Once on a time, when I was serving your husband as a kárpatika, I saw a

great boar far away in the wood. Its mouth was formidable with tusks,

its colour was black as a Tamála tree, it looked like an incarnation

of the black fortnight devouring the digits of the moon. And I came,

queen, and informed the king of it, describing it to him as I have

done to you. And the king went out to hunt, attracted by his love for

the sport. And when he reached the wood, and was dealing death among

the tigers and deer, he saw in the distance that boar of which I had

informed him. And when he saw that wonderful boar, he came to the

conclusion that some being had assumed that form with an object, and

he ascended his horse called Ratnákara, the progeny of Ucchaihsravas.

For every day at noon, the sun waits a brief space in the sky, and

then his charioteer the dawn lets the horses loose, that they may

bathe and feed: and one day Uchchhaihsravas, having been unyoked from

the chariot of the sun, approached a mare of the king's, that he saw

in the forest, and begot that horse. [794]

So the king mounted that swift horse, and quickly pursued that boar,

that fled to a very remote [795] part of the forest. Then that boar

escaped somewhere from his view, being swifter even than that horse

that had Uchchhaihsravas for a sire. Then the king, not having caught

him, and seeing that I alone had followed him, while he had left

the rest of his suite far behind, asked me this question, "Do you

know how much ground we have traversed to get to this place?" When

I heard that, queen, I made the king this answer, "My lord, we have

come three hundred yojanas." Then the king being astonished said,

"Then how have you managed to come so far on foot?" When he asked me

this question, I answered, "King, I have an ointment for the feet;

hear the way in which I acquired it."

How Devasena obtained the magic ointment.

Long ago, on account of the loss of my wife, I went forth to make

a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing places, and in the course of

my journey I came one evening to a temple with a garden. And I went

in there to pass the night, and I saw inside a woman, and I remained

there hospitably welcomed by her. And during the course of the night

she elevated one lip to heaven, resting the other on the earth, and

with expanded jaws said to me, "Have you seen before anywhere such a

mouth as this?" Then I fearlessly drew my dagger with a frown, and said

to her, "Have you seen such a man as this?" Then she assumed a gentle

appearance without any horrible distortion of shape, and said to me,

"I am a Yakshí, Vandhyá by name, and I am pleased with your courage;

so now tell me what I can do to gratify you."

When the Yakshiní said this, I answered her, "If you are really

pleased with me, then enable me to go round to all the holy waters

without any suffering." When the Yakshí heard this, she gave me an

ointment for my feet; [796] by means of it I travelled to all the

holy bathing-places, and I have been able to run behind you now so

far as this place. And by its aid I come to this wood here every day,

and eat fruits, and then return to Ujjayiní and attend upon you.

When I told that tale to the king, I saw by his pleased face that

he thought in his heart that I was a follower well-suited to him. I

again said to him, "King, I will bring you here some very sweet

fruits, if you will be pleased to eat them." The king said to me,

"I will not eat; I do not require anything; but do you eat something,

as you are exhausted." Then I got hold of a gourd and ate it, and no

sooner had I eaten it, than it turned me into a python.

But king Vishamasíla, when he saw me suddenly turn into a python,

was astonished and despondent. So, being there alone, he called to

mind the Vetála Bhútaketu, whom he had long ago made his servant, by

delivering him with a look from a disease of the eyes. That Vetála

came, as soon as the king called him to mind, and bowing before

him said, "Why did you call me to mind, great king? Give me your

orders." Then the king said, "Good sir, this my kárpatika has been

suddenly turned into a python by eating a gourd; restore him to his

former condition." But the Vetála said, "King, I have not the power

to do this. Powers are strictly limited: can water quench the flame

of lightning?" Then the king said, "Then let us go to this village, my

friend. We may eventually hear of some remedy from the Bhillas there."

When the king had come to this conclusion, he went to that village

with the Vetála. There the bandits surrounded him, seeing that he wore

ornaments. But when they began to rain arrows upon him, the Vetála,

by the order of the king, devoured five hundred of them. The rest

fled and told their chief what had occurred, and he, whose name was

Ekákikesarin, came there in wrath, with his host. But one of his

servants recognised the monarch, and the chief hearing from him

who it was, came and clung to Vikramáditya's feet, and announced

himself. Then the king welcomed kindly the submissive chief, and

asked after his health, and said to him, "My kárpatika has become a

python by eating the fruit of a gourd in the forest; so devise some

plan for releasing him from his transformation."

When that chief heard this speech of the king's, he said to him,

"King, let this follower of yours shew him to my son here." Then that

son of his came with the Vetála, and made me a man as before by means

of a sternutatory made of the extract of a plant. And then we went

joyful into tho presence of the king; and when I bent at the feet of

the king, the king informed the delighted chief who I was.

Then the Bhilla chief Ekákikesarin, after obtaining the king's consent,

conducted him and us to his palace. And we beheld that dwelling of

his, crowded with Savaras, having its high walls covered with the

tusks of elephants, adorned with tiger-skins; in which the women

had for garments the tails of peacocks, for necklaces strings of

gunjá-fruit, and for perfume the ichor that flows from the foreheads of

elephants. There the wife of the chief, having her garments perfumed

with musk, adorned with pearls and such like ornaments, herself waited

on the king.

Then the king, having bathed and taken a meal, observed that the

chief's sons were old, while he was a young man, and put this question

to him, "Chief, explain, I pray you, this that puzzles me. How comes

it, that you are a young man, whereas these children of yours are

old?" When the king had said this to the Savara chief, he answered him,

"This, king, is a strange story; listen if you feel any curiosity

about it."

Story of the grateful Monkey. [797]

I was long ago a Bráhman named Chandrasvámin, and I lived in the city

of Máyápur. One day I went by order of my father to the forest to fetch

wood. There a monkey stood barring my way, but without hurting me,

looking at me with an eye of grief, pointing out to me another path. I

said to myself, "This monkey does not bite me, so I had better go along

the path which he points out, and see what his object is." Thereupon

I set out with him along that path, and the monkey kept going along

in front of me, and turning round to look at me. And after he had

gone some distance, he climbed up jambu-tree, and I looked at the

upper part of the tree, which was covered with a dense network of

creepers: and I saw a female monkey there with her body fettered by

a mass of creepers twisted round her, and I understood that it was

on this account that the monkey had brought me there. Then I climbed

up the tree, and cut with my axe the creepers [798] that had twisted

round and entangled her, and set that female monkey at liberty.

And when I got down from the tree, the male and female monkey came

down also and embraced my feet. And the male monkey left that female

clinging to my feet for a moment, and went and fetched a heavenly

fruit, and gave it to me. I took it and returned home after I had got

my fuel, and there I and my wife ate that splendid fruit together,

and as soon as we had eaten it, we ceased to be liable to old age

and disease. [799]

Then there arose in that country of ours the scourge of famine. And

afflicted by that calamity the people of that land fled in all

directions. And I happened in course of time to reach this country

with my wife. And at that time there was a king of the Savaras here

named Kánchanadanshtra: I entered his service with my sword. And as

Kánchanadanshtra saw that I came to the front in several engagements,

he appointed me general. And as I had won the affections of that

master of mine by my exclusive devotion to him, when he died, having

no son, he bestowed on me his kingdom. And twenty-seven hundred years

have passed over my head, since I have been in this place, and yet,

owing to eating that fruit, I do not suffer from old age.

When Ekákikesarin, the king of the Bhillas, had told in these

words his own history, he went on to ask a favour of the astonished

monarch, saying, "By the fruit given by the monkey I gained a long

life, and by that long life I have again obtained a perfect fruit,

namely, the sight of your august self. So I entreat, king, that the

condescension towards me, which you have shown by coming to my house,

may be developed into gracious approval. I have, king, a daughter

of matchless beauty, born to me by a Kshatriyá wife, and her name is

Madanasundarí. That pearl of maidens ought not to fall to the lot of

any one but your Highness. Therefore I bestow her on you; marry her

with due ceremonies. And I, my sovereign, will follow you as your

slave with twenty thousand archers."

When the Bhilla chief addressed this petition to the king, he granted

it. And in an auspicious hour he married the daughter of that chief,

who gave him a hundred camels laden with pearls and musk. And after

the king had remained there seven days, he set out thence with

Madanasundarí and the army of the Bhillas.

In the meanwhile, after the king had been carried away by his horse,

our army remained despondent in the forest, where the hunting

took place; but the warder Bhadráyudha said to them, "Away with

despondency! Even though our king has been away for a long time,

he is of divine power, and no serious misfortune will happen to

him. Do you not remember how he went to Pátála and married there the

daughter of a Nága, whose name was Surúpá, and came back here alone,

and how the hero went to the world of the Gandharvas, and returned

here with Tárávalí the daughter of the king of the Gandharvas?" With

these words Bhadráyudha consoled them all, and they remained at the

entrance of the forest waiting for the king.

And while that Madanasundarí was advancing leisurely by an open path,

accompanied by the Savara hosts, the king entered that forest on

horseback, with myself and the Vetála, in order to get a sight of the

boar he had before seen: and when he entered it, the boar rushed out

in front of him, and the moment the king saw it, he killed it with five

arrows. When it was slain, the Vetála rushed to it, and tore its belly

open, and suddenly there issued from it a man of pleasing appearance.

The king, astonished, asked him who he was, and then there came there

a wild elephant, resembling a moving mountain. When the king saw that

wild elephant charging down on him, he smote it in a vital place and

slew it with a single arrow. The Vetála tore open its belly also,

and there issued from it a man of heavenly appearance, and a woman

beautiful in all her limbs. And when the king was about to question

the man, who issued from the boar, he said to him, "Listen, king;

I am going to tell you my history.

"We two, king, are two sons of gods: [800] this one's name is Bhadra,

and I am Subha. As we were roaming about we observed the hermit Kanva

engaged in meditation. We assumed in sport the forms of an elephant

and a boar, and having done so, we terrified the great sage in our

reckless folly, and he pronounced on us this curse, 'Become in this

forest an elephant and boar such as you are now; but when you shall be

killed by king Vikramáditya, you shall be released from the curse.' So

we became an elephant and a boar by the curse of the hermit, and we

have to-day been set free by you; as for this woman, let her tell

her own story. But touch this boar on the neck and this elephant on

the back; and they will become for you celestial sword and shield."

When he had said this, he disappeared with his companion, and the boar

and elephant, touched by the hand of the king, became for him a sword

and a shield. Then the woman, being questioned about her history,

spoke as follows:

"I am the wife of a great merchant in Ujjayiní named Dhanadatta. One

night, as I was sleeping on the top of a palace, this elephant came and

swallowed me and brought me here; however this man was not inside the

elephant, but when its belly was torn open, he came out of it with me."

When the woman said this in grief, the king said to her, "Be of good

courage: I will take you to your husband's house: go and journey

along in security with my harem." When he had said this, he made

the Vetála take her and hand her over to the queen Madanasundarí,

who was travelling by a different path.

Then, the Vetála having returned, we suddenly saw there in the wood

two princesses, with a numerous and splendid retinue. And the king

sent me and summoned their chamberlains, and they, when asked whence

the two maidens came, told the following story;

Story of the two princesses.

There is a dvípa named Katáha, the home of all felicities. In it

there is a king rightly named Gunaságara. [801] He had born to him

by his principal queen a daughter named Gunavatí, who by her beauty

produced astonishment even in the Creator who made her. And holy

seers announced that she should have for a husband the lord of the

seven dvípas; whereupon her father the king deliberated with his

counsellors; and came to this conclusion, "King Vikramáditya is a

suitable husband for my daughter; so I will send her to marry him."

Accordingly, the king made his daughter embark in a ship on the sea,

with her retinue and wealth, and sent her off. But it so happened

that when the ship came near Suvarnadvípa, it was swallowed, with

the princess and the people on board, by a large fish. But that

monstrous fish was carried by the current of the sea as if by the

course of Destiny, and thrown up on a coast near that dvípa, and there

stranded. And the people of the neighbourhood, the moment they saw it,

ran with many weapons in their hands, and killed that marvellous fish,

and cut open its belly. [802] And then there came out of it that

great ship full of people; and when the king of that dvípa heard of

it, he came there greatly wondering. And that king, whose name was

Chandrasekhara, and who was the brother-in-law of king Gunaságara,

heard the whole story from the people in the ship. Then the king,

finding that Gunavatí was the daughter of his sister, took her into his

palace, and out of joy celebrated a feast. And the next day that king

put on board a ship in a lucky moment his daughter Chandravatí, whom

he had long intended to give to king Vikramáditya, with that Gunavatí,

and sent her off with much magnificence as a gift to that sovereign.

These two princesses, having crossed the sea, by advancing gradually,

have at length arrived here; and we are their attendants. And when

we reached this place, a very large boar and a very large elephant

rushed upon us; then, king, we uttered this cry, "These maidens have

come to offer themselves for wives to king Vikramáditya: so preserve

them for him, ye Guardians of the World, as is meet." When the boar

and the elephant heard this, they said to us with articulate speech,

"Be of good courage! the mere mention of that king's name ensures your

safety. And you shall see him arrive here in a moment." When the boar

and the elephant, who were, no doubt, some heavenly beings or other,

had said this, they went away.

"This is our story," said the chamberlain, and then, queen, I said to

them, "And this is the king you seek." Then they fell at the king's

feet rejoicing, and made over to him those two princesses Gunavatí

and Chandravatí. And the king gave orders to the Vetála and had those

two fair ones also taken to his queen, saying, "Let all three travel

with Madanasundarí."

The Vetála returned immediately, and then, queen, the king went with

him and myself by an out-of-the-way path. And as we were going along in

the forest, the sun set; and just at that time we heard there the sound

of a drum. The king asked, "Whence comes this sound of a drum?" The

Vetála answered him, "King, there is a temple here. It is a marvel

of heavenly skill, having been built by Visvakarman; and this beating

of the drum is to announce the commencement of the evening spectacle."

When the Vetála had said this, he and the king and I went there out

of curiosity, and after we had tied up the horse, we entered. And

we saw worshipped there a great linga of tárkshyaratna [803] and in

front of it a spectacle with blazing lights. And there danced there

for a long time three nymphs of celestial beauty, in four kinds of

measures, accompanied with music and singing. And at the end of the

spectacle we beheld a wonder, for the dancing nymphs disappeared in

the figures carved on the pillars of the temple: and in the same way

the singers and players went into the figures of men painted on the

walls. When the king saw this, he was astonished, but the Vetála said

to him, "Such is this heavenly enchantment produced by Visvakarman,

lasting for ever, for this will always take place at both twilights."

When he had said this, we wandered about in the temple, and saw in

one place a female figure on a pillar, of extraordinary beauty. When

the king saw her, he was bewildered by her beauty, and remained for

a moment absent-minded and motionless, so that he himself was like a

figure cut on a pillar. And he exclaimed, "If I do not see a living

woman like this figure, of what profit to me is my kingdom or my

life?" When the Vetála heard this, he said, "Your wish is not hard to

gratify, for the king of Kalinga has a daughter named Kalingasená, and

a sculptor of Vardhamána seeing her, and being desirous of representing

her beauty, carved this figure in imitation of her. [804] So return

to Ujjayiní, king, and ask that king of Kalinga for his daughter,

or carry her off by force." This speech of the Vetála's the king laid

up in his heart.

Then we spent that night there, and the next morning we set out, and

we saw two handsome men under an asoka-tree, and then they rose up

and bowed before the king. Then the king said to them, "Who are you,

and why are you in the forest?" One of them answered, "Listen, king,

I will tell you the whole story."

Story of Dhanadatta.

I am the son of a merchant in Ujjayiní, and my name is Dhanadatta. Once

on a time I went to sleep with my wife on the top of my palace. In

the morning I woke up and looked about me, and lo! my wife was not

in the palace, nor in the garden attached to it, nor anywhere about

it. I said to myself, "She has not lost her heart to another man; of

that I am convinced by the fact that the garland which she gave me,

telling me that as long as she remained chaste, it would certainly not

fade, is still as fresh as ever. [805] So I cannot think where she

has gone, whether she has been carried off by a demon or some other

evil being, or what has happened to her." With these thoughts in my

mind, I remained looking for her, crying out, lamenting, and weeping;

consumed by the fire of separation from her; taking no food. Then

my relations succeeded at last in consoling me to a certain extent,

and I took food, and I made my abode in a temple, and remained there

plunged in grief, feasting Bráhmans.

Once when I was quite broken down, this Bráhman came to me there,

and I refreshed him with a bath and food, and after he had eaten,

I asked him whence he came, and he said, "I am from a village

near Váránasí." My servants told him my cause of woe, and he said,

"Why have you, like an unenterprising man, allowed your spirits to

sink? The energetic man obtains even that which it is hard to attain;

so rise up my friend, and let us look for your wife; I will help you."

I said, "How are we to look for her, when we do not even know in what

direction she has gone?" When I said this, he answered me kindly,

"Do not say this; did not Kesata long ago recover his wife, when it

seemed hopeless that he should ever be reunited with her? Hear his

story in proof of it."

Story of Kesata and Kandarpa.

There lived in the city of Pátaliputra a wealthy young Bráhman, the son

of a Bráhman; his name was Kesata, and he was in beauty like a second

god of love. He wished to obtain a wife like himself, and so he went

forth secretly [806] from his parents' house, and wandered through

various lands on the pretext of visiting holy bathing-places. And in

the course of his wanderings he came once on a time to the bank of

the Narmadá, and he saw a numerous procession of bridegroom's friends

coming that way. And a distinguished old Bráhman, belonging to that

company, when he saw Kesata in the distance, left his companions,

and coming up to him accosted him, and respectfully said to him in

private, "I have a certain favour to ask of you, and it is one which

you can easily do for me, but the benefit conferred on me will be a

very great one; so, if you will do it, I will proceed to say what it

is." When Kesata heard this, he said, "Noble sir, if what you say is

possible, I must certainly do it: let the benefit be conferred on you."

When the Bráhman heard that, he said, "Listen, my good young

man; I have a son, who is the prince of ugly, as you are of

good-looking, men. He has projecting teeth, a flat nose, a black

colour, squinting eyes, a big belly, crooked feet, and ears like

winnowing baskets. Though he is such, I, out of my love for him,

described him as handsome, and asked a Bráhman, named Ratnadatta,

to give him his daughter, named Rúpavatí, and he has agreed to do

it. The girl is as beautiful as her name expresses, and to-day they

are to be married. For this reason we have come, but I know that,

when that purposed connexion of mine sees my son, he will refuse to

give him his daughter, and this attempt will be fruitless. And while

thinking how I could find some way out of the difficulty, I have met

you here, courteous sir; so quickly perform for me my desire, as you

have pledged your word to do. Come with us, and marry that maiden,

and hand her over to my son to-day, for you are as good-looking as

the bride."

When Kesata heard this, he said, "Agreed," and so the old Bráhman

took Kesata with him, and they crossed the Narmadá in boats and landed

on the opposite bank. And so he reached the city, and rested outside

it with his followers, and at that time the sun also, the traveller

of the sky, went to his rest on the mountain of setting. Then the

darkness began to diffuse itself abroad, and Kesata, having gone

to rinse his mouth, saw a terrible Rákshasa rise up near the water;

and the Rákshasa said, "Where will you go from me, [807] Kesata? I

am about to devour you." Thereupon Kesata said to the Rákshasa,

"Do not devour me now; I will certainly come back to you presently,

when I have done the Bráhman the service I promised." When the Rákshasa

heard this, he made Kesata take an oath to this effect, and then let

him go; and he returned to the company of the bridegroom's friends.

Then the old Bráhman brought Kesata adorned with the ornaments

of a bridegroom, and entered that city with all the bridegroom's

party. And then he made him enter the house of Ratnadatta, in which an

altar-platform was ready prepared, and which was made to resound with

the music of various instruments. And Kesata married there with all

due ceremonies that fair-faced maiden Rúpavatí, to whom her father

gave great wealth. And the women there rejoiced, seeing that the

bride and bridegroom were well-matched; and not only Rúpavatí, when

she saw that such a bridegroom had arrived, but her friends also,

fell in love with him. But Kesata at that time was overpowered with

despondency and astonishment.

And at night Rúpavatí seeing that her husband, as he lay on the bed,

was plunged in thought, and kept his head turned away, pretended to be

asleep. And in the dead of night Kesata, thinking that she was asleep,

went out to that Rákshasa to keep his promise. And that faithful wife

Rúpavatí also gently rose up unobserved, and followed her husband,

full of curiosity. And when Kesata arrived where the Rákshasa was,

the latter said to him, "Bravo! you have kept your promise faithfully,

Kesata; you are a man of noble character. You sanctify your city

of Pátaliputra and your father Desata by your virtue, so approach,

that I may devour you." When Rúpavatí heard that, she came up quickly

and said, "Eat me, for, if my husband is eaten, what will become of

me?" The Rákshasa said, "You can live on alms." She replied, "Who,

noble sir, will give alms to me who am a woman?" The Rákshasa said,

"If any one refuses to give you alms, when asked to do so, his head

shall split in a hundred pieces." [808] Then she said, "This being so,

give me my husband by way of alms." And, as the Rákshasa would not

give him, his head at once split asunder, and he died. Then Rúpavatí

returned to her bridal-chamber, with her husband, who was exceedingly

astonished at her virtue, and at that moment the night came to an end.

And the next morning the bridegroom's friends took food and set out

from that city, and reached the bank of the Narmadá with the newly

married pair. Then the old Bráhman, who was their leader, put the wife

Rúpavatí with her attendants on board one boat, and went on board a

second himself, and cunningly made Kesata embark on a third, having

previously made an agreement with the boatmen; and before he went

on board took from him all the ornaments he had lent him. Then the

Bráhman was ferried across with the wife and the bridegroom's party,

but Kesata was kept out in the middle of the stream by the boatmen,

and carried to a great distance. Then those boatmen pushed the boat

and Kesata into a place where the current ran full and strong, and

swam ashore themselves, having been bribed by the old Bráhman.

But Kesata was carried with the boat, by the river which was lashed

into waves by the wind, into the sea, and at last a wave flung him up

on the coast. There he recovered strength and spirits, as he was not

doomed to die just yet, and he said to himself, "Well, that Bráhman

has made me a fine recompense. But was not the fact that he married

his son by means of a substitute, in itself sufficient proof that he

was a fool and a scoundrel?"

While he remained there, buried in such thoughts, the night came on

him, when the companies of air-flying witches begin to roam about. He

remained sleepless through it, and in the fourth watch he heard a

noise in the sky, and saw a handsome [809] man fall from heaven in

front of him. Kesata was terrified at first, but after some time

he saw that he had nothing uncanny about him, so he said to him,

"Who are you, Sir?" Then the man said, "First tell me who you are;

and then I will tell you who I am." Hearing that, Kesata told him

his history. Then the man said, "My friend, you are exactly in the

same predicament as myself, so I will now tell you my history, listen.

"There is on the bank of the river Vená a city named Ratnapura;

I am a Bráhman householder in that city, the son of a rich man,

and my name is Kandarpa. One evening I went down to the river Vená

to draw water, and I slipped and fell into it, and was carried away

by the current. The current carried me a long way during that night,

and when the morning came, as I was not doomed to die yet, it brought

me to the foot of a tree that grew on the bank. I climbed up the bank

by the help of the tree, and when I had recovered breath, I saw in

front of me a great empty temple dedicated to the Mothers. I entered

it, and when I saw before me the Mothers flashing, as it were, with

brightness and power, my fear was allayed, and I bowed before them,

and praised them and addressed this prayer to them, 'Venerable ones,

deliver me a miserable man; for I have to-day come here as a suppliant

for your protection.' When I had uttered this prayer, being exhausted

with my struggles in the current of the river, I rested, my friend,

till my fatigue gradually disappeared, and the day disappeared

also. And then there appeared the horrible female ascetic called

night, furnished with many stars by way of a bone-necklace, white with

moonlight instead of ashes, and carrying the moon for a gleaming seull.

"And then, I remember, a band of witches came out from the company

of the Mothers, and they said to one another, 'To night we must go

to the general assembly of the witches in Chakrapura, [810] and how

can this Bráhman be kept safe in this place which is full of wild

beasts? So let us take him to some place where he will be happy:

and afterwards we will bring him back again; he has fled to us for

protection.' When they had said this, they adorned me, and carrying

me through the air, placed me in the house of a rich Bráhman in a

certain city, and went away.

"And when I looked about me there, lo! the altar was prepared for

a marriage, and the auspicious hour had arrived, but the procession

of bridegroom's friends was nowhere to be seen. And all the people,

seeing me in front of the door arrayed in bridegroom's garments

of heavenly splendour, said, 'Here is the bridegroom at any rate

arrived.' Then the Bráhman of the house took me to the altar, and

led his daughter there adorned, and gave her to me with the usual

ceremonies. And the women said to one another, 'Fortunate is it that

the beauty of Sumanas has borne fruit by winning her a bridegroom like

herself!' Then, having married Sumanas, I slept with her in a palace,

gratified by having every want supplied in the most magnificent style.

"Then those witches came back from their assembly in this last watch

of the night, and by their supernatural power carried me off, and flew

up into the air with me. And while they were flying through the air,

they had a fight with another set of witches, who came, wishing to

carry me off, and they let me go and I fell down here. And I do not

know the city where I married that Sumanas; and I cannot tell what will

become of her now. This succession of misfortunes, which Destiny has

brought upon me, has now ended in happiness by my meeting with you."

When Kandarpa had given this account of his adventure, Kesata said

to him, "Do not be afraid, my friend; the witches will have no power

over you henceforth; since I possess a certain irresistible charm,

which will keep them at a distance: now let us roam about together:

Destiny will bestow on us good fortune." And while they were engaged

in this conversation, the night came to an end.

In the morning Kesata and Kandarpa set out from that place together,

and crossing the sea, reached in due course a city named Bhímapura

near the river called Ratnanadí. There they heard a great noise on the

bank of that river, and when they went to the place whence it came,

they saw a fish that filled the channel of the stream from bank to

bank. It had been thrown up by the tide of the sea, and got fast in the

river owing to the vastness of its bulk, and men with various weapons

in their hands were cutting it up to procure flesh. And while they

were cutting it open, there came out of its belly a woman, and being

beheld by the people with astonishment, she came terrified to the bank.

Then Kandarpa looked at her, and said exultingly to Kesata, "My friend,

here is that very Sumanas, whom I married. But I do not know how

she came to be living in the belly of a fish. So let us remain here

in silence, until the whole matter is cleared up." Kesata consented,

and they remained there. And the people said to Sumanas, "Who are you,

and what is the meaning of this?" Then she said very reluctantly,

"I am the daughter of a crest-jewel of Bráhmans, named Jayadatta,

who lived in the city of Ratnákara. My name is Sumanas, and one night

I was married to a certain handsome young Bráhman, who was a suitable

match for me. That very night, my husband went away somewhere, while

I was asleep; and though my father made diligent search for him, he

could not find him anywhere. Then I threw myself into the river to

cool the fire of grief at separation from him, and I was swallowed

by this fish; and now Destiny has brought me here."

While she was saying this, a Bráhman named Yajnasvámin rushed out of

the crowd, and embraced her and said this to her, "Come, come with

me, niece; you are the daughter of my sister; for I am Yajnasvámin,

your mother's own brother." When Sumanas heard that, she uncovered her

face and looked at him, and recognising her uncle, she embraced his

feet weeping. But after a moment she ceased weeping, and said to him,

"Do you give me fuel, for, as I am separated from my husband, I have

no other refuge but the fire."

Her uncle did all he could to dissuade her, but she would not abandon

her intention; and then Kandarpa, having thus seen her real feelings

tested, came up to her. When the wise Sumanas saw him near her, she

recognised him, and fell weeping at his feet. And when the discreet

woman was questioned by the people, and by that uncle of hers, she

answered, "He is my husband." Then all were delighted, and Yajnasvámin

took her husband Kandarpa to his house, together with Kesata. There

they told their adventures, and Yajnasvámin and his family lovingly

waited on them with many hospitable attentions.

After some days had passed, Kesata said to Kandarpa, "You have gained

all you want by recovering your longed-for wife; so now go with her

to Ratnapura your own city; but, as I have not attained the object of

my desire, I will not return to my own country: I, my friend, will

make a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing-places and so destroy my

body." When Yajnasvámin, in Bhímapura, heard this, he said to Kesata,

"Why do you utter this despondent speech? As long as people are alive,

there is nothing they cannot get: in proof of this hear the story of

Kusumáyudha, which I am about to tell you."

Story of Kusumáyudha and Kamalalochaná.

There was in a town named Chandrapura a Bráhman named Devasvámin:

he had a very beautiful daughter named Kamalalochaná. And he had a

young Bráhman pupil named Kusumáyudha; and that pupil and his daughter

loved one another well.

One day her father made up his mind to give her to another suitor,

and at once that maiden sent by her confidante the following message

to Kusumáyudha, "Though I have long ago fixed my heart on you for a

husband, my father has promised to give me to another, so devise a

scheme for carrying me off hence." So Kusumáyudha made an arrangement

to carry her off, and he placed outside her house at night a servant

with a mule for that purpose. So she quietly went out and mounted

the mule, but that servant did not take her to his master; he took

her somewhere else, to make her his own.

And during the night he took Kamalalochaná a long distance, and they

reached a certain city by the morning, when that chaste woman said to

the servant, "Where is my husband your master? Why do you not take me

to him?" When the cunning rogue heard this, he said to her who was

alone in a foreign country, "I am going to marry you myself: never

mind about him; how can you get to him now?" When the discreet woman

heard this, she said, "Indeed I love you very much." [811] Then the

rascal left her in the garden of the city, and went to the market to

buy the things required for a wedding. In the meanwhile that maiden

fled, with the mule, and entered the house of a certain old man who

made garlands. She told him her history, and he made her welcome, so

she remained there. And the wicked servant, not finding her in the

garden, went away from it disappointed, and returned to his master

Kusumáyudha. And when his master questioned him, he said, "The fact is,

you are an upright man yourself, and you do not understand the ways

of deceitful women. No sooner did she come out and was seen, than

I was seized there by those other men, and the mule was taken away

from me. By good luck I managed to escape and have come here." When

Kusumáyudha heard this, he remained silent, and plunged in thought.

One day his father sent him to be married, and as he was going

along, he reached the city, where Kamalalochaná was. There he

made the bridegroom's followers encamp in a neighbouring garden,

and while he was roaming about alone, Kamalalochaná saw him, and

told the garland-maker in whose house she was living. He went and

told her intended husband what had taken place, and brought him to

her. Then the garland-maker collected the necessary things, and the

long-desired marriage between the youth and the maiden was immediately

celebrated. Then Kusumáyudha punished that wicked servant, and married

in addition that second maiden, who was the cause of his finding

Kamalalochaná, and in order to marry whom he had started from home,

and he returned rejoicing to his own country with those two wives.

"Thus the fortunate are reunited in the most unexpected manner, and so

you may be certain, Kesata, of regaining your beloved soon in the same

way." When Yajnasvámin had said this, Kandarpa, Sumanas and Kesata,

remained for some days in his house, and then they set out for their

own country. But on the way they reached a great forest, and they

were separated from one another in the confusion produced by a charge

of wild elephants. Of the party Kesata went on alone and grieved,

and in course of time reached the city of Kásí and found his friend

Kandarpa there. And he went with him to his own city Pátaliputra,

and he remained there some time welcomed by his father. And there

he told his parents all his adventures, beginning with his marrying

Rúpavatí, and ending with the story of Kandarpa.

In the meanwhile Sumanas fled, terrified at the elephants, and entered

a thicket, and while she was there, the sun set for her. And when

night came on, she cried out in her woe, "Alas, my husband! Alas,

my father! Alas, my mother!" and resolved to fling herself into a

forest fire. And in the meanwhile that company of witches, that were

so full of pity for Kandarpa, having conquered the other witches,

reached their own temple. There they remembered Kandarpa, and finding

out by their supernatural knowledge that his wife had lost her way in

a wood, they deliberated as follows, "Kandarpa, being a resolute man,

will unaided obtain his desire; but his wife, being a young girl,

and having lost her way in the forest, will assuredly die. So let us

take her and put her down in Ratnapura, in order that she may live

there in the house of Kandarpa's father with his other wife." When

the witches had come to this conclusion, they went to that forest

and comforted Sumanas there, and took her and left her in Ratnapura.

When the night had passed, Sumanas, wandering about in that city,

heard the following cry in the mouths of the people who were running

hither and thither, "Lo! the virtuous Anangavatí, the wife of the

Bráhman Kandarpa, who, after her husband had gone somewhere or other,

lived a long time in hope of reunion with him, not having recovered

him, has now gone out in despair to enter the fire, followed by her

weeping father-in-law and mother-in-law." When Sumanas heard that, she

went quickly to the place where the pyre had been made, and going up to

Anangavatí, said to her, in order to dissuade her, "Noble lady, do not

act rashly, for that husband of yours is alive." Having said this, she

told the whole story from the beginning. And she shewed the jewelled

ring that Kandarpa gave her. Then all welcomed her, perceiving that her

account was true. Then Kandarpa's father honoured that bride Sumanas

and gladly lodged her in his house with the delighted Anangavatí.

Then Kandarpa left Pátaliputra [812] without telling Kesata, as

he knew he would not like it, in order to roam about in search of

Sumanas. And after he had gone, Kesata, feeling unhappy without

Rúpavatí, left his house without his parents' knowledge, and went

to roam about hither and thither. And Kandarpa, in the course of his

wanderings, happened to visit that very city, where Kesata, married

Rúpavatí. And hearing a great noise of people, he asked what it meant,

and a certain man said to him, "Here is Rúpavatí preparing to die, as

she cannot find her husband Kesata,; the tumult is on that account;

listen to the story connected with her." Then that man related the

strange story of Rúpavatí's marriage with Kesata and of her adventure

with the Rákshasa, and then continued as follows:

"Then that old Bráhman, having tricked Kesata, went on his way,

taking with him Rúpavatí for his son: but nobody knew where Kesata

had gone after marrying her. And Rúpavatí, not seeing Kesata on the

journey, said, 'Why do I not see my husband here, though all the rest

of the party are travelling along with me?' When the old Bráhman heard

that, he shewed her that son of his, and said to her, 'My daughter,

this son of mine is your husband; behold him.' Then Rúpavatí said

in a rage to the old man there, 'I will not have this ugly fellow

for a husband; I will certainly die, if I cannot get that husband,

who married me yesterday.'

"Saying this, she at once stopped eating and drinking; and the old

Bráhman, through fear of the king, had her taken back to her father's

house. There she told the trick that the old Bráhman had played her,

and her father, in great grief, said to her, 'How are we to discover,

my daughter, who the man that married you, is?' Then Rúpavatí said,

'My husband's name is Kesata, and he is the son of a Bráhman named

Desata in Pátaliputra; for so much I heard from the mouth of a

Rákshasa.' When she had said this, she told her father the whole

story of her husband and the Rákshasa. Then her father went and saw

the Rákshasa lying dead, and so he believed his daughter's story,

and was pleased with the virtue of that couple.

"He consoled his daughter with hopes of reunion with her husband, and

sent his son to Kesata's father in Pátaliputra, to search for him. And

after some time they came back and said, 'We saw the householder

Desata in Pátaliputra. But when we asked him where his son Kesata was,

he answered us with tears, "My son Kesata is not here; he did return

here, and a friend of his named Kandarpa came with him; but he went

away from here without telling me, pining for Rúpavatí"--When we

heard this speech of his, we came back here in due course.'

"When those sent to search had brought back this report, Rúpavatí said

to her father, 'I shall never recover my husband, so I will enter the

fire; how long, father, can I live here without my husband?' She went

on saying this, and as her father has not been able to dissuade her,

she has come out to-day to perish in the fire. And two maidens,

friends of hers, have come out to die in the same way; one is

called Sringáravatí and the other Anurágavatí. For long ago, at the

marriage of Rúpavatí, they saw Kesata and made up their minds that

they would have him for a husband, as their hearts were captivated

by his beauty. This is the meaning of the noise which the people here

are making."

When Kandarpa heard this from that man, he went to the pyre which had

been heaped up for those ladies. He made a sign to the people from

a distance to cease their tumult, and going up quickly, he said to

Rúpavatí, who was worshipping the fire; "Noble lady; desist from this

rashness; that husband of yours Kesata is alive; he is my friend; know

that I am Kandarpa." When he had said this, he told her all Kesata's

adventures, beginning with the circumstance of the old Bráhman's

treacherously making him embark on the boat. Then Rúpavatí believed

him, as his story tallied so completely with what she knew, and she

joyfully entered her father's house with those two friends. And her

father kindly welcomed Kandarpa and took good care of him; and so he

remained there, to please him.

In the meanwhile it happened that, as Kesata was roaming about, he

reached Ratnapura and found there the house of Kandarpa, in which

his two wives were. And as he was wandering about near the house,

Sumanas, the wife of Kandarpa, saw him from the top of the house

and said delighted to her father-in-law and mother-in-law, and the

other people in the house, "Here now is Kesata my husband's friend

arrived; we may hear news of my husband from him; quickly invite

him in." Then they went and on some pretext or other brought in

Kesata as she advised, and when he saw Sumanas come towards him,

he was delighted. And after he had rested she questioned him, and

he immediately told her his own and Kandarpa's adventures, after the

scare produced by the wild elephants.

He remained there some days, hospitably entertained, and then a

messenger came from Kandarpa with a letter. The messenger said,

"Kandarpa and Rúpavatí are in the town where Kandarpa's friend Kesata

married Rúpavatí;" and the contents of the letter were to the same

effect; and Kesata communicated the tidings with tears to the father

of Kandarpa.

And the next day Kandarpa's father sent in high glee a messenger

to bring his son, and dismissed Kesata, that he might join his

beloved. And Kesata went with that messenger, who brought the letter,

to that country where Rúpavatí was living in her father's house. There,

after a long absence, he greeted and refreshed the delighted Rúpavatí,

as the cloud does the chátakí. He met Kandarpa once more, and he

married at the instance of Rúpavatí her two before-mentioned friends,

Anurágavatí and Sringáravatí. And then Kesata went with Rúpavatí and

them to his own land, after taking leave of Kandarpa. And Kandarpa

returned to Ratnapura with the messenger, and was once more united

to Sumanas and Anangavatí and his relations. So Kandarpa regained

his beloved Sumanas, and Kesata his beloved Rúpavatí, and they lived

enjoying the good things of this life, each in his own country.

Thus men of firm resolution, though separated by adverse destiny, are

reunited with their dear ones, despising even terrible sufferings,

and taking no account of their interminable duration. So rise up

quickly my friend, let us go; you also will find your wife, if you

search for her; who knows the way of Destiny? I myself regained my

wife alive after she had died.

"Telling me this tale my friend encouraged me; and himself accompanied

me; and so roaming about with him, I reached this land, and here I

saw a mighty elephant and a wild boar. And, (wonderful to say!) I saw

that elephant bring my helpless wife out of his mouth, and swallow her

again; and I followed that elephant, which appeared for a moment and

then disappeared for a long time, and in my search for it I have now,

thanks to my merits, beheld your Majesty here."

When the young merchant had said this, Vikramáditya sent for his wife,

whom he had rescued by killing the elephant, and handed her over

to him. And then the couple, delighted at their marvellous reunion,

recounted their adventures to one another, and their mouths were loud

in praise of the glorious king Vishamasíla.

CHAPTER CXXIV.

Then King Vikramáditya put this question to the friend of the young

merchant, who came with him, "You said that you recovered your wife

alive after she was dead; how could that be? Tell us, good sir, the

whole story at length." When the king said this to the friend of the

young merchant, the latter answered, "Listen, king, if you have any

curiosity about it; I proceed to tell the story."

Story of Chandrasvámin who recovered his wife alive after her death.

I am a young Bráhman of the name of Chandrasvámin, living on that

magnificent grant to Bráhmans, called Brahmasthala, and I have a

beautiful wife in my house. One day I had gone to the village for some

object, by my father's orders, and a kápálika, who had come to beg,

cast eyes on that wife of mine. She caught a fever from the moment

he looked at her, and in the evening she died. Then my relations took

her, and put her on the pyre during the night. And when the pyre was

in full blaze, I returned there from the village; and I heard what

had happened from my family who wept before me.

Then I went near the pyre, and the kápálika came there with the

magic staff dancing [813] on his shoulder, and the booming drum in his

hand. He quenched the flume of the pyre, king, by throwing ashes on it,

[814] and then my wife rose up from the midst of it uninjured. The

kápálika took with him my wife who followed him, drawn by his magic

power, and ran off quickly, and I followed him with my bow and arrows.

And when he reached a cave on the bank of the Ganges, he put the

magic staff down on the ground, and said exultingly to two maidens

who were in it, "She, without whom I could not marry you, though I

had obtained you, has come into my possession; and so my vow has been

successfully accomplished," [815] Saying this he shewed them my wife,

and at that moment I flung his magic staff into the Ganges; and when he

had lost his magic power by the loss of the staff, I reproached him,

exclaiming, "Kápálika, as you wish to rob me of my wife, you shall

live no longer." Then the scoundrel, not seeing his magic staff,

tried to run away; but I drew my bow and killed him with a poisoned

arrow. Thus do heretics, who feign the vows of Siva only for the

pleasure of accomplishing nefarious ends, fall, though their sin has

already sunk them deep enough.

Then I took my wife, and those other two maidens, and I returned

home, exciting the astonishment of my relations. Then I asked those

two maidens to tell me their history, and they gave me this answer,

"We are the daughters respectively of a king and a chief merchant in

Benares, and the kápálika carried us off by the same magic process

by which he carried off your wife, and thanks to you we have been

delivered from the villain without suffering insult." This was their

tale; and the next day I took them to Benares, and handed them over

to their relations, after telling what had befallen them. [816]

And as I was returning thence, I saw this young merchant, who had lost

his wife, and I came here with him. Moreover, I anointed my body with

an ointment that I found in the cave of the kápálika; and, observe,

perfume still exhales from it, even though it has been washed.

"In this sense did I recover my wife arisen from the dead." When

the Bráhman had told this story, the king honoured him and the young

merchant, and sent them on their way. And then that king Vikramáditya,

taking with him Gunavatí, Chandravatí, and Madanasundarí, and having

met his own forces, returned to the city of Ujjayiní, and there he

married Gunavatí and Chandravatí.

Then the king called to mind the figure carved on a pillar that he

had seen in the temple built by Visvakarman, and he gave this order to

the warder, "Let an ambassador be sent to Kalingasena to demand from

him that maiden whose likeness I saw carved on the pillar." When the

warder received this command from the king, he brought before him an

ambassador named Suvigraha, and sent him off with a message.

So the ambassador went to the country of Kalinga, and when he had seen

the king Kalingasena, he delivered to him the message with which he had

been entrusted, which was as follows, "King, the glorious sovereign

Vikramáditya sends you this command, 'You know that every jewel on

the earth comes to me as my due; and you have a pearl of a daughter,

so hand her over to me, and then by my favour you shall enjoy in your

own realm an unopposed sway.'" When the king of Kalinga heard this,

he was very angry, and he said, "Who is this king Vikramáditya? Does he

presume to give me orders and ask for my daughter as a tribute? Blinded

with pride he shall be cast down." When the ambassador heard this

from Kalingasena, he said to him, "How can you, being a servant,

dare to set yourself up against your master? You do not know your

place. What, madman, do you wish to be shrivelled like a moth in the

fire of his wrath?"

When the ambassador had said this, he returned and communicated to king

Vikramáditya that speech of Kalingasena's. Then king Vikramáditya,

being angry, marched out with his forces to attack the king of

Kalinga, and the Vetála Bhútaketu went with him. As he marched along,

the quarters, re-echoing the roar of his army, seemed to say to the

king of Kalinga, "Surrender the maiden quickly," and so he reached

that country. When king Vikramáditya saw the king of Kalinga ready

for battle, he surrounded him with his forces; but then he thought

in his mind, "I shall never be happy without this king's daughter;

and yet how can I kill my own father-in-law? Suppose I have recourse

to some stratagem."

When the king had gone through these reflections, he went with

the Vetála, and by his supernatural power entered the bedchamber

of the king of Kalinga at night, when he was asleep, without being

seen. Then the Vetála woke up the king, and when he was terrified,

said to him laughing, "What! do you dare to sleep, when you are at

war with king Vikramáditya?" Then the king of Kalinga rose up, and

seeing the monarch, who had thus shown his daring, standing with a

terrible Vetála at his side, and recognising him, bowed trembling at

his feet, and said, "King, I now acknowledge your supremacy; tell me

what I am to do." And the king answered him, "If you wish to have me

as your overlord, give me your daughter Kalingasená." Then the king

of Kalinga agreed, and promised to give him his daughter, and so the

monarch returned successful to his camp.

And the next day, queen, your father the king of Kalinga bestowed

you on king Vishamasíla with appropriate ceremonies, and a splendid

marriage-gift. Thus, queen, you were lawfully married by the king

out of his deep love for you, and at the risk of his own life, and

not out of any desire to triumph over an enemy.

"When I heard this story, my friends, from the mouth of the kárpatika

Devasena, I dismissed my anger, which was caused by the contempt with

which I supposed myself to have been treated. So, you see, this king

was induced to marry me by seeing a likeness of me carved on a pillar,

and to marry Malayavatí by seeing a painted portrait of her." In these

words Kalingasená, the beloved wife of king Vikramáditya, described

her husband's might, and delighted his other wives. Then Vikramáditya,

accompanied by all of them, and by Malayavatí, remained delighting

in his empire.

Then, one day, a Rájpút named Krishnasakti, who had been oppressed by

the members of his clan, came there from the Dakkan. He went to the

palace-gate surrounded by five hundred Rájpúts, and took on himself the

vow of kárpatika to the king. And though the king tried to dissuade

him, he made this declaration, "I will serve king Vikramáditya for

twelve years." And he remained at the gate of the palace, with his

followers, determined to carry out this vow, and while he was thus

engaged, eleven years passed over his head.

And when the twelfth year came, his wife, who was in another land,

grieved at her long separation from him, sent him a letter; and he

happened to be reading this Áryá verse which she had written in the

letter, at night, by the light of a candle, when the king, who had

gone out in search of adventures, was listening concealed, "Hot, long,

and tremulous, do these sighs issue forth from me, during thy absence,

my lord, but not the breath of life, hard-hearted woman that I am!"

When the king had heard this read over and over again by the kárpatika,

he went to his palace and said to himself, "This kárpatika, whose

wife is in such despondency, has long endured affliction, and if his

objects are not gained, he will, when this twelfth year is at an end,

yield his breath. So I must not let him wait any longer." After going

through these reflections, the king at once sent a female slave,

and summoned that kárpatika. And after he had caused a grant to be

written, he gave him this order, "My good fellow, go towards the

northern quarter through Omkárapítha; there live on the proceeds of a

village of the name of Khandavataka, which I give you by this grant;

you will find it by asking your way as you go along."

When the king had said this, he gave the grant into his hands; and

the kárpatika went off by night without telling his followers. He

was dissatisfied, saying to himself, "How shall I be helped to

conquer my enemies by a single village that will rather disgrace

me? Nevertheless my sovereign's orders must be obeyed." So he slowly

went on, and having passed Omkárapítha, he saw in a distant forest

many maidens playing, and then he asked them this question, "Do you

know where Khandavataka is?" When they heard that, they answered,

"We do not know; go on further; our father lives only ten yojanas

from here; ask him; he may perhaps know of that village."

When the maidens had said this to him, the kárpatika went on, and

beheld their father, a Rákshasa of terrific appearance. He said to him,

"Whereabouts here is Khandavataka? Tell me, my good fellow." And the

Rákshasa, quite taken aback by his courage, said to him, "What have you

got to do there? The city has been long deserted; but if you must go,

listen; this road in front of you divides into two: take the one on the

left hand, and go on until you reach the main entrance of Khandavataka,

the lofty ramparts on each side of which make it attract the eye."

When the Rákshasa had told him this, he went on, and reached that

main street, and entered that city, which, though of heavenly beauty,

was deserted and awe-inspiring. And in it he entered the palace, which

was surrounded with seven zones, and ascended the upper storey of it,

which was made of jewels and gold. There he saw a gem-bestudded throne,

and he sat down on it. Thereupon a Rákshasa came with a wand in his

hand, and said to him, "Mortal, why have you sat down here on the

king's throne?" When the resolute kárpatika Krishnasakti heard this,

he said, "I am lord here; and you are tribute-paying house-holders

whom king Vikramáditya has made over to me by his grant."

When the Rákshasa heard that, he looked at the grant, and bowing before

him, said, "You are king here, and I am your warder; for the decrees

of king Vikramáditya are binding everywhere." When the Rákshasa had

said this, he summoned all the subjects, and the ministers and the

king's retinue presented themselves there; and that city was filled

with an army of four kinds of troops. And every one paid his respects

to the kárpatika; and he was delighted, and performed his bathing

and his other ceremonies with royal luxury.

Then, having become a king, he said to himself with amazement;

"Astonishing truly is the power of king Vikramáditya; and strangely

unexampled is the depth of his dignified reserve, in that he bestows a

kingdom like this and calls it a village!" Full of amazement at this,

he remained there ruling as a king: and Vikramáditya supported his

followers in Ujjayiní.

And after some days this kárpatika become a king went eagerly to pay

his respects to king Vikramáditya, shaking the earth with his army. And

when he arrived and threw himself at the feet of Vikramáditya,

that king said to him, "Go and put a stop to the sighs of your wife

who sent you the letter." When the king despatched him with these

words, Krishnasakti, full of wonder, went with his friends to his

own land. There he drove out his kinsmen, and delighted his wife,

who had been long pining for him; and having gained more even than

he had ever wished for, enjoyed the most glorious royal fortune.

So wonderful were the deeds of king Vikramáditya.

Now one day he saw a Bráhman with every hair on his head and body

standing on end; and he said to him, "What has reduced you, Bráhman,

to this state?" Then the Bráhman told him his story in the following

words:

Story of Devasvámin the permanently horripilant Bráhman.

There lived in Pátaliputra a Bráhman of the name of Agnisvámin,

a great maintainer of the sacrificial fire; and I am his son,

Devasvámin by name. And I married the daughter of a Bráhman who lived

in a distant land, and because she was a child, I left her in her

father's house. One day I mounted a mare, and went with one servant

to my father-in-law's house to fetch her. There my father-in-law

welcomed me; and I set out from his house with my wife, who was

mounted on the mare, and had one maid with her.

And when we had got half way, my wife got off the mare, and went to

the bank of the river, pretending that she wanted to drink water. And

as she remained a long time without coming back, I sent the servant,

who was with me, to the bank of the river to look for her. And as he

also remained a long time without coming back, I went there myself,

leaving the maid to take care of the mare. And when I went and looked,

I found that my wife's mouth was stained with blood, and that she had

devoured my servant, and left nothing of him but the bones. [817] In

my terror I left her, and went back to find the mare, and lo! her maid

had in the same way eaten that. Then I fled from the place, and the

fright I got on that occasion still remains in me, so that even now I

cannot prevent the hair on my head and body from standing on end. [818]

"So you, king, are my only hope." When the Bráhman said this,

Vikramáditya by his sovereign fiat relieved him of all fear. Then the

king said, "Out on it! One cannot repose any confidence in women,

for they are full of daring wickedness." When the king said this,

a minister remarked, "Yes, king! women are fully as wicked as you

say. By the bye, have you not heard what happened to the Bráhman

Agnisarman here?"

Story of Agnisarman. [819]

There lives in this very city a Bráhman named Agnisarman, the son of

Somasarman; whom his parents loved as their life, but who was a fool

and ignorant of every branch of knowledge. He married the daughter of a

Bráhman in the city of Vardhamána; but her father, who was rich, would

not let her leave his house, on the ground that she was a mere child.

And when she grew up, Agnisarman's parents said to him, "Son, why do

you not now go and fetch your wife?" When Agnisarman heard that, the

stupid fellow went off alone to fetch her, without taking leave of his

parents. When he left his house a partridge appeared on his right hand,

and a jackal howled on his left hand, a sure prophet of evil. [820]

And the fool welcomed the omen saying, "Hail! Hail!" and when the

deity presiding over the omen heard it, she laughed at him unseen. And

when he reached his father-in-law's place, and was about to enter it,

a partridge appeared on his right, and a jackal on his left, boding

evil. And again he welcomed the omen, exclaiming "Hail! Hail!" and

again the goddess of the omen, hearing it, laughed at him unseen. And

that goddess presiding over the omen said to herself, "Why, this

fool welcomes bad luck as if it were good! So I must give him the

luck which he welcomes, I must contrive to save his life." While the

goddess was going through these reflections, Agnisarman entered his

father-in-law's house, and was joyfully welcomed. And his father-in-law

and his family asked him, why he had come alone, and he answered them,

"I came without telling any one at home."

Then he bathed and dined in the appropriate manner, and when night

came on, his wife came to his sleeping apartment adorned. But he fell

asleep fatigued with the journey; and then she went out to visit a

paramour of hers, a thief, who had been impaled. But, while she was

embracing his body, the demon that had entered it, bit off her nose;

and she fled thence in fear. And she went and placed an unsheathed

[821] dagger at her sleeping husband's side; and cried out loud

enough for all her relations to hear, "Alas! Alas! I am murdered;

this wicked husband of mine has got up and without any cause actually

cut off my nose." When her relations heard that, they came, and seeing

that her nose was cut off, they beat Agnisarman with sticks and other

weapons. And the next day they reported the matter to the king, and

by his orders they made him over to the executioners, to be put to

death, as having injured his innocent wife.

But when he was being taken to the place of execution, the goddess

presiding over that omen, who had seen the proceedings of his wife

during the night, said to herself, "This man has reaped the fruit of

the evil omens, but as he said, 'Hail! Hail!' I must save him from

execution." Having thus reflected, the goddess exclaimed unseen from

the air, "Executioners, this young Bráhman is innocent; you must not

put him to death: go and see the nose between the teeth of the impaled

thief." When she had said this, she related the proceedings of his

wife during the night. Then the executioners, believing the story,

represented it to the king by the mouth of the warder, and the king,

seeing the nose between the teeth of the thief, remitted the capital

sentence passed on Agnisarman, and sent him home; and punished that

wicked wife, and imposed a penalty on her relations [822] also.

"Such, king, is the character of women." When that minister had

said this, King Vikramáditya approved his saying, exclaiming,

"So it is." Then the cunning Múladeva, who was near the king, said,

"King, are there no good women, though some are bad? Are there no

mango-creepers, as well as poisonous creepers? In proof that there

are good women, hear what happened to me."

Story of Múladeva. [823]

I went once to Pátaliputra with Sasin, thinking that it was the home

of polished wits, and longing to make trial of their cleverness. In a

tank outside that city I saw a woman washing clothes, and I put this

question to her, "Where do travellers stay here?" The old woman gave

me an evasive answer, saying, "Here the Brahmany ducks stay on the

banks, the fish in the water, the bees in the lotuses, but I have

never seen any part where travellers stay." When I got this answer,

I was quite nonplussed, and I entered the city with Sasin.

There Sasin saw a boy crying at the door of a house, with a warm [824]

rice-pudding on a plate in front of him, and he said, "Dear me! this

is a foolish child not to eat the pudding in front of him, but to vex

himself with useless weeping." When the child heard this, he wiped his

eyes, and said laughing, "You fools do not know the advantages I get by

crying. The pudding gradually cools and so becomes nice, and another

good comes out of it; my phlegm is diminished thereby. These are the

advantages I derive from crying; I do not cry out of folly; but you

country bumpkins are fools because you do not see what I do it for."

When the boy said this, Sasin and I were quite abashed at our

stupidity, and we went away astonished to another part of the

town. There we saw a beautiful young lady on the trunk of a mango-tree,

gathering mangoes, while her attendants stood at its foot. We said

to the young lady, "Give us also some mangoes, fair one." And she

answered, "Would you like to eat your mangoes cold or hot?" When

I heard that, I said to her, wishing to penetrate the mystery, "We

should like, lovely one, to eat some warm ones first, and to have

the others afterwards." When she heard this, she flung down some

mango-fruits into the dust on the ground. We blew the dust off them

and then ate them. Then the young lady and her attendants laughed, and

she said to us, "I first gave you these warm mangoes, and you cooled

them by blowing on them, and then ate them; catch these cool ones,

which will not require blowing on, in your clothes." When she had

said this, she threw some more fruits into the flaps of our garments.

We took them, and left that place thoroughly ashamed of ourselves. Then

I said to Sasin and my other companions, "Upon my word I must

marry this clever girl, and pay her out for the way in which she

has made a fool of me; otherwise what becomes of my reputation for

sharpness?" When I said this to them, they found out her father's

house, and on a subsequent day we went there disguised so that we

could not be recognised.

And while we were reading the Veda there, her father the Bráhman

Yajnasvámin came up to us, and said, "Where do you come from?" We

said to that rich and noble Bráhman, "We have come here from the

city of Máyápurí to study;" thereupon he said to us, "Then stay the

next four months in my house; shew me this favour, as you have come

from a distant country." When we heard this, we said, "We will do

what you say, Bráhman, if you will give us, at the end of the four

months, whatever we may ask for." When we said this to Yajnasvámin,

he answered, "If you ask for anything that it is in my power to give,

I will certainly give it." When he made this promise, we remained

in his house. And when the four months were at an end, we said to

that Bráhman, "We are going away, so give us what we ask for, as

you long ago promised to do." He said, "What is that?" Then Sasin

pointed to me and said, "Give your daughter to this man, who is our

chief." Then the Bráhman Yajnasvámin, being bound by his promise,

thought, "These fellows have tricked me; never mind; there can be no

harm in it; he is a deserving youth." So he gave me his daughter with

the usual ceremonies.

And when night came, I said laughing to the bride in the bridal

chamber, "Do you remember those warm and those cool mangoes?" When she

heard this, she recognised me, and said with a smile, "Yes, country

bumpkins are tricked in this way by city wits." Then I said to her,

"Rest you fair, city wit; I vow that I the country bumpkin will desert

you and go far away." When she heard this, she also made a vow, saying,

"I too am resolved, for my part, that a son of mine by you shall bring

you back again." When we had made one another these promises, she went

to sleep with her face turned away, and I put my ring on her finger,

while she was asleep. Then I went out, and joining my companions,

started for my native city of Ujjayiní, wishing to make trial of

her cleverness.

The Bráhman's daughter, not seeing me next morning, when she woke up,

but seeing a ring on her finger marked with my name, said to herself,

"So he has deserted me, and gone off; well, he has been as good as

his word; and I must keep mine too, dismissing all regrets. And I

see by this ring that his name is Múladeva; so no doubt he is that

very Múladeva, who is so renowned for cunning. And people say that

his permanent home is Ujjayiní; so I must go there, and accomplish

my object by an artifice." When she had made up her mind to this,

she went and made this false statement to her father, "My father,

my husband has deserted me immediately after marriage; and how can I

live here happily without him; so I will go on a pilgrimage to holy

waters, and will so mortify this accursed body."

Having said this, and having wrung a permission from her unwilling

father, she started off from her house with her wealth and her

attendants. She procured a splendid dress suitable to a hetæra, and

travelling along she reached Ujjayiní, and entered it as the chief

beauty of the world. And having arranged with her attendants every

detail of her scheme, that young Bráhman lady assumed the name of

Sumangalá. And her servants proclaimed everywhere, "A hetæra named

Sumangalá has come from Kámarúpa, and her goodwill is only to be

procured by the most lavish expenditure."

Then a distinguished hetæra of Ujjayiní, named Devadattá, came to

her, and gave her her own palace worthy of a king, to dwell in by

herself. And when she was established there, my friend Sasin first

sent a message to her by a servant, saying, "Accept a present from me

which is won by your great reputation." But Sumangalá sent back this

message by the servant, "The lover who obeys my commands may enter

here: I do not care for a present, nor for other beast-like men." Sasin

accepted the terms, and repaired at night-fall to her palace.

And when he came to the first door of the palace, and had himself

announced, the door-keeper said to him, "Obey our lady's commands. Even

though you may have bathed, you must bathe again here; otherwise

you cannot be admitted." When Sasin heard this, he agreed to bathe

again as he was bid. Then he was bathed and anointed all over by her

female slaves, in private, and while this was going on, the first

watch of the night passed away. When he arrived, having bathed,

at the second door, the door-keeper said to him, "You have bathed;

now adorn yourself appropriately." He consented, and thereupon the

lady's female slaves adorned him, and meanwhile the second watch of the

night came to an end. Then he reached the door of the third zone, and

there the guards said to him, "Take a meal, and then enter." He said

"Very well," and then the female slaves managed to delay him with

various dishes until the third watch passed away. Then he reached

at last the fourth door, that of the lady's private apartments,

but there the door-keeper reproached him in the following words,

"Away, boorish suitor, lest you draw upon yourself misfortune. Is the

last watch of the night a proper time for paying the first visit to

a lady?" When Sasin had been turned away in this contemptuous style

by the warder, who seemed like an incarnation of untimeliness, he

went away home with countenance sadly fallen.

In the same way that Bráhman's daughter, who had assumed the name

of Sumangalá, disappointed many other visitors. When I heard of

it, I was moved with curiosity, and after sending a messenger to

and fro I went at night splendidly adorned to her house. There I

propitiated the warders at every door with magnificent presents,

and I reached without delay the private apartments of that lady. And

as I had arrived in time I was allowed by the door-keepers to pass

the door, and I entered and saw my wife, whom I did not recognise,

owing to her being disguised as a hetæra. But she knew me again,

and she advanced towards me, and paid me all the usual civilities,

made me sit down on a couch, and treated me with the attentions of a

cunning hetæra. Then I passed the night with that wife of mine, who

was the most beautiful woman of the world, and I became so attached

to her, that I could not leave the house in which she was staying.

She too was devoted to me, and never left my side, until, after some

days, the blackness of the tips of her breasts shewed that she was

pregnant. Then the clever woman forged a letter, and shewed it to me,

saying, "The king my sovereign has sent me a letter: read it." Then

I opened the letter and read as follows, "The august sovereign of the

fortunate Kámarúpa, Mánasinha, sends thence this order to Sumangalá,

'Why do you remain so long absent? Return quickly, dismissing your

desire of seeing foreign countries.'"

When I had read this letter, she said to me with affected grief,

"I must depart; do not be angry with me; I am subject to the will of

others." Having made this false excuse, she returned to her own city

Pátaliputra: but I did not follow her, though deeply in love with her,

as I supposed that she was not her own mistress.

And when she was in Pátaliputra, she gave birth in due time to a

son. And that boy grew up and learned all the accomplishments. And

when he was twelve years old, that boy in a childish freak happened

to strike with a creeper a fisherman's son of the same age. When the

fisherman's son was beaten, he flew in a passion and said, "You beat

me, though nobody knows who your father is; for your mother roamed

about in foreign lands, and you were born to her by some husband or

other." [825]

When this was said to the boy, he was put to shame; so he went and

said to his mother, "Mother, who and where is my father? Tell me!" Then

his mother, the daughter of the Bráhman, reflected a moment, and said

to him, "Your father's name is Múladeva: he deserted me, and went to

Ujjayiní." After she had said this, she told him her whole story from

the beginning. Then the boy said to her, "Mother, then I will go and

bring my father back a captive; I will make your promise good."

Having said this to his mother, and having been told by her how

to recognise me, the boy set out thence, and reached this city of

Ujjayiní. And he came and saw me playing dice in the gambling-hall,

making certain of my identity from the description his mother had given

him, and he conquered in play all who were there. And he astonished

every one there by shewing such remarkable cunning, though he was

a mere child. Then he gave away to the needy all the money he had

won at play. And at night he artfully came and stole my bedstead

from under me, letting me gently down on a heap of cotton, while I

was asleep. So when I woke up, and saw myself on a heap of cotton,

without a bedstead, I was at once filled with mixed feelings of shame,

amusement and astonishment.

Then, king, I went at my leisure to the market-place, and roaming

about, I saw that boy there selling the bedstead. So I went up to him

and said, "For what price will you give me this bedstead?" Then the

boy said to me, "You cannot get the bedstead for money, crest-jewel

of cunning ones; but you may get it by telling some strange and

wonderful story." When I heard that, I said to him, "Then I will tell

you a marvellous tale. And if you understand it and admit that it is

really true, you may keep the bedstead; but if you say that it is not

true and that you do not believe it, [826] you will be illegitimate,

and I shall get back the bedstead. On this condition I agree to tell

you a marvel; and now listen!--Formerly there was a famine in the

kingdom of a certain king; that king himself cultivated the back of

the beloved of the boar with great loads of spray from the chariots

of the snakes. Enriched with the grain thus produced the king put a

stop to the famine among his subjects, and gained the esteem of men."

When I said this, the boy laughed and said, "The chariots of the

snakes are clouds; the beloved of the boar is the earth, for she

is said to have been most dear to Vishnu in his Boar incarnation;

and what is there to be astonished at in the fact that rain from the

clouds made grain to spring on the earth?"

When the cunning boy had said this, he went on to say to me, who was

astonished at his cleverness, "Now I will tell you a strange tale. If

you understand it, and admit that it is really true, I will give you

back this bedstead, otherwise you shall be my slave."

I answered "Agreed;" and then the cunning boy said this, "Prince of

knowing ones, there was born long ago on this earth a wonderful boy,

who, as soon as he was born, made the earth tremble with the weight

of his feet, and when he grew bigger, stepped into another world."

When the boy said this, I, not knowing what he meant, answered him,

"It is false; there is not a word of truth in it." Then the boy said

to me, "Did not Vishnu, as soon as he was born, stride across the

earth, in the form of a dwarf, and make it tremble? And did he not,

on that same occasion, grow bigger, and step into heaven? So you

have been conquered by me, and reduced to slavery. And these people

present in the market are witnesses to our agreement. So, wherever

I go, you must come along with me." When the resolute boy had said

this, he laid hold of my arm with his hand; and all the people there

testified to the justice of his claim.

Then, having made me his prisoner, bound by my own agreement, he,

accompanied by his attendants, took me to his mother in the city

of Pátaliputra. And then his mother looked at him, and said to me,

"My husband, my promise has to-day been made good, I have had you

brought here by a son of mine begotten by you." When she had said this,

she related the whole story in the presence of all.

Then all her relations respectfully congratulated her on having

accomplished her object by her wisdom, and on having had her disgrace

wiped out by her son. And I, having been thus fortunate, lived there

for a long time with that wife, and that son, and then returned to

this city of Ujjayiní.

"So you see, king, honourable matrons are devoted to their husbands,

and it is not the case that all women are always bad." When king

Vikramáditya had heard this speech from the mouth of Múladeva, he

rejoiced with his ministers. Thus hearing, and seeing, and doing

wonders, that king Vikramáditya [827] conquered and enjoyed all the

divisions of the earth.

"When the hermit Kanva had told during the night this story of

Vishamasíla, dealing with separations and reunions, he went on to

say to me who was cut off from the society of Madanamanchuká; 'Thus

do unexpected separations and reunions of beings take place, and so

you, Naraváhanadatta, shall soon be reunited to your beloved. Have

recourse to patience, and you shall enjoy for a long time, son of the

king of Vatsa, surrounded by your wives and ministers, the position of

a beloved emperor of the Vidyádharas.' This admonition of the hermit

Kanva enabled me to recover patience; and so I got through my time of

separation, and I gradually obtained wives, magic, science, and the

sovereignty over the Vidyádharas. And I told you before, great hermits,

how I obtained all these by the favour of Siva, the giver of boons."

By telling this his tale, in the hermitage of Kasyapa, Naraváhanadatta

delighted his mother's brother Gopálaka and all the hermits. And after

he had passed there the days of the rainy season, he took leave of his

uncle and the hermits in the grove of asceticism, and mounting his

chariot, departed thence with his wives and his ministers, filling

the air with the hosts of his Vidyádharas. And in course of time he

reached the mountain of Rishabha his dwelling-place; and he remained

there delighting in the enjoyments of empire, in the midst of the

kings of the Vidyádharas, with queen Madanamanchuká, and Ratnaprabhá

and his other wives; and his life lasted for a kalpa.

This is the story called Vrihatkathá, told long ago, on the summit

of mount Kailása, by the undaunted [828] Siva, at the request of

the daughter of the Himálaya, and then widely diffused in the world

by Pushpadanta and his fellows, who were born on the earth wearing

the forms of Kátyáyana and others, in consequence of a curse. And on

that occasion that god her husband attached the following blessing

to this tale, "Whoever reads this tale that issued from my mouth,

and whoever listens to it with attention, and whoever possesses it,

shall soon be released from his sins, and triumphantly attain the

condition of a splendid Vidyádhara, and enter my everlasting world."

END OF THE COLLECTION OF TALES CALLED THE KATHÁ SARIT SÁGARA.

NOTES TO VOLUME I

[1] Dr. Brockhaus explains this of Ganesa, he is probably associated

with Siva in the dance. So the poet invokes two gods, Siva and Ganesa,

and one goddess Sarasvatí, the goddess of speech and learning.

[2] Sítkára a sound made by drawing in the breath, expressive of

pleasure.

[3] There is a double meaning: padártha also means words and their

meanings.

[4] Possibly the meaning is that the mountain covers many thousand

yojanas.

[5] This mountain served the gods and Asuras as a churning stick at

the churning of the ocean for the recovery of the Amrita and fourteen

other precious things lost during the deluge.

[6] Siva himself wears a moon's crescent.

[7] The Sanskrit word Asti meaning "thus it is" is a common

introduction to a tale.

[8] The linga or phallus is a favourite emblem of Siva. Flame is one

of his eight tanus or forms.

[9] He was burnt up by the fire of Siva's eye.

[10] Compare Kumára Sambhava Sarga V, line 86.

[11] Reading tatsanchayáya as one word. Dr. Brockhaus omits the

line. Professor E. B. Cowell would read priyam for priye.

[12] One of Siva's favourite attendants.

[13] Attendants of Siva, presided over by Ganesa.

[14] For the ativiníta of Dr. Brockhaus's text I read aviníta.

[15] Pramatha, an attendant on Siva.

[16] Kausámbí succeeded Hastinápur as the capital of the emperors of

India. Its precise site has not been ascertained, but it was probably

somewhere in the Doabá, or at any rate not far from the west bank

of the Yamuná, as it bordered upon Magadha and was not far from the

Vindhya hills. It is said that there are ruins at Karáli or Karári

about 14 miles from Allahábád on the western road, which may indicate

the site of Kausámbí. It is possible also that the mounds of rubbish

about Karrah may conceal some vestiges of the ancient capital--a

circumstance rendered more probable by the inscription found there,

which specifies Kata as comprised within Kausámba mandala or the

district of Kausámbí. [Note in Wilson's Essays, p. 163.] See note on

page 281.

[17] A tree of Indra's Paradise that grants all desires.

[18] More literally, the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills. Her

shrine is near Mirzápúr.

[19] Dr. Brockhaus makes parusha a proper name.

[20] Ficus Indica.

[21] Pumán = Purusha, the spirit.

[22] Prakriti, the original source or rather passive power of creating

the material world.

[23] Prajápati.

[24] The spirit was of course Brahmá whose head Siva cut off.

[25] It appears from an article in Mélusine by A Bart, entitled An

Ancient Manual of Sorcery, and consisting mainly of passages translated

from Burnell's Sámavidhána Bráhmana, that this power can be acquired

in the following way, "After a fast of three nights, take a plant of

soma (Asclepias acida;) recite a certain formula and eat of the plant

a thousand times, you will be able to repeat anything after hearing

it once. Or bruise the flowers in water, and drink the mixture for a

year. Or drink soma, that is to say the fermented juice of the plant

for a month. Or do it always." (Mélusine, 1878, p. 107; II, 7, 4-7.)

In the Milinda Pañho, (Pali Miscellany by V. Trenckner, Part. I,

p. 14,) the child Nágasena learns the whole of the three Vedas by

hearing them repeated once.

[26] A grammatical treatise on the rules regulating the euphonic

combination of letters and their pronunciation peculiar to one of

the different Sákhás or branches of the Vedas.--M. W. s. v.

[27] i. e., died.

[28] Here we have a pun which it is impossible to render in

English. Anátha means without natural protectors and also poor.

[29] Taking chháyá in the sense of sobhá. It might mean "affording

no shelter to the inmates."

[30] Dr. Brockhaus translates the line--Von diesem wurde ich meinem

Manne vermählt, um seinem Hauswesen vorzustehen.

[31] Like the Roman fascinum. guhya = phallus.

[32] I read tat for táh according to a conjecture of Professor

E. B. Cowell's. He informs me on the authority of Dr. Rost that the

only variants are sá for táh and yoshitá for yoshitah. Dr. Rost would

take evamkrite as the dative of evamkrit. If táh be retained it may

be taken as a repetition "having thus prepared it, I say, the women

give it." Professor Cowell would translate (if táh be retained)

"the women then do not need to receive anything to relieve their

fatigue during the cold and hot weather."

Professor E. B. Cowell has referred me to an article by Dr. Liebrecht

in the Zeitschrift der Morgenländischen Gesellschaft.

He connects the custom with that of the Jewish women mentioned in

Jeremiah VII. 18, "The women knead their dough to make cakes to

the queen of heaven," and he quotes a curious custom practised on

Palm Sunday in the town of Saintes. Dulaure states that in his time

the festival was called there La fête des Pinnes; the women and

children carried in the procession a phallus made of bread, which

they called a pinne, at the end of their palm branches; those pinnes

were subsequently blessed by the priest, and carefully preserved by

the women during the year. This article has been republished by the

learned author in his "Zur Volkskunde" (Heilbronn, 1879) p. 436 and

f f. under the title of "der aufgegessene Gott." It contains many

interesting parallels to the custom described in the text.

[33] Literally bodiless--she heard the voice, but saw no man.

[34] Vara = excellent ruch = to please.

[35] I. e. Palibothra.

[36] Wilson remarks (Essays on Sanskrit Literature, Vol. I,

p. 165). "The contemporary existence of Nanda with Vararuchi and Vyádi

is a circumstance of considerable interest in the literary history

of the Hindus, as the two latter are writers of note on philological

topics. Vararuchi is also called in this work Kátyáyana, who is one of

the earliest commentators on Pánini. Nanda is the predecessor or one

of the predecessors of Chandragupta or Sandrakottos; and consequently

the chief institutes of Sanskrit grammar are thus dated from the

fourth century before the Christian era. We need not suppose that

Somadeva took the pains to be exact here; but it is satisfactory

to be made acquainted with the general impressions of a writer who

has not been biassed in any of his views by Pauránik legends and

preposterous chronology."

[37] I. e., of learning and material prosperity.

[38] Literally the gate of the Ganges: it is now well known under

the name of Haridvár (Hurdwar).

[39] Dr. Brockhaus renders the passage "wo Siva die Jahnaví im goldenen

Falle von den Gipfeln des Berges Usínara herabsandte."

[40] Skanda is Kártikeya and his mother is of course Durgá or Párvatí

the consort of Siva.

[41] This may be compared with Grimm's No. 60, "Die zwei Brüder." Each

of the brothers finds every day a gold piece under his pillow. In one

of Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, Vogelkopf und Vogelherz (p. 90) a boy

named Fortunat eats the heart of the Glücksvogel and under his pillow

every day are found three ducats. See also Der Vogel Goldschweif,

in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren, p. 195.

[42] In this case the austerities which he had performed in a former

birth to propitiate Siva.

[43] This story is, according to Dr. Rajendra Lál Mitra, found in a

MS. called the Bodhisattva Avadána. (Account of the Buddhist Literature

of Nepal, p. 53).

[44] I. e., bali, a portion of the daily meal offered to creatures of

every description, especially the household spirits. Practically the

bali generally falls to some crow, hence that bird is called balibhuj.

[45] A similar incident is found in Grimm's Fairy Tales translated by

Mrs. Paull, p. 370. The hero of the tale called the Crystal Ball finds

two giants fighting for a little hat. On his expressing his wonder,

"Ah", they replied, "you call it old, you do not know its value. It

is what is called a wishing-hat, and whoever puts it on can wish

himself where he will, and immediately he is there." "Give me the hat,"

replied the young man, "I will go on a little way and when I call you

must both run a race to overtake me, and whoever reaches me first,

to him the hat shall belong." The giants agreed and the youth taking

the hat put it on and went away; but he was thinking so much of the

princess that he forgot the giants and the hat, and continued to go

further and further without calling them. Presently he sighed deeply

and said, "Ah, if I were only at the Castle of the golden sun."

Wilson (Collected Works, Vol. III, p. 169, note,) observes that

"the story is told almost in the same words in the Bahár Dánish,

a purse being substituted for the rod; Jahándár obtains possession

of it, as well as the cup, and slippers in a similar manner. Weber

[Eastern Romances, Introduction, p. 39] has noticed the analogy which

the slippers bear to the cap of Fortunatus. The inexhaustible purse,

although not mentioned here, is of Hindu origin also, and a fraudulent

representative of it makes a great figure in one of the stories of

the Dasa Kumára Charita" [ch. 2, see also L. Deslongchamps Essai sur

les Fables Indiennes, Paris, 1838, p. 35 f. and Grässe, Sagen des

Mittelalters, Leipzig, 1842, p. 19 f.] The additions between brackets

are due to Dr. Reinholdt Rost the editor of Wilson's Essays.

The Mongolian form of the story may be found in Sagas from the Far

East, p. 24. A similar incident is also found in the Swedish story

in Thorpe's Scandinavian Tales, entitled "the Beautiful Palace East

of the Sun and North of the Earth." A youth acquires boots by means

of which he can go a hundred miles at every step, and a cloak, that

renders him invisible, in a very similar way.

I find that in the notes in Grimm's 3rd Volume, page 168, (edition

of 1856) the passage in Somadeva is referred to, and other parallels

given. The author of these notes compares a Swedish story in Cavallius,

p. 182, and Pröhle, Kindermärchen, No. 22. He also quotes from the

Sidi Kür, the story to which I have referred in Sagas from the Far

East, and compares a Norwegian story in Ashbjörnsen, pp. 53, 171,

a Hungarian story in Mailath and Gaal, N. 7, and an Arabian tale in

the continuation of the 1001 Nights. See also Sicilianische Märchen

by Laura Gonzenbach, Part I, Story 31. Here we have a table-cloth,

a purse, and a pipe. When the table-cloth is spread out one has

only to say--Dear little table-cloth, give macaroni or roast-meat

or whatever may be required, and it is immediately present. The

purse will supply as much money as one asks it for, and the pipe is

something like that of the pied piper of Hamelin,--every one who

hears it must dance. Dr. Köhler in his notes, at the end of Laura

Gonzenbach's collection, compares (besides the story of Fortunatus,

and Grimm III. 202,) Zingerle, Kinder- und Hausmärchen, II. 73 and

193. Curze, Popular Traditions from Waldock, p. 34. Gesta Romanorum,

Chap. 120. Campbell's Highland Tales, No. 10, and many others. The

shoes in our present story may also be compared with the bed in the

IXth Novel of the Xth day of the Decameron.

See also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 230 and Veckenstedt's

Wendische Sagen, p. 152.

See also the story of "Die Kaiserin Trebisonda" in a collection

of South Italian tales by Woldemar Kaden, entitled "Unter den

Olivenbäumen" and published in 1880. The hero of this story plays

the same trick as Putraka, and gains thereby an inexhaustible purse,

a pair of boots which enable the wearer to run like the wind, and a

mantle of invisibility. See also "Beutel, Mäntelchen und Wunderhorn"

in the same collection, and No. XXII in Miss Stokes's Indian Fairy

Tales. The story is found in the Avadánas translated by Stanislas

Julien: (Lévêque, Mythes et Légendes de L'Inde et de la Perse, p. 570,

Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 117.) M. Lévêque thinks that La Fontaine

was indebted to it for his Fable of L' Huître et les Plaideurs. See

also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, pp. 126-127, and 162.

We find a magic ring, brooch and cloth in No. XLIV of the English

Gesta. See also Syrische Sagen und Märchen, von Eugen Prym und

Albert Socin, p. 79, where there is a flying carpet. There is a magic

table-cloth in the Bohemian Story of Büsmanda, (Waldau, p. 44) and a

magic pot on p. 436 of the same collection; and a food-providing mesa

in the Portuguese story of A Cacheirinha (Coelho, Contos Portuguezes,

p. 58). In the Pentamerone No. 42 there is a magic chest. Kuhn has

some remarks on the "Tischchen deck dich" of German tales in his

Westfälische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 369.

For a similar artifice to Putraka's, see the story entitled

Fischer-Märchen in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 168, Waldau,

Böhmische Märchen, pp. 260 and 564, and Dasent's Norse Tales, pp. 213

and 214.

[46] Compare the way in which Zauberer Vergilius carries off the

daughter of the Sultán of Babylon, and founds the town of Naples,

which he makes over to her and her children: (Simrock's Deutsche

Volksbücher, Vol. VI, pp. 354, 355.) Dunlop is of opinion that the

mediæval traditions about Vergil are largely derived from Oriental

sources.

[47] I. e., infantry, cavalry, elephants, and archers.

[48] Literally she was splendid with a full bosom, ... glorious with

coral lips. For uttama in the 1st half of sloka 6 I read upama.

[49] Considered to be indicative of exalted fortune.--Monier Williams.

[50] The bimba being an Indian fruit, this expression may he paralleled

by "currant lip" in the Two Noble Kinsmen I. I. 216 or "cherry lip"

Rich. III. I. I. 94.

[51] Goddess of eloquence and learning.

[52] See Dr. Burnett's "Aindra grammar" for the bearing of this

passage on the history of Sanskrit literature.

[53] And will not observe you.

[54] Instead of the walls of a seraglio.

[55] This story occurs in Scott's Additional Arabian Nights as the

Lady of Cairo and her four Gallants, [and in his Tales and Anecdotes,

Shrewsbury, 1800, p. 136, as the story of the Merchant's wife and

her suitors]. It is also one of the Persian tales of Arouya [day 146

ff.]. It is a story of ancient celebrity in Europe as Constant du Hamel

or la Dame qui attrapa un Prêtre, un Prévôt et un Forestier [Le Grand

d'Aussy, Fabliaux et Contes. Paris, 1829, Vol. IV, pp. 246-56]. It

is curious that the Fabliau alone agrees with the Hindu original in

putting the lovers out of the way and disrobing them by the plea of

the bath. (Note in Wilson's Essays on Sanskrit Literature, edited by

Dr. Rost, Vol. I, p. 173.) See also a story contributed by the late

Mr. Damant to the Indian Antiquary, Vol. IX, pp. 2 and 3, and the

XXVIIIth story in Indian Fairy Tales collected and translated by Miss

Stokes, with the note at the end of the volume. General Cunningham is

of opinion that the dénouement of this story is represented in one of

the Bharhut Sculptures; see his Stúpa of Bharhut, p. 53. A faint echo

of this story is found in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, No. 55,

pp. 359-362. Cp. also No. 72(b) in the Novellæ Morlini. (Liebrecht's

Dunlop, p. 497.)

Cp. the 67th Story in Coelho's Contos Populares Portuguezes, and

the 29th in the Pentamerone of Basile. There is a somewhat similar

story in the English Gesta (Herrtage, No. XXV) in which three knights

are killed.

A very similar story is quoted in Mélusine, p. 178, from Thorburn's

Bannu or our Afghan Frontier.

[56] Dr. Brockhaus translates "alle drei mit unsern Schülern."

[57] This forms the leading event of the story of Fadlallah in the

Persian tales. The dervish there avows his having acquired the faculty

of animating a dead body from an aged Bráhman in the Indies. (Wilson.)

[58] Compare the story in the Panchatantra, Benfey's Translation,

p. 124, of the king who lost his body but eventually recovered

it. Benfey in Vol. I, page 128, refers to some European

parallels. Liebrecht in his Zur Volkskunde, p. 206, mentions a story

found in Apollonius (Historia Mirabilium) which forms a striking

parallel to this. According to Apollonius, the soul of Hermotimos

of Klazomenæ left his body frequently, resided in different places,

and uttered all kinds of predictions, returning to his body which

remained in his house. At last some spiteful persons burnt his

body in the absence of his soul. There is a slight resemblance to

this story in Sagas from the Far East, p. 222. By this it may be

connected with a cycle of European tales about princes with ferine

skin &c. Apparently a treatise has been written on this story by Herr

Varnhagen. It is mentioned in the Saturday Review of 22nd July, 1882

as, "Ein Indisches Märchen auf seiner Wanderung durch die Asiatischen

und Europäischen Litteraturen."

[59] Or Yogananda. So called as being Nanda by yoga or magic.

[60] I read ásvásya.

[61] Compare this with the story of Ugolino in Dante's Inferno.

[62] Dr. Liebrecht in Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 341 compares

with this story one in the old French romance of Merlin. There

Merlin laughs because the wife of the emperor Julius Cæsar had

twelve young men disguised as ladies-in-waiting. Benfey, in a note

on Dr. Liebrecht's article, compares with the story of Merlin one

by the Countess D'Aulnoy, No. 36 of the Pentamerone of Basile,

Straparola IV. I, and a story in the Suka Saptati. This he quotes

from the translation of Demetrios Galanos. In this some cooked fish

laugh so that the whole town hears them. The reason is the same as

in the story of Merlin and in our text.

[63] Cp. the following passage in a Danish story called Svend's

exploits, in Thorpe's Yuletide Stories, page 341. Just as he was going

to sleep, twelve crows came flying and perched in the elder trees

over Svend's head. They began to converse together, and the one told

the other what had happened to him that day. When they were about to

fly away, one crow said, "I am so hungry; where shall I get something

to eat?" "We shall have food enough to-morrow when father has killed

Svend," answered the crow's brother. "Dost thou think then that such

a miserable fellow dares fight with our father?" said another. "Yes,

it is probable enough that he will, but it will not profit him much as

our father cannot be overcome but with the Man of the Mount's sword,

and that hangs in the mound, within seven locked doors, before each of

which are two fierce dogs that never sleep." Svend thus learned that

he should only be sacrificing his strength and life in attempting a

combat with the dragon, before he had made himself master of the Man of

the Mount's sword. So Sigfrid hears two birds talking above his head

in Hagen's Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 345. In the story of Lalitánga

extracted by Professor Nilmani Mukerjea from a collection of Jaina

tales called the Kathá Kosha, and printed in his Sáhitya Parichaya,

Part II, we have a similar incident.

[64] Compare the "mole cinque-spotted" in Cymbeline.

[65] Compare Measure for Measure.

[66] Cp. the story of OEdipus and the Mahábhárata, Vanaparvan,

C. 312. where Yudhishthira is questioned by a Yaksha. Benfey compares

Mahábhárata XIII (IV, 206) 5883-5918 where a Bráhman seized by a

Rákshasa escaped in the same way. The reader will find similar

questioning demons described in Veckenstedt's Wendische Sagen,

pp. 54-56, and 109.

[67] Reading chuddhis for the chudis of Dr. Brockhaus' text.

[68] Sâmanta seems to mean a feudatory or dependent prince.

[69] Benfey considers that this story was originally Buddhistic. A very

similar story is quoted by him from the Karmasataka. (Panchatantra I,

p. 209) cp. also c. 65 of this work.

[70] Probably his foot bled, and so he contracted defilement.

[71] The preceptor of the gods.

[72] See the Mudrá Rákshasa for another version of this story. (Wilson,

Hindu Theatre, Vol. II.) Wilson remarks that the story is also told

differently in the Puránas.

[73] Sanskrit, Prákrit and his own native dialect.

[74] I change Dr. Brockhaus's Sákásana into Sákásana.

[75] As, according to my reading, he ate vegetables, his blood was

turned into the juice of vegetables. Dr. Brockhaus translates machte

dass das herausströmende Blut zu Krystallen sich bildete.

[76] A celebrated place of pilgrimage near the source of the Ganges,

the Bhadrinath of modern travellers. (Monier Williams, s. v.)

[77] Pratishthána according to Wilson is celebrated as the capital

of Saliváhana. It is identifiable with Peytan on the Godávarí, the

Bathana or Paithana of Ptolemy,--the capital of Siripolemaios. Wilson

identifies this name with Saliváhana, but Dr. Rost remarks that Lassen

more correctly identifies it with that of Srí Pulimán of the Andhra

dynasty who reigned at Pratishthána after the overthrow of the house

of Saliváhana about 130 A. D.

[78] Fabulous serpent-demons having the head of a man with the tail

of a serpent.--(Monier Williams, s. v.)

[79] It seems to me that tvam in Dr. Brockhaus' text must be a misprint

for tam.

[80] I. e., rich in virtues, and good qualities.

[81] From the Greek dênarion = denarius. (Monier Williams s. v.) Dramma

= Gr. drachmê is used in the Panchatantra; see Dr. Bühler's Notes to

Panchatantra, IV and V, Note on p. 40, l. 3.

[82] Literally wood-carriers.

[83] He had made money without capital, so his achievements are

compared to pictures suspended in the air?

[84] hetaira.

[85] The vita or roué meant "conciliation" but the chanter of the

Sáma Veda took it to mean "hymn."

[86] I. e., seize him with curved hand, and fling him out neck and

crop. The Precentor supposed them to mean a crescent-headed arrow.

[87] I.e., rich in accomplishments.

[88] Indra's pleasure-ground or Elysium. For a similar Zaubergarten see

Liebrecht's translation of Dunlop's History of Fiction, p. 251, and

note 325; and Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 224. To

this latter story there is a very close parallel in Játaka No. 220,

(Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 188) where Sakko makes a garden for the

Bodhisattva, who is threatened with death by the king, if it is

not done.

[89] Guhyaka here synonymous with Yaksha. The Guhyakas like the

Yakshas are attendants upon Kuvera the god of wealth.

[90] The tilaka a mark made upon the forehead or between the eyebrows

with coloured earths, sandal-wood, &c., serving as an ornament or a

sectarial distinction. Monier Williams s. v.

[91] The negative particle má coalesces with udakaih (the plural

instrumental case of udaka) into modakaih, and modakaih (the single

word) means "with sweetmeats." The incident is related in Táránátha's

Geschichte des Buddhismus in Indien, uebersetzt von Schiefner, p. 74.

[92] So explained by Böhtlingk and Roth s. v. cp. Taranga 72 sl. 103.

[93] He afterwards learns to speak in the language of the Pisáchas,

goblins, or ogres.

[94] Called also Kumára. This was no doubt indicated by the Kumára

or boy, who opened the lotus.

[95] The chátaka lives on rain-drops, but the poor swan has to take

a long journey to the Mánasa lake beyond the snowy hills, at the

approach of the rainy season.

[96] Kártikeya.

[97] More literally sprinkling her with water. See also the 60th Tale

in Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 17.

[98] Skanda is another name of Kártikeya.

[99] This grammar is extensively in use in the eastern parts of

Bengal. The rules are attributed to Sarvavarman, by the inspiration of

Kártikeya, as narrated in the text. The vritti or gloss is the work

of Durgá Singh and that again is commented on by Trilochana Dása and

Kavirája. Vararuchi is the supposed author of an illustration of the

Conjugations and Srípati Varmá of a Supplement. Other Commentaries

are attributed to Gopí Nátha, Kula Chandra and Visvesvara. (Note in

Wilson's Essays, Vol. I. p. 183.)

[100] Rishis.

[101] Sanskára means tendency produced by some past influence, often

works in a former birth. This belief seems to be very general in Wales,

see Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, p. 113. See also Kuhn's Herabkunft des

Feuers, p. 93, De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, p. 285.

[102] For the idea cp. Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 1. (towards

the end) and numerous other passages in the same author.

[103] Brockhaus renders it Fromme, Helden und Weise.

[104] Vaisvánara is an epithet of Agni or Fire.

[105] Siva.

[106] Cp. the 1st story in the Vetála Panchavinsati, Chapter 75 of

this work. See also Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 241, where Prince

Ivan by the help of his tutor Katoma propounds to the Princess Anna

the fair, a riddle which enables him to win her as his wife.

[107] The god of justice.

[108] Benfey considers this story as Buddhistic in its origin. In the

"Memoires Sur les Contrées Occidentales traduits du Sanscrit par Hiouen

Thsang et du Chinois par Stanislas Julien" we are expressly told

that Gautama Buddha gave his flesh to the hawk as Sivi in a former

state of existence. It is told of many other persons, see Benfey's

Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 388, cp. also Campbell's West Highland Tales,

p. 239, Vol. I, Tale XVI. M. Lévêque (Les Mythes et Légendes de L'Inde

p. 327) connects this story with that of Philemon and Baucis. He lays

particular stress upon the following lines of Ovid:

Unicus anser erat, minimæ custodia villæ

Quem Dîs hospitibus domini mactare parabant:

Ille celer penna tardos ætate fatigat,

Eluditque diu, tandemquo est visus ad ipsos

Confugisse deos. Superi vetuere necari.

See also Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, pp. 187, 297

and 414.

[109] I. e., Siva.

[110] Vrihat Kathá.

[111] Compare the story of Orpheus.

[112] It is unnecessary to remind the reader of the story of the Sibyl.

[113] I. e., Durgá.

[114] I believe this refers to Arjuna's combat with the god when he

had assumed the form of a Kiráta or mountaineer. Siva is here called

Tripurári, the enemy or destroyer of Tripura. Dr. Brockhaus renders

it quite differently.

[115] Composed of rice, milk, sugar and spices.

[116] Certain female divinities who reside in the sky and are the

wives of the Gandharvas. Monier Williams, s. v.

[117] Brahmá. He emerges from a lotus growing from the navel of Vishnu.

[118] In the word sasnehe there is probably a pun; sneha meaning love,

and also oil.

[119] The charioteer of Indra.

[120] For illustrations of this bath of blood see Dunlop's Liebrecht,

page 135, and the note at the end of the book. The story of Der arme

Heinrich, to which Liebrecht refers, is to be found in the VIth Volume

of Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher. Cp. the story of Amys and Amylion,

Ellis's Early English Romances, pp. 597 and 598, the Pentamerone of

Basile, Vol. I, p. 367; Prym and Socin's Syrische Märchen, p. 73;

Grohmann's Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 268; Gonzenbach's Sicilianische

Märchen, p. 354, with Dr. Köhler's notes.

[121] This is the Roc or Rokh of Arabian romance, agreeing in the

multiplicity of individuals as well as their propensity for raw flesh.

(See Sindbad's Voyages ed. Langlès, p. 149.) The latter characteristic,

to the subversion of all poetical fancies, has acquired, it may be

supposed, for the Adjutant (Ardea Argila) the name of Garuda. A

wundervogel is the property of all people, and the Garuda of the

Hindoos is represented by the Eorosh of the Zend, Simoorgh of the

Persians, the Anka of the Arabs, the Kerkes of the Turks, the Kirni

of the Japanese, the sacred dragon of the Chinese, the Griffin of

Chivalry, the Phoenix of classical fable, the wise and ancient bird

that sits upon the ash Yggdrasil of the Edda, and according to Faber

with all the rest is a misrepresentation of the holy cherubim that

guarded the gate of Paradise. Some writers have even traced the

twelve knights of the round table to the twelve Rocs of Persian

story. (Wilson's Essays, Vol. I, pp. 192, 193, note.)

Gigantic birds that feed on raw flesh are mentioned by the

Pseudo-Callisthenes, Book II, ch. 41. Alexander gets on the back of

one of them, and is carried into the air, guiding his bird by holding

a piece of liver in front of it. He is warned by a winged creature in

human shape to proceed no further, and descends again to earth. See

also Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 143 and note. See also Birlinger, Aus

Schwaben, pp. 5, 6, 7. He compares Pacolet's horse in the story of

Valentine and Orson.

[122] A wild mountaineer. Dr. Bühler observes that the names of these

tribes are used very vaguely in Sanskrit story-books.

[123] Sovereign of the snakes.

[124] I. e., given by Fortune.

[125] Cp. the story of Sattvasíla, which is the seventh tale in

the Vetála Panchavinsati, and will be found in Chapter 81 of this

work. Cp. also the story of Saktideva in Book V. ch. 26, and Ralston's

remarks on it in his Russian Folk-Tales, p. 99.

[126] Vishnu assumed the form of a dwarf and appeared before Bali,

and asked for as much land as he could step over. On Bali's granting

it, Vishnu dilating himself, in two steps deprived him of heaven and

earth, but left the lower regions still in his dominion.

[127] This incident may be compared with one described in Veckenstedt's

Wendische Sagen, p. 82.

[128] Ananta, endless, or infinite, is a name of the thousand-headed

serpent Sesha.

[129] Reading khadgam for the khadge of Dr. Brockhaus's text.

[130] Female demon. The Rákshasas are often called "night-wanderers."

[131] Or more literally of the month Chaitra, i. e., March-April.

[132] At nine o'clock in the morning.

[133] Anas Casarca, commonly called the Brahmany duck. The male has

to pass the night separated from its female: if we are to trust the

unanimous testimony of Hindu poets.

[134] A name of Durgá. Cp. Prescott's account of the human sacrifices

in Mexico, Vol. I pp. 62, 63.

[135] This incident reminds us of the fifth rule in Wright's Gesta

Romanorum.

[136] Or it may mean "from a distance," as Dr. Brockhaus takes it.

[137] Pulinda, name of a savage tribe.

[138] Mr. Growse remarks: "In Hindi the word Nágasthala would assume

the form Nágal; and there is a village of that name to this day in

the Mahában Pargana of the Mathurá District."

[139] A common way of carrying money in India at the present day.

[140] Compare the last Scene of the Toy Cart in the 1st volume of

Wilson's Hindu Theatre.

[141] The esculent white lotus (Sanskrit kumuda) expands its petals

at night, and closes them in the daytime.