During the stay of Râjavâhana at Avanti, the season of spring arrived,
when the great festival of Kâma is celebrated. The trees, breaking
into flower, were filled with the song of birds and the hum of bees,
and their branches were waved by the soft south wind, blowing, loaded
with perfume, from the sandal groves of Malaya. The lakes and pools
were thickly covered with lotus blossoms, among which innumerable
water-birds were sporting, and the feelings of all were influenced by
the charms of the season, and prepared for the worship of the god of
love.
On the day of the festival, the parks and gardens were crowded with
people, some engaged in various sports, some walking about or sitting
under the trees, looking at the players.
Among them was the Princess Avantisundari, who was sitting on a sandy
spot, under a large tree, attended by her women, especially by her
dear friend Bâlachandrika, and making offerings to the god of various
perfumes and flowers.
The prince also walked in the park with his friend Pushpodbhava; and
wishing to see the princess, of whose grace and beauty he had already
heard, contrived to approach; and being encouraged by Bâlachandrika
with a gesture of the hand, came and stood very near her.
Then, indeed, having an opportunity of observing her, he was struck by
her exceeding beauty. She seemed to him as if formed by the god of
love with everything most beautiful in the world; and, as he gazed, he
felt more and more entranced, till almost unconsciously he was deeply
in love.
She, indeed, seeing him beautiful as Kâma himself, was almost equally
affected, and, pervaded by strong feeling, trembled like the branch of
a creeping plant agitated by a gentle wind.
Then he thought, "Never have I seen anything so lovely. She must have
been formed by some singular accident, for there is no one like her in
the world."
She, indeed, ashamed to look openly at him, and half concealing
herself among her attendants, looked at him stealthily from time to
time, and while he had all his thoughts fixed on her, was saying to
herself, "Who can he be? Where does he come from? Happy the maidens
whose eyes are delighted with such beauty! happy the mother who has
such a son! What can I do? how can I find out who he is?"
Meanwhile Bâlachandrika, quick in discrimination, perceived the
impression they had made on each other; and not thinking it desirable
to declare his name and rank before the other attendants, or in such a
public place, introduced him to the princess, saying, "This is a very
learned and clever young brahman, a friend of my husband, worthy of
your notice. Allow me to recommend him to your favourable
consideration."
The princess, delighted at heart, but concealing her feelings,
motioned to the prince to sit down near her, and gave him betel,
flowers, perfumes, &c., through one of her attendants.
Then Râjavâhana, more deeply in love even than the princess, thought
to himself, "There surely must be some reason for this very sudden
attraction which I feel towards her. She must have been my beloved
wife in a former existence. Perhaps a curse was laid upon us; and now
that is removed. If so, the recognition ought to be mutual; at all
events I will try what I can do to produce the same feeling in her
which exists in my mind."
While he was considering how this might be accomplished, a swan
approached the princess, as if expecting to be fed or caressed; and in
sport, she desired Bâlachandrika to catch it.
Inspired by this circumstance with a happy thought, Râjavâhana said to
the princess, "Will you allow me to tell you a short story? There was
formerly a king called Samba. When walking one day together with his
beloved wife at the side of a small lake in the pleasure-grounds, he
saw a swan asleep, just under the bank. Having caught it, he tied its
legs together, put it down again on the ground, and saying to his
wife, 'This bird sits as quiet as a muni; let him go where he likes,'
amused himself with laughing at its awkward attempts to walk. Then the
swan suddenly spoke: 'O king, though in the form of a swan, I am a
devout brahman; and since you have thus, without cause, ill-treated me
while sitting quiet here, engaged in meditation, I lay my curse upon
you, and you shall endure the pain of separation from your beloved
wife.'
"Hearing this, the king, alarmed and distressed, bowed respectfully to
the ground, and said, 'O mighty sage, forgive an act done through
ignorance.'
"Then that holy person, having his anger appeased, answered, 'My words
cannot be made of no effect. I will, however, so far modify the curse
that it will not take place during your present existence; but in a
future birth, when you are united to the same lady in another body,
you must endure the misery of separation from her for two months,
though you will afterwards enjoy very great happiness with her; and I
will also confer on you both the power of recognising each other in
your next existence,'--I beg of you therefore not to tie this bird
which you were wishing to catch."
The princess, hearing this story, was quite ready to believe it; and
from her own feelings was convinced that it really referred to a
previous existence of herself, now brought to her recollection; and
that the love which she felt springing up in her heart was directed
towards one who had formerly been her husband. With a sweet smile, she
answered: "Doubtless Samba tied the bird in that way on purpose to
obtain the power of recognition in another birth; and it was very
cleverly managed by him."
From that moment they seemed perfectly to understand each other, and
sat without speaking, their hearts full of happiness.
Presently the mother of the princess--the queen of the ex-king
Mânasâra, who had also come with her attendants into the park, joined
her daughter; and Bâlachandrika having seen her approaching, made a
sign to the prince, upon which he and his friend slipped on one side,
and hid themselves behind some leafy bushes.
After the queen had stayed a short time talking to her daughter and
looking at the games, she set out to return, and the princess
accompanied her.
Before going, she turned round, as if addressing the swan, but
intending the speech for the prince, who was anxiously watching her
from his hiding-place, "Though you came near me so lovingly just now,
I may not stay longer with you: I must leave you and follow my mother:
do not forget me or imagine that I neglect you, for I am still fond of
you."
With these words she walked slowly away, looking with longing eyes in
the direction of her lover.
On their return to the palace, the princess heard from Bâlachandrika a
full account of Râjavâhana and his adventures, through which she was
even more in love than before; and having no opportunity of seeing him
again, became listless and indifferent to her usual occupations, lost
her appetite, wasted away, and at last lay on her bed, burning with
fever.
In vain did her devoted attendants use all their efforts to diminish
the heat by means of cold water, fanning, and other remedies; and she,
seeing their distress, said to her faithful Bâlachandrika: "Ah, dear
friend, all you can do is to no purpose; they call Kâma the god with
five arrows; but surely this is a wrong name, for I feel as if pierced
by him with hundreds of arrows. They call the wind from Malaya
cooling; but to me it only increases the fever, as if blowing up the
fire which consumes me: my own necklace, the contact of which was
formerly agreeable, now feels as if smeared with the poison of
serpents. Give up your exertions; the prince is the only physician who
can cure me; and how can he come to me here?"
Then Bâlachandrika thought to herself: "Something must be done, and
that without delay, or this violent passion of love will surely cause
her death. I will at least see the prince, and try if it is possible
to bring about a meeting."
Having thus resolved, she begged the princess to write a few lines to
her lover; and committing her to the care of the other attendants, she
went to the house of her husband. There she found Râjavâhana almost in
the same state as the princess, burning with fever, throwing himself
about restlessly on his couch, and bemoaning his hard fate to his
friend.
On seeing Bâlachandrika, he started up, saying, "Oh, how welcome is
the sight of you! I am sure you must be the bearer of good news. Sit
down here and tell me about my darling."
She answered: "The princess is suffering like yourself, longing to see
you; and has now sent me with this letter."