"Beloved--Having seen your beauty, delicate as a flower, faultless,
unrivalled in the world, my heart is full of longing. Do you likewise
make your heart soft."
Having read this, he said: "Your coming here is refreshing to me as
water to a withered plant; you are the wife of my very dear friend,
Pushpodbhava, and I know how attached you are to my darling, therefore
I can speak freely to you. Tell her that when she left the grove that
day she carried off my heart with her, and that I long to see her even
more than she longs for me; tell her only not to despond; the entrance
to her apartments is indeed difficult, but I will contrive to see her
by some means or other. Come back soon, and, having thought over the
matter, I will tell you what is to be done." With this message,
Bâlachandrika went to rejoice her friend; and the prince, though much
comforted, could not remain quiet, but walked to the park, to have the
pleasure of seeing at least the place where he had first met his
charmer. There he stayed a long time together with his friend, looking
at her footsteps in the sand, the withered flowers which she had
gathered and thrown down, the place where she had sat, and the shrubs
from which he had watched her, and listening to the murmur of the wind
among the leaves, the hum of the bees and the song of the birds.
Presently, they saw approaching them a brahman, splendidly dressed,
followed by a servant. He, coming up to the prince, saluted him; and
the prince, returning the salute, asked who he was. He answered "My
name is Vidyeswara. I am a famous conjurer, and travel about
exhibiting my skill for the amusement of kings and nobles. I have now
come to Oujein, to show off my skill before the king." Then, with a
knowing smile, he added, "But what makes you look so pale?"
Pushpodbhava, thinking to himself this is just the man to help us,
answered, "There is something in your appearance which induces me to
look on you as a friend, and you know how sometimes intimate
friendship arises from a very short acquaintance; I will therefore
tell you why my friend is thus sad. Not long ago, he, the son of a
king, met the Princess Avantisundari on this very spot, and they fell
in love with each other. From the impossibility of meeting, both are
suffering, and the prince is brought into this condition which you
see."
Vidyeswara, in reply, looking at the prince, said, with a smile, "To
such as you, with me for an ally, nothing is impossible. I will,
through my skill, contrive that you shall marry the princess in the
presence of her father and his court; but you must follow my
directions exactly, and she must be informed of her part in the affair
through some trusty female friend."
Then, having given the necessary directions, the conjurer went his
way. Râjavâhana also returned to the house, and when he had given
Bâlachandrika, who came again in the evening, the directions received
from the conjurer, and a loving message of encouragement for the
princess, he anxiously awaited the morrow, unable to sleep from the
thought of the expected happiness, and fluctuating between alternate
hopes and fears. In the morning, Vidyeswara, having collected a large
troop of followers, went to the palace and announced himself to the
doorkeeper, saying, "Tell the king the great conjurer is arrived."
Mânasâra, who had heard of his great skill, and was desirous of seeing
it, ordered him to be immediately admitted, and, after the usual
salutations, the performance began.
First, while the band was playing, peacocks' tails were waving, and
singers imitating the plaintive notes of birds, to excite the feelings
and distract the attention of the hearers, the conjurer turned round
violently several times, with his eyes half-closed, and caused great
hooded serpents to appear and vultures to come down from the sky to
seize them.
After this, he represented the scene of Vishnu killing Hiranyakasipu,
chief of the Asuras, to the great astonishment of the spectators;
then, turning to the king, he said, "It is desirable that the
performance should end with something auspicious; I propose,
therefore, to represent a royal marriage, and one of my people will
act as your daughter, another as a prince, endowed with all good
qualities. But first I must apply to your eyes this ointment, which
will give you preternatural clearness of vision." To all this the king
consented.
Meanwhile, the princess had contrived to slip out unobserved, and
stood among the conjurer's people. Râjavâhana also stood ready, and
the performance began. Thus, under the disguise of a piece of acting,
the conjurer, being a brahman, was able to complete the marriage with
all proper rites and ceremonies without any suspicion on the part of
the king that it was his own daughter whom he saw before him; and the
others, also unsuspecting, only admired the skill of the conjurer in
making the actress so like the lady whom she represented. When the
performance was ended, the conjurer, having been liberally rewarded by
the king, dismissed his hired attendants and departed.
In the confusion and excitement caused by the conjurer's performance,
Râjavâhana and the princess slipped unnoticed into her apartments,
where he was safe, for the present at least, her attendants being all
devoted to her, and careful to keep the secret.
He was thus able to enjoy the society of his bride without
interruption; to give her a full account of his life and adventures,
and to teach her many things of which she was ignorant; so that she
became more and more attached to him, and admired his knowledge and
eloquence as much as she had before admired his beauty.
* * * * *