiced and congratulated him. And after
they had shewn him the honour he deserved, they told him the message
of Karmasena, and how he had gone to his own palace.
Then Mrigánkadatta, having established there his camp, that was like
a moving city, sat down with them all to take counsel. And he said to
the kings and to his ministers, "Tell me; shall I go to Ujjayiní to be
married, or not?" And they with one accord gave the following answer,
"That king is a villain; so how can a visit to his palace turn out
well? [495] Moreover, there is no need of it, as his daughter has
arrived here." Then Mrigánkadatta said to the Bráhman Srutadhi,
"Why do you remain silent, Bráhman, like one taking no interest in
the proceedings? Tell me, do you approve of this step or not?"
Then Srutadhi said, "If you will listen, I will tell you what I think:
my opinion is that you ought to go to the palace of Karmasena. For
he sent you this message because he saw no other way out of the
difficulty; otherwise, how would a powerful prince like that, when his
daughter had been carried off, give up fighting, and go home? Moreover,
what could he do to you, when you arrived at his court, since you
would take your army with you? On the contrary, if you go there,
he will be well-disposed to you, and he will again be one of your
chief allies out of love for his daughter. The reason he makes this
proposal, which is a perfectly legitimate one, is that he does not
wish his daughter to be married in an irregular manner. So I think it
advisable that you should go to Ujjayiní." When Srutadhi said this,
all, who were present, approved his speech, and said, "Bravo! Bravo!"
Then Mrigánkadatta said to them, "I admit the truth of all this;
but I do not like to marry without my father and mother. So let some
one be sent off from this place to summon my father and mother: and
when I have learnt their wish, I will do what is proper." When the
hero had said this, he took the advice of his friends, and then and
there sent off his minister Bhímaparákrama to his parents.
And in the meanwhile his father, king Amaradatta, in the city of
Ayodhyá, found out in course of time from his subjects that the
charge which Vinítamati brought against the prince, and which caused
his banishment from his native land, was wholly groundless. Then,
in his wrath, he put to death that wicked minister and his family,
and fell into a pitiable state, being terribly afflicted on account
of the banishment of his son. And he left his capital, and remained
in a sanctuary of Siva, outside the city, called Nandigráma; and
there he and his wives gave themselves up to severe asceticism.
After he had remained there some time, Bhímaparákrama, whose approach
was announced by scouts, arrived, thanks to the speed of his swift
horse, at the city of Ayodhyá. He beheld that city plunged in despair,
on account of the absence of the prince, as if it were once more going
through the painful agitation caused by the exile of Ráma. Thence he
went to Nandigráma, surrounded by citizens who asked him for news
of the prince, and hearing from their mouths what had happened to
the king. There he beheld king Amaradatta, with his body emaciated
by asceticism, surrounded by his queens, eager for news of his
beloved son.
Bhímaparákrama went up to him and fell at his feet: and the
king embraced him, and asked for news of his son; and thereupon
Bhímaparákrama said to him with tears; "Your son Mrigánkadatta
has won by his valour the princess Sasánkavatí, the daughter of
king Karmasena. But, as he is devoted to his parents, it does not
seem at all becoming to him to marry her, unless the king and the
queen can be present at the ceremony. So your son, placing his head
upon the ground, has sent me to request you to come to him. And he
awaits your Highness's arrival, in Kánchanapura, in the palace of
king Máyávatu, the monarch of the Savaras. Now hear the story of our
adventures." And thereupon Bhímaparákrama began with the banishment
of his master, and related all his various and wonderful adventures,
involving the long story of the misfortunes of their forest sojourn
and their separation, with the war, and winding up with the prince's
reconciliation with Karmasena.
When king Amaradatta heard that, he made up his mind that it was
well with his son, and in his joy he announced that he would set out
that moment. He mounted an elephant, and accompanied by his queen,
his subject kings, and his ministers, and followed by a force of
elephants and cavalry, he started full of eagerness to join his
son. And travelling uninterruptedly, the king reached in a few days
his son's camp, that was pitched in the territory of the monarch of
the Savaras.
And when Mrigánkadatta, who had long been yearning for his father,
heard of his approach, he went out to meet him with all the kings. And
he saw him from a distance, and dismounted from his horse, and fell
at the feet of his father, who was seated on an elephant, and at the
feet of his mother. And when embraced by his father, he filled with
his body his clasping arms, with satisfaction his heart, and his eyes
with tears. His mother too folded him in a long embrace, and looking
at him again and again, was for some time unable to let him go, as
if fearing a second separation. And Mrigánkadatta introduced to his
father Amaradatta the kings his friends, and they bowed before him and
the queen. And that couple, the king and the queen, received lovingly
those friends who had stood by their only son in his difficulties.
Then Amaradatta entered the palace of Máyávatu, and saw Sasánkavatí,
his future daughter-in-law, who bowed at his feet. And after accepting
a present, he departed with the queen and that daughter-in-law, and
took up his quarters in his own camp. And there he took food with
his son and all the kings, and spent that day agreeably with song,
music, and dancing. And he thought that all his objects in life had
been gained, thanks to his son Mrigánkadatta, the future emperor,
who had attained so much glory.
And in the meanwhile the wise king Karmasena, after deliberating,
sent off an ambassador to Mrigánkadatta with the following message,
which was contained in a letter, and also intended to be delivered
by word of mouth; "I know that you will not come to Ujjayiní; so I
will send to you my own son Sushena; he will bestow on you with due
ceremonies his sister Sasánkavatí; so you ought not, blameless one,
to marry her in an irregular manner, if you value my friendship."
And when the prince had heard this message delivered in the royal
hall of audience, his father the king himself gave this answer to
the ambassador; "Who but king Karmasena would send such a gracious
message? That excellent monarch is truly well-disposed to us; so
let him send here his son Sushena; we will so order matters as that
his daughter's marriage shall give him satisfaction." When the king
had given this answer and dismissed the messenger with due honours,
he said to his son, and Srutadhi, and the kings, "We had better
go now to Ayodhyá; that is the place where the marriage can be
performed with most éclat; and there we can entertain Sushena with
becoming magnificence. And let king Máyávatu wait here for Sushena;
when that prince arrives he can come on after us to Ayodhyá with
him. But we will go on in front to make the necessary preparations
for the marriage." And all present approved this speech of the king's.
Then, the next day, the king with the queen and his soldiers, and
Mrigánkadatta with the kings and his ministers, started off with
Sasánkavatí, exulting in their success, leaving Máyávatu to wait there
for Sushena. Their army moved on like a deep and terrible sea, agitated
with hundreds of waves in the form of troops of bounding horses,
filling all the horizon with a flood of countless marching footmen,
rendering all other sounds inaudible with the confused din that arose
from it. And gradually advancing, father and son reached the palace
of Saktirakshita the king of the Kirátas, that lay in their course.
There they and their attendants were courteously and generously
welcomed with heaps of valuable jewels, gold, and splendid
garments. And they stayed there one day with their army, taking
food and resting, and then they set out and reached in course of
time their city of Ayodhyá. It seemed like a lake in windy weather,
as they entered it: for the ladies of the city that had climbed up
to the windows of the palaces, as they moved to and fro, seemed like
swaying full-blown lotuses, sending forth shoots of beauty; and their
rolling eyes eager to behold the prince, who after a long absence had
returned, bringing a bride with him, were like dancing blue lilies;
it was crowded with assembling kingly swans; and tossing with wavy
banners. And father and son looked grand, as they sat on thrones,
being blessed by the Bráhmans, praised by heralds, and hymned by bards.
And when the people there saw the great beauty of Sasánkavatí,
they exclaimed in their astonishment, "If they were to behold this
daughter of Karmasena, the Ocean would cease to boast of the beauty
of his daughter Lakshmí, and the Himálaya would no longer pride
himself on Gaurí." And then, when the festival came on, the quarters,
re-echoing the sound of the auspicious drums of rejoicing, as it were,
gave notice to the kings. And the whole city was full of exultation,
and the vermilion colours that covered it throughout, seemed like
its red glow of affection overflowing in external form.
The next day the astrologers fixed an auspicious date for the prince's
marriage, and his father king Amaradatta began to make preparations
for it. And the city was filled so full of various jewels, coming
from all quarters, that it put to shame the city of Kuvera.
And soon a servant of king Máyávatu's came to the sovereign in high
spirits, introduced by the warder, and said to him, "King, prince
Sushena and king Máyávatu have arrived, and they are both waiting
on the frontier of this realm of Ayodhyá." When king Amaradatta
heard that, he sent his own general with a body of soldiers to meet
Sushena. And Mrigánkadatta, out of regard for his friend, also went
out with the general from Ayodhyá to meet the prince. And both of
those princes dismounted, while yet a great distance apart, and
met together, embracing one another and asking after one another's
health. And out of love they entered the city in the same chariot,
giving a great feast to the eyes of the ladies of the city.
And there Sushena had an interview with the king, and was received by
him with much respect, and then he went to the private apartments of
his sister Sasánkavatí. There she rose up weeping and embraced him,
and he sat down, and said to the princess who was overwhelmed with
shame, "My father directs me to tell you that you have done nothing
unbecoming, for he has just come to learn that prince Mrigánkadatta
was appointed your husband by the goddess Gaurí in a dream, and it is
the highest duty of women to follow the steps of their husbands." When
he said this to the girl, she dismissed her shame, looking at her
heart with downcast face, as if to tell it that its desire was gained.
Then Sushena brought and gave to Sasánkavatí in the presence of
the king her own accumulated wealth; two thousand bháras [496] of
gold, five camels heavily laden with jewelled ornaments, and another
treasure of gold. And he said, "This is her own private property, but,
as for what her father has sent, I will give it her in due course at
the marriage altar." Then they all ate and drank, and spent the day
there in the king's presence in great comfort, with Mrigánkadatta
and his suite.
The next day dawned, the day fixed as auspicious, and Mrigánkadatta
performed his own daily ceremony, of bathing and so on; in which
the king himself displayed the utmost interest, in his joy at the
occasion. And then Sasánkavatí, though her beauty was sufficient
bridal ornament, was solemnly adorned by the ladies, only out of
regard for the good old custom, not because anything of the kind
was needed. Then the bride and bridegroom left the room in which
the previous ceremony took place, and in which Sushena presided, and
ascended the altar-platform, where a fire was burning. And on it the
prince received the hand of the princess, which was resplendent with
the hues of a lotus that she held, as Vishnu the hand of Lakshmí. And
when they circumambulated the fire, the face of Sasánkavatí was red
and tearful from heat and smoke, though anger was far from her. And
the handfuls of parched grain, thrown into the fire, appeared like
the laughs of the god of Love, pleased with the success of his
scheme. And when the first handful was thrown, Sushena gave five
thousand horses, and a hundred elephants, and two hundred bháras of
gold, and twenty camels laden with loads of splendid raiment, valuable
gems, and pearl-ornaments. And at each subsequent sprinkling of grain,
Sasánkavatí's brother gave her a portion of the wealth gained by the
conquest of the earth, double that given at the preceding.
Then Mrigánkadatta, the auspicious ceremony of his marriage having
been performed, entered his own palace with his newly married bride,
Sasánkavatí, while the sound of festal drums rose in the air. And
the king, his father, gratified his ministers and the citizens of
his capital, with presents of elephants, horses, garments, ornaments,
meat, and drink, suited to the worth of the recipient, beginning with
the circle of dependent monarchs, and ending with the parrots and
pet mainas. And the king displayed on this occasion such exceedingly
lavish generosity that even the trees had garments and gems fastened
to them, and presented the appearance of earthly wishing-trees.
Then the king and Mrigánkadatta feasted with the kings and Sasánkavatí
and Sushena, and spent the rest of the day in a wine-party. Then,
after the inhabitants of the palace had eaten and drunk well, and
enjoyed music and dancing, the sun, having accomplished his journey,
and having drunk up the moisture of the earth, entered the cavern of
the western mountain. And the glory of the day, seeing that he had
departed somewhere or other with the evening that was all ablaze with
a warm glow, ran after him in a fit of jealous anger, and the birds
flying to and fro seemed like her agitated zone. [497] And then in due
course appeared advancing the wanton nymph Night, beautiful with her
waving black robe of darkness, and showing a face in which stars rolled
for eyeballs, and the god of Love waxed mighty. And the moon, own
brother to the curved corner of an angry long-eyed beauty's eye, arose,
and glowing with fresh rosy colour, made itself the driving-hook of the
elephant of the eastern mountain. And the eastern quarter, that was
clear and bright with the departure of the darkness, bore a laughing
face, to which the moon, like a new shoot of the twining plant of
Love, formed an extemporized ear-ornament. And at night Mrigánkadatta,
after performing his evening devotions, retired to his luxuriously
appointed bed-chamber with his bride Sasánkavatí. And during it, that
fair one's moonlike countenance, dispelling the darkness, and lighting
up the pictured panels of the room, seemed to render unnecessary
the lamps hanging there, that were made of precious stones. [498]
And the next morning Mrigánkadatta was aroused by the soft sweet
strains of the following song, "The night has past; leave your bed,
prince, for the breezes of morning are blowing, fanning the perfumed
locks of the gazelle-eyed fair ones. And the dewdrops collected on the
points of the blades of dúrva-grass sparkle brilliantly, looking like
pearls fallen from the necklace of the night quickly following the
moon. And observe, prince, the bees that long sported in the cups of
the white water-lilies opening when touched by the beams of the moon,
and drank the honey, and were joyous at having obtained an entrance,
now that the water-lilies are closed and their glory is departing,
are seeking some other retreat; for to whom are black souls faithful
in calamity? And the god of Love, seeing that the lip of night has
been adorned by the finger of the sun, has stripped it of the moon
which served it for a beauty-patch, and has gradually dissipated
the darkness which was a black powder to set it off." Aroused by
these strains at the hour of dawn, Mrigánkadatta cast off sleep,
and leaving Sasánkavatí, at once started up from his couch. And
he rose and performed the ceremonies of the day, his father having
made all the arrangements that devolved on him; and accompanied by
his beloved he passed many more days in similar rejoicing. Then his
father, Amaradatta, first inaugurated the prince's brother-in-law
Sushena with the holy waters, and placed a turban of honour on his
head; and bestowed on him as a mark of respect a suitable territory
and elephants, horses, quantities of gold, and garments, and a hundred
beautiful women. And then the king complimented the king of the Savaras
and the king of the Kirátas, Máyávatu and Saktirakshita, with their
relations and wives, and that king Durgapisácha the leader of the host
of the Mátangas, and the ministers of Mrigánkadatta with Srutadhi,
by giving them territories, cows, horses, gold and garments. Then king
Amaradatta dismissed the king of the Kirátas and the other monarchs,
with Sushena, to their own dominions: and ruled his realm in happiness,
at ease because his valour was so well known. Mrigánkadatta, for his
part, having conquered his enemies, and attained his ends, remained
in happiness with his wife Sasánkavatí, whom he had gained after a
long struggle, and with Bhímaparákrama and his other ministers.
And in course of time old age, slowly creeping on, approached the root
of the ear of that king Amaradatta, appearing as if it had taken form
in order to say to him, "You have enjoyed the good things of fortune;
your age is fully ripe; surely it is now time to retire from the
world." Then the king's mind became averse to enjoyment, and he said to
his ministers, "Listen, I will now tell you the scheme which I have in
my mind. My life has passed; that grey hue which is the harbinger of
Death has just now twitched my locks; and when old age once arrives,
a vicious clinging to enjoyment on the part of persons like myself,
when all the zest is gone, is mere vanity. And though in some people
a mad passion of avarice and lust goes on increasing with increasing
age, that is without doubt the natural tendency of base souls, and the
good do not acquire it. Now I have this son here Mrigánkadatta, who
has gained glory by conquering the sovereign of Avanti and his allied
kings [499], who abounds in good qualities, is beloved by the subjects,
and has excellent friends. So I propose to make over to him my mighty
kingdom, and to retire to a holy water for mortification of the flesh;
conduct in conformity with the laws laid down for the various periods
of life, that their enemies cannot blame, becomes men of great soul."
When the calm and resolute ministers heard this determined speech
of the king's, they, and in due course the queen and the citizens
all approved it, saying, "So let it be!" Then the king performed
the joyful ceremony of the coronation [500] of his son Mrigánkadatta
at a moment fixed by the astrologers, on a day selected by the chief
Bráhmans assembled together. And on that day the palace of the king was
full of people running hither and thither at the order of the warder,
and all the officials in it had their hands full, and it reeled with
the merriment of famous bards and of lovely women who were dancing
there. And while the water of holy places was being poured in copious
showers upon the head of Mrigánkadatta and his wife, a second flood
seemed to gush from the eyes of his joyful parents. And, when that
new king, of lion-like might, mounted his lion-seat, it seemed as if
his enemies, bowed down by fear of his wrath, crouched on the ground
in a fashion other than lion-like.
Then his father, king Amaradatta, prolonged for seven days the
great feast, in which the king's highway was decorated, and the
subject kings honoured according to their worth. And on the eighth
day he went out of the city with his wife, and after turning back
Mrigánkadatta and the citizens, who followed him with tearful faces,
he went with his ministers to Váránasí. There the king remained with
his body steeped in Ganges water, worshipping Siva three times a day,
performing penance, like a hermit, by living on roots and fruits;
and his wife shared all his devotions and privations.
But Mrigánkadatta, for his part, having obtained that kingdom broad
and pure as the sky, which the sun takes as his domain, and having
overwhelmed the kings with imposition of numerous tributes, as the
sun does the mountains with showers of rays, began to blaze forth
with increasing heat of valour. And associated with his lieutenants
Máyávatu and Karmasena and the others, and with his own ministers
headed by Srutadhi, he conquered this circle of the earth, with all
its continents, as far as the four cardinal points, and ruled it under
one umbrella. And while he was king, such calamities as famine, and the
dread of robbers and of foreign invaders were heard of only in tales;
and the world was ever joyous and happy, and enjoyed unparalleled
felicity, so that it seemed as if the gentle reign of Ráma the good
were renewed. And so the monarch established himself in that city of
Ayodhyá with his ministers, and kings came from various quarters to
worship the lotus of his foot, and he long enjoyed with his beloved
Sasánkavatí pleasures the joy of which no enemy marred. [501]
When the hermit Pisangajata had told this story in the wood on the
Malaya mountain to Naraváhanadatta, who was separated from his beloved,
he went on to say to him, "So, my son, as Mrigánkadatta in old time
gained Sasánkavatí after enduring affliction, you also will regain
your Madanamanchuká." When Naraváhanadatta had heard this nectarous
utterance of the mighty hermit Pisangajata, he conceived in his heart
the hope of regaining Madanamanchuká. And with his mind fixed on her,
he took leave of that good hermit, and roamed about on the Malaya
mountain, looking for Lalitalochaná, whom he had lost, the fair one
that originally brought him there.
BOOK XIII.
CHAPTER CIV.
May that Ganesa, whom, when dancing in the twilight intervals between
the Yugas, all the worlds seem to imitate by rising and falling,
protect you!
May the blaze of the eye in the forehead of Siva, who is smeared with
the beautiful red dye used by Gaurí for adorning her feet, befriend
you for your happiness!
We adore the goddess Sarasvatí, taking form as speech to our heart's
delight, the bee that dwells in the lotus on the lake of the mighty
poet's mind. [502]
Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, afflicted with
separation, being without Madanamanchuká, roamed about on those lower
slopes of mount Malaya, and in its bordering forests, which were
in all the beauty of spring, but found joy nowhere. The cluster of
mango-blossoms, though in itself soft, yet seeming, on account of the
bees [503] that settled on it, like the pliant bow of the god of Love,
cleft his heart. And the song of the cuckoo, though sweet in itself,
was hard to bear, and gave pain to his ears, as it seemed to be harsh
with the reproachful utterances of Mára. [504] And the wind of the
Malaya mountain, though in itself cool, yet being yellow with the
pollen of flowers, and so looking like the fire of Cupid, seemed to
burn him, when it fell on his limbs. So he slowly left that region,
being, so to speak, drummed out of it by those groves that were all
resonant with the hum of bees.
And gradually, as he journeyed on, with the deity for his guide, by a
path that led towards the Ganges, he reached the bank of a lake in a
neighbouring wood. And there he beheld two young Bráhmans of handsome
appearance, sitting at the foot of a tree, engaged in unrestrained
conversation. And when they saw him, they thought he was the god of
Love, and they rose up, and bowing before him, said, "All hail to thee,
adorable god of the flowery bow! Tell us why thou wanderest here alone
without that fragrant artillery of thine, and where is that Rati thy
constant companion?" When the son of the king of Vatsa heard that,
he said to those Bráhmans, "I am not the god Káma, I am a mere mortal;
but I have indeed lost my Rati." [505] When the prince had said this,
he told his history, and said to those Bráhmans, "Who are you, and of
what kind is this talk that you two are carrying on here?" Then one
of those young Bráhmans said to him respectfully, "King, how can we
tell our secret in the presence of a man of your worth? Nevertheless,
out of respect for your command, I will tell our history; give ear!"
The first Bráhman's story.
There is in the territory of Kalinga a city of the name of Sobhávatí,
which has never been entered by the demon Kali, nor touched by
evildoers, nor seen by a foreign foe: such has it been made by the
Creator. In it there was a wise and rich Bráhman, of the name of
Yasaskara, who had offered many sacrifices, and he had an excellent
wife named Mekhalá. I was born to them as an only son, when they were
already in middle life, and I was in due course reared up by them,
and invested with the sacrificial thread.
Then, while as a boy I was studying the Vedas, there arose a mighty
famine in that land, owing to drought. So my father and my mother went
off with me to a city named Visálá, taking with them their wealth and
their servants. In that city, in which fortune and learning dwelt
together, having laid aside their long feud, my father established
himself, having had a house given him by a merchant, who was a friend
of his. And I dwelt there in the house of my preceptor, engaged in
the acquisition of learning, in the society of my fellow-students of
equal age.
And among them I had a friend, a promising young man of the military
caste, Vijayasena by name, the son of a very rich Kshatriya. And
one day the unmarried sister of that friend of mine, whose name was
Madirávatí, came with him to my teacher's house. So beautiful was
she that I feel convinced that the Creator made the orb of the moon,
that is like nectar to the eyes of men, out of the overflowing of
the perfect loveliness of her face. I ween, the god of Love, when
he beheld her form, which was to him a sixth weapon, bewildering the
world, valued but little his other five shafts. When I saw her, and
heard from that friend her name and descent, I was at once overpowered
by Love's potent sway, and my mind was altogether fixed upon her. And
she, for her part, looked askance at me with modest loving eye, and
the down standing erect on her cheeks told that love had begun to
sprout. And after she had remained there a long time on the pretext of
play, she at last tore herself away and went home, sending to me from
the reverted corner of her eye a look that was a messenger of love.
Then I went home, grieved at having to part with her, and throwing
myself flat, I tossed up and down convulsively like a fish on dry
land. I said to myself, "Shall I ever again behold her face, which
is the Creator's storehouse of all the nectar of beauty? Happy are
her companions [506] whom she looks at with that laughing eye, and
talks freely to with that mouth." Engaged in such thoughts as these,
I with difficulty got through that day and night, and on the second
day I went to the house of my teacher.
There my friend Vijayasena approached me courteously, and in the course
of a confidential conversation, said to me joyfully, "My mother has
heard from my sister Madirávatí that you are so great a friend of mine,
and being full of love for you, she wishes to behold you; so, if you
have any regard for me, come with me to our house; let it be adorned
for us with the dust of your lotus-like foot." This speech of his was
a sudden refreshment to me, as an unexpected heavy shower of rain is
to a traveller in the desert. So I consented, and went to his house,
and there I had an interview with his mother, and was welcomed by her,
and remained there gladdened by beholding my beloved.
Then Vijayasena, having been summoned by his father, left me, and the
foster-sister of Madirávatí came to me, and said, bowing before me,
"Prince, the princess Madirávatí trained up to maturity in our garden
a jasmine creeper; and it has recently produced a splendid crop of
flowers, which laugh and gleam with joyous exultation at being united
with the spring. To-day the princess herself has gathered its buds, in
defiance of the bees that settled on the flowers; and she has threaded
them, like pearls, into a necklace, and she sends this to you her old
friend as a new present." When that dexterous girl had said this, she
gave me the garland, and with it leaves of the betel, together with
camphor and the five fruits. So I threw round my neck the garland,
which my beloved had made with her own hand, and I enjoyed exceeding
pleasure, surpassing the joy of many embraces. [507] And putting
the betel into my mouth, I said to that dear companion of hers,
"What can I say more than this, my good girl? I have in my heart
such intense love for your companion, that, if I could sacrifice
my life for her, I should consider that it had not been given me in
vain; for she is the sovereign of my being." When I had said this,
I dismissed her, and I went to my teacher's house with Vijayasena,
who had that moment come in.
The next day Vijayasena came with Madirávatí to our house, to the great
delight [508] of my parents. So the love of myself and Madirávatí,
though carefully concealed, increased every day from being in one
another's society.
And one day a servant of Madirávatí's said to me in secret, "Listen,
noble sir, and lay up [509] in your heart what I am going to tell
you. Ever since my darling Madirávatí beheld you there in your
teacher's house, she has no appetite for her food, she does not adorn
herself, she takes no pleasure in music, she does not play with her
parrots and other pets; she finds that fanning with plantain leaves,
and moist anointings with sandal-wood ointment, and the rays of the
moon, though cool as snow, torture her with heat; and every day she
grows perceptibly thinner, like the streak of the moon in the black
fortnight, and the only thing that seems to give her any relief is
conversation about you; this is what my daughter told me, who knows
all that she does, who attends her like a shadow, and never leaves
her side. Moreover, I drew Madirávatí herself into a confidential
conversation, and questioned her, and she confessed to me that her
affections were fixed on you. So now, auspicious sir, if you wish
her life to be saved, take steps to have her wishes fulfilled." This
nectarous speech of hers delighted me, and I said, "That altogether
depends on you, I am completely at your disposal." When she heard
this, she returned delighted, and I, relying on her, conceived hopes,
and went home with my mind at ease.
The next day an influential young Kshatriya came from Ujjayiní and
asked Madirávatí's father for her hand. And her father promised to
give him his daughter; and I heard that news, terrible to my ears,
from her attendants. Then I was for a long time amazed, as if fallen
from heaven, as if struck with a thunderbolt, as if possessed by
a demon. But I recovered, and said to myself, "What is the use of
bewilderment now? I will wait and see the end. It is the self-possessed
man that gains his desire."
Buoyed up by such hopes I passed some days, and my beloved one's
companions came to me and supported me by telling me what she said;
but at last Madirávatí was informed that the auspicious moment had
been fixed, and the day of her marriage arrived celebrated with
great rejoicings. So she was shut up in her father's house, and
prevented from roaming about at will, and the processional entry of
the bridegroom's friends drew nigh, heralded by the sound of drums.
When I saw that, I considered that my miserable life had lost all its
zest, and came to the conclusion that death was to be preferred to
separation; so I went outside the city, and climbed up a banyan-tree,
and fastened a noose to it, and I let myself drop from the tree
suspended by that noose, and let go at the same time my chimerical
hope of obtaining my beloved. And a moment afterwards I found myself,
having recovered the consciousness which I had lost, lying in the
lap of a young man who had cut the noose; and perceiving that he had
without doubt saved my life, I said to him, "Noble sir, you have to-day
shewn your compassionate nature; but I am tortured by separation from
my beloved and I prefer death to life. The moon is like fire to me,
food is poison, songs pierce my ear like needles, a garden is a prison,
a wreath of flowers is a series of envenomed shafts, and anointing
with sandal-wood ointment and other unguents is a rain of burning
coals. Tell me, friend, what pleasure can wretched bereaved ones,
like myself, to whom everything in the world is turned upside down,
find in life?"
When I had said this, that friend in misfortune asked me my history,
and I told him the whole of my love affair with Madirávatí. Then that
good man said to me, "Why, though wise, are you bewildered? What is
the use of surrendering life, for the sake of which we acquire all
other things?" À propos of this, hear my story, which I now proceed
to relate to you.
The second Bráhman's story.
There is in the bosom of the Himálayas a country named Nishada, which
is the only refuge of virtue, banished from the earth by Kali, and the
native land of truth, and the home of the Krita age. The inhabitants
of that land are insatiable of learning, but not of money-getting;
they are satisfied with their own wives, but with benefiting others
never. I am the son of a Bráhman of that country who was rich in
virtue and wealth. I left my home, my friend, out of a curiosity which
impelled me to see other countries, and wandering about, visiting
teachers, I reached in course of time the city of Sankhapura not
far from here, where there is a great purifying lake of clear water,
sacred to Sankhapála king of the Nágas, and called Sankhahrada.
While I was living there in the house of my spiritual preceptor,
I went one holy bathing festival to visit the lake Sankhahrada. Its
banks were crowded, and its waters troubled on every side by people
who had come from all countries, like the sea when the gods and Asuras
churned it. I beheld that great lake, which seemed to make the women
look more lovely, as their garlands of flowers fell from their loosened
braids, while it gently stroked their waists with its waves like hands,
and made itself slightly yellow with the unguents which its embraces
rubbed off from their bodies. I then went to the south of the lake,
and beheld a clump of trees, which looked like the body of Cupid being
consumed by the fire of Siva's eye; its lápinchas did duty for smoke,
its kinsukas for red coals, and it was all aflame with twining masses
of the full-blown scarlet asoka.
There I saw a certain maiden gathering flowers at the entrance of
an arbour composed of the atimukta creeper; she seemed with her
playful sidelong glances to be threatening the lotus in her ear;
she kept raising her twining arm and displaying half her bosom; and
her beautiful loosened hair, hanging down her back, seemed like the
darkness seeking shelter to escape from her moon-like face. And I
said to myself "Surely the Creator must have made this girl, after
he had got his hand in by creating Rambhá and her sister-nymphs,
but one can see that she is mortal by the winking of her eyes."
The moment I saw that gazelle-eyed maid, she pierced my heart, like
a crescent-headed javelin of Mára, bewildering the three worlds. And
the moment she saw me, she was overcome by Cupid, and her hands
were rendered nerveless and listless by love, and she desisted from
her amusement of gathering flowers. She seemed, with the flashings
of the ruby in the midst of her moving flexible chain, [510] to be
displaying the flames of affection that had broken forth from her
heart in which they could not be contained; and turning round, she
looked at me again and again with an eye that seemed to be rendered
more charming by the pupil coming down to rest in its corner.
While we stood for a while looking at one another, there arose there
a great noise of people flying in terror. And there came that way an
infuriated elephant driven mad by the smell of the wild elephants;
it had broken its chain, and thrown its rider, and the elephant-hook
was swinging to and fro at the end of its ear. The moment I saw the
animal, I rushed forward, and taking up in my arms my beloved, who was
terrified, and whose attendants had run away, I carried her into the
middle of the crowd. Then she began to recover her composure, and her
attendants came up; but just at that moment the elephant, attracted by
the noise of the people, charged in our direction. The crowd dispersed
in terror at the monster's approach, and she disappeared among them,
having been carried off by her attendants in one direction, while I
went in another.
At last the alarm caused by the elephant came to an end, and then
I searched in every direction for that slender-waisted maid, but
I could not find her, as I did not know her name, her family, or
her dwelling-place; and so roaming about, with a void in my heart,
like a Vidyádhara that has lost his magic power, I with difficulty
tottered into my teacher's house. There I remained like one in a faint
or asleep, remembering the joy of embracing my beloved, and anxious
lest her love might fail. [511] And in course of time reflection
lulled me in her lap, as if affected with the compassion natural
to noble women, and shewed me a glimpse of hope, and soul-paining
ignorance hugged my heart, and an exceedingly severe headache took
possession of my brain. [512] In the meanwhile the day slipped away
and my self-command with it, and the lotus-thicket folded its cups
and my face was contracted with them, and the couples of Brahmany
ducks were dispersed with my hopes, the sun having gone to rest.
Then the moon, the chief friend of Love, that gladdens the eyes of
the happy, rose up, adorning the face of the east; its rays, though
ambrosial, seemed to me like fiery fingers, and though it lit up
the quarters of the sky, it closed in me all hope of life. Then one
of my fellow-students, seeing that in my misery I had flung my body
into moonlight as into a fire, and was longing for death, said to me,
"Why are you in this evil case? You do not appear to have any disease;
but, if you have mental affliction caused by longing for wealth or
by love, I will tell you the truth about those objects; listen to
me. The wealth, which through over-covetousness men desire to gain by
cheating their neighbours, or by robbing them, does not remain. The
poison-trees [513] of wealth, which are rooted in wickedness and
bring forth an abundant crop of wickedness, are soon broken by the
weight of their own fruit. All that is gained by that wealth in this
world, is the toil of acquiring it and other annoyances, and in the
next world great suffering in hell, a suffering that shall continue
as long as the moon and stars endure. As for love, that love which
fails of attaining its object brings disappointment that puts an end
to life, and unlawful love, though pleasing in the mouth, is simply
the forerunner of the fire of hell, [514] but a man's mind is sound
owing to good actions in a former life, and a hero, who possesses
self-command and energy, obtains wealth, and the object of his desires,
not a spiritless coward like you. So, my good fellow, have recourse
to self-command, and strive for the attainment of your ends."
When that friend said this to me I returned him a careless and random
answer. However, I concealed my real thoughts, spent the night in
a calm and composed manner, and in course of time came here, to
see if by any chance she lived in this town. When I arrived here,
I saw you with your neck in a noose, and after you were cut down,
I heard from you your sorrow, and I have now told you my own.
So I have made efforts to obtain that fair one whose name and
dwelling-place I know not, and have thus exerted myself to gain what
no heroism could procure; but why do you, when Madirávatí is within
your grasp, play the faint-heart, instead of manfully striving to
win her? Have you not heard the legend of old days with regard to
Rukminí? Was she not carried off by Vishnu after she had been given
to the king of Chedi?
While that friend of mine was thus concluding his tale, Madirávatí
came there with her followers, preceded by the usual auspicious band
of music, in order to worship the god of Love in this temple of the
Mothers. And I said to my friend, "I knew all along that maidens on
the day of their marriage come here to worship the god of Love, this is
why I tried to hang myself on the banyan-tree in front of this temple,
in order that when Madirávatí came here, she might see that I had died
for her sake." When that resolute Bráhman friend heard that, he said,
"Then let us quickly slip into this temple and remain hidden behind the
images of the Mothers, and see whether any expedient will then present
itself to us or not." When my friend made this proposal, I consented,
and went with him into that temple, and remained there concealed.
And Madirávatí came there slowly, escorted by the auspicious wedding
music, and entered that temple. And she left at the door all her female
friends and male attendants, saying to them, "I wish in private to
crave from the awful god of Love a certain boon [515] that is in my
mind, so remain all of you outside the building." Then she came in and
addressed the following prayer to Kámadeva after she had worshipped
him, "O god, since thou art named 'the mind-born,' how was it that
thou didst not discern the beloved that was in my mind? Why hast thou
disappointed and slain me? If thou hast not been able to grant me my
boon in this birth, at any rate have mercy upon me in my next birth,
O husband of Rati. Shew me so much favour as to ensure that handsome
young Bráhman's being my husband in my next birth."
When the girl had said this in our hearing and before our eyes, she
made a noose by fastening her upper garment to a peg, and put it round
her neck. And my friend said to me, "Go and shew yourself to her,
and take the noose from her neck;" so I immediately went towards
her. And I said to her with a voice faltering from excess of joy,
"Do not act rashly, my beloved; see, here is your slave in front of
you, bought by you with the risk of your life, in whom affection has
been produced by your utterance in the moment of your grief;" and
with these words I removed the noose from the neck of that fair one.
She immediately looked at me, and remained for a moment divided between
joy and terror, and then my friend said quickly to me, "As this is
a dimly lighted hour owing to the waning of the day, I will go out
dressed in Madirávatí's garments with her attendants. And do you go
out by the second door, taking with you this bride wrapped up in our
upper garments. And make for whatever foreign country you please,
during the night, when you will be able to avoid detection. And do
not be anxious about me. Fate will bestow on me prosperity." When
my friend had said this, he put on Madirávatí's dress, and went out,
and left that temple in the darkness, surrounded by her attendants.
And I slipped out by another door with Madirávatí, who wore a necklace
of priceless jewels, and went three yojanas in the night. In the
morning I took food, and slowly travelling on, I reached in the
course of some days, with my beloved, a city named Achalapura. There
a certain Bráhman shewed himself my friend, and gave me a house,
and there I quickly married Madirávatí.
So I have been living there in happiness, having obtained my desire,
and my only anxiety has been as to what could have become of my
friend. And in course of time I came here to bathe in the Ganges,
on this day which is the festival of the summer solstice, and lo! I
found here this man who without cause shewed himself my friend. And
full of embarrassment I folded him in a long embrace, and at last
made him sit down and asked him to tell me his adventures, and at
that moment your Highness came up. Know, son of the king of Vatsa,
that this other Bráhman at my side is my true friend in calamity,
to whom I owe my life and my wife.
When one Bráhman had told his story in these words, Naraváhanadatta
said to the other Bráhman, "I am much pleased; now tell me, how did you
escape from so great a danger? For men like yourself, who disregard
their lives for the sake of their friends, are hard to find." When
the second Bráhman heard this speech of the son of the king of Vatsa,
he also began to tell his adventures.
Subsequent adventures of the second Bráhman.
When I went out that night from the temple in Madirávatí's dress,
her attendants surrounded me under the impression that I was their
mistress. And being bewildered with dancing, singing and intoxication,
they put me in a palanquin [516] and took me to the house of Somadatta,
which was in festal array. In one part it was full of splendid raiment,
in another of piled up ornaments; here you might see cooked food
provided, there an altar-platform made ready; one corner was full
of singing female slaves, another of professional mimes; and a third
was occupied by Bráhmans waiting for the auspicious moment.
Into one room of this house I was ushered in the darkness, veiled,
by the servants, who were beside themselves with drink and took me
for the bride. And when I sat down there, the females surrounded me,
full of joy at the wedding festival, busied with a thousand affairs.
Immediately the sound of bracelets and anklets was heard near the door,
and a maiden entered the room surrounded by her attendants. Like a
female snake, her head was adorned with flashing jewels, and she had
a white skin-like boddice; like a wave of the sea, she was full of
beauty, [517] and covered with strings of pearls. She had a garland of
beautiful flowers, arms shapely as the stalk of the creeper, and bright
bud-like fingers; and so she looked like the goddess of the garden
moving among men. And she came and sat down by my side, thinking I was
her beloved confidante. When I looked at her, I perceived that that
thief of my heart had come to me, the maiden that I saw at the Sankha
lake whither she had come to bathe; whom I saved from the elephant,
and who, almost as soon as seen, disappeared from my sight among the
crowd. I was overpowered with excess of joy, and I said to myself,
"Can this be mere chance, or is it a dream, or sober waking reality?"
Immediately those attendants of Madirávatí said to the visitor,
"Why do you seem so disturbed in mind, noble lady?" When she heard
that, she said, concealing her real feelings, [518] "What! are you
not aware what a dear friend of mine Madirávatí is. And she, as soon
as she is married, will go off to her father-in-law's house, and I
shall not be able to live without her; this is why I am afflicted. So
leave the room quickly, in order that I may have the pleasure of a
little confidential chat with Madirávatí."
With these words she put them all out, and fastened the door herself,
and then sat down, and under the impression that I was her confidante,
began to speak to me as follows; "Madirávatí, no affliction can be
greater than this affliction of yours, in that you are in love with
one man, and you are given by your father in marriage to another;
still you may possibly have a meeting or be united with your beloved,
whom you know by having been in his society. But for me a hopeless
affliction has arisen, and I will tell you what it is; for you are
the only repository of my secrets, as I am of yours.
"I had gone to bathe on a festival in the lake named the lake of
Sankha, [519] in order to divert my mind which was oppressed with
approaching separation from you. While thus engaged, I saw in the
garden near that lake a beautiful blooming young Bráhman, whose budding
beard seemed like a swarm of bees come to feed on the lotus of his
face; he himself looked like the moon come down from heaven in the
day, like the golden binding-post of the elephant of beauty. I said
to myself, 'Those hermits' daughters who have not seen this youth,
have only endured to no purpose hardship in the woods; what fruit have
they of their asceticism?' And even as I thought this in my heart,
the god of Love pierced it so completely with his shafts, that shame
and fear at once left it together.
"Then, while I looked with sidelong looks at him, whose eyes were fixed
on me, there suddenly came that way a furious elephant that had escaped
from its binding-post. That scared away my attendants and terrified
myself; and the young man, perceiving this, ran, and taking me up in
his arms, carried me along way into the midst of the crowd. While in
his arms, I assure you, my friend, I was rendered dead to all beside
by the joy of his ambrosial touch, and I knew not the elephant, nor
fear, nor who I was, nor where I was. In the meanwhile my attendants
came up, and thereupon the elephant rushed down on us like Separation
incarnate in bodily form, and my servants, alarmed at it, took me up
and carried me home; and in the mêlée my beloved disappeared, whither I
know not. Ever since that time I do nothing but think on him, who saved
my life, but whose name and dwelling I know not, who was snatched from
me as one might snatch away from my grasp a treasure that I had found;
and I weep all night with the female chakravákas, longing for sleep,
that takes away all grief, in order that I may behold him in a dream.
"In this hopeless affliction my only consolation, my friend,
is the sight of yourself, and that is now being far removed from
me. Accordingly, Madirávatí, the hour of my death draws nigh, and
that is why I am now enjoying the pleasure of beholding your face."
When she had uttered this speech, which was like a shower of nectar in
my ears, staining all the while the moon of her face with tear-drops
mixed with the black pigment of her eyes, she lifted up the veil from
my face, and beheld and recognized me, and then she was filled with
joy, wonder, and fear. Then I said, "Fair one, what is your cause of
alarm? Here I am at your service. For Fate, when propitious, brings
about unexpected results. I too have endured for your sake intolerable
sorrow; the fact is, Fate produces a strange variety of effects in
this phenomenal universe. Hereafter I will tell you my story at full
length; this is not the time for conversation; now devise, if you can,
my beloved, some artifice for escaping from this place." When I said
this to the girl, she made the following proposal, which was just
what the occasion demanded; "Let us slip out quietly from this house
by the back-door; the garden belonging to the house of my father, a
noble Kshatriya, is just outside: let us pass through it and go where
chance may take us." When she had said this, she hid her ornaments,
and I left the house with her by the way which she recommended.
So in that night I went a long distance with her, for we feared
detection, and in the morning we reached together a great forest. And
as we were going along through that savage wilderness, with no comfort
but our mutual conversation, noon gradually came on. The sun, like a
wicked king, afflicted with his rays the earth that furnished no asylum
for travellers, and no shelter. [520] By that time my beloved was
exhausted with fatigue and tortured with thirst, so I slowly carried
her into the shade of a tree, which it cost me a great effort to reach.
There I tried to restore her by fanning her with my garment, and
while I was thus engaged, a buffalo that had escaped with a wound,
came towards us. And there followed in eager pursuit of it a man
on horseback armed with a bow, whose very appearance proclaimed him
to be a noble-minded hero. He slew that great buffalo with a second
wound from a crescent-headed arrow; striking him down as Indra strikes
down a mountain with the dint of a thunder-bolt. When he saw us, he
advanced towards us, and said kindly to me, "Who are you, my good sir;
and who is this lady; and why have you come here?"
Then I shewed my Bráhmanical thread, and gave him an answer which
was half truth and half falsehood; "I am a Bráhman, this is my wife:
business led us to a foreign land, and on the way our caravan was
destroyed by bandits, and we, separating from it, lost our way,
and so came to enter this forest; here we have met you, and all our
fears are at an end." When I said this, he was moved by compassion for
my Bráhmanical character, and said "I am a chief of the foresters,
come here to hunt; and you way-worn travellers have arrived here as
my guests; so now come to my house, which is at no great distance,
to rest."
When he had said this, he made my wearied darling got up on his horse,
and himself walked, and so he led us to his dwelling. There he provided
us with food and other requisites, as if he had been a relation. [521]
Even in bad districts some few noble-hearted men spring up here and
there. Then he gave me attendants, who enabled me to get out of that
wood, and I reached a royal grant to Bráhmans, where I married that
lady. Then I wandered about from country to country, and meeting with
a caravan, I have to-day come here with her to bathe in the water of
the Ganges. And here I have found this man whom I selected for myself
as a friend; and I have seen your Highness; this, prince, is my story."
When he had said this, he ceased, and the prince of Vatsa loudly
praised that Bráhman, who had obtained the prize he desired, the
fitting reward of his genuine goodness; and in the meanwhile the
prince's ministers, Gomukha and the others, who had long been roaming
about looking for him, came up and found him. And they fell at the
feet of Naraváhanadatta, and tears of joy poured down their faces;
while he welcomed them all with due and fitting respect. Then the
prince, accompanied by Lalitalochaná, returned with those ministers
to his city, taking with him those two young Bráhmans, whom he valued
on account of the tact and skill they had displayed in attaining
worthy objects.
BOOK XIV.
CHAPTER CV.
May Siva, the granter of boons, who, when pleased, bestowed on Umá
half his own body, grant you your desire!
May the vermilion-stained trunk which Ganesa at night throws up in the
dance, and so seems to furnish the moon-umbrella with a coral handle,
protect you!
Then Naraváhanadatta, son of the king of Vatsa, possessing as his
wives those various ladies, the most beautiful in the three worlds,
and Madanamanchuká as his head-queen, dwelt with Gomukha and his other
ministers in Kausámbí, having his every want supplied by his father's
magnificent resources. His days passed pleasantly in dancing, singing,
and conversation, and were enlivened by the exquisite enjoyment of
the society of the ladies whom he loved.
Then it happened one day that he could not find his principal charmer
Madanamanchuká anywhere in the female apartments, nor could her
attendants find her either. [522] When he could not see his beloved,
he became pale from grief, as the moon loses its beauty in the
morning, by being separated from the night. And he was distracted by
an innumerable host of doubts, saying to himself, "I wonder whether
my beloved has hidden herself somewhere to ascertain my sentiments
towards her; or is she indignant with me for some trifling fault
or other; or is she concealed by magic, or has she been carried off
by some one?" When he had searched for her, and could not find her
anywhere, he was consumed by violent grief for his separation from
her, which raged in his bosom like a forest conflagration. His father,
the king of Vatsa, who came to visit him, as soon as he knew the state
of affairs, and his mothers, ministers, and servants were all beside
themselves. The pearl necklace, sandal-wood ointment, the rays of the
moon, lotus-fibres and lotus-leaves did not alleviate his torture,
but rather increased it. As for Kalingasená, when she was suddenly
deprived of that daughter, she was confounded like a Vidyádharí,
who has lost her magic power.
Then an aged female guardian of the women's apartments said in the
presence of Naraváhanadatta, so that all there heard, "Long ago, that
young Vidyádhara, named Mánasavega, having beheld Madanamanchuká,
when she was a maiden, on the top of the palace, suddenly descended
from heaven, and approaching Kalingasená, told her his name, and asked
her to give him her daughter. When Kalingasená refused, he went as
he came; but why should he not have now come secretly and carried her
off by his magic power? It is of course true that heavenly beings do
not carry off the wives of others; on the other hand, who, that is
blinded by passion, troubles himself about the right or wrong of an
action?" When Naraváhanadatta heard this, his heart was overwhelmed
with anger, impatience, and the sorrow of bereavement, and became
like a lotus in the waves.
Then Rumanvat said, "This palace is guarded all round, and it
is impossible to enter or go out from it, except through the
air. Moreover, by the favour of Siva no misfortune can befall her;
so we may be certain that she has hidden herself somewhere, because
her affection has been wounded. Listen to a story which will make
this clear."
Story of Sávitrí and Angiras.
Once on a time a hermit, named Angiras, asked Ashtávakra for the
hand of his daughter Sávitrí. But Ashtávakra would not give him his
daughter Sávitrí, though he was an excellent match, because she was
already betrothed to some one else. Then Angiras married Asrutá his
brother's daughter, and lived a long time with her as his wife in
great happiness; but she was well aware that he had previously been
in love with Sávitrí.
One day that hermit Angiras remained muttering for a long time in
an inaudible voice. Then his wife Asrutá asked him again and again
lovingly, "Tell me, my husband, why do you remain so long fixed
in thought?" He said, "My dear, I am meditating on the Sávitrí;"
and she, thinking that he meant Sávitrí, the hermit's daughter, was
vexed in soul. She said to herself, "He is miserable," so she went
off to the forest determined to abandon the body; and after she had
prayed that good fortune might attend her husband, she fastened a
rope round her neck. And at that moment Gáyatrí appeared with rosary
of aksha-beads and ascetic's pitcher, and said to her, "Daughter,
do not act rashly! Your husband was not thinking of any woman; he was
meditating on me, the holy Sávitrí;" and with these words she freed her
neck from the noose; and the goddess, merciful to her votaries, having
thus consoled her, disappeared. Then her husband Angiras, searching
for her, found her in the wood, and brought her home. So you see that
women in this world cannot endure the wounding of their affections.
"So you may be certain that this wife of the prince is angry on account
of some trifling injury, and is hidden somewhere in this place; for
she is under the protection of Siva; and we must again search for her."
When Rumanvat said this, the sovereign of Vatsa said, "It must be so:
for no misfortune can befall her, inasmuch as a heavenly voice said
'This Madanamanchuká is an incarnation of Rati, appointed by the god to
be the wife of Naraváhanadatta, who is an emanation of the god of Love,
and he shall rule the Vidyádharas with her as his consort for a kalpa
of the gods,' and this utterance cannot be falsified by the event. So
let her be carefully looked for." When the king himself said this,
Naraváhanadatta went out, though he was in such a miserable state.
But, however much he searched for her, he could not find her, so he
wandered about in various parts of the grounds, like one distracted;
when he went to her dwelling, the rooms with closed doors seemed
as if they had shut their eyes in despair at beholding his grief;
and when he went about in the groves asking for her, the trees,
agitating their shoots like hands seemed to say, "We have not seen
your beloved." When he searched in the gardens, the sárasa-birds,
flying up to the sky, seemed to tell him that she had not gone that
way. And his ministers Marubhúti, Harisikha, Gomukha, and Vasantaka
wandered about in every direction to find her.
In the meanwhile an unmarried Vidyádharí, of the name of Vegavatí,
having beheld Madanamanchuká in her splendid and glorious beauty,
deliberately took her shape, and came and stood alone in the garden
under an asoka-tree. Marubhúti saw her, as he was roaming about in
search of the queen, and she seemed at once to extract the dart from
his pierced heart. And in his joy he went to Naraváhanadatta, and said
to him, "Cheer up, I have seen your beloved in the garden." When he
said this, Naraváhanadatta was delighted, and immediately went with
him to that garden.
Then, exhausted with long bereavement, he beheld that semblance
of Madanamanchuká, with feelings like those with which a thirsty
traveller beholds a stream of water. And the moment he beheld her, the
much afflicted prince longed to embrace her, but she, being cunning
and wishing to be married by him, said to him, "Do not touch me now,
first hear what I have to say. Before I married you, I prayed to the
Yakshas to enable me to obtain you, and said, 'On my wedding-day
I will make offerings to you with my own hand.' But, my beloved,
when my wedding-day came, I forgot all about them. That enraged the
Yakshas, and so they carried me off from this place. And they have
just brought me here, and let me go, saying, 'Go and perform over
again that ceremony of marriage, and make oblations to us, and then
repair to your husband; otherwise you will not prosper.' So marry
me quickly, in order that I may offer the Yakshas the worship they
demand; and then fulfil all your desire."
When Naraváhanadatta heard that, he summoned the priest Sántisoma and
at once made the necessary preparations, and immediately married the
supposed Madanamanchuká, who was no other than the Vidyádharí Vegavatí,
having been for a short time quite cast down by his separation from
the real one. Then a great feast took place there, full of the clang
of cymbals, delighting the king of Vatsa, gladdening the queens,
and causing joy to Kahngasená. And the supposed Madanamanchuká,
who was really the Vidyádharí Vegavatí, made with her own hand an
offering of wine, flesh, and other dainties to the Yakshas. Then
Naraváhanadatta, remaining with her in her chamber, drank wine with
her in his exultation, though he was sufficiently intoxicated with
her voice. And then he retired to rest with her, who had thus changed
her shape, as the sun with the shadow. And she said to him in secret,
"My beloved, now that we have retired to rest, you must take care not
to unveil my face suddenly and look at me while asleep [523]." When
the prince heard this, he was filled with curiosity, to think what this
might be, and the next day he uncovered her face while she was asleep,
and looked at it, and lo! it was not Madanamanchuká, but some one else,
who, when asleep, had lost the power of disguising her appearance by
magic. [524] Then she woke up, while he was sitting by her awake. And
he said to her, "Tell me, who are you?" And the discreet Vidyádharí
seeing him sitting up awake, and being conscious that she was in her
own shape and that her secret was discovered, began to tell her tale
saying, "Listen, my beloved, I will now tell you the whole story."
"There is in the city of the Vidyádharas a mountain of the name
of Áshádhapura. There dwells a chief of the Vidyádharas, named
Mánasavega, a prince puffed up with the might of his arm, the son of
king Vegavat. I am his younger sister, and my name is Vegavatí. And
that brother of mine hated me so much that he was not willing
to bestow on me the sciences. Then I obtained them, though with
difficulty, from my father, who had retired to a wood of ascetics,
and, thanks to his favour, I possess them of greater power than any
other of our race. I myself saw the wretched Madanamanchuká, in the
palace of mount Áshádha, in a garden, surrounded by sentinels, I mean
your beloved, whom my brother has carried off by magic, as Rávana
carried off the afflicted Sítá, the wife of Rámabhadra. And as the
virtuous lady repels his caresses, he cannot subdue her to his will,
for a curse has been laid upon him, that will bring about his death,
if he uses violence to any woman.
"So that wicked brother of mine made use of me, to try and talk
her over; and I went to that lady, who could do nothing but talk of
you. And in my conversation with her, that virtuous lady mentioned
your name, [525] which was like a command from the god of Love, and
thus my mind then became fixed upon you alone. And then I remembered
an announcement which Párvatí made to me in a dream, much to the
following effect, 'You shall be married to that man the mere hearing of
whose name overpowers you with love.' When I had called this to mind,
I cheered up Madanamanchuká, and came here in her form, and married
myself to you by an artifice. So come, my beloved, I am filled with
such compassion for your wife Madanamanchuká that I will take you where
she is; for I am the devoted servant of my rival, even as I am of you,
because you love her. For I am so completely enslaved by love for you,
that I am rendered quite unselfish by it."
When Vegavatí had said this, she took Naraváhanadatta, and by
the might of her science flew up with him into the sky during the
night. And next morning, while she was slowly travelling through the
heaven, the attendants of the husband and wife were bewildered by
their disappearance. And when the king of Vatsa came to hear of it,
he was immediately, as it were, struck by a thunderbolt, and so were
Vásavadattá, Padmávatí and the rest. And the citizens, and the king's
ministers Yaugandharáyana and the others, together with their sons
Marubhúti and the rest, were altogether distracted.
Then the hermit Nárada, surrounded with a circle of light, descended
there from heaven, like a second sun. The king of Vatsa offered him the
arghya, and the hermit said to him, "Your son has been carried off by
a Vidyádharí to her country, but he will soon return; and I have been
sent by Siva to cheer you up." And after this prelude he went on to
tell the king of Vegavatí's proceedings, exactly as they took place;
then the king recovered his spirits and the hermit disappeared.
In the meanwhile Vegavatí carried Naraváhanadatta through the air to
the mountain Áshádhapura. And Mánasavega, hearing of it, hastened
there to kill them both. Then Vegavatí engaged with her brother in
a struggle which was remarkable for a great display of magic power;
for a woman values her lover as her life, and much more than her own
relations. Then she assumed by the might of her magic a terrible form
of Bhairava, and at once striking Mánasavega senseless, she placed
him on the mountain of Agni. [526] And she took Naraváhanadatta, whom
at the beginning of the contest she had deposited in the care of one
of her sciences, [527] and placed him in a dry well in the city of
the Gandharvas, to keep him. And when he was there, she said to him,
"Remain here a little while, my husband; good fortune will befall you
here; and do not despond in your heart, O man appointed to a happy
lot, for the sovereignty over all the Vidyádharas is to be yours. But
I must leave this for the present, to appease my sciences, impaired
by my resistance to my elder brother; however, I will return to you
soon." When the Vidhyádharí Vegavatí had said this, she departed
somewhere or other.
CHAPTER CVI.
Then a certain Gandharva, of the name of Vínádatta, saw Naraváhanadatta
in that well. Truly if there were not great souls in this world,
born for the benefit of others, relieving distress as wayside trees
heat, the world would be a withered forest. Thus the good Gandharva,
as soon as he saw Naraváhanadatta, asked him his name and lineage, and
supporting him with his hand, drew him out of that well, and said to
him, [528] "If you are a man and not a god, how did you reach this city
of the Gandharvas inaccessible to man? Tell me!" Then Naraváhanadatta
answered him, "A Vidyádharí brought me here, and threw me into the well
by her power." Then the good Gandharva Vínádatta, seeing that he had
the veritable signs of an emperor, took him to his own dwelling, and
waited upon him with all the luxuries at his command. And the next day,
Naraváhanadatta, perceiving that the inhabitants of the city carried
lyres in their hands, said to his host, "Why have all these people,
even down to the children, got lyres in their hands?" [529]
Then Vínádatta gave him this answer, "Ságaradatta the king of the
Gandharvas, who lives here, has a daughter named Gandharvadattá, who
eclipses the nymphs of heaven; it seems as if the Creator had blended
nectar, the moon, and sandalwood, and other choice things, in order
to compose her body, as a specimen of his skill in making all that is
fair. She is always singing to the lyre the hymn of Vishnu, which the
god himself bestowed on her, and so she has attained supreme skill in
music. [530] And the princess has firmly resolved that whoever is so
well skilled in music, that he can play on the lyre, and sing perfectly
in three scales a song in praise of Vishnu, shall be her husband. The
consequence is, that all here are trying to learn to play the lyre, but
they have not acquired the amount of skill demanded by the princess."
Prince Naraváhanadatta was delighted at hearing this speech from the
mouth of Vínádatta and he said to him, "All the accomplishments have
chosen me for a husband, and I know all the music, that there is in
the three worlds." When he said this, his friend Vínádatta conducted
him into the presence of king Ságaradatta, and said there, "Here is
Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, who has fallen into
your city from the hand of a Vidyádharí. He is an adept in music,
and he knows the song in praise of Vishnu, in which the princess
Gandharvadattá takes so much pleasure." When the king heard this, he
said, "It is true; I heard so much before from the Gandharvas; so I
must to-day receive him with respect here. And he is an emanation of
a divinity; he is not out of place in the abode of gods; otherwise,
if he were a man, how could he have come here by associating with a
Vidyádharí? So summon Gandharvadattá quickly and let us test him." When
the king said this, the chamberlains went to fetch her.
And the fair one came there, all glorious with flower-ornaments,
agitating with her beauty, as if with a wind, the creepers of
spring. She sat down at her father's side, and the servants told her
what had taken place, and immediately, at his command, she sang a
song to the lyre. When she was joining the notes to the quarter-tones,
like Sarasvatí the wife of Brahmá, Naraváhanadatta was astonished at
her singing and her beauty. Then he said to her, "Princess, your lyre
does not seem to me to sound well, I think there must be a hair on
the string." Thereupon the lyre was examined, and they found the hair
where he said, and that astonished even the Gandharvas. Then the king
took the lyre from his daughter's hand, and gave it to him, saying,
"Prince, take this, and pour nectar into our ears." Then he played on
it, and sang the hymn of Vishnu with such skill that the Gandharvas
there became motionless as painted pictures.
Then Gandharvadattá herself threw on him a look tender with affection,
as it were a garland of full-blown blue lotuses, [531] and therewith
chose him as her husband. When the king saw it, and called to
mind his promise of that import, he at once gave him his daughter
Gandharvadattá in marriage. As for the wedding that thereupon took
place, gladdened by the drums of the gods and other festal signs,
to what could we compare it, as it served as the standard by which
to estimate all similar rejoicings? Then Naraváhanadatta lived there
with his new bride Gandharvadattá in heavenly bliss.
And one day he went out to behold the beauty of the city, and after he
had seen all kinds of places, he entered the park attached to it. There
he saw a heavenly female descending from the sky with her daughter,
like the lightning with the rain in a cloudless atmosphere. And she
was saying to her daughter, as she descended, recognising him by
her knowledge, "This, my daughter, is your future husband, the son
of the king of Vatsa." "When he saw her alight and come towards him,
he said to her, "Who are you, and why have you come?" And the heavenly
female said to him, thus introducing the object of her desire:
"Prince, I am Dhanavatí, the wife of a chief of the Vidyádharas, named
Sinha, and this is my unmarried daughter, the sister of Chandasinha,
and her name is Ajinávatí. You were announced as her future husband by
a voice that came from heaven. Then, learning by my magic science, that
you, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas, had been deposited here
by Vegavatí, I came to tell you my desire. You ought not to remain in
such a place as this which is accessible to the Vidyádharas, for they
might slay you out of enmity, as you are alone, and have not obtained
your position of emperor. So come, let us now take you to a land which
is inaccessible to them. Does not the moon delay to shine, when the
circle of the sun is eclipsed? And when the auspicious day arrives you
shall marry this daughter of mine." When she had said this, she took
him and flew up into the air with him, and her daughter accompanied
them. And she took him to the city of Srávastí, and deposited him in
a garden, and then she disappeared with her daughter Ajinávatí.
There king Prasenajit, who had returned from a distant hunting
expedition, saw that prince of noble form and feature. The king
approached him full of curiosity, and asked him his name and lineage,
and then, being much delighted, courteously conducted him to his
palace. It was full of troops of elephants, adorned with lines
of horses, and looked like a pavilion for the Fortune of empire
to rest in, when wearied with her wanderings. Wherever a man born
to prosperity may be, felicities eagerly approach him, as women do
their beloved one. This accounts for the fact that the king, being
an admirer of excellence, gave Naraváhanadatta his own daughter,
named Bhagírathayasas. And the prince lived happily there with her
in great luxury, as if with Good Fortune created by the Disposer in
flesh and blood for his delectation.
One evening, when the lover of the night had arisen, raining joy into
the eyes of men, looking like the full-orbed face [532] of the nymph
of the eastern quarter, or rather the countenance of Bhagírathayasas
charming as nectar, reflected in the pure mirror of the cloudless
heaven, he drank wine with that fair one at her request on the top of
a palace silvered over with the elixir of moonlight. He quaffed the
liquor which was adorned with the reflection of his beloved's face,
and so gave pleasure to his eyes as well as to his palate. And then he
considered the moon as far inferior in beauty to his charmer's face,
for it wanted the intoxicating [533] play of the eyes and eyebrows. And
after his drinking-bout was over he went inside the house, and retired
to his couch with Bhagírathayasas.
Then Naraváhanadatta awoke from sleep, while his beloved was still
sleeping, and suddenly calling to mind his home, exclaimed, "Through
love for Bhagírathayasas I have, so to speak, forgotten my other wives;
how can that have happened? But in this too Fate is all-powerful. Far
away too are my ministers. Of them Marubhúti takes pleasure in nought
but feats of prowess, and Harisikba is exclusively devoted to policy;
of those two I do not now feel the need, but it grieves me that
the dexterous Gomukha, who has been my friend in all emergencies,
is far away from me." While he was thus lamenting, he suddenly heard
the words "Ah! how sad!" uttered in a low soft tone, like that of a
woman, and they at once banished sleep. When he heard them, he got up,
and lighted a candle, and looked about, and he saw in the window a
lovely female face. It seemed as if the Disposer had determined out
of playfulness to show him a second but spotless moon not in the sky,
as he had that night seen the spot-beflecked moon of heaven. And not
being able to discern the rest of her body, but eager to behold it,
his eyes being attracted by her beauty, he immediately said to himself,
"Long ago, when the Daitya Átápin was impeding the creation of Brahmá,
that god employed the artifice of sending him to Nandana, saying to
him, 'Go there and see a very curious sight;' and when he got there,
he saw only the foot of a woman, which was of wonderful beauty; and
so he died from an insane desire to see the rest of her body. [534]
In the same way it may be that the Disposer has produced this lady's
face only to bring about my destruction." While he was making this
momentary surmise, the lady displayed her shoot-like finger at the
window, and beckoned to him to come towards her.
Then he deliberately went out of the chamber in which his beloved was
sleeping, and with eager impatience approached that heavenly lady:
and when he came near, she exclaimed, "Madanamanchuká, they say that
your husband is in love with another woman: alas! you are undone." When
Naraváhanadatta heard this, he called to mind his beloved, and the fire
of separation flamed up in his bosom, and he said to that fair one,
"Who are you? Where did you see my beloved Madanamanchuká? And why have
you come to me? Tell me!" Then the bold lady took the prince away to
a distance in the night, and saying to him, "Hear the whole story,"
she thus began to speak.
"There is in the city of Pushkarávatí a prince of the Vidyádharas
named Pingalagándhára, who has become yellow with continually adoring
the fire. Know that I am his unmarried daughter, named Prabhávatí,
for he obtained me by the special favour of the god of fire, who
was pleased with his adoration. I went to the city of Ashádbapura to
visit my friend Vegavatí, and I did not find her there, as she had
gone somewhere to perform asceticism. But hearing from her mother
Prithivídeví that your beloved Madanamanchuká was there, I went to
her. I beheld her emaciated with fasting, pale and squalid, with
only one lock, weeping, talking only of your virtues, surrounded by
tearful bands of Vidyádhara princesses, who were divided between grief
produced by seeing her, and joy produced by hearing of you. She told
me what you were like, and I comforted her by promising to bring you,
for my mind was overpowered by pity for her, and attracted by your
excellences. And finding out by means of my magic skill that you were
here at present, I came to you, to inserve her interests and my own
also. But when I found that you had forgotten your first love and
were talking here of other persons, I bewailed the lot of that wife
of yours, and exclaimed 'Ah! how sad!'"
When the prince had been thus addressed by her, he became impatient
and said, "Take me where she is, and impose on me whatever command
you think fit." When the Vidyádharí Prabhávatí heard that, she flew up
into the air with him, and proceeded to journey on through the moonlit
night. And as she was going along, she saw a fire burning in a certain
place, so she took Naraváhanadatta's hand, and moved round it, keeping
it on the right. In this way the bold lady managed by an artifice to
go through the ceremony of marriage with Naraváhanadatta, for all the
actions of heavenly beings have some important end in view. [535]
Then she pointed out to her beloved from the sky the earth looking
like a sacrificial platform, the rivers like snakes, the mountains
like ant-hills, and many other wonders did she show him from time to
time, until at last she had gradually accomplished a long distance.
Then Naraváhanadatta became thirsty with his long journey through
the air, and begged for water; so she descended to earth from her
airy path. And she took him to the corner of a forest, and placed
him near a lake, which seemed to be full of molten silver, as its
water was white with the rays of the moon. So his craving for water
was satisfied by the draught which he drank in that beautiful forest,
but there arose in him a fresh craving as he felt a desire to embrace
that lovely lady. [536] But she, when pressed, would hardly consent;
for her thoughts reverted with pity to Madanamanchuká, whom she had
tried to comfort; in truth the noble-minded, when they have undertaken
to forward the interests of others, put out of sight their own. And
she said to him, "Do not think ill, my husband, of my coldness;
I have an object in it; and now hear this story which will explain it."
Story of the child that died of a broken heart because his mother
forgot to bring him a sweetmeat.
Once on a time, there lived in the city of Pátaliputra a certain widow
who had one child; she was young, and beautiful, but poor. And she was
in the habit of making love to a strange man for her gratification, and
at night she used to leave her house and roam where she pleased. But,
before she went, she used invariably to console her infant son
by saying to him, "My boy, I will bring you a sweetmeat to-morrow
morning," and every day she brought him one. And the child used to
remain quiet at home, buoyed up by the hope of that sweetmeat.
But one day she forgot, and did not bring him the sweetmeat. And
when the child asked for the sweetmeat, she said to him, "Sweetmeat
indeed! I know of no sweet, but my sweetheart." Then the child said
to himself, "She has not brought me a sweetmeat, because she loves
another better than me." So he lost all hope, and his heart broke.
"So if I were over-eager to appropriate you whom I have long loved,
and if Madanamanchuká, whom I consoled with the hope of a joyful
reunion with you, were to hear of it, and lose all hope through me,
her heart, which is as soft as a flower, would break. [537] It is
this desire to spare her feelings, which prevents me from being so
eager now for your society, before I have consoled her, though you
are my beloved, dearer to me than life."
When Prabhávatí said this to Naraváhanadatta, he was full of joy and
astonishment, and he said to himself, "Well! Fate seems to take a
pleasure in perpetually creating new marvels, since it has produced
Prabhávatí, whose conduct is so inconceivably noble." With these
thoughts in his mind, the prince lovingly praised her, and said,
"Then take me where that Madanamanchuká is." When Prabhávatí heard
that, she took him up, and in a moment carried him through the air to
the mountain Áshádhapura. There she bestowed him on Madanamanchuká,
whose body had long been drying up with grief, as a shower bestows
fullness on a river.
Then Naraváhanadatta beheld that fair one there, afflicted with
separation, thin and pale, like a digit of the new moon. That reunion
of those two seemed to restore them to life, and gave joy to the world,
like the union of the night and the moon. And the pair embraced,
scorched with the fire of separation, and as they were streaming
with fatigue, they seemed to melt into one. Then they both partook
at their ease of luxuries suddenly provided in the night by the might
of Prabhávatí's science. And thanks to her science, no one there but
Madanamanchuká, saw Naraváhanadatta.
The next morning Naraváhanadatta proceeded to loose Madanamanchuká's
one lock, [538] but she, overpowered with resentment against her enemy,
said to her beloved, "Long ago I made this vow, 'That lock of mine
must be loosed by my husband, when Mánasavega is slain, but not till
then; and if he is not slain, I will wear it till my death, and then
it shall be loosed by the birds, or consumed with fire.' But now you
have loosed it, while this enemy of mine is still alive; that vexes
my soul. For though Vegavatí flung him down on Agniparvata, he did
not die of the fall. And you have now been made invisible here by
Prabhávatí by means of her magic power; otherwise the followers of
that enemy, who are continually moving near you here, would see you,
and would not tolerate your presence."
When Naraváhanadatta had been thus addressed by his wife, he,
recognising the fact that the proper time for accomplishing his object
had not yet arrived, said to her by way of calming her, "This desire
of yours shall be fulfilled; I will soon slay that enemy; but first I
must acquire the sciences; wait a little, my beloved." With speeches
of this kind Naraváhanadatta consoled Madanamanchuká; and remained
there in that city of the Vidyádharas.
Then Prabhávatí disappeared herself, and, by the power of her magic
science, bestowed in some incomprehensible way on Naraváhanadatta
her own shape. And the prince lived happily there in her shape, and
without fear of discovery, enjoying pleasures provided by her magic
science. And all the people there thought, "This friend of Vegavatí's
is attending on Madanamanchuká, partly out of regard for Vegavatí, and
partly on account of the friendly feelings which she herself entertains
for the captive princess;" for they all supposed that Naraváhanadatta
was no other than Prabhávatí, as he was disguised in her shape: and
this was the report that they carried to Mánasavega. Then, one day,
something caused Madanamanchuká to relate to Naraváhanadatta her
adventures in the following words,
Madanamanchuká's account of her treatment while in captivity.
When Mánasavega first brought me here, he tried to win me to his will
by his magic power, endeavouring to alarm me by cruel actions. And
then Siva appeared in a terrible form, with drawn sword and lolling
tongue, and making an appalling roar, said to Mánasavega; "How is it
that, while I still exist, thou dost presume to treat disrespectfully
the wife of him who is destined to be emperor over all the Vidyádhara
kings?" When the villain Mánasavega had been thus addressed by Siva,
he fell on the earth vomiting blood from his mouth. Then the god
disappeared, and that villain immediately recovered, and went to his
own palace, and again began to practise cruelties against me. [539]
Then in my terror, and in the agony of separation, I was thinking of
abandoning my life, but the attendants of the harem came to me, and
said to me by way of consolation, "Long ago this Mánasavega beheld a
certain beautiful hermit maiden and tried to carry her off by force
but was thus cursed by her relations; 'When, villain, you approach
another's wife against her will, your head shall split into a thousand
fragments;' so he will never force himself on the wife of another, do
not be afraid. Moreover you will soon be reunited with your husband,
as the god announced." Soon after the maids had said this to me,
Vegavatí, the sister of that Mánasavega, came to me to talk me over;
but when she saw me, she was filled with compassion, and she comforted
me by promising to bring you; and you already know how she found you.
Then Prithivídeví, the good mother of that wicked Mánasavega,
came to me, looking, with her garments white as moonlight, like
the orb of Luna without a spot, seeming to bathe me with nectar by
her charming appearance; and with a loving manner she said to me,
"Why do you refuse food and so injure your bodily health, though you
are destined to great prosperity? And do not say to yourself, 'How
can I eat an enemy's food?' For my daughter Vegavatí has a share in
this kingdom, bestowed on her by her father, and she is your friend,
for your husband has married her. Accordingly her wealth, as belonging
to your husband, is yours as much as hers. So enjoy it. What I tell
you is true, for I have discovered it by my magic knowledge." This she
said, and confirmed it with an oath, and then, being attached to me,
on account of her daughter's connexion, she fed me with food suited
to my condition. Then Vegavatí came here with you, and conquered her
brother, and saved you; the sequel I do not know.
So I, remembering the magic skill of Vegavatí and the announcement of
the god, did not surrender my life, which was supported by the hope
of regaining you, and, thanks to the power of the noble Prabhávatí,
I have regained you, although I am thus beset by my enemies. But my
only anxiety is as to what would happen to us, if Prabhávatí here
were deprived of her power, and you were so to lose her shape, which
she has bestowed on you by way of disguise.
This and other such things did Madanamanchuká say, while the brave
Naraváhanadatta remained there with her, endeavouring to console
her. But one night Prabhávatí went to her father's palace, and in the
morning Naraváhanadatta, owing to her being at a distance, lost her
shape, which she had bestowed on him. And next day the attendants
beheld him there in male form, and they all ran bewildered and
alarmed to the king's court and said, "Here is an adulterer crept in;"
thrusting aside the terrified Madanamanchuká, who tried to stop them.
Then king Mánasavega came there at full speed, accompanied by his
army, and surrounded him. Then the king's mother Prithivídeví hurried
thither and said to him, "It will not do for you or me either to put
this man to death. For he is no adulterer, but Naraváhanadatta, the
son of the king of Vatsa, who has come here to visit his own wife. I
know this by my magic power; why are you so blinded with wrath that
you cannot see it? Moreover I am bound to honour him, as he is my
son-in-law, and sprung from the race of the moon." When Mánasavega's
mother said this to him, he flew into a passion, and said, "Then
he is my enemy." Then his mother, out of love for her son-in-law,
used another argument with him. She said, "My son, you will not be
allowed to act wrongfully in the world of the Vidyádharas. For here
there exists a court of the Vidyádharas to protect the right. So accuse
him before the president of that court [540]. Whatever steps you take
with regard to your captive in accordance with the court's decision
will be commendable; but if you act otherwise, the Vidyádharas will
be displeased, and the gods will not tolerate it."
Mánasavega, out of respect for his mother, consented to follow
her advice, and attempted to have Naraváhanadatta bound, with the
intention of taking him before the court. But he, unable to endure the
indignity of being bound, tore a pillar from the arched gateway, and
killed with it a great number of his captor's servants. And the hero,
whose valour was godlike, snatched a sword from one of those that he
had killed, and at once slew with it some more of his opponents. Then
Mánasavega fettered him by his superhuman powers, and took him, with
his wife, before the court. Then the Vidyádharas assembled there from
all quarters, summoned by the loud sound of a drum, even as the gods
assemble in Sudharmá.
And the president of the court, king Váyupatha, came there,
and sat down on a jewelled throne surrounded by Vidyádharas, and
fanned by chowries which waved to and fro, as if to winnow away all
injustice. And the wicked Mánasavega stood in front of him, and said
as follows, "This enemy of mine, who though a mortal, has violated my
harem, and seduced my sister, ought immediately to be put to death;
especially as he actually wishes to be our sovereign." When the
president heard this, he called on Naraváhanadatta for an answer, and
the hero said in a confident tone, "That is a court, where there is a
president; he is a president, who says what is just; that is just, in
which there is truth; that is truth in which there is no deceit. Here
I am bound by magic, and on the floor, but my adversary here is on
a seat, and free; what fair controversy can there be between us?"
When Váyupatha heard this, he made Mánasavega also sit upon the floor,
as was just, and had Naraváhanadatta set free from his bonds. Then
before Váyupatha, and in the hearing of all, Naraváhanadatta made the
following reply to the accusations of Mánasavega; "Pray, whose harem
have I violated by coming to visit my own wife, Madanamanchuká here,
who has been carried off by this fellow? And if his sister came and
tricked me into marrying her by assuming my wife's form, what fault
have I committed in this? As for my desiring empire, is there any
one that does not desire all sorts of things?" When king Váyupatha
heard this, he reflected a little, and said, "This noble fellow says
what is quite just; take care, my good Mánasavega, that you do not
act unjustly towards one, whom great exaltation awaits."
Though Váyupatha said this, Mánasavega, blinded with delusion,
refused to turn from his wicked way; and then Váyupatha flew into a
passion. Then, out of regard for justice, he engaged in a contest
with Mánasavega, in which fully equipped armies were employed on
both sides. For resolute men, when they sit on the seat of justice,
keep only the right in view, and look upon the mighty as weak, and
one of their own race as an alien. [541] And then Naraváhanadatta,
looking towards the nymphs of heaven, who were gazing at the scene
with intense interest, said to Mánasavega, "Lay aside your magic
disguises, and fight with me in visible shape, in order that I may
give you a specimen of my prowess by slaying you with one blow."
Accordingly those Vidyádharas there remained quarrelling among
themselves, when suddenly a splendid pillar in the court cleft asunder
in the middle with a loud noise, [542] and Siva issued from it in
his terrific form. He filled the whole sky, in colour like antimony;
he hid the sun; the gleams of his fiery eyes flickered like flashes of
lightning; his shining teeth were like cranes flying in a long row; and
so he was terrible like a roaring cloud of the great day of doom. The
great god exclaimed "Villain, this future emperor of the Vidyádharas
shall not be insulted," and with these words he dismissed Mánasavega
with face cast down, and encouraged Váyupatha. And then the adorable
one took Naraváhanadatta up in his arms, and in order to preserve
his life, carried him in this way to the beautiful and happy mountain
Rishyamúka, and after setting him down there, disappeared. And then
the quarrel among the Vidyádharas in that court came to an end, and
Váyupatha went home again accompanied by the other Vidyádharas his
friends. But Mánasavega, making Madanamanchuká, who was distracted
with joy and grief, precede him, went despondent to Áshádhapura his
own dwelling.
CHAPTER CVII.
I think, a hero's prosperity must be unequal; Fate again and again
severely tests firmness by the ordeals of happiness and misery:
this explains why the fickle goddess kept uniting Naraváhanadatta to
wife after wife, when he was alone in those remote regions, and then
separated him from them.
Then, while he was residing on the mountain Rishyamúka, his beloved
Prabhávatí came up to him, and said, "It was owing to the misfortune of
my not being present that Mánasavega carried you off on that occasion
to the court, with the intention of doing you an injury. When I heard
of it, I at once went there, and by means of my magic power I produced
the delusion of an appearance of the god, and brought you here. For,
though the Vidyádharas are mighty, their influence does not extend
over this mountain, for this is the domain of the Siddhas. [543]
Indeed even my science is of no avail here for that reason, and that
grieves me, for how will you subsist on the products of the forest
as your only food?" When she had said this, Naraváhanadatta remained
with her there, longing for the time of deliverance, thinking on
Madanamanchuká. And on the banks of the sanctifying Pampá-lake near
that mountain, he ate fruits and roots of heavenly flavour, and he
drank the holy water of the lake which was rendered delicious and
fragrant by the fruits dropped from trees on its bank, as a relish
to his meal of deer's flesh. [544] And he lived at the foot of trees
and in the interior of caverns, and so he imitated the conduct of
Ráma who once lived in the forests of that region. And Prabhávatí,
beholding there various hermitages once occupied by Ráma, told him
the story of Ráma for his amusement.
Story of Ráma.
In this forest Ráma once dwelt accompanied by Lakshmana, and waited
on by Sítá, in the society of hermits, making to himself a hut at the
foot of a tree. And Sítá, perfuming the whole forest with the perfume
given her by Anasúyá, remained here in the midst of the hermits'
wives, wearing a robe of bark.
Here the Daitya Dundubhi was slain in a cave by Báli, which was the
original cause of the enmity between Báli and Sugríva. For Sugríva,
wrongly supposing that the Daitya had slain Báli, blocked up the
entrance of the cave with mountains, and went away terrified. But Báli
broke through the obstruction, and came out, and banished Sugríva,
saying, "This fellow imprisoned me in the cave because he wanted to
get my kingdom." But Sugríva fled, and came and established himself
on this plateau of Rishyamúka with the lords of the monkeys, of whom
Hanumán was the chief.
Then Rávana came here, and beguiling the soul of Ráma with the phantom
of a golden deer, he carried off his wife the daughter of Janaka. Then
the descendant of Raghu, who longed for news of Sítá, made an alliance
with Sugríva, who desired the slaughter of Báli. And in order to let
his might be known, he cleft seven palm-trees here with an arrow, while
the mighty Báli with great difficulty cleft one of them. And then the
hero went hence to Kishkindhya, and after slaying Báli with a single
arrow, which he launched as if in sport, gave his kingdom to Sugríva.
Then the followers of Sugríva, headed by Hanumán, went hence in every
direction to gain information about Sítá. And Ráma remained here during
the rainy season with the roaring clouds, which seemed to share his
grief shedding showery tear-drops. At last Hanumán crossed the sea at
the suggestion of Sampáti, and by great exertions obtained for Ráma the
required information; whereupon he marched with the monkeys, and threw
a bridge over the sea, and killed his enemy the lord of Lanká, and
brought back queen Sítá in the flying chariot, passing over this place.
"So, my husband, you also shall attain good fortune: successes come of
their own accord to heroes who remain resolute in misfortunes." This
and other such tales did Prabhávatí tell, while she roamed about here
and there for her pleasure with Naraváhanadatta.
And one day, as he was in the neighbourhood of Pampá, two Vidyádharís,
Dhanavatí and Ajinávatí, descended from heaven and approached
him. These were the two ladies who carried him from the city of
the Gandharvas to the city of Srávastí, where he [545] married
Bhagírathayasas. And while Ajinávatí was conversing with Prabhávatí as
an old friend, Dhanavatí thus addressed Naraváhanadatta, "I long ago
bestowed on you this daughter of mine Ajinávatí, as far as promises
could do it; so marry her; for the day of your exaltation is nigh at
hand." Prabhávatí, out of love for her friend, and Naraváhanadatta
both agreed to this proposal. Then Dhanavatí bestowed that daughter
of hers Ajinávatí on that son of the king of Vatsa, with appropriate
ceremonies. And she celebrated the great feast of her daughter's
wedding in such style that the glorious and heavenly preparations
she had accumulated by means of her magic knowledge made it really
beautiful.
Then the next day she said to Naraváhanadatta, "My son, it will
never do for you to remain long in a nondescript place like this:
for the Vidyádharas are a deceitful race, and you have no business
here. So depart now with your wife for your own city of Kausámbí;
and I will come there with my son Chandasinha and with the Vidyádhara
chiefs that follow me, to ensure your success." [546] When Dhanavatí
had said this, she mounted up into the sky, illuminating it, as it
were, with moonlight, though it was day, by the gleam of her white
body and raiment.
And Prabhávatí and Ajinávatí carried Naraváhanadatta through the air
to his city of Kausámbí. When he reached the garden of the city,
he descended from heaven into his capital, and was seen by his
attendants. And there arose there a cry from the people on all sides,
"We are indeed happy; here is the prince come back." Then the king
of Vatsa, hearing of it, came there quickly in high delight, as
if irrigated with a sudden shower of nectar, with Vásavadattá and
Padmávatí, and the prince's wives, Ratnaprabhá and the rest; and
Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers of the king of Vatsa, and
Kalingasená and the prince's own ministers, Gomukha and his fellows,
approached him in order of precedence as eagerly as travellers make
for a lake in the hot season. And they saw the hero, whose high birth
qualified him for a lofty station, sitting between his two wives,
like Krishna between Rukminí and Satyabhámá. And when they saw him,
they hid their eyes with tears of joy, as if for fear lest they
should leap out of their skins in their delight. And the king of
Vatsa and his queens embraced after a long absence that son of theirs,
and could not let him go, for they were, as it were, riveted to him
by the hairs of their bodies erect from joy.
Then a great feast began by beat of drum, and Vegavatí, the daughter of
Vegavat, and sister of Mánasavega, who was married to Naraváhanadatta,
finding it all out by the might of her recovered science, came down to
Kausámbí through the air, and fell at the feet of her father-in-law
and mother-in-law, and prostrating herself before her husband, said
to him, "Auspicious sir, after I had become weak by my exertions on
your behalf, I recovered my magic powers by self-mortification in a
grove of ascetics and now I have returned into your presence." When
she had said this, she was welcomed by her husband and the others,
and she repaired to her friends Prabhávatí, and Ajinávatí.
They embraced her and made her sit between them; and at that moment
Dhanavatí, the mother of Ajinávatí, also arrived; and various kings
of the Vidyádharas came with her, surrounded by their forces, that
hid the heaven like clouds; her own heroic son, the strong-armed
Chandasinha, and a powerful relation of hers, Amitagati by name,
and Pingalagándhára the mighty father of Prabhávatí, and Váyupatha,
the president of the court, who had previously declared himself on
Naraváhanadatta's side, and the heroic king Hemaprabha, the father
of Ratnaprabhá, accompanied by his son Vajraprabha and followed by
his army. And Ságaradatta the king of the Gandharvas came there,
accompanied by his daughter Gandharvadattá, and by Chitrángada. And
when they arrived, they were becomingly honoured by the king of Vatsa
and his son, and sat in due order on thrones.
And immediately king Pingalagándhára said to his son-in-law
Naraváhanadatta, as he was in the hall of assembly, "King, you have
been appointed by the god [547] emperor over us all, and it is owing
to our great love for you, that we have all come to you. And queen
Dhanavatí here, your mother-in-law, a strict votary, possessing
divine knowledge, wearing the rosary, and the skin of the black
antelope, like an incarnation of Durgá, or Sávitrí having acquired
magic powers, an object of reverence to the noblest Vidyádharas, has
made herself ready to protect you; so you are certain to prosper in
your undertaking; but listen to what I am about to say. There are two
divisions of the Vidyádhara territory [548] on the Himálayas here,
the northern and the southern, both extending over many peaks of
that range; the northern division is on the other side of Kailása,
but the southern is on this side of it. And this Amitagati here has
just performed a difficult penance on mount Kailása, in order to obtain
the sovereignty over the northern division, and propitiated Siva. And
Siva made this revelation to him, 'Naraváhanadatta thy emperor will
accomplish thy desire,' so he has come here to you. In that division
there is a chief monarch, named Mandaradeva, who is evilly disposed,
but though mighty, he will be easy for you to conquer, when you have
obtained the sciences peculiar to the Vidyádharas.
"But the king named Gaurímunda, who rules in the midst of the southern
division, is evil-minded and exceedingly hard to conquer on account
of the might of his magic science. Moreover he is a great friend of
your enemy Mánasavega. Until he is overcome, your undertaking will
not prosper; so acquire as quickly as possible great and transcendent
power of science."
When Pingalagándhára had said this, Dhanavatí spake, "Good, my son,
it is as this king tells thee. Go hence to the land of the Siddhas
[549] and propitiate the god Siva, in order that thou mayest obtain
the magic sciences, for how can there be any excelling without his
favour? And these kings will be assembled there to protect thee." Then
Chitrángada said, "It is even so; but I will advance in front of all;
let us conquer our enemies."
Then Naraváhanadatta determined to do as they had advised, and he
performed the auspicious ceremony before setting out, and bowed at
the feet of his tearful parents, and other superiors, and received
their blessing, and then ascended with his wives and ministers a
splendid palanquin provided by the skill of Amitagati, and started on
his expedition, obscuring the heaven with his forces, that resembled
the water of the sea raised by the wind at the end of a kalpa, as it
were proclaiming by the echoes of his army's roar on the limits of the
horizon, that the emperor of the Vidyádharas had come to visit them.
And he was rapidly conducted by the king of the Gandharvas and the
chiefs of the Vidyádharas and Dhanavatí to that mountain, which was
the domain of the Siddhas. There the Siddhas prescribed for him a
course of self-mortification, and he performed asceticism by sleeping
on the ground, bathing in the early morning, and eating fruits. And
the kings of the Vidyádharas remained surrounding him on every side,
guarding him unweariedly day and night. And the Vidyádhara princesses,
contemplating him eagerly while he was performing his penance, seemed
with the gleams of their eyes to clothe him in the skin of a black
antelope. Others shewed by their eyes turned inwards out of anxiety
for him, and their hands placed on their breasts, that he had at once
entered their hearts.
And five more noble maidens of the Vidyádhara race, beholding him,
were inflamed with the fire of love, and made this agreement together,
"We five friends must select this prince as our common husband,
and we must marry him at the same time, not separately; if one of us
marries him separately, the rest must enter the fire on account of
that violation of friendship."
While the heavenly maidens were thus agitated at the sight of
him, suddenly great portents manifested themselves in the grove
of ascetics. A very terrible wind blew, uprooting splendid trees,
as if to shew that even thus in that place should heroes fall in
fight; and the earth trembled as if anxious as to what all that could
mean, and the hills cleft asunder, as if to give an opening for the
terrified to escape, and the sky, rumbling awfully, though cloudless,
[550] seemed to say, "Ye Vidyádharas, guard, guard to the best of
your power, this emperor of yours." And Naraváhanadatta, in the
midst of the alarm produced by these portents, remained unmoved,
meditating upon the adorable three-eyed god; and the heroic kings of
the Gandharvas and lords of the Vidyádharas remained guarding him,
ready for battle, expecting some calamity; and they uttered war-cries,
and agitated the forest of their lithe swords, as if to scare away
the portents that announced the approach of evil.