And they all stood, when she had gone, gazing at one another in silence,
as motionless as though they had been painted on the walls that stood
behind them. And then they all exclaimed, as if with a single voice:
What! is not one of us all fit for this fastidious beauty's taste? And
instantly that ring of disappointed suitors broke up as they flew away,
and vanished like a mist, for in their fury they would not even so much
as wait to take leave of her father, counting it as it were a crime in
him to be father of such a daughter, and to have lured them into shame.
And seeing them go, Mahidhara went himself to the apartments of his
daughter. And he said to her in dudgeon: Out on thee! Makarandika;[21]
for here have all the Widyadharas become my bitter enemies by reason of
this insult. Has thy reason left thee? Or where wilt thou find a
husband, if not even one of all the kings of the Widyadharas can please
thy foolish fancy? Dost thou not understand, that a daughter who is not
married disgraces her father's house?
[Footnote 21: i.e. _one made of the honey or syrup of flowers_. (Note,
that the first syllable rhymes with _luck_, and the third with _fund_.)]
Then said Makarandika: Dear father, I am far too ugly to be married. And
Mahidhara laughed, and he said: What new caprice is this? Thou ugly!
Why, if thou art too ugly, being far the most beautiful of all, what of
thy sisters, whose beauty all united is not equal to thy own, and yet
have they all chosen? And Makarandika laughed, and she exclaimed: What!
can it be? What! shall the most beautiful of all be content with others'
leavings, and choose only out of what they have all rejected? As if the
whole world were not full to the very brim of husbands! Shall my choice
be the refuse? Moreover, I do not want a Widyadhara for a husband at
all. And Mahidhara said, with amazement: And why not a Widyadhara? Then
said Makarandika: Widyadharas are fickle, and roaming about in the air,
come across all sorts of other women and make love to them, deceiving
their own wives. But I will marry only such a husband as never will
deceive me.
Then said her father, smiling: But, O thou very jealous maiden, where
wilt thou discover him? For did not even Indra himself play Sachi false?
Or dost thou think that mortal men are always constant, when even gods
are not? Choose, if thou wilt, a mortal for thy husband, only to
discover that Widyadharas are not more treacherous than they are. Thy
husband will deceive thee, as it may be, no matter what his birth.
And lo! as he looked at her, jesting, he saw her suddenly turn paler,
and still paler, as if the very thought resembled poison in her ears.
And she said in a low voice: Better never to be married at all, than
marry a deceiver: better far for me, and better far for him. And her
father exclaimed, in astonishment: What! O Makarandika! thou hast not
even got a husband as yet at all; yet here thou art already, jealous
without a cause! What will it be, when thou art actually married? Truly
I fear for thy unhappy husband, whoever he may be. And yet, be very
careful. Bethink thee, O daughter, that if thou dost choose a mortal, it
will be at the cost of thy condition. For any Widyadhari becoming the
wife of a mortal man loses all her magic sciences, and is levelled with
himself.
And Makarandika said with scorn: Thy warning is unnecessary, and there
is not any risk. For it will be long before I place myself in danger of
any such description from a husband of any kind.