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Title: - To be updated
Author: Somadeva Bhatta, - To be updated
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "- To be updated" ***

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                           KATHÁ SARIT SÁGARA
                     Ocean of the Streams of Story

                 Translated from the original Sanskrit
                          C. H. TAWNEY, M. A.

         Printed by J. W. Thomas, at the Baptist Mission Press.


Book I.

Chapter I.

    Introduction,                                                   1-5
    Curse of Pushpadanta and Mályaván,                              4-5

Chapter II.

    Story of Pushpadanta when living on the earth as
    Vararuchi,                                                     5-10
    How Kánabhúti became a Pisácha,                                 6-7
    Story of Vararuchi's teacher Varsha, and his
    fellow-pupils Vyádi and Indradatta,                            7-10

Chapter III.

    Continuation of the story of Vararuchi,                       11-16
    Story of the founding of the city of Pátaliputra,             11-16
    Story of king Brahmadatta,                                    12-13

Chapter IV.

    Continuation of the story of Vararuchi,                       16-23
    Story of Upakosá and her four lovers,                         17-20

Chapter V.

    Conclusion of the story of Vararuchi,                         23-31
    Story of Sivasarman,                                          27-28

Chapter VI.

    Story of Mályaván when living on the earth as Gunádhya,       32-40
    Story of the Mouse-merchant,                                  33-34
    Story of the chanter of the Sáma Veda,                        34-35
    Story of Sátaváhana,                                          36-37

Chapter VII.

    Continuation of the story of Gunádhya,                        41-47
    How Pushpadanta got his name,                                 43-46
    Story of king Sivi,                                           45-46

Chapter VIII.

    Continuation of the story of Gunádhya,                        47-49
    Siva's tales, originally composed by Gunádhya in the
    Paisácha language, are made known in Sanskrit under the
    title of Vrihat Kathá,                                           49

Book II.

Chapter IX.

    Story of the ancestors and parents of Udayana, king
    of Vatsa,                                                     52-56

Chapter X.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana's parents,               56-67
    Story of Srídatta and Mrigánkavatí,                           56-66
    Udayana succeeds to the kingdom of Vatsa,                        67

Chapter XI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         67-71
    Story of king Chandamahásena,                                 69-71

Chapter XII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         72-82
    Story of Rúpiniká,                                            76-82

Chapter XIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         82-93
    Story of Devasmitá,                                           85-92
    Story of the cunning Siddhikarí,                              87-88
    Story of Saktimatí,                                           91-92

Chapter XIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                         94-98
    Story of the clever deformed child,                              96
    Story of Ruru,                                                97-98

Book III.

Chapter XV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       101-109
    Story of the clever physician,                              101-102
    Story of the hypocritical ascetic,                          102-104
    Story of Unmádiní,                                          104-105
    Story of the loving couple who died of separation,          105-106
    Story of Punyasena,                                             106
    Story of Sunda and Upasunda,                                    108

Chapter XVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       109-115
    Story of Kuntí,                                             110-111

Chapter XVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       115-124
    Story of Urvasí,                                            115-117
    Story of Vihitasena,                                            117
    Story of Somaprabhá,                                        118-122
    Story of Ahalyá,                                            122-123

Chapter XVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       124-145
    Story of Vidúshaka,                                         128-144

Chapter XIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       145-152
    Story of Devadása,                                          146-147

Chapter XX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       152-164
    Story of Phalabhúti,                                        152-163
    Story of Kuvalayávalí and the witch Kálarátri,              155-158
    Story of the birth of Kártikeya,                            155-157
    Story of Sundaraka and Kálarátri,                           158-161

Book IV.

Chapter XXI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       165-173
    Story of Pándu,                                                 166
    Story of Devadatta,                                         168-170
    Story of Pingaliká,                                         170-171

Chapter XXII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       173-186
    Story of Jímútaváhana,                                      174-186
    Story of Jímútaváhana's adventures in a former life,        176-181
    Story of Kadrú and Vinatá,                                  182-183

Chapter XXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana,                       186-191
    Story of Sinhaparákrama,                                        188
    Birth of Udayana's son Naraváhanadatta,                         189

Book V.

Chapter XXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           193-204
    Story of Saktivega, king of the Vidyádharas,                194-204
    Story of Siva and Mádhava,                                  197-202
    Story of Harasvámin,                                        203-204

Chapter XXV.

    Continuation of the story of Saktivega,                     205-219
    Story of Asokadatta and Vijayadatta,                        208-219

Chapter XXVI.

    Conclusion of the story of Saktivega,                       220-233
    Story of Devadatta,                                         229-231
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,               233

Book VI.

Chapter XXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           235-246
    Story of Kalingadatta, king of Takshasilá,                  235-246
    Story of the merchant's son in Takshasilá,                  236-238
    Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá,                          238-239
    Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágasrí,             239-240
    Story of the seven Bráhmans who devoured a cow in time
    of famine,                                                      241
    Story of the two ascetics, the one a Bráhman, the other
    a Chandála,                                                 241-242
    Story of king Vikramasinha and the two Bráhmans,            242-246

Chapter XXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta,                  246-257
    Birth of his daughter Kalingasená,                              246
    Story of the seven princesses,                              247-249
    Story of the prince who tore out his own eye,               247-248
    Story of the ascetic who conquered anger,                   248-249
    Story of Sulochaná and Sushena,                             249-252
    Story of the prince and the merchant's son who saved
    his life,                                                   253-255
    Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha,                       255-256

Chapter XXIX.

    Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta,                  257-267
    Story of Kírtisená and her cruel mother-in-law,             260-267

Chapter XXX.

    Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta,                  267-274
    Story of Tejasvatí,                                         270-271
    Story of the Bráhman Harisarman,                            272-274

Chapter XXXI.

    Conclusion of the story of Kalingadatta,                    276-278
    Story of Ushá and Aniruddha,                                276-277
    Kalingasená, daughter of Kalingadatta, escapes to Vatsa,        278
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           278-280

Chapter XXXII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           281-291
    Story of the Bráhman's son Vishnudatta and his seven
    foolish companions,                                         283-285
    Story of Kadalígarbhá,                                      286-290
    Story of the king and the barber's wife,                    288-289

Chapter XXXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           291-302
    Story of Srutasena,                                         292-295
    Story of the three Bráhman brothers,                            293
    Story of Devasena and Unmádiní,                                 294
    Story of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat and the mouse,     296-298
    Story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his
    treasure,                                                   298-299

Chapter XXXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           302-317
    Story of king Indradatta,                                       303
    Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha,                             306-307
    Story of Satrughna and his wicked wife,                         312
    Story of king Súrasena and his ministers,                   313-314
    Story of king Harisinha,                                        314

Book VII.

Chapter XXXV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           319-327
    Story of Ratnaprabhá,                                       320-326
    Story of Sattvasíla and the two treasures,                  321-322
    Story of the brave king Vikramatunga,                       322-323

Chapter XXXVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           328-334
    Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant
    Svetarasmi,                                                 328-334
    Story of Yavanasena,                                        331-332

Chapter XXXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           334-346
    Story of Nischayadatta,                                     334-346
    Story of Somasvámin,                                        339-341
    Story of Bhavasarman,                                       342-343

Chapter XXXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           346-354
    Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra,                  347-354
    Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant,   349-350

Chapter XXXIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           355-367
    Story of Sringabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa,      355-367

Chapter XL.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           369-375
    Story of Tapodatta,                                             370
    Story of Virúpasarman,                                          371
    Story of king Vilásasíla and the physician Tarunachandra,   372-375

Chapter XLI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           376-379
    Story of king Chiráyus and his minister Nágárjuna,          376-378

Chapter XLII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           379-390
    Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife, and his
    two sons,                                                   381-389

Chapter XLIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           390-403
    Story of the two brothers Pránadhara and Rájyadhara,        391-393
    Story of Arthalobha and his beautiful wife,                 393-396
    Story of the princess Karpúriká in her birth as a swan,     397-398

Book VIII.

Chapter XLIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           405-406
    Story of Súryaprabha,                                       406-414

Chapter XLV.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   414-434
    Story of the Bráhman Kála,                                  418-419

Chapter XLVI.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   434-446
    Story of the generous Dánava Namuchi,                       444-446

Chapter XLVII.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   446-452

Chapter XLVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   452-459
    Adventure of the witch Sarabhánaná,                             458

Chapter XLIX.

    Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha,                   459-471
    Story of king Mahásena and his virtuous minister
    Gunasarman,                                                 459-471

Chapter L.

    Conclusion of the story of Súryaprabha,                     472-481
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,               481

Book IX.

Chapter LI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           483-494
    Story of Alankáravatí,                                      484-485
    Story of Ráma and Sítá,                                     486-488
    Story of the handsome king Prithvírúpa,                     489-492

Chapter LII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           494-515
    Story of Asokamálá,                                         496-498
    Story of Sthúlabhuja,                                       497-498
    Story of Anangarati and her four suitors,                   498-514
    Story of Anangarati in a former birth,                      502-503

Chapter LIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           515-524
    Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta,    515-518
    Story of the Bráhman Víravara,                              519-524
    Story of Suprabha,                                          520-521

Chapter LIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           524-537
    Story of the merchant Samudrasúra,                          529-531
    Story of king Chamarabála,                                  532-536
    Story of Yasovarman and the two fortunes,                   532-535

Chapter LV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           537-549
    Story of Chiradátri,                                        537-538
    Story of king Kanakavarsha and Madanasundarí,               538-549

Chapter LVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son,           549-569
    Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála,
    and his daughter Chandravatí,                               549-569
    Story of Chakra,                                            554-556
    Story of the hermit and the faithful wife,                  556-557
    Story of Dharmavyádha, the righteous seller of flesh,           557
    Story of the treacherous Pásupata ascetic,                  558-559
    Story of king Tribhuvana,                                   558-559
    Story of Nala and Damayantí,                                559-568

Book X.

Chapter LVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son               1-10
    Story of the porter who found a bracelet                        1-2
    Story of the inexhaustible pitcher                              2-4
    Story of the merchant's son, the hetæra and the wonderful
    ape Ála                                                        4-10

Chapter LVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              10-17
    Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra and the young
    Bráhman                                                       11-13
    Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her
    husband's body                                                13-14
    Story of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered         14
    Story of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears       14-16
    Story of king Sinhabala and his faithless wife                16-17

Chapter LIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              17-26
    Story of king Sumanas, the Nisháda maiden, and the
    learned parrot                                                18-26
    The parrot's account of his own life as a parrot              19-21
    The hermit's story of Somaprabha, Manorathaprabhá, and
    Makarandiká                                                   21-25
    Episode of Manorathaprabhá and Rasmimat                       22-23

Chapter LX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              27-43
    Story of Súravarman who spared his guilty wife                   27
    Story of the ox abandoned in the forest, and the lion,
    and the two jackals                                           27-43
    Story of the monkey that pulled out the wedge                    28
    Story of the jackal and the drum                                 30
    Story of the crane and the Makara                             31-32
    Story of the lion and the hare                                32-33
    Story of the louse and the flea                                  34
    Story of the lion, the panther, the crow and the jackal       35-36
    Story of the pair of titthibhas                               36-38
    Story of the tortoise and the two swans                          37
    Story of the three fish                                       37-38
    Story of the monkeys, the firefly and the bird                   39
    Story of Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi                        40-41
    Story of the crane, the snake, and the mungoose                  41
    Story of the mice that ate an iron balance                    41-42

Chapter LXI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              41-63
    Story of the foolish merchant who made aloes-wood into
    charcoal                                                         44
    Story of the man who sowed roasted seed                          44
    Story of the man who mixed fire and water                        44
    Story of the man who tried to improve his wife's nose            45
    Story of the foolish herdsman                                    45
    Story of the fool and the ornaments                              45
    Story of the fool and the cotton                                 45
    Story of the foolish villagers who cut down the palm-trees       46
    Story of the treasure-finder who was blinded                     46
    Story of the fool and the salt                                46-47
    Story of the fool and his milch-cow                              47
    Story of the foolish bald man and the fool who pelted him        47
    Story of the crow, and the king of the pigeons, the
    tortoise and the deer                                         48-52
    Story of the mouse and the hermit                             49-51
    Story of the Bráhman's wife and the sesame-seeds              50-51
    Story of the greedy jackal                                       50
    Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of
    murdering a Bhilla                                            53-54
    Story of the snake who told his secret to a woman             54-55
    Story of the bald man and the hair-restorer                      55
    Story of a foolish servant                                       55
    Story of the faithless wife who was present at her own
    Sráddha                                                       55-56
    Story of the ambitious Chandála maiden                           56
    Story of the miserly king                                        57
    Story of Dhavalamukha, his trading friend, and his fighting
    friend                                                        57-58
    Story of the thirsty fool that did not drink                     58
    Story of the fool who killed his son                             58
    Story of the fool and his brother                                58
    Story of the Brahmachárin's son                                  59
    Story of the astrologer who killed his son                       59
    Story of the violent man who justified his character          59-60
    Story of the foolish king who made his daughter grow             60
    Story of the man who recovered half a pana from his servant      60
    Story of the fool who took notes of a certain spot in the
    sea                                                           60-61
    Story of the king who replaced the flesh                         61
    Story of the woman who wanted another son                        61
    Story of the servant who tasted the fruit                        62
    Story of the two brothers Yajnasoma and Kírtisoma             62-63
    Story of the fool who wanted a barber                            63
    Story of the man who asked for nothing at all                    63

Chapter LXII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              64-79
    Story of the war between the crows and the owls               64-75
    Story of the ass in the panther's skin                           65
    How the crow dissuaded the birds from choosing the
    owl king                                                      65-68
    Story of the elephant and the hares                           66-67
    Story of the bird, the hare, and the cat                      67-68
    Story of the Bráhman, the goat, and the rogues                68-69
    Story of the old merchant and his young wife                  69-70
    Story of the Bráhman, the thief, and the Rákshasa                70
    Story of the carpenter and his wife                           71-72
    Story of the mouse that was turned into a maiden              72-73
    Story of the snake and the frogs                                 74
    Story of the foolish servant                                     75
    Story of the two brothers who divided all that they had          75
    Story of the mendicant who became emaciated from discontent   75-76
    Story of the fool who saw gold in the water                      76
    Story of the servants who kept rain off the trunks            76-77
    Story of the fool and the cakes                                  77
    Story of the servant who looked after the door                   77
    Story of the simpletons who ate the buffalo                   77-78
    Story of the fool who behaved like a Brahmany drake              78
    Story of the physician who tried to cure a hunchback          78-79

Chapter LXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son              79-90
    Story of Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara and the two wives
    of the water-genius                                           79-83
    Story of the water-genius in his previous birth                  82
    Story of the Bráhman who became a Yaksha                         83
    Story of the monkey and the porpoise                          84-87
    Story of the sick lion, the jackal, and the ass               85-87
    Story of the fool who gave a verbal reward to the musician       87
    Story of the teacher and his two jealous pupils                  88
    Story of the snake with two heads                             88-89
    Story of the fool who was nearly choked with rice                89
    Story of the boys that milked the donkey                      89-90
    Story of the foolish boy that went to the village for
    nothing                                                          90

Chapter LXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son             90-100
    Story of the Bráhman and the mungoose                         90-91
    Story of the fool that was his own doctor                        91
    Story of the fool who mistook hermits for monkeys             91-92
    Story of the fool who found a purse                              92
    Story of the fool who looked for the moon                        92
    Story of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the
    cowherd                                                       92-93
    Story of the two thieves Ghata and Karpara                    93-96
    Story of Devadatta's wife                                        96
    Story of the wife of the Bráhman Rudrasoma                    96-97
    Story of the wife of Susin                                    97-98
    Story of the snake-god and his wife                           98-99

Chapter LXV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            101-115
    Story of the ungrateful wife                                101-103
    Story of the grateful animals and the ungrateful woman      103-108
    The lion's story                                            104-105
    The golden-crested bird's story                             105-106
    The snake's story                                               106
    The woman's story                                               106
    Story of the Buddhist monk who was bitten by a dog          108-109
    Story of the man who submitted to be burnt alive sooner
    than share his food with a guest                            109-110
    Story of the foolish teacher, the foolish pupils, and
    the cat                                                     110-111
    Story of the fools and the bull of Siva                     111-112
    Story of the fool who asked his way to the village              112
    Story of Hiranyáksha and Mrigánkalekhá                      113-115

Chapter LXVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            115-124
    Story of the mendicant who travelled from Kasmíra to
    Pátaliputra                                                 115-118
    Story of the wife of king Sinháksha, and the wives of
    his principal courtiers                                     116-118
    Story of the woman who had eleven husbands                      119
    Story of the man who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox    119-120
    Story of the man who managed to acquire wealth by speaking
    to the king                                                 120-121
    Story of Ratnarekhá and Lakshmísena                         121-124
    Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Saktiyasas                      124

Book XI.

Chapter LXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            125-131
    Story of the race between the elephant and the horses       125-126
    Story of the merchant and his wife Velá                     127-131
    Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Jayendrasená                    131

Book XII.

Chapter LXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            133-137
    Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Lalitalochaná                   134
    Story of the jackal that was turned into an elephant            134
    Story of Vámadatta and his wicked wife                      134-137

Chapter LXIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            137-138
    Story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí                      138-146
    Story of king Bhadrabáhu and his clever minister            139-141
    Story of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí                        141-146
    Story of the birth of Vinayavatí                            141-142
    The adventures of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí in a former
    life                                                        143-145
    Story of Lávanyamanjarí                                         145

Chapter LXX.

    Continuation of the Story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  146-154
    Story of Srutadhi                                               148

Chapter LXXI.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  154-169
    Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí                           157-167

Chapter LXXII.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  170-191
    Story of king Vinítamati who became a holy man              171-191
    Story of the holy boar                                      176-178
    Story of Devabhúti                                          180-181
    Story of the generous Induprabha                            181-182
    Story of the parrot who was taught virtue by the king of
    the parrots                                                 182-183
    Story of the patient hermit Subhanaya                       183-184
    Story of the persevering young Bráhman                          184
    Story of Malayamálin                                        184-186
    Story of the robber who won over Yama's secretary           186-189

Chapter LXXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  191-214
    Story of Srídarsana                                         192-214
    Story of Saudáminí                                          193-194
    Story of Bhúnandana                                         196-201

Chapter LXXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  214-231
    Story of Bhímabhata                                         215-230
    Story of Akshakshapanaka                                    222-223

Chapter LXXV.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  231-232
    Story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire                232-241
    Story of the prince who was helped to a wife by the son
    of his father's minister                                    234-241

Chapter LXXVI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 242-244
    Story of the three young Bráhmans who restored a dead lady
    to life                                                     242-244

Chapter LXXVII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 245-250
    Story of the king and the two wise birds                    245-250
    The maina's story                                           246-247
    The parrot's story                                          247-250

Chapter LXXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 251-257
    Story of Víravara                                           251-256

Chapter LXXIX.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 257-260
    Story of Somaprabhá and her three sisters                   258-260

Chapter LXXX.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 261-264
    Story of the lady who caused her brother and husband to
    change heads                                                261-264

Chapter LXXXI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 265-271
    Story of the king who married his dependent to the Nereid   265-271

Chapter LXXXII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 271-274
    Story of the three fastidious men                           271-273

Chapter LXXXIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 275-277
    Story of Anangarati and her four suitors                    275-277

Chapter LXXXIV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 281-283
    Story of Madanasená and her rash promise                    278-280

Chapter LXXXV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 281-283
    Story of king Dharmadhvaja and his three very sensitive
    wives                                                       281-283

Chapter LXXXVI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 284-293
    Story of king Yasahketu, his Vidyádharí wife and his
    faithful minister                                           284-292

Chapter LXXXVII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 293-297
    Story of Harisvámin who first lost his wife and then
    his life                                                    293-296


    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 297-300
    Story of the merchant's daughter who fell in love with
    a thief                                                     297-300

Chapter LXXXIX.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 301-307
    Story of the magic globule                                  301-306

Chapter XC.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 307-318
    Story of Jímútaváhana                                       307-317

Chapter XCI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 318-322
    Story of Unmádiní                                           318-321

Chapter XCII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 322-327
    Story of the Bráhman's son who failed to acquire the
    magic power                                                 323-327

Chapter XCIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 328-334
    Story of the thief's son                                    328-334

Chapter XCIV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 334-342
    Story of the Bráhman boy who offered himself up to save
    the life of the king                                        335-341

Chapter XCV.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 342-347
    Story of Anangamanjarí, her husband Manivarman, and the
    Bráhman Kamalákara                                          342-347

Chapter XCVI.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 348-350
    Story of the four Bráhman brothers who resuscitated the
    tiger                                                       348-350

Chapter XCVII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 351-351
    Story of the Hermit who first wept and then danced          351-353

Chapter XCVIII.

    Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 354-358
    Story of the father that married the daughter and the
    son that married the mother                                 354-357

Chapter XCIX.

    Conclusion of the story of king Trivikramasena and
    the Vampire                                                 358-360
    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  360-362

Chapter C.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  362-365

Chapter CI.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  366-386
    Story of Sundarasena and Mandáravatí                        368-385

Chapter CII.

    Continuation of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí  387-396

Chapter CIII.

    Conclusion of the story of Mrigánkadatta and Sasánkavatí    396-409
    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son                409

Book XIII.

Chapter CIV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            411-423
    Story of the two Bráhman friends                            412-423

Book XIV.

Chapter CV.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            425-430
    Story of Sávitrí and Angiras                                426-427

Chapter CVI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            430-441
    Story of the child that died of a broken heart              435-436

Chapter CVII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            441-448
    Story of Ráma                                                   442

Chapter CVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            448-460
    Story of Nágasvámin and the witches                         449-452
    Story of Marubhúti and the mermaids and the gold-producing
    grains                                                      452-454

Book XV.

Chapter CIX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            461-469
    History of the cave of Trisírsha                            464-465

Chapter CX.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            469-478
    Naraváhanadatta crowned emperor of the Vidyádharas          473-474

Book XVI.

Chapter CXI.

    Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son            479-483
    Story of the devoted couple Súrasena and Sushená            480-481
    Death of Chandamahásena and Angáravatí                          482
    Death of Udayana king of Vatsa                                  483
    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  484-485

Chapter CXII.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  485-497
    Story of king Chandamahásena and the Asura's daughter       486-488
    Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of
    the Mátanga                                                 488-496
    Story of the young Chandála who married the daughter of
    king Prasenajit                                             490-491
    Story of the young fisherman who married a princess         491-493
    Story of the Merchant's daughter who fell in love with
    a thief                                                     493-495

Chapter CXIII.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  497-503
    Story of Tárávaloka                                         498-503

Book XVII.

Chapter CXIV.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                  505-513
    Story of king Brahmadatta and the swans                     506-513
    How Párvatí condemned her five attendants to be reborn
    on earth                                                    508-510
    Story of the metamorphoses of Pingesvara and Guhesvara      510-513

Chapter CXV.

    Continuation of The story of Brahmadatta and the swans      513-514
    Story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí                       514-522

Chapter CXVI.

    Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí   522-528

Chapter CXVII.

    Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí   528-538

Chapter CXVIII.

    Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí   538-549

Chapter CXIX.

    Conclusion of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí     549-561
    Conclusion of the story of Brahmadatta and the swans            561
    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana     561


Chapter CXX.

    Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son
    of Udayana                                                      563
    Story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní                      563-570

Chapter CXXI.

    Continuation of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní  571-586
    Story of Madanamanjarí                                      571-583
    Story of the gambler Dágineya                               572-574
    Story of Thinthákarála the bold gambler                     574-582
    Story of the gambler who cheated Yama                           581
    Story of Ghanta and Nighanta and the two maidens                583
    Story of the golden deer                                        584

Chapter CXXII.

    Continuation of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní  586-593
    Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden                   587-593

Chapter CXXIII.

    Continuation of the Story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní      593
    Story of Kalingasená's marriage                             593-611
    How Devasena obtained the magic ointment                        594
    Story of the grateful monkey                                596-597
    Story of the two princesses                                 598-599
    Story of Dhanadatta                                         600-601
    Story of Kesata and Kandarpa                                601-610
    Story of Kusumáyudha and Kamalalochaná                      606-607

Chapter CXXIV.

    Conclusion of the story of Kalingasená's marriage           611-614
    Story of Chandrasvámin                                      611-612
    Conclusion of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní    614-624
    Story of Devasvámin                                         616-617
    Story of Agnisarman                                         617-618
    Story of Múladeva                                           618-624
    Conclusion of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana       624
    Conclusion of the Kathá Sarit Ságara                            625





May the dark neck of Siva, which the god of love has, so to speak,
surrounded with nooses in the form of the alluring looks of Párvatí
reclining on his bosom, assign to you prosperity.

May that victor of obstacles, [1] who after sweeping away the stars
with his trunk in the delirious joy of the evening dance, seems to
create others with the spray issuing from his hissing [2] mouth,
protect you.

After worshipping the goddess of Speech, the lamp that illuminates
countless objects, [3] I compose this collection which contains the
pith of the Vríhat-Kathá.

The first book in my collection is called Kathápítha, then comes
Kathámukha, then the third book named Lávánaka, then follows
Naraváhanadattajanana, and then the book called Chaturdáriká, and then
Madanamanchuká, then the seventh book named Ratnaprabhá, and then the
eighth book named Súryaprabhá, then Alankáravatí, then Saktiyasas,
and then the eleventh book called Velá, then comes Sasánkavatí,
and then Madirávatí, then comes the book called Pancha followed by
Mahábhisheka, and then Suratamanjarí, then Padmávatí, and then will
follow the eighteenth book Vishamasíla.

This book is precisely on the model of that from which it is taken,
there is not even the slightest deviation, only such language is
selected as tends to abridge the prolixity of the work; the observance
of propriety and natural connexion, and the joining together of the
portions of the poem so as not to interfere with the spirit of the
stories, are as far as possible kept in view: I have not made this
attempt through desire of a reputation for ingenuity, but in order
to facilitate the recollection of a multitude of various tales.

There is a mountain celebrated under the name of Himavat, haunted
by Kinnaras, Gandharvas, and Vidyádharas, a very monarch of mighty
hills, whose glory has attained such an eminence among mountains that
Bhavání the mother of the three worlds deigned to become his daughter;
the northernmost summit thereof is a great peak named Kailása,
which towers many thousand yojanas in the air, [4] and as it were,
laughs forth with its snowy gleams this boast--"Mount Mandara [5] did
not become white as mortar even when the ocean was churned with it,
but I have become such without an effort." There dwells Mahesvara
the beloved of Párvatí, the chief of things animate and inanimate,
attended upon by Ganas, Vidyádharas and Siddhas. In the upstanding
yellow tufts of his matted hair, the new moon enjoys the delight of
touching the eastern mountain yellow in the evening twilight. When he
drove his trident into the heart of Andhaka, the king of the Asuras,
though he was only one, the dart which that monarch had infixed in the
heart of the three worlds was, strange to say, extracted. The image
of his toe-nails being reflected in the crest-jewels of the gods and
Asuras made them seem as if they had been presented with half moons
by his favour. [6] Once on a time that lord, the husband of Párvatí,
was gratified with praises by his wife, having gained confidence as
she sat in secret with him; the moon-crested one attentive to her
praise and delighted, placed her on his lap, and said, "What can I do
to please thee?" Then the daughter of the mountain spake--"My lord,
if thou art satisfied with me, then tell me some delightful story that
is quite new." And Siva said to her, "What can there be in the world,
my beloved, present, past, or future that thou dost not know?" Then
that goddess, beloved of Siva, importuned him eagerly because she
was proud in soul on account of his affection.

Then Siva wishing to flatter her, began by telling her a very short
story, referring to her own divine power.

"Once on a time [7] Brahmá and Náráyana roaming through the world
in order to behold me, came to the foot of Himavat. Then they beheld
there in front of them a great flame-linga; [8] in order to discover
the end of it, one of them went up, and the other down; and when
they could not find the end of it, they proceeded to propitiate
me by means of austerities: and I appeared to them and bade them
ask for some boon: hearing that Brahmá asked me to become his son;
on that account he has ceased to be worthy of worship, disgraced by
his overweening presumption.

"Then that god Náráyana craved a boon of me, saying--Oh revered one,
may I become devoted to thy service! Then he became incarnate, and
was born as mine in thy form; for thou art the same as Náráyana,
the power of me all-powerful.

"Moreover thou wast my wife in a former birth." When Siva had thus
spoken, Párvatí asked, "How can I have been thy wife in a former
birth?" Then Siva answered her. "Long ago to the Prajápati Daksha
were born many daughters, and amongst them thou, O goddess! He gave
thee in marriage to me, and the others to Dharma and the rest of the
gods. Once on a time he invited all his sons-in-law to a sacrifice. But
I alone was not included in the invitation; thereupon thou didst ask
him to tell thee why thy husband was not invited. Then he uttered a
speech which pierced thy ears like a poisoned needle; 'Thy husband
wears a necklace of skulls; how can he be invited to a sacrifice?'

"And then thou, my beloved, didst in anger abandon thy body,
exclaiming,--'This father of mine is a villain; what profit have I
then in this carcase sprung from him?'

"And thereupon in wrath I destroyed that sacrifice of Daksha. Then
thou wast born as the daughter of the mount of snow, as the moon's
digit springs from the sea. Then recall how I came to the Himálaya
in order to perform austerities; and thy father ordered thee to do
me service as his guest: and there the god of love who had been sent
by the gods in order that they might obtain from me a son to oppose
Táraka, was consumed, [9] when endeavouring to pierce me, having
obtained a favourable opportunity. Then I was purchased by thee,
[10] the enduring one, with severe austerities, and I accepted this
proposal of thine, my beloved, in order that I might add this merit
to my stock. [11] Thus it is clear that thou wast my wife in a former
birth. What else shall I tell thee?" Thus Siva spake, and when he had
ceased, the goddess transported with wrath, exclaimed,--"Thou art a
deceiver; thou wilt not tell me a pleasing tale even though I ask thee:
Do I not know that thou worshippest Sandhyá, and bearest Gangá on thy
head?" Hearing that, Siva proceeded to conciliate her and promised to
tell her a wonderful tale: then she dismissed her anger. She herself
gave the order that no one was to enter where they were; Nandin [12]
thereupon kept the door, and Siva began to speak.

"The gods are supremely blessed, men are ever miserable, the actions
of demigods are exceedingly charming, therefore I now proceed to
relate to thee the history of the Vidyádharas." While Siva was thus
speaking to his consort, there arrived a favourite dependant of Siva's,
Pushpadanta, best of Ganas, [13] and his entrance was forbidden by
Nandin who was guarding the door. Curious to know why even he had
been forbidden to enter at that time without any apparent reason,
Pushpadanta immediately entered, making use of his magic power attained
by devotion to prevent his being seen, and when he had thus entered,
he heard all the extraordinary and wonderful adventures of the seven
Vidyádharas being narrated by the trident-bearing god, and having heard
them he in turn went and narrated them to his wife Jayá; for who can
hide wealth or a secret from women? Jayá the doorkeeper being filled
with wonder went and recited it in the presence of Párvatí. How can
women be expected to restrain their speech? And then the daughter of
the mountain flew into a passion, and said to her husband, "Thou didst
not tell me any extraordinary tale, for Jayá knows it also." Then the
lord of Umá, perceiving the truth by profound meditation, thus spake:
"Pushpadanta employing the magic power of devotion entered in where
we were, and thus managed to hear it. He narrated it to Jayá; no one
else knows it, my beloved."

Having heard this, the goddess exceedingly enraged caused Pushpadanta
to be summoned, and cursed him, as he stood trembling before her,
saying, "Become a mortal thou disobedient servant." [14] She cursed
also the Gana Mályaván who presumed to intercede on his behalf. Then
the two fell at her feet together with Jayá and entreated her to say
when the curse would end, and the wife of Siva slowly uttered this
speech--"A Yaksha named Supratíka who has been made a Pisácha by the
curse of Kuvera is residing in the Vindhya forest under the name of
Kánabhúti. When thou shalt see him and, calling to mind thy origin,
tell him this tale, then, Pushpadanta, thou shalt be released from
this curse. And when Mályaván shall hear this tale from Kánabhúti,
then Kánabhúti shall be released, and thou, Mályaván, when thou
hast published it abroad, shalt be free also." Having thus spoken
the daughter of the mountain ceased, and immediately those Ganas
disappeared instantaneously like flashes of lightning. Then it came
to pass in the course of time that Gaurí full of pity asked Siva,
"My lord, where on the earth have those excellent Pramathas [15] whom
I cursed, been born?" And the moon-diademed god answered: "My beloved,
Pushpadanta has been born under the name of Vararuchi in that great
city which is called Kausámbí. [16] Moreover Mályaván also has been
born in the splendid city called Supratishthita under the name of
Gunádhya. This, O goddess, is what has befallen them." Having given
her this information with grief caused by recalling to mind the
degradation of the servants that had always been obedient to him,
that lord continued to dwell with his beloved in pleasure-arbours on
the slopes of mount Kailása, which were made of the branches of the
Kalpa tree. [17]


Then Pushpadanta wandering on the earth in the form of a man,
was known by the name of Vararuchi and Kátyáyana. Having attained
perfection in the sciences, and having served Nanda as minister,
being wearied out he went once on a time to visit the shrine of
Durgá. [18] And that goddess, being pleased with his austerities,
ordered him in a dream to repair to the wilds of the Vindhya to
behold Kánabhúti. And as he wandered about there in a waterless
and savage wood, [19] full of tigers and apes, he beheld a lofty
Nyagrodha tree. [20] And near it he saw, surrounded by hundreds of
Pisáchas, that Pisácha Kánabhúti, in stature like a Sála tree. When
Kánabhúti had seen him and respectfully clasped his feet, Kátyáyana
sitting down immediately spake to him. "Thou art an observer of the
good custom; how hast thou come into this state?" Having heard this
Kánabhúti said to Kátyáyana, who had shewn affection towards him, "I
know not of myself, but listen to what I heard from Siva at Ujjayiní
in the place where corpses are burnt; I proceed to tell it thee." The
adorable god was asked by Durgá--"Whence, my lord, comes thy delight
in skulls and burning-places?" He thereupon gave this answer.

"Long ago when all things had been destroyed at the end of a Kalpa,
the universe became water: I then cleft my thigh and let fall a drop
of blood; that drop falling into the water turned into an egg, from
that sprang the Supreme Soul, [21] the Disposer; from him proceeded
Nature, [22] created by me for the purpose of further creation, and
they created the other lords of created beings, [23] and those in turn
the created beings, for which reason, my beloved, the Supreme Soul is
called in the world the grandfather. Having thus created the world,
animate and inanimate, that Spirit became arrogant: [24] thereupon I
cut off his head: then through regret for what I had done, I undertook
a difficult vow. So thus it comes to pass that I carry skulls in my
hand, and love the places where corpses are burned. Moreover this world
resembling a skull, rests in my hand; for the two skull-shaped halves
of the egg before mentioned are called heaven and earth." When Siva
had thus spoken, I, being full of curiosity, determined to listen;
and Párvatí again said to her husband, "After how long a time will
that Pushpadanta return to us?" Hearing that, Mahesvara spoke to the
goddess, pointing me out to her; "That Pisácha whom thou beholdest
there, was once a Yaksha, a servant of Kuvera, the god of wealth,
and he had for a friend a Rákshasa named Sthúlasiras; and the lord of
wealth perceiving that he associated with that evil one, banished him
to the wilds of the Vindhya mountains. But his brother Dírghajangha
fell at the feet of the god, and humbly asked when the curse would
end. Then the god of wealth said--"After thy brother has heard the
great tale from Pushpadanta, who has been born into this world in
consequence of a curse, and after he has in turn told it to Mályaván,
who owing to a curse has become a human being, he together with those
two Ganas shall be released from the effects of the curse." Such were
the terms on which the god of wealth then ordained that Mályaván
should obtain remission from his curse here below, and thou didst
fix the same in the case of Pushpadanta; recall it to mind, my
beloved." When I heard that speech of Siva, I came here overjoyed,
knowing that the calamity of my curse would be terminated by the
arrival of Pushpadanta. When Kánabhúti ceased after telling this story,
that moment Vararuchi remembered his origin, and exclaimed like one
aroused from sleep, "I am that very Pushpadanta, hear that tale from
me." Thereupon Kátyáyana related to him the seven great tales in seven
hundred thousand verses, and then Kánabhúti said to him--"My lord,
thou art an incarnation of Siva, who else knows this story? Through thy
favour that curse has almost left my body. Therefore tell me thy own
history from thy birth, thou mighty one, sanctify me yet further, if
the narrative may be revealed to such a one as I am." Then Vararuchi,
to gratify Kánabhúti, who remained prostrate before him, told all
his history from his birth at full length, in the following words:

Story of Vararuchi, his teacher Varsha, and his fellow-pupils Vyádi
and Indradatta.

In the city of Kausámbí there lived a Bráhman called Somadatta, who
also had the title of Agnisikha, and his wife was called Vasudattá. She
was the daughter of a hermit, and was born into the world in this
position in consequence of a curse; and I was born by her to this
excellent Bráhman, also in consequence of a curse. Now while I was
still quite a child my father died, but my mother continued to support
me, as I grew up, by severe drudgery; then one day two Bráhmans came
to our house to stop a night, exceedingly dusty with a long journey;
and while they were staying in our house there arose the noise of
a tabor, thereupon my mother said to me, sobbing, as she called to
mind her husband--"there, my son, is your father's friend Bhavananda,
giving a dramatic entertainment." I answered, "I will go and see it,
and will exhibit the whole of it to you, with a recitation of all
the speeches." On hearing that speech of mine, those Bráhmans were
astonished, but my mother said to them--"Come, my children, there is
no doubt about the truth of what he says; this boy will remember by
heart everything that he has heard once." [25] Then they, in order
to test me, recited to me a Prátisákhya [26]; immediately I repeated
the whole in their presence, then I went with the two Bráhmans and
saw that play, and when I came home, I went through the whole of it
in front of my mother: then one of the Bráhmans, named Vyádi, having
ascertained that I was able to recollect a thing on hearing it once,
told with submissive reverence this tale to my mother.

Mother, in the city of Vetasa there were two Bráhman brothers,
Deva-Swámin and Karambaka, who loved one another very dearly;
this Indradatta here is the son of one of them, and I am the son
of the other, and my name is Vyádi. It came to pass that my father
died. Owing to grief for his loss, the father of Indradatta went
on the long journey, [27] and then the hearts of our two mothers
broke with grief; thereupon being orphans though we had wealth,
[28] and, desiring to acquire learning, we went to the southern
region to supplicate the lord Kártikeya. And while we were engaged
in austerities there, the god gave us the following revelation in
a dream. "There is a city called Pátaliputra, the capital of king
Nanda, and in it there is a Bráhman, named Varsha, from him ye
shall learn all knowledge, therefore go there." Then we went to
that city, and when we made enquiries there, people said to us:
"There is a blockhead of a Bráhman in this town, of the name of
Varsha." Immediately we went on with minds in a state of suspense,
and saw the house of Varsha in a miserable condition, made a very
ant-hill by mice, dilapidated by the cracking of the walls, untidy,
[29] deprived of eaves, looking like the very birth-place of misery.

Then, seeing Varsha plunged in meditation within the house, we
approached his wife, who shewed us all proper hospitality; her body
was emaciated and begrimed, her dress tattered and dirty; she looked
like the incarnation of poverty, attracted thither by admiration
for the Bráhman's virtues. Bending humbly before her, we then told
her our circumstances, and the report of her husband's imbecility,
which we heard in the city. She exclaimed--"My children, I am not
ashamed to tell you the truth; listen! I will relate the whole story,"
and then she, chaste lady, proceeded to tell us the tale which follows:

There lived in this city an excellent Bráhman, named Sankara Svámin,
and he had two sons, my husband Varsha, and Upavarsha; my husband
was stupid and poor, and his younger brother was just the opposite:
and Upavarsha appointed his own wife to manage his elder brother's
house. [30] Then in the course of time, the rainy season came on,
and at this time the women are in the habit of making a cake of
flour mixed with molasses, of an unbecoming and disgusting shape,
[31] and giving it to any Bráhman who is thought to be a blockhead,
and if they act thus, this cake is said to remove their discomfort
caused by bathing in the cold season, and their exhaustion [32] caused
by bathing in the hot weather; but when it is given, Bráhmans refuse
to receive it, on the ground that the custom is a disgusting one. This
cake was presented by my sister-in-law to my husband, together with
a sacrificial fee; he received it, and brought it home with him, and
got a severe scolding from me; then he began to be inwardly consumed
with grief at his own stupidity, and went to worship the sole of the
foot of the god Kártikeya: the god, pleased with his austerities,
bestowed on him the knowledge of all the sciences; and gave him
this order--"When thou findest a Bráhman who can recollect what
he has heard only once, then thou mayest reveal these"--thereupon
my husband returned home delighted, and when he had reached home,
told the whole story to me. From that time forth, he has remained
continually muttering prayers and meditating: so find you some one who
can remember anything after hearing it once, and bring him here: if you
do that, you will both of you undoubtedly obtain all that you desire.

Having heard this from the wife of Varsha, and having immediately given
her a hundred gold pieces to relieve her poverty, we went out of that
city; then we wandered through the earth, and could not find anywhere
a person who could remember what he had only heard once: at last we
arrived tired out at your house to-day, and have found here this boy,
your son, who can recollect anything after once hearing it: therefore
give him us and let us go forth to acquire the commodity knowledge.

Having heard this speech of Vyádi, my mother said with respect,
"All this tallies completely; I repose confidence in your tale:
for long ago at the birth of this my only son, a distinct spiritual
[33] voice was heard from heaven. "A boy has been born who shall be
able to remember what he has heard once; he shall acquire knowledge
from Varsha, and shall make the science of grammar famous in the
world, and he shall be called Vararuchi by name, because whatever
is excellent, [34] shall please him." Having uttered this, the
voice ceased. Consequently, ever since this boy has grown big, I
have been thinking, day and night, where that teacher Varsha can be,
and to-day I have been exceedingly gratified at hearing it from your
mouth. Therefore take him with you: what harm can there be in it, he
is your brother?" When they heard this speech of my mother's, those
two, Vyádi and Indradatta, overflowing with joy, thought that night
but a moment in length. Then Vyádi quickly gave his own wealth to my
mother to provide a feast, and desiring that I should be qualified to
read the Vedas, invested me with the Bráhmanical thread. Then Vyádi
and Indradatta took me, who managed by my own fortitude to control
the excessive grief I felt at parting, while my mother in taking
leave of me could with difficulty suppress her tears, and considering
that the favour of Kártikeya towards them had now put forth blossom,
set out rapidly from that city; then in course of time we arrived at
the house of the teacher Varsha: he too considered that I was the
favour of Kártikeya arrived in bodily form. The next day he placed
us in front of him, and sitting down in a consecrated spot, he began
to recite the syllable Om with heavenly voice. Immediately the Vedas
with the six supplementary sciences rushed into his mind, and then he
began to teach them to us; then I retained what the teacher told us
after hearing it once, Vyádi after hearing it twice, and Indradatta
after hearing it three times: then the Bráhmans of the city hearing
of a sudden that divine sound, came at once from all quarters with
wonder stirring in their breasts to see what this new thing might be;
and with their reverend mouths loud in his praises honoured Varsha with
low bows. Then beholding that wonderful miracle, not only Upavarsha,
but all the citizens of Pátaliputra [35] kept high festival. Moreover
the king Nanda of exalted fortune, seeing the power of the boon of
the son of Siva, was delighted, and immediately filled the house of
Varsha with wealth, shewing him every mark of respect. [36]


Having thus spoken while Kánabhúti was listening with intent mind,
Vararuchi went on to tell his tale in the wood.

It came to pass in the course of time, that one day, when the reading
of the Vedas was finished, the teacher Varsha, who had performed his
daily ceremonies, was asked by us, "How comes it that such a city as
this has become the home of Sarasvatí and Lakshmí, [37] tell us that,
O teacher." Hearing this, he bade us listen, for that he was about
to tell the history of the city.

Story of the founding of the city of Pátaliputra.

There is a sanctifying place of pilgrimage, named Kanakhala, at the
point where the Ganges issues from the hills, [38] where the sacred
stream was brought down from the table-land of mount Usínara, by
Kánchanapáta the elephant of the gods, having cleft it asunder. [39]
In that place lived a certain Bráhman from the Deccan, performing
austerities in the company of his wife, and to him were born there
three sons. In the course of time he and his wife went to heaven,
and those sons of his went to a place named Rájagriha, for the sake
of acquiring learning. And having studied the sciences there, the
three, grieved at their unprotected condition, went to the Deccan in
order to visit the shrine of the god Kártikeya. Then they reached a
city named Chinchiní on the shore of the sea, and dwelt in the house
of a Bráhman named Bhojika, and he gave them his three daughters in
marriage, and bestowed on them all his wealth, and having no other
children, went to the Ganges to perform austerities. And while they
were living there in the house of their father-in-law, a terrible
famine arose produced by drought, thereupon the three Bráhmans fled,
abandoning their virtuous wives, (since no care for their families
touches the hearts of cruel men,) then the middle one of the three
sisters was found to be pregnant; and those ladies repaired to the
house of Yajnadatta a friend of their father's: there they remained
in a miserable condition, thinking each on her own husband, (for even
in calamity women of good family do not forget the duties of virtuous
wives). Now in course of time the middle one of the three sisters
gave birth to a son, and they all three vied with one another in love
towards him. So it happened once upon a time that, as Siva was roaming
through the air, the mother of Skanda [40] who was reposing on Siva's
breast, moved with compassion at seeing their love for their child,
said to her husband, "My lord, observe, these three women feel great
affection for this boy, and place hope in him, trusting that he may
some day support them; therefore bring it about that he may be able
to maintain them, even in his infancy." Having been thus entreated by
his beloved, Siva, the giver of boons, thus answered her: I adopt him
as my protégé, for in a previous birth he and his wife propitiated
me, therefore he has been born on the earth to reap the fruit of his
former austerities; and his former wife has been born again as Pátalí
the daughter of the king Mahendravarman, and she shall be his wife in
this birth also. Having said this, that mighty god told those three
virtuous women in a dream,--"This young son of yours shall be called
Putraka; and every day when he awakes from sleep, a hundred thousand
gold pieces shall be found under his pillow, [41] and at last he shall
become a king." Accordingly, when he woke up from sleep, those virtuous
daughters of Yajnadatta found the gold and rejoiced that their vows and
prayers had brought forth fruit. Then by means of that gold Putraka
having in a short time accumulated great treasure, became a king,
for good fortune is the result of austerities. [42] Once upon a time
Yajnadatta said in private to Putraka,--"King, your father and uncles
have gone away into the wide world on account of a famine, therefore
give continually to Bráhmans, in order that they may hear of it and
return: and now listen, I will tell you the story of Brahmadatta."

Story of king Brahmadatta. [43]

"There lived formerly in Benares a king named Brahmadatta. He saw a
pair of swans flying in the air at night. They shone with the lustre
of gleaming gold, and were begirt with hundreds of white swans,
and so looked like a sudden flash of lightning, surrounded by white
clouds. And his desire to behold them again kept increasing so mightily
that he took no pleasure in the delights of royalty. And then having
taken counsel with his ministers he caused a fair tank to be made
according to a design of his own, and gave to all living creatures
security from injury. In a short time he perceived that those two
swans had settled in that lake, and when they had become tame he
asked them the reason of their golden plumage. And then those swans
addressed the king with an articulate voice. 'In a former birth,
O king, we were born as crows; and when we were fighting for the
remains of the daily offering [44] in a holy empty temple of Siva, we
fell down and died within a sacred vessel belonging to that sanctuary,
and consequently we have been born as golden swans with a remembrance
of our former birth';--having heard this the king gazed on them to
his heart's content, and derived great pleasure from watching them.

"Therefore you will gain back your father and uncles by an unparalleled
gift." When Yajnadatta had given him this advice, Putraka did as he
recommended; when they heard the tidings of the distribution those
Bráhmans arrived: and when they were recognized they had great wealth
bestowed on them, and were reunited to their wives. Strange to say,
even after they have gone through calamities, wicked men having their
minds blinded by want of discernment, are unable to put off their
evil nature. After a time they hankered after royal power, and being
desirous of murdering Putraka they enticed him under pretext of a
pilgrimage to the temple of Durgá: and having stationed assassins in
the inner sanctuary of the temple, they said to him, "First go and
visit the goddess alone, step inside." Thereupon he entered boldly,
but when he saw those assassins preparing to slay him, he asked them
why they wished to kill him. They replied, "We were hired for gold to
do it by your father and uncles." Then the discreet Putraka said to
the assassins, whose senses were bewildered by the goddess, "I will
give you this priceless jewelled ornament of mine. Spare me, I will
not reveal your secret; I will go to a distant land." The assassins
said, "So be it," and taking the ornament they departed, and falsely
informed the father and uncles of Putraka that he was slain. Then those
Bráhmans returned and endeavoured to get possession of the throne,
but they were put to death by the ministers as traitors. How can the
ungrateful prosper?

In the meanwhile that king Putraka, faithful to his promise, entered
the impassable wilds of the Vindhya, disgusted with his relations:
as he wandered about he saw two heroes engaged heart and soul in
a wrestling-match, and he asked them who they were. They replied,
"We are the two sons of the Asura Maya, and his wealth belongs to
us, this vessel, and this stick, and these shoes; it is for these
that we are fighting, and whichever of us proves the mightier is to
take them." When he heard this speech of theirs, Putraka said with
a smile--"That is a fine inheritance for a man." Then they said--"By
putting on these shoes one gains the power of flying through the air;
whatever is written with this staff turns out true; and whatever food
a man wishes to have in the vessel is found there immediately." When
he heard this, Putraka said--"What is the use of fighting? Make this
agreement, that whoever proves the best man in running shall possess
this wealth." [45] Those simpletons said--"Agreed"--and set off to run,
while the prince put on the shoes and flew up into the air, taking with
him the staff and the vessel; then he went a great distance in a short
time and saw beneath him a beautiful city named Ákarshiká and descended
into it from the sky. He reflected with himself; "hetæræ are prone
to deceive, Bráhmans are like my father and uncles, and merchants are
greedy of wealth; in whose house shall I dwell?" Just at that moment he
reached a lonely dilapidated house, and saw a single old woman in it;
so he gratified that old woman with a present, and lived unobserved in
that broken down old house, waited upon respectfully by the old woman.

Once upon a time the old woman in an affectionate mood said to
Putraka--"I am grieved, my son, that you have not a wife meet
for you. But here there is a maiden named Pátalí, the daughter of
the king, and she is preserved like a jewel in the upper story of a
seraglio." While he was listening to this speech of hers with open ear,
the god of love found an unguarded point, and entered by that very path
into his heart. He made up his mind that he must see that damsel that
very day, and in the night flew up through the air to where she was,
by the help of his magic shoes. He then entered by a window, which
was as high above the ground as the peak of a mountain, and beheld
that Pátalí, asleep in a secret place in the seraglio, continually
bathed in the moonlight that seemed to cling to her limbs: as it
were the might of love in fleshly form reposing after the conquest of
this world. While he was thinking how he should awake her, suddenly
outside a watchman began to chant: "Young men obtain the fruit of
their birth, when they awake the sleeping fair one, embracing her as
she sweetly scolds, with her eyes languidly opening." On hearing this
encouraging prelude, he embraced that fair one with limbs trembling
with excitement, and then she awoke. When she beheld that prince,
there was a contest between shame and love in her eye, which was
alternately fixed on his face and averted. When they had conversed
together, and gone through the ceremony of the Gándharva marriage,
that couple found their love continually increasing, as the night
waned away. Then Putraka took leave of his sorrowing wife, and with
his mind dwelling only on her went in the last watch of the night to
the old woman's house. So every night the prince kept going backwards
and forwards, and at last the intrigue was discovered by the guards
of the seraglio, accordingly they revealed the matter to the lady's
father, and he appointed a woman to watch secretly in the seraglio
at night. She, finding the prince asleep, made a mark with red lac
upon his garment to facilitate his recognition. In the morning she
informed the king of what she had done, and he sent out spies in all
directions, and Putraka was discovered by the mark and dragged out from
the dilapidated house into the presence of the king. Seeing that the
king was enraged, he flew up into the air with the help of the shoes,
and entered the palace of Pátalí. He said to her,--"We are discovered,
therefore rise up, let us escape with the help of the shoes, and so
taking Pátalí in his arms he flew away from that place through the
air. [46] Then descending from heaven near the bank of the Ganges,
he refreshed his weary beloved with cakes provided by means of the
magic vessel. When Pátalí saw the power of Putraka she made a request
to him, in accordance with which he sketched out with the staff a
city furnished with a force of all four arms. [47] In that city he
established himself as king, and his great power having attained
full development, he subdued that father-in-law of his, and became
ruler of the sea-engirdled earth. This is that same divine city,
produced by magic, together with its citizens; hence it bears the
name of Pátaliputra, and is the home of wealth and learning.

When we heard from the mouth of Varsha the above strange and
extraordinarily marvellous story, our minds, O Kánabhúti, were for
a long time delighted with thrilling wonder.


Having related this episode to Kánabhúti in the Vindhya forest,
Vararuchi again resumed the main thread of his narrative.

While thus dwelling there with Vyádi and Indradatta, I gradually
attained perfection in all sciences, and emerged from the condition of
childhood. Once on a time when we went out to witness the festival of
Indra, we saw a maiden looking like some weapon of Cupid, not of the
nature of an arrow. Then, Indradatta, on my asking him who that lady
might be, replied,--"She is the daughter of Upavarsha, and her name
is Upakosá," and she found out by means of her handmaids who I was,
and drawing my soul after her with a glance made tender by love, she
with difficulty managed to return to her own house. She had a face
like a full moon, and eyes like a blue lotus, she had arms graceful
like the stalk of a lotus, and a lovely full [48] bosom; she had a neck
marked with three lines like a shell, [49] and magnificent coral lips;
in short she was a second Lakshmí, so to speak, the store-house of the
beauty of king Cupid. Then my heart was cleft by the stroke of love's
arrow, and I could not sleep that night through my desire to kiss her
bimba [50] lip. Having at last with difficulty gone off to sleep,
I saw, at the close of night, a celestial woman in white garments;
she said to me--"Upakosá was thy wife in a former birth; as she
appreciates merit, she desires no one but thee, therefore, my son,
thou oughtest not to feel anxious about this matter. I am Sarasvatí
[51] that dwell continually in thy frame, I cannot bear to behold thy
grief." When she had said this, she disappeared. Then I woke up and
somewhat encouraged I went slowly and stood under a young mango tree
near the house of my beloved; then her confidante came and told me of
the ardent attachment of Upakosá to me, the result of sudden passion:
then I with my pain doubled, said to her, "How can I obtain Upakosá,
unless her natural protectors willingly bestow her upon me? For
death is better than dishonour; so if by any means your friend's
heart became known to her parents, perhaps the end might be prosperous.

"Therefore bring this about, my good woman, save the life of me and
of thy friend." When she heard this, she went and told all to her
friend's mother, she immediately told it to her husband Upavarsha,
he to Varsha his brother, and Varsha approved of the match. Then, my
marriage having been determined upon, Vyádi by the order of my tutor
went and brought my mother from Kausámbí; so Upakosá was bestowed
upon me by her father with all due ceremonies, and I lived happily
in Pátaliputra with my mother and my wife.

Now in course of time Varsha got a great number of pupils, and among
them there was one rather stupid pupil of the name of Pánini; he,
being wearied out with service, was sent away by the preceptor's wife,
and being disgusted at it and longing for learning, he went to the
Himálaya to perform austerities: then he obtained from the god, who
wears the moon as a crest, propitiated by his severe austerities, a new
grammar, the source of all learning. Thereupon he came and challenged
me to a disputation, and seven days passed away in the course of our
disputation; on the eighth day he had been fairly conquered by me,
but immediately afterwards a terrible menacing sound was uttered by
Siva in the firmament; owing to that our Aindra grammar was exploded
in the world, [52] and all of us, being conquered by Pánini, became
accounted fools. Accordingly full of despondency I deposited in the
hand of the merchant Hiranyadatta my wealth for the maintenance of
my house, and after informing Upakosá of it, I went fasting to mount
Himálaya to propitiate Siva with austerities.

Story of Upakosá and her four lovers.

Upakosá on her part anxious for my success, remained in her own house,
bathing every day in the Ganges, strictly observing her vow. One day,
when spring had come, she being still beautiful, though thin and
slightly pale, and charming to the eyes of men, like the streak of
the new moon, was seen by the king's domestic chaplain while going
to bathe in the Ganges, and also by the head magistrate, and by the
prince's minister; and immediately they all of them became a target for
the arrows of love. It happened too somehow or other that she took a
long time bathing that day, and as she was returning in the evening,
the prince's minister laid violent hands on her, but she with great
presence of mind said to him, "Dear Sir, I desire this as much as you,
but I am of respectable family, and my husband is away from home. How
can I act thus? Some one might perhaps see us, and then misfortune
would befall you as well as me. Therefore you must come without fail
to my house in the first watch of the night of the spring-festival
when the citizens are all excited." [53] When she had said this,
and pledged herself, he let her go, but, as chance would have it, she
had not gone many steps further, before she was stopped by the king's
domestic chaplain. She made a similar assignation with him also for
the second watch of the same night; and so he too was, though with
difficulty, induced to let her go; but, after she had gone a little
further, up comes a third person, the head magistrate, and detains the
trembling lady. Then she made a similar assignation with him too for
the third watch of the same night, and having by great good fortune
got him to release her, she went home all trembling, and of her own
accord told her handmaids the arrangements she had made, reflecting,
"Death is better for a woman of good family when her husband is away,
than to meet the eyes of people who lust after beauty." Full of these
thoughts and regretting me, the virtuous lady spent that night in
fasting, lamenting her own beauty. Early the next morning she sent
a maid-servant to the merchant Hiranyagupta to ask for some money
in order that she might honour the Bráhmans: then that merchant also
came and said to her in private, "Shew me love, and then I will give
you what your husband deposited." When she heard that, she reflected
that she had no witness to prove the deposit of her husband's wealth,
and perceived that the merchant was a villain, and so tortured with
sorrow and grief, she made a fourth and last assignation with him for
the last watch of the same night; so he went away. In the meanwhile
she had prepared by her handmaids in a large vat lamp-black mixed
with oil and scented with musk and other perfumes, and she made ready
four pieces of rag anointed with it, and she caused to be made a large
trunk with a fastening outside. So on that day of the spring-festival
the prince's minister came in the first watch of the night in gorgeous
array. When he had entered without being observed Upakosá said to him,
"I will not receive you until you have bathed, so go in and bathe." The
simpleton agreed to that, and was taken by the handmaids into a secret
dark inner apartment. There they took off his under-garments and
his jewels, and gave him by way of an under-garment a single piece
of rag, and they smeared the rascal from head to foot with a thick
coating of that lamp-black and oil, pretending it was an unguent,
without his detecting it. While they continued rubbing it into every
limb, the second watch of the night came and the chaplain arrived,
the handmaids thereupon said to the minister,--"here is the king's
chaplain come, a great friend of Vararuchi's, so creep into this
box"--and they bundled him into the trunk, just as he was, all naked,
with the utmost precipitation: and then they fastened it outside with
a bolt. The priest too was brought inside into the dark room on the
pretence of a bath, and was in the same way stripped of his garments
and ornaments, and made a fool of by the handmaids by being rubbed with
lamp-black and oil, with nothing but the piece of rag on him, until in
the third watch the chief magistrate arrived. The handmaids immediately
terrified the priest with the news of his arrival, and pushed him into
the trunk like his predecessor. After they had bolted him in, they
brought in the magistrate on the pretext of giving him a bath, and
so he, like his fellows, with the piece of rag for his only garment,
was bamboozled by being continually anointed with lamp-black, until in
the last watch of the night the merchant arrived. The handmaids made
use of his arrival to alarm the magistrate and bundled him also into
the trunk, and fastened it on the outside. So those three being shut
up inside the box, as if they were bent on accustoming themselves to
live in the hell of blind darkness, did not dare to speak on account
of fear, though they touched one another. Then Upakosá brought a
lamp into the room, and making the merchant enter it, said to him,
"give me that money which my husband deposited with you." When he
heard that, the rascal said, observing that the room was empty,
"I told you that I would give you the money your husband deposited
with me." Upakosá calling the attention of the people in the trunk,
said--"Hear, O ye gods this speech of Hiranyagupta." When she had
said this, she blew out the light, and the merchant, like the others,
on the pretext of a bath was anointed by the handmaids for a long time
with lamp-black. Then they told him to go, for the darkness was over,
and at the close of the night they took him by the neck and pushed
him out of the door sorely against his will. Then he made the best of
his way home, with only the piece of rag to cover his nakedness, and
smeared with the black dye, with the dogs biting him at every step,
thoroughly ashamed of himself, and at last reached his own house; and
when he got there he did not dare to look his slaves in the face while
they were washing off that black dye. The path of vice is indeed a
painful one. In the early morning Upakosá accompanied by her handmaids
went, without informing her parents, to the palace of king Nanda, and
there she herself stated to the king that the merchant Hiranyagupta
was endeavouring to deprive her of money deposited with him by her
husband. The king in order to enquire into the matter immediately
had the merchant summoned, who said--"I have nothing in my keeping
belonging to this lady." Upakosá then said, "I have witnesses, my lord;
before he went, my husband put the household gods into a box, and this
merchant with his own lips admitted the deposit in their presence. Let
the box be brought here and ask the gods yourself." Having heard this
the king in astonishment ordered the box to be brought.

Thereupon in a moment that trunk was carried in by many men. Then
Upakosá said--"Relate truly, O gods, what that merchant said and then
go to your own houses; if you do not, I will burn you or open the
box in court." Hearing that, the men in the box, beside themselves
with fear, said--"It is true, the merchant admitted the deposit in
our presence." Then the merchant being utterly confounded confessed
all his guilt; but the king, being unable to restrain his curiosity,
after asking permission of Upakosá, opened the chest there in court
by breaking the fastening, and those three men were dragged out,
looking like three lumps of solid darkness, and were with difficulty
recognised by the king and his ministers. The whole assembly then burst
out laughing, and the king in his curiosity asked Upakosá, what was the
meaning of all this; so the virtuous lady told the whole story. All
present in court expressed their approbation of Upakosá's conduct,
observing: "The virtuous behaviour of women of good family who are
protected by their own excellent disposition [54] only, is incredible."

Then all those coveters of their neighbour's wife were deprived
of all their living, and banished from the country. Who prospers
by immorality? Upakosá was dismissed by the king, who shewed his
great regard for her by a present of much wealth, and said to her:
"Henceforth thou art my sister,"--and so she returned home. Varsha
and Upavarsha when they heard it, congratulated that chaste lady,
and there was a smile of admiration on the face of every single person
in that city. [55]

In the meanwhile, by performing a very severe penance on the snowy
mountain, I propitiated the god, the husband of Párvatí, the great
giver of all good things; he revealed to me that same treatise of
Pánini; and in accordance with his wish I completed it: then I returned
home without feeling the fatigue of the journey, full of the nectar
of the favour of that god who wears on his crest a digit of the moon;
then I worshipped the feet of my mother and of my spiritual teachers,
and heard from them the wonderful achievement of Upakosá, thereupon
joy and astonishment swelled to the upmost height in my breast,
together with natural affection and great respect for my wife.

Now Varsha expressed a desire to hear from my lips the new grammar,
and thereupon the god Kártikeya himself revealed it to him. And it
came to pass that Vyádi and Indradatta asked their preceptor Varsha
what fee they should give him? He replied, "Give me ten millions of
gold pieces." So they, consenting to the preceptor's demand, said to
me; "Come with us, friend, to ask the king Nanda to give us the sum
required for our teacher's fee; we cannot obtain so much gold from
any other quarter: for he possesses nine hundred and ninety millions,
and long ago he declared your wife Upakosá, his sister in the faith,
therefore you are his brother-in-law; we shall obtain something for
the sake of your virtues." Having formed this resolution, we three
fellow-students [56] went to the camp of king Nanda in Ayodhyá,
and the very moment we arrived, the king died; accordingly an
outburst of lamentation arose in the kingdom, and we were reduced
to despair. Immediately Indradatta, who was an adept in magic, said,
"I will enter the body of this dead king [57]; let Vararuchi prefer
the petition to me, and I will give him the gold, and let Vyádi guard
my body until I return." Saying this, Indradatta entered into the body
of king Nanda, and when the king came to life again, there was great
rejoicing in the kingdom. While Vyádi remained in an empty temple to
guard the body of Indradatta, I went to the king's palace. I entered,
and after making the usual salutation, I asked the supposed Nanda for
ten million gold pieces as my instructor's fee. Then he ordered a man
named Sakatála, the minister of the real Nanda, to give me ten million
of gold pieces. That minister, when he saw that the dead king had
come to life, and that the petitioner immediately got what he asked,
guessed the real state of the case. What is there that the wise cannot
understand? That minister said--"It shall be given, your Highness," and
reflected with himself; "Nanda's son is but a child, and our realm is
menaced by many enemies, so I will do my best for the present to keep
his body on the throne even in its present state." Having resolved
on this, he immediately took steps to have all dead bodies burnt,
employing spies to discover them, and among them was found the body
of Indradatta, which was burned after Vyádi had been hustled out of
the temple. In the meanwhile the king was pressing for the payment
of the money, but Sakatála, who was still in doubt, said to him,
"All the servants have got their heads turned by the public rejoicing,
let the Bráhman wait a moment until I can give it." Then Vyádi came and
complained aloud in the presence of the supposed Nanda, "Help, help,
a Bráhman engaged in magic, whose life had not yet come to an end in a
natural way, has been burnt by force on the pretext that his body was
untenanted, and this in the very moment of your good fortune." [58]
On hearing this the supposed Nanda was in an indescribable state of
distraction from grief: but as soon as Indradatta was imprisoned in
the body of Nanda, beyond the possibility of escape, by the burning of
his body, the discreet Sakatála went out and gave me that ten millions.

Then the supposed Nanda, [59] full of grief, said in secret to
Vyádi,--"Though a Bráhman by birth I have become a Súdra, what is the
use of my royal fortune to me though it be firmly established?" When he
heard that, Vyádi comforted him, [60] and gave him seasonable advice,
"You have been discovered by Sakatála, so you must henceforth be on
your guard against him, for he is a great minister, and in a short
time he will, when it suits his purpose, destroy you, and will
make Chandragupta, the son of the previous Nanda, king. Therefore
immediately appoint Vararuchi your minister, in order that your rule
may be firmly established by the help of his intellect, which is of
god-like acuteness." When he had said this, Vyádi departed to give
that fee to his preceptor, and immediately Yogananda sent for me and
made me his minister. Then I said to the king, "Though your caste as a
Bráhman has been taken from you, I do not consider your throne secure
as long as Sakatála remains in office, therefore destroy him by some
stratagem." When I had given him this advice, Yogananda threw Sakatála
into a dark dungeon, and his hundred sons with him, [61] proclaiming
as his crime that he had burnt a Bráhman alive. One porringer of
barley-meal and one of water was placed inside the dungeon every day
for Sakatála and his sons, and thereupon he said to them;--"My sons,
even one man alone would with difficulty subsist on this barley-meal,
much less can a number of people do so. Therefore let that one of us,
who is able to take vengeance on Yogananda, consume every day the
barley-meal and the water." His sons answered him, "You alone are
able to punish him, therefore do you consume them." For vengeance is
dearer to the resolute than life itself. So Sakatála alone subsisted
on that meal and water every day. Alas! those whose souls are set
on victory are cruel. Sakatála in the dark dungeon, beholding the
death agonies of his starving sons, thought to himself, "A man who
desires his own welfare should not act in an arbitrary manner towards
the powerful, without fathoming their character and acquiring their
confidence." Accordingly his hundred sons perished before his eyes,
and he alone remained alive surrounded by their skeletons. Then
Yogananda took firm root in his kingdom. And Vyádi approached him after
giving the present to his teacher, and after coming near to him said,
"May thy rule, my friend, last long! I take my leave of thee, I go to
perform austerities somewhere." Hearing that, Yogananda, with his voice
choked with tears, said to him, "Stop thou, and enjoy pleasures in my
kingdom, do not go and desert me." Vyádi answered--"King! Life comes to
an end in a moment. What wise man, I pray you, drowns himself in these
hollow and fleeting enjoyments? Prosperity, a desert mirage, does not
turn the head of the wise man." Saying this he went away that moment
resolved to mortify his flesh with austerities. Then that Yogananda
went to his metropolis Pátaliputra, for the purpose of enjoyment,
accompanied by me, and surrounded with his whole army. So I, having
attained prosperity, lived for a long time in that state, waited upon
by Upakosá, and bearing the burden of the office of prime-minister
to that king, accompanied by my mother and my preceptors. There the
Ganges, propitiated by my austerities, gave me every day much wealth,
and Sarasvatí present in bodily form told me continually what measures
to adopt.


Having said this, Vararuchi continued his tale as follows:--

In course of time Yogananda became enslaved by his passions, and like
a mad elephant he disregarded every restraint. Whom will not a sudden
access of prosperity intoxicate? Then I reflected with myself, "The
king has burst all bonds, and my own religious duties are neglected
being interfered with by my care for his affairs, therefore it is
better for me to draw out that Sakatála from his dungeon and make
him my colleague in the ministry; even if he tries to oppose me,
what harm can he do as long as I am in office?" Having resolved on
this I asked permission of the king, and drew Sakatála out of the
deep dungeon. Bráhmans are always soft-hearted. Now the discreet
Sakatála made up his mind, that it would be difficult to overthrow
Yogananda as long as I was in office, and that he had accordingly
better imitate the cane which bends with the current, and watch a
favourable moment for vengeance, so at my request he resumed the
office of minister and managed the king's affairs.

Once on a time Yogananda went outside the city, and beheld in the
middle of the Ganges a hand, the five fingers of which were closely
pressed together. That moment he summoned me and said, "What does
this mean?" But I displayed two of my fingers in the direction of
the hand. Thereupon that hand disappeared, and the king, exceedingly
astonished, again asked me what this meant, and I answered him,
"That hand meant to say, by shewing its five fingers, 'What cannot
five men united effect in this world?' Then I, king, shewed it these
two fingers, wishing to indicate that nothing is impossible when even
two men are of one mind." When I uttered this solution of the riddle
the king was delighted, and Sakatála was despondent seeing that my
intellect would be difficult to circumvent.

One day Yogananda saw his queen leaning out of the window and asking
questions of a Bráhman guest that was looking up. That trivial
circumstance threw the king into a passion, and he gave orders that
the Bráhman should be put to death; for jealousy interferes with
discernment. Then as that Bráhman was being led off to the place
of execution in order that he might be put to death, a fish in the
market laughed aloud, though it was dead. [62] The king hearing it
immediately prohibited for the present the execution of that Bráhman,
and asked me the reason why the fish laughed. I replied that I would
tell him after I had thought over the matter; and after I had gone out
Sarasvatí came to me secretly on my thinking of her and gave me this
advice; "Take up a position on the top of this palm tree at night so as
not to be observed, and thou shalt without doubt hear the reason why
the fish laughed." Hearing this I went at night to that very place,
and ensconced myself on the top of the palm tree, and saw a terrible
female Rákshasa coming past with her children; when they asked her
for food, she said, "Wait, and I will give you to-morrow morning the
flesh of a Bráhman, he was not killed to-day." [63] They said to their
mother, "Why was he not killed to-day?" Then she replied, "He was not
executed because a fish in the town, though dead, laughed when it saw
him." The sons said, "Why did the fish laugh?" She continued, "The
fish of course said to himself--all the king's wives are dissolute,
for in every part of this harem there are men dressed up as women,
and nevertheless while these escape, an innocent Bráhman is to be put
to death--and this tickled the fish so that he laughed. For demons
assume these disguises, insinuating themselves into everything, and
laughing at the exceeding want of discernment of kings." After I had
heard that speech of the female Rákshasa I went away from thence, and
in the morning I informed the king why the fish laughed. The king after
detecting in the harem those men clothed as women, looked upon me with
great respect, and released that Bráhman from the sentence of death.

I was disgusted by seeing this and other lawless proceedings on the
part of the king, and, while I was in this frame of mind, there
came to court a new painter. He painted on a sheet of canvas the
principal queen and Yogananda, and that picture of his looked as if
it were alive, it only lacked speech and motion. And the king being
delighted loaded that painter with wealth, and had the painting set
up on a wall in his private apartments. Now one day when I entered
into the king's private apartments, it occurred to me that the
painting of the queen did not represent all her auspicious marks;
from the arrangement of the other marks I conjectured by means of
my acuteness that there ought to be a spot where the girdle comes,
and I painted one there. Then I departed after thus giving the queen
all her lucky marks. Then Yogananda entered and saw that spot, and
asked his chamberlains who had painted it. And they indicated me to
him as the person who had painted it. Yogananda thus reflected while
burning with anger; "No one except myself knows of that spot, which
is in a part of the queen's body usually concealed, then how can this
Vararuchi have come thus to know it? [64] No doubt he has secretly
corrupted my harem, and this is how he came to see there those men
disguised as women." Foolish men often find such coincidences. Then of
his own motion he summoned Sakatála, and gave him the following order:
"You must put Vararuchi to death for seducing the queen." Sakatála
said, "Your Majesty's orders shall be executed," and went out of the
palace, reflecting, "I should not have power to put Vararuchi to death,
for he possesses godlike force of intellect; and he delivered me from
calamity; moreover he is a Bráhman, therefore I had better hide him and
win him over to my side." Having formed this resolution, he came and
told me of the king's causeless wrath which had ended in his ordering
my execution, and thus concluded, "I will have some one else put to
death in order that the news may get abroad, and do you remain hidden
in my house to protect me from this passionate king." In accordance
with this proposal of his, I remained concealed in his house, and he
had some one else put to death at night in order that the report of
my death might be spread. [65] When he had in this way displayed his
statecraft, I said to him out of affection, "You have shewn yourself an
unrivalled minister in that you did not attempt to put me to death;
for I cannot be slain, since I have a Rákshasa to friend, and he
will come, on being only thought of, and at my request will devour
the whole world. As for this king he is a friend of mine, being a
Bráhman named Indradatta, and he ought not to be slain." Hearing
this, that minister said--"Shew me the Rákshasa." Then I shewed
him that Rákshasa who came with a thought; and on beholding him,
Sakatála was astonished and terrified. And when the Rákshasa had
disappeared, Sakatála again asked me--"How did the Rákshasa become
your friend?" Then I said--"Long ago the heads of the police as they
went through the city night after night on inspecting duty, perished
one by one. On hearing that, Yogananda made me head of the police,
and as I was on my rounds at night, I saw a Rákshasa roaming about,
and he said to me, "Tell me, who is considered the best-looking woman
in this city?" When I heard that, I burst out laughing and said--"You
fool, any woman is good-looking to the man who admires her." Hearing
my answer, he said--"You are the only man that has beaten me." And
now that I had escaped death by solving his riddle, [66] he again
said to me, "I am pleased with you, henceforth you are my friend,
and I will appear to you when you call me to mind." Thus he spoke and
disappeared, and I returned by the way that I came. Thus the Rákshasa
has become my friend, and my ally in trouble. When I had said this,
Sakatála made a second request to me, and I shewed him the goddess
of the Ganges in human form who came when I thought of her. And that
goddess disappeared when she had been gratified by me with hymns of
praise. But Sakatála became from thenceforth my obedient ally.

Now once on a time that minister said to me when my state of
concealment weighed upon my spirits; "why do you, although you know
all things, abandon yourself to despondency? Do you not know that
the minds of kings are most undiscerning, and in a short time you
will be cleared from all imputations; [67] in proof of which listen
to the following tale:--

The story of Sivavarman.

There reigned here long ago a king named Ádityavarman, and he had a
very wise minister, named Sivavarman. Now it came to pass that one
of that king's queens became pregnant, and when he found it out,
the king said to the guards of the harem, "It is now two years since
I entered this place, then how has this queen become pregnant? Tell
me." Then they said, "No man except your minister Sivavarman is
allowed to enter here, but he enters without any restriction." When
he heard that, the king thought,--"Surely he is guilty of treason
against me, and yet if I put him to death publicly, I shall incur
reproach,"--thus reflecting, that king sent that Sivavarman on some
pretext to Bhogavarman a neighbouring chief, [68] who was an ally of
his, and immediately afterwards the king secretly sent off a messenger
to the same chief, bearing a letter by which he was ordered to put
the minister to death. When a week had elapsed after the minister's
departure, that queen tried to escape out of fear, and was taken by
the guards with a man in woman's attire, then Ádityavarman when he
heard of it was filled with remorse, and asked himself why he had
causelessly brought about the death of so excellent a minister. In
the meanwhile Sivavarman reached the Court of Bhogavarman, and that
messenger came bringing the letter; and fate would have it so that
after Bhogavarman had read the letter he told to Sivavarman in secret
the order he had received to put him to death.

The excellent minister Sivavarman in his turn said to that chief,--"put
me to death; if you do not, I will slay myself with my own hand." When
he heard that, Bhogavarman was filled with wonder, and said to him,
"What does all this mean? Tell me Bráhman, if you do not, you will lie
under my curse." Then the minister said to him, "King, in whatever land
I am slain, on that land God will not send rain for twelve years." When
he heard that, Bhogavarman debated with his minister,--"that wicked
king desires the destruction of our land, for could he not have
employed secret assassins to kill his minister? So we must not put this
minister to death, moreover we must prevent him from laying violent
hands on himself." Having thus deliberated and appointed him guards,
Bhogavarman sent Sivavarman out of his country that moment; so that
minister by means of his wisdom returned alive, and his innocence was
established from another quarter, for righteousness cannot be undone.

In the same way your innocence will be made clear, Kátyáyana; remain
for a while in my house; this king too will repent of what he has
done. When Sakatála said this to me, I spent those days concealed in
his house, waiting my opportunity.

Then it came to pass that one day, O Kánabhúti, a son of that
Yogananda named Hiranyagupta went out hunting, and when he had
somehow or other been carried to a great distance by the speed of
his horse, while he was alone in the wood the day came to an end;
and then he ascended a tree to pass the night. Immediately afterwards
a bear, which had been terrified by a lion, ascended the same tree;
he seeing the prince frightened, said to him with a human voice,
"Fear not, thou art my friend," and thus promised him immunity from
harm. Then the prince confiding in the bear's promise went to sleep,
while the bear remained awake. Then the lion below said to the bear,
"Bear, throw me down this man, and I will go away." Then the bear said,
"Villain, I will not cause the death of a friend." When in course of
time the bear went to sleep while the prince was awake, the lion said
again, "Man, throw me down the bear." When he heard that, the prince,
who through fear for his own safety wished to propitiate the lion,
tried to throw down the bear, but wonderful to say, it did not fall,
since Fate caused it to awake. And then that bear said to the prince,
"become insane, thou betrayer of thy friend," [69] laying upon him
a curse destined not to end until a third person guessed the whole
transaction. Accordingly the prince, when he reached his palace in the
morning went out of his mind, and Yogananda seeing it, was immediately
plunged in despondency; and said, "If Vararuchi were alive at this
moment, all this matter would be known; curse on my readiness to have
him put to death!" Sakatála, when he heard this exclamation of the
king's, thought to himself, "Ha! here is an opportunity obtained for
bringing Kátyáyana out of concealment, and he being a proud man will
not remain here, and the king will repose confidence in me." After
reflecting thus, he implored pardon, and said to the king, "O King,
cease from despondency, Vararuchi remains alive." Then Yogananda said,
"Let him be brought quickly." Then I was suddenly brought by Sakatála
into the presence of Yogananda and beheld the prince in that state;
and by the favour of Sarasvatí I was enabled to reveal the whole
occurrence; and I said, "King, he has proved a traitor to his friend";
then I was praised by that prince who was delivered from his curse;
and the king asked me how I had managed to find out what had taken
place. Then I said, "King, the minds of the wise see everything by
inference from signs, and by acuteness of intellect. So I found out
all this in the same way as I found out that mole." When I had said
this, that king was afflicted with shame. Then without accepting his
munificence, considering myself to have gained all I desired by the
clearing of my reputation, I went home: for to the wise character
is wealth. And the moment I arrived, the servants of my house wept
before me, and when I was distressed at it Upavarsha came to me and
said, "Upakosá, when she heard that the king had put you to death,
committed her body to the flames, and then your mother's heart
broke with grief." Hearing that, senseless with the distraction
produced by recently aroused grief, I suddenly fell on the ground
like a tree broken by the wind: and in a moment I tasted the relief
of loud lamentations; whom will not the fire of grief, produced by
the loss of dear relations, scorch? Varsha came and gave me sound
advice in such words as these, "The only thing that is stable in
this ever-changeful world is instability, then why are you distracted
though you know this delusion of the Creator"? By the help of these
and similar exhortations I at length, though with difficulty, regained
my equanimity; then with heart disgusted with the world, I flung aside
all earthly lords, and choosing self-restraint for my only companion,
I went to a grove where asceticism was practised.

Then, as days went by, once on a time a Bráhman from Ayodhyá came to
that ascetic-grove while I was there: I asked him for tidings about
Yogananda's government, and he recognizing me told me in sorrowful
accents the following story:

"Hear what happened to Nanda after you had left him. Sakatála
after waiting for it a long time, found that he had now obtained
an opportunity of injuring him. While thinking how he might by
some device get Yogananda killed, he happened to see a Bráhman
named Chánakya digging up the earth in his path; he said to him,
"Why are you digging up the earth?" The Bráhman, whom he had asked,
said, I am rooting up a plant of darbha grass here, because it has
pricked my foot. [70] When he heard that, the minister thought that
Bráhman who formed such stern resolves out of anger, would be the best
instrument to destroy Nanda with. After asking his name he said to him,
"Bráhman, I assign to you the duty of presiding at a sráddha on the
thirteenth day of the lunar fortnight, in the house of king Nanda;
you shall have one hundred thousand gold pieces by way of fee, and
you shall sit at the board above all others; in the meanwhile come
to my house." Saying this, Sakatála took that Bráhman to his house,
and on the day of the sráddha he showed the Bráhman to the king,
and he approved of him. Then Chánakya went and sat at the head of
the table during the sráddha, but a Bráhman named Subandhu desired
that post of honour for himself. Then Sakatála went and referred the
matter to king Nanda, who answered, "Let Subandhu sit at the head of
the table, no one else deserves the place." Then Sakatála went, and,
humbly bowing through fear, communicated that order of the king's to
Chánakya, adding, "it is not my fault." Then that Chánakya, being,
as it were, inflamed all over with wrath, undoing the lock of hair on
the crown of his head, made this solemn vow, "Surely this Nanda must be
destroyed by me within seven days, and then my anger being appeased I
will bind up my lock." When he had said this, Yogananda was enraged;
so Chánakya escaped unobserved, and Sakatála gave him refuge in his
house. Then being supplied by Sakatála with the necessary instruments,
that Bráhman Chánakya went somewhere and performed a magic rite;
in consequence of this rite Yogananda caught a burning fever, and
died when the seventh day arrived; and Sakatála, having slain Nanda's
son Hiranyagupta, bestowed the royal dignity upon Chandragupta a son
of the previous Nanda. And after he had requested Chánakya, equal in
ability to Brihaspati, [71] to be Chandragupta's prime-minister, and
established him in the office, that minister, considering that all
his objects had been accomplished, as he had wreaked his vengeance
on Yogananda, despondent through sorrow for the death of his sons,
retired to the forest." [72]

After I had heard this, O Kánabhúti, from the mouth of that Bráhman, I
became exceedingly afflicted, seeing that all things are unstable; and
on account of my affliction I came to visit this shrine of Durgá, and
through her favour having beheld you, O my friend, I have remembered
my former birth.

And having obtained divine discernment I have told you the great tale:
now as my curse has spent its strength, I will strive to leave the
body; and do you remain here for the present, until there comes to you
a Bráhman named Gunádhya, who has forsaken the use of three languages,
[73] surrounded with his pupils, for he like myself was cursed by the
goddess in anger, being an excellent Gana Mályaván by name, who for
taking my part has become a mortal. To him you must tell this tale
originally told by Siva, then you shall be delivered from your curse,
and so shall he.

Having said all this to Kánabhúti, that Vararuchi set forth for the
holy hermitage of Badariká in order to put off his body. As he was
going along he beheld on the banks of the Ganges a vegetable-eating
[74] hermit, and while he was looking on, that hermit's hand was
pricked with kusa grass. Then Vararuchi turned his blood, as it
flowed out, into sap [75] through his magic power, out of curiosity,
in order to test his egotism; on beholding that, the hermit exclaimed,
"Ha! I have attained perfection;" and so he became puffed up with
pride. Then Vararuchi laughed a little and said to him, "I turned
your blood into sap in order to test you, because even now, O hermit,
you have not abandoned egotism. Egotism is in truth an obstacle in the
road to knowledge hard to overcome, and without knowledge liberation
cannot be attained even by a hundred vows. But the perishable joys of
Svarga cannot attract the hearts of those who long for liberation,
therefore, O hermit, endeavour to acquire knowledge by forsaking
egotism." Having thus read that hermit a lesson, and having been
praised by him prostrate in adoration, Vararuchi went to the tranquil
site of the hermitage of Badarí. [76] There he, desirous of putting off
his mortal condition, resorted for protection with intense devotion
to that goddess who only can protect, and she manifesting her real
form to him told him the secret of that meditation which arises from
fire, to help him to put off the body. Then Vararuchi having consumed
his body by that form of meditation, reached his own heavenly home;
and henceforth that Kánabhúti remained in the Vindhya forest eager
for his desired meeting with Gunádhya.


Then that Mályaván wandering about in the wood in human form, passing
under the name of Gunádhya, having served the king Sátaváhana, and
having, in accordance with a vow, abandoned in his presence the use
of Sanskrit and two other languages, with sorrowful mind came to pay a
visit to Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya hills; and by her orders he
went and beheld Kánabhúti. Then he remembered his origin and suddenly,
as it were, awoke from sleep; and making use of the Paisácha language,
which was different from the three languages he had sworn to forsake,
he said to Kánabhúti, after telling him his own name; "Quickly tell
me that tale which you heard from Pushpadanta, in order that you
and I together, my friend, may escape from our curse." Hearing that,
Kánabhúti bowed before him, and said to him in joyful mood, "I will
tell you the story, but great curiosity possesses me, my lord, first
tell me all your adventures from your birth, do me this favour." Thus
being entreated by him, Gunádhya proceeded to relate as follows:

In Pratishthána [77] there is a city named Supratishthita; in it there
dwelt once upon a time an excellent Bráhman named Somasarman, and he,
my friend, had two sons Vatsa and Gulmaka, and he had also born to
him a third child, a daughter named Srutárthá. Now in course of time,
that Bráhman and his wife died, and those two sons of his remained
taking care of their sister. And she suddenly became pregnant. Then
Vatsa and Gulma began to suspect one another, because no other man
came in their sister's way: thereupon Srutárthá, who saw what was
in their minds, said to those brothers,--"Do not entertain evil
suspicions, listen, I will tell you the truth; there is a prince of
the name of Kírtisena, brother's son to Vásuki, the king of the Nágas;
[78] he saw me when I was going to bathe, thereupon he was overcome
with love, and after telling me his lineage and his name, made me
his wife by the Gándharva marriage; he belongs to the Bráhman race,
and it is by him that I am pregnant." When they heard this speech of
their sister's, Vatsa and Gulma said, "What confidence can we repose
in all this?" Then she silently called to mind that Nága prince, and
immediately he was thought upon, he came and said to Vatsa and Gulma,
"In truth I have made your sister my wife, she is a glorious heavenly
nymph fallen down to earth in consequence of a curse, and you too have
descended to earth for the same reason, but a son shall without fail
be born to your sister here, and then you and she together shall be
freed from your curse." Having said this he disappeared, and in a few
days from that time, a son was born to Srutárthá; know me my friend as
that son. [79] At that very time a divine voice was heard from heaven,
"This child that is born is an incarnation of virtue, and he shall
be called Gunádhya, [80] and is of the Bráhman caste." Thereupon
my mother and uncles, as their curse had spent its force, died,
and I for my part became inconsolable. Then I flung aside my grief,
and though a child I went in the strength of my self-reliance to
the Deccan to acquire knowledge. Then, having in course of time
learned all sciences, and become famous, I returned to my native
land to exhibit my accomplishments; and when I entered after a long
absence into the city of Supratishthita, surrounded by my disciples,
I saw a wonderfully splendid scene. In one place chanters were
intoning according to prescribed custom the hymns of the Sáma Veda,
in another place Bráhmans were disputing about the interpretation of
the sacred books, in another place gamblers were praising gambling
in these deceitful words, "Whoever knows the art of gambling, has a
treasure in his grasp," and in another place, in the midst of a knot
of merchants, who were talking to one another about their skill in
the art of making money, a certain merchant spoke as follows:

Story of the Mouse-merchant.

It is not very wonderful that a thrifty man should acquire wealth by
wealth; but I long ago achieved prosperity without any wealth to start
with. My father died before I was born, and then my mother was deprived
by wicked relations of all she possessed. Then she fled through fear of
them, watching over the safety of her unborn child, and dwelt in the
house of Kumáradatta a friend of my father's, and there the virtuous
woman gave birth to me, who was destined to be the means of her future
maintenance; and so she reared me up by performing menial drudgery. And
as she was so poor, she persuaded a teacher by way of charity to give
me some instruction in writing and ciphering. Then she said to me,
"You are the son of a merchant, so you must now engage in trade,
and there is a very rich merchant in this country called Visákhila;
he is in the habit of lending capital to poor men of good family,
go and entreat him to give you something to start with." Then I went
to his house, and he at the very moment I entered, said in a rage to
some merchant's son; "you see this dead mouse here upon the floor,
even that is a commodity by which a capable man would acquire wealth,
but I gave you, you good-for-nothing fellow, many dínárs, [81] and
so far from increasing them, you have not even been able to preserve
what you got." When I heard that, I suddenly said to that Visákhila,
"I hereby take from you that mouse as capital advanced;" saying this
I took the mouse up in my hand, and wrote him a receipt for it,
which he put in his strong box, and off I went. The merchant for
his part burst out laughing. Well, I sold that mouse to a certain
merchant as cat's-meat for two handfuls of gram, then I ground up
that gram, and taking a pitcher of water, I went and stood on the
cross-road in a shady place, outside the city; there I offered with
the utmost civility the water and gram to a band of wood-cutters;
[82] every wood-cutter gave me as a token of gratitude two pieces of
wood; and I took those pieces of wood and sold them in the market;
then for a small part of the price which I got for them, I bought a
second supply of gram, and in the same way on a second day I obtained
wood from the wood-cutters. Doing this every day I gradually acquired
capital, and I bought from those wood-cutters all their wood for three
days. Then suddenly there befell a dearth of wood on account of heavy
rains, and I sold that wood for many hundred panas, with that wealth I
set up a shop, and engaging in traffic, I have become a very wealthy
man by my own ability. Then I made a mouse of gold, and gave it to
that Visákhila, then he gave me his daughter; and in consequence of
my history I am known in the world by the name of Mouse. So without a
coin in the world I acquired this prosperity. All the other merchants
then, when they heard this story, were astonished. How can the mind
help being amazed at pictures without walls? [83]

Story of the chanter of the Sáma Veda.

In another place a Bráhman who had got eight gold máshas as a
present, a chanter of the Sáma Veda, received the following piece
of advice from a man who was a bit of a roué, "You get enough to
live upon by your position as a Bráhman, so you ought now to employ
this gold for the purpose of learning the way of the world in order
that you may become a knowing fellow." The fool said "Who will teach
me?" Thereupon the roué said to him, "This lady [84] named Chaturiká,
go to her house." The Bráhman said, "What am I to do there"? The roué
replied--"Give her gold, and in order to please her make use of some
sáma." [85] When he heard this, the chanter went quickly to the house
of Chaturiká; when he entered, the lady advanced to meet him and he
took a seat. Then that Bráhman gave her the gold and faltered out the
request, "Teach me now for this fee the way of the world." Thereupon
the people who were there began to titter, and he, after reflecting
a little, putting his hands together in the shape of a cow's ear,
so that they formed a kind of pipe, began, like a stupid idiot, to
chant with a shrill sound the Sáma Veda, so that all the roués in
the house came together to see the fun; and they said "Whence has
this jackal blundered in here? Come, let us quickly give him the
half-moon [86] on his throat." Thereupon the Bráhman supposing that
the half-moon meant an arrow with a head of that shape, and afraid
of having his head cut off, rushed out of the house, bellowing out,
"I have learnt the way of the world;" then he went to the man who had
sent him, and told him the whole story. He replied "when I told you
to use sáma, I meant coaxing and wheedling; what is the propriety
of introducing the Veda in a matter of this kind? The fact is, I
suppose, that stupidity is engrained in a man who muddles his head
with the Vedas?" So he spoke, bursting with laughter all the while,
and went off to the lady's house, and said to her, "Give back to that
two-legged cow his gold-fodder." So she laughing gave back the money,
and when the Bráhman got it, he went back to his house as happy as
if he had been born again.

Witnessing strange scenes of this kind at every step, I reached
the palace of the king which was like the court of Indra. And then
I entered it, with my pupils going before to herald my arrival,
and saw the king Sátaváhana sitting in his hall of audience upon a
jewelled throne, surrounded by his ministers, Sarvavarman and his
colleagues, as Indra is by the gods. After I had blessed him and had
taken a seat, and had been honoured by the king, Sarvavarman and the
other ministers praised me in the following words, "This man, O king,
is famous upon the earth as skilled in all lore, and therefore his
name Gunádhya [87] is a true index of his nature." Sátaváhana hearing
me praised in this style by his ministers, was pleased with me and
immediately entertained me honourably, and appointed me to the office
of Minister. Then I married a wife, and lived there comfortably,
looking after the king's affairs and instructing my pupils.

Once, as I was roaming about at leisure on the banks of the Godávarí
out of curiosity, I beheld a garden called Devíkriti, and seeing
that it was an exceedingly pleasant garden, like an earthly Nandana,
[88] I asked the gardener how it came there, and he said to me,
"My lord, according to the story which we hear from old people,
long ago there came here a certain Bráhman who observed a vow of
silence and abstained from food, he made this heavenly garden with
a temple; then all the Bráhmans assembled here out of curiosity, and
that Bráhman being persistently asked by them told his history. There
is in this land a province called Vakakachchha on the banks of the
Narmadá, in that district I was born as a Bráhman, and in former
times no one gave me alms, as I was lazy as well as poor; then in
a fit of annoyance I quitted my house being disgusted with life,
and wandering round the holy places, I came to visit the shrine
of Durgá the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having beheld that
goddess, I reflected, 'People propitiate with animal offerings this
giver of boons, but I will slay myself here, stupid beast that I
am.' Having formed this resolve, I took in hand a sword to cut off
my head. Immediately that goddess being propitious, herself said to
me, 'Son, thou art perfected, do not slay thyself, remain near me;'
thus I obtained a boon from the goddess and attained divine nature;
from that day forth my hunger and thirst disappeared; then once on a
time, as I was remaining there, that goddess herself said to me, 'Go,
my son, and plant in Pratishthána a glorious garden;' thus speaking,
she gave me, with her own hands, heavenly seed; thereupon I came here
and made this beautiful garden by means of her power; and this garden
you must keep in good order. Having said this, he disappeared. In this
way this garden was made by the goddess long ago, my lord." When I
had heard from the gardener this signal manifestation of the favour
of the goddess, I went home penetrated with wonder.

The story of Sátaváhana.

When Gunádhya had said this, Kánabhúti asked, "Why, my lord, was the
king called Sátaváhana?" Then Gunádhya said, Listen, I will tell you
the reason. There was a king of great power named Dvípikarni. He had
a wife named Saktimatí, whom he valued more than life, and once upon a
time a snake bit her as she was sleeping in the garden. Thereupon she
died, and that king thinking only of her, though he had no son, took a
vow of perpetual chastity. Then once upon a time the god of the moony
crest said to him in a dream--"While wandering in the forest thou shalt
behold a boy mounted on a lion, take him and go home, he shall be thy
son." Then the king woke up, and rejoiced remembering that dream, and
one day in his passion for the chase he went to a distant wood; there
in the middle of the day that king beheld on the bank of a lotus-lake
a boy splendid as the sun, riding on a lion; the lion desiring to
drink water set down the boy, and then the king remembering his dream
slew it with one arrow. The creature thereupon abandoned the form of
a lion, and suddenly assumed the shape of a man; the king exclaimed,
"Alas! what means this? tell me!" and then the man answered him--"O
king, I am a Yaksha of the name of Sáta, an attendant upon the god
of wealth; long ago I beheld the daughter of a Rishi bathing in the
Ganges; she too, when she beheld me, felt love arise in her breast,
like myself: then I made her my wife by the Gándharva form of marriage;
and her relatives, finding it out, in their anger cursed me and her,
saying, "You two wicked ones, doing what is right in your own eyes,
shall become lions." The hermit-folk appointed that her curse should
end when she gave birth to offspring, and that mine should continue
longer, until I was slain by thee with an arrow. So we became a pair
of lions; she in course of time became pregnant, and then died after
this boy was born, but I brought him up on the milk of other lionesses,
and lo! to-day I am released from my curse having been smitten by thee
with an arrow. Therefore receive this noble son which I give thee, for
this thing was foretold long ago by those hermit-folk." Having said
this that Guhyaka named Sáta disappeared, [89] and the king taking
the boy went home; and because he had ridden upon Sáta he gave the
boy the name of Sátaváhana, and in course of time he established him
in his kingdom. Then, when that king Dvípikarni went to the forest,
this Sátaváhana became sovereign of the whole earth.

Having said this in the middle of his tale in answer to Kánabhúti's
question, the wise Gunádhya again called to mind and went on with the
main thread of his narrative. Then once upon a time, in the spring
festival that king Sátaváhana went to visit the garden made by the
goddess, of which I spake before. He roamed there for a long time like
Indra in the garden of Nandana, and descended into the water of the
lake to amuse himself in company with his wives. There he sprinkled
his beloved ones sportively with water flung by his hands, and was
sprinkled by them in return like an elephant by its females. His wives
with faces, the eyes of which were slightly reddened by the collyrium
washed into them, and which were streaming with water, and with bodies
the proportions of which were revealed by their clinging garments,
pelted him vigorously; and as the wind strips the creepers in the
forest of leaves and flowers, so he made his fair ones who fled into
the adjoining shrubbery lose the marks on their foreheads [90] and
their ornaments. Then one of his queens tardy with the weight of her
breasts, with body tender as a sirísha flower, became exhausted with
the amusement; she not being able to endure more, said to the king who
was sprinkling her with water,--"do not pelt me with water-drops;"
on hearing that, the king quickly had some sweetmeats [91] brought;
then the queen burst out laughing and said again--"king, what do we
want with sweetmeats in the water? For I said to you, do not sprinkle
me with water-drops. Do you not even understand the coalescence
of the words má and udaka, and do you not know that chapter of the
grammar,--how can you be such a blockhead?" When the queen, who knew
grammatical treatises, said this to him, and the attendants laughed,
the king was at once overpowered with secret shame; he left off romping
in the water and immediately entered his own palace unperceived,
crest-fallen, and full of self-contempt. Then he remained lost in
thought, bewildered, averse to food and other enjoyments, and, like a
picture, even when asked a question, he answered nothing. Thinking that
his only resource was to acquire learning or die, he flung himself down
on a couch, and remained in an agony of grief. Then all the king's
attendants, seeing that he had suddenly fallen into such a state,
were utterly beside themselves to think what it could mean. Then I
and Sarvavarman came at last to hear of the king's condition, and by
that time the day was almost at an end. So perceiving that the king
was still in an unsatisfactory condition, we immediately summoned a
servant of the king named Rájahansa. And he, when asked by us about
the state of the king's health, said this--"I never before in my
life saw the king in such a state of depression: and the other queens
told me with much indignation that he had been humiliated to-day by
that superficial blue-stocking, the daughter of Vishnusakti." When
Sarvavarman and I had heard this from the mouth of the king's servant,
we fell into a state of despondency, and thus reflected in our dilemma;
"If the king were afflicted with bodily disease, we might introduce
the physicians, but if his disease is mental it is impossible to
find the cause of it. For there is no enemy in his country the
thorns of which are destroyed, and these subjects are attached to
him; no dearth of any kind is to be seen; so how can this sudden
melancholy of the king's have arisen?" After we had debated to this
effect, the wise Sarvavarman said as follows--"I know the cause,
this king is distressed by sorrow for his own ignorance, for he is
always expressing a desire for culture, saying 'I am a blockhead;'
I long ago detected this desire of his, and we have heard that the
occasion of the present fit is his having been humiliated by the
queen." Thus we debated with one another and after we had passed
that night, in the morning we went to the private apartments of
the sovereign. There, though strict orders had been given that no
one was to enter, I managed to get in with difficulty, and after me
Sarvavarman slipped in quickly. I then sat down near the king and
asked him this question--"Why, O king, art thou without cause thus
despondent?" Though he heard this, Sátaváhana nevertheless remained
silent, and then Sarvavarman uttered this extraordinary speech, "King,
thou didst long ago say to me, 'Make me a learned man.' Thinking upon
that I employed last night a charm to produce a dream. [92] Then I
saw in my dream a lotus fallen from heaven, and it was opened by some
heavenly youth, and out of it came a divine woman in white garments,
and immediately, O king, she entered thy mouth. When I had seen so
much I woke up, and I think without doubt that the woman who visibly
entered thy mouth was Sarasvatí." As soon as Sarvavarman had in these
terms described his dream, the king broke his silence and said to me
with the utmost earnestness,--"In how short a time can a man, who
is diligently taught, acquire learning? Tell me this. For without
learning all this regal splendour has no charms for me. What is the
use of rank and power to a blockhead? They are like ornaments on a log
of wood." Then I said, "King, it is invariably the case that it takes
men twelve years to learn grammar, the gate to all knowledge. But I,
my sovereign, will teach it you in six years." When he heard that,
Sarvavarman suddenly exclaimed in a fit of jealousy--"How can a man
accustomed to enjoyment endure hardship for so long? So I will teach
you grammar, my prince, in six months." When I heard this promise
which it seemed impossible to make good, I said to him in a rage,
"If you teach the king in six months, I renounce at once and for ever
Sanskrit, Prakrit, and the vernacular dialect, these three languages
which pass current among men;" [93] then Sarvavarman said--"And if I do
not do this, I Sarvavarman, will carry your shoes on my head for twelve
years." Having said this he went out; I too went home; and the king
for his part was comforted, expecting that he would attain his object
by means of one of us two. Now Sarvavarman being in a dilemma, seeing
that his promise was one very difficult to perform, and regretting
what he had done, told the whole story to his wife, and she grieved to
hear it said to him, "My lord, in this difficulty there is no way of
escape for you except the favour of the Lord Kártikeya." [94] "It is
so," said Sarvavarman and determined to implore it. Accordingly in the
last watch of the night, Sarvavarman set out fasting for the shrine of
the god. Now I came to hear of it by means of my secret emissaries,
and in the morning I told the king of it; and he, when he heard it,
wondered what would happen. Then a trusty Rájpút called Sinhagupta
said to him, "When I heard, O king, that thou wast afflicted I was
seized with great despondency. Then I went out of this city, and was
preparing to cut off my own head before the goddess Durgá in order
to ensure thy happiness. Then a voice from heaven forbade me, saying,
'Do not so, the king's wish shall be fulfilled.' Therefore, I believe,
thou art sure of success." When he had said this, that Sinhagupta
took leave of the king, and rapidly despatched two emissaries after
Sarvavarman; who feeding only on air, observing a vow of silence,
steadfast in resolution, reached at last the shrine of the Lord
Kártikeya. There, pleased with his penance that spared not the body,
Kártikeya favoured him according to his desire; then the two spies
sent by Sinhagupta came into the king's presence and reported the
minister's success. On hearing that news the king was delighted and I
was despondent, as the chátaka joys, and the swan grieves, on seeing
the cloud. [95] Then Sarvavarman arrived successful by the favour
of Kártikeya, and communicated to the king all the sciences, which
presented themselves to him on his thinking of them. And immediately
they were revealed to the king Sátaváhana. For what cannot the grace of
the Supreme Lord accomplish? Then the kingdom rejoiced on hearing that
the king had thus obtained all knowledge, and there was high festival
kept throughout it; and that moment banners were flaunted from every
house, and being fanned by the wind, seemed to dance. Then Sarvavarman
was honoured with abundance of jewels fit for a king by the sovereign,
who bowed humbly before him, calling him his spiritual preceptor, and
he was made governor of the territory called Vakakachchha, which lies
along the bank of the Narmadá. The king being highly pleased with that
Rájpút Sinhagupta, who first heard by the mouth of his spies, that the
boon had been obtained from the six-faced god, [96] made him equal to
himself in splendour and power. And that queen too, the daughter of
Vishnusakti, who was the cause of his acquiring learning, he exalted
at one bound above all the queens, through affection anointing [97]
her with his own hand.


Then, having taken a vow of silence, I came into the presence of the
sovereign, and there a certain Bráhman recited a sloka he had composed,
and the king himself addressed him correctly in the Sanskrit language;
and the people who were present in court were delighted when they
witnessed that. Then the king said deferentially to Sarvavarman--"Tell
me thyself after what fashion the god shewed thee favour." Hearing
that, Sarvavarman proceeded to relate to the king the whole story of
Kártikeya's favourable acceptance of him.

"I went, O king, on that occasion fasting and silent from this
place, so when the journey came to an end, being very despondent,
and emaciated with my severe austerities, worn out I fell senseless
on the ground. Then, I remember, a man with a spear in his hand came
and said to me in distinct accents, 'Rise up, my son, everything
shall turn out favourably for thee.' By that speech I was, as it were,
immediately bedewed with a shower of nectar, and I woke up, and seemed
free from hunger and thirst and in good ease. Then I approached the
neighbourhood of the god's temple, overpowered with the weight of
my devotion, and after bathing I entered the inner shrine of the god
in a state of agitated suspense. Then that Lord Skanda [98] gave me
a sight of himself within, and thereupon Sarasvatí in visible shape
entered my mouth. So that holy god, manifested before me, recited
the sútra beginning 'the traditional doctrine of letters.' On hearing
that, I, with the levity which is so natural to mankind, guessed the
next sútra and uttered it myself. Then that god said to me, 'if thou
hadst not uttered it thyself, this grammatical treatise would have
supplanted that of Pánini. As it is, on account of its conciseness,
it shall be called Kátantra, and Kálápaka, from the tail (kalápa)
of the peacock on which I ride.' Having said this, that god himself
in visible form revealed to me that new and short grammar, [99] and
then added this besides; 'That king of thine in a former birth was
himself a holy sage, a pupil of the hermit Bharadvája, named Krishna,
great in austerity: and he, having beheld a hermit's daughter who
loved him in return, suddenly felt the smart of the wound which the
shaft of the flowery-arrowed god inflicts. So, having been cursed
by the hermits, he has now become incarnate here, and that hermit's
daughter has become incarnate as his queen.

So this king Sátaváhana, being an incarnation of a holy sage, [100]
when he beholds thee, will attain a knowledge of all the sciences
according to thy wish. For the highest matters are easily acquired by
great-souled ones, having been learnt in a former birth, the real truth
of them being recalled by their powerful memories.' [101] When the
god had said this, he disappeared, and I went out, and there grains
of rice were presented me by the god's servants. Then I proceeded to
return, O king, and wonderful to say, though I consumed those grains
on my journey day after day, they remained as numerous as ever." When
he had related his adventure, Sarvavarman ceased speaking, and king
Sátaváhana in cheerful mood rose up and went to bathe.

Then I, being excluded from business by my vow of silence, took leave,
with a low bow only, of that king who was very averse to part with me,
and went out of that town, accompanied by only two disciples, and,
with my mind bent on the performance of austerities, came to visit the
shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having been directed
by the goddess in a dream to visit thee, I entered for that purpose
this terrible Vindhya forest. A hint given by a Pulinda enabled me
to find a caravan, and so somehow or other, by the special favour of
destiny, I managed to arrive here, and beheld this host of Pisáchas,
and by hearing from a distance their conversation with one another,
I have contrived to learn this Paisácha language, which has enabled
me to break my vow of silence; I then made use of it to ask after
you, and, hearing that you had gone to Ujjayiní, I waited here until
your return; on beholding you I welcomed you in the fourth language,
(the speech of the Pisáchas), and then I called to mind my origin;
this is the story of my adventures in this birth.

When Gunádhya had said this, Kánabhúti said to him,--"hear, how your
arrival was made known to me last night. I have a friend, a Rákshasa
of the name of Bhútivarman, who possesses heavenly insight; and I went
to a garden in Ujjayiní, where he resides. On my asking him when my
own curse would come to an end, he said, we have no power in the day,
wait, and I will tell you at night. I consented and when night came
on, I asked him earnestly the reason why goblins [102] delighted in
disporting themselves then, as they were doing. Then Bhútivarman said
to me, 'Listen, I will relate what I heard Siva say in a conversation
with Brahmá. Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Pisáchas have no power in the day,
being dazed with the brightness of the sun, therefore they delight in
the night. And where the gods are not worshipped, and the Bráhmans,
in due form, and where men eat contrary to the holy law, there also
they have power. Where there is a man who abstains from flesh, or a
virtuous woman, there they do not go. They never attack chaste men,
heroes, and men awake.' [103] When he said this on that occasion
Bhútivarman continued, 'Go, for Gunádhya has arrived, the destined
means of thy release from the curse.' So hearing this, I have come,
and I have seen thee, my lord; now I will relate to thee that tale
which Pushpadanta told; but I feel curiosity on one point; tell me
why he was called Pushpadanta and thou Mályaván."

Story of Pushpadanta.

Hearing this question from Kánabhúti, Gunádhya said to him. On the bank
of the Ganges there is a district granted to Bráhmans by royal charter,
named Bahusuvarnaka, and there lived there a very learned Bráhman
named Govindadatta, and he had a wife Agnidattá who was devoted to her
husband. In course of time that Bráhman had five sons by her. And they,
being handsome but stupid, grew up insolent fellows. Then a guest came
to the house of Govindadatta, a Bráhman Vaisvánara by name, like a
second god of fire. [104] As Govindadatta was away from home when he
arrived, he came and saluted his sons, and they only responded to his
salute with a laugh; then that Bráhman in a rage prepared to depart
from his house. While he was in this state of wrath Govindadatta came,
and asked the cause, and did his best to appease him, but the excellent
Bráhman nevertheless spoke as follows--"Your sons have become outcasts,
as being blockheads, and you have lost caste by associating with them,
therefore I will not eat in your house; if I did so, I should not be
able to purify myself by any expiatory ceremony." Then Govindadatta
said to him with an oath, "I will never even touch these wicked sons
of mine." His hospitable wife also came and said the same to her
guest; then Vaisvánara was with difficulty induced to accept their
hospitality. One of Govindadatta's sons, named Devadatta, when he saw
that, was grieved at his father's sternness, and thinking a life of
no value which was thus branded by his parents, went in a state of
despondency to the hermitage of Badariká to perform penance; there
he first ate leaves, and afterwards he fed only on smoke, persevering
in a long course of austerities in order to propitiate the husband of
Umá [105]. So Sambhu, won over by his severe austerities, manifested
himself to him, and he craved a boon from the god, that he might
ever attend upon him. Sambhu thus commanded him--"Acquire learning,
and enjoy pleasures on the earth, and after that thou shalt attain
all thy desire." Then he, eager for learning, went to the city of
Pátaliputra, and according to custom waited on an instructor named
Vedakumbha. When he was there, the wife of his preceptor distracted
by passion, which had arisen in her heart, made violent love to him;
alas! the fancies of women are ever inconstant! Accordingly Devadatta
left that place, as his studies had been thus interfered with by the
god of love, and went to Pratishthána with unwearied zeal. There he
repaired to an old preceptor named Mantrasvámin, with an old wife,
and acquired a perfect knowledge of the sciences. And after he had
acquired learning, the daughter of the king Susarman, Srí by name,
cast eyes upon the handsome youth, as the goddess Srí upon Vishnu. He
also beheld that maiden at a window, looking like the presiding goddess
of the moon, roaming through the air in a magic chariot. Those two
were, as it were, fastened together by that look which was the chain
of love, and were unable to separate. The king's daughter made him
a sign to come near with one finger, looking like Love's command in
fleshly form. Then he came near her, and she came out of the women's
apartments, and took with her teeth a flower and threw it down to
him. He, not understanding this mysterious sign made by the princess,
puzzled as to what he ought to do, went home to his preceptor. There he
rolled on the ground unable to utter a word, being consumed within with
burning pain, like one dumb and distracted; his wise preceptor guessing
what was the matter by these love-symptoms, artfully questioned
him, and at last he was with difficulty persuaded to tell the whole
story. Then the clever preceptor guessed the riddle, and said to him,
[106] "By letting drop a flower with her tooth she made a sign to you,
that you were to go to this temple rich in flowers called Pushpadanta,
and wait there: so you had better go now." When he heard this and knew
the meaning of the sign, the youth forgot his grief. Then he went into
that temple and remained there. The princess on her part also went
there, giving as an excuse that it was the eighth day of the month,
and then entered the inner shrine in order to present herself alone
before the god; then she touched her lover who was behind the panel
of the door, and he suddenly springing up threw his arms round her
neck. She exclaimed, "this is strange; how did you guess the meaning
of that sign of mine?" He replied, "it was my preceptor that found
it out, not I." Then the princess flew into a passion and said, "Let
me go, you are a dolt," and immediately rushed out of the temple,
fearing that her secret would be discovered. Devadatta on his part
went away, and thinking in solitude on his beloved, who was no sooner
seen than lost to his eyes, was in such a state that the taper of
his life was well nigh melted away in the fire of bereavement. Siva,
who had been before propitiated by him, commanded an attendant of
his, of the name of Panchasikha, to procure for him the desire of
his heart. That excellent Gana thereupon came, and consoled him,
and caused him to assume the dress of a woman, and he himself wore
the semblance of an aged Bráhman. Then that worthy Gana went with him
to king Susarman the father of that bright-eyed one, and said to him;
"My son has been sent away somewhere, I go to seek him: accordingly
I deposit with thee this daughter-in-law of mine, keep her safely,
O king." Hearing that, king Susarman afraid of a Bráhman's curse,
took the young man and placed him in his daughter's guarded seraglio,
supposing him to be a woman. Then after the departure of Panchasikha,
the Bráhman dwelt in woman's clothes in the seraglio of his beloved,
and became her trusted confidante. Once on a time the princess was
full of regretful longing at night, so he discovered himself to her
and secretly married her by the Gándharva form of marriage. And when
she became pregnant, that excellent Gana came on his thinking of him
only, and carried him away at night without its being perceived. Then
he quickly rent off from the young man his woman's dress, and in the
morning Panchasikha resumed the semblance of a Bráhman; and going
with the young man to the king Susarman he said; "O king, I have
this day found my son: so give me back my daughter-in-law." Then
the king, supposing that she had fled somewhere at night, alarmed
at the prospect of being cursed by the Bráhman, said this to his
ministers. "This is no Bráhman, this is some god come to deceive me,
for such things often happen in this world.

Story of king Sivi.

So in former times there was a king named Sivi, self-denying,
compassionate, generous, resolute, the protector of all creatures;
and in order to beguile him Indra assumed the shape of a hawk,
and swiftly pursued Dharma, [107] who by magic had transformed
himself into a dove. The dove in terror went and took refuge in the
bosom of Sivi. Then the hawk addressed the king with a human voice;
'O king, this is my natural food, surrender the dove to me, for I
am hungry. Know that my death will immediately follow if you refuse
my prayer; in that case where will be your righteousness?' Then Sivi
said to the god,--'this creature has fled to me for protection, and I
cannot abandon it, therefore I will give you an equal weight of some
other kind of flesh.' The hawk said, 'if this be so, then give me your
own flesh.' The king, delighted, consented to do so. But as fast as
he cut off his flesh and threw it on the scale, the dove seemed to
weigh more and more in the balance. Then the king threw his whole
body on to the scale, and thereupon a celestial voice was heard,
'Well done! this is equal in weight to the dove.' Then Indra and
Dharma abandoned the form of hawk and dove, and being highly pleased
restored the body of king Sivi whole as before, and, after bestowing
on him many other blessings, they both disappeared. In the same way
this Bráhman is some god that has come to prove me." [108]

Having said this to his ministers, that king Susarman of his own
motion said to that excellent Gana that had assumed the form of
a Bráhman, prostrating himself before him in fear, "Spare me; that
daughter-in-law of thine was carried off last night. She has been taken
somewhere or other by magic arts, though guarded night and day." Then
the Gana, who had assumed the Bráhman's semblance, pretending to be
with difficulty won over to pity him, said, "If this be so, king,
give thy daughter in marriage to my son." When he heard this, the
king afraid of being cursed, gave his own daughter to Devadatta: then
Panchasikha departed. Then Devadatta having recovered his beloved,
and that in an open manner, flourished in the power and splendour
of his father-in-law who had no son but him. And in course of time
Susarman anointed the son of his daughter by Devadatta, Mahídhara
by name, as successor in his room, and retired to the forest. Then
having seen the prosperity of his son, Devadatta considered that he
had attained all his objects, and he too with the princess retired to
the forest. There he again propitiated Siva, and having laid aside
his mortal body, by the special favour of the god he attained the
position of a Gana. Because he did not understand the sign given by
the flower dropped from the tooth of his beloved, therefore he became
known by the name of Pushpadanta in the assembly of the Ganas. And
his wife became a door-keeper in the house of the goddess, under the
name of Jayá: this is how he came to be called Pushpadanta: now hear
the origin of my name.

Long ago I was a son of that same Bráhman called Govindadatta
the father of Devadatta, and my name was Somadatta. I left my home
indignant for the same reason as Devadatta, and I performed austerities
on the Himálaya continually striving to propitiate Siva with offerings
of many garlands. The god of the moony crest, being pleased, revealed
himself to me in the same way as he did to my brother, and I chose
the privilege of attending upon him as a Gana, not being desirous
of lower pleasures. The husband of the daughter of the mountain,
that mighty god, thus addressed me; "Because I have been worshipped
by thee with garlands of flowers growing in trackless forest-regions,
brought with thy own hand, therefore thou shalt be one of my Ganas,
and shalt bear the name of Mályaván." Then I cast off my mortal frame,
and immediately attained the holy state of an attendant on the god. And
so my name of Mályaván was bestowed upon me by him who wears the burden
of the matted locks, [109] as a mark of his special favour. And I,
that very Mályaván, have once more, O Kánabhúti, been degraded to the
state of a mortal, as thou seest, owing to the curse of the daughter
of the mountain, therefore do thou now tell me the tale told by Siva,
in order that the state of curse of both of us may cease.


"Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Pisáchas have no power in the day, being dazed
with the brightness of the sun therefore they delight in the night."

Farmer commenting on Hamlet, Act I, Sc. I, 150, quotes the following
lines of Prudentius Ad Gallicinium. Ferunt vagantes dæmonas,
Lætos tenebris noctium, Gallo canente exterritos, Sparsim timere
et cedere. Hoc esse signum præscii Norunt repromissæ spei, Qua nos
soporis liberi Speramus adventum Dei. Douce quotes from another hymn
said to have been composed by Saint Ambrose and formerly used in the
Salisbury service. Præco dici jam sonat, Noctis profundæ pervigil;
Nocturna lux viantibus, A nocte noctem segregans. Hoc excitatus
Lucifer Solvit polum caligine; Hoc omnis errorum cohors Viam nocendi
deserit. Gallo canente spes redit &c.

See also Grössler's Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 58 and 59;
the Pentamerone of Basile, translated by Liebrecht, Vol. I, p. 251;
Dasent's Norse Tales, p. 347, "The Troll turned round, and, of course,
as soon as he saw the sun, he burst;" Grimm's Irische Märchen,
p. x; Kuhn's Westfälische Märchen, p. 63; Schöppner's Sagenbuch der
Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, pp. 123, and 228; and Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 138. He quotes the following interesting
passage from the Philopseudes of Lucian,  Synên achri dê alektryonôn
êkousamen adontôn tote dê hê te Selênê aneptato eis ton ouranon kai
hê Hekatê edy kata tês gês, kai ta alla phasmata êphanisthê, &c.


In accordance with this request of Gunádhya that heavenly tale
consisting of seven stories was told by Kánabhúti in his own language,
and Gunádhya for his part using the same Paisácha language threw them
into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great
poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition,
wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And
so the Vidyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it,
and the heaven above where Kánabhúti was reciting, was, as it were,
continually covered with a canopy. And Kánabhúti, when he had seen that
great tale composed by Gunádhya, was released from his curse and went
to his own place. There were also other Pisáchas that accompanied him
in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard
that heavenly tale. Then that great poet Gunádhya began to reflect,
"I must make this Great Tale [110] of mine current on the earth, for
that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed
how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom
shall I give it?" Then his two disciples that had followed him, one
of whom was called Gunadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him,
"The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to,
for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the
wind diffuses the perfume of the flower." "So be it," said Gunádhya,
and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them
to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishthána,
but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess,
where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went
and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same
time that it was the work of Gunádhya. When he heard that Paisácha
language and saw that they had the appearance of Pisáchas, that
king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, "The seven
hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paisácha
language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away
with this Paisácha tale." Then the two pupils took the book, and
returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance
to Gunádhya. Gunádhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately
overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by
a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy
hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and
first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one
by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he
flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful
eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand
couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake
of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he
was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars,
buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage,
and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes,
unable to quit the spot. [111]

In the meanwhile king Sátaváhana fell sick. And the physicians
said that his illness was due to eating meat wanting in nutritive
qualities. And when the cooks were scolded for it, they said--"The
hunters bring in to us flesh of this kind." And when the hunters were
taken to task, they said,--"On a hill not very far from here there is a
Bráhman reading, who throws into the fire every leaf as soon as he has
read it; so all the animals go there and listen without ever grazing,
they never wander anywhere else, consequently this flesh of theirs
is wanting in nutritive properties on account of their going without
food." When he heard this speech of the hunters he made them shew
him the way, and out of curiosity went in person to see Gunádhya,
and he beheld him owing to his forest life overspread with matted
locks, that looked like the smoke of the fire of his curse, that was
almost extinguished.

Then the king recognized him as he stood in the midst of the weeping
animals, and after he had respectfully saluted him, he asked him
for an explanation of all the circumstances. That wise Bráhman then
related to the king in the language of the demons his own history as
Pushpadanta, giving an account of the curse and all the circumstances
which originated the descent of the tale to earth. Then the king,
discovering that he was an incarnation of a Gana, bowed at his feet,
and asked him for that celestial tale that had issued from the mouth
of Siva. Then Gunádhya said to that king Sátaváhana; "O king I have
burnt six tales containing six hundred thousand couplets; but here
is one tale consisting of a hundred thousand couplets, take that:
[112] and these two pupils of mine shall explain it to you." So
spake Gunádhya and took leave of the king, and then by strength of
devotion laid aside his earthly body, and released from the curse
ascended to his own heavenly home. Then the king took that tale which
Gunádhya had given, called Vrihat Kathá, containing the adventures of
Naraváhanadatta, and went to his own city. And there he bestowed on
Gunadeva and Nandideva, the pupils of the poet who composed that tale,
lands, gold, garments, beasts of burden, palaces, and treasures. And
having recovered the sense of that tale with their help, Sátaváhana
composed the book named Kathápítha, in order to shew how the tale
came to be first made known in the Paisácha language. Now that tale
was so full of various interest, that men were so taken up with it
as to forget the tales of the gods, and after producing that effect
in the city it attained uninterrupted renown in the three worlds.



This nectarous tale sprang in old time from the mouth of Siva, set in
motion by his love for the daughter of the Himálaya, as the nectar
of immortality sprang from the sea, when churned by the mountain
Mandara. Those who drink eagerly the nectar of this tale, have all
impediments removed and gain prosperity, and by the favour of Siva
attain, while living upon earth, the high rank of gods.


May the water of Siva's sweat, fresh from the embrace of Gaurí,
[113] which the god of love when afraid of the fire of Siva's eye,
employs as his aqueous weapon, protect you.

Listen to the following tale of the Vidyádharas, which the excellent
Gana Pushpadanta heard on mount Kailása from the god of the matted
locks, and which Kánabhúti heard on the earth from the same Pushpadanta
after he had become Vararuchi, and which Gunádhya heard from Kánabhúti,
and Sátaváhana heard from Gunádhya.

Story of Udayana king of Vatsa.

There is a land famous under the name of Vatsa, that appears as
if it had been made by the Creator as an earthly rival to dash the
pride of heaven. In the centre of it is a great city named Kausámbí,
the favourite dwelling-place of the goddess of prosperity; the
ear-ornament, so to speak, of the earth. In it dwelt a king named
Satáníka, sprung from the Pándava family, he was the son of Janamejaya,
and the grandson of king Paríkshit, who was the great-grandson of
Abhimanyu. The first progenitor of his race was Arjuna, the might
of whose strong arms was tested in a struggle with the mighty arms
of Siva; [114] his wife was the earth, and also Vishnumatí his
queen; the first produced jewels, but the second did not produce a
son. Once on a time, as that king was roaming about in his passion
for the chase, he made acquaintance in the forest with the hermit
Sándilya. That worthy sage finding out that the king desired a son,
came to Kausámbí and administered to his queen an artfully prepared
oblation [115] consecrated with mystic verses. Then he had a son
born to him called Sahasráníka. And his father was adorned by him
as excellence is by modesty. Then in course of time Satáníka made
that son crown-prince and though he still enjoyed kingly pleasures,
ceased to trouble himself about the cares of government. Then a
war arose between the gods and Asuras, and Indra sent Mátali as a
messenger to that king begging for aid. Then he committed his son and
his kingdom to the care of his principal minister, who was called
Yogandhara, and his Commander-in-chief, whose name was Supratíka,
and went to Indra with Mátali to slay the Asuras in fight. That king,
having slain many Asuras, of whom Yamadanshtra was the chief, under
the eyes of Indra, met death in that very battle. The king's body
was brought back by Mátali, and the queen burnt herself with it, and
the royal dignity descended to his son Sahasráníka. Wonderful to say,
when that king ascended his father's throne, the heads of the kings
on every side of his dominions were bent down with the weight. Then
Indra sent Mátali, and brought to heaven that Sahasráníka, as being
the son of his friend, that he might be present at the great feast
which he was holding to celebrate his victory over his foes. There
the king saw the gods, attended by their fair ones, sporting in
the garden of Nandana, and desiring for himself a suitable wife,
fell into low spirits. Then Indra, perceiving this desire of his,
said to him; "King, away with despondency, this desire of thine
shall be accomplished. For there has been born upon the earth one,
who was long ago ordained a suitable match for thee. For listen to
the following history, which I now proceed to relate to thee.

"Long ago I went to the court of Brahmá in order to visit him, and a
certain Vasu named Vidhúma followed me. While we were there, an Apsaras
[116] named Alambushá came to see Brahmá, and her robe was blown
aside by the wind. And the Vasu, when he beheld her, was overpowered
by love, and the Apsaras too had her eyes immediately attracted by his
form. The lotus-sprung god, [117] when he beheld that, looked me full
in the face, and I, knowing his meaning, in wrath cursed those two,
'Be born, you two, shameless creatures, into the world of mortals,
and there become man and wife.' That Vasu has been born as thou,
Sahasráníka, the son of Satáníka, an ornament to the race of the
moon. And that Apsaras too has been born in Ayodhyá as the daughter
of king Kritavarman, Mrigávatí by name, she shall be thy wife." By
these words of Indra the flame of love was fanned in the passionate
[118] heart of the king and burst out into full blaze; as a fire when
fanned by the wind. Indra then dismissed the king from heaven with
all due honour in his own chariot, and he set out with Mátali [119]
for his capital. But as he was starting, the Apsaras Tilottamá said
to him out of affection, "King I have somewhat to say to thee, wait a
moment." But he, thinking on Mrigávatí, went off without hearing what
she said, then Tilottamá in her rage cursed him; "King, thou shalt be
separated for fourteen years from her who has so engrossed thy mind
that thou dost not hear my speech." Now Mátali heard that curse,
but the king, yearning for his beloved, did not. In the chariot he
went to Kausámbí but in spirit he went to Ayodhyá. Then the king told
with longing heart, all that he had heard from Indra with reference
to Mrigávatí, to his ministers, Yogandhara and the others: and not
being able to endure delay, he sent an ambassador to Ayodhyá to ask
her father Kritavarman for the hand of that maiden. And Kritavarman
having heard from the ambassador his commission, told in his joy the
queen Kalávatí, and then she said to him--"King we ought certainly to
give Mrigávatí to Sahasráníka, and, I remember, a certain Bráhman told
me this very thing in a dream"; then in his delight the king showed
to the ambassador Mrigávatí's wonderful skill in dancing, singing,
and other accomplishments, and her matchless beauty; so the king
Kritavarman gave to Sahasráníka that daughter of his who was unequalled
as a mine of graceful arts, and who shone like an incarnation of the
moon; that marriage of Sahasráníka and Mrigávatí was one in which
the good qualities of either party supplemented those of the other,
and might be compared to the union of learning and intelligence.

Not long after sons were born to the king's ministers; Yogandhara had a
son born to him named Yaugandharáyana; and Supratíka had a son born to
him named Rumanvat. And to the king's master of the revels was born a
son named Vasantaka. Then in a few days Mrigávatí became slightly pale
and promised to bear a child to king Sahasráníka. And then she asked
the king, who was never tired of looking at her, to gratify her longing
by filling a tank full of blood for her to bathe in. Accordingly the
king, who was a righteous man, in order to gratify her desire, had a
tank filled with the juice of lac and other red extracts, so that it
seemed to be full of blood. [120] And while she was bathing in that
lake, and covered with red dye, a bird of the race of Garuda [121]
suddenly pounced upon her and carried her off thinking she was raw
flesh. As soon as she was carried away in some unknown direction by
the bird, the king became distracted, and his self-command forsook him
as if in order to go in search of her. His heart was so attached to
his beloved that it was in very truth carried off by that bird, and
thus he fell senseless upon the earth. As soon as he had recovered
his senses, Mátali, who had discovered all by his divine power,
descended through the air and came where the king was. He consoled
the king, and told him the curse of Tilottamá with its destined end,
as he had heard it long ago, and then he took his departure. Then the
king tormented with grief lamented on this wise; "Alas my beloved, that
wicked Tilottamá has accomplished her desire." But having learned the
facts about the curse, and having received advice from his ministers,
he managed, though with difficulty, to retain his life through hope
of a future reunion.

But that bird, which had carried off Mrigávatí, as soon as it found
out that she was alive, abandoned her, and as fate would have it, left
her on the mountain where the sun rises. And when the bird let her drop
and departed, the queen, distracted with grief and fear, saw that she
was left unprotected on the slope of a trackless mountain. While she
was weeping in the forest, alone, with one garment only to cover her,
an enormous serpent rose up and prepared to swallow her. Then she,
for whom prosperity was reserved in the future, was delivered by some
heavenly hero that came down and slew the serpent, and disappeared
almost as soon as he was seen. Thereupon she, longing for death,
flung herself down in front of a wild elephant, but even he spared
her as if out of compassion. Wonderful was it that even a wild beast
did not slay her when she fell in his way! Or rather it was not to
be wondered at. What cannot the will of Siva effect?

Then the girl tardy with the weight of her womb, desiring to hurl
herself down from a precipice, and thinking upon that lord of hers,
wept aloud; and a hermit's son, who had wandered there in search of
roots and fruits, hearing that, came up, and found her looking like
the incarnation of sorrow. And he, after questioning the queen about
her adventures, and comforting her as well as he could, with a heart
melted with compassion led her off to the hermitage of Jamadagni. There
she beheld Jamadagni, looking like the incarnation of comfort, whose
brightness so illumined the eastern mountain that it seemed as if the
rising sun ever rested on it. When she fell at his feet, that hermit
who was kind to all that came to him for help, and possessed heavenly
insight, said to her who was tortured with the pain of separation;
"Here there shall be born to thee, my daughter, a son that shall
uphold the family of his father, and thou shalt be reunited to thy
husband, therefore weep not." When that virtuous woman heard that
speech of the hermit's, she took up her abode in that hermitage,
and entertained hope of a reunion with her beloved. And some days
after, the blameless one gave birth to a charmingly beautiful son,
as association with the good produces good manners. At that moment
a voice was heard from heaven; "an august king of great renown has
been born, Udayana by name, and his son shall be monarch of all
the Vidyádharas." That voice restored to the heart of Mrigávatí
joy which she had long forgotten. Gradually that boy grew up to
size and strength in that grove of asceticism, accompanied by his
own excellent qualities as playmates. And the heroic child had the
sacraments appropriate to a member of the warrior-caste performed for
him by Jamadagni, and was instructed by him in the sciences, and the
practice of archery. And out of love for him Mrigávatí drew off from
her own wrist, and placed on his, a bracelet marked with the name
of Sahasráníka. Then that Udayana roaming about once upon a time in
pursuit of deer, beheld in the forest a snake that had been forcibly
captured by a Savara. [122] And he, feeling pity for the beautiful
snake, said to that Savara, "Let go this snake to please me." Then
that Savara said, "My lord, this is my livelihood, for I am a poor
man, and I always maintain myself by exhibiting dancing snakes. The
snake I previously had having died, I searched through this great
wood, and, finding this one, overpowered him by charms and captured
him." When he heard this, the generous Udayana gave that Savara the
bracelet which his mother had bestowed on him, and persuaded him to
set the snake at liberty. The Savara took the bracelet and departed,
and then the snake being pleased with Udayana bowed before him and
said as follows, "I am the eldest brother of Vásuki, [123] called
Vasunemi: receive from me, whom thou hast preserved, this lute,
sweet in the sounding of its strings, divided according to the
division of the quarter-tones; and betel leaf, together with the art
of weaving unfading garlands, and adorning the forehead with marks
that never become indistinct." Then Udayana furnished with all these,
and dismissed by the snake, returned to the hermitage of Jamadagni,
raining nectar, so to speak, into the eyes of his mother.

In the meanwhile that Savara who had lighted on this forest, and
while roaming about in it had obtained the bracelet from Udayana by
the will of fate, was caught attempting to sell this ornament marked
with the king's name in the market, and was arrested by the police,
and brought up in court before the king. Then king Sahasráníka himself
asked him in sorrow whence he had obtained the bracelet. Then that
Savara told him the whole story of his obtaining possession of the
bracelet, beginning with his capture of the snake upon the eastern
mountain. Hearing that from the Savara, and beholding that bracelet
of his beloved, king Sahasráníka ascended the swing of doubt.

Then a divine voice from heaven delighted the king who was tortured
with the fire of separation, as the rain-drops delight the peacock
when afflicted with the heat, uttering these words--"Thy curse is at
an end, O king, and that wife of thine Mrigávatí is residing in the
hermitage of Jamadagni together with thy son." Then that day at last
came to an end, though made long by anxious expectation, and on the
morrow that king Sahasráníka, making the Savara show him the way,
set out with his army for that hermitage on the eastern mountain,
in order quickly to recover his beloved wife.


After he had gone a long distance the king encamped that day in a
certain forest on the border of a lake. He went to bed weary, and in
the evening he said to Sangataka a story-teller who had come to him
on account of the pleasure he took in his service; "Tell me some tale
that will gladden my heart, for I am longing for the joy of beholding
the lotus-face of Mrigávatí." Then Sangataka said, King why do you
grieve without cause? The union with your queen, which will mark the
termination of your curse, is nigh at hand. Human beings experience
many unions and separations: and I will tell you a story to illustrate
this; listen, my lord!

Story of Srídatta and Mrigánkavatí.

Once on a time there lived in the country of Málava a Bráhman named
Yajnasoma. And that good man had two sons born to him, beloved by
men. One of them was known as Kálanemi and the second was named
Vigatabhaya. Now, when their father had gone to heaven, those two
brothers, having passed through the age of childhood, went to the city
of Pátaliputra to acquire learning. And when they had completed their
studies, their teacher Devasarman gave them his own two daughters,
like another couple of sciences incarnate in bodily form.

Then seeing that the householders around him were rich, Kálanemi
through envy made a vow and propitiated the goddess of Fortune with
burnt-offerings. And the goddess being satisfied appeared in bodily
form and said to him--"Thou shalt obtain great wealth and a son
who shall rule the earth; but at last thou shalt be put to death
like a robber, because thou hast offered flesh in the fire with
impure motives." When she had said this, the goddess disappeared;
and Kálanemi in course of time became very rich; moreover after some
days a son was born to him. So the father, whose desires were now
accomplished, called that son Srídatta, [124] because he had been
obtained by the favour of the goddess of Fortune. In course of time
Srídatta grew up, and though a Bráhman, became matchless upon earth
in the use of weapons, and in boxing and wrestling.

Then Kálanemi's brother Vigatabhaya went to a foreign land, having
become desirous of visiting places of pilgrimage, through sorrow for
his wife, who died of the bite of a snake.

Moreover the king of the land, Vallabhasakti, who appreciated good
qualities, made Srídatta the companion of his son Vikramasakti. So
he had to live with a haughty prince, as the impetuous Bhíma lived
in his youth with Duryodhana. Then two Kshatriyas, natives of Avanti,
Báhusálin and Vajramushti became friends of that Bráhman's. And some
other men from the Deccan, sons of ministers, having been conquered
by him in wrestling, resorted to him out of spontaneous friendship,
as they knew how to value merit. Mahábala and Vyághrabhata and also
Upendrabala and a man named Nishthuraka became his friends. One day,
as years rolled on, Srídatta, being in attendance on the prince,
went with him and those friends to sport on the bank of the Ganges;
then the prince's own servants made him king, and at the same time
Srídatta was chosen king by his friends. This made the prince angry,
and in over-weening confidence he at once challenged that Bráhman
hero to fight. Then being conquered by him in wrestling, and so
disgraced, he made up his mind that this rising hero should be put
to death. But Srídatta found out that intention of the prince's, and
withdrew in alarm with those friends of his from his presence. And as
he was going along, he saw in the middle of the Ganges a woman being
dragged under by the stream, looking like the goddess of Fortune in
the middle of the sea. And then he plunged in to pull her out of the
water, leaving Báhusálin and his five other friends on the bank. Then
that woman, though he seized her by the hair, sank deep in the water;
and he dived as deep in order to follow her. And after he had dived a
long way, he suddenly saw a splendid temple of Siva, but no water and
no woman. [125] After beholding that wonderful sight, being wearied
out he paid his adorations to the god whose emblem is a bull, and
spent that night in a beautiful garden attached to the temple. And in
the morning that lady was seen by him having come to worship the god
Siva, like the incarnate splendour of beauty attended by all womanly
perfections. And after she had worshipped the god, the moon-faced one
departed to her own house, and Srídatta for his part followed her. And
he saw that palace of hers resembling the city of the gods, which
the haughty beauty entered hurriedly in a contemptuous manner. And
without deigning to address him, the graceful lady sat down on a sofa
in the inner part of the house, waited upon by thousands of women. And
Srídatta also took a seat near her; then suddenly that virtuous lady
began to weep. The tear-drops fell in an unceasing shower on her
bosom, and that moment pity entered into the heart of Srídatta. And
then he said to her, "Who art thou, and what is thy sorrow? Tell me,
fair one, for I am able to remove it." Then she said reluctantly,
"We are the thousand granddaughters of Bali [126] the king of the
Daityas, and I am the eldest of all, and my name is Vidyutprabhá. That
grandfather of ours was carried off by Vishnu to long imprisonment,
and the same hero slew our father in a wrestling-match. And after he
had slain him, he excluded us from our own city, and he placed a lion
in it to prevent us from entering. The lion occupies that place, and
grief our hearts. It is a Yaksha that was made a lion by the curse of
Kuvera, and long ago it was predicted that the Yaksha's curse should
end when he was conquered by some mortal; so Vishnu deigned to inform
us on our humbly asking him how we might be enabled to enter our
city. Therefore subdue that lion our enemy; it was for that reason,
O hero, that I enticed you hither. And when you have overcome him you
will obtain from him a sword named Mrigánka, by the virtue of which
you shall conquer the world and become a king." When he heard that,
Srídatta agreed to undertake the adventure, and after that day had
passed, on the morrow he took those Daitya maidens with him as guides,
and went to that city, and there he overcame in wrestling that haughty
lion. [127] He being freed from his curse assumed a human form, and
out of gratitude gave his sword to the man who had put an end to his
curse, and then disappeared together with the burden of the sorrow
of the great Asura's daughter. Then that Srídatta, together with
the Daitya's daughter, who was accompanied by her younger sisters,
entered that splendid city which looked like the serpent Ananta [128]
having emerged from the earth. And that Daitya maiden gave him a ring
that destroyed the effect of poison. Then that young man remaining
there fell in love with her. And she cunningly said to him, "Bathe
in this tank, and when you dive in, take with you this sword [129]
to keep off the danger of crocodiles." He consented, and diving into
the tank, rose upon that very bank of the Ganges from which he first
plunged in. Then he, seeing the ring and the sword, felt astonishment
at having emerged from the lower regions, and despondency at having
been tricked by the Asura maid. Then he went towards his own house
to look for his friends, and as he was going he saw on the way his
friend Nishthuraka. Nishthuraka came up to him and saluted him, and
quickly took him aside into a lonely place, and when asked by him
for news of his relations, gave him this answer; "On that occasion
when you plunged into the Ganges we searched for you many days, and
out of grief we were preparing to cut off our heads, but a voice from
heaven forbade that attempt of ours saying, 'My sons, do no rash act,
your friend shall return alive.' And then we were returning into the
presence of your father, when on the way a man hurriedly advanced
to meet us and said this--'You must not enter this city at present,
for the king of it Vallabhasakti is dead, and the ministers have with
one accord conferred the royal dignity on Vikramasakti;' now the day
after he was made king he went to the house of Kálanemi, and full of
wrath asked him where his son Srídatta was, and he replied--'I do not
know.' Then the king in a rage, supposing he had concealed his son,
had him put to death by impalement as a thief. When his wife saw that,
her heart broke. Men of cruel deeds must always pile one evil action
upon another in long succession; and so Vikramasakti is searching for
Srídatta to slay him, and you are his friends, therefore leave this
place.' When the man had given us this warning, Báhusálin and his
four companions being grieved went by common consent to their own
home in Ujjayiní. And they left me here in concealment, my friend,
for your sake. So come, let us go to that very place to meet our
friends." Having heard this from Nishthuraka, and having bewailed
his parents, Srídatta cast many a look at his sword, as if reposing
in that his hope of vengeance; then the hero, biding his time, set
out accompanied by Nishthuraka for that city of Ujjayiní in order to
meet his friends.

And as he was relating to his friend his adventures from the time
of his plunging into the stream, Srídatta beheld a woman weeping
in the road; when she said, "I am a woman going to Ujjayiní and I
have lost my way," Srídatta out of pity made her journey along with
him. He and Nishthuraka, together with that woman, whom he kept
with him out of compassion, halted that day in a certain deserted
town. There he suddenly woke up in the night and beheld that the
woman had slain Nishthuraka, and was devouring his flesh with the
utmost delight. Then he rose up drawing his sword Mrigánka, and that
woman assumed her own terrible form, that of a Rákshasí, [130] and
he seized that night-wanderer by her hair, to slay her. That moment
she assumed a heavenly shape and said to him, "Slay me not, mighty
hero, let me go, I am not a Rákshasí; the hermit Visvámitra imposed
this condition on me by a curse. For once when he was performing
austerities from a desire to attain the position of the god of wealth,
I was sent by the god to impede him. Then finding that I was not able
to seduce him with my alluring form, being abashed, I assumed in order
to terrify him a formidable shape. When he saw this, that hermit laid
on me a curse suitable to my offence, exclaiming--'Wicked one, become
a Rákshasí and slay men.' And he appointed that my curse should end
when you took hold of my hair; accordingly I assumed this detestable
condition of a Rákshasí, and I have devoured all the inhabitants of
this town: now to-day after a long time you have brought my curse to
an end in the manner foretold; therefore receive now some boon." When
he heard that speech of hers, Srídatta said respectfully, "Mother
grant that my friend may be restored to life. What need have I of
any other boon?" "So be it," said she, and after granting the boon
disappeared. And Nishthuraka rose up again alive without a scratch on
his body. Then Srídatta set out the next morning with him, delighted
and astonished, and at last reached Ujjayiní. There he revived by his
appearance the spirits of his friends, who were anxiously expecting
him, as the arrival of the cloud revives the peacocks. And after he
had told all the wonders of his adventures, Báhusálin went through the
usual formalities of hospitality, taking him to his own home. There
Srídatta was taken care of by the parents of Báhusálin, and lived
with his friends as comfortably as if he were in his own house.

Once on a time, when the great feast of spring-tide [131] had arrived,
he went with his friends to behold some festal rejoicings in a
garden. There he beheld a maiden, the daughter of king Bimbaki, who
had come to see the show, looking like the goddess of the Splendour
of Spring present in bodily form. She, by name Mrigánkavatí, that
moment penetrated into his heart, as if through the openings left
by the expansion of his eye. Her passionate look too, indicative
of the beginning of love, fixed on him, went and returned like a
confidante. When she entered a thicket of trees, Srídatta not beholding
her, suddenly felt his heart so empty that he did not know where he
was. His friend Báhusálin, who thoroughly understood the language of
gestures, said to him, "My friend, I know your heart, do not deny your
passion, therefore, come, let us go to that part of the garden where
the king's daughter is." He consented and went near her accompanied
by his friend. That moment a cry was heard there, which gave great
pain to the heart of Srídatta, "Alas the princess has been bitten by
a snake!" Báhusálin then went and said to the chamberlain--"My friend
here possesses a ring that counteracts the effects of poison, and
also healing spells." Immediately the chamberlain came, and bowing at
his feet, quickly led Srídatta to the princess. He placed the ring on
her finger, and then muttered his spells so that she revived. Then all
the attendants were delighted, and loud in praise of Srídatta, and the
king Bimbaki hearing the circumstances came to the place. Accordingly
Srídatta returned with his friends to the house of Báhusálin without
taking back the ring. And all the gold and other presents, which
the delighted king sent to him there, he handed over to the father
of Báhusálin. Then, thinking upon that fair one, he was so much
afflicted, that his friends became utterly bewildered as to what to
do with him. Then a dear friend of the princess, Bhávaniká, by name,
came to him on pretence of returning the ring; and said to him, "That
friend of mine, illustrious Sir, has made up her mind, that either you
must save her life by becoming her husband, or she will be married to
her grave." When Bhávaniká had said this, Srídatta and Báhusálin and
the others quickly put their heads together and came to the following
resolution, "We will carry off this princess secretly by a stratagem,
and will go unperceived from here to Mathurá and live there." The
plan having been thoroughly talked over, and the conspirators having
agreed with one another what each was to do in order to carry it out,
Bhávaniká then departed. And the next day Báhusálin, accompanied by
three of his friends, went to Mathurá on pretext of trafficking,
and as he went he posted in concealment at intervals swift horses
for the conveyance of the princess. But Srídatta then brought at
eventide a woman with her daughter into the palace of the princess,
after making them both drink spirits, and then Bhávaniká, on pretence
of lighting up the palace, set fire to it, and secretly conveyed
the princess out of it; and that moment Srídatta, who was remaining
outside, received her, and sent her on to Báhusálin, who had started
in the morning, and directed two of his friends to attend on her and
also Bhávaniká. Now that drunken woman and her daughter were burnt in
the palace of the princess, and people supposed that the princess had
been burnt with her friend. But Srídatta took care to show himself
in the morning as before, in the city; then on the second night,
taking with him his sword Mrigánka, he started to follow his beloved,
who had set out before him. And in his eagerness he accomplished
a great distance that night, and when the morning watch [132] had
passed, he reached the Vindhya forest. There he first beheld unlucky
omens, and afterwards he saw all those friends of his together with
Bhávaniká lying in the road gashed with wounds. And when he came
up all distracted, they said to him, "We were robbed to-day by a
large troop of horsemen that set upon us. And after we were reduced
to this state, one of the horsemen threw the terrified princess on
his horse and carried her off. So before she has been carried to
a great distance, go in this direction, do not remain near us, she
is certainly of more importance than we." Being urged on with these
words by his friends, Srídatta rapidly followed after the princess,
but could not help frequently turning round to look at them. And
after he had gone a considerable distance, he caught up that troop
of cavalry, and he saw a young man of the warrior caste in the midst
of it. And he beheld that princess held by him upon his horse. So
he slowly approached that young warrior; and when soft words would
not induce him to let the princess go, he hurled him from his horse
with a blow of his foot, and dashed him to pieces on a rock. And
after he had slain him, he mounted on his horse and slew a great
number of the other horsemen who charged him in anger. And then those
who remained alive, seeing that the might which the hero displayed
was more than human, fled away in terror; and Srídatta mounted on
the horse with the princess Mrigánkavatí and set out to find those
friends of his. And after he had gone a little way, he and his wife
got off the horse which had been severely wounded in the fight, and
soon after it fell down and died. And then his beloved Mrigánkavatí,
exhausted with fear and exertion, became very thirsty. And leaving
her there, he roamed a long distance hither and thither, and while
he was looking for water the sun set. Then he discovered that, though
he had found water, he had lost his way, and he passed that night in
the wood roaming about, moaning aloud like a Chakraváka. [133] And
in the morning he reached that place, which was easy to recognise by
the carcass of the horse. And nowhere there did he behold his beloved
princess. Then in his distraction he placed his sword Mrigánka on the
ground, and climbed to the top of a tree, in order to cast his eye in
all directions for her. That very moment a certain Savara chieftain
passed that way; and he came up and took the sword from the foot of
the tree. Beholding that Savara chieftain, Srídatta came down from
the top of the tree, and in great grief asked him for news of his
beloved. The Savara chieftain said--"Leave this place and come to my
village; I have no doubt she whom you seek has gone there; and I shall
come there and return you this sword." When the Savara chieftain urged
him to go with these words, Srídatta, being himself all eagerness,
went to that village with the chief's men. And there those men said to
him,--"Sleep off your fatigue,"--and when he reached the house of the
chief of the village, being tired he went to sleep in an instant. And
when he woke up he saw his two feet fastened with fetters, like the
two efforts he had made in order to obtain his beloved, which failed
to reach their object. Then he remained there weeping for his darling,
who, like the course of destiny, had for a moment brought him joy,
and the next moment blasted his hopes.

One day a serving maid of the name of Mochaniká came to him and
said,--Illustrious Sir, unwittingly you have come hither to your
death? For the Savara chieftain has gone somewhither to accomplish
certain weighty affairs, and when he returns, he will offer you
to Chandiká. [134] For with that object he decoyed you here by a
stratagem from this slope of the wild Vindhya hill, and immediately
threw you into the chains in which you now are. And it is because
you are intended to be offered as a victim to the goddess, that you
are continually served with garments and food. But I know of only
one expedient for delivering you, if you agree to it. This Savara
chieftain has a daughter named Sundarí, and she having seen you is
becoming exceedingly love-sick; marry her who is my friend, then you
will obtain deliverance. [135] When she said this to him, Srídatta
consented, desiring to be set at liberty, and secretly made that
Sundarí his wife by the Gándharva form of marriage. And every night she
removed his chains and in a short time Sundarí became pregnant. Then
her mother, having heard the whole story from the mouth of Mochaniká,
out of love for her son-in-law Srídatta, went and of her own accord
said to him--"My son, Sríchanda the father of Sundarí is a wrathful
man, and will show thee no mercy. Therefore depart, but thou must not
forget Sundarí." When his mother-in-law had said this, she set him at
liberty, and Srídatta departed after telling Sundarí that the sword,
which was in her father's possession, really belonged to himself.

So he again entered full of anxiety that forest, in which he had before
wandered about, in order again to search for traces of Mrigávatí. And
having seen an auspicious omen he came to that same place, where that
horse of his died before, and whence his wife was carried off. And
there he saw near [136] him a hunter coming towards him, and when
he saw him he asked him for news of that gazelle-eyed lady. Then
the hunter asked him "Are you Srídatta?" and he sighing replied "I
am that unfortunate man." Then that hunter said, "Listen, friend, I
have somewhat to tell you. I saw that wife of yours wandering hither
and thither lamenting your absence, and having asked her her story,
and consoled her, moved with compassion I took her out of this wood
to my own village. But when I saw the young Pulindas [137] there,
I was afraid, and I took her to a village named Nágasthala near
Mathurá. [138] And then I placed her in the house of an old Bráhman
named Visvadatta commending her with all due respect to his care. And
thence I came here having learnt your name from her lips. Therefore
you had better go quickly to Nágasthala to search for her." When the
hunter had told him this, Srídatta quickly set out, and he reached
Nágasthala in the evening of the second day. Then he entered the house
of Visvadatta and when he saw him said, "Give me my wife who was placed
here by the hunter." Visvadatta when he heard that, answered him,
"I have a friend in Mathurá a Bráhman, dear to all virtuous men, the
spiritual preceptor and minister of the king Súrasena. In his care
I placed your wife. For this village is an out-of-the-way place and
would not afford her protection. So go to that city to-morrow morning,
but to-day rest here." When Visvadatta said this, he spent that night
there, and the next morning he set off, and reached Mathurá on the
second day. Being weary and dusty with the long journey, he bathed
outside that city in the pellucid water of a lake. And he drew out
of the middle of the lake a garment placed there by some robbers,
not suspecting any harm. But in one corner of the garment, which was
knotted up, a necklace was concealed. [139] Then Srídatta took that
garment, and in his eagerness to meet his wife did not notice the
necklace, and so entered the city of Mathurá. Then the city police
recognized the garment, and finding the necklace, arrested Srídatta
as a thief, and carried him off, and brought him before the chief
magistrate exactly as he was found, with the garment in his possession;
by him he was handed up to the king, and the king ordered him to be
put to death.

Then, as he was being led off to the place of execution with the
drum being beaten behind him, [140] his wife Mrigánkavatí saw him in
the distance. She went in a state of the utmost distraction and said
to the chief minister, in whose house she was residing, "Yonder is
my husband being led off to execution." Then that minister went and
ordered the executioners to desist, and, by making a representation
to the king, got Srídatta pardoned, and had him brought to his
house. And when Srídatta reached his house, and saw that minister,
he recognised him and fell at his feet, exclaiming, "What! is this my
uncle Vigatabhaya, who long ago went to a foreign country, and do I now
by good luck find him established in the position of a minister?" He
too recognised to his astonishment Srídatta as his brother's son,
and embraced him, and questioned him about all his adventures. Then
Srídatta related to his uncle his whole history beginning with the
execution of his father. And he, after weeping, said to his nephew in
private, "Do not despond, my son, for I once brought a female Yaksha
into subjection by means of magic; and she gave me, though I have
no son, five thousand horses and seventy millions of gold pieces:
and all that wealth is at your disposal." After telling him this,
his uncle brought him his beloved, and he, having obtained wealth,
married her on the spot. And then he remained there in joy, united
with that beloved Mrigánkavatí as a bed of white lotuses [141] with
the night. But even when his happiness was at its full, anxiety for
Báhusálin and his companions clouded his heart, as a spot of darkness
does the full moon. Now one day his uncle said secretly to Srídatta:
"my son, the king Súrasena has a maiden daughter, and in accordance
with his orders I have to take her to the land of Avanti to give her
away in marriage; so I will take her away on that very pretext, and
marry her to you. Then, when you have got possession of the force that
follows her, with mine already at your disposal, you will soon gain
the kingdom that was promised you by the goddess Srí." Having resolved
on this, and having taken that maiden, Srídatta and his uncle set out
with their army and their attendants. But as soon as they had reached
the Vindhya forest, before they were aware of the danger, a large army
of brigands set upon them showering arrows. After routing Srídatta's
force, and seizing all the wealth, they bound Srídatta himself, who
had fainted from his wounds, and carried him off to their village. And
they took him to the awful temple of Durgá, in order to offer him up
in sacrifice, and, as it were, summoned Death with the sound of their
gongs. There Sundarí saw him, one of his wives, the daughter of the
chief of the village, who had come with her young son to visit the
shrine of the goddess. Full of joy she ordered the brigands, who were
between her and her husband, to stand aside, and then Srídatta entered
her palace with her. Immediately Srídatta obtained the sovereignty of
that village, which Sundarí's father, having no son, bequeathed to
her when he went to heaven. So Srídatta recovered his wife and his
sword Mrigánka, and also his uncle and his followers, who had been
overpowered by the robbers. And, while he was in that town, he married
the daughter of Súrasena, and became a great king there. And from
that place he sent ambassadors to his two fathers-in-law, to Bimbaki,
and king Súrasena. And they, being very fond of their daughters,
gladly recognised him as a connection, and came to him accompanied by
the whole of their armies. And his friends Báhusálin and the others,
who had been separated from him, when they heard what had happened,
came to him with their wounds healed and in good health. Then the hero
marched, united with his fathers-in-law, and made that Vikramasakti,
who had put his father to death, a burnt-offering in the flame of his
wrath. And then Srídatta, having gained dominion over the sea-encircled
earth, and deliverance from the sorrow of separation, joyed in the
society of Mrigánkavatí. Even so, my king, do men of firm resolution
cross the calamitous sea of separation and obtain prosperity.

After hearing this tale from Sangataka, the king Sahasráníka, though
longing for the sight of his beloved one, managed to get through
that night on the journey. Then, engrossed with his desire, sending
his thoughts on before, in the morning Sahasráníka set out to meet
his darling. And in a few days he reached that peaceful hermitage of
Jamadagni, in which even the deer laid aside their wantonness. And
there he beheld with reverence that Jamadagni, the sight of whom
was sanctifying, like the incarnate form of penance, who received him
hospitably. And the hermit handed over to him that queen Mrigávatí with
her son, regained by the king after long separation, like tranquillity
accompanied with joy. And that sight which the husband and wife
obtained of one another, now that the curse had ceased, rained,
as it were, nectar into their eyes, which were filled with tears of
joy. And the king embracing that son Udayana, whom he now beheld for
the first time, could with difficulty let him go, as he was, so to
speak, riveted to his body with his own hairs that stood erect from
joy. [142] Then king Sahasráníka took his queen Mrigávatí with Udayana,
and, bidding adieu to Jamadagni, set out from that tranquil hermitage
for his own city, and even the deer followed him as far as the border
of the hermitage with tearful eyes. Beguiling the way by listening to
the adventures of his beloved wife during the period of separation,
and by relating his own, he at length reached the city of Kausámbí,
in which triumphal arches were erected and banners displayed. And
he entered that city in company with his wife and child, being, so
to speak, devoured [143] by the eyes of the citizens, that had the
fringe of their lashes elevated. And immediately the king appointed
his son Udayana crown-prince, being incited to it by his excellent
qualities. And he assigned to him as advisers the sons of his own
ministers, Vasantaka and Rumanvat and Yaugandharáyana. Then a rain
of flowers fell, and a celestial voice was heard--"By the help of
these excellent ministers, the prince shall obtain dominion over the
whole earth." Then the king devolved on his son the cares of empire,
and enjoyed in the society of Mrigávatí the long-desired pleasures of
the world. At last the desire of earthly enjoyment, beholding suddenly
that old age, the harbinger of composure had reached the root of the
king's ear, [144] became enraged and fled far from him. Then that king
Sahasráníka established in his throne his excellent son Udayana, [145]
whom the subjects loved so well, to ensure the world's prosperity,
and accompanied by his ministers, and his beloved wife, ascended the
Himálaya to prepare for the last great journey.


Then Udayana took the kingdom of Vatsa, which his father had
bequeathed to him, and, establishing himself in Kausámbí, ruled his
subjects well. But gradually he began to devolve the cares of empire
upon his ministers, Yaugandharáyana and others, and gave himself
up entirely to pleasures. He was continually engaged in the chase,
and day and night he played on the melodious lute which Vásuki [146]
gave him long ago; and he subdued evermore infuriated wild elephants,
overpowered by the fascinating spell of its strings' dulcet sound,
and, taming them, brought them home. That king of Vatsa drank wine
adorned by the reflection of the moon-faces of fair women, and at the
same time robbed his minister's faces of their cheerful hue. [147]
Only one anxiety had he to bear, he kept thinking, "Nowhere is a
wife found equal to me in birth and personal appearance, the maiden
named Vásavadattá alone has a liking for me, but how is she to be
obtained?" Chandamahásena also in Ujjayiní thought; "There is no
suitable husband to be found for my daughter in the world, except one
Udayana by name, and he has ever been my enemy. Then how can I make
him my son-in-law and my submissive ally? There is only one device
which can effect it. He wanders about alone in the forest capturing
elephants, for he is a king addicted to the vice of hunting; I will
make use of this failing of his to entrap him and bring him here by
a stratagem: and, as he is acquainted with music, I will make this
daughter of mine his pupil, and then his eye will without doubt
be charmed with her, and he will certainly became my son-in-law,
and my obedient ally. No other artifice seems applicable in this
case for making him submissive to my will." Having thus reflected,
he went to the temple of Durgá, in order that his scheme might
be blessed with success, and, after worship and praise, offered a
prayer to the goddess. And there he heard a bodiless voice saying,
"This desire of thine, O king, shall shortly be accomplished." Then
he returned satisfied, and deliberated over that very matter with
the minister Buddhadatta [148] saying--"That prince is elated with
pride, he is free from avarice, his subjects are attached to him,
and he is of great power, therefore he cannot be reached by any of
the four usual expedients beginning with negotiation, nevertheless
let negotiation be tried first." [149] Having thus deliberated,
the king gave this order to an ambassador, "Go and give the king
of Vatsa this message from me; 'My daughter desires to be thy pupil
in music, if thou love us, come here and teach her.'" When sent off
by the king with this message, the ambassador went and repeated it
to the king of Vatsa in Kausámbí exactly as it was delivered; and
the king of Vatsa, after hearing this uncourteous message from the
ambassador, repeated it in private to the minister Yaugandharáyana,
saying "Why did that monarch send me that insolent message? What can
be the villain's object in making such a proposal?" When the king
asked him this question, the great minister Yaugandharáyana, who was
stern to his master for his good, thus answered him; "Your reputation
for vice [150] has shot up in the earth like a creeper, and this,
O king, is its biting bitter fruit. For that king Chandamahásena,
thinking that you are the slave of your passions, intends to ensnare
you by means of his beautiful daughter, throw you into prison, and so
make you his unresisting instrument. Therefore abandon kingly vices,
for kings that fall into them are easily captured by their enemies,
even as elephants are taken in pits." When his minister had said this
to him, the resolute king of Vatsa sent in return an ambassador to
Chandamahásena with the following reply, "If thy daughter desires to
become my pupil, then send her here." When he had sent this reply,
that king of Vatsa said to his ministers--"I will march and bring
Chandamahásena here in chains." When he heard that, the head minister
Yaugandharáyana said--"That is not a fitting thing to do, my king, nor
is it in thy power to do it. For Chandamahásena is a mighty monarch,
and not to be subdued by thee. And in proof of this, hear his whole
history, which I now proceed to relate to thee."

Story of king Chandamahásena.

There is in this land a city named Ujjayiní, the ornament of the earth,
that, so to speak, laughs to scorn with its palaces of enamelled
whiteness [151] Amarávatí, the city of the gods. In that city dwells
Siva himself, the lord of existence, under the form of Mahákála,
[152] when he desists from the kingly vice of absenting himself
on the heights of mount Kailása. In that city lived a king named
Mahendravarman, best of monarchs, and he had a son like himself,
named Jayasena. Then to that Jayasena was born a son named Mahásena,
matchless in strength of arm, an elephant among monarchs. And that
king, while cherishing his realm, reflected, "I have not a sword worthy
of me, [153] nor a wife of good family." Thus reflecting that monarch
went to the temple of Durgá, and there he remained without food,
propitiating for a long time the goddess. Then he cut off pieces of
his own flesh, and offered a burnt-offering with them, whereupon the
goddess Durgá being pleased appeared in visible shape and said to
him, "I am pleased with thee, receive from me this excellent sword,
by means of its magic power thou shalt be invincible to all thy
enemies. Moreover thou shalt soon obtain as a wife Angáravatí, the
daughter of the Asura Angáraka, the most beautiful maiden in the three
worlds. And since thou didst here perform this very cruel penance,
therefore thy name shall be Chandamahásena." Having said this and
given him the sword, the goddess disappeared. But in the king there
appeared joy at the fulfilment of his desire. He now possessed, O king,
two jewels, his sword and a furious elephant named Nadágiri, which
were to him what the thunderbolt and Airávana are to Indra. Then that
king, delighting in the power of these two, one day went to a great
forest to hunt; and there he beheld an enormous and terrible wild
boar; like the darkness of the night suddenly condensed into a solid
mass in the day time. That boar was not wounded by the king's arrows,
in spite of their sharpness, but after breaking the king's chariot
[154] fled and entered a cavern. The king, leaving that car of his,
in revengeful pursuit of the boar, entered into that cavern with only
his bow to aid him. And after he had gone a long distance, he beheld a
great and splendid capital, and astonished he sat down inside the city
on the bank of a lake. While there, he beheld a maiden moving along,
surrounded by hundreds of women, like the arrow of love that cleaves
the armour of self-restraint. She slowly approached the king, bathing
him, so to speak, again and again in a look, that rained in showers
the nectar of love. [155] She said, "who art thou, illustrious sir, and
for what reason hast thou entered our home on this occasion?" The king,
being thus questioned by her, told her the whole truth; hearing which,
she let fall from her eyes a passionate flood of tears, and from her
heart all self-control. The king said, "Who art thou, and why dost
thou weep?" When he asked her this question, she, being a prisoner
to love at his will, answered him, "The boar that entered here is the
Daitya Angáraka by name. And I am his daughter, O king, and my name is
Angáravatí. And he is of adamantine frame, and has carried off these
hundred princesses from the palaces of kings and appointed them to
attend on me. Moreover this great Asura has become a Rákshasa owing
to a curse, but to-day as he was exhausted with thirst and fatigue,
even when he found you, he spared you. At present he has put off the
form of a boar and is resting in his own proper shape, but when he
wakes up from his sleep, he will without fail do you an injury. It
is for this reason that I see no hope of a happy issue for you, and
so these tear-drops fall from my eyes like my vital spirits boiled
with the fire of grief." When he heard this speech of Angáravatí's the
king said to her,--"If you love me, do this which I ask you. When your
father awakes, go and weep in front of him, and then he will certainly
ask you the cause of your agitation; then you must say--If some one
were to slay thee, what would become of me? [156] This is the cause of
my grief. If you do this, there will be a happy issue both for you and
me." When the king said this to her, she promised him that she would
do what he wished. And that Asura maiden, apprehending misfortune,
placed the king in concealment, and went near her sleeping father. Then
the Daitya woke up, and she began to weep. And then he said to her,
"Why do you weep, my daughter?" She with affected grief said to him,
"If some one were to slay thee, what would become of me?" Then he
burst out laughing and said;--"Who could possibly slay me, my daughter,
for I am cased in adamant all over, only in my left hand is there an
unguarded place, but that is protected by the bow." In these words the
Daitya consoled his daughter, and all this was heard by the king in
his concealment. Immediately afterwards the Dánava rose up and took
his bath, and proceeded in devout silence to worship the god Siva;
at that moment the king appeared with his bow bent, and rushing up
impetuously towards the Daitya, challenged him to fight. He, without
interrupting his devout silence, lifted his left hand towards the king
and made a sign that he must wait for a moment. The king for his part,
being very quick of hand, immediately smote him with an arrow in that
hand which was his vital part. And that great Asura Angáraka, being
pierced in a vital spot, immediately uttered a terrible cry and fell
on the ground, and exclaimed, as his life departed,--"If that man,
who has slain me when thirsty, does not offer water to my manes every
year, then his five ministers shall perish." After he had said this,
that Daitya died, and the king, taking his daughter Angáravatí as a
prize, returned to Ujjayiní. There the king Chandamahásena married that
Daitya maiden, and two sons were born to him, the first named Gopálaka,
and the second Pálaka; and when they were born, he held a feast in
honour of Indra on their account. Then Indra, being pleased, said
to that king in a dream, "By my favour thou shalt obtain a matchless
daughter." Then in course of time a graceful daughter was born to that
king, like a second and more wonderful shape of the moon made by the
Creator. And on that occasion a voice was heard from heaven;--"She
shall give birth to a son, who shall be a very incarnation of the
god of love, and king of the Vidyádharas." Then the king gave that
daughter the name of Vásavadattá, because she was given by Indra being
pleased with him. And that maiden still remains unmarried in the house
of her father, like the goddess of prosperity in the hollow cavity
of the ocean before it was churned. That king Chandamahásena cannot
indeed be conquered by you, O king, in the first place because he is
so powerful, and in the next place because his realm is situated in
a difficult country. Moreover he is ever longing to give you that
daughter of his in marriage, but being a proud monarch, he desires
the triumph of himself and his adherents. But, I think, you must
certainly marry that Vásavadattá. When he heard this, that king of
Vatsa immediately lost his heart to Vásavadattá.


In the meanwhile the ambassador, sent by the king of Vatsa in
answer to Chandamahásena's embassy, went and told that monarch his
master's reply. Chandamahásena for his part, on hearing it, began to
reflect--"It is certain that that proud king of Vatsa will not come
here. And I cannot send my daughter to his court, such conduct would
be unbecoming; so I must capture him by some stratagem and bring him
here as a prisoner." Having thus reflected and deliberated with his
ministers, the king had made a large artificial elephant like his own,
and, after filling it with concealed warriors, he placed it in the
Vindhya forest. There the scouts kept in his pay by the king of Vatsa,
who was passionately fond of the sport of elephant-catching, discerned
it from a distance; [157] and they came with speed and informed the
king of Vatsa in these words: "O king, we have seen a single elephant
roaming in the Vindhya forest, such that nowhere else in this wide
world is his equal to be found, filling the sky with his stature,
like a moving peak of the Vindhya range."

Then the king rejoiced on hearing this report from the scouts, and
he gave them a hundred thousand gold pieces by way of reward. The
king spent that night in thinking; "If I obtain that mighty elephant,
a fit match for Nadágiri, then that Chandamahásena will certainly be
in my power, and then he will of his own accord give me his daughter
Vásavadattá." So in the morning he started for the Vindhya forest,
making these scouts shew him the way, disregarding, in his ardent
desire to capture the elephant, the advice of his ministers. He did
not pay any attention to the fact, that the astrologers said, that
the position of the heavenly bodies at the moment of his departure
portended the acquisition of a maiden together with imprisonment. When
the king of Vatsa reached the Vindhya forest, he made his troops halt
at a distance through fear of alarming that elephant, and accompanied
by the scouts only, holding in his hand his melodious lute, he entered
that great forest boundless as his own kingly vice. The king saw on
the southern slope of the Vindhya range that elephant looking like a
real one, pointed out to him by his scouts from a distance. He slowly
approached it, alone, playing on his lute, thinking how he should bind
it, and singing in melodious tones. As his mind was fixed on his music,
and the shades of evening were setting in, that king did not perceive
that the supposed wild elephant was an artificial one. The elephant
too for its part, lifting up its ears and flapping them, as if through
delight in the music, kept advancing and then retiring, and so drew
the king to a great distance. And then, suddenly issuing from that
artificial elephant, a body of soldiers in full armour surrounded
that king of Vatsa. When he beheld them, the king in a rage drew his
hunting knife, but while he was fighting with those in front of him,
he was seized by others coming up behind. And those warriors with the
help of others, who appeared at a concerted signal, carried that king
of Vatsa into the presence of Chandamahásena. Chandamahásena for his
part came out to meet him with the utmost respect, and entered with
him the city of Ujjayiní. Then the newly arrived king of Vatsa was
beheld by the citizens, like the moon, pleasing to the eyes, though
spotted with humiliation. Then all the citizens, suspecting that
he was to be put to death, through regard for his virtues assembled
and determined to commit suicide. [158] Then the king Chandamahásena
put a stop to the agitation of the citizens, by informing them that
he did not intend to put the monarch of Vatsa to death, but to win
him over. So the king made over his daughter Vásavadattá on the spot
to the king of Vatsa, to be taught music, and said to him--"Prince,
teach this lady music; in this way you will obtain a happy issue to
your adventure, do not despond." But when he beheld that fair lady,
the mind of the king of Vatsa was so steeped in love that he put out of
sight his anger: and her heart and mind turned towards him together;
her eye was then averted through modesty, but her mind not at all. So
the king of Vatsa dwelt in the concert-room of Chandamahásena's palace,
teaching Vásavadattá to sing, with his eyes ever fixed on her. In
his lap was his lute, in his throat the quarter-tone of vocal music,
and in front of him stood Vásavadattá delighting his heart. And that
princess Vásavadattá was devoted in her attentions to him, resembling
the goddess of Fortune in that she was firmly attached to him, and
did not leave him though he was a captive.

In the meanwhile the men who had accompanied the king returned to
Kausámbí, and the country, hearing of the captivity of the monarch,
was thrown into a state of great excitement. Then the enraged subjects,
out of love for the king of Vatsa, wanted to make a general [159]
assault on Ujjayiní. But Rumanvat checked the impetuous fury of the
subjects by telling them that Chandamahásena was not to be overcome
by force, for he was a mighty monarch, and besides that an assault
was not advisable, for it might endanger the safety of the king of
Vatsa; but their object must be attained by policy. Then the calm
and resolute Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the country was loyal, and
would not swerve from its allegiance, said to Rumanvat and the others;
"All of you must remain here, ever on the alert; you must guard this
country, and when a fit occasion comes you must display your prowess;
but I will go accompanied by Vasantaka only, and will without fail
accomplish by my wisdom the deliverance of the king and bring him
home. For he is a truly firm and resolute man whose wisdom shines
forth in adversity, as the lightning flash is especially brilliant
during pelting rain. I know spells for breaking through walls,
and for rending fetters, and receipts for becoming invisible,
serviceable at need." Having said this, and entrusted to Rumanvat
the care of the subjects, Yaugandharáyana set out from Kausámbí with
Vasantaka. And with him he entered the Vindhya forest, full of life
[160] like his wisdom, intricate and trackless as his policy. Then he
visited the palace of the king of the Pulindas, Pulindaka by name,
who dwelt on a peak of the Vindhya range, and was an ally of the
king of Vatsa. He first placed him, with a large force at his heels,
in readiness to protect the king of Vatsa when he returned that way,
and then he went on accompanied by Vasantaka and at last arrived at the
burning-ground of Mahákála in Ujjayiní, which was densely tenanted by
vampires [161] that smelt of carrion, and hovered hither and thither,
black as night, rivalling the smoke-wreaths of the funeral pyres. And
there a Bráhman-Rákshasa of the name of Yogesvara immediately came up
to him, delighted to see him, and admitted him into his friendship;
then Yaugandharáyana by means of a charm, which he taught him,
suddenly altered his shape. That charm immediately made him deformed,
hunchbacked, and old, and besides gave him the appearance of a madman,
so that he produced loud laughter in those who beheld him. And in
the same way Yaugandharáyana, by means of that very charm, gave
Vasantaka a body full of outstanding veins, with a large stomach,
and an ugly mouth with projecting teeth; [162] then he sent Vasantaka
on in front to the gate of the king's palace, and entered Ujjayiní
with such an appearance as I have described. There he, singing and
dancing, surrounded by Bráhman boys, beheld with curiosity by all,
made his way to the king's palace. And there he excited by that
behaviour the curiosity of the king's wives, and was at last heard
of by Vásavadattá. She quickly sent a maid and had him brought
to the concert-room. For youth is twin-brother to mirth. And when
Yaugandharáyana came there and beheld the king of Vatsa in fetters,
though he had assumed the appearance of a madman, he could not help
shedding tears. And he made a sign to the king of Vatsa, who quickly
recognized him, though he had come in disguise. Then Yaugandharáyana by
means of his magic power made himself invisible to Vásavadattá and her
maids. So the king alone saw him, and they all said with astonishment,
"that maniac has suddenly escaped somewhere or other." Then the king
of Vatsa hearing them say that, and seeing Yaugandharáyana in front
of him, understood that this was due to magic, and cunningly said
to Vásavadattá; "Go my good girl, and bring the requisites for the
worship of Sarasvatí." When she heard that, she said, "So I will,"
and went out with her companions. Then Yaugandharáyana approached the
king and communicated to him, according to the prescribed form, spells
for breaking chains; and at the same time he furnished him with other
charms for winning the heart of Vásavadattá, which were attached to the
strings of the lute; and informed him that Vasantaka had come there and
was standing outside the door in a changed form, and recommended him
to have that Bráhman summoned to him; at the same time he said--"When
this lady Vásavadattá shall come to repose confidence in you, then you
must do what I tell you, at the present remain quiet." Having said
this, Yaugandharáyana quickly went out, and immediately Vásavadattá
entered with the requisites for the worship of Sarasvatí. Then the
king said to her, "There is a Bráhman standing outside the door, let
him be brought in to celebrate this ceremony in honour of Sarasvatí,
in order that he may obtain a sacrificial fee." Vásavadattá consented,
and had Vasantaka, who wore a deformed shape, summoned from the door
into the music-hall. And when he was brought and saw the king of
Vatsa, he wept for sorrow, and then the king said to him, in order
that the secret might not be discovered, "O Bráhman, I will remove
all this deformity of thine produced by sickness; do not weep, remain
here near me." And then Vasantaka said--"It is a great condescension
on thy part, O king." And the king seeing how he was deformed could
not keep his countenance. And when he saw that, Vasantaka guessed
what was in the king's mind, and laughed so that the deformity of his
distorted face was increased; and thereupon Vásavadattá, beholding him
grinning like a doll, burst out laughing also, and was much delighted;
then the young lady asked Vasantaka in fun the following question:
"Bráhman, what science are you familiar with, tell us?" So he said,
"Princess, I am an adept at telling tales." Then she said, "Come,
tell me a tale." Then in order to please that princess, Vasantaka told
the following tale, which was charming by its comic humour and variety.

Story of Rúpiniká.

There is in this country a city named Mathurá, the birthplace of
Krishna, in it there was a hetæra known by the name of Rúpiniká;
she had for a mother an old kuttiní named Makaradanshtrá, who
seemed a lump of poison in the eyes of the young men attracted by
her daughter's charms. One day Rúpiniká went at the time of worship
to the temple to perform her duty, [163] and beheld from a distance
a young man. When she saw that handsome young fellow, he made such an
impression upon her heart, that all her mother's instructions vanished
from it. Then she said to her maid, "Go and tell this man from me,
that he is to come to my house to-day." The maid said, "So I will,"
and immediately went and told him. Then the man thought a little
and said to her; "I am a Bráhman named Lohajangha [164]; I have no
wealth; then what business have I in the house of Rúpiniká which is
only to be entered by the rich." The maid said,--"My mistress does
not desire wealth from you,"--whereupon Lohajangha consented to do
as she wished. When she heard that from the maid, Rúpiniká went home
in a state of excitement, and remained with her eyes fixed on the
path by which he would come. And soon Lohajangha came to her house,
while the kuttiní Makaradanshtrá looked at him, and wondered where he
came from. Rúpiniká, for her part, when she saw him, rose up to meet
him herself with the utmost respect, and clinging to his neck in her
joy, led him to her own private apartments. Then she was captivated
with Lohajangha's wealth of accomplishments, and considered that
she had been only born to love him. So she avoided the society of
other men, and that young fellow lived with her in her house in great
comfort. Rúpiniká's mother, Makaradanshtrá, who had trained up many
hetæræ, was annoyed when she saw this, and said to her in private;
"My daughter, why do you associate with a poor man? Hetæræ of good
taste embrace a corpse in preference to a poor man. What business has a
hetæra like you with affection? How have you come to forget that great
principle? The light of a red [165] sunset lasts but a short time, and
so does the splendour of a hetæra who gives way to affection. A hetæra,
like an actress, should exhibit an assumed affection in order to get
wealth; so forsake this pauper, do not ruin yourself." When she heard
this speech of her mother's, Rúpiniká said in a rage, "Do not talk
in this way, for I love him more than my life. And as for wealth,
I have plenty, what do I want with more? So you must not speak to
me again, mother, in this way." When she heard this, Makaradanshtrá
was in a rage, and she remained thinking over some device for getting
rid of this Lohajangha. Then she saw coming along the road a certain
Rájpút, who had spent all his wealth, surrounded by retainers with
swords in their hands. So she went up to him quickly and taking him
aside, said--"My house is beset by a certain poor lover. So come there
yourself to-day, and take such order with him that he shall depart from
my house, and do you possess my daughter." "Agreed," said the Rájpút,
and entered that house. At that precise moment Rúpiniká was in the
temple, and Lohajangha meanwhile was absent somewhere, and suspecting
nothing, he returned to the house a moment afterwards. Immediately
the retainers of the Rájpút ran upon him, and gave him severe kicks
and blows on all his limbs, and then they threw him into a ditch full
of all kinds of impurities, and Lohajangha with difficulty escaped
from it. Then Rúpiniká returned to the house, and when she heard
what had taken place, she was distracted with grief, so the Rájpút,
seeing that, returned as he came.

Lohajangha, after suffering this brutal outrage by the machinations
of the kuttiní, set out for some holy place of pilgrimage, in order to
leave his life there, now that he was separated from his beloved. As he
was going along in the wild country, [166] with his heart burning with
anger against the kuttiní, and his skin with the heat of the summer,
he longed for shade. Not being able to find a tree, he lighted on
the body of an elephant, which had been stripped of all its flesh
[167] by jackals making their way into it by the hind-quarters;
accordingly Lohajangha being worn out crept into this carcase, which
was a mere shell, as only the skin remained, and went to sleep in
it, as it was kept cool by the breeze which freely entered. Then
suddenly clouds arose from all sides, and began to pour down a
pelting shower of rain; that rain made the elephant's skin contract
so that no aperture was left, and immediately a copious inundation
came that way, and carrying off the elephant's hide swept it into
the Ganges; so eventually the inundation bore it into the sea. And
there a bird of the race of Garuda saw that hide, and supposing it
to be carrion, took it to the other side of the sea; there it tore
open the elephant's hide with its claws, and, seeing that there was
a man inside it, fled away. But Lohajangha was awaked by the bird's
pecking and scratching, and came out through the aperture made by
its beak. And finding that he was on the other side of the sea,
he was astonished, and looked upon the whole thing as a day-dream;
then he saw there to his terror two horrible Rákshasas, and those
two for their part contemplated him from a distance with feelings of
fear. Remembering how they were defeated by Ráma, and seeing that
Lohajangha was also a man who had crossed the sea, they were once
more alarmed in their hearts. So, after they had deliberated together,
one of them went off immediately and told the whole occurrence to king
Vibhíshana; king Vibhíshana too, as he had seen the prowess of Ráma,
being terrified at the arrival of a man, said to that Rákshasa; "Go,
my good friend, and tell that man from me in a friendly manner, that
he is to do me the favour of coming to my palace." The Rákshasa said,
"I will do so," and timidly approached Lohajangha, and told him that
request of his sovereign's. Lohajangha for his part accepted that
invitation with unruffled calm, and went to Lanká with that Rákshasa
and his companion. And when he arrived in Lanká, he was astonished
at beholding numerous splendid edifices of gold, and entering the
king's palace, he saw Vibhíshana. The king welcomed the Bráhman who
blessed him in return, and then Vibhíshana said, "Bráhman, how did
you manage to reach this country?" Then the cunning Lohajangha said
to Vibhíshana--"I am a Bráhman of the name of Lohajangha residing in
Mathurá; and I, Lohajangha being afflicted at my poverty, went to the
temple of the god, and remaining fasting, for a long time performed
austerities in the presence of Náráyana. [168] Then the adorable Hari*
commanded me in a dream, saying, 'Go thou to Vibhíshana, for he is a
faithful worshipper of mine, and he will give thee wealth.' Then, I
said, 'Vibhíshana is where I cannot reach him'--but the lord continued,
'To-day shalt thou see that Vibhíshana.' So the lord spake to me,
and immediately I woke up and found myself upon this side of the
sea. I know no more." When Vibhíshana heard this from Lohajangha,
reflecting that Lanká was a difficult place to reach, he thought
to himself--"Of a truth this man possesses divine power." And he
said to that Bráhman,--"Remain here, I will give you wealth." Then
he committed him to the care of the man-slaying Rákshasas as an
inviolable deposit; and sent some of his subjects to a mountain
in his kingdom called Swarnamúla, and brought from it a young bird
belonging to the race of Garuda; and he gave it to that Lohajangha,
(who had to take a long journey to Mathurá,) to ride upon, in order
that he might in the meanwhile break it in. Lohajangha for his part
mounted on its back, and riding about on it in Lanká, rested there
for some time, being hospitably entertained by Vibhíshana.

One day he asked the king of the Rákshasas, feeling curiosity on
the point, why the whole ground of Lanká was made of wood; and
Vibhíshana when he heard that, explained the circumstance to him,
saying, "Bráhman, if you take any interest in this matter, listen,
I will explain it to you. Long ago Garuda the son of Kasyapa, wishing
to redeem his mother from her slavery to the snakes, to whom she had
been subjected in accordance with an agreement, [169] and preparing
to obtain from the gods the nectar which was the price of her ransom,
wanted to eat something which would increase his strength, and so he
went to his father, who being importuned said to him, "My son, in the
sea there is a huge elephant, and a huge tortoise. They have assumed
their present forms in consequence of a curse: go and eat them." Then
Garuda went and brought them both to eat, and then perched on a bough
of the great wishing-tree of paradise. And when that bough suddenly
broke with his weight, he held it up with his beak, out of regard
to the Bálakhilyas [170] who were engaged in austerities underneath
it. Then Garuda, afraid that the bough would crush mankind, if he let
it fall at random, by the advice of his father brought the bough to
this uninhabited part of the earth, and let it drop. Lanká was built
on the top of that bough, therefore the ground here is of wood." When
he heard this from Vibhíshana, Lohajangha was perfectly satisfied.

Then Vibhíshana gave to Lohajangha many valuable jewels, as he desired
to set out for Mathurá. And out of his devotion to the god Vishnu,
who dwells at Mathurá, he entrusted to the care of Lohajangha a lotus,
a club, a shell, and a discus all of gold, to be offered to the god;
Lohajangha took all these, and mounted the bird given to him by
Vibhíshana, that could accomplish a hundred thousand yojanas, [171]
and rising up into the air in Lanká, he crossed the sea and without
any difficulty arrived at Mathurá. And there he descended from the air
in an empty convent outside the town, and deposited there his abundant
treasure, and tied up that bird. And then he went into the market and
sold one of his jewels, and bought garments and scented unguents, and
also food. And he ate the food in that convent where he was, and gave
some to his bird; and he adorned himself with the garments, unguents,
flowers and other decorations. And when night came, he mounted that
same bird and went to the house of Rúpiniká, bearing in his hand the
shell, discus and mace; then he hovered over it in the air, knowing the
place well, and made a low deep sound, to attract the attention of his
beloved, who was alone. But Rúpiniká, as soon as she heard that sound,
came out, and saw hovering in the air by night a being like Náráyana,
gleaming with jewels. He said to her, "I am Hari come hither for thy
sake;" whereupon she bowed with her face to the earth and said--"May
the god have mercy upon me!" Then Lohajangha descended and tied up
his bird, and entered the private apartments of his beloved hand in
hand with her. And after remaining there a short time, he came out,
and mounting the bird as before, went off through the air. [172]
In the morning Rúpiniká remained observing an obstinate silence,
thinking to herself--"I am the wife of the god Vishnu, I must cease
to converse with mortals." And then her mother Makaradanshtrá said
to her,--"Why do you behave in this way, my daughter?" And after she
had been perseveringly questioned by her mother, she caused to be put
up a curtain between herself and her parent, and told her what had
taken place in the night, which was the cause of her silence. When
the kuttiní heard that, she felt doubt on the subject, but soon after
at night she saw that very Lohajangha mounted on the bird, and in the
morning Makaradanshtrá came secretly to Rúpiniká, who still remained
behind the curtain, and inclining herself humbly, preferred to her
this request; "Through the favour of the god, thou, my daughter, hast
obtained here on earth the rank of a goddess, and I am thy mother in
this world, therefore grant me a reward for giving thee birth; entreat
the god that, old as I am, with this very body I may enter Paradise;
do me this favour." Rúpiniká consented and requested that very boon
from Lohajangha, who came again at night disguised as Vishnu. Then
Lohajangha, who was personating the god, said to that beloved of
his--"Thy mother is a wicked woman, it would not be fitting to take
her openly to Paradise, but on the morning of the eleventh day the
door of heaven is opened, and many of the Ganas, Siva's companions,
enter into it before any one else is admitted. Among them I will
introduce this mother of thine, if she assume their appearance. So,
shave her head with a razor, in such a manner that five locks shall
be left, put a necklace of sculls round her neck, and stripping off
her clothes, paint one side of her body with lamp-black, and the
other with red lead, [173] for when she has in this way been made
to resemble a Gana, I shall find it an easy matter to get her into
heaven." When he had said this, Lohajangha remained a short time,
and then departed. And in the morning Rúpiniká attired her mother as
he had directed; and then she remained with her mind entirely fixed on
Paradise. So, when night came, Lohajangha appeared again, and Rúpiniká
handed over her mother to him. Then he mounted on the bird, and took
the kuttiní with him naked, and transformed as he had directed, and
he flew up rapidly with her into the air. While he was in the air,
he beheld a lofty stone pillar in front of a temple, with a discus on
its summit. So he placed her on the top of the pillar, with the discus
as her only support, [174] and there she hung like a banner to blazon
forth his revenge for his ill-usage. He said to her--"Remain here a
moment while I bless the earth with my approach," and vanished from
her sight. Then beholding a number of people in front of the temple,
who had come there to spend the night in devout vigils before the
festive procession, he called aloud from the air--"Hear, ye people,
this very day there shall fall upon you here the all-destroying
goddess of Pestilence, therefore fly to Hari for protection." When
they heard this voice from the air, all the inhabitants of Mathurá who
were there, being terrified, implored the protection of the god, and
remained devoutly muttering prayers to ward off calamity. Lohajangha,
for his part, descended from the air, and encouraged them to pray,
and after changing that dress of his, came and stood among the people,
without being observed. The kuttiní thought, as she sat upon the top
of the pillar,--"the god has not come as yet, and I have not reached
heaven." At last feeling it impossible to remain up there any longer,
she cried out in her fear, so that the people below heard; "Alas! I
am falling, I am falling." Hearing that, the people in front of the
god's temple were beside themselves, fearing that the destroying
goddess was falling upon them, even as had been foretold, and said,
"O goddess, do not fall, do not fall." So those people of Mathurá,
young and old, spent that night in perpetual dread that the destroying
goddess would fall upon them, but at last it came to an end; and
then beholding that kuttiní upon the pillar in the state described,
[175] the citizens and the king recognized her at once; all the
people thereupon forgot their alarm, and burst out laughing, and
Rúpiniká herself at last arrived having heard of the occurrence. And
when she saw it, she was abashed, and with the help of the people,
who were there, she managed to get that mother of hers down from
the top of the pillar immediately: then that kuttiní was asked by
all the people there, who were filled with curiosity, to tell them
the whole story, and she did so. Thereupon the king, the Bráhmans,
and the merchants, thinking that that laughable incident must have
been brought about by a sorcerer or some person of that description,
made a proclamation, that whoever had made a fool of the kuttiní,
who had deceived innumerable lovers, was to shew himself, and he
would receive a turban of honour on the spot. When he heard that,
Lohajangha made himself known to those present, and being questioned,
he related the whole story from its commencement. And he offered
to the god the discus, shell, club, and lotus of gold, the present
which Vibhíshana had sent, and which aroused the astonishment of the
people. Then all the people of Mathurá, being pleased, immediately
invested him with a turban of honour, and by the command of the king,
made that Rúpiniká a free woman. And then Lohajangha, having wreaked
upon the kuttiní his wrath caused by her ill-usage of him, lived in
great comfort in Mathurá with that beloved of his, being very well
off by means of the large stock of jewels which he brought from Lanká.

Hearing this tale from the mouth of the transformed Vasantaka,
Vásavadattá who was sitting at the side of the fettered king of Vatsa,
felt extreme delight in her heart.


As time went on, Vásavadattá began to feel a great affection for the
king of Vatsa, and to take part with him against her father. Then
Yaugandharáyana again came in to see the king of Vatsa, making himself
invisible to all the others, who were there. And he gave him the
following information in private in the presence of Vasantaka only;
"King, you were made captive by king Chandamahásena by means of
an artifice. And he wishes to give you his daughter, and set you
at liberty, treating you with all honour; so let us carry off his
daughter and escape. For in this way we shall have revenged ourselves
upon the haughty monarch, and we shall not be thought lightly of in
the world for want of prowess. Now the king has given that daughter
of his, Vásavadattá, a female elephant called Bhadravatí. And no
other elephant but Nadágiri is swift enough to catch her up, and he
will not fight when he sees her. The driver of this elephant is a man
here called Áshádhaka, and him I have won over to our side by giving
him much wealth. So you must mount that elephant with Vásavadattá,
fully armed, and start from this place secretly by night. And you
must have the superintendent of the royal elephants here made drunk
with wine, in order that he may not perceive what is about to take
place, [176] for he understands every sign that elephants give. I,
for my part, will first repair to your ally Pulindaka in order that
he may be prepared to guard the road by which you escape." When he
had said this, Yaugandharáyana departed. So the king of Vatsa stored
up all his instructions in his heart; and soon Vásavadattá came to
him. Then he made all kinds of confidential speeches to her, and at
last told her what Yaugandharáyana had said to him. She consented to
the proposal, and made up her mind to start, and causing the elephant
driver Áshádhaka to be summoned, she prepared his mind for the attempt,
and on the pretext of worshipping the gods, she gave the superintendent
of the elephants, with all the elephant drivers, a supply of spirits,
and made them drunk. Then in the evening, which was disturbed with
the echoing roar of clouds, [177] Áshádhaka brought that female
elephant ready harnessed, but she, while she was being harnessed,
uttered a cry, which was heard by the superintendent of the elephants,
who was skilled in elephants' language; and he faltered out in a voice
indistinct from excessive intoxication,--"the female elephant says,
she is going sixty-three yojanas to-day." But his mind in his drunken
state was not capable of reasoning, and the elephant-drivers, who were
also intoxicated, did not even hear what he said. Then the king of
Vatsa broke his chains by means of the charms, which Yaugandharáyana
had given him, and took that lute of his, and Vásavadattá of her own
accord brought him his weapons, and then he mounted the female elephant
with Vasantaka. And then Vásavadattá mounted the same elephant with
her friend and confidante Kánchanamálá; then the king of Vatsa went
out from Ujjayiní with five persons in all, including himself and
the elephant-driver, by a path which the infuriated elephant clove
through the rampart.

And the king attacked and slew the two warriors who guarded that point,
the Rájpúts Vírabáhu and Tálabhata. Then the monarch set out rapidly
on his journey in high spirits, mounted on the female elephant,
together with his beloved, Áshádhaka holding the elephant-hook; in
the meanwhile in Ujjayiní the city-patrol beheld those guards of the
rampart lying dead, and in consternation reported the news to the
king at night. Chandamahásena enquired into the matter, and found
out at last that the king of Vatsa had escaped, taking Vásavadattá
with him. Then the alarm spread through the city, and one of his
sons named Pálaka mounted Nadágiri and pursued the king of Vatsa. The
king of Vatsa for his part, combated him with arrows as he advanced,
and Nadágiri, seeing that female elephant, would not attack her. Then
Pálaka, who was ready to listen to reason, was induced to desist from
the pursuit by his brother Gopálaka, who had his father's interests
at heart; then the king of Vatsa boldly continued his journey,
and as he journeyed, the night gradually came to an end. So by the
middle of the day the king had reached the Vindhya forest, and his
elephant having journeyed sixty-three yojanas, was thirsty. So the
king and his wife dismounted, and the female elephant having drunk
water, owing to its being bad, fell dead on the spot. Then the king
of Vatsa and Vásavadattá, in their despair, heard this voice coming
from the air--"I, O king, am a female Vidyádhara named Máyávatí, and
for this long time I have been a female elephant in consequence of
a curse; and to-day, O lord of Vatsa, I have done you a good turn,
and I will do another to your son that is to be: and this queen of
yours Vásavadattá is not a mere mortal; she is a goddess for a certain
cause incarnate on the earth." Then the king regained his spirits,
and sent on Vasantaka to the plateau of the Vindhya hills to announce
his arrival to his ally Pulindaka; and as he was himself journeying
along slowly on foot with his beloved, he was surrounded by brigands,
who sprang out from an ambuscade. And the king, with only his bow
to help him, slew one hundred and five of them before the eyes of
Vásavadattá. And immediately the king's ally Pulindaka came up,
together with Yaugandharáyana, Vasantaka shewing them the way. The
king of the Bheels ordered the surviving brigands [178] to desist,
and after prostrating himself before the king of Vatsa, conducted
him with his beloved to his own village. The king rested there that
night with Vásavadattá, whose foot had been cut with a blade of forest
grass, and early in the morning the general Rumanvat reached him, who
had before been summoned by Yaugandharáyana, who sent a messenger to
him. And the whole army came with him, filling the land as far as the
eye could reach, so that the Vindhya forest appeared to be besieged. So
that king of Vatsa entered into the encampment of his army, and
remained in that wild region to wait for news from Ujjayiní. And,
while he was there, a merchant came from Ujjayiní, a friend of
Yaugandharáyana's, and when he had arrived reported these tidings,
"The king Chandamahásena is pleased to have thee for a son-in-law,
and he has sent his warder to thee. The warder is on the way, but
he has stopped short of this place, however, I came secretly on in
front of him, as fast as I could, to bring your Highness information."

When he heard this, the king of Vatsa rejoiced, and told it all to
Vásavadattá, and she was exceedingly delighted. Then Vásavadattá,
having abandoned her own relations, and being anxious for the
ceremony of marriage, was at the same time bashful and impatient:
then she said, in order to divert her thoughts, to Vasantaka who was
in attendance--"Tell me some story." Then the sagacious Vasantaka
told that fair-eyed one the following tale in order to increase her
affection for her husband.

Story of Devasmitá.

There is a city in the world famous under the name of Támraliptá, and
in that city there was a very rich merchant named Dhanadatta. And he,
being childless, assembled many Bráhmans and said to them with due
respect; "Take such steps as will procure me a son soon." Then those
Bráhmans said to him: "This is not at all difficult, for Bráhmans
can accomplish all things in this world by means of ceremonies in
accordance with the scriptures. To give you an instance there was
in old time a king who had no sons, and he had a hundred and five
wives in his harem. And by means of a sacrifice to procure a son,
there was born to him a son named Jantu, who was like the rising of
the new moon to the eyes of his wives. Once on a time an ant bit the
boy on the thigh as he was crawling about on his knees, so that he
was very unhappy and sobbed loudly. Thereupon the whole harem was
full of confused lamentation, and the king himself shrieked out
'My son! my son!' like a common man. The boy was soon comforted,
the ant having been removed, and the king blamed the misfortune of
his only having one son as the cause of all his grief. And he asked
the Bráhmans in his affliction if there was any expedient by which he
might obtain a large number of children. They answered him,--'O king,
there is one expedient open to you; you must slay this son and offer
up all his flesh in the fire. By smelling the smell of that sacrifice
all thy wives will obtain sons.' When he heard that, the king had
the whole ceremony performed as they directed; and he obtained as
many sons as he had wives. So we can obtain a son for you also by a
burnt-offering." When they had said this to Dhanadatta, the Bráhmans,
after a sacrificial fee had been promised them, performed a sacrifice:
then a son was born to that merchant. That son was called Guhasena,
and he gradually grew up to man's estate. Then his father Dhanadatta
began to look out for a wife for him.

Then his father went with that son of his to another country, on the
pretence of traffic, but really to get a daughter-in-law, there he
asked an excellent merchant of the name of Dharmagupta to give him his
daughter named Devasmitá for his son Guhasena. But Dharmagupta, who was
tenderly attached to his daughter, did not approve of that connexion,
reflecting that the city of Támraliptá was very far off. But when
Devasmitá beheld that Guhasena, her mind was immediately attracted by
his virtues, and she was set on abandoning her relations, and so she
made an assignation with him by means of a confidante, and went away
from that country at night with her beloved and his father. When they
reached Támraliptá they were married, and the minds of the young couple
were firmly knit together by the bond of mutual love. Then Guhasena's
father died, and he himself was urged by his relations to go to the
country of Katáha [179] for the purpose of trafficking; but his wife
Devasmitá was too jealous to approve of that expedition, fearing
exceedingly that he would be attracted by some other lady. Then,
as his wife did not approve of it, and his relations kept inciting
him to it, Guhasena, whose mind was firmly set on doing his duty, was
bewildered. Then he went and performed a vow in the temple of the god,
observing a rigid fast, trusting that the god would shew him some way
out of his difficulty. And his wife Devasmitá also performed a vow
with him; then Siva was pleased to appear to that couple in a dream;
and giving them two red lotuses the god said to them,--"take each,
of you one of these lotuses in your hand. And if either of you shall
be unfaithful during your separation, the lotus in the hand of the
other shall fade, but not otherwise [180]." After hearing this, the
two woke up, and each beheld in the hand of the other a red lotus,
and it seemed as if they had got one another's hearts. Then Guhasena
set out, lotus in hand, but Devasmitá remained in the house with her
eyes fixed upon her flower. Guhasena for his part quickly reached
the country of Katáha, and began to buy and sell jewels there. And
four young merchants in that country, seeing that that unfading
lotus was ever in his hand, were greatly astonished. Accordingly
they got him to their house by an artifice, and made him drink a
great deal of wine, and then asked him the history of the lotus,
and he being intoxicated told them the whole story. Then those four
young merchants, knowing that Guhasena would take a long time to
complete his sales and purchases of jewels and other wares, planned
together, like rascals as they were, the seduction of his wife out of
curiosity, and eager to accomplish it set out quickly for Támraliptá
without their departure being noticed. There they cast about for some
instrument, and at last had recourse to a female ascetic of the name
of Yogakarandiká, who lived in a sanctuary of Buddha; and they said
to her in an affectionate manner, "Reverend madam, if our object is
accomplished by your help, we will give you much wealth." She answered
them; "No doubt, you young men desire some woman in this city, so tell
me all about it, I will procure you the object of your desire, but I
have no wish for money; I have a pupil of distinguished ability named
Siddhikarí; owing to her kindness I have obtained untold wealth." The
young merchants asked--"How have you obtained untold wealth by the
assistance of a pupil?" Being asked this question, the female ascetic
said,--"If you feel any curiosity about the matter, listen, my sons,
I will tell you the whole story."

Story of the cunning Siddhikarí.

Long ago a certain merchant came here from the north; while he was
dwelling here, my pupil went and obtained, with a treacherous object,
the position of a serving-maid in his house, having first altered her
appearance, and after she had gained the confidence of that merchant,
she stole all his hoard of gold from his house, and went off secretly
in the morning twilight. And as she went out from the city moving
rapidly through fear, a certain Domba [181] with his drum in his
hand, saw her, and pursued her at full speed with the intention of
robbing her. When she had reached the foot of a Nyagrodha tree, she
saw that he had come up with her, and so the cunning Siddhikarí said
this to him in a plaintive manner, "I have had a jealous quarrel
with my husband, and I have left his house to die, therefore my
good man, make a noose for me to hang myself with." Then the Domba
thought, "Let her hang herself, why should I be guilty of her death,
especially as she is a woman," and so he fastened a noose for her
to the tree. Then Siddhikarí, feigning ignorance, said to the Domba,
"How is the noose slipped round the neck? shew me, I entreat you." Then
the Domba placed the drum under his feet, and saying,--"This is the
way we do the trick"--he fastened the noose round his own throat;
Siddhikarí for her part smashed the drum to atoms with a kick, and
that Domba hung till he was dead. [182] At that moment the merchant
arrived in search of her, and beheld from a distance Siddhikarí, who
had stolen from him untold treasures, at the foot of the tree. She
too saw him coming, and climbed up the tree without being noticed,
and remained there on a bough, having her body concealed by the dense
foliage. When the merchant came up with his servants, he saw the Domba
hanging by his neck, but Siddhikarí was nowhere to be seen. Immediately
one of his servants said "I wonder whether she has got up this tree,"
and proceeded to ascend it himself. Then Siddhikarí said--"I have
always loved you, and now you have climbed up where I am, so all this
wealth is at your disposal, handsome man, come and embrace me." So
she embraced the merchant's servant, and as she was kissing his mouth,
she bit off the fool's tongue. He, overcome with the pain, fell from
that tree, spitting blood from his mouth, uttering some indistinct
syllables, which sounded like Lalalla. When he saw that, the merchant
was terrified, and supposing that his servant had been seized by a
demon, he fled from that place, and went to his own house with his
attendants. Then Siddhikarí the female ascetic, equally frightened,
descended from the top of the tree, and brought home with her all
that wealth. Such a person is my pupil, distinguished for her great
discernment, and it is in this way, my sons, that I have obtained
wealth by her kindness.

When she had said this to the young merchants, the female ascetic
shewed to them her pupil who happened to come in at that moment; and
said to them, "Now, my sons, tell me the real state of affairs--what
woman do you desire? I will quickly procure her for you." When they
heard that they said, "procure us an interview with the wife of the
merchant Guhasena named Devasmitá." When she heard that, the ascetic
undertook to manage that business for them, and she gave those young
merchants her own house to reside in. Then she gratified the servants
at Guhasena's house with gifts of sweetmeats and other things, and
afterwards entered it with her pupil. Then, as she approached the
private rooms of Devasmitá, a bitch, that was fastened there with a
chain, would not let her come near, but opposed her entrance in the
most determined way. Then Devasmitá seeing her, of her own accord
sent a maid, and had her brought in, thinking to herself, "What can
this person be come for?" After she had entered, the wicked ascetic
gave Devasmitá her blessing, and, treating the virtuous woman with
affected respect, said to her--"I have always had a desire to see you,
but to-day I saw you in a dream, therefore I have come to visit you
with impatient eagerness; and my mind is afflicted at beholding you
separated from your husband, for beauty and youth are wasted when
one is deprived of the society of one's beloved." With this and many
other speeches of the same kind she tried to gain the confidence of
the virtuous woman in a short interview, and then taking leave of
her she returned to her own house. On the second day she took with
her a piece of meat full of pepper dust, and went again to the house
of Devasmitá, and there she gave that piece of meat to the bitch at
the door, and the bitch gobbled it up, pepper and all. Then owing
to the pepper dust, the tears flowed in profusion from the animal's
eyes, and her nose began to run. And the cunning ascetic immediately
went into the apartment of Devasmitá, who received her hospitably,
and began to cry. When Devasmitá asked her why she shed tears, she
said with affected reluctance: "My friend, look at this bitch weeping
outside here. This creature recognized me to-day as having been its
companion in a former birth, and began to weep; for that reason my
tears gushed through pity." When she heard that, and saw that bitch
outside apparently weeping, Devasmitá thought for a moment to herself,
"What can be the meaning of this wonderful sight?" Then the ascetic
said to her, "My daughter, in a former birth, I and that bitch were
the two wives of a certain Bráhman. And our husband frequently went
about to other countries on embassies by order of the king. Now while
he was away from home, I lived with other men at my pleasure, and so
did not cheat the elements, of which I was composed, and my senses,
of their lawful enjoyment. For considerate treatment of the elements
and senses is held to be the highest duty. Therefore I have been born
in this birth with a recollection of my former existence. But she,
in her former life, through ignorance, confined all her attention to
the preservation of her character, therefore she has been degraded and
born again as one of the canine race, however, she too remembers her
former birth." The wise Devasmitá said to herself, "This is a novel
conception of duty; no doubt this woman has laid a treacherous snare
for me"; and so she said to her, "Reverend lady, for this long time
I have been ignorant of this duty, so procure me an interview with
some charming man."--Then the ascetic said--"There are residing here
some young merchants that have come from another country, so I will
bring them to you." When she had said this, the ascetic returned
home delighted, and Devasmitá of her own accord said to her maids:
"No doubt those scoundrelly young merchants, whoever they may be,
have seen that unfading lotus in the hand of my husband, and have
on some occasion or other, when he was drinking wine, asked him out
of curiosity to tell the whole story of it, and have now come here
from that island to seduce me, and this wicked ascetic is employed by
them. So bring quickly some wine mixed with Datura, [183] and when
you have brought it, have a dog's foot of iron made as quickly as
possible." When Devasmitá had given these orders, the maids executed
them faithfully, and one of the maids, by her orders, dressed herself
up to resemble her mistress. The ascetic for her part chose out of the
party of four merchants, (each of whom in his eagerness said--"let me
go first"--) one individual, and brought him with her. And concealing
him in the dress of her pupil, she introduced him in the evening
into the house of Devasmitá, and coming out, disappeared. Then that
maid, who was disguised as Devasmitá, courteously persuaded the young
merchant to drink some of that wine drugged with Datura. That liquor,
[184] like his own immodesty, robbed him of his senses, and then
the maids took away his clothes and other equipments and left him
stark naked; then they branded him on the forehead with the mark of a
dog's foot, and during the night took him and pushed him into a ditch
full of filth. Then he recovered consciousness in the last watch of
the night, and found himself plunged in a ditch, as it were the hell
Avíchi assigned to him by his sins. Then he got up and washed himself
and went to the house of the female ascetic, in a state of nature,
feeling with his fingers the mark on his forehead. And when he got
there, he told his friends that he had been robbed on the way, in
order that he might not be the only person made ridiculous. And the
next morning he sat with a cloth wrapped round his branded forehead,
giving as an excuse that he had a headache from keeping awake so
long, and drinking too much. In the same way the next young merchant
was maltreated, when he got to the house of Devasmitá, and when he
returned home naked, he said, "I put on my ornaments there, and as I
was coming out I was plundered by robbers." In the morning he also, on
the plea of a headache, put a wrapper on to cover his branded forehead.

In the same way all the four young merchants suffered in turns
branding and other humiliating treatment, though they concealed
the fact. And they went away from the place, without revealing to
the female Buddhist ascetic the ill-treatment they had experienced,
hoping that she would suffer in a similar way. On the next day the
ascetic went with her disciple to the house of Devasmitá, much
delighted at having accomplished what she undertook to do. Then
Devasmitá received her courteously, and made her drink wine drugged
with Datura, offered as a sign of gratitude. When she and her disciple
were intoxicated with it, that chaste wife cut off their ears and
noses, and flung them also into a filthy pool. And being distressed by
the thought that perhaps these young merchants might go and slay her
husband, she told the whole circumstance to her mother-in-law. Then
her mother-in-law said to her,--"My daughter, you have acted nobly,
but possibly some misfortune may happen to my son in consequence of
what you have done." Then Devasmitá said--I will deliver him even
as Saktimatí in old time delivered her husband by her wisdom. Her
mother-in-law asked; "How did Saktimatí deliver her husband? tell me,
my daughter." Then Devasmitá related the following story:

Story of Saktimatí.

In our country, within the city, there is the shrine of a powerful
Yaksha named Manibhadra, established by our ancestors. The people
there come and make petitions at this shrine, offering various gifts,
in order to obtain various blessings. Whenever a man is found at night
with another man's wife, he is placed with her within the inner chamber
of the Yaksha's temple. And in the morning he is taken away from thence
with the woman to the king's court, and his behaviour being made known,
he is punished; such is the custom. Once on a time in that city a
merchant, of the name of Samudradatta, was found by a city-guard in
the company of another man's wife. So he took him and placed him with
the woman in that temple of the Yaksha, fastening the door firmly. And
immediately the wise and devoted wife of that merchant, whose name was
Saktimatí, came to hear of the occurrence; then that resolute woman,
disguising herself, went confidently at night to the temple of the
Yaksha, accompanied by her friends, taking with her offerings for
the god. When she arrived there, the priest whose business it was
to eat the offerings, through desire for a fee, opened the door and
let her enter, informing the magistrate of what he had done. And she,
when she got inside, saw her husband looking sheepish, with a woman,
and she made the woman put on her own dress, and told her to go
out. So that woman went out in her dress by night, and got off, but
Saktimatí remained in the temple with her husband. And when the king's
officers came in the morning to examine the merchant, he was seen by
all to be in the company of his own wife. [185] When he heard that,
the king dismissed the merchant from the temple of the Yaksha, as it
were from the mouth of death, and punished the chief magistrate. So
Saktimatí in old time delivered her husband by her wisdom, and in
the same way I will go and save my husband by my discretion.

So the wise Devasmitá said in secret to her mother-in-law, and,
in company with her maids, she put on the dress of a merchant. Then
she embarked on a ship, on the pretence of a mercantile expedition,
and came to the country of Katáha where her husband was. And when
she arrived there, she saw that husband of hers, Guhasena, in
the midst of a circle of merchants, like consolation in external
bodily form. He seeing her afar off in the dress of a man, [186]
as it were, drank her in with his eyes, and thought to himself,
"Who may this merchant be that looks so like my beloved wife"? So
Devasmitá went and represented to the king that she had a petition
to make, and asked him to assemble all his subjects. Then the king
full of curiosity assembled all the citizens, and said to that lady
disguised as a merchant, "What is your petition?" Then Devasmitá
said--There are residing here in your midst four slaves of mine who
have escaped, let the king make them over to me. Then the king said
to her, "All the citizens are present here, so look at every one in
order to recognise him, and take those slaves of yours." Then she
seized upon the four young merchants, whom she had before treated in
such a humiliating way in her house, and who had wrappers bound round
their heads. Then the merchants, who were there, flew in a passion,
and said to her, "These are the sons of distinguished merchants,
how then can they be your slaves?" Then she answered them, "If you do
not believe what I say, examine their foreheads which I marked with a
dog's foot." They consented, and removing the head-wrappers of these
four, they all beheld the dog's foot on their foreheads. Then all the
merchants were abashed, and the king, being astonished, himself asked
Devasmitá what all this meant. She told the whole story, and all the
people burst out laughing, and the king said to the lady,--"They are
your slaves by the best of titles." Then the other merchants paid
a large sum of money to that chaste wife, to redeem those four from
slavery, and a fine to the king's treasury. Devasmitá received that
money, and recovered her husband, and being honoured by all good men,
returned then to her own city Támraliptá, and she was never afterwards
separated from her beloved.

"Thus, O queen, women of good family ever worship their husbands with
chaste and resolute behaviour, [187] and never think of any other
man, for to virtuous wives the husband is the highest deity." When
Vásavadattá on the journey heard this noble story from the mouth of
Vasantaka, she got over the feeling of shame at having recently left
her father's house, and her mind, which was previously attached by
strong affection to her husband, became so fixed upon him as to be
entirely devoted to his service.


With regard to the incident of the bitch and the pepper in the story
of Devasmitá see the note in the 1st volume of Wilson's Essays on
Sanskrit Literature. He says: "This incident with a very different and
much less moral dénouement is one of the stories in the Disciplina
Clericalis, a collection of stories professedly derived from the
Arabian fabulists and compiled by Petrus Alfonsus a converted Jew, who
flourished about 1106 and was godson to Alfonso I, king of Arragon. In
the Analysis prepared by Mr. Douce, this story is the 12th, and is
entitled "Stratagem of an old woman in favour of a young gallant." She
persuades his mistress who had rejected his addresses that her little
dog was formerly a woman, and so transformed in consequence of her
cruelty to her lover. (Ellis's Metrical Romances, I, 130.) This story
was introduced into Europe, therefore, much about the time at which
it was enrolled among the contents of the Vrihat Kathá in Cashmir. The
metempsychosis is so much more obvious an explanation of the change of
forms, that it renders it probable the story was originally Hindu. It
was soon copied in Europe, and occurs in Le Grand as La vieille
qui séduisit la jeune fille. III. 148 [ed. III. Vol. IV. 50]. The
parallel is very close and the old woman gives "une chienne à manger
des choses fortement saupoudrèes de senève qui lai picotait le palais
et les narines et l'animal larmoyait beaucoup." She then shows her
to the young woman and tells her the bitch was her daughter. "Son
malheur fut d'avoir le coeur dur; un jeune homme l'aimait, elle
le rebuta. Le malheureux après avoir tout tenté pour l' attendrir,
désespéré de sa dureté en prit tant de chagrin qu'il tomba malade et
mourut. Dieu l'a bien vengè; voyez en quel état pour la punir il a
reduit ma pauvre fille, et comment elle pleure sa faute." The lesson
was not thrown away. The story occurs also in the Gesta Romanorum as
"The Old Woman and her Dog" [in Bohn's edition it is Tale XXVIII],
and it also finds a place where we should little have expected to find
it, in the Promptuarium of John Herolt of Basil, an ample repository
of examples for composing sermons: the compiler a Dominican friar,
professing to imitate his patron saint, who always abundabat exemplis
in his discourses." [In Bohn's edition we are told that it appears
in an English garb amongst a translation of Æsop's Fables published
in 1658.] Dr. Rost refers us to Th. Wright, Latin Stories, London,
1842, p. 218. Loiseleur Deslongchamps Essai sur les Fables Indiennes,
Paris, 1838, p. 106 ff. F. H. Von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, 1850
I, cxii. ff and Grässe, I. 1, 374 ff. In Gonzenbach'a Sicilianische
Märchen, No. 55, Vol. I, p. 359, Epomata plays some young men much the
same trick as Devasmitá, and they try in much the same way to conceal
their disgrace. The story is the second in my copy of the Suka Saptati.


Accordingly while the king of Vatsa was remaining in that Vindhya
forest, the warder of king Chandamahásena came to him. And when he
arrived, he did obeisance to the king and spoke as follows: The king
Chandamahásena sends you this message. You did rightly in carrying
off Vásavadattá yourself, for I had brought you to my court with this
very object; and the reason I did not myself give her to you, while
you were a prisoner, was, that I feared, if I did so, you might not
be well disposed towards me. Now, O king, I ask you to wait a little,
in order that the marriage of my daughter may not be performed without
due ceremonies. For my son Gopálaka will soon arrive in your court,
and he will celebrate with appropriate ceremonies the marriage of that
sister of his. This message the warder brought to the king of Vatsa,
and said various things to Vásavadattá. Then the king of Vatsa, being
pleased, determined on going to Kausámbí with Vásavadattá, who was
also in high spirits. He told his ally Pulindaka, and that warder in
the service of his father-in-law to await, where they were, the arrival
of Gopálaka, and then to come with him to Kausámbí. Then the great king
set out early the next day for his own city with the queen Vásavadattá,
followed by huge elephants raining streams of ichor, that seemed like
moving peaks of the Vindhya range accompanying him out of affection;
he was, as it were, praised by the earth, that outdid the compositions
of his minstrels, while it rang with the hoofs of his horses and the
tramplings of his soldiers; and by means of the towering clouds of
dust from his army, that ascended to heaven, he made Indra fear that
the mountains were sporting with unshorn wings. [188] Then the king
reached his country in two or three days, and rested one night in a
palace belonging to Rumanvat; and on the next day, accompanied by his
beloved, he enjoyed after a long absence the great delight of entering
Kausámbí, the people of which were eagerly looking with uplifted faces
for his approach. And then that city was resplendent as a wife, her
lord having returned after a long absence, beginning her adornment
and auspicious bathing vicariously by means of her women; and there
the citizens, their sorrow now at an end, beheld the king of Vatsa
accompanied by his bride, as peacocks behold a cloud accompanied by
lightning; [189] and the wives of the citizens standing on the tops
of the palaces, filled the heaven with their faces, that had the
appearance of golden lotuses blooming in the heavenly Ganges. Then
the king of Vatsa entered his royal palace with Vásavadattá, who
seemed like a second goddess of royal fortune; and that palace then
shone as if it had just awaked from sleep, full of kings who had
come to shew their devotion, festive with songs of minstrels. [190]
Not long after came Gopálaka the brother of Vásavadattá, bringing
with him the warder and Pulindaka; the king went to meet him, and
Vásavadattá received him with her eyes expanded with delight, as if
he were a second spirit of joy. While she was looking at this brother,
a tear dimmed her eyes lest she should be ashamed; and then she, being
encouraged by him with the words of her father's message, considered
that her object in life was attained, now that she was reunited to
her own relations. Then, on the next day, Gopálaka, with the utmost
eagerness, set about the high festival of her marriage with the king of
Vatsa, carefully observing all prescribed ceremonies. Then the king of
Vatsa received the hand of Vásavadattá, like a beautiful shoot lately
budded on the creeper of love. She too, with her eyes closed through
the great joy of touching her beloved's hand, having her limbs bathed
in perspiration accompanied with trembling, covered all over with
extreme horripilation, appeared at that moment as if struck by the god
of the flowery bow with the arrow of bewilderment, the weapon of wind,
and the water weapon in quick succession; [191] when she walked round
the fire keeping it to the right, her eyes being red with the smoke,
she had her first taste, so to speak, of the sweetness of wine and
honey. [192] Then by means of the jewels brought by Gopálaka, and
the gifts of the kings, the monarch of Vatsa became a real king of
kings. [193] That bride and bridegroom, after their marriage had been
celebrated, first exhibited themselves to the eyes of the people,
and then entered their private apartments. Then the king of Vatsa,
on the day so auspicious to himself invested Gopálaka and Pulindaka
with turbans of honour and other distinctions, and he commissioned
Yaugandharáyana and Rumanvat to confer appropriate distinctions
on the kings who had come to visit him, and on the citizens. Then
Yaugandharáyana said to Rumanvat; "The king has given us a difficult
commission, for men's feelings are hard to discover. And even a child
will certainly do mischief if not pleased; to illustrate this point
listen to the tale of the child Vinashtaka, my friend."

Story of the clever deformed child.

Once on a time there was a certain Bráhman named Rudrasarman, and he,
when he became a householder, had two wives, and one of his wives gave
birth to a son and died; and then the Bráhman entrusted that son to
the care of his step-mother; and when he grew to a tolerable stature,
she gave him coarse food; the consequence was, the boy became pale,
and got a swollen stomach. Then Rudrasarman said to that second wife,
"How comes it that you have neglected this child of mine that has lost
its mother?" She said to her husband, "Though I take affectionate
care of him, he is nevertheless the strange object you see; what am
I to do with him?" Whereupon the Bráhman thought, "No doubt it is the
child's nature to be like this." For who sees through the deceitfulness
of the speeches of women uttered with affected simplicity? Then that
child began to go by the name of Bálavinashtaka [194] in his father's
house, because they said this child (bála) is deformed (vinashta.) Then
Bálavinashtaka thought to himself--"This step-mother of mine is always
ill-treating me, therefore I had better be revenged on her in some
way"--for though the boy was only a little more than five years old,
he was clever enough. Then he said secretly to his father when he
returned from the king's court, with half suppressed voice--"Papa, I
have two Papas." So the boy said every day, and his father suspecting
that his wife had a paramour, would not even touch her. She for her
part thought--"Why is my husband angry without my being guilty; I
wonder whether Bálavinashtaka has been at any tricks?" So she washed
Bálavinashtaka with careful kindness, and gave him dainty food, and
taking him on her lap, asked him the following question: "My son why
have you incensed your father Rudrasarman against me?" When he heard
that, the boy said to his step-mother, "I will do more harm to you than
that, if you do not immediately cease ill-treating me. You take good
care of your own children; why do you perpetually torment me?" When
she heard that, she bowed before him, and said with a solemn oath,
"I will not do so any more; so reconcile my husband to me." Then the
child said to her--"Well, when my father comes home, let one of your
maids shew him a mirror, and leave the rest to me." She said, "Very
well," and by her orders a maid shewed a mirror to her husband as soon
as he returned home. Thereupon the child pointing out the reflection
of his father in the mirror, said, "There is my second father." When
he heard that, Rudrasarman dismissed his suspicions and was immediately
reconciled to his wife, whom he had blamed without cause.

"Thus even a child may do mischief if it is annoyed, and therefore
we must carefully conciliate all this retinue." Saying this,
Yaugandharáyana with the help of Rumanvat, carefully honoured all
the people on this the king of Vatsa's great day of rejoicing. [195]
And they gratified all the kings so successfully that each one of
them thought, "These two men are devoted to me alone." And the king
honoured those two ministers and Vasantaka with garments, unguents,
and ornaments bestowed with his own hand, and he also gave them
grants of villages. Then the king of Vatsa, having celebrated the
great festival of his marriage, considered all his wishes gratified,
now that he was linked to Vásavadattá. Their mutual love, having
blossomed after a long time of expectation, was so great, owing to
the strength of their passion, that their hearts continually resembled
those of the sorrowing Chakravákas, when the night, during which they
are separated, comes to an end. And as the familiarity of the couple
increased, their love seemed to be ever renewed. Then Gopálaka, being
ordered by his father to return to get married himself, went away,
after having been entreated by the king of Vatsa to return quickly.

In course of time the king of Vatsa became faithless, and secretly
loved an attendant of the harem named Virachitá, with whom he had
previously had an intrigue. One day he made a mistake and addressed
the queen by her name, thereupon he had to conciliate her by clinging
to her feet, and bathed in her tears he was anointed [196] a fortunate
king. Moreover he married a princess of the name of Bandhumatí, whom
Gopálaka had captured by the might of his arm, and sent as a present
to the queen; and whom she concealed, changing her name to Manjuliká;
who seemed like another Lakshmí issuing from the sea of beauty. Her
the king saw, when he was in the company of Vasantaka, and secretly
married her by the Gándharva ceremony in a summer-house. And that
proceeding of his was beheld by Vásavadattá, who was in concealment,
and she was angry, and had Vasantaka put in fetters. Then the king
had recourse to the good offices of a female ascetic, a friend of the
queen's, who had come with her from her father's court, of the name
of Sánkrityánaní. She appeased the queen's anger, and got Bandhumatí
presented to the king by the obedient queen, for tender is the heart of
virtuous wives. Then the queen released Vasantaka from imprisonment;
he came into the presence of the queen and said to her with a laugh,
"Bandhumatí did you an injury, but what did I do to you? You are
angry with adders [197] and you kill water-snakes." Then the queen,
out of curiosity, asked him to explain that metaphor, and he continued
as follows:

Story of Ruru.

Once on a time a hermit's son of the name of Ruru, wandering
about at will, saw a maiden of wonderful beauty, the daughter of
a heavenly nymph named Menaká by a Vidyádhara, and brought up by a
hermit of the name of Sthúlakesa in his hermitage. That lady, whose
name was Prishadvará, so captivated the mind of that Ruru when he
saw her, that he went and begged the hermit to give her to him in
marriage. Sthúlakesa for his part betrothed the maiden to him, and
when the wedding was nigh at hand, suddenly an adder bit her. Then
the heart of Ruru was full of despair, but he heard this voice in the
heaven--"O Bráhman raise to life with the gift of half thy own life,
[198] this maiden, whose allotted term is at an end." When he heard
that, Ruru gave her the half of his own life, as he had been directed;
by means of that she revived, and Ruru married her. Thenceforward he
was incensed with the whole race of serpents, and whenever he saw a
serpent he killed it, thinking to himself as he killed each one--"This
may have bitten my wife." One day a water snake said to him with human
voice, as he was about to slay it, "You are incensed against adders,
Bráhman, but why do you slay water-snakes? An adder bit your wife,
and adders are a distinct species from water-snakes; all adders
are venomous, water-snakes are not venomous." When he heard that,
he said in answer to the water-snake,--"My friend, who are you?" The
water-snake said, "Bráhman, I am a hermit fallen from my high estate
by a curse, and this curse was appointed to last till I held converse
with you." When he had said this he disappeared, and after that Ruru
did not kill water-snakes. So I said this to you metaphorically,
"My queen, you are angry with adders and you kill water-snakes." When
he had uttered this speech, full of pleasing wit, Vasantaka ceased,
and Vásavadattá sitting at the side of her husband was pleased with
him. Such soft and sweet tales in which Vasantaka displayed various
ingenuity, did the loving Udayana, king of Vatsa, continually make use
of to conciliate his angry wife, while he sat at her feet. That happy
king's tongue was ever exclusively employed in tasting the flavour of
wine, and his ear was ever delighting in the sweet sounds of the lute,
and his eye was ever riveted on the face of his beloved.


The practice of walking round an object of reverence with the right
hand towards it, which is one of the ceremonies mentioned in our
author's account of Vásavadattá's marriage, has been exhaustively
discussed by Dr. Samuel Fergusson in his paper--"On the Ceremonial
turn called Desiul," published in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish
Academy for March 1877. (Vol. I. Ser. II. No. 12.) He shews it to
have existed among the ancient Romans as well as the Celts. One of
the most striking of his quotations is from the Curculio of Plautus
(I. 1. 69.) Phædromus says--Quo me vortam nescio. Palinurus jestingly
replies--Si deos salutas dextrovorsum censeo. Cp. also the following
passage of Valerius Flaceus (Argon VIII. 243).

    Inde ubi sacrificas cum conjuge venit ad aras
    Æsonides, unaque adeunt pariterque precari
    Incipiunt. Ignem Pollux undamque jugalem
    Prætulit ut dextrum pariter vertantur in orbem.

The above passage forms a striking comment upon our text. Cp. also
Plutarch in this life of Camillus Tauta eipôn, kathaper esti Rômaiois
ethos, epeuxamenois kai proskynêsasin, epi dexia exelittein, esphalê
peristrephomenos. It is possible that the following passage in
Lucretius alludes to the same practice--

    Nec pietas ulla est velatum sæpe videri
    Vertier ad lapidem atque omnes accedere ad aras.

Dr. Fergusson is of opinion that this movement was a symbol of the
cosmical rotation, an imitation of the apparent course of the sun
in the heavens. Cp. Hyginus Fable CCV. Arge venatrix, cum cervum
sequeretur, cervo dixisse fertur: Tu licet Solis cursum sequaris,
tamen te consequar. Sol, iratus, in cervam eam convertit. He quotes,
to prove that the practice existed among the ancient Celts, Athenæus
IV, p. 142, who adduces from Posidonius the following statement "Tous
theous proskynousin epi dexia strephomenoi." The above quotations are
but a few scraps from the full feast of Dr. Fergusson's paper. See
also the remarks of the Rev. S. Beal in the Indian Antiquary for
March 1880, p. 67.

See also Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 45. "The
vicar of Stranton was standing at the churchyard gate, awaiting the
arrival of a funeral party, when to his astonishment the whole group,
who had arrived within a few yards of him, suddenly wheeled and made
the circuit of the churchyard wall, thus traversing its west, north,
and east boundaries, and making the distance some five or six times
greater than was necessary. The vicar, astonished at this proceeding,
asked the sexton the reason of so extraordinary a movement. The reply
was as follows: 'Why, ye wad no hae them carry the dead again the sun;
the dead maun aye go with the sun.' This custom is no doubt an ancient
British or Celtic custom, and corresponds to the Highland usage of
making the deazil or walking three times round a person according to
the course of the sun. Old Highlanders will still make the deazil
around those to whom they wish well. To go round the person in the
opposite direction, or "withershins," is an evil incantation and
brings ill-fortune. Hunt in his Romances and Drolls of the West of
England, p. 418, says, "If an invalid goes out for the first time,
and makes a circuit, the circuit must be with the sun, if against
the sun, there will be a relapse. Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 322,
quotes from the Statistical Account of Scotland, Vol. V. p. 88 the
following statement of a Scottish minister, with reference to a
marriage ceremony: "After leaving the church, the whole company walk
round it, keeping the church walls always on the right hand."

Thiselton Dyer, in his English Folk-lore, p. 171, mentions a similar
custom as existing in the West of England. In Devonshire blackhead
or pinsoles are cured by creeping on one's hands and knees under
or through a bramble three times with the sun; that is from east to
west. See also Ralston's Songs of the Russian people, p. 299.

See also the extract from Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland in
Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. 1, p. 225; "When a Highlander goes to
bathe or to drink water out of a consecrated fountain, he must always
approach by going round the place from East to West on the South side,
in imitation of the apparent diurnal motion of the sun. This is called
in Gaelic going round the right, or the lucky way. The opposite course
is the wrong, or the unlucky way. And if a person's meat or drink
were to affect the wind-pipe, or come against his breath, they would
instantly cry out, "Desheal," which is an ejaculation praying it may
go by the right way." Cp. the note in Munro's Lucretius on V, 1199, and
Burton's Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland, Vol. I, p. 278.



Honour to that conqueror of obstacles whose favour, I ween, even the
Creator [199] implored, in order that he might accomplish the creation
of the world without let or hindrance.

That five-arrowed god of love conquers the world, at whose command
even Siva trembles, when he is being embraced by his beloved.

Thus having obtained Vásavadattá, that king of Vatsa gradually became
most exclusively devoted to the pleasure of her society. But his prime
minister Yaugandharáyana, and his general Rumanvat, upheld day and
night the burden of his empire. And once upon a time the minister
Yaugandharáyana, full of anxiety, brought Rumanvat to his house at
night and said to him as follows: "This lord of Vatsa is sprung from
the Pándava race, and the whole earth is his by hereditary descent,
as also the city named of the elephant. [200] All these this king has
abandoned not being desirous of making conquests, and his kingdom
has so become confined to this one small corner of the earth. For
he certainly remains devoted to women, wine and hunting, and he has
delegated to us all the duty of thinking about his kingdom. So we by
our own intelligence must take such steps, as that he shall obtain
the empire of the whole earth, which is his hereditary right. For,
if we do this, we shall have exhibited devotion to his cause, and
performed our duty as ministers; for every thing is accomplished by
intellect, and in proof of this listen to the following tale:"

Story of the clever physician.

Once on a time there was a king named Mahásena, and he was attacked by
another king far superior to him in power. Then the king's ministers
met together, and in order to prevent the ruin of his interests,
Mahásena was persuaded by them to pay tribute to that enemy. And after
he had paid tribute, that haughty king was exceedingly afflicted,
thinking to himself, "Why have I made submission to my enemy?" And
his sorrow on that account caused an abscess to form in his vitals,
and he was so pulled down by the abscess that at last he was at the
point of death. Then a certain wise physician considering that that
case could not be cured by medicine, said falsely to that king; "O
king, your wife is dead." When he heard that, the king suddenly fell
on the ground, and owing to the excessive violence of his grief, the
abscess burst of itself. And so the king recovered from his disease,
and long enjoyed in the society of that queen the pleasures he desired,
and conquered his enemies in his turn. [201]

"So, as that physician did his king a good turn by his wisdom, let us
also do our king a good turn, let us gain for him the empire of the
earth. And in this undertaking our only adversary is Pradyota, the
king of Magadha; for he is a foe in the rear that is always attacking
us behind. So we must ask for our sovereign that pearl of princesses,
his daughter, named Padmávatí. And by our cleverness we will conceal
Vásavadattá somewhere, and setting fire to her house, we will give
out everywhere that the queen is burnt. For in no other case will
the king of Magadha give his daughter to our sovereign, for when I
requested him to do so on a former occasion, he answered--'I will not
give my daughter, whom I love more than myself, to the king of Vatsa,
for he is passionately attached to his wife Vásavadattá.' Moreover,
as long as the queen is alive, the king of Vatsa will not marry any
one else; but if a report is once spread that the queen is burnt,
all will succeed. And when Padmávatí is secured, the king of Magadha
will be our marriage connection, and will not attack us in the rear,
but will become our ally. Then we will march to conquer the eastern
quarter, and the others in due succession, so we shall obtain for
the king of Vatsa all this earth. And if we only exert ourselves,
this king will obtain the dominion of the earth, for long ago a
divine voice predicted this." When Rumanvat heard this speech from
the great minister Yaugandharáyana, he feared that the plan would
cover them with ridicule, and so he said to him--"Deception practised
for the sake of Padmávatí might some day be to the ruin of us both;"
in proof of this, listen to the following tale:

Story of the hypocritical ascetic.

On the bank of the Ganges there is a city named Mákandiká; in that city
long ago there was a certain ascetic who observed a vow of silence,
and he lived on alms, and surrounded by numerous other holy beggars,
dwelt in a monastery within the precincts of a god's temple where he
had taken up his abode. Once, when he entered a certain merchant's
house to beg, he saw a beautiful maiden coming out with alms in her
hand, and the rascal seeing that she was wonderfully beautiful was
smitten with love and exclaimed "Ah! Ah! Alas!" And that merchant
overheard him. Then taking the alms he had received, he departed to
his own house; and then the merchant went there and said to him in
his astonishment,--"Why did you to-day suddenly break your vow of
silence and say what you did?" When he heard that, the ascetic said
to the merchant--"This daughter of yours has inauspicious marks; when
she marries, you will undoubtedly perish, wife, sons, and all. So,
when I saw her, I was afflicted, for you are my devoted adherent;
and thus it was on your account that I broke silence and said what I
did. So place this daughter of yours by night in a basket, on the top
of which there must be a light, and set her adrift on the Ganges." The
merchant said, "So I will," and went away, and at night he did all
he had been directed to do out of pure fear. The timid are ever
unreflecting. The hermit for his part said at that time to his own
pupils, "Go to the Ganges, and when you see a basket floating along
with a light on the top of it, bring it here secretly, but you must not
open it, even if you hear a noise inside." They said, "We will do so,"
and off they went; but before they reached the Ganges, strange to say,
a certain prince went into the river to bathe. He seeing that basket,
which the merchant had thrown in, by the help of the light on it,
got his servants to fetch it for him, and immediately opened it out
of curiosity. And in it he saw that heart-enchanting girl, and he
married her on the spot by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage. And he
set the basket adrift on the Ganges, exactly as it was before, putting
a lamp on the top of it, and placing a fierce monkey inside it. The
prince having departed with that pearl of maidens, the pupils of the
hermit came there in the course of their search, and saw that basket,
and took it up and carried it to the hermit. Then he being delighted,
said to them, "I will take this upstairs and perform incantations with
it alone, but you must lie in silence this night." When he had said
this, the ascetic took the basket to the top of the monastery, and
opened it, eager to behold the merchant's daughter. And then a monkey
of terrible appearance sprang out of it, [202] and rushed upon the
ascetic, like his own immoral conduct incarnate in bodily form. The
monkey in its fury immediately tore off with its teeth the nose of
the wicked ascetic, and his ears with its claws, as if it had been
a skilful executioner; and in that state the ascetic ran downstairs,
and when his pupils beheld him, they could with difficulty suppress
their laughter. And early next morning everybody heard the story,
and laughed heartily, but the merchant was delighted, and his daughter
also, as she had obtained a good husband. And even as the ascetic made
himself ridiculous, so too may we possibly become a laughing-stock,
if we employ deceit, and fail after all. For the separation of the
king from Vásavadattá involves many disadvantages. When Rumanvat had
said this to Yaugandharáyana, the latter answered; "In no other way
can we conduct our enterprise successfully, and if we do not undertake
the enterprise, it is certain that with this self-indulgent king we
shall lose even what territory we have got; and the reputation which
we have acquired for statesmanship will be tarnished, and we shall
cease to be spoken of as men who shew loyalty to their sovereign. For
when a king is one who depends on himself for success, his ministers
are considered merely the instruments of his wisdom; and in the case
of such monarchs you would not have much to do with their success
or failures. But when a king depends on his ministers for success,
it is their wisdom that achieves his ends, and if they are wanting in
enterprise, he must bid a long farewell to all hope of greatness. [203]
But if you fear the queen's father Chandamahásena, I must tell you that
he and his son and the queen also will do whatever I bid them." When
Yaugandharáyana, most resolute among the resolute, had said this,
Rumanvat, whose heart dreaded some fatal blunder, again said to him;
"Even a discerning prince is afflicted by the pain of being separated
from a beloved woman, much more will this king of Vatsa be. In proof
of what I say, listen to the following tale:"

Story of Unmádiní. [204]

Once on a time there was a king named Devasena, best of wise men,
and the city of Srávastí was his capital. And in that city there was a
wealthy merchant, and to him there was born a daughter of unparalleled
beauty. And that daughter became known by the name of Unmádiní,
because every one, who beheld her beauty, became mad. Her father the
merchant thought, "I must not give this daughter of mine to any one
without telling the king, or he may be angry." So he went and said
to the king Devasena, "King, I have a daughter who is a very pearl,
take her if she finds favour in your eyes." When he heard that, the
king sent some Bráhmans, his confidential ministers, saying to them,
"Go and see if that maiden possesses the auspicious marks or not." The
ministers said, "We will do so," and went. But when they beheld that
merchant's daughter, Unmádiní, love was suddenly produced in their
souls, and they became utterly bewildered. When they recovered their
senses, the Bráhmans said to one another: "If the king marries this
maiden, he will think only of her, and will neglect the affairs of
the State, and everything will go to rack and ruin; so what is the
good of her?" Accordingly they went and told the king, what was not
true, that the maiden had inauspicious marks. Then the merchant gave
that Unmádiní, whom the king had refused, and who in her heart felt
a proud resentment at it, to the king's commander-in-chief. When she
was in the house of her husband, she ascended one day to the roof, and
exhibited herself to the king, who she knew would pass that way. And
the moment the king beheld her, resembling a world-bewildering drug
employed by the god of love, distraction seemed to be produced within
him. When he returned to his palace, and discovered that it was the
same lady he had previously rejected, he was full of regret, and fell
violently ill with fever; the commander-in-chief, the husband of the
lady, came to him and earnestly entreated him to take her, saying, "She
is a slave, she is not the lawful wife of another, or if it seem fit,
I will repudiate her in the temple, then my lord can take her for his
own." But the king said to him, "I will not take unto myself another
man's wife, and if you repudiate her, your righteousness will be at
end, and you will deserve punishment at my hands." When they heard
that, the other ministers remained silent, and the king was gradually
consumed by love's burning fever, and so died. So that king perished,
though of firm soul, being deprived of Unmádiní; but what will become
of the lord of Vatsa without Vásavadattá? When Yaugandharáyana heard
this from Rumanvat, he answered; "Affliction is bravely endured by
kings who have their eyes firmly fixed on their duty. Did not Ráma
when commissioned by the gods, who were obliged to resort to that
contrivance, to kill Rávana, endure the pain of separation from queen
Sítá? When he heard this, Rumanvat said in answer--"Such as Ráma are
gods, their souls can endure all things. But the thing is intolerable
to men; in proof whereof listen to the following tale.

Story of the loving couple who died of separation.

There is on this earth a great city rich in jewels, named Mathurá. In
it there lived a certain young merchant, called Illaka. And he had a
dear wife whose mind was devoted to him alone. Once on a time, while he
was dwelling with her, the young merchant determined to go to another
country on account of the exigencies of his affairs. And that wife of
his wished to go with him. For when women are passionately attached to
any one, they cannot endure to be separated from him. And then that
young merchant set out, having offered the usual preliminary prayer
for success in his undertaking, and did not take with him that wife of
his, though she had dressed herself for the journey. She looking after
him, when he had started, with tears in her eyes, stood supporting
herself against the panel of the door of the courtyard. Then, he
being out of sight, she was no longer able to endure her grief; but
she was too timid to follow him. So her breath left her body. And as
soon as the young merchant came to know of that, he returned and to
his horror found that dear wife of his a corpse, with pale though
lovely complexion, set off by her waving locks, like the spirit of
beauty that tenants the moon fallen down to the earth in the day
during her sleep. [205] So he took her in his arms and wept over her,
and immediately the vital spirits left his body, which was on fire
with the flame of grief, as if they were afraid to remain. So that
married couple perished by mutual separation, and therefore we must
take care that the king is not separated from the queen." When he had
said this, Rumanvat ceased, with his mind full of apprehension, but
the wise Yaugandharáyana, that ocean of calm resolution answered him;
"I have arranged the whole plan, and the affairs of kings often require
such steps to be taken, in proof of it, hear the following tale:"

Story of Punyasena.

There lived long ago in Ujjayiní a king named Punyasena, and once on
a time a powerful sovereign came and attacked him. Then his resolute
ministers, seeing that that king was hard to conquer, spread everywhere
a false report that their own sovereign Punyasena was dead; and they
placed him in concealment, and burnt some other man's corpse with
all the ceremonies appropriate to a king, and they proposed to the
hostile king through an ambassador that, as they had now no king,
he should come and be their king. The hostile monarch was pleased and
consented, and then the ministers assembled accompanied by soldiers,
and proceeded to storm his camp. And the enemy's army being destroyed,
Punyasena's ministers brought him out of concealment, and having
recovered their power put that hostile king to death.

"Such necessities will arise in monarch's affairs, therefore let
us resolutely accomplish this business of the king's by spreading
a report of the queen's having been burnt." When he heard this from
Yaugandharáyana, who had made up his mind, Rumanvat said; "If this
is resolved upon, let us send for Gopálaka the queen's respected
brother, and let us take all our measures duly, after consultation
with him." Then Yaugandharáyana said, "So be it," and Rumanvat
allowed himself to be guided, in determining what was to be done,
by the confidence which he placed in his colleague. The next day,
these dexterous ministers sent off a messenger of their own to bring
Gopálaka, on the pretext that his relations longed to see him. And as
he had only departed before on account of urgent business, Gopálaka
came at the request of the messenger, seeming like an incarnate
festival. And the very day he came, Yaugandharáyana took him by night
to his own house together with Rumanvat, and there he told him of that
daring scheme which he wished to undertake, all of which he had before
deliberated about together with that Rumanvat; and Gopálaka desiring
the good of the king of Vatsa consented to the scheme though he knew
it would bring sorrow to his sister, for the mind of good men is ever
fixed upon duty. Then Rumanvat again said,--"All this is well planned,
but when the king of Vatsa hears that his wife is burnt, he will be
inclined to yield up his breath, and how is he to be prevented from
doing so? This is a matter which ought to be considered. For though
all the usual politic expedients may advantageously be employed,
the principal element of sound state-craft is the averting of
misfortune." Then Yaugandharáyana who had reflected on everything
that was to be done, said, "There need be no anxiety about this,
for the queen is a princess, the younger sister of Gopálaka, and
dearer to him than his life, and when the king of Vatsa sees how
little afflicted Gopálaka is, he will think to himself, 'Perhaps the
queen may be alive after all,' and so will be able to control his
feelings. Moreover he is of heroic disposition, and the marriage of
Padmávatí will be quickly got through, and then we can soon bring the
queen out of concealment." Then Yaugandharáyana, and Gopálaka, and
Rumanvat having made up their minds to this, deliberated as follows:
"Let us adopt the artifice of going to Lávánaka with the king and
queen, for that district is a border-district near the kingdom
of Magadha. And because it contains admirable hunting-grounds,
it will tempt the king to absent himself from the palace, so we
can set the women's apartments there on fire and carry out the plan
[206] on which we have determined. And by an artifice we will take
the queen and leave her in the palace of Padmávatí, in order that
Padmávatí herself may be a witness to the queen's virtuous behaviour
in a state of concealment." Having thus deliberated together during
the night, they all, with Yaugandharáyana at their head, entered
the king's palace on the next day. Then Rumanvat made the following
representation to the king, "O king, it is a long time since we have
gone to Lávánaka, and it is a very delightful place, moreover you will
find capital hunting-grounds there, and grass for the horses can easily
be obtained. And the king of Magadha, being so near, afflicts all that
district. So let us go there for the sake of defending it, as well as
for our own enjoyment." And the king, when he heard this, having his
mind always set on enjoyment, determined to go to Lávánaka together
with Vásavadattá. The next day, the journey having been decided on,
and the auspicious hour having been fixed by the astrologers, suddenly
the hermit Nárada came to visit the monarch.

He illuminated the region with his splendour, as he descended from
the midst of heaven, and gave a feast to the eyes of all spectators,
seeming as if he were the moon come down out of affection towards his
own descendants. [207] After accepting the usual hospitable attentions,
the hermit graciously gave to the king, who bowed humbly before him,
a garland from the Párijáta [208] tree. And he congratulated the
queen, by whom he was politely received, promising her that she
should have a son, who should be a portion of Cupid [209] and king
of all the Vidyádharas. And then he said to the king of Vatsa, while
Yaugandharáyana was standing by, "O king, the sight of your wife
Vásavadattá has strangely brought something to my recollection. In
old time you had for ancestors Yudhishthira and his brothers. And
those five had one wife between them, Draupadí by name. And she,
like Vásavadattá, was matchless in beauty. Then, fearing that her
beauty would do mischief, I said to them, you must avoid jealousy,
for that is the seed of calamities; in proof of it, listen to the
following tale, which I will relate to you. [210]

Story of Sunda and Upasunda.

There were two brothers, Asuras by race, Sunda and Upasunda, hard to
overcome, inasmuch as they surpassed the three worlds in valour. And
Brahmá, wishing to destroy them, gave an order to Visvakarman, [211]
and had constructed a heavenly woman named Tilottamá, in order to
behold whose beauty even Siva truly became four-faced, so as to look
four ways at once, while she was devoutly circumambulating him. She, by
the order of Brahmá, went to Sunda and Upasunda, while they were in the
garden of Kailása, in order to seduce them. And both those two Asuras
distracted with love, seized the fair one at the same time by both her
arms, the moment they saw her near them. And as they were dragging her
off in mutual opposition, they soon came to blows, and both of them
were destroyed. To whom is not the attractive object called woman the
cause of misfortune? And you, though many, have one love, Draupadí,
therefore you must without fail avoid quarrelling about her. And by my
advice always observe this rule with respect to her. When she is with
the eldest, she must be considered a mother by the younger, and when
she is with the youngest, she must be considered a daughter-in-law by
the eldest. Your ancestors, O king, accepted that speech of mine with
unanimous consent, having their minds fixed on salutary counsels. And
they were my friends, and it is through love for them that I have come
to visit you here, king of Vatsa, therefore I give you this advice. Do
you follow the counsel of your ministers, as they followed mine,
and in a short time you will gain great success. For some time you
will suffer grief, but you must not be too much distressed about it,
for it will end in happiness." After the hermit Nárada, so clever in
indirectly intimating future prosperity, had said this duly to the
king of Vatsa, he immediately disappeared. And then Yaugandharáyana
and all the other ministers, auguring from the speech of that great
hermit that the scheme they had in view was about to succeed, became
exceedingly zealous about carrying it into effect.


Then Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers managed to conduct the
king of Vatsa with his beloved, by the above-mentioned stratagem,
to Lávánaka. The king arrived at that place, which, by the roar of
the host echoing through it, seemed, as it were, to proclaim that
the ministers' object would be successfully attained. And the king
of Magadha, when he heard that the lord of Vatsa had arrived there
with a large following, trembled, anticipating attack. But he being
wise, sent an ambassador to Yaugandharáyana, and that excellent
minister well-versed in his duties, received him gladly. The king
of Vatsa for his part, while staying in that place, ranged every
day the wide-extended forest for the sake of sport. One day, the
king having gone to hunt, the wise Yaugandharáyana accompanied by
Gopálaka, having arranged what was to be done, and taking with him
also Rumanvat and Vasantaka, went secretly to the queen Vásavadattá,
who bowed at their approach. There he used various representations to
persuade her to assist in furthering the king's interests, though she
had been previously informed of the whole affair by her brother. And
she agreed to the proposal, though it inflicted on her the pain of
separation. What indeed is there which women of good family, who are
attached to their husbands, will not endure? Thereupon the skilful
Yaugandharáyana made her assume the appearance of a Bráhman woman,
having given her a charm, which enabled her to change her shape. And
he made Vasantaka one-eyed and like a Bráhman boy, and as for himself,
he in the same way assumed the appearance of an old Bráhman. Then
that mighty-minded one took the queen, after she had assumed that
appearance, and accompanied by Vasantaka, set out leisurely for
the town of Magadha. And so Vásavadattá left her house, and went in
bodily presence along the road, though she wandered in spirit to her
husband. Then Rumanvat burnt her pavilion with fire, and exclaimed
aloud--"Alas! alas! The queen and Vasantaka are burnt." And so in that
place there rose to heaven at the same time flames and lamentation;
the flames gradually subsided, not so the sound of weeping. Then
Yaugandharáyana with Vásavadattá and Vasantaka reached the city
of the king of Magadha, and seeing the princess Padmávatí in the
garden, he went up to her with those two, though the guards tried to
prevent him. And Padmávatí, when she saw the queen Vásavadattá in the
dress of a Bráhman woman, fell in love with her at first sight. The
princess ordered the guards to desist from their opposition, and had
Yaugandharáyana, who was disguised as a Bráhman, conducted into her
presence. And she addressed to him this question, "Great Bráhman,
who is this girl you have with you, and why are you come?" And he
answered her, "Princess, this is my daughter Ávantiká by name, and
her husband, being addicted to vice, [212] has deserted her and fled
somewhere or other. So I will leave her in your care, illustrious lady,
while I go and find her husband, and bring him back, which will be
in a short time. And let this one-eyed boy, her brother, remain here
near her, in order that she may not be grieved at having to remain
alone." He said this to the princess, and she granted his request,
and, taking leave of the queen, the good minister quickly returned to
Lávánaka. Then Padmávatí took with her Vásavadattá, who was passing
under the name of Ávantiká, and Vasantaka who accompanied her in
the form of a one-eyed boy; and shewing her excellent disposition by
her kind reception and affectionate treatment of them, entered her
splendidly-adorned palace; and there Vásavadattá, seeing Sítá in the
history of Ráma represented upon the painted walls, was enabled to
bear her own sorrow. And Padmávatí perceived that Vásavadattá was
a person of very high rank, by her shape, her delicate softness,
the graceful manner in which she sat down, and ate, and also by the
smell of her body, which was fragrant as the blue lotus, and so she
entertained her with luxurious comfort to her heart's content, even
such as she enjoyed herself. And she thought to herself, "Surely she
is some distinguished person remaining here in concealment; did not
Draupadí remain concealed in the palace of the king of Viráta?" Then
Vásavadattá, out of regard for the princess made for her unfading
garlands and forehead-streaks, as the king of Vatsa had previously
taught her; and Padmávatí's mother, seeing her adorned with them,
asked her privately who had made those garlands and streaks. Then
Padmávatí said to her, "There is dwelling here in my house a certain
lady of the name of Ávantiká, she made all these for me." When her
mother heard that, she said to her, then, my daughter, she is not a
woman, she is some goddess, since she possesses such knowledge; gods
and also hermits remain in the houses of good people for the sake of
deluding them, and in proof of this listen to the following anecdote.

Story of Kuntí.

There was once a king named Kuntibhoja; and a hermit of the name
of Durvásas, who was exceedingly fond of deluding people, came and
stayed in his palace. He commissioned his own daughter Kuntí to attend
upon the hermit, and she diligently waited upon him. And one day he,
wishing to prove her, said to her, "Cook boiled rice with milk and
sugar quickly, while I bathe, and then I will come and eat it." The
sage said this, and bathed quickly, and then he came to eat it, and
Kuntí brought him the vessel full of that food; and then the hermit,
knowing that it was almost red-hot with the heated rice, and seeing
that she could not hold it in her hands, [213] cast a look at the back
of Kuntí and she perceiving what was passing in the hermit's mind,
placed the vessel on her back; then he ate to his heart's content while
Kuntí's back was being burnt, and because, though she was terribly
burnt, she stood without being at all discomposed, the hermit was much
pleased with her conduct, and after he had eaten granted her a boon.

"So the hermit remained there, and in the same way this Ávantiká, who
is now staying in your palace, is some distinguished person, therefore
endeavour to conciliate her." When she heard this from the mouth of
her mother, Padmávatí showed the utmost consideration for Vásavadattá,
who was living disguised in her palace. And Vásavadattá for her part,
being separated from her lord, remained there pale with bereavement,
like a lotus in the night. [214] But the various boyish grimaces,
which Vasantaka exhibited, [215] again and again called a smile into
her face.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, who had wandered away into very
distant hunting-grounds, returned late in the evening to Lávánaka. And
there he saw the women's apartments reduced to ashes by fire, and heard
from his ministers that the queen was burnt with Vasantaka. And when
he heard it, he fell on the ground, and he was robbed of his senses by
unconsciousness, that seemed to desire to remove the painful sense of
grief. But in a moment he came to himself and was burnt with sorrow
in his heart, as if penetrated with the fire that strove to consume
[216] the image of the queen imprinted there. Then overpowered
with sorrow he lamented, and thought of nothing but suicide; but
a moment after he began to reflect, calling to mind the following
prediction--"From this queen shall be born a son who shall reign
over all the Vidyádharas. This is what the hermit Nárada told me,
and it cannot be false. Moreover that same hermit warned me that
I should have sorrow for some time. And the affliction of Gopálaka
seems to be but slight. Besides I cannot detect any excessive grief
in Yaugandharáyana and the other ministers, therefore I suspect the
queen may possibly be alive. But the ministers may in this matter
have employed a certain amount of politic artifice, therefore I
may some day be re-united with the queen. So I see an end to this
affliction." Thus reflecting and being exhorted by his ministers,
the king established in his heart self-control. And Gopálaka sent
off a private messenger immediately, without any one's knowing
of it, to his sister, to comfort her, with an exact report of the
state of affairs. Such being the situation in Lávánaka, the spies
of the king of Magadha who were there, went off to him and told him
all. The king who was ever ready to seize the opportune moment, when
he heard this, was once more anxious to give to the king of Vatsa
his daughter Padmávatí, who had before been asked in marriage by
his ministers. Then he communicated his wishes with respect to this
matter to the king of Vatsa, and also to Yaugandharáyana. And by the
advice of Yaugandharáyana, the king of Vatsa accepted that proposal,
thinking to himself that perhaps this was the very reason why the
queen had been concealed. Then Yaugandharáyana quickly ascertained an
auspicious moment, and sent to the sovereign of Magadha an ambassador
with an answer to his proposal which ran as follows: "Thy desire is
approved by us, so on the seventh day from this, the king of Vatsa
will arrive at thy court to marry Padmávatí, in order that he may
quickly forget Vásavadattá." This was the message which the great
minister sent to that king. And that ambassador conveyed it to the
king of Magadha, who received him joyfully. Then the lord of Magadha
made such preparations for the joyful occasion of the marriage, as were
in accordance with his love for his daughter, his own desire, and his
wealth; and Padmávatí was delighted at hearing that she had obtained
the bridegroom she desired, but, when Vásavadattá heard that news,
she was depressed in spirit. That intelligence, when it reached her
ear, changed the colour of her face, and assisted the transformation
effected by her disguise. But Vasantaka said, "In this way an enemy
will be turned into a friend, and your husband will not be alienated
from you." This speech of Vasantaka consoled her like a confidante,
and enabled her to bear up. Then the discreet lady again prepared for
Padmávatí unfading garlands and forehead-streaks, both of heavenly
beauty, as her marriage was now nigh at hand; and when the seventh
day from that arrived, the monarch of Vatsa actually came there with
his troops, accompanied by his ministers, to marry her. How could he
in his state of bereavement have ever thought of undertaking such a
thing, if he had not hoped in that way to recover the queen? And the
king of Magadha immediately came with great delight to meet him, (who
was a feast to the eyes of the king's subjects,) as the sea advances
to meet the rising moon. Then the monarch of Vatsa entered the city of
the king of Magadha, and at the same time great joy entered the minds
of the citizens on every side. There the women beheld him fascinating
[217] the mind, though his frame was attenuated from bereavement,
looking like the god of love, deprived of his wife Rati. Then the king
of Vatsa entered the palace of the lord of Magadha, and proceeded to
the chamber prepared for the marriage ceremony, which was full of women
whose husbands were still alive. In that chamber he beheld Padmávatí
adorned for the wedding, surpassing with the full moon of her face
the circle of the full moon. And seeing that she had garlands and
forehead-streaks such as he himself only could make, the king could
not help wondering where she got them. Then he ascended the raised
platform of the altar, and his taking her hand there was a commencement
of his taking the tribute [218] of the whole earth. The smoke of the
altar dimmed his eyes with tears, as supposing that he could not bear
to witness the ceremony, since he loved Vásavadattá so much. Then the
face of Padmávatí, reddened with circumambulating the fire, appeared
as if full of anger on account of her perceiving what was passing in
her husband's mind. When the ceremony of marriage was completed, the
king of Vatsa let the hand of Padmávatí quit his, but he never even
for a moment allowed the image of Vásavadattá to be absent from his
heart. Then the king of Magadha gave him jewels in such abundance,
that the earth seemed to be deprived of her gems, they all having
been extracted. And Yaugandharáyana, calling the fire to witness on
that occasion, made the king of Magadha undertake never to injure his
master. So that festive scene proceeded, with the distribution of
garments and ornaments, with the songs of excellent minstrels, and
the dancing of dancing-girls. In the meanwhile Vásavadattá remained
unobserved, hoping for the glory of her husband, appearing [219] to
be asleep, like the beauty of the moon in the day. Then the king of
Vatsa went to the women's apartments, and the skilful Yaugandharáyana,
being afraid that he would see the queen, and that so the whole
secret would be divulged, said to the sovereign of Magadha, "Prince,
this very day the king of Vatsa will set forth from thy house." The
king of Magadha consented to it, and then the minister made the very
same announcement to the king of Vatsa, and he also approved of it.

Then the king of Vatsa set out from that place, after his attendants
had eaten and drunk, together with his ministers, escorting his
bride Padmávatí. And Vásavadattá, ascending a comfortable carriage
sent by Padmávatí, with its great horses also put at her disposal by
her, went secretly in the rear of the army, making the transformed
Vasantaka precede her. At last the king of Vatsa reached Lávánaka,
and entered his own house, together with his bride, but thought all
the time only of the queen Vásavadattá. The queen also arrived and
entered the house of Gopálaka at night, making the chamberlains wait
round it. There she saw her brother Gopálaka who shewed her great
attention, and she embraced his neck weeping, while his eyes filled
with tears; and at that moment arrived Yaugandharáyana, true to his
previous agreement, together with Rumanvat, and the queen shewed him
all due courtesy. And while he was engaged in dispelling the queen's
grief caused by the great effort she had made, and her separation
from her husband, those chamberlains repaired to Padmávatí, and said,
"Queen, Ávantiká has arrived, but she has in a strange way dismissed
us, and gone to the house of prince Gopálaka." When Padmávatí heard
that representation from her chamberlains, she was alarmed and in the
presence of the king of Vatsa answered them, "Go and say to Ávantiká,
'The queen says--You are a deposit in my hands, so what business
have you where you are? Come where I am.'" When they heard that, they
departed and the king asked Padmávatí in private who made for her the
unfading garlands and forehead-streaks. Then she said, "It is all the
product of the great artistic skill of the lady named Ávantiká who
was deposited in my house by a certain Bráhman." No sooner did the
king hear that, then he went off to the house of Gopálaka, thinking
that surely Vásavadattá would be there. And he entered the house, at
the door of which eunuchs were standing, [220] and within which were
the queen, Gopálaka, the two ministers, and Vasantaka. There he saw
Vásavadattá returned from banishment, like the orb of the moon freed
from its eclipse. Then he fell on the earth delirious with the poison
of grief, and trembling was produced in the heart of Vásavadattá. Then
she too fell on the earth with limbs pale from separation, and lamented
aloud, blaming her own conduct. And that couple, afflicted with grief,
lamented so that even the face of Yaugandharáyana was washed with
tears. And then Padmávatí too heard that wailing, which seemed so
little suited to the occasion, and came in a state of bewilderment to
the place whence it proceeded. And gradually finding out the truth with
respect to the king and Vásavadattá, she was reduced to the same state,
for good women are affectionate and tender-hearted. And Vásavadattá
frequently exclaimed with tears, "What profit is there in my life that
causes only sorrow to my husband?" Then the calm Yaugandharáyana said
to the king of Vatsa: "King, I have done all this in order to make you
universal emperor, by marrying you to the daughter of the sovereign
of Magadha, and the queen is not in the slightest degree to blame;
moreover this, her rival wife, is witness to her good behaviour during
her absence from you." Thereupon Padmávatí, whose mind was free from
jealousy, said, "I am ready to enter the fire on the spot to prove
her innocence." And the king said, "I am in fault, as it was for my
sake that the queen endured this great affliction." And Vásavadattá
having firmly resolved, said, "I must enter the fire to clear from
suspicion the mind of the king." Then the wise Yaugandharáyana, best
of right-acting men, rinsed his mouth, with his face towards the east,
and spoke a blameless speech; "If I have been a benefactor to this
king, and if the queen is free from stain, speak, ye guardians of
the world; if it is not so, I will part from my body." Thus he spoke
and ceased, and this heavenly utterance was heard: "Happy art thou, O
king, that hast for minister Yaugandharáyana, and for wife Vásavadattá,
who in a former birth was a goddess; not the slightest blame attaches
to her." Having uttered this, the Voice ceased. All who were present,
when they heard that sound, which resounded though all the regions,
delightful as the deep thunder-roar at the first coming of the
rain-clouds, having endured affliction for a long time, lifted up their
hands and plainly imitated peafowl in their joy. Moreover the king
of Vatsa and Gopálaka praised that proceeding of Yaugandharáyana's,
and the former already considered that the whole earth was subject
to him. Then that king possessing those two wives, whose affection
was every day increased by living with him, like joy and tranquillity
come to visit him in bodily form, was in a state of supreme felicity.


The next day, the king of Vatsa, sitting in private with Vásavadattá,
and Padmávatí, engaged in a festive banquet, sent for Yaugandharáyana,
Gopálaka, Rumanvat and Vasantaka, and had much confidential
conversation with them. Then the king, in the hearing of them all,
told the following tale with reference to the subject of his separation
from his beloved.

Story of Urvasí. [221]

Once on a time there was a king of the name of Purúravas, who was a
devoted worshipper of Vishnu; he traversed heaven as well as earth
without opposition, and one day, as he was sauntering in Nandana,
the garden of the gods, a certain Apsaras of the name of Urvasí,
who was a second stupefying weapon [222] in the hands of Love, cast
an eye upon him. The moment she beheld him, the sight so completely
robbed her of her senses, that she alarmed the timid minds of Rambhá
and her other friends. The king too, when he saw that torrent
of the nectar of beauty, was quite faint with thirst, because he
could not obtain possession of her. Then Vishnu, who knoweth all,
dwelling in the sea of milk, gave the following command to Nárada,
an excellent hermit, who came to visit him--"O Divine sage, [223]
the king Purúravas, at present abiding in the garden of Nandana,
having had his mind captivated by Urvasí, remains incapable of bearing
the pain of separation from his love. Therefore go, O hermit, and
informing Indra as from me, cause that Urvasí to be quickly given to
the king." Having received this order from Vishnu, Nárada undertook
to execute it, and going to Purúravas who was in the state described,
roused him from his lethargy and said to him;--"Rise up, O king, for
thy sake I am sent here by Vishnu, for that god does not neglect the
sufferings of those who are unfeignedly devoted to him." With these
words, the hermit Nárada cheered up Purúravas, and then went with
him into the presence of the king of the gods.

Then he communicated the order of Vishnu to Indra, who received it
with reverent mind, and so the hermit caused Urvasí to be given to
Purúravas. That gift of Urvasí deprived the inhabitants of heaven
of life, but it was to Urvasí herself an elixir to restore her to
life. Then Purúravas returned with her to the earth, exhibiting
to the eyes of mortals the wonderful spectacle of a heavenly
bride. Thenceforth those two, Urvasí and that king, remained, so to
speak, fastened together by the leash of gazing on one another, so
that they were unable to separate. One day Purúravas went to heaven,
invited by Indra to assist him, as a war had arisen between him and
the Dánavas. In that war the king of the Asuras, named Máyádhara,
was slain, and accordingly Indra held a great feast, at which all
the nymphs of heaven displayed their skill. And on that occasion
Purúravas, when he saw the nymph Rambhá performing a dramatic dance
called chalita, [224] with the teacher Tumburu standing by her,
laughed. Then Rambhá said to him sarcastically--"I suppose, mortal,
you know this heavenly dance, do you not?" Purúravas answered,
"From associating with Urvasí, I knew dances which even your teacher
Tumburu does not know." When Tumburu heard that, he laid this curse
on him in his wrath, "Mayest thou be separated from Urvasí until thou
propitiate Krishna." When he heard that curse, Purúravas went and told
Urvasí what had happened to him, which was terrible as "a thunderbolt
from the blue." Immediately some Gandharvas swooped down, without the
king's seeing them, and carried off Urvasí, whither he knew not. Then
Purúravas, knowing that the calamity was due to that curse, went and
performed penance to appease Vishnu in the hermitage of Badariká.

But Urvasí, remaining in the country of the Gandharvas, afflicted at
her separation, was as void of sense as if she had been dead, asleep,
or a mere picture. She kept herself alive with hoping for the end
of the curse, but it is wonderful that she did not lose her hold on
life, while she remained like the female chakraváka during the night,
the appointed time of her separation from the male bird. And Purúravas
propitiated Vishnu by that penance, and, owing to Vishnu's having been
gratified, the Gandharvas surrendered Urvasí to him. So that king,
re-united to the nymph whom he had recovered at the termination of
the curse, enjoyed heavenly pleasures, though living upon earth.

The king stopped speaking, and Vásavadattá felt an emotion of shame
at having endured separation, when she heard of the attachment of
Urvasí to her husband.

Then Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the queen was abashed at having
been indirectly reproved by her husband, said, in order to make him
feel in his turn,--"King, listen to this tale, if you have not already
heard it.

Story of Vihitasena.

There is on this earth a city of the name of Timirá, the dwelling
of the goddess of Prosperity; in it there was a famous king named
Vihitasena; he had a wife named Tejovatí, a very goddess upon
earth. That king was ever hanging on her neck, devoted to her embraces,
and could not even bear that his body should be for a short time
scratched with the coat of mail. And once there came upon the king a
lingering fever with diminishing intensity; and the physicians forbade
him to continue in the queen's society. But when he was excluded from
the society of the queen, there was engendered in his heart a disease
not to be reached by medicine or treatment. The physicians told the
ministers in private that the disease might relieve itself by fear or
the stroke of some affliction. The ministers reflected--"How can we
produce fear in that brave king, who did not tremble when an enormous
snake once fell on his back, who was not confused when a hostile
army penetrated into his harem? It is useless thinking of devices to
produce fear; what are we ministers, to do with the king?" Thus the
ministers reflected, and after deliberating with the queen, concealed
her, and said to the king, "The queen is dead." While the king was
tortured with that exceeding grief, in his agitation that disease
in his heart relieved itself. [225] When the king had got over the
pain of the illness, the ministers restored to him that great queen,
who seemed like a second gift of ease, and the king valued her highly
as the saviour of his life, and was too wise to bear anger against
her afterwards for concealing herself.

For it is care for a husband's interests that entitles a king's wife
to the name of queen; by mere compliance with a husband's whims the
name of queen is not obtained. And discharging the duty of minister
means undivided attention to the burden of the king's affairs, but
the compliance with a king's passing fancies is the characteristic of
a mere courtier. Accordingly we made this effort in order to come to
terms with your enemy, the king of Magadha, and with a view to your
conquering the whole earth. So it is not the case that the queen, who,
through love for you, endured intolerable separation, has done you a
wrong; on the contrary she has conferred on you a great benefit." When
the king of Vatsa heard this true speech of his prime-minister's,
he thought that he himself was in the wrong, and was quite satisfied.

And he said; "I know this well enough, that the queen, like Policy
incarnate in bodily form, acting under your inspiration, has bestowed
upon me the dominion of the earth. But that unbecoming speech, which
I uttered, was due to excessive affection; how can people whose minds
are blinded with love bring themselves to deliberate calmly? [226]"
With such conversation that king of Vatsa brought the day and the
queen's eclipse of shame to an end. On the next day a messenger sent
by the king of Magadha, who had discovered the real state of the case,
came to the sovereign of Vatsa, and said to him as from his master;
"We have been deceived by thy ministers, therefore take such steps as
that the world may not henceforth be to us a place of misery." When
he heard that, the king shewed all honour to the messenger, and sent
him to Padmávatí to take his answer from her. She, for her part, being
altogether devoted to Vásavadattá, had an interview with the ambassador
in her presence. For humility is an unfailing characteristic of good
women. The ambassador delivered her father's message--"My daughter,
you have been married by an artifice, and your husband is attached to
another, thus it has come to pass that I reap in misery the fruit of
being the father of a daughter." But Padmávatí thus answered him, Say
to my father from me here--"What need of grief? For my husband is very
indulgent to me, and the queen Vásavadattá is my affectionate sister,
so my father must not be angry with my husband, unless he wishes to
break his own plighted faith and my heart at the same time." When this
becoming answer had been given by Padmávatí, the queen Vásavadattá
hospitably entertained the ambassador and then sent him away. When
the ambassador had departed, Padmávatí remained somewhat depressed
with regret, calling to mind her father's house. Then Vásavadattá
ordered Vasantaka to amuse her, and he came near, and with that object
proceeded to tell the following tale:

Story of Somaprabhá.

There is a city, the ornament of the earth, called Pátaliputra,
and in it there was a great merchant named Dharmagupta. He had a
wife named Chandraprabhá, and she once on a time became pregnant,
and brought forth a daughter beautiful in all her limbs. That girl,
the moment she was born, illuminated the chamber with her beauty,
spoke distinctly, [227] and got up and sat down. Then Dharmagupta,
seeing that the women in the lying-in-chamber were astonished and
terrified, went there himself in a state of alarm. And immediately
he asked that girl in secret, bowing before her humbly,--"Adorable
one, who art thou, that art thus become incarnate in my family?" She
answered him, "Thou must not give me in marriage to any one; as
long as I remain in thy house, father, I am a blessing to thee;
what profit is there in enquiring further?" When she said this to
him, Dharmagupta was frightened, and he concealed her in his house
giving out abroad that she was dead. Then that girl, whose name was
Somaprabhá gradually grew up with human body, but celestial splendour
of beauty. And one day a young merchant, of the name of Guhachandra,
beheld her, as she was standing upon the top of her palace, looking on
with delight at the celebration of the spring-festival; she clung like
a creeper of love round his heart, so that he was, as it were, faint,
and with difficulty got home to his house. There he was tortured with
the pain of love, and when his parents persistently importuned him to
tell them the cause of his distress, he informed them by the mouth of
a friend. Then his father, whose name was Guhasena, out of love for his
son, went to the house of Dharmagupta, to ask him to give his daughter
in marriage to Guhachandra. Then Dharmagupta put off Guhasena when he
made the request, desiring to obtain a daughter-in-law, and said to
him, "The fact is, my daughter is out of her mind." Considering that
he meant by that to refuse to give his daughter, Guhasena returned
home, and there he beheld his son prostrated by the fever of love,
and thus reflected, "I will persuade the king to move in this matter,
for I have before this conferred an obligation on him, and he will
cause that maiden to be given to my son, who is at the point of
death." Having thus determined, the merchant went and presented to
the king a splendid jewel, and made known to him his desire. The
king, for his part, being well-disposed towards him, commissioned
the head of the police to assist him, with whom he went to the house
of Dharmagupta; and surrounded it on all sides with policemen, [228]
so that Dharmagupta's throat was choked with tears, as he expected
utter ruin. Then Somaprabhá said to Dharmagupta--"Give me in marriage,
my father, let not calamity befall you on my account, but I must never
be treated as a wife by my husband, and this agreement you must make
in express terms with my future father-in-law." When his daughter had
said this to him. Dharmagupta agreed to give her in marriage, after
stipulating that she should not be treated as a wife; and Guhasena with
inward laughter agreed to the condition, thinking to himself, "Only
let my son be once married." Then Guhachandra, the son of Guhasena,
went to his own house, taking with him his bride Somaprabhá. And in
the evening his father said to him, "My son, treat her as a wife,
for who abstains from the society of his own wife?" When she heard
that, the bride Somaprabhá looked angrily at her father-in-law, and
whirled round her threatening fore-finger, as it were the decree of
death. When he saw that finger of his daughter-in-law, the breath of
that merchant immediately left him, and fear came upon all besides. But
Guhachandra, when his father was dead, thought to himself, "The goddess
of death has entered into my house as a wife." And thenceforth he
avoided the society of that wife, though she remained in his house,
and so observed a vow difficult as that of standing on the edge of a
sword. And being inly consumed by that grief, losing his taste for
all enjoyment, he made a vow and feasted Bráhmans every day. And
that wife of his, of heavenly beauty, observing strict silence,
used always to give a fee to those Bráhmans after they had eaten. One
day an aged Bráhman, who had come to be fed, beheld her exciting the
wonder of the world by her dower of beauty; then the Bráhman full of
curiosity secretly asked Guhachandra; "Tell me who this young wife
of yours is." Then Guhachandra, being importuned by that Bráhman,
told him with afflicted mind her whole story. When he heard it, the
excellent Bráhman, full of compassion, gave him a charm for appeasing
the fire, in order that he might obtain his desire. Accordingly,
while Guhachandra was in secret muttering that charm, there appeared
to him a Bráhman from the midst of the fire. And that god of fire in
the shape of a Bráhman, said to him, as he lay prostrate at his feet,
"To-day I will eat in thy house, and I will remain there during the
night. And after I have shewn thee the truth with respect to thy wife,
I will accomplish thy desire." When he had said this to Guhachandra,
the Bráhman entered his house. There he ate like the other Bráhmans,
and lay down at night near Guhachandra for one watch of the night
only, such was his unwearying zeal. And at this period of the night,
Somaprabhá, the wife of Guhachandra, went out from the house of her
husband, all the inmates of which were asleep. At that moment that
Bráhman woke up Guhachandra, and said to him, "Come, see what thy
wife is doing."

And by magic power he gave Guhachandra and himself the shape of bees,
[229] and going out he shewed him that wife of his, who had issued from
the house. And that fair one went a long distance outside the city,
and the Bráhman with Guhachandra followed her. Thereupon Guhachandra
saw before him a Nyagrodha [230] tree of wide extent, beautiful with
its shady stem, and under it he heard a heavenly sound of singing,
sweet with strains floating on the air, accompanied with the music of
the lyre and the flute. And on the trunk of the tree he saw a heavenly
maiden [231], like his wife in appearance, seated on a splendid throne,
eclipsing by her beauty the moon-beam, fanned with white chowries, like
the goddess presiding over the treasure of all the moon's beauty. And
then Guhachandra saw his wife ascend that very tree and sit down beside
that lady, occupying half of her throne. While he was contemplating
those two heavenly maidens of equal beauty sitting together, it seemed
to him as if that night were lighted by three moons. [232]

Then he, full of curiosity, thought for a moment, "Can this be sleep
or delusion? But away with both these suppositions! This is the
expanding of the blossom from the bud of association with the wise,
which springs on the tree of right conduct, and this blossom gives
promise of the appropriate fruit." While he was thus reflecting at
his leisure, those two celestial maidens, after eating food suited for
such as they were, drank heavenly wine. Then the wife of Guhachandra
said to the second heavenly maiden, "To-day some glorious Bráhman
has arrived in our house, for which reason, my sister, my heart is
alarmed and I must go." In these words she took leave of that other
heavenly maiden and descended from the tree. When Guhachandra and
the Bráhman saw that, they returned in front of her, still preserving
the form of bees, and arrived in the house by night before she did,
and afterwards arrived that heavenly maiden, the wife of Guhachandra,
and she entered the house without being observed. Then that Bráhman
of his own accord said to Guhachandra; "You have had ocular proof
that your wife is divine and not human, and you have to-day seen her
sister who is also divine; and how do you suppose that a heavenly
nymph can desire the society of a man? So I will give you a charm to
be written up over her door, and I will also teach you an artifice
to be employed outside the house, which must increase the force of
the charm. A fire burns even without being fanned, but much more
when a strong current of air is brought to bear on it; in the same
way a charm will produce the desired effect unaided, but much more
readily when assisted by an artifice." When he had said this, the
excellent Bráhman gave a charm to Guhachandra, and instructed him
in the artifice, and then vanished in the dawn. Guhachandra for his
part wrote it up over the door of his wife's apartment, and in the
evening had recourse to the following stratagem calculated to excite
her affection. He dressed himself splendidly and went and conversed
with a certain hetæra before her eyes. When she saw this, the heavenly
maiden being jealous, called to him with voice set free by the charm,
and asked him who that woman was. He answered her falsely; "She is
a hetæra who has taken a fancy to me, and I shall go and pay her a
visit to-day." Then she looked at him askance with wrinkled brows,
and lifting up her veil with her left hand, said to him, "Ah! I see:
this is why you are dressed so grandly, do not go to her, what have you
to do with her? Visit me, for I am your wife." When he had been thus
implored by her, agitated with excitement, as if she were possessed,
though that evil demon which held her had been expelled by the charm,
he was in a state of ecstatic joy, and he immediately entered into her
chamber with her, and enjoyed, though a mortal, celestial happiness
not conceived of in imagination. Having thus obtained her as a loving
wife, conciliated by the magic power of the charm, who abandoned for
him her celestial rank, Guhachandra lived happily ever after.

"Thus heavenly nymphs, who have been cast down by some curse, live as
wives in the houses of righteous men, as a reward for their good deeds,
such as acts of devotion and charity. For the honouring of gods and
Bráhmans is considered the wishing-cow [233] of the good. For what
is not obtained by that? All the other politic expedients, known as
conciliation and so on, are mere adjuncts. [234] But evil actions
are the chief cause of even heavenly beings, born in a very lofty
station, falling from their high estate; as a hurricane is the cause
of the falling of blossoms." When he had said this to the princess,
Vasantaka continued; "Hear moreover what happened to Ahalyá."

Story of Ahalyá.

Once upon a time there was a great hermit named Gautama, who knew the
past, the present, and the future. And he had a wife named Ahalyá,
who in beauty surpassed the nymphs of heaven. One day Indra, in
love with her beauty, tempted her in secret, for the mind of rulers,
blinded with power, runs towards unlawful objects.

And she in her folly encouraged that husband of Sachí, being the slave
of her passions; but the hermit Gautama found out the intrigue by his
superhuman power, and arrived upon the scene. And Indra immediately
assumed, out of fear, the form of a cat. Then Gautama said to Ahalyá;
"Who is here?" She answered her husband ambiguously in the Prákrit
dialect,--"Here forsooth is a cat," so managing to preserve verbal
truth. [235] Then Gautama said, laughing, "It is quite true that your
lover is here,--and he inflicted on her a curse, but ordained that it
should terminate because she had shewed some regard for truth." The
curse ran as follows; "Woman of bad character, take for a long time the
nature of a stone, until thou behold Ráma wandering in the forest." And
Gautama at the same time inflicted on the god Indra the following
curse; "A thousand pictures of that which thou hast desired shall
be upon thy body, but when thou shalt behold Tilottamá, a heavenly
nymph, whom Visvakarman shall make, they shall turn into a thousand
eyes." When he had pronounced this curse, the hermit returned to his
austerities according to his desire, but Ahalyá for her part assumed
the awful condition of a stone. And Indra immediately had his body
covered with repulsive marks; for to whom is not immorality a cause
of humiliation?

"So true is it that every man's evil actions always bear fruit
in himself, for whatever seed a man sows, of that he reaps the
fruit. Therefore persons of noble character never desire that, which
is disagreeable to their neighbours, for this is the invariable
observance of the good, prescribed by divine law. And you two were
sister goddesses in a former birth, but you have been degraded in
consequence of a curse, and accordingly your hearts are free from
strife and bent on doing one another good turns." When they heard
this from Vasantaka, Vásavadattá and Padmávatí dismissed from their
hearts even the smallest remnants of mutual jealousy. But the queen
Vásavadattá made her husband equally the property of both, and acted
as kindly to Padmávatí as if she were herself, desiring her welfare.

When the king of Magadha heard of that so great generosity of hers
from the messengers sent by Padmávatí, he was much pleased. So on the
next day the minister Yaugandharáyana came up to the king of Vatsa
in the presence of the queen, the others also standing by, and said,
"Why do we not go now to Kausámbí, my prince, in order to begin our
enterprise, for we know that there is nothing to be feared from the
king of Magadha, even though he has been deceived? For he has been
completely gained over by means of the negotiation termed 'Giving of a
daughter': and how could he make war and so abandon his daughter whom
he loves more than life? He must keep his word; moreover he has not
been deceived by you; I did it all myself; and it does not displease
him; indeed I have learned from my spies that he will not act in a
hostile way, and it was for this very purpose that we remained here
for these days." While Yaugandharáyana, who had accomplished the task
he had in hand, was speaking thus, a messenger belonging to the king
of Magadha arrived there, and entered into the palace immediately,
being announced by the warder, and after he had done obeisance,
he sat down and said to the king of Vatsa; "The king of Magadha is
delighted with the intelligence sent by the queen Padmávatí, and he
now sends this message to your Highness--'What need is there of many
words? I have heard all, and I am pleased with thee. Therefore do the
thing for the sake of which this beginning has been made; we submit
ourselves.'" The king of Vatsa joyfully received this clear speech of
the messenger's, resembling the blossom of the tree of policy planted
by Yaugandharáyana. Then he brought Padmávatí with the queen, and,
after he had bestowed a present upon the messenger, he dismissed him
with honour. Then a messenger from Chandamahásena also arrived, and,
after entering, he bowed before the king, according to custom, and
said to him, "O king, his majesty Chandamahásena, who understands the
secrets of policy, has learnt the state of thy affairs and delighted
sends this message--'Your majesty's excellence is plainly declared
by this one fact, that you have Yaugandharáyana for your minister,
what need of further speeches? Blessed too is Vásavadattá, who,
through devotion to you, has done a deed which makes us exalt our
head for ever among the good, moreover Padmávatí is not separated
from Vásavadattá in my regard, for they two have one heart; therefore
quickly exert yourself.'"

When the king of Vatsa heard this speech of his father-in-law's
messenger, joy suddenly arose in his heart, and his exceeding warmth
of affection for the queen was increased, and also the great respect
which he felt for his excellent minister. Then the king, together with
the queens, entertained the messenger according to the laws of due
hospitality, in joyful excitement of mind, and sent him away pleased;
and as he was bent on commencing his enterprise, he determined,
after deliberating with his ministers, on returning to Kausámbí.


So on the next day the king of Vatsa set out from Lávánaka for
Kausámbí, accompanied by his wives and his ministers, and as he
advanced, shouts broke forth from his forces, that filled the plains
like the waters of the ocean overflowing out of due time. An image
would be furnished of that king advancing on his mighty elephant,
if the sun were to journey in the heaven accompanied by the eastern
mountain. That king, shaded with his white umbrella, shewed as if
waited upon by the moon, delighted at having outdone the splendour
of the sun. While he towered resplendent above them all, the chiefs
circled around him, like the planets [236] in their orbits around
the polar star. And those queens, mounted on a female elephant that
followed his, shone like the earth-goddess and the goddess of Fortune
accompanying him out of affection in visible shape. The earth, that
lay in his path, dinted with the edges of the hoofs of the troops
of his prancing steeds, seemed to bear the prints of loving nails,
as if it had been enjoyed by the king. In this style progressing,
the king of Vatsa, being continually praised by his minstrels,
reached in a few days the city of Kausámbí, in which the people kept
holiday. The city was resplendent on that occasion, her lord [237]
having returned from sojourning abroad. She was clothed in the red silk
of banners, round windows were her expanded eyes, the full pitchers
in the space in front of the gates were her two swelling breasts, the
joyous shouts of the crowd were her cheerful conversation, and white
palaces her smile. [238] So, accompanied by his two wives, the king
entered the city, and the ladies of the town were much delighted at
beholding him. The heaven was filled with hundreds of faces of fair
ones standing on charming palaces, as if with the soldiers of the
moon [239] that was surpassed in beauty by the faces of the queens,
having come to pay their respects. And other women established at
the windows, looking with unwinking eyes, [240] seemed like heavenly
nymphs in aërial chariots, that had come there out of curiosity. Other
women, with their long-lashed eyes closely applied to the lattice of
the windows, made, so to speak, cages of arrows to confine love. The
eager eye of one woman expanded with desire to behold the king, came,
so to speak, to the side of her ear, [241] that did not perceive
him, in order to inform it. The rapidly heaving breasts of another,
who had run up hastily, seemed to want to leap out of her bodice with
ardour to behold him. The necklace of another lady was broken with her
excitement, and the pearl-beads seemed like tear-drops of joy falling
from her heart. Some women, beholding Vásavadattá and remembering the
former report of her having been burned, said as if with anxiety;
"If the fire were to do her an injury at Lávánaka, then the sun
might as well diffuse over the world darkness which is alien to his
nature." Another lady beholding Padmávatí said to her companion; "I
am glad to see that the queen is not put to shame by her fellow-wife,
who seems like her friend." And others beholding those two queens,
and throwing over them garlands of eyes expanded with joy so as to
resemble blue lotuses, said to one another; "Surely Siva and Vishnu
have not beheld the beauty of these two, otherwise how could they
regard with much respect their consorts Umá and Srí?" In this way
feasting the eyes of the population, the king of Vatsa with the queens
entered his own palace, after performing auspicious ceremonies. Such
as is the splendour of a lotus-pool in windy weather, or of the
sea when the moon is rising, such was at that period the wonderful
splendour of the king's palace. And in a moment it was filled with
the presents, which the feudatories offered to procure good luck,
and which foreshadowed the coming in of offerings from innumerable
kings. And so the king of Vatsa, after honouring the chiefs, entered
with great festivity the inner apartments, at the same time finding
his way to the heart of every one present. And there he remained
between the two queens, like the god of Love between Rati and Príti,
[242] and spent the rest of the day in drinking and other enjoyments.

The next day, when he was sitting in the hall of assembly accompanied
by his ministers, a certain Bráhman came and cried out at the door;
"Protection for the Bráhmans! O king! certain wicked herdsmen have
cut off my son's foot in the forest without any reason." When he
heard that, the king immediately had two or three herdsmen seized and
brought before him, and proceeded to question them. Then they gave the
following answer; "O king, being herdsmen we roam in the wilderness,
and there we have among us a herdsman named Devasena, and he sits in
a certain place in the forest on a stone seat, and says to us 'I am
your king' and gives us orders. And not a man among us disobeys his
orders. Thus, O king, that herdsman rules supreme in the wood. Now
to-day the son of this Bráhman came that way, and did not do obeisance
to the herdsman king, and when we by the order of the king said to
him--'Depart not without doing thy reverence'--the young fellow pushed
us aside, and went off laughing in spite of the admonition. Then the
herdsman king commanded us to punish the contumacious boy by cutting
off his foot. So we, O king, ran after him, and cut off his foot;
what man of our humble degree is able to disobey the command of a
ruler?" When the herdsmen had made this representation to the king, the
wise Yaugandharáyana, after thinking it over, said to him in private;
"Certainly that place must contain treasure, on the strength of which
a mere herdsman has such influence. [243] So let us go there." When
his minister had said this to him, the king made those herdsmen shew
him the way, and went to that place in the forest with his soldiers
and his attendants.

And while, after the ground had been examined, peasants were digging
there, a Yaksha in stature like a mountain rose up from beneath it,
and said, "O king, this treasure, which I have so long guarded,
belongs to thee, as having been buried by thy forefathers, therefore
take possession of it." After he had said this to the king and
accepted his worship, the Yaksha disappeared, and a great treasure
was displayed in the excavation. And from it was extracted a valuable
throne studded with jewels, [244] for in the time of prosperity a long
series of happy and fortunate events takes place. The Lord of Vatsa
took away the whole treasure from the spot in high glee, and after
chastising those herdsmen returned to his own city. There the people
saw that golden throne brought by the king, which seemed with the
streams of rays issuing from its blood-red jewels to foretell [245]
the king's forceful conquest of all the regions, and which with its
pearls fixed on the end of projecting silver spikes seemed to show its
teeth as if laughing again and again when it considered the astonishing
intellect of the king's ministers; [246] and they expressed their joy
in a charming manner, by striking drums of rejoicing so that they sent
forth their glad sounds. The ministers too rejoiced exceedingly, making
certain of the king's triumph; for prosperous events happening at the
very commencement of an enterprise portend its final success. Then
the sky was filled with flags resembling flashes of lightning, and the
king like a cloud rained gold on his dependants. And this day having
been spent in feasting, on the morrow Yaugandharáyana, wishing to know
the mind of the king of Vatsa, said to him; "O king, ascend and adorn
that great throne, which thou hast obtained by inheritance from thy
ancestors." But the king said, "Surely it is only after conquering all
the regions that I can gain glory by ascending that throne, which those
famous ancestors of mine mounted after conquering the earth. Not till
I have subdued this widely-gemmed earth bounded by the main, will I
ascend the great jewelled throne of my ancestors." Saying this, the
king did not mount the throne as yet. For men of high birth possess
genuine loftiness of spirit. Thereupon Yaugandharáyana being delighted
said to him in private; "Bravo! my king! So make first an attempt to
conquer the eastern region." When he heard that, the king eagerly
asked his minister; "When there are other cardinal points, why do
kings first march towards the East?" When Yaugandharáyana heard this,
he said to him again; "The North, O king, though rich, is defiled by
intercourse with barbarians, and the West is not honoured as being
the cause of the setting of the sun and other heavenly bodies; and
the South is seen to be neighboured by Rákshasas and inhabited by
the god of death; but in the eastern quarter the sun rises, over the
East presides Indra, and towards the East flows the Ganges, therefore
the East is preferred. Moreover among the countries situated between
the Vindhya and Himálaya mountains, the country laved by the waters
of the Ganges is considered most excellent. Therefore monarchs who
desire success march first towards the East, and dwell moreover in
the land visited by the river of the gods. [247] For your ancestors
also conquered the regions by beginning with the East, and made their
dwelling in Hastinápura on the banks of the Ganges; but Satáníka
repaired to Kausámbí on account of its delightful situation, seeing
that empire depended upon valour, and situation had nothing to do
with it." When he had said this Yaugandharáyana stopped speaking;
and the king out of his great regard for heroic exploits said; "It
is true that dwelling in any prescribed country is not the cause of
empire in this world, for to men of brave disposition their own valour
is the only cause of success. For a brave man by himself without any
support obtains prosperity; have you never heard à propos of this
the tale of the brave man?" Having said this, the lord of Vatsa on
the entreaty of his ministers again began to speak, and related in
the presence of the queens the following wonderful story.

Story of Vidúshaka.

In the city of Ujjayiní, which is celebrated throughout the
earth, there was in former days a king named Ádityasena. He was a
treasure-house of valour, and on account of his sole supremacy, his war
chariot, like that of the sun, [248] was not impeded anywhere. When his
lofty umbrella, gleaming white like snow, illuminated the firmament,
other kings free from heat depressed theirs. He was the receptacle
of the jewels produced over the surface of the whole earth, as the
sea is the receptacle of waters. Once on a time, he was encamped
with his army on the banks of the Ganges, where he had come for some
reason or other. There a certain rich merchant of the country, named
Gunavartman, came to the king bringing a gem of maidens as a present,
and sent this message by the mouth of the warder. This maiden, though
the gem of the three worlds, has been born in my house, and I cannot
give her to any one else, only your Highness is fit to be the husband
of such a girl. Then Gunavartman entered and shewed his daughter to
the king. The king, when he beheld that maiden, Tejasvatí by name,
illuminating with her brightness the quarters of the heavens, like the
flame of the rays from the jewels in the temple of the god of Love,
was all enveloped with the radiance of her beauty and fell in love with
her, and, as if heated with the fire of passion, began to dissolve in
drops of sweat. So he at once accepted her, who was fit for the rank
of head queen, and being highly delighted made Gunavartman equal to
himself in honour. Then, having married his dear Tejasvatí, the king
thought all his objects in life accomplished, and went with her to
Ujjayiní. There the king fixed his gaze so exclusively on her face,
that he could not see the affairs of his kingdom, though they were
of great importance. And his ear being, so to speak, riveted on her
musical discourse could not be attracted by the cries of his distressed
subjects. The king entered into his harem for a long time and never
left it, but the fever of fear left the hearts of his enemies. And
after some time there was born to the king, by the queen Tejasvatí,
a girl welcomed by all, and there arose in his heart the desire of
conquest, which was equally welcome to his subjects. That girl of
exceeding beauty, who made the three worlds seem worthless as stubble,
excited in him joy, and desire of conquest excited his valour. Then
that king Ádityasena set out one day from Ujjayiní to attack a certain
contumacious chieftain; and he made that queen Tejasvatí go with
him mounted on an elephant, as if she were the protecting goddess
of the host. And he mounted an admirable horse, that in spirit and
fury resembled a torrent, [249] tall like a moving mountain, with a
curl on its breast, and a girth. It seemed to imitate with its feet
raised as high as its mouth, the going of Garuda which it had seen in
the heaven, rivalling its own swiftness, and it lifted up its head
and seemed with fearless eye to measure the earth, as if thinking,
"what shall be the limit of my speed?" And after the king had gone a
little way, he came to a level piece of ground, and put his horse to
its utmost speed to shew it off to Tejasvatí. That horse, on being
struck with his heel, went off rapidly, like an arrow impelled from
a catapult, in some unknown direction, so that it became invisible
to the eyes of men. The soldiers, when they saw that take place,
were bewildered, and horsemen galloped in a thousand directions after
the king, who was run away with by his horse, but could not overtake
him. Thereupon the ministers with the soldiers, fearing some calamity,
in their anxiety took with them the weeping queen and returned to
Ujjayiní; there they remained with gates closed and ramparts guarded,
seeking for news of the king, having cheered up the citizens.

In the meanwhile the king was carried by the horse in an instant
to the impassable forest of the Vindhya hills, haunted by terrible
lions. Then the horse happened to stand still, and the king was
immediately distracted with bewilderment, as the great forest made it
impossible for him to know whereabouts he was. Seeing no other way
out of his difficulties, the king, who knew what the horse had been
in a former birth, got down from his saddle, and prostrating himself
before the excellent horse, said to him [250]: "Thou art a god; a
creature like thee should not commit treason against his lord; so I
look upon thee as my protector, take me by a pleasant path." When the
horse heard that, he was full of regret, remembering his former birth;
and mentally acceded to the king's request, for excellent horses are
divine beings. Then the king mounted again, and the horse set out by
a road bordered with clear cool lakes, that took away the fatigue
of the journey; and by evening the splendid horse had taken the
king another hundred yojanas and brought him near Ujjayiní. As the
sun beholding his horses, though seven in number, excelled by this
courser's speed, had sunk, as it were through shame, into the ravines
of the western mountain, and as the darkness was diffused abroad,
the wise horse seeing that the gates of Ujjayiní were closed, and
that the burning-place outside the gates was terrible at that time,
carried the king for shelter to a concealed monastery of Bráhmans,
that was situated in a lonely place outside the walls. And the king
Ádityasena seeing that that monastery was a fit place to spend the
night in, as his horse was tired, attempted to enter it. But the
Bráhmans, who dwelt there, opposed his entrance, saying that he must
be some keeper of a cemetery [251] or some thief. And out they poured
in quarrelsome mood, with savage gestures, for Bráhmans who live
by chanting the Sáma Veda, are the home of timidity, boorishness,
and ill-temper. While they were clamouring, a virtuous Bráhman named
Vidúshaka, the bravest of the brave, came out from that monastery. He
was a young man distinguished for strength of arm, who had propitiated
the fire by his austerities, and obtained a splendid sword from that
divinity, which he had only to think of, and it came to him. That
resolute youth Vidúshaka seeing that king of distinguished bearing,
who had arrived by night, thought to himself that he was some god
in disguise. And the well-disposed youth pushed away all those other
Bráhmans, and bowing humbly before the king, caused him to enter the
monastery. And when he had rested, and had the dust of the journey
washed off by female slaves, Vidúshaka prepared for him suitable
food. And he took the saddle off that excellent horse of his, and
relieved its fatigue by giving it grass and other fodder. And after
he had made a bed for the wearied king, he said to him,--"My lord, I
will guard your person, so sleep in peace"--and while the king slept,
that Bráhman kept watch the whole night at the door with the sword
of the Fire-god in his hand, that came to him on his thinking of it.

And on the morrow early, Vidúshaka, without receiving any orders, of
his own accord saddled the horse for the king, as soon as he awoke. The
king for his part took leave of him, and mounting his horse entered
the city of Ujjayiní, beheld afar off by the people bewildered with
joy. And the moment he entered, his subjects approached him with a
confused hum of delight at his return. The king accompanied by his
ministers entered the palace, and great anxiety left the breast of the
queen Tejasvatí. Immediately grief seemed to be swept away from the
city by the rows of silken flags displayed out of joy, which waved in
the wind; and the queen made high festival until the end of the day,
until such time as the people of the city and the sun were red as
vermilion. [252] And the next day the king Ádityasena had Vidúshaka
summoned from the monastery with all the other Bráhmans. And as
soon as he had made known what took place in the night, he gave his
benefactor Vidúshaka a thousand villages. And the grateful king also
gave that Bráhman an umbrella and an elephant and appointed him his
domestic chaplain, so that he was beheld with great interest by the
people. So Vidúshaka then became equal to a chieftain, for how can
a benefit conferred on great persons fail of bearing fruit? And the
noble-minded Vidúshaka shared all those villages, which he had received
from the king, with the Bráhmans who lived in the monastery. And he
remained in the court of the king in attendance upon him, enjoying
together with the other Bráhmans the income of those villages. But
as time went on, those other Bráhmans began striving each of them
to be chief, and made no account of Vidúshaka, being intoxicated
with the pride of wealth. Dwelling in separate parties, seven in one
place, with their mutual rivalries they oppressed the villages like
malignant planets. Vidúshaka regarded their excesses with scornful
indifference, for men of firm mind rightly treat with contempt men of
little soul. Once upon a time a Bráhman of the name of Chakradhara,
who was naturally stern, seeing them engaged in wrangling, came up to
them. Chakradhara, though he was one-eyed, was keen-sighted enough in
deciding what was right in other men's affairs, and though a hunchback,
was straightforward enough in speech. He said to them--"While you
were living by begging, you obtained this windfall, you rascals,
then why do you ruin the villages with your mutual intolerance? It is
all the fault of Vidúshaka who has permitted you to act thus; so you
may be certain that in a short time you will again have to roam about
begging. For a situation, in which there is no head, and every one has
to shift for himself by his own wits as chance directs, is better than
one of disunion under many heads, in which all affairs go to rack and
ruin. So take my advice and appoint one firm man as your head, if you
desire unshaken prosperity, which can only be ensured by a capable
governor." On hearing that, every one of them desired the headship
for himself; thereupon Chakradhara after reflection again said to
those fools; "As you are so addicted to mutual rivalry I propose to
you a basis of agreement. In the neighbouring cemetery three robbers
have been executed by impalement; whoever is daring enough to cut off
the noses of those three by night and to bring them here, he shall be
your head, for courage merits command. [253]" When Chakradhara made
this proposal to the Bráhmans, Vidúshaka, who was standing near, said
to them; "Do this, what is there to be afraid of?" Then the Bráhmans
said to him; "We are not bold enough to do it, let whoever is able, do
it, and we will abide by the agreement." Then Vidúshaka said, "Well,
I will do it, I will cut off the noses of those robbers by night and
bring them from the cemetery." Then those fools, thinking the task a
difficult one, said to him; "If you do this you shall be our lord,
we make this agreement." When they had pronounced this agreement,
and night had set in, Vidúshaka took leave of those Bráhmans and went
to the cemetery. So the hero entered the cemetery awful as his own
undertaking, with the sword of the Fire-god, that came with a thought,
as his only companion. And in the middle of that cemetery where the
cries of vultures and jackals were swelled by the screams of witches,
and the flames of the funeral pyres were reinforced by the fires in the
mouths of the fire-breathing demons, he beheld those impaled men with
their faces turned up, as if through fear of having their noses cut
off. And when he approached them, those three being tenanted by demons
struck him with their fists [254]; and he for his part slashed them
in return with his sword, for fear has not learned to bestir herself
in the breast of the resolute. Accordingly the corpses ceased to be
convulsed with demons, and then the successful hero cut off their
noses and brought them away, binding them up in his garment. And as
he was returning, he beheld in that cemetery a religious mendicant
sitting on a corpse muttering charms, and through curiosity to have
the amusement of seeing what he was doing, he stood concealed behind
that mendicant. In a moment the corpse under the mendicant gave
forth a hissing sound, and flames issued from its mouth, and from its
navel mustard-seeds. And then the mendicant took the mustard-seeds,
and rising up struck the corpse with the flat of his hand, and the
corpse, which was tenanted by a mighty demon, stood up, and then that
mendicant mounted on its shoulder, and began to depart at a rapid rate,
[255] and Vidúshaka silently followed him unobserved, and after he had
gone a short distance Vidúshaka saw an empty temple with an image of
Durgá in it. Then the mendicant got down from the shoulder of the
demon, and entered the inner shrine of the temple, while the demon
fell flat on the earth. But Vidúshaka was present also, contriving
to watch the mendicant, unperceived by him. The mendicant worshipped
the goddess there and offered the following prayer; "If thou art
pleased with me, O goddess, grant me the desired boon. If not I will
propitiate thee with the sacrifice of myself." When the mendicant,
intoxicated with the success of his powerful spells, said this,
a voice coming from the inner shrine thus addressed the mendicant;
"Bring here the maiden daughter of king Ádityasena, and offer her as a
sacrifice, then thou shalt obtain thy desire." When the mendicant heard
this, he went out, and striking once more with his hand the demon,
[256] who hissed at the blow, made him stand upright. And mounting
on the shoulder of the demon, from whose mouth issued flames of
fire, he flew away through the air to bring the princess. Vidúshaka
seeing all this from his place of concealment thought to himself;
"What! shall he slay the king's daughter while I am alive? I will
remain here until the scoundrel returns." Having formed this resolve,
Vidúshaka remained there in concealment. But the mendicant entered
the female apartments of the palace through the window, and found the
king's daughter asleep, as it was night. And he returned, all clothed
in darkness, through the air, bringing with him the princess who
illuminated with her beauty the region, as Ráhu carries off a digit
of the moon. And bearing along with him that princess who exclaimed
in her grief--"Alas! my father! Alas! my mother"--he descended from
the sky in that very temple of the goddess. And then, dismissing the
demon, he entered with that pearl of maidens into the inner shrine of
the goddess, and while he was preparing to slay the princess there,
Vidúshaka came in with his sword drawn. He said to the mendicant,
"Villain! do you wish to smite a jasmine flower with a thunder-bolt,
in that you desire to employ a weapon against this tender form?" And
then he seized the trembling mendicant by the hair, and cut off his
head. And he consoled the princess distracted with fear, who clung to
him closely as she began to recognise him. And then the hero thought;
"How can I manage during the night to convey this princess from
this place to the harem?" Then a voice from the air addressed him;
"Hear this O Vidúshaka! the mendicant, whom thou hast slain, had
in his power a great demon and some grains of mustard-seed. Thence
arose his desire to be ruler of the earth and marry the daughters
of kings, and so the fool has this day been baffled. Therefore thou
hero, take those mustard-seeds, in order that for this night only
thou mayest be enabled to travel through the air." Thus the aërial
voice addressed the delighted Vidúshaka; for even the gods often
take such a hero under their protection. Then he took in his hand
those grains of mustard-seed from the corner of the mendicant's robe,
and the princess in his arms. And while he was setting out from that
temple of the goddess, another voice sounded in the air; "Thou must
return to this very temple of the goddess at the end of a month, thou
must not forget this, O hero!" When he heard this, Vidúshaka said "I
will do so,"--and by the favour of the goddess he immediately flew
up into the air bearing with him the princess. And flying through
the air he quickly placed that princess in her private apartments,
and said to her after she had recovered her spirits; "To-morrow
morning I shall not be able to fly through the air, and so all men
will see me going out, so I must depart now." When he said this to
her, the maiden being alarmed, answered him; "When you are gone, this
breath of mine will leave my body overcome with fear. Therefore do
not depart, great-souled hero; once more save my life, for the good
make it their business from their birth to carry out every task they
have undertaken." When the brave Vidúshaka heard that, he reflected,
"If I go, and leave this maiden, she may possibly die of fear; and then
what kind of loyalty to my sovereign shall I have exhibited? Thinking
thus he remained all night in those female apartments, and he gradually
dropped off to sleep wearied with toil and watching. But the princess
in her terror passed that night without sleeping: and even when the
morning came she did not wake up the sleeping Vidúshaka, as her mind
was made tender by love [257], and she said to herself; "Let him rest
a little longer." Then the servants of the harem came in and saw him,
and in a state of consternation they went and told the king. The king
for his part sent the warder to discover the truth, and he entering
beheld Vidúshaka there. And he heard the whole story from the mouth
of the princess, and went and repeated it all to the king. And the
king knowing the excellent character of Vidúshaka, was immediately
bewildered, wondering what it could mean. And he had Vidúshaka brought
from his daughter's apartment, escorted all the way by her soul,
which followed him out of affection. And when he arrived, the king
asked him what had taken place, and Vidúshaka told him the whole
story from the beginning, and shewed him the noses of the robbers
fastened up in the end of his garment, and the mustard-seeds which
had been in the possession of the mendicant, different from those
found on earth. The high-minded monarch suspected that Vidúshaka's
story was true from these circumstances, so he had all the Bráhmans
of the monastery brought before him, together with Chakradhara, and
asked about the original cause of the whole matter. And he went in
person to the cemetery and saw those men with their noses cut off,
and that base mendicant with his neck severed, and then he reposed
complete confidence in, and was much pleased with, the skilful and
successful Vidúshaka, who had saved his daughter's life. And he gave
him his own daughter on the spot; what do generous men withhold when
pleased with their benefactors? Surely the goddess of Prosperity, [258]
out of love for the lotus, dwelt in the hand of the princess, since
Vidúshaka obtained great good fortune after he had received it in the
marriage ceremony. Then Vidúshaka enjoying a distinguished reputation,
and engaged in attending upon the sovereign, lived with that beloved
wife in the palace of king Ádityasena. Then as days went on, once upon
a time the princess impelled by some supernatural power said at night
to Vidúshaka; "My lord, you remember that when you were in the temple
of the goddess a divine voice said to you, 'Come here at the end of a
month.' To-day is the last day of the month, and you have forgotten
it." When his beloved said this to him, Vidúshaka was delighted,
and recalled it to mind, and said to his wife--"Well remembered on
thy part, fair one! But I had forgotten it." And then he embraced
her by way of reward. And then, while she was asleep, he left the
women's apartments by night, and in high spirits he went armed with
his sword to the temple of the goddess; then he exclaimed outside,
"I Vidúshaka am arrived:" and he heard this speech uttered by some
one inside--"Come in, Vidúshaka." Thereupon he entered and beheld
a heavenly palace, and inside it a lady of heavenly beauty with a
heavenly retinue, dispelling with her brightness the darkness, like a
night set on fire, looking as if she were the medicine to restore to
life the god of love consumed with the fire of the wrath of Siva. He
wondering what it could all mean, was joyfully received by her in
person with a welcome full of affection and great respect. And when
he had sat down and had gained confidence from seeing her affection,
he became eager to understand the real nature of the adventure, and she
said to him; "I am a maiden of the Vidyádhara race, of high descent,
and my name is Bhadrá, and as I was roaming about at my will I saw you
here on that occasion. And as my mind was attracted by your virtues,
I uttered at that time that voice which seemed to come from some one
invisible, in order that you might return. And to-day I bewildered
the princess by employing my magic skill, so that under my impulse she
revived your remembrance of this matter, and for your sake I am here,
and so, handsome hero, I surrender myself to you; marry me." The noble
Vidúshaka, when the Vidyádharí Bhadrá addressed him in this style,
agreed that moment, and married her by the Gándharva ceremony. Then
he remained in that very place, having obtained celestial joys,
the fruits of his own valour, living with that beloved wife.

Meanwhile the princess woke up when the night came to an end, and not
seeing her husband, was immediately plunged in despair. So she got
up and went with tottering steps to her mother, all trembling, with
her eyes flooded with gushing tears. And she told her mother that
her husband had gone away somewhere in the night, and was full of
self-reproach, fearing that she had been guilty of some fault. Then
her mother was distracted owing to her love for her daughter, and
so in course of time the king heard of it, and came there, and fell
into a state of the utmost anxiety. When his daughter said to him--"I
know my husband has gone to the temple of the goddess outside the
cemetery"--the king went there in person. But he was not able to find
Vidúshaka there in spite of all his searching, for he was concealed
by virtue of the magic science of the Vidyádharí. Then the king
returned, and his daughter in despair determined to leave the body,
but while she was thus minded, some wise man came to her and said
this to her; "Do not fear any misfortune, for that husband of thine
is living in the enjoyment of heavenly felicity, and will return to
thee shortly." When she heard that, the princess retained her life,
which was kept in her by the hope of her husband's return, that had
taken deep root in her heart.

Then, while Vidúshaka was living there, a certain friend of
his beloved, named Yogesvarí, came to Bhadrá, and said to her in
secret--"My friend, the Vidyádharas are angry with you because you live
with a man, and they seek to do you an injury, therefore leave this
place. There is a city called Kárkotaka on the shore of the eastern
sea, and beyond that there is a sanctifying stream named Sítodá,
and after you cross that, there is a great mountain named Udaya,
[259] the land of the Siddhas, [260] which the Vidyádharas may not
invade; go there immediately, and do not be anxious about the beloved
mortal whom you leave here, for before you start you can tell all this
to him, so that he shall be able afterwards to journey there with
speed." When her friend said this to her, Bhadrá was overcome with
fear, and though attached to Vidúshaka, she consented to do as her
friend advised. So she told her scheme to Vidúshaka, and providently
gave him her ring, and then disappeared at the close of the night. And
Vidúshaka immediately found himself in the empty temple of the goddess,
in which he had been before, and no Bhadrá and no palace. Remembering
the delusion produced by Bhadrá's magic skill, and beholding the ring,
Vidúshaka was overpowered by a paroxysm of despair and wonder. And
remembering her speech as if it were a dream, he reflected,--"Before
she left, she assigned as a place of meeting the mountain of the
sun-rising; so I must quickly go there to find her: but if I am seen
by the people in this state, the king will not let me go: so I will
employ a stratagem in this matter, in order that I may accomplish my
object." So reflecting, the wise man assumed another appearance, and
went out from that temple with tattered clothes, begrimed with dust,
exclaiming, "Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!" And immediately the people, who
lived in that place, beholding him, raised a shout; "Here is Vidúshaka
found!" And the king hearing of it came out from his palace in person,
and seeing Vidúshaka in such a state, conducting himself like a madman,
he laid hold on him and took him back to his palace. When he was there,
whatever his servants and connexions, who were full of affection, said
to him, he answered only by exclaiming, "Ah Bhadrá! Ah Bhadrá!" And
when he was anointed with unguents prescribed by the physicians,
he immediately defiled his body with much cinder-dust; and the
food which the princess out of love offered to him with her own
hands, he instantly threw down and trampled under foot. And in this
condition Vidúshaka remained there some days, without taking interest
in anything, tearing his own clothes, and playing the madman. And
Ádityasena thought to himself; "His condition is past cure, so what
is the use of torturing him? He may perhaps die, and then I should
be guilty of the death of a Bráhman, whereas if he roams about at
his will, he may possibly recover in course of time." So he let him
go. Then the hero Vidúshaka, being allowed to roam where he liked, set
out the next day at his leisure to find Bhadrá, taking with him the
ring. And as he journeyed on day by day towards the East, he at last
reached a city named Paundravardhana [261], which lay in his way as
he travelled on; there he entered the house of a certain aged Bráhman
woman, saying to her--"Mother, I wish to stop here one night." And
she gave him a lodging and entertained him, and shortly after, she
approached him, full of inward sorrow, and said to him--"My son, I
hereby give thee all this house, therefore receive it, since I cannot
now live any longer." He, astonished, said to her--"Why do you speak
thus?" Then she said--"Listen, I will tell you the whole story," and
so continued as follows--"My son, in this city there is a king named
Devasena, and to him there was born one daughter, the ornament of the
earth. The affectionate king said--'I have with difficulty obtained
this one daughter',--so he gave her the name of Duhkalabdhiká. [262]

"In course of time when she had grown up, the king gave her in marriage
to the king of Kachchhapa, whom he had brought to his own palace. The
king of Kachchhapa entered at night the private apartments of his
bride, and died the very first time he entered them. Then the king
much distressed, again gave his daughter in marriage to another king;
he also perished in the same way [263]: and when through fear of the
same fate other kings did not wish to marry her, the king gave this
order to his general--'You must bring a man in turn from every single
house in this country, so that one shall be supplied every day, and
he must be a Bráhman or a Kshatriya. And after you have brought the
man, you must cause him to enter by night into the apartment of my
daughter; let us see how many will perish in this way, and how long
it will go on. Whoever escapes shall afterwards become her husband;
for it is impossible to bar the course of fate, whose dispensations
are mysterious.' The general, having received this order from the
king, brings a man every day turn about from every house in this
city, and in this way hundreds of men have met their death in the
apartment of the princess. Now I, whose merits in a former life must
have been deficient, have one son here; his turn has to-day arrived
to go to the palace to meet his death; and I being deprived of him
must to-morrow enter the fire. Therefore, while I am still alive,
I give to you, a worthy object, all my house with my own hand, in
order that my lot may not again be unfortunate in my next birth." When
she had said this, the resolute Vidúshaka answered; "If this is the
whole matter, do not be despondent, mother, I will go there to-day,
let your only son live. And do not feel any commiseration with regard
to me, so as to say to yourself--'Why should I be the cause of this
man's death?'--for owing to the magical power which I possess I run
no risk by going there." When Vidúshaka had said this, that Bráhman
woman said to him, "Then you must be some god come here as a reward
for my virtue, so cause me, my son, to recover life, and yourself to
gain felicity." When she had expressed her approval of his project in
these words, he went in the evening to the apartment of the princess,
together with a servant appointed by the general to conduct him. There
he beheld the princess flushed with the pride of youth, like a creeper
weighed down with the burden of its abundant flowers that had not
yet been gathered. Accordingly, when night came, the princess went
to her bed, and Vidúshaka remained awake in her apartment, holding in
his hand the sword of the Fire-god, which came to him with a thought,
saying to himself, "I will find out who it is that slays men here." And
when people were all asleep, he saw a terrible Rákshasa coming from the
side of the apartment where the entrance was, having first opened the
door; and the Rákshasa standing at the entrance stretched forward into
the room an arm, which had been the swift wand of Death to hundreds
of men. But Vidúshaka in wrath springing forward, cut off suddenly
the arm of the Rákshasa with one stroke of his sword. [264] And the
Rákshasa immediately fled away through fear of his exceeding valour,
with the loss of one arm, never again to return. When the princess
awoke, she saw the severed arm lying there, and she was terrified,
delighted and astonished at the same time. And in the morning the
king Devasena saw the arm of the Rákshasa, which had fallen down
after it was cut off, lying at the door of his daughter's apartments;
in this way Vidúshaka, as if to say "Henceforth no other men must
enter here"--fastened the door as it were with a long bar. [265]
Accordingly the delighted king gave to Vidúshaka, who possessed
this divine power, his daughter and much wealth; and Vidúshaka dwelt
there some days with this fair one, as if with prosperity incarnate
in bodily form. But one day he left the princess while asleep, and
set out at night in haste to find his Bhadrá. And the princess in the
morning was afflicted at not seeing him, but she was comforted by her
father with the hope of his return. Vidúshaka journeying on day by
day, at last reached the city of Támraliptá not far from the eastern
sea. There he joined himself to a certain merchant, named Skandhadása
who desired to cross the sea. In his company, embarking on a ship
laden with much wealth belonging to the merchant, he set out on the
ocean path. Then that ship was stopped suddenly when it had reached the
middle of the ocean, as if it were held by something. And when it did
not move, though the sea was propitiated with jewels, that merchant
Skandhadása being grieved, said this: "Whosoever releases this ship
of mine which is detained, to him I will give half of my own wealth
and my daughter." The resolute-souled Vidúshaka, when he heard that,
said, "I will descend into the water of the sea and search it, and
I will set free in a moment this ship of yours which is stopped: but
you must support me by ropes fastened round my body. And the moment
the ship is set free, you must draw me up out of the midst of the
sea by the supporting ropes." The merchant welcomed his speech with
a promise to do what he asked, and the steersmen bound ropes under
his armpits. Supported in that way Vidúshaka descended in the sea;
a brave man never desponds when the moment for action has arrived. So
taking in his hand the sword of the Fire-god, that came to him with
a thought, the hero descended into the midst of the sea under the
ship. And there he saw a giant asleep, and he saw that the ship was
stopped by his leg. So he immediately cut off his leg with his sword,
and at once the ship moved on freed from its impediment. [266] When
the wicked merchant saw that, he cut the ropes, by which Vidúshaka was
supported, through desire to save the wealth he had promised him; and
went swiftly to the other shore of the ocean vast as his own avarice,
in the ship which had thus been set free. Vidúshaka for his part,
being in the midst of the sea with the supporting ropes cut, rose to
the surface, and seeing how matters stood he calmly reflected for
a moment; "Why did the merchant do this? Surely in this case the
proverb is applicable; 'Ungrateful men blinded by desire of gain
cannot see a benefit.' Well, it is now high time for me to display
intrepidity, for if courage fails, even a small calamity cannot be
overcome." Thus he reflected on that occasion, and then he got astride
on the leg which he had cut off from the giant sleeping in the water,
and by its help he crossed the sea, as if with a boat, paddling with
his hands, for even destiny takes the part of men of distinguished
valour. Then a voice from heaven addressed that mighty hero, who had
come across the ocean, as Hanumán did for the sake of Ráma [267];
"Bravo, Vidúshaka! Bravo! who except thee is a man of valour? I am
pleased with this courage of thine: therefore hear this. Thou hast
reached a desolate coast here, but from this thou shalt arrive in
seven days at the city of Kárkotaka; then thou shalt pluck up fresh
spirits, and journeying quickly from that place, thou shalt obtain
thy desire. But I am the Fire, the consumer of the oblations to
gods and the spirits of deceased ancestors, whom thou didst before
propitiate: and owing to my favour thou shalt feel neither hunger
nor thirst,--therefore go prosperously and confidently;" having thus
spoken, the voice ceased. And Vidúshaka, when he heard that, bowed,
adoring the Fire-god, and set forth in high spirits, and on the
seventh day he reached the city of Kárkotaka. And there he entered a
monastery, inhabited by many noble Bráhmans from various lands, who
were noted for hospitality. It was a wealthy foundation of the king
of that place Áryavarman, and had annexed to it beautiful temples
all made of gold. There all of the Bráhmans welcomed him, and one
Bráhman took the guest to his chamber, and provided him with a bath,
with food and with clothing. And while he was living in the monastery,
he heard this proclamation being made by beat of drum in the evening;
"Whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya wishes to-morrow morning to marry
the king's daughter, let him spend a night in her chamber." When he
heard that, he suspected the real reason, and being always fond of
daring adventures, he desired immediately to go to the apartment
of the princess. Thereupon the Bráhmans of the monastery said to
him,--"Bráhman, do not be guilty of rashness. The apartment of the
princess is not rightly so called, rather is it the open mouth of
death, [268] for whoever enters it at night does not escape alive,
and many daring men have thus met their death there." In spite of
what these Bráhmans told him, Vidúshaka would not take their advice,
[269] but went to the palace of the king with his servants. There
the king Áryavarman, when he saw him, welcomed him in person, and
at night he entered the apartment of the king's daughter, looking
like the sun entering the fire. And he beheld that princess who
seemed by her appearance to be attached to him, for she looked at him
with tearful eye, and a sad look expressive of the grief produced by
utter despair. And he remained awake there all night gazing intently,
holding in his hand the sword of the Fire-god that came to him with
a thought. And suddenly he beheld at the entrance a very terrible
Rákshasa, extending his left hand because his right had been cut
off. And when he saw him, he said to himself; "Here is that very
Rákshasa, whose arm I cut off in the city of Paundravardhana. So
I will not strike at his arm again, lest he should escape me and
depart as before, and for this reason it is better for me to kill
him." Thus reflecting, Vidúshaka ran forward and seized his hair,
and was preparing to cut off his head, when suddenly the Rákshasa in
extreme terror said to him; "Do not slay me, you are brave, therefore
shew mercy." Vidúshaka let him go and said, "Who are you, and what are
you about here?" Then the Rákshasa, being thus questioned by the hero,
continued--"My name is Yamadanshtra, and I had two daughters, this is
one, and she who lives in Paundravardhana is another. And Siva favoured
me by laying on me this command; 'Thou must save the two princesses
from marrying any one who is not a hero.' While thus engaged I first
had an arm cut off at Paundravardhana, and now I have been conquered
by you here, so this duty of mine is accomplished." When Vidúshaka
heard this, he laughed, and said to him in reply; "It was I that
cut off your arm there in Paundravardhana." The Rákshasa answered
"Then you must be a portion of some divinity, not a mere man, I
think it was for your sake that Siva did me the honour of laying
that command upon me. So henceforth I consider you my friend, and
when you call me to mind I will appear to you to ensure your success
even in difficulties." In these words the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra out of
friendship chose him as a sworn brother, and when Vidúshaka accepted
his proposal, disappeared. Vidúshaka, for his part, was commended for
his valour by the princess, and spent the night there in high spirits;
and in the morning the king hearing of the incident and highly pleased,
gave him his daughter as the conspicuous banner of his valour together
with much wealth. Vidúshaka lived there some nights with her, as if
with the goddess of prosperity, bound so firmly by his virtue [270]
that she could not move a step. But one night he went off of his
own accord from that place, longing for his beloved Bhadrá, for who
that has tasted heavenly joys, can take pleasure in any other? And
after he had left the town, he called to mind that Rákshasa, and
said to him, who appeared the moment he called him to mind, and made
him a bow,--"My friend, I must go to the land of the Siddhas on the
Eastern mountain for the sake of the Vidyádharí named Bhadrá, so do
you take me there." The Rákshasa said--"Very good"--so he ascended
his shoulder, and travelled in that night over sixty yojanas of
difficult country; and in the morning he crossed the Sítodá, a river
that cannot be crossed by mortals, and without effort reached the
border of the land of the Siddhas. [271] The Rákshasa said to him;
"Here is the blessed mountain, called the mountain of the rising sun,
in front of you, but I cannot set foot upon it as it is the home
of the Siddhas." Then the Rákshasa being dismissed by him departed,
and there Vidúshaka beheld a delightful lake, and he sat down on the
bank of that lake beautiful with the faces of full-blown lotuses,
which, as it were, uttered a welcome to him with the hum of roaming
bees. And there he saw unmistakeable footsteps as of women, seeming to
say to him, this is the path to the house of your beloved. While he
was thinking to himself--"Mortals cannot set foot on this mountain,
therefore I had better stop here a moment, and see whose footsteps
these are"--there came to the lake to draw water many beautiful
women with golden pitchers in their hands. So he asked the women,
after they had filled their pitchers with water, in a courteous
manner; "For whom are you taking this water?" And those women said to
him--"Excellent Sir, a Vidyádharí of the name of Bhadrá is dwelling
on this mountain, this water is for her to bathe in." Wonderful to
say! Providence seeming to be pleased with resolute men, who attempt
mighty enterprises, makes all things subserve their ends. For one
of these women suddenly said to Vidúshaka; "Noble sir, please lift
this pitcher on to my shoulder." He consented and when he lifted the
pitcher on to her shoulder, the discreet man put into it the jewelled
ring he had before received from Bhadrá, [272] and then he sat down
again on the bank of that lake, while those women went with the water
to the house of Bhadrá. And while they were pouring over Bhadrá the
water of ablution, her ring fell into her lap. When Bhadrá saw it,
she recognized it and asked those friends of hers whether they had
seen any stranger about. And they gave her this answer; "We saw a
young mortal on the banks of the lake, and he lifted this pitcher
for us." Then Bhadrá said "Go and make him bathe and adorn himself,
and quickly bring him here, for he is my husband who has arrived in
this country." When Bhadrá had said this, her companions went and told
Vidúshaka the state of the case, and after he had bathed brought him
into her presence. And when he arrived, he saw after long separation
Bhadrá who was eagerly expecting him, like the ripe blooming fruit
of the tree of his own valour in visible form: she for her part rose
up when she saw him, and offering him the argha, [273] so to speak,
by sprinkling him with her tears of joy, she fastened her twining
arms round his neck like a garland. When they embraced one another,
the long accumulated affection [274] seemed to ooze from their limbs
in the form of sweat, owing to excessive pressure. Then they sat down,
and never satisfied with gazing at one another, they both, as it were,
endured the agony of longing multiplied a hundred-fold. Bhadrá then
said to Vidúshaka; "How did you come to this land?" And he thereupon
gave her this answer; "Supported by affection for thee, I came here
enduring many risks to my life, what else can I say, fair one?" When
she heard that, seeing that his love was excessive, as it caused him
to disregard his own life, Bhadrá said to him who through affection
had endured the utmost, "My husband, I care not for my friends, nor
my magic powers; you are my life, and I am your slave, my lord, bought
by you with your virtues." Then Vidúshaka said, "Then come with me to
live in Ujjayiní, my beloved, leaving all this heavenly joy." Bhadrá
immediately accepted his proposal, and gave up all her magic gifts,
(which departed from her the moment she formed that resolution,)
with no more regret than if they had been straw. Then Vidúshaka
rested with her there during that night, being waited on by her
friend Yogesvarí, and in the morning the successful hero descended
with her from the mountain of the sun-rise, and again called to
mind the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra; the Rákshasa came the moment he was
thought of, and Vidúshaka told him the direction of the journey he
had to take, and then ascended his shoulder, having previously placed
Bhadrá there. She too endured patiently to be placed on the shoulder
of a very loathsome Rákshasa; what will not women do when mastered
by affection? So Vidúshaka, mounted on the Rákshasa, set out with
his beloved, and again reached the city of Kárkotaka; and there men
beheld him with fear inspired by the sight of the Rákshasa; and when
he saw king Áryavarman, he demanded from him his daughter; and after
receiving that princess surrendered by her father, whom he had won
with his arm, he set forth from that city in the same style, mounted
on the Rákshasa. And after he had gone some distance, he found that
wicked merchant on the shore of the sea, who long ago cut the ropes
when he had been thrown into the sea. And he took, together with his
wealth, his daughter, whom he had before won as a reward for setting
free the ship in the sea. And he considered the depriving that villain
of his wealth as equivalent to putting him to death, for grovelling
souls often value their hoards more than their life. Then mounted on
the Rákshasa as on a chariot, taking with him that daughter of the
merchant, he flew up into the heaven with the princess and Bhadrá,
and journeying through the air, he crossed the ocean, which like
his valour was full of boisterous impetuosity, exhibiting it to his
fair ones. [275] And he again reached the city of Paundravardhana,
beheld with astonishment by all as he rode on a Rákshasa. There he
greeted his wife, the daughter of Devasena, who had long desired his
arrival, whom he had won by the defeat of the Rákshasa; and though
her father tried to detain him, yet longing for his native land,
he took her also with him, and set out for Ujjayiní. And owing to
the speed of the Rákshasa, he soon reached that city, which appeared
like his satisfaction at beholding his home, exhibited in visible
form. There Vidúshaka was seen by the people, perched on the top of
that huge Rákshasa, whose vast frame was illuminated by the beauty of
his wives seated on his shoulder, as the moon [276] rising over the
eastern mountain with gleaming herbs on its summit. The people being
astonished and terrified, his father-in-law the king Ádityasena came
to hear of it, and went out from the city. But Vidúshaka, when he
saw him, quickly descended from the Rákshasa, and after prostrating
himself approached the king; the king too welcomed him. Then Vidúshaka
caused all his wives to come down from the shoulder of the Rákshasa,
and released him to wander where he would. And after that Rákshasa
had departed, Vidúshaka accompanied by his wives entered the king's
palace together with the king his father-in-law. There he delighted
by his arrival that first wife of his, the daughter of that king, who
suffered a long regret for his absence. And when the king said to him;
"How did you obtain these wives, and who is that Rákshasa?" he told him
the whole story. Then that king pleased with his son-in-law's valour,
and knowing what it was expedient to do, gave him half his kingdom;
and immediately Vidúshaka, though a Bráhman, became a monarch, with
a lofty white umbrella and chowries waving on both sides of him. And
then the city of Ujjayiní was joyful, full of the sound of festive
drums and music, uttering shouts of delight. Thus he obtained the
mighty rank of a king, and gradually conquered the whole earth, so
that his foot was worshipped by all kings, and with Bhadrá for his
consort he long lived in happiness with those wives of his, who were
content, having abandoned jealousy. Thus resolute men when fortune
favours them, find their own valour a great and successful stupefying
charm that forcibly draws towards them prosperity.

When they heard from the mouth of the king of Vatsa this varied tale
[277] full of marvellous incident, all his ministers sitting by his
side and his two wives experienced excessive delight.


Then Yaugandharáyana said to the king of Vatsa; "King, it is known
that you possess the favour of destiny, as well as courage; and I
also have taken some trouble about the right course of policy to
be pursued in this matter: therefore carry out as soon as possible
your plan of conquering the regions." When his chief minister had
said this to him, the king of Vatsa answered,--"Admitting that this
is true, nevertheless the accomplishment of auspicious undertakings
is always attended with difficulties, accordingly I will with this
object propitiate Siva by austerities, for without his favour, how
can I obtain what I desire?" When they heard that, his ministers
approved of his performing austerities, as the chiefs of the monkeys
did in the case of Ráma, when he was intent upon building a bridge
over the ocean. And after the king had fasted for three nights,
engaged in austerities with the queens and the ministers, Siva said
to him in a dream--"I am satisfied with thee, therefore rise up,
thou shalt obtain an unimpeded triumph, and shalt soon have a son
who shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." Then the king woke up,
with all his fatigue removed by the favour of Siva, like the new moon
increased by the rays of the sun. And in the morning he delighted his
ministers by telling them that dream, and the two queens, tender as
flowers, who were worn out by the fasting they had endured to fulfil
the vow. And they were refreshed by the description of his dream,
well worthy of being drunk in with the ears, and its effect was like
that of medicine, [278] for it restored their strength. The king
obtained by his austerities a power equal to that of his ancestors,
and his wives obtained the saintly renown of matrons devoted to their
husband. But on the morrow when the feast at the end of the fast
was celebrated, and the citizens were beside themselves with joy,
Yaugandharáyana thus addressed the king--"You are fortunate, O king,
in that the holy god Siva is so well disposed towards you, so proceed
now to conquer your enemies, and then enjoy the prosperity won by
your arm. For when prosperity is acquired by a king's own virtues,
it remains fixed in his family, for blessings acquired by the virtues
of the owners are never lost. And for this reason it was that that
treasure long buried in the ground, which had been accumulated by
your ancestors and then lost, was recovered by you. Moreover with
reference to this matter hear the following tale:"

Story of Devadása.

Long ago there was in the city of Pátaliputra a certain merchant's son,
sprung from a rich family, and his name was Devadása. And he married
a wife from the city of Paundravardhana, the daughter of some rich
merchant. When his father died, Devadása became in course of time
addicted to vice, and lost all his wealth at play. And then his wife's
father came and took away to his own house in Paundravardhana his
daughter, who was distressed by poverty and the other hardships of her
lot. Gradually the husband began to be afflicted by his misfortunes,
and wishing to be set up in his business, he came to Paundravardhana to
ask his father-in-law to lend him the capital which he required. And
having arrived in the evening at the city of Paundravardhana, seeing
that he was begrimed with dust, and in tattered garments, he thought
to himself, "How can I enter my father-in-law's house in this state? In
truth for a proud man death is preferable to exhibiting poverty before
one's relations." Thus reflecting, he went into the market-place,
and remained outside a certain shop during the night, crouching
with contracted body, like the lotus which is folded at night. And
immediately he saw a certain young merchant open the door of that shop
and enter it. And a moment after he saw a woman come with noiseless
step to that same place, and rapidly enter. And while he fixed his
eyes on the interior of the shop in which a light was burning, he
recognized in that woman his own wife. Then Devadása seeing that wife
of his repairing to another man, and bolting the door, being smitten
with the thunderbolt of grief, thought to himself; "A man deprived of
wealth loses even his own body, how then can he hope to retain the
affections of a woman? For women have fickleness implanted in their
nature by an invariable law, like the flashes of lightning. So here I
have an instance of the misfortunes which befall men who fall into the
sea of vice, and of the behaviour of an independent woman who lives
in her father's house." Thus he reflected as he stood outside, and
he seemed to himself to hear his wife confidentially conversing with
her lover. So he applied his ear to the door, and that wicked woman
was at the moment saying in secret to the merchant, her paramour;
"Listen; as I am so fond of you, I will to-day tell you a secret;
my husband long ago had a great-grandfather named Víravarman; in the
courtyard of his house he secretly buried in the ground four jars of
gold, one jar in each of the four corners. And he then informed one
of his wives of that fact, and his wife at the time of her death
told her daughter-in-law, she told it to her daughter-in-law who
was my mother-in-law, and my mother-in-law told it to me. So this
is an oral tradition in my husband's family, descending through
the mothers-in-law. But I did not tell it to my husband though he
is poor, for he is odious to me as being addicted to gambling, but
you are above all dear to me. So go to my husband's town and buy the
house from him with money, and after you have obtained that gold,
come here and live happily with me." When the merchant, her paramour,
heard this from that treacherous woman, he was much pleased with her,
thinking that he had obtained a treasure without any trouble. Devadása
for his part, who was outside, bore henceforth the hope of wealth,
so to speak, riveted in his heart with those piercing words of his
wicked wife. So he went thence quickly to the city of Pátaliputra,
and after reaching his house, he took that treasure and appropriated
it. Then that merchant, who was in secret the paramour of his wife,
arrived in that country, on pretence of trading, but in reality eager
to obtain the treasure. So he bought that house from Devadása, who made
it over to him for a large sum of money. Then Devadása set up another
home, and cunningly brought back that wife of his from the house of
his father-in-law. When this had been done, that wicked merchant, who
was the lover of his wife, not having obtained the treasure, came and
said to him; "This house of yours is old, and I do not like it. So give
me back my money, and take back your own house." Thus he demanded,
and Devadása refused, and being engaged in a violent altercation,
they both went before the king. In his presence Devadása poured forth
the whole story of his wife, painful to him as venom concealed in his
breast. Then the king had his wife summoned, and after ascertaining
the truth of the case, he punished that adulterous merchant with the
loss of all his property; Devadása for his part cut off the nose of
that wicked wife, and married another, and then lived happily in his
native city on the treasure he had obtained.

"Thus treasure obtained by virtuous methods is continued to a man's
posterity, but treasure of another kind is as easily melted away as
a flake of snow when the rain begins to fall. Therefore a man should
endeavour to obtain wealth by lawful methods, but a king especially,
since wealth is the root of the tree of empire. So honour all your
ministers according to custom in order that you may obtain success,
and then accomplish the conquest of the regions, so as to gain opulence
in addition to virtue. For out of regard to the fact that you are
allied by marriage with your two powerful fathers-in-law, few kings
will oppose you, most will join you. However, this king of Benares
named Brahmadatta is always your enemy, therefore conquer him first;
when he is conquered, conquer the eastern quarter, and gradually all
the quarters, and exalt the glory of the race of Pándu gleaming white
like a lotus." When his chief minister said this to him, the king
of Vatsa consented, eager for conquest, and ordered his subjects to
prepare for the expedition; and he gave the sovereignty of the country
of Videha to his brother-in-law Gopálaka, by way of reward for his
assistance, thereby shewing his knowledge of policy; and he gave
to Sinhavarman the brother of Padmávatí, who came to his assistance
with his forces, the land of Chedi, treating him with great respect;
and the monarch summoned Pulindaka the friendly king of the Bhillas,
[279] who filled the quarters with his hordes, as the rainy season
fills them with clouds; and while the preparation for the expedition
was going on in the great king's territories, a strange anxiety was
produced in the heart of his enemies; but Yaugandharáyana first sent
spies to Benares to find out the proceedings of king Brahmadatta; then
on an auspicious day, being cheered with omens portending victory,
the king of Vatsa first marched against Brahmadatta in the Eastern
quarter, having mounted [280] a tall victorious elephant, with a
lofty umbrella on its back, as a furious lion ascends a mountain
with one tree in full bloom on it. And his expedition was facilitated
[281] by the autumn which arrived as a harbinger of good fortune, and
shewed him an easy path, across rivers flowing with diminished volume,
and he filled the face of the land with his shouting forces, so as to
produce the appearance of a sudden rainy season without clouds; and
then the cardinal points resounding with the echoes of the roaring of
his host, seemed to be telling one another their fears of his coming,
and his horses, collecting the brightness of the sun on their golden
trappings, moved along followed, as it were, by the fire pleased with
the purification of his army. [282]

And his elephants with their ears like white chowries, and with
streams of ichor flowing from their temples reddened by being mixed
with vermilion, appeared, as he marched along, like the sons of the
mountains, streaked with white clouds of autumn, and pouring down
streams of water coloured with red mineral, sent by the parent hills,
in their fear, to join his expedition. And the dust from the earth
concealed the brightness of the sun, as if thinking that the king
could not endure the effulgent splendour of rivals. And the two queens
followed the king step by step on the way, like the goddess of Fame,
and the Fortune of Victory, attracted by his politic virtues. [283]
The silk of his host's banners, tossed to and fro in the wind,
seemed to say to his enemies,--"Bend in submission, or flee." Thus
he marched, beholding the districts full of blown white lotuses,
like the uplifted hoods of the serpent Sesha [284] terrified with
fear of the destruction of the world. In the meanwhile those spies,
commissioned by Yaugandharáyana, assuming the vows of scull-bearing
worshippers of Siva, reached the city of Benares. And one of them,
who was acquainted with the art of juggling, exhibiting his skill,
assumed the part of teacher, and the others passed themselves
off as his pupils. And they celebrated that pretended teacher, who
subsisted on alms, from place to place, saying, "This master of ours
is acquainted with past, present, and future." Whatever that sage
predicted, in the way of fires and so on, to those who came to consult
him about the future, his pupils took care to bring about secretly;
so he became famous. He gained complete ascendancy over the mind of
a certain Rájpút courtier there, a favourite of the king's, who was
won over by this mean skill of the teacher's. And when the war with
the king of Vatsa came on, the king Brahmadatta began to consult
him by the agency of the Rájpút, so that he learnt the secrets of
the government. Then the minister of Brahmadatta, Yogakarandaka,
laid snares in the path of the king of Vatsa as he advanced. He
tainted, by means of poison and other deleterious substances, the
trees, flowering creepers, water and grass all along the line of
march. And he sent poison-damsels [285] as dancing girls among the
enemy's host, and he also despatched nocturnal assassins into their
midst. But that spy, who had assumed the character of a prophet,
found all this out, and then quickly informed Yaugandharáyana of
it by means of his companions. Yaugandharáyana for his part, when
he found it out, purified at every step along the line of march the
poisoned grass, water, and so on, by means of corrective antidotes,
and forbade in the camp the society of strange women, and with the
help of Rumanvat he captured and put to death those assassins. When he
heard of that, Brahmadatta having found all his stratagems fail, came
to the conclusion that the king of Vatsa, who filled with his forces
the whole country, was hard to overcome. After deliberating and sending
an ambassador, he came in person to the king of Vatsa who was encamped
near, placing his clasped hands upon his head in token of submission.

The king of Vatsa for his part, when the king of Benares came to
him, bringing a present, received him with respect and kindness,
for heroes love submission. He being thus subdued, that mighty king
went on pacifying the East, making the yielding bend, but extirpating
the obstinate, as the wind treats the trees, until he reached the
Eastern ocean, rolling with quivering waves, as it were, trembling with
terror on account of the Ganges having been conquered. On its extreme
shore he set up a pillar of victory, [286] looking like the king
of the serpents emerging from the world below to crave immunity for
Pátála. Then the people of Kalinga [287] submitted and paid tribute,
and acted as the king's guides, so that the renown of that renowned
one ascended the mountain of Mahendra. Having conquered a forest
of kings by means of his elephants, which seemed like the peaks
of the Vindhya come to him terrified at the conquest of Mahendra,
he went to the southern quarter. There he made his enemies cease
their threatening murmurs and take to the mountains, strengthless
[288] and pale, treating them as the season of autumn treats the
clouds. The Káverí being crossed by him in his victorious onset,
and the glory of the king of the Chola [289] race being surpassed,
were befouled at the same time. He no longer allowed the Muralas
[290] to exalt their heads, for they were completely beaten down by
tributes imposed on them. Though his elephants drank the waters of
the Godávarí divided into seven streams, they seemed to discharge
them again seven-fold in the form of ichor. Then the king crossed
the Revá and reached Ujjayiní, and entered the city, being made by
king Chandamahásena to precede him. And there he became the target of
the amorous sidelong glances of the ladies of Málava, who shine with
twofold beauty by loosening their braided hair and wearing garlands,
and he remained there in great comfort, hospitably entertained by his
father-in-law, so that he even forgot the long-regretted enjoyments
of his native land. And Vásavadattá was continually at her parents'
side, remembering her childhood, seeming despondent even in her
happiness. The king Chandamahásena was as much delighted at meeting
Padmávatí, as he was at meeting again his own daughter. But after he
had rested some days, the delighted king of Vatsa, reinforced by the
troops of his father-in-law, marched towards the western region; his
curved sword [291] was surely the smoke of the fire of his valour,
since it dimmed with gushing tears the eyes of the women of Láta;
the mountain of Mandara, when its woods were broken through by his
elephants, seemed to tremble lest he should root it up to churn the
sea. [292] Surely he was a splendid luminary excelling the sun and
other orbs, since in his victorious career he enjoyed a glorious rising
even in the western quarter. Then he went to Alaká, distinguished by
the presence of Kuvera, displaying its beauties before him, that is
to say, to the quarter made lovely by the smile of Kailása, and having
subdued the king of Sindh, at the head of his cavalry he destroyed the
Mlechchhas as Ráma destroyed the Rákshasas at the head of the army of
monkeys; the cavalry squadrons of the Turushkas [293] were broken on
the masses of his elephants, as the waves of the agitated sea on the
woods that line the sea-shore. The august hero received the tribute of
his foes, and cut off the head of the wicked king of the Párasíkas
[294] as Vishnu did that of Ráhu. [295] His glory, after he had
inflicted a defeat on the Húnas [296], made the four quarters resound,
and poured down the Himálaya like a second Ganges. When the hosts
of the monarch, whose enemies were still from fear, were shouting,
a hostile answer was heard only in the hollows of the rocks. It is
not strange that then the king of Kámarúpa, [297] bending before
him with head deprived of the umbrella, was without shade and also
without brightness. Then that sovereign returned, followed by elephants
presented by the king of Kámarúpa, resembling moving rocks made over
to him by the mountains by way of tribute. Having thus conquered
the earth, the king of Vatsa with his attendants reached the city of
the king of Magadha the father of Padmávatí. But the king of Magadha,
when he arrived with the queens, was as joyous as the god of love when
the moon illuminates the night. Vásavadattá, who had lived with him
before without being recognised, was now made known to him, and he
considered her deserving of the highest regard.

Then that victorious king of Vatsa, having been honoured by the king
of Magadha with his whole city, followed by the minds of all the people
which pursued him out of affection, having swallowed the surface of the
earth with his mighty army, returned to Lávánaka in his own dominions.


Then the king of Vatsa, while encamped in Lávánaka to rest his army,
said in secret to Yaugandharáyana, "Through your sagacity I have
conquered all the kings upon the earth, and they being won over
by politic devices will not conspire against me. But this king of
Benares, Brahmadatta, is an ill-conditioned fellow, and he alone,
I think, will plot against me; what confidence can be reposed in the
wicked-minded?" Then Yaugandharáyana, being spoken to in this strain
by the king, answered, "O king, Brahmadatta will not plot against
you again, for when he was conquered and submitted, you shewed him
great consideration; and what sensible man will injure one who treats
him well? Whoever does, will find that it turns out unfortunately
for himself, and on this point, listen to what I am going to say;
I will tell you a tale."

Story of Phalabhúti.

There was once on a time in the land of Padma an excellent Bráhman
of high renown, named Agnidatta, who lived on a grant of land given
by the king. He had born to him two sons, the elder named Somadatta,
and the second Vaisvánaradatta. The elder of them was of fine person,
but ignorant, and ill-conducted, but the second was sagacious,
well-conducted, and fond of study. And those two after they were
married, and their father had died, divided that royal grant and
the rest of his possessions between them, each taking half; and the
younger of the two was honoured by the king, but the elder Somadatta,
who was of unsteady character, remained a husbandman. One day a
Bráhman, who had been a friend of his father's, seeing him engaged
in conversation with some Súdras, thus addressed him, "Though you
are the son of Agnidatta, you behave like a Súdra, you blockhead,
and you are not ashamed, though you see your own brother in favour
with the king." Somadatta, when he heard that, flew into a passion,
and forgetting the respect due to the old man, ran upon him, and
gave him a kick. Then the Bráhman, enraged on account of the kick,
immediately called on some other Bráhmans to bear witness to it,
and went and complained to the king. The king sent out soldiers to
take Somadatta prisoner, but they, when they went out, were slain
by his friends, who had taken up arms. Then the king sent out a
second force, and captured Somadatta, and blinded by wrath ordered
him to be impaled. Then that Bráhman, as he was being lifted on to
the stake, suddenly fell to the ground, as if he were flung down
by somebody. And those executioners, when preparing to lift him on
again, became blind, for the fates protect one who is destined to
be prosperous. The king, as soon as he heard of the occurrence, was
pleased, and being entreated by the younger brother, spared the life
of Somadatta; then Somadatta, having escaped death, desired to go to
another land with his wife on account of the insulting treatment of the
king, and when his relations in a body disapproved of his departure,
he determined to live without the half of the king's grant, which
he resigned; then, finding no other means of support, he desired to
practise husbandry, and went to the forest on a lucky day to find a
piece of ground suitable for it. There he found a promising piece of
ground, from which it seemed likely that an abundant crop could be
produced, and in the middle of it he saw an Asvattha tree of great
size. Desiring ground fit for cultivation, and seeing that tree to
be cool like the rainy season, as it kept off the rays of the sun
with its auspicious thick shade, he was much delighted. He said, "I
am a faithful votary of that being, whoever he may be, that presides
over this tree," and walking round the tree so as to keep it on his
right, he bowed before it. [298] Then he yoked a pair of bullocks,
and recited a prayer for success, and after making an oblation to
that tree, he began to plough there. And he remained under that tree
night and day, and his wife always brought him his meals there. And
in course of time, when the corn was ripe that piece of ground was, as
fate would have it, unexpectedly plundered by the troops of a hostile
kingdom. Then the hostile force having departed, the courageous man,
though his corn was destroyed, comforted his weeping wife, gave her
the little that remained, and after making an offering as before,
remained in the same place, under the same tree. For that is the
character of resolute men, that their perseverance is increased
by misfortune. Then one night, when he was sleepless from anxiety
and alone, a voice came out from that Asvattha tree, "O Somadatta,
I am pleased with thee, therefore go to the kingdom of a king named
Ádityaprabha in the land of Sríkantha; continually repeat at the door
of that king, (after reciting the form of words used at the evening
oblation to Agni,) the following sentence--'I am Phalabhúti by name,
a Bráhman, hear what I say: he who does good will obtain good, and he
who does evil, will obtain evil;'--by repeating this there thou shalt
attain great prosperity; and now learn from me the form of words used
at the evening oblation to Agni; I am a Yaksha." Having said this,
and having immediately taught him by his power the form of words used
in the evening oblation, the voice in the tree ceased. And the next
morning the wise Somadatta set out with his wife, having received the
name of Phalabhúti by imposition of the Yaksha, and after crossing
various forests uneven and labyrinthine as his own calamities, [299]
he reached the land of Sríkantha. There he recited at the king's door
the form of words used at the evening oblation, and then he announced,
as he had been directed, his name as Phalabhúti, and uttered the
following speech which excited the curiosity of the people, "The doer
of good will obtain good, but the doer of evil, evil." And after he had
said this frequently, the king Ádityaprabha, being full of curiosity,
caused Phalabhúti to be brought into the palace, and he entered, and
over and over again repeated that same speech in the presence of the
king. That made the king and all his courtiers laugh. And the king and
his chiefs gave him garments and ornaments, and also villages, for
the amusement of great men is not without fruit; and so Phalabhúti,
having been originally poor, immediately obtained by the favour of
the Guhyaka [300] wealth bestowed by the king; and by continually
reciting the words mentioned above, he became a special favourite
of the monarch for the regal mind loves diversion. And gradually
he attained to a position of love and respect in the palace, in
the kingdom, and in the female apartments, as being beloved by the
king. One day that king Ádityaprabha returned from hunting in the
forest, and quickly entered his harem; his suspicions were aroused by
the confusion of the warders, and when he entered, he saw the queen
named Kuvalayávalí engaged in worshipping the gods, stark naked,
[301] with her hair standing on end, and her eyes half-closed, with
a large patch of red lead upon her forehead, with her lips trembling
in muttering charms, in the midst of a great circle [302] strewed with
various coloured powders, after offering a horrible oblation of blood,
spirits, and human flesh. She for her part, when the king entered,
in her confusion seized her garments, and when questioned by him
immediately answered, after craving pardon for what she had done,
"I have gone through this ceremony in order that you might obtain
prosperity, and now, my lord, listen to the way in which I learnt
these rites, and the secret of my magic skill."

Story of Kuvalayávalí and the witch Kálarátri.

Long ago, when I was living in my father's house, I was thus addressed,
while enjoying myself in the garden during the spring festival, by my
friends who met me there; "There is in this pleasure-garden an image
of Ganesa, the god of gods, in the middle of an arbour made of trees,
and that image grants boons, and its power has been tested. Approach
with devout faith that granter of petitions, and worship him, in order
that you may soon obtain without difficulty a suitable husband." When
I heard that, I asked my friends in my ignorance; "What! do maidens
obtain husbands by worshipping Ganesa?" Then they answered me; "Why
do you ask such a question? Without worshipping him no one obtains
any success in this world; and in proof of it we will give you an
instance of his power, listen." Saying this, my friends told me the
following tale:

Story of the birth of Kártikeya.

Long ago, when Indra oppressed by Táraka was desirous or obtaining a
son from Siva to act as general of the gods, and the god of love had
been consumed, [303] Gaurí by performing austerities sought and gained
as a husband the three-eyed god, who was engaged in a very long and
terrible course of mortification. Then she desired the obtaining of
a son, and the return to life of the god of love, but she did not
remember to worship Ganesa in order to gain her end. So, when his
beloved asked that her desire should be granted, Siva said to her,
"My dear goddess, the god of love was born long ago from the mind of
Brahmá, and no sooner was he born than he said in his insolence, 'Whom
shall I make mad? (kan darpayámi).' So Brahmá called him Kandarpa, and
said to him, 'Since thou art very confident, my son, avoid attacking
Siva only, lest thou receive death from him.' Though the Creator gave
him this warning, the ill-disposed god came to trouble my austerities,
therefore he was burnt up by me, and he cannot be created again
with his body. [304] But I will create by my power a son from you,
for I do not require the might of love in order to have offspring as
mortals do." While the god, whose ensign is a bull, [305] was saying
this to Párvatí, Brahmá accompanied by Indra appeared before him;
and when he had been praised by them, and entreated to bring about
the destruction of the Asura Táraka, Siva consented to beget on the
goddess a son of his body. And, at their entreaty, he consented that
the god of love should be born without body in the minds of animate
creatures, to prevent the destruction of created beings. And he gave
permission to love to influence his own mind; pleased with that,
the Creator went away and Párvatí was delighted. But when, after the
lapse of hundreds of years, there appeared no hope of Párvatí having
any offspring, the god by the order of Brahmá called to mind Agni;
Agni for his part, the moment they called him to mind, thinking that
the foe of the god of love was irresistible, and afraid to interfere,
fled from the gods and entered the water; but the frogs being burned
by his heat told the gods, who were searching for him, that he was
in the water; then Agni by his curse immediately made the speech of
the frogs thenceforth inarticulate, and again disappearing fled to a
place of refuge. There the gods found him, concealed in the trunk of
a tree, in the form of a snail, for he was betrayed by the elephants
and parrots, and he appeared to them. And after making by a curse the
tongues of the parrots and the elephants incapable of clear utterance,
he promised to do what the gods requested, having been praised by
them. So he went to Siva, and after inclining humbly before him,
through fear of being cursed, he informed him of the commission
the gods had given him. Siva thereupon deposited the embryo in the
fire. Then the goddess distracted with anger and grief, said, "I
have not obtained a son from you after all," and Siva said to her;
"An obstacle has arisen in this matter, because you neglected to
worship Ganesa, the lord of obstacles; therefore adore him now in
order that a child may be born to us of the fire." When thus addressed
by Siva, the goddess worshipped Ganesa, and the fire became pregnant
with that germ of Siva. Then, bearing that embryo of Siva, the fire
shone even in the day as if the sun had entered into it. And then
it discharged into the Ganges the germ difficult to bear, and the
Ganges, by the order of Siva, placed it in a sacrificial cavity on
mount Meru. [306] There that germ was watched by the Ganas, Siva's
attendants, and after a thousand years had developed it, it became a
boy with six faces. Then, drinking milk with his six mouths from the
breasts of the six Krittikás [307] appointed by Gaurí to nurse him,
the boy grew big in a few days. In the meanwhile, the king of the
gods, overcome by the Asura Táraka, fled to the difficult peaks of
mount Meru, abandoning the field of battle. And the gods together
with the Rishis went to the six-mouthed Kártikeya for protection,
and he, defending the gods, remained surrounded by them. When Indra
heard that, he was troubled, considering that his kingdom was taken
from him, and being jealous he went and made war upon Kártikeya. But
from the body of Kártikeya, when struck by the thunderbolt of Indra,
there sprang two sons called Sákha and Visákha, both of incomparable
might. Then Siva came to his offspring Kártikeya, who exceeded Indra
in might, and forbade him and his two sons to fight, and rebuked him
in the following words: "Thou wast born in order that thou mightest
slay Táraka and protect the realm of Indra, therefore do thy own
duty." Then Indra was delighted and immediately bowed before him,
and commenced the ceremony of consecrating by ablutions Kártikeya
as general of his forces. But when he himself lifted the pitcher
for that purpose, his arm became stiff, wherefore he was despondent,
but Siva said to him; "Thou didst not worship the elephant-faced god,
when thou desiredst a general; it was for this reason that thou hast
met with this obstacle, therefore adore him now." Indra, when he
heard that, did so, and his arm was set free, and he duly performed
the joyful ceremony of consecrating the general. And not long after,
the general slew the Asura Táraka, and the gods rejoiced at having
accomplished their object, and Gaurí at having obtained a son. So,
princess, you see even the gods are not successful without honouring
Ganesa, therefore adore him when you desire a blessing.

After hearing this from my companions I went, my husband, and
worshipped an image of Ganesa, that stood in a lonely part of the
garden, and after I had finished the worship, I suddenly saw that those
companions of mine had flown up by their own power and were disporting
themselves in the fields of the air; when I saw that, out of curiosity
I called them and made them come down from the heaven, and when I
asked them about the nature of their magic power, they immediately
gave me this answer; "These are the magic powers of witches' spells,
and they are due to the eating of human flesh, and our teacher in this
is a Bráhman woman known by the name of Kálarátri." When my companions
said this to me, I being desirous of acquiring the power of a woman
that can fly in the air, but afraid of eating human flesh, was for
a time in a state of hesitation; then eager to possess that power, I
said to those friends of mine, "Cause me also to be instructed in this
science." And immediately they went and brought, in accordance with
my request, Kálarátri, who was of repulsive appearance. Her eyebrows
met, [308] she had dull eyes, a depressed flat nose, large cheeks,
widely parted lips, projecting teeth, a long neck, pendulous breasts,
a large belly, and broad expanded feet. She appeared as if the creator
had made her as a specimen of his skill in producing ugliness. When
I fell at her feet, after bathing and worshipping Ganesa, she made
me take off my clothes and perform, standing in a circle, a horrible
ceremony in honour of Siva in his terrific form, and after she had
sprinkled me with water, she gave me various spells known to her,
and human flesh to eat that had been offered in sacrifice to the gods;
so, after I had eaten man's flesh and had received the various spells,
I immediately flew up, naked as I was, into the heaven with my friends,
and after I had amused myself, I descended from the heaven by command
of my teacher, and I, the princess, went to my own apartments. Thus
even in my girlhood I became one of the society of witches, and in
our meetings we devoured the bodies of many men.

Story of Sundaraka.

But listen, king, to a story which is a digression from my main
tale. That Kálarátri had for husband a Bráhman of the name of
Vishnusvámin, and he, being an instructor in that country, taught
many pupils who came from different lands, as he was skilful in the
exposition of the Vedas. And among his pupils he had one young man
of the name of Sundaraka, the beauty of whose person was set off by
his excellent character; one day the teacher's wife Kálarátri being
love-sick secretly courted him, her husband having gone away to some
place or other. Truly Love makes great sport with ugly people as his
laughing-stocks, in that she, not considering her own appearance,
fell in love with Sundaraka. But he, though tempted, detested with
his whole soul the crime; however women may misbehave, the mind of the
good is not to be shaken. Then, he having departed, Kálarátri in a rage
tore her own body with bites and scratches, and she remained weeping,
[309] with dress and locks disordered, until the teacher Vishnusvámin
entered the house. And when he had entered, she said to him,--"Look,
my Lord, to this state has Sundaraka reduced me, endeavouring to
gain possession of me by force." As soon as the teacher heard that,
he was inflamed with anger, for confidence in women robs even wise
men of their power of reflection; and when Sundaraka returned home at
night, he ran upon him, and he and his pupils kicked him, and struck
him with fists, and sticks; moreover when he was senseless with the
blows, he ordered his pupils to fling him out in the road by night,
without regard to his safety, and they did so. Then Sundaraka was
gradually restored to consciousness by the cool night breeze, and
seeing himself thus outraged he reflected, "Alas! the instigation of
a woman troubles the minds even of those men whose souls are not under
the dominion of passion, as a storm disturbs the repose of lakes which
are not reached by dust. [310] This is why that teacher of mine in the
excess of his anger, though old and wise, was so inconsiderate as to
treat me so cruelly. But the fact is, lust and wrath are appointed in
the dispensation of fate, from the very birth even of wise Bráhmans,
to be the two bolts on the door of their salvation. [311] For were
not the sages long ago angry with Siva in the devadáru-wood, being
afraid that their wives would go astray? And they did not know that he
was a god, as he had assumed the appearance of a Buddhist mendicant,
with the intention of shewing Umá that even Rishis do not possess
self-restraint. But after they had cursed him, they discovered that
he was the ruling god, that shakes the three worlds, and they fled to
him for protection. So it appears that even hermits injure others, when
beguiled by the six faults that are enemies of man, [312] lust, wrath,
and their crew, much more so Bráhmans learned in the Vedas." Thinking
thus, Sundaraka from fear of robbers during the night, climbed up and
took shelter in a neighbouring cow-house. And while he was crouching
unobserved in a corner of that cow-house, Kálarátri came into it with a
drawn sword in her hand, [313] terrible from the hissing she uttered,
with wind and flames issuing from her mouth and eyes, accompanied by
a crowd of witches. Then the terrified Sundaraka, beholding Kálarátri
arriving in such a guise, called to mind the spells that drive away
Rákshasas, and bewildered by these spells Kálarátri did not see him
crouching secretly in a corner, with his limbs drawn together from
fear. Then Kálarátri with her friends recited the spells that enable
witches to fly, and they flew up into the air, cow-house and all.

And Sundaraka heard the spell and remembered it; [314] but Kálarátri
with the cow-house quickly flew through the air to Ujjayiní: there
she made it descend by a spell in a garden of herbs, and went and
sported in the cemetery among the witches: and immediately Sundaraka
being hungry went down into the garden of herbs, and made a meal
on some roots which he dug up, and after he had allayed the pangs
of hunger, and returned as before to the cow-house, Kálarátri came
back in the middle of the night from her meeting. Then she got up
into the cow-house, and, just as before, she flew through the air
with her pupils by the power of her magic, and returned home in the
night. And after she had replaced the cow-house, which she made use
of as a vehicle, in its original situation, and had dismissed those
followers of hers, she entered her sleeping apartment. And Sundaraka,
having thus passed through that night, astonished at the troubles
he had undergone, in the morning left the cow-house and went to
his friends; there he related what had happened to him, and, though
desirous of going to some other country, he was comforted by those
friends and took up his abode among them, and leaving the dwelling of
his teacher, and taking his meals in the almshouse for Bráhmans, he
lived there enjoying himself at will in the society of his friends. One
day Kálarátri, having gone out to buy some necessaries for her house,
saw Sundaraka in the market. And being once more love-sick, she went
up to him and said to him a second time--"Sundaraka, shew me affection
even now, for my life depends on you." When she said this to him, the
virtuous Sundaraka said to her, "Do not speak thus, it is not right;
you are my mother, as being the wife of my teacher." Then Kálarátri
said; "If you know what is right, then grant me my life, for what
righteousness is greater than the saving of life?" Then Sundaraka
said--"Mother, do not entertain this wish, for what righteousness can
there be in approaching the bed of my preceptor." Thus repulsed by
him, and threatening him in her wrath, she went home, after tearing
her upper garment with her own hand, and shewing the garment to her
husband, she said to him, "Look, Sundaraka ran upon me, and tore this
garment of mine in this fashion;" so her husband went in his anger
and stopped Sundaraka's supply of food at the almshouse, by saying
that he was a felon who deserved death. Then Sundaraka in disgust,
being desirous of leaving that country, and knowing the spell for
flying up into the air which he had learnt in the cow-house, but
being conscious that he had forgotten, after hearing it, the spell for
descending from the sky, which he had been taught there also, again
went in the night to that deserted cow-house, and while he was there,
Kálarátri came as before, and flying up in the cow-house in the same
way as on the former occasion, travelled through the air to Ujjayiní,
and having made the cow-house descend by a spell in the garden of
herbs, went again to the cemetery to perform her nightly ceremonies.

And Sundaraka heard that spell again, but failed again to retain it;
for how can magic practices be thoroughly learnt without explanation
by a teacher? Then he ate some roots there, and put some others in
the cow-house to take away with him, and remained there as before;
then Kálarátri came, and climbing up into the cow-house, flew through
the air by night, and stopping the vehicle, entered her house. In the
morning Sundaraka also left that house, and taking the roots with him
he went to the market in order to procure money with which to purchase
food. And while he was selling them there, some servants of the king's,
who were natives of Málava, took them away without paying for them,
seeing that they were the produce of their own country. Then he began
to remonstrate angrily, so they manacled him, and took him before the
king on a charge of throwing stones at them, and his friends followed
him. Those villains said to the king--"This man, when we asked him
how he managed continually to bring roots from Málava and sell them
in Ujjayiní, would not give us any answer, on the contrary he threw
stones at us."

When the king heard this, he asked him about that marvel, [315] then
his friends said--"If he is placed on the palace with us, he will
explain the whole wonder, but not otherwise." The king consented,
and Sundaraka was placed on the palace, whereupon by the help of
the spell he suddenly flew up into the heaven with the palace. And
travelling on it with his friends, he gradually reached Prayága,
[316] and being now weary he saw a certain king bathing there,
and after stopping the palace there, he plunged from the heaven
into the Ganges, and, beheld with wonder by all, he approached that
king. The king inclining before him, said to him, "Who art thou, and
why hast thou descended from heaven?" Sundaraka answered, "I am an
attendant of the god Siva, named Murajaka, and by his command I have
come to thee desiring human pleasures." When the king heard this,
he supposed it was true, and gave him a city, rich in corn, filled
with jewels, with women and all the insignia of rank. Then Sundaraka
entered that city and flew up into the heaven with his followers,
and for a long time roamed about at will, free from poverty. Lying
on a golden bed, and fanned with chowries by beautiful women, he
enjoyed happiness like that of Indra. Then once on a time a Siddha,
that roamed in the air, with whom he had struck up a friendship,
gave him a spell for descending from the air, and Sundaraka, having
become possessed of this spell enabling him to come down to earth,
descended from the sky-path in his own city of Kányakubja. Then the
king hearing that he had come down from heaven, possessed of full
prosperity, with a city, went in person to meet him out of curiosity,
and Sundaraka, when recognized and questioned, knowing what to say on
all occasions, informed the king of all his own adventures brought
about by Kálarátri. Then the king sent for Kálarátri and questioned
her, and she fearlessly confessed her improper conduct, and the king
was angry and made up his mind to cut off her ears, but she, when
seized, disappeared before the eyes of all the spectators. Then the
king forbade her to live in his kingdom, and Sundaraka having been
honourably treated by him returned to the air.

Having said this to her husband the king Ádityaprabha, the queen
Kuvalayávalí went on to say; "King, such magic powers, produced by the
spells of witches, do exist, and this thing happened in my father's
kingdom, and it is famous in the world, and, as I told you at first,
I am a pupil of Kálarátri's, but because I am devoted to my husband,
I possess greater power even than she did. And to-day you saw me
just at the time when I had performed ceremonies to ensure your
welfare, and was endeavouring to attract by a spell a man to offer
as a victim. So do you enter now into our practice, and set your
foot on the head of all kings, conquering them by magic power. When
he heard this proposal, the king at first rejected it, saying, "What
propriety is there in a king's connecting himself with the eating of
human flesh, the practice of witches?" But when the queen was bent on
committing suicide, he consented, for how can men who are attracted
by the objects of passion remain in the good path? Then she made him
enter into the circle previously consecrated, and said to the king,
after he had taken an oath; "I attempted to draw hither as a victim
that Bráhman named Phalabhúti, who is so intimate with you, but the
drawing him hither is a difficult task, so it is the best way to
initiate some cook in our rites, that he may himself slay him and
cook him. And you must not feel any compunction about it, because
by eating a sacrificial offering of his flesh, after the ceremonies
are complete, the enchantment will be perfect, for he is a Bráhman
of the highest caste." When his beloved said this to him, the king,
though afraid of the sin, a second time consented. Alas! terrible is
compliance with women! Then that royal couple had the cook summoned,
whose name was Sáhasika, and after encouraging him, and initiating him,
they both said to him,--"Whoever comes to you to-morrow morning and
says--'The king and queen will eat together to-day, so get some food
ready quickly,' him you must slay, and make for us secretly a savoury
dish of his flesh." When the cook heard this, he consented, and went
to his own house. And the next morning, when Phalabhúti arrived, the
king said to him, "Go and tell the cook Sáhasika in the kitchen, 'the
king together with the queen will eat to-day a savoury mess, therefore
prepare as soon as possible a splendid dish.'" Phalabhúti said, "I
will do so" and went out. When he was outside, the prince whose name
was Chandraprabha, came to him, and said--"Have made for me this very
day with this gold a pair of earrings, like those you had made before
for my noble father." When the prince said this, Phalabhúti, in order
to please him, went that moment, as he was commissioned, to get the
earrings made, and the prince readily went with the king's message,
which Phalabhúti told him, alone to the kitchen; when he got there and
told the king's message, the cook Sáhasika, true to his agreement,
immediately killed him with a knife, and made a dish of his flesh,
which the king and queen, after performing their ceremonies, ate,
not knowing the truth; [317] and after spending that night in remorse,
the next morning the king saw Phalabhúti arrive with the earrings in
his hand.

So, being bewildered, he questioned him about the earrings immediately;
and when Phalabhúti had told him his story, the king fell on the
earth, and cried out; "Alas my son!" blaming the queen and himself,
and when his ministers questioned him, he told them the whole story,
and repeated what Phalabhúti had said every day--"'The doer of
good will obtain good, and the doer of evil, evil.' Often the harm
that one wishes to do to another, recoils on one's self, as a ball
thrown against a wall rebounding frequently; thus we, wicked ones,
desiring to slay a Bráhman, have brought about our own son's death,
and devoured his flesh." After the king had said this and informed
his ministers, who stood with their faces fixed on the earth, of the
whole transaction, and after he had anointed that very Phalabhúti as
king in his place, he made a distribution of alms and then, having
no son, entered the fire with his wife to purify himself from guilt,
though already consumed by the fire of remorse: and Phalabhúti, having
obtained the royal dignity, ruled the earth; thus good or evil done
by a man is made to return upon himself.

Having related the above tale in the presence of the king of Vatsa,
Yaugandharáyana again said to that king; "If Brahmadatta therefore
were to plot against you, O great king, who, after conquering him,
treated him kindly, he ought to be slain." When the chief minister
had said this to him, the king of Vatsa approved of it, and rising up
went to perform the duties of the day, and the day following he set out
from Lávánaka to go to his own city Kausámbí, having accomplished his
objects in effecting the conquest of the regions; in course of time
the lord of earth accompanied by his retinue reached his own city,
which seemed to be dancing with delight, imitating with banners
uplifted the taper arms [318] of the dancing girl. So he entered
the city, producing, at every step, in the lotus-garden composed
of the eyes of the women of the city, the effect of the rising of a
breeze. And the king entered his palace, sung by minstrels, praised
by bards, and worshipped by kings. Then the monarch of Vatsa laid
his commands on the kings of every land, who bowed before him, and
triumphantly ascended that throne, the heirloom of his race, which
he had found long ago in the deposit of treasure. And the heaven was
filled with the combined high and deep echoes of the sound of the
drums, which accompanied the auspicious ceremonies on that occasion,
like simultaneous shouts of applause uttered by the guardians of the
world, each in his several quarter, being delighted with the prime
minister of the king of Vatsa. Then the monarch, who was free from
avarice, distributed to the Bráhmans all kinds of wealth acquired by
the conquest of the world, and after great festivities, satisfied the
desires of the company of kings and of his own ministers. Then in
that city filled with the noise of drums resembling the thunder of
the clouds, while the king was raining benefits on the fields [319]
according to each man's desert, the people, expecting great fruit
in the form of corn, kept high festival in every house. Having thus
conquered the world, that victorious king devolved on Rumanvat and
Yaugandharáyana the burden of his realm, and lived at ease there with
Vásavadattá and Padmávatí. So he, being praised by excellent bards,
seated between those two queens as if they were the goddesses of Fame
and Fortune, enjoyed the rising of the moon white as his own glory,
and continually drank wine as he had swallowed the might of his foes.



Victory to the conqueror of obstacles, [320] who marks with a line like
the parting of the hair, the principal mountains [321] by the mighty
fanning of his ear-flaps, pointing out, as it were, a path of success!

Then Udayana, the king of Vatsa, remaining in Kausámbí, enjoyed the
conquered earth which was under one umbrella; and the happy monarch
devolved the care of his empire upon Yaugandharáyana and Rumanvat, and
addicted himself to pleasure only in the society of Vasantaka. Himself
playing on the lute, in the company of the queen Vásavadattá and
Padmávatí, he was engaged in a perpetual concert. While the notes of
his lyre were married to the soft sweet song of the queens, the rapid
movement of his executing finger alone indicated the difference of
the sounds. And while the roof of the palace was white with moonlight
as with his own glory, he drank wine in plenteous streams as he had
swallowed the pride of his enemies [322]; beautiful women brought him,
as he sat retired, in vessels of gold, wine flaming with rosy glow,
[323] as it were the water of his appointment as ruler in the empire
of love; he divided between the two queens the cordial liquor red,
delicious, and pellucid, in which danced the reflection of their faces;
as he did his own heart, impassioned, enraptured and transparent,
in which the same image was found; his eyes were never sated with
resting on the faces of those queens, which had the eyebrows arched,
and blushed with the rosy hue of love, though envy and anger were
far from them; the scene of his banquet, filled with many crystal
goblets of wine, gleamed like a lake of white lotuses tinged red with
the rising sun. And occasionally, accompanied by huntsmen, clad in
a vest dark green as the palása tree, he ranged, bow and arrows in
hand, the forest full of wild beasts, which was of the same colour
as himself. He slew with arrows herds of wild boars besmeared with
mud, as the sun disperses with its dense rays the masses of darkness;
when he ran towards them, the antelopes fleeing in terror, seemed like
the sidelong glances of the quarters previously conquered [324] by him.

And when he slew the buffaloes, the ground, red with blood, looked
like a bed of red lotuses, come to thank him humbly for delivering it
from the goring of their horns. When the lions too were transfixed by
his javelins falling in their open mouths, and their lives issued
from them with a suppressed roar, he was delighted. In that wood
he employed dogs in the ravines, and nets in the glades; this was
the method of his pursuit of the chase in which he relied only
upon his own resources. While he was thus engaged in his pleasant
enjoyments, one day the hermit Nárada came to him as he was in the
hall of audience, diffusing a halo with the radiance of his body,
like the sun, the orb of heaven, descending therefrom out of love
for the Solar dynasty. The king welcomed him, inclining before him
again and again, and the sage stood a moment as if pleased, and said
to that king, "Listen, O king, I will tell you a story in few words;
you had an ancestor once, a king of the name of Pándu; he like you
had two noble wives; one wife of the mighty prince was named Kuntí
and the other Mádrí. That Pándu conquered this sea-engirdled earth,
and was very prosperous, and being addicted to the vice of hunting
he went one day to the forest. There he let fly an arrow and slew
a hermit of the name of Arindama, who was sporting with his wife in
the form of a deer. [325] That hermit abandoned that deer-form, and
with his breath struggling in his throat cursed that Pándu, who in
his despair had flung away his bow; 'Since I have been slain while
sporting at will by thee, inconsiderate one, thou also shalt die in
the embraces of thy wife.' Having been thus cursed, Pándu, through
fear of its effect, abandoned the desire of enjoyment, and accompanied
by his wives lived in a tranquil grove of ascetic quietism. While he
was there, one day impelled by that curse, he suddenly approached his
beloved Mádrí, and died. So you may rest assured that the occupation
called hunting is a madness of kings, for other kings have been done
to death by it, even as the various deer they have slain. For how can
hunting produce benign results, since the genius of hunting is like
a female Rákshasa, roaring horribly, intent on raw flesh, defiled
with dust, with upstanding hair and lances for teeth. Therefore give
up that useless exertion, the sport of hunting; wild elephants and
their slayers are exposed to the same risk of losing their lives. And
you, who are ordained for prosperity, are dear to me on account of my
friendship with your ancestors, so hear how you are to have a son who
is to be a portion of the god of love. Long ago, when Rati worshipped
Siva with praises in order to effect the restoration of Káma's body,
Siva being pleased told her this secret in few words; 'This Gaurí,
[326] desiring a son, shall descend to earth with a part of herself,
and after propitiating me, shall give birth to an incarnation of
Káma.' Accordingly, king, the goddess has been born in the form of
this Vásavadattá, daughter of Chandamahásena, and she has become your
queen. So she, having propitiated Siva, shall give birth to a son who
shall be a portion of Káma, and shall become the emperor of all the
Vidyádharas." By this speech the Rishi Nárada, whose words command
respect, gave back to the king the earth which he had offered him as
a present, and then disappeared. When he had departed, the king of
Vatsa in company with Vásavadattá, in whom had arisen the desire of
obtaining a son, spent the day in thinking about it.

The next day the chief warder called Nityodita, came to the lord
of Vatsa while he was in the hall of assembly, and said to him;
"A certain distressed Bráhman woman, accompanied by two children,
is standing at the door, O king, desiring to see your Highness." When
the king heard this, he permitted her to enter, and so that Bráhman
woman entered, thin, pale, and begrimed, distressed by the tearing
of her clothes and wounding of her self-respect, carrying in her
bosom two children looking like Misery and Poverty. After she had
made the proper obeisance, she said to the king, "I am a Bráhman
woman of good caste, reduced to such poverty; as fate would have it,
I gave birth to these two boys at the same time, and I have no milk
for them, O king, without food. Therefore I have come in my misery
and helplessness for protection to the king, who is kind to all who
fly to him for protection; now, my lord the king must determine what
my lot is to be." When the king heard that, he was filled with pity,
and said to the warder, "Take this woman and commend her to the queen
Vásavadattá." Then that woman was conducted into the presence of the
queen by that warder, as it were by her own good actions marching in
front of her. The queen, when she heard from that warder that the
Bráhman woman who had come had been sent by the king, felt all the
more confidence in her. And when she saw that the woman, though poor,
had two children, she thought, "This is exceedingly unfair dealing on
the part of the Creator! Alas! he grudges a son to me who am rich, and
shews affection to one who is poor! I have not yet one son, but this
woman has these twins." Thus reflecting, the queen, who was herself
desiring a bath, gave orders to her servants to provide the Bráhman
woman with a bath and other restoratives. After she had been provided
with a bath, and had had clothes given her, and had been supplied by
them with agreeable food, that Bráhman woman was refreshed like the
heated earth bedewed with rain. And as soon as she had been refreshed,
the queen Vásavadattá, in order to test her by conversation, artfully
said to her, "O Bráhman lady, tell us some tale," when she heard that,
she agreed and began to tell this story.

Story of Devadatta.

In old time there was a certain petty monarch of the name of
Jayadatta and there was born to him a son, named Devadatta. And
that wise king wishing to marry his son who was grown up, thus
reflected--"The prosperity of kings is very unstable, being like a
hetæra to be enjoyed by force, but the prosperity of merchants is
like a woman of good family, it is steady and does not fly to another
man. Therefore I will take a wife to my son from a merchant's family,
in order that misfortune may not overtake his throne, though it is
surrounded with many relations." Having formed this resolve, that king
sought for his son the daughter of a merchant in Pátaliputra named
Vasudatta. Vasudatta, for his part, eager for such a distinguished
alliance, gave that daughter of his to the prince, though he dwelt
in a remote foreign land.

And he loaded his son-in-law with wealth to such an extent that he
no longer felt much respect for his father's magnificence. Then king
Jayadatta dwelt happily with that son of his who had obtained the
daughter of that rich merchant. Now one day the merchant Vasudatta
came, full of desire to see his daughter, to the palace of his
connexion by marriage, and took away his daughter to his own
home. Shortly after the king Jayadatta suddenly went to heaven,
and that kingdom was seized by his relations who rose in rebellion;
through fear of them his son Devadatta was secretly taken away by his
mother during the night to another country. Then that mother distressed
in soul said to the prince--"Our feudal lord is the emperor who rules
the eastern region, repair to him, my son, he will procure you the
kingdom." When his mother said this to him, the prince answered her;
"Who will respect me if I go there without attendants?" When she
heard that, his mother went on to say, "Go to the house of your
father-in-law, and get money there and so procure followers, and then
repair to the emperor." Being urged in these words by his mother,
the prince, though full of shame, slowly plodded on and reached his
father-in-law's house in the evening, but he could not bear to enter
at such an unseasonable hour, for he was afraid of shedding tears,
being bereaved of his father, and having lost his worldly splendour,
besides shame withheld him. So he remained in the verandah of an alms
house near, and at night he suddenly beheld a woman descending with
a rope from his father-in-law's house, and immediately he recognized
her as his wife, for she was so resplendent with jewels that she
looked like a meteor fallen from the clouds, and he was much grieved
thereat, but she, though she saw him, did not recognise him, as he
was emaciated and begrimed, and asked him who he was; when he heard
that, he answered, "I am a traveller;" then the merchant's daughter
entered the alms-house, and the prince followed her secretly to watch
her. There she advanced towards a certain man, and he towards her,
and asking her why she had come so late, he bestowed several kicks
on her. [327] Then the passion of the wicked woman was doubled,
and she appeased him and remained with him on the most affectionate
terms. When he saw that, the discreet prince reflected; "This is not
the time for me to shew anger, for I have other affairs in hand,
and how could I employ against these two contemptible creatures,
this wife of mine and the man who has done me this wrong, this sword
which is to be used against my foes? Or what quarrel have I with
this adulteress, for this is the work of malignant destiny, that
showers calamities upon me, shewing skill in the game of testing
my firmness? It is my marriage with a woman below me in rank that
is in fault, not the woman herself; how can a female crow leave the
male crow to take pleasure in a cuckoo?" Thus reflecting, he allowed
that wife of his to remain in the society of her paramour; for in the
minds of heroes possessed with an ardent desire of victory, of what
importance is woman, valueless as a straw? But at the moment when
his wife ardently embraced her paramour, there fell from her ear an
ornament thickly studded with valuable jewels. And she did not observe
this, but at the end of her interview taking leave of her paramour,
returned hurriedly to her house as she came. And that unlawful lover
also departed somewhere or other. Then the prince saw that jewelled
ornament and took it up; it flashed with many jewel-gleams, dispelling
the gathering darkness of despondency, and seemed like a hand-lamp
obtained by him to assist him in searching for his lost prosperity. The
prince immediately perceived that it was very valuable, and went off,
having obtained all he required, to Kányakubja; there be pledged that
ornament for a hundred thousand gold pieces, and after buying horses
and elephants went into the presence of the emperor. And with the
troops, which he gave him, he marched and slew his enemies in fight,
and recovered his father's kingdom, and his mother applauded his
success. Then he redeemed from pawn that ornament, and sent it to his
father-in-law to reveal that unsuspected secret; his father-in-law,
when he saw that ear-ring of his daughter's, which had come to him in
such a way, was confounded and shewed it to her: she looked upon it,
lost long ago like her own virtue, and when she heard that it had
been sent by her husband, she was distracted and called to mind the
whole circumstance: "This is the very ornament which I let fall in
the alms-house the night I saw that unknown traveller standing there;
so that must undoubtedly have been my husband come to test my virtue,
but I did not recognize him, and he picked up this ornament." While
the merchant's daughter was going through this train of reflection,
her heart, afflicted by the misfortune of her unchastity having been
discovered, in its agony, broke. Then her father artfully questioned
a maid of hers who knew all her secrets, and found out the truth,
and so ceased to mourn for his daughter; as for the prince, after
he recovered the kingdom, he obtained as wife the daughter of the
emperor won by his virtues, and enjoyed the highest prosperity.

So you see that the hearts of women are hard as adamant in daring
sin, but are soft as a flower when the tremor of fear falls upon
them. But there are some few women born in good families, that,
having hearts virtuous [328] and of transparent purity, become like
pearls the ornaments of the earth. And the fortune of kings is ever
bounding away like a doe, but the wise know how to bind it by the
tether of firmness, as you see in my story; therefore those who
desire good fortune must not abandon their virtue even in calamity,
and of this principle my present circumstances are an illustration,
for I preserved my character, O queen, even in this calamity, and that
has borne me fruit in the shape of the good fortune of beholding you.

Having heard this tale from the mouth of that Bráhman woman, the queen
Vásavadattá, feeling respect for her, immediately thought,--"Surely
this Bráhman woman must be of good family, for the indirect way
in which she alluded to her own virtue and her boldness in speech
prove that she is of gentle birth, and this is the reason why she
shewed such tact in entering the king's court of justice,"--having
gone through these reflections, the queen again said to the Bráhman
woman: "Whose wife are you, or what is the history of your life? Tell
me." When she heard that, the Bráhman woman again began to speak--

Story of Pingaliká.

Queen, there was a certain Bráhman in the country or Málava, named
Agnidatta, the home of Fortune and of Learning, who willingly
impoverished himself to help suppliants, and in course of time
there were born to him two sons like himself; the eldest was called
Sankaradatta and the other Sántikara; of these two, oh glorious one,
Sántikara suddenly left his father's house in quest of learning, while
he was still a boy, and went, I know not whither, and the other son
his elder brother married me, who am the daughter of Yajnadatta who
collected wealth for the sake of sacrifice only. In course of time the
father of my husband, who was named Agnidatta, being old, went to the
next world and his wife followed him, [329] and my husband left me,
when I was pregnant, to go to holy places, and through sorrow for his
loss abandoned the body in fire purified by the goddess Sarasvatí;
and when that fact was told us by those who accompanied him in his
pilgrimage, I was not permitted to follow him by my relations, as
I was pregnant. Then, while my grief was fresh, brigands suddenly
swooped down on us and plundered my house and all the royal grant;
immediately I fled with three Bráhman women from that place, for fear
that I might be outraged, taking with me very few garments. And, as
the whole kingdom was ravaged, I went to a distant land accompanied
by them, and remained there a month only supporting myself by menial
drudgery. And then hearing from people that the king of Vatsa was
the refuge of the helpless, I came here with the three Bráhman women,
with no other travelling provision than my virtue; and as soon as I
arrived I gave birth at the same time to two boys. Thus, though I have
the friendly assistance of these three Bráhman women, I have suffered
bereavement, banishment, poverty, and now comes this birth of twins;
Alas! Providence has opened to me the door of calamity. Accordingly,
reflecting that I had no other means of maintaining these children,
I laid aside shame, the ornament of women, and entering into the king's
court I made a petition to him. Who is able to endure the sight of the
misery of youthful offspring? And in consequence of his order, I have
come into your august presence, and my calamities have turned back,
as if ordered away from your door. This is my history: as for my name,
it is Pingaliká, because from my childhood my eyes have been reddened
by the smoke of the burnt-offerings. And that brother-in-law of mine
Sántikara dwells in a foreign land, but in what land he is now living,
I have not as yet discovered.

When the Bráhman woman had told her history in these words, the
queen came to the conclusion that she was a lady of high birth,
and after reflecting, said this to her with an affectionate manner:
"There is dwelling here a foreign Bráhman of the name of Sántikara,
and he is our domestic chaplain; I am certain he will turn out to be
your brother-in-law." After saying this to the eager Bráhman lady,
the queen allowed that night to pass, and the next morning sent for
Sántikara and asked him about his descent. And when he had told her his
descent, she, ascertaining that the two accounts tallied completely,
shewed him that Bráhman lady, and said to him--"Here is your brother's
wife." And when they recognised one another, and he had heard of
the death of his relations, he took the Bráhman lady the wife of his
brother to his own house. There he mourned exceedingly, as was natural,
for the death of his parents and his brother, and comforted the lady
who was accompanied by her two children; and the queen Vásavadattá
settled that the Bráhman lady's two young sons should be the domestic
chaplains of her future son, and the queen also gave the eldest the
name of Sántisoma, and the next of Vaisvánara, and she bestowed on
them much wealth. The people of this world are like a blind man,
being led to the place of recompense by their own actions, going
before them, [330] and their courage is merely an instrument. Then
those two children, and their mother and Sántikara remained united
there, having obtained wealth.

Then once upon a time, as days went on, the queen Vásavadattá beheld
from her palace a certain woman of the caste of potters coming with
five sons, bringing plates, and she said to the Bráhman lady Pingaliká,
who was at her side; "Observe, my friend: this woman has five sons,
and I have not even one as yet, to such an extent is such a one the
possessor of merit, while such a one as myself is not." [331]

Then Pingaliká said, "Queen, these numerous sons are people who
have committed many sins in a previous existence, and are born to
poor people in order that they may suffer for them, but the son that
shall be born to such a one as you, must have been in a former life
a very virtuous person. Therefore do not be impatient, you will soon
obtain a son such as you deserve." Though Pingaliká said this to her,
Vásavadattá, being eager for the birth of a son, remained with her
mind overpowered by anxiety about it. At that moment the king of
Vatsa came and perceiving what was in her heart said--"Queen, Nárada
said that you should obtain a son by propitiating Siva, therefore we
must continually propitiate Siva, that granter of boons." Upon that,
the queen quickly determined upon performing a vow, and when she had
taken a vow, the king and his ministers and the whole kingdom also
took a vow to propitiate Siva; and after the royal couple had fasted
for three nights, that Lord was so pleased that he himself appeared
to them and commanded them in a dream,--"Rise up; from you shall
spring a son who shall be a portion of the god of love, and owing to
my favour shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." When the god, whose
crest is the moon, had said this and disappeared, that couple woke
up, and immediately felt unfeigned joy at having obtained their boon,
and considered that they had gained their object. And in the morning
the king and queen rose up, and after delighting the subjects with
the taste of the nectarous story of their dream, kept high festival
with their relations and servants, and broke in this manner the fast
of their vow. After some days had past, a certain man with matted
locks came and gave the queen Vásavadattá a fruit in her dream. Then
the king of Vatsa rejoiced with the queen, who informed him of that
clear dream, and he was congratulated by his ministers, and supposing
that the god of the moon-crest had given her a son under the form of
a fruit, he considered the fulfilment of his wish to be not far off.


Then, in a short time, Vásavadattá became pregnant with a child,
glorious inasmuch as it was an incarnation of the god of Love,
and it was a feast to the eyes of the king of Vatsa. She shone with
a face, the eyes of which rolled, and which was of palish hue, as
if with the moon come to visit her out of affection for the god of
Love conceived in her. When she was sitting down, the two images of
her form, reflected in the sides of the jewelled couch, seemed like
Rati and Príti come there out of regard for their husband. [332]
Her ladies-in-waiting attended upon her like the Sciences that grant
desires, come in bodily form to shew their respect for the future king
of the Vidyádharas [333] conceived in her. At that time she had breasts
with points dark like a folded bud, resembling pitchers intended for
the inaugural sprinkling [334] of her unborn son. When she lay down
on a comfortable couch in the middle of the palace, which gleamed
with pavement composed of translucent, flashing, lustrous jewels,
she appeared as if she were being propitiated by the waters, that had
come there trembling, through fear of being conquered by her future
son, with heaps of jewels on every side. Her image reflected from the
gems in the middle of the chariot, appeared like the Fortune of the
Vidyáharas coming in the heaven to offer her adoration. And she felt
a longing for stories of great magicians provided with incantations by
means of spells, introduced appropriately in conversation. Vidyádhara
ladies, beginning melodious songs, waited upon her when in her dream
she rose high up in the sky, and when she woke up, she desired to
enjoy in reality the amusement of sporting in the air, which would
give the pleasure of looking down upon the earth. And Yaugandharáyana
gratified that longing of the queen's by employing spells, machines,
juggling, and such like contrivances. So she roamed through the air
by means of those various contrivances, which furnished a wonderful
spectacle to the upturned eyes of the citizens' wives. But once on a
time, when she was in her palace, there arose in her heart a desire to
hear the glorious tales of the Vidyádharas; then Yaugandharáyana, being
entreated by that queen, told her this tale while all were listening.

Story of Jímútaváhana.

There is a great mountain named Himavat, the father of the mother
of the world, [335] who is not only the chief of hills, but the
spiritual preceptor of Siva, and on that great mountain, the home
of the Vidyádharas, dwelt the lord of the Vidyádharas, the king
Jímútaketu. And in his house there was a wishing-tree [336], which had
come down to him from his ancestors, called by a name which expressed
its nature, The Giver of Desires. And one day the king Jímútaketu
approached that wishing-tree in his garden, which was of divine
nature, and supplicated it; "We always obtain from you all we desire,
therefore give me, O god, who am now childless, a virtuous son." Then
the wishing-tree said,--"King, there shall be born to thee a son who
shall remember his past birth, who shall be a hero in giving, and
kind to all creatures." When he heard that, the king was delighted,
and bowed before that tree, and then he went and delighted his queen
with the news: accordingly in a short time a son was born to him,
and his father called the son Jímútaváhana. Then that Jímútaváhana,
who was of great goodness, grew up step by step with the growth of his
innate compassion for all creatures. And in course of time, when he
was made Crown-Prince, he being full of compassion for the world said
in secret to his father, who was pleased by his attentions--"I know,
O father, that in this world all things perish in an instant, but the
pure glory of the great alone endures till the end of a Kalpa. [337]
If it is acquired by benefiting others, what other wealth can be, like
it, valued by high-minded men more than life. And as for prosperity,
if it be not used to benefit others, it is like lightning which for a
moment pains the eye, and flickering disappears somewhere or other. So,
if this wishing-tree, which we possess, and which grants all desires,
is employed for the benefit of others, we shall have reaped from it all
the fruit it can give. So let me take such steps as that by its riches
the whole multitude of men in need may be rescued from poverty." This
petition Jímútaváhana made to his father, and having obtained his
permission, he went and said to that wishing-tree, "O god, thou always
givest us the desired fruit, therefore fulfil to-day this one wish of
ours. O my friend, relieve this whole world from its poverty, success
to thee, thou art bestowed on the world that desires wealth!" The
wishing-tree being addressed in this style by that self-denying one,
showered much gold on the earth, and all the people rejoiced; what
other compassionate incarnation of a Bodhisattva except the glorious
Jímútaváhana would be able to dispose even of a wishing-tree in favour
of the needy? For this reason every region of the earth [338] became
devoted to Jímútaváhana, and his stainless fame was spread on high.

Then the relations of Jímútaketu, seeing that his throne was firmly
established by the glory of his son, were envious, and became hostile
to him. And they thought it would be easy to conquer that place, which
possessed the excellent wishing-tree that was employed for bestowing
gifts, on account of its not being strong: then they assembled and
determined on war, and thereupon the self-denying Jímútaváhana said
to his father,--"As this body of ours is like a bubble in the water,
for the sake of what do we desire prosperity, which flickers like
a candle exposed to the wind? And what wise man desires to attain
prosperity by the slaughter of others? Accordingly, my father, I
ought not to fight with my relations. But I must leave my kingdom
and go to some forest or other; let these miserable wretches be,
let us not slay the members of our own family." When Jímútaváhana had
said this, his father Jímútaketu formed a resolution and said to him;
"I too must go, my son, for what desire for rule can I, who am old,
have, when you, though young, out of compassion abandon your realm
as if it were so much grass?" In these words his father expressed his
acquiescence in the project of Jímútaváhana, who then, with his father
and his father's wife, went to the Malaya mountain. There he remained
in a hermitage, the dwelling of the Siddhas, where the brooks were
hidden by the sandal-wood trees, and devoted himself to taking care
of his father. There he struck up a friendship with the self-denying
son of Visvávasu, the chief prince of the Siddhas, whose name was
Mitrávasu. And once on a time the all-knowing Jímútaváhana beheld in
a lonely place Mitrávasu's maiden sister, who had been his beloved
in a former birth. And the mutual gaze of those two young people was
like the catching in a frail net of the deer of the mind. [339]

Then one day Mitrávasu came up suddenly to Jímútaváhana, who deserved
the respect of the three worlds, with a pleased expression, and said
to him, "I have a younger sister, the maiden called Malayavatí; I
give her to you, do not refuse to gratify my wish." When Jímútaváhana
heard that, he said to him, "O prince, she was my wife in a former
birth, and in that life you became my friend, and were like a second
heart to me. I am one who remembers the former state of existence, I
recollect all that happened in my previous birth." When he said this,
Mitrávasu said to him, "then tell me this story of your former birth,
for I feel curiosity about it." When he heard this from Mitrávasu,
the benevolent Jímútaváhana told him the tale of his former birth
as follows:

Story of Jímútaváhana's adventures in a former birth.

Thus it is; formerly I was a sky-roaming Vidyádhara, and once on
a time I was passing over a peak of the Himálaya. And then Siva,
who was below, sporting with Gaurí, being angry at my passing above
him, cursed me, saying, "Descend into a mortal womb, and after
obtaining a Vidyádharí for your wife, and appointing your son in
your place, you shall remember your former birth, and again be born
as a Vidyádhara." Having pronounced when this curse should end, Siva
ceased and disappeared; and soon after I was born upon earth in a
family of merchants. And I grew up as the son of a rich merchant in a
city named Vallabhí, and my name was Vasudatta. And in course of time,
when I became a young man, I had a retinue given me by my father, and
went by his orders to another land to traffic. As I was going along,
robbers fell upon me in a forest, and after taking all my property,
led me in chains to a temple of Durgá in their village, terrible with a
long waving banner of red silk like the tongue of Death eager to devour
the lives of animals. There they brought me into the presence of their
chief named Pulindaka, who was engaged in worshipping the goddess,
in order that I might serve as a victim. He, though he was a Savara,
[340] the moment he saw me, felt his heart melt with pity for me;
an apparently causeless affectionate movement of the heart is a sign
of friendship in a former birth. Then that Savara king, having saved
me from slaughter, was about to complete the rite by the sacrifice
of himself, when a heavenly voice said to him--"Do not act thus, I am
pleased with thee, crave a boon of me,"--thereupon he was delighted,
and said--"O goddess, thou art pleased; what other blessing can I
need, nevertheless I ask so much--may I have friendship with this
merchant's son in another birth also." The voice said--"So be it,"
and then ceased, and then that Savara gave me much wealth, and sent
me back to my own home. And then, as I had returned from foreign
travel and from the jaws of death, my father, when he heard the whole
occurrence, made a great feast in my honour. And in course of time
I saw there that very same Savara chief, whom the king had ordered
to be brought before him as a prisoner for plundering a caravan. I
told my father of it immediately, and making a petition to the king,
I saved him from capital punishment by the payment of a hundred
thousand gold-pieces. And having in this way repaid the benefit,
which he conferred upon me by saving my life, I brought him to my
house, and entertained him honourably for a long time with all loving
attention. And then, after this hospitable entertainment, I dismissed
him, and he went to his own village fixing upon me a heart tender
with affection. Then, while he thought about a present for me that
might be worthy of my return for his previous kindness, he came to
the conclusion that the pearls and musk and treasures of that kind,
which were at his disposal, were not valuable enough. Thereupon he
took his bow and went off to the Himálaya to shoot elephants, in
order to obtain a surpassingly splendid necklace [341] for me. And
while he was roaming about there, he reached a great lake with a
temple upon its shore, being welcomed by its lotuses, which were as
devoted to their friend [342] as he was to me. And suspecting that
the wild elephants would come there to drink water, he remained in
concealment with his bow, in order to kill them. In the meanwhile
he saw a young lady of wonderful beauty come riding upon a lion to
worship Siva, whose temple stood on the shore of the lake; looking
like a second daughter of the king of the snowy mountains, devoted
to the service of Siva while in her girlhood. And the Savara, when
he saw her, being overpowered with wonder, reflected--"Who can this
be? If she is a mortal woman, why does she ride upon a lion? On the
other hand, if she is divine, how can she be seen by such as me? So
she must certainly be the incarnate development of the merits of my
eyes in a former birth. If I could only marry my friend to her, then I
should have bestowed upon him a new and wonderful recompense. So I had
better first approach her to question her." Thus reflecting, my friend
the Savara advanced to meet her. In the meanwhile she dismounted from
the lion, that lay down in the shade, and advancing began to pick the
lotuses of the lake. And seeing the Savara, who was a stranger, coming
towards her and bowing, out of a hospitable feeling she gratified him
with a welcome. And she said to him--"Who are you, and why have you
come to this inaccessible land?" Thereupon the Savara answered her,
"I am a prince of the Savaras, who regard the feet of Bhavání as my
only refuge, and I am come to this wood to get pearls from the heads
of elephants. But when I beheld you just now, O goddess, I called
to mind my own friend that saved my life, the son of a merchant
prince, the auspicious Vasudatta. For he, O fair one, is, like you,
matchless for beauty and youth, a very fount of nectar to the eyes
of this world. Happy is that maiden in the world, whose braceleted
hand is taken in this life by that treasure-house of friendship,
generosity, compassion, and patience. And if this beautiful form
of yours is not linked to such a man, then I cannot help grieving
that Káma bears the bow in vain." By these words of the king of the
hunters the mind of the maiden was suddenly carried away, as if by
the syllables of the god of Love's bewildering spell. And prompted by
love, she said to that Savara, "Where is that friend of yours? Bring
him here and shew him to me." When he heard that, he said--"I will
do so," and that moment the Savara took leave of her and set out on
his journey in high spirits, considering his object attained. And
after he had reached his village, he took with him pearls and musk,
a weight sufficient for hundreds of heavily-laden porters, and came to
our house. There he was honoured by all the inmates, and entering it,
he offered to my father that present, which was worth much gold. And
after that day and that night had been spent in feasting, he related
to me in private the story of his interview with the maiden from the
very commencement. And he said to me, who was all excitement, "Come,
let us go there," and so the Savara carried me off at night just as
he pleased. And in the morning my father found that I had gone off
somewhere with the Savara prince, but feeling perfect confidence in
his affection, he remained master of his feelings. But I was conducted
in course of time by that Savara, who travelled fast, to the Himálaya,
and he tended me carefully throughout the journey.

And one evening we reached that lake, and bathed, and we remained
that one night in the wood eating sweet fruits. That mountain wood,
in which the creepers strewed the ground with flowers, and which was
charming with the hum of bees, full of balmy gales, and with beautiful
gleaming herbs for lamps, was like the chamber of Rati to repose in
during the night for us two, who drank the water of the lake. Then,
the next day that maiden came there, and at every step my mind, full
of strange longings, flew to meet her, and her arrival was heralded
by this my right eye, throbbing as if through eagerness to behold
her. [343] And that maid with lovely eyebrows was beheld by me, on
the back of a knotty-maned lion, like a digit of the moon resting in
the lap of an autumn cloud; and I cannot describe how my heart felt at
that time while I gazed on her, being full of tumultuous emotions of
astonishment, longing, and fear; then that maiden dismounted from the
lion, and gathered flowers, and after bathing in the lake, worshipped
Siva who dwelt in the temple on its banks. [344] And when the worship
was ended, that Savara, my friend, advanced towards her and announcing
himself, bowed, and said to her who received him courteously; "Goddess,
I have brought that friend of mine as a suitable bridegroom for you:
if you think proper, I will shew him to you this moment." When she
heard that, she said, "Shew him," and that Savara came and took me
near her and shewed me to her. She looked at me askance with an eye
that shed love, and being overcome by Cupid's taking possession of her
soul, said to that chieftain of the Savaras; "This friend of yours
is not a man, surely he is some god come here to deceive me to-day:
how could a mortal have such a handsome shape?" When I heard that,
I said myself to remove all doubt from her mind: "Fair one, I am in
very truth a mortal, what is the use of employing fraud against one
so honest as yourself, lady? For I am the son of a merchant named
Mahádhana that dwells in Vallabhí, and I was gained by my father by
the blessing of Siva. For he, when performing austerities to please
the god of the moony crest, in order that he might obtain a son, was
thus commanded by the god in a dream being pleased with him; 'Rise up,
there shall spring from thee a great-hearted son, and this is a great
secret, what is the use of setting it forth at length?' After hearing
this, he woke up, and in course of time I was born to him as a son,
and I am known by the name of Vasudatta. And long ago, when I went to
a foreign land, I obtained this Savara chieftain for a chosen friend,
who shewed himself a true helper in misfortune. This is a brief
statement of the truth about me." When I had said this I ceased; and
that maiden, with her face cast down from modesty, said--"It is so;
to-day, I know, Siva being propitiated deigned to tell me in a dream,
after I had worshipped him,--'To-morrow morning thou shalt obtain
a husband:'--so you are my husband, and this friend of yours is
my brother." When she had delighted me by this nectar-like speech,
she ceased; and after I had deliberated with her, I determined to
go to my own house with my friend, in order that the marriage might
be solemnized in due form. Then that fair one summoned by a sign
of her own that lion, on which she rode, and said to me, "Mount it,
my husband," then I, by the advice of my friend, mounted the lion,
and taking that beloved one in my arms, I set out thence for my home,
having obtained all my objects, riding on the lion with my beloved,
guided by that friend. And living on the flesh of the deer that he
killed with his arrows, we all reached in course of time the city of
Vallabhí. Then the people, seeing me coming along with my beloved,
riding on a lion, being astonished, ran and told that fact quickly
to my father. He too came to meet me in his joy, and when he saw
me dismount from the lion and fall at his feet, he welcomed me with

And when he saw that incomparable beauty adore his feet, and
perceived that she was a fit wife for me, he could not contain
himself for joy. So he entered the house, and after asking us about
the circumstances, he made a great feast, praising the friendship of
the Savara chieftain. And the next day, by the appointment of the
astrologers, I married that excellent maiden, and all my friends
and relations assembled to witness our wedding. And that lion, on
which my wife had ridden, having witnessed the marriage, suddenly
before the eyes of all, assumed the form of a man. Then all the
by-standers were bewildered thinking--"What can this mean?" But he,
assuming heavenly garments and ornaments, thus addressed me: "I am a
Vidyádhara named Chitrángada, and this maiden is my daughter Manovatí
by name, dearer to me than life. I used to wander continually through
the forest with her in my arms, and one day I reached the Ganges,
on the banks of which are many ascetic groves. And as I was going
along in the middle of the river, for fear of disturbing the ascetics,
my garland by accident fell into its waters. Then the hermit Nárada,
who was under the water, suddenly rose up, and angry because the
garland had fallen upon his back, cursed me in the following words:
'On account of this insolence, depart, wicked one, thou shalt become a
lion, and repairing to the Himálaya, shalt carry this daughter upon thy
back. And when thy daughter shall be taken in marriage by a mortal,
then after witnessing the ceremony, thou shalt be freed from this
curse.' After being cursed in these words by the hermit, I became a
lion, and dwelt on the Himálaya carrying about this daughter of mine,
who is devoted to the worship of Siva. And you know well the sequel of
the story, how by the exertions of the Savara chieftain this highly
auspicious event has been brought about. So I shall now depart;
good luck to you all! I have now reached the termination of that
curse." Having said this, that Vidyádhara immediately flew up into
the sky. Then my father, overwhelmed with astonishment at the marvel,
delighted at the eligible connection, and finding that his friends
and relations were overjoyed, made a great feast. And there was not
a single person who did not say with astonishment, reflecting again
and again on that noble behaviour of the Savara chieftain--"Who can
imagine the actions of sincere friends, who are not even satisfied
when they have bestowed on their sworn brothers the gift of life?" The
king of the land too, hearing of that occurrence, was exceedingly
pleased with the affection which the Savara prince had shown me,
and finding he was pleased, my father gave him a present of jewels,
and so induced him immediately to bestow on the Savara a vast forest
territory. Then I remained there in happiness, considering myself
to have attained all that heart could wish, in having Manovatí for a
wife, and the Savara prince for a friend. And that Savara chieftain
generally lived in my house, finding that he took less pleasure in
dwelling in his own country than he formerly did. And the time of
us two friends, of him and me, was spent in continually conferring
benefits upon one another without our ever being satisfied. And not
long after I had a son born to me by Manovatí, who seemed like the
heart-joy of the whole family in external visible form; and being
called Hiranyadatta he gradually grew up, and after having been duly
instructed, he was married. Then my father having witnessed that,
and considering that the object of his life had been accomplished,
being old, went to the Ganges with his wife to leave the body. Then I
was afflicted by my father's death, but having been at last persuaded
by my relations to control my feelings, I consented to uphold the
burden of the family. And at that time on the one hand the sight of
the beautiful face of Manovatí, and on the other the society of the
Savara prince delighted me. Accordingly those days of mine passed,
joyous from the goodness of my son, charming from the excellence of
my wife, happy from the society of my friend.

Then, in course of time, I became well-stricken in years, and old age
seized me by the chin, as it were out of love giving me this wholesome
reproach--"Why are you remaining in the house so long as this, my
son?" Then disgust with the world was suddenly produced in my breast,
and longing for the forest I appointed my son in my stead. And with my
wife I went to the mountain of Kálinjara, together with the king of
the Savaras, who abandoned his kingdom out of love to me. And when I
arrived there, I at once remembered that I had been a Vidyádhara in a
former state of existence, and that the curse I had received from Siva
had come to an end. And I immediately told my wife Manovatí of that,
and my friend the king of the Savaras, as I was desirous of leaving
this mortal body. I said--"May I have this wife and this friend in a
future birth, and may I remember this birth," and then I meditated
on Siva in my heart, and flung myself from that hill side, and so
suddenly quitted the body together with that wife and friend. And so
I have been now born, as you see, in this Vidyádhara family, under
the name of Jímútaváhana, with a power of recollecting my former
existence. And you, that prince of the Savaras, have been also born
again by the favour of Siva, as Mitrávasu the son of Visvávasu the
king of the Siddhas. And, my friend, that Vidyádhara lady, my wife
Manovatí, has been again born as your sister Malayavatí by name. So
your sister is my former wife, and you were my friend in a former
state of existence, therefore it is quite proper that I should marry
her. But first go and tell this to my parents, for if the matter is
referred to them, your desire will be successfully accomplished.

When Mitrávasu heard this from Jímútaváhana, he was pleased, and
he went and told all that to the parents of Jímútaváhana. And when
they received his proposal gladly, he was pleased, and went and
told that same matter to his own parents. And they were delighted
at the accomplishment of their desire, and so the prince quickly
prepared for the marriage of his sister. Then Jímútaváhana, honoured
by the king of the Siddhas, received according to usage the hand of
Malayavatí. And there was a great festival, in which the heavenly
minstrels bustled about, the dense crowd of the Siddhas assembled,
and which was enlivened by bounding Vidyádharas. Then Jímútaváhana was
married, and remained on that Malaya mountain with his wife in very
great prosperity. And once on a time he went with his brother-in-law
Mitrávasu to behold the woods on the shore of the sea. And there he
saw a young man come in an agitated state, sending away his mother,
who kept exclaiming "Alas! my son!" And another man, who seemed to be
a soldier, following him, conducted him to a broad and high slab of
rock and left him there. Jímútaváhana said to him: "Who are you? What
are you about to do, and why does your mother weep for you?" Then
the man told him his story.

"Long ago Kadrú and Vinatá, the two wives of Kasyapa, had a dispute
in the course of a conversation which they were carrying on. The
former said that the Sun's horses were black, the latter that they
were white, and they made an agreement that the one that was wrong
should become a slave to the other. [345] Then Kadrú, bent on winning,
actually induced her sons, the snakes, to defile the horses of the
Sun by spitting venom over them; and shewing them to Vinatá in that
condition, she conquered her by a trick and made her her slave:
terrible is the spite of women against each other! When Garuda the
son of Vinatá heard of that, he came and tried to induce Kadrú by
fair means to release Vinatá from her slavery; then the snakes, the
sons of Kadrú, reflecting, said this to him; 'O Garuda, the gods have
began to churn the sea of milk, bring the nectar thence and give it
to us as a substitute, and then take your mother away with you, for
you are the chief of heroes.' When Garuda heard that, he went to the
sea of milk, and displayed his great might in order to obtain the
nectar. Then the god Vishnu pleased with his might deigned to say
to him, 'I am pleased with thee, choose some boon.' Then Garuda,
angry because his mother was made a slave, asked as a boon from
Vishnu--'May the snakes become my food.' Vishnu consented, and when
Garuda had obtained the nectar by his own valour, he was thus addressed
by Indra who had heard the whole story: 'King of birds, you must take
steps to prevent the foolish snakes from consuming the nectar, and to
enable me to take it away from them again.' When Garuda heard that,
he agreed to do it, and elated by the boon of Vishnu, he went to the
snakes with the vessel containing the nectar.

And he said from a distance to those foolish snakes, who were terrified
on account of the boon granted to him, "Here is the nectar brought
by me, release my mother and take it; if you are afraid, I will
put it for you on a bed of Darbha grass. When I have procured my
mother's release, I will go; take the nectar thence." The snakes
consented, and then he put the vessel of nectar on a pure bed of
Kusa grass, [346] and they let his mother go. So Garuda departed,
having thus released his mother from slavery; but while the snakes
were unsuspectingly taking the nectar, Indra suddenly swooped down,
and bewildering them by his power, carried off the vessel of nectar
from the bed of Kusa grass. Then the snakes in despair licked that
bed of Darbha grass, thinking there might be a drop of spilt nectar
on it; the effect was that their tongues were split, and they became
double-tongued for nothing. [347] What but ridicule can ever be the
portion of the over-greedy? Then the snakes did not obtain the nectar
of immortality, and their enemy Garuda, on the strength of Vishnu's
boon, began to swoop down and devour them. And this he did again and
again. And while he was thus attacking them, the snakes [348] in Pátála
were dead with fear, the females miscarried, and the whole serpent
race was well-nigh destroyed. And Vásuki the king of the snakes,
seeing him there every day, considered that the serpent world was
ruined at one blow: then, after reflecting, he preferred a petition
to that Garuda of irresistible might, and made this agreement with
him--"I will send you every day one snake to eat, O king of birds,
on the hill that rises out of the sand of the sea. But you must not
act so foolishly as to enter Pátála, for by the destruction of the
serpent world your own object will be baffled." When Vásuki said this
to him, Garuda consented, and began to eat every day in this place
one snake sent by him: and in this way innumerable serpents have met
their death here. But I am a snake called Sankachúda, [349] and it
is my turn to-day: for that reason I have to-day, by the command of
the king of the snakes, in order to furnish a meal to Garuda, come
to this rock of execution, and to be lamented by my mother."

When Jímútaváhana heard this speech of Sankachúda's, he was grieved,
and felt sorrow in his heart and said to him, "Alas! Vásuki exercises
his kingly power in a very cowardly fashion, in that with his own
hand he conducts his subjects to serve as food for his enemy. Why did
he not first offer himself to Garuda? To think of this effeminate
creature choosing to witness the destruction of his race! And how
great a sin does Garuda, though the son of Kasyapa, commit! How great
folly do even great ones commit for the sake of the body only! So
I will to-day deliver you alone from Garuda by surrendering my
body. Do not be despondent, my friend." When Sankachúda heard this,
he out of his firm patience said to him,--"This be far from thee,
O great-hearted one, do not say so again. The destruction of a jewel
for the sake of a piece of glass is never becoming. And I will never
incur the reproach of having disgraced my race." In these words the
good snake Sankachúda tried to dissuade Jímútaváhana, and thinking
that the time of Garuda's arrival would come in a moment, he went to
worship in his last hour an image of Siva under the name of Gokarna,
that stood on the shore of the sea. And when he was gone, Jímútaváhana,
that treasure-house of compassion, considered that he had gained an
opportunity of offering himself up to save the snake's life. Thereupon
he quickly dismissed Mitrávasu to his own house on the pretext of some
business, artfully pretending that he himself had forgotten it. And
immediately the earth near him trembled, being shaken by the wind of
the wings of the approaching Garuda, as if through astonishment at his
valour. That made Jímútaváhana think that the enemy of the snakes was
approaching, and full of compassion for others he ascended the stone of
execution. And in a moment Garuda swooped down, darkening the heaven
with his shadow, and carried off that great-hearted one, striking him
with his beak. He shed drops of blood, and his crest-jewel dropped off
torn out by Garuda, who took him away and began to eat him on the peak
of the mountain. At that moment a rain of flowers fell from heaven,
and Garuda was astonished when he saw it, wondering what it could mean.

In the meanwhile Sankachúda came there, having worshipped Gokarna, and
saw the rock of execution sprinkled with many drops of blood; then he
thought--"Alas! surely that great-hearted one has offered himself for
me, so I wonder where Garuda has taken him in this short time. I must
search for him quickly, perhaps I may find him." Accordingly the good
snake went following up the track of the blood. And in the meanwhile
Garuda, seeing that Jímútaváhana was pleased, left off eating and
thought with wonder: "This must be some one else, other than I ought
to have taken, for though I am eating him, he is not at all miserable,
on the contrary the resolute one rejoices." While Garuda was thinking
this, Jímútaváhana, though in such a state, said to him in order to
attain his object: "O king of birds, in my body also there is flesh
and blood; then why have you suddenly stopped eating, though your
hunger is not appeased?" When he heard that, that king of birds, being
overpowered with astonishment, said to him--"Noble one, you are not
a snake, tell me who you are." Jímútaváhana was just answering him,
"I am a snake, [350] so eat me, complete what you have begun, for men
of resolution never leave unfinished an undertaking they have begun,"
when Sankachúda arrived and cried out from afar, "Stop, stop, Garuda,
he is not a snake, I am the snake meant for you, so let him go,
alas! how have you suddenly come to make this mistake?" On hearing
that, the king of birds was excessively bewildered, and Jímútaváhana
was grieved at not having accomplished his desire. Then Garuda,
learning, in the course of their conversation [351] with one another,
that he had begun to devour by mistake the king of the Vidyádharas,
was much grieved. He began to reflect, "Alas! in my cruelty I have
incurred sin. In truth those who follow evil courses easily contract
guilt. But this great-hearted one who has given his life for another,
and despising [352] the world, which is altogether under the dominion
of illusion, come to face me, deserves praise." Thinking thus,
he was about to enter the fire to purify himself from guilt, when
Jímútaváhana said to him: "King of birds, why do you despond? If you
are really afraid of guilt, then you must determine never again to
eat these snakes: and you must repent of eating all those previously
devoured, for this is the only remedy available in this case, it
was idle for you ever to think of any other." Thus Jímútaváhana,
full of compassion for creatures, said to Garuda, and he was pleased
and accepted the advice of that king, as if he had been his spiritual
preceptor, determining to do what he recommended; and he went to bring
nectar from heaven to restore to life rapidly that wounded prince,
and the other snakes, whose bones only remained. Then the goddess
Gaurí, pleased with Jímútaváhana's wife's devotion to her, came in
person and rained nectar on him: by that his limbs were reproduced
with increased beauty, and the sound of the drums of the rejoicing
gods was heard at the same time. Then, on his rising up safe and
sound, Garuda brought the nectar of immortality [353] from heaven,
and sprinkled it along the whole shore of the sea. That made all the
snakes there rise up alive, and then that forest along the shore of the
sea, crowded with the numerous tribe of snakes, appeared like Pátála
[354] come to behold Jímútaváhana, having lost its previous dread
of Garuda. Then Jímútaváhana's relations congratulated him, having
seen that he was glorious with unwounded body and undying fame. And
his wife rejoiced with her relations, and his parents also. Who
would not joy at pain ending in happiness? And with his permission
Sankachúda departed to Rasátala, [355] and without it his glory, of
its own accord, spread through the three worlds. Then, by virtue of the
favour of the daughter of the Himálaya all his relations, Matanga and
others, who were long hostile to him, came to Garuda, before whom the
troops of gods were inclining out of love, and timidly approaching the
glory of the Vidyádhara race, prostrated themselves at his feet. And
being entreated by them, the benevolent Jímútaváhana went from that
Malaya mountain to his own home, the slope of the Himálaya. There,
accompanied by his parents and Mitrávasu and Malayavatí, the resolute
one long enjoyed the honour of emperor of the Vidyádharas. Thus
a course of fortunate events always of its own accord follows the
footsteps of all those, whose exploits arouse the admiration of the
three worlds. When the queen Vásavadattá heard this story from the
mouth of Yaugandharáyana, she rejoiced, as she was eager to hear of
the splendour of her unborn son. Then, in the society of her husband,
she spent that day in conversation about her son, who was to be the
future king of the Vidyádharas, which was suggested by that story, for
she placed unfailing reliance upon the promise of the favouring gods.


Then Vásavadattá on the next day said to the king of Vatsa in private,
while he was surrounded by his ministers;--"My husband, ever since
I have been pregnant with this child, the difficult duty of taking
care of it afflicts my heart; and last night, after thinking over
it long, I fell asleep with difficulty, and I am persuaded I saw a
certain man come in my dream, glorious with a shape distinguished by
matted auburn locks and a trident-bearing hand; and he approaching me,
said as if moved by compassion,--'My daughter, you need not feel at all
anxious about the child with which you are pregnant, I will protect it,
for I gave it to you. And hear something more, which I will tell you
to make you confide in me; a certain woman waits to make a petition
to you to-morrow, she will come dragging her husband with her as a
prisoner, reviling him, accompanied by five sons, begirt with many
relations: and she is a wicked woman who desires by the help of her
relations to get that husband of hers put to death, and all that
she will say will be false. And you, my daughter, must beforehand
inform the king of Vatsa about this matter, in order that that good
man may be freed from that wicked wife.' This command that august one
gave and vanished, and I immediately woke up, and lo! the morning had
come." When the queen had said that, all spoke of the favour of Siva,
and were astonished, their minds eagerly expecting the fulfilment
of the dream; when lo! at that very moment the chief warder entered,
and suddenly said to the king of Vatsa, who was compassionate to the
afflicted, "O king, a certain woman has come to make a representation,
accompanied by her relations, bringing with her five sons, reviling
her helpless husband." When the king heard that, being astonished at
the way it tallied with the queen's dream, he commanded the warder
to bring her into his presence. And the queen Vásavadattá felt the
greatest delight, having become certain that she would obtain a good
son, on account of the truth of the dream. Then that woman entered by
the command of the warder, accompanied by her husband, looked at with
curiosity by all, who had their faces turned towards the door. Then,
having entered, she assumed an expression of misery, and making a
bow according to rule, she addressed the king in council accompanied
by the queen: "This man, though he is my husband, does not give to
me, helpless woman that I am, food, raiment, and other necessaries,
and yet I am free from blame with respect to him."

When she had said this, her husband pleaded--"King, this woman speaks
falsely, supported by her relations, for she wishes me to be put
to death. For I have given her supplies beforehand to last till the
end of the year, and other relations of hers, who are impartial, are
prepared to witness the truth of this for me." When he had said this
to the king, the king of his own accord answered: "The trident-bearing
god himself has given evidence in this case, appearing to the queen
in a dream. What need have we of more witnesses? This woman with her
relations must be punished." When the king had delivered this judgment,
the discreet Yaugandharáyana said, "Nevertheless, king, we must do
what is right in accordance with the evidence of witnesses, otherwise
the people, not knowing of the dream, would in no wise believe in the
justice of our proceedings." When the king heard that, he consented
and had the witnesses summoned that moment, and they, being asked,
deposed that that woman was speaking falsely. Then the king banished
her, as she was plotting against one well known to be a good husband,
from his territory, with her relations and her sons. And with heart
melting from pity he discharged her good husband, after giving him
much treasure sufficient for another marriage. And in connexion with
the whole affair the king remarked,--"An evil wife, of wildly [356]
cruel nature, tears her still living husband like a she-wolf, when he
has fallen into the pit of calamity; but an affectionate, noble, and
magnanimous wife averts sorrow as the shade [357] of the wayside-tree
averts heat, and is acquired by a man's special merits." Then
Vasantaka, who was a clever story-teller, being at the king's side,
said to him à propos of this: "Moreover, king, hatred and affection
are commonly produced in living beings in this world owing to their
continually recalling the impressions of a past state of existence,
and in proof of this, hear the story which I am about to tell."

Story of Sinhaparákrama.

There was a king in Benares named Vikramachanda, and he had a favourite
follower named Sinhaparákrama; who was wonderfully successful in all
battles and in all gambling contests. And he had a wife very deformed
both in body and mind, called by a name, which expressed her nature,
Kalahakárí. [358] This brave man continually obtained much money
both from the king and from gambling, and, as soon as he got it,
he gave it all to his wife. But the shrewish woman, backed by her
three sons begotten by him, could not in spite of this remain one
moment without a quarrel. She continually worried him by yelling out
these words at him with her sons--"You are always eating and drinking
away from home, and you never give us anything." And though he was
for ever trying to propitiate her with meat, drink, and raiment,
she tortured him day and night like an interminable thirst. Then,
at last, Sinhaparákrama vexed with indignation on that account,
left his house, and went on a pilgrimage to the goddess Durgá that
dwells in the Vindhya hills. While he was fasting, the goddess said
to him in a dream: "Rise up, my son, go to thy own city of Benares;
there is an enormous nyagrodha tree, by digging round its root thou
wilt at once obtain a treasure. And in the treasure thou wilt find
a dish of emerald, bright as a sword-blade, looking like a piece of
the sky fallen down to earth; casting thy eyes on that, thou wilt
see, as it were, reflected inside, the previous existence of every
individual, in whatever case thou mayest wish to know it. By means of
that thou wilt learn the previous birth of thy wife and of thyself,
and having learned the truth wilt dwell there in happiness free from
grief." Having thus been addressed by the goddess, Sinhaparákrama woke
up and broke his fast, and went in the morning to Benares; and after
he had reached the city, he found at the root of the nyagrodha tree a
treasure, and in it he discovered a large emerald dish, and, eager to
learn the truth, he saw in that dish that in a previous birth his wife
had been a terrible she-bear, and himself a lion. And so recognising
that the hatred between himself and his wife was irremediable owing to
the influence of bitter enmity in a previous birth, he abandoned grief
and bewilderment. Then Sinhaparákrama examined many maidens by means
of the dish, and discovering that they had belonged to alien races in
a previous birth, he avoided them, but after he had discovered one,
who had been a lioness in a previous birth and so was a suitable
match for him, he married her as his second wife, and her name was
Sinhasrí. And after assigning to that Kalahakárí one village only as
her portion, he lived, delighted with the acquisition of treasure,
in the society of his new wife. Thus, O king, wives and others are
friendly or hostile to men in this world by virtue of impressions in
a previous state of existence.

When the king of Vatsa had heard this wonderful story from Vasantaka,
he was exceedingly delighted and so was the queen Vásavadattá. And the
king was never weary day or night of contemplating the moon-like face
of the pregnant queen. And as days went on, there were born to all of
his ministers in due course sons with auspicious marks, who heralded
approaching good fortune. First there was born to Yaugandharáyana,
the chief minister, a son Marubhúti by name. Then Rumanvat had a
son called Harisikha, and to Vasantaka there was born a son named
Tapantaka. And to the head-warder called Nityodita, whose other title
was Ityaka, [359] there was born a son named Gomukha. And after they
were born a great feast took place, and during it a bodiless voice
was heard from heaven--"These ministers shall crush the race of the
enemies of the son of the king of Vatsa here, the future universal
emperor. And as days went by, the time drew near for the birth of the
child, with which the queen Vásavadattá was destined to present the
king of Vatsa, and she repaired to the ornamented lying-in-chamber,
which was prepared by matrons having sons, and the windows of which
were covered with arka and samí plants. The room was hung with
various weapons, rendered auspicious by being mixed with the gleam
of jewel-lamps, shedding a blaze [360] able to protect the child;
and secured by conjurers who went through innumerable charms and
spells and other incantations, so that it became a fortress of the
matrons hard for calamity to storm, and there she brought forth in
good time a prince of lovely aspect, as the heaven brings forth the
moon from which stream pure nectarous rays. The child, when born,
not only irradiated that room, but the heart also of that mother
from which the darkness of grief had departed; then, as the delight
of the inmates of the harem was gradually extended, the king heard
of the birth of a son from the people who were admitted to it; the
reason he did not give his kingdom in his delight to the person, who
announced it, was, that he was afraid of committing an impropriety,
not that he was avaricious. And so the king, suddenly coming to the
harem with longing mind, beheld his son, and his hope bore fruit
after a long delay. The child had a long red lower lip like a leaf,
beautiful flowing hair like wool, and his whole face was like the
lotus, which the goddess of the Fortune of empire carries for her
delight. He was marked on his soft feet with umbrellas and chowries,
as if the Fortunes of other kings had beforehand abandoned their
badges in his favour, out of fear. Then, while the king shed with
tearful eye, that swelled with the pressure of the fulness of the
weight of his joy, drops that seemed to be drops of paternal affection,
[361] and the ministers with Yaugandharáyana at their head rejoiced,
a voice was heard from heaven at that time to the following effect:

"King, this son that is born to thee is an incarnation of Káma, [362]
and know that his name is Naraváhanadatta; and he will soon become
emperor of the kings of the Vidyádharas, and maintain that position
unwearied for a kalpa of the gods." [363] When so much had been said,
the voice stopped, and immediately a rain of flowers fell from heaven,
and the sounds of the celestial drums went forth. Then the king,
excessively delighted, made a great feast, which was rendered all the
more solemn from the gods having begun it. The sound of cymbals floated
in the air rising from temples, as if to tell all the Vidyádharas of
the birth of their king: and red banners, flying in the wind on the
tops of the palaces, seemed with their splendour to fling red dye to
one another. On earth beautiful women assembled and danced everywhere,
as if they were the nymphs of heaven glad that the god of love had been
born with a body. [364] And the whole city appeared equally splendid
with new dresses and ornaments bestowed by the rejoicing king. For
while that rich king rained riches upon his dependants, nothing but
the treasury was empty. And the ladies belonging to the families of
the neighbouring chieftains came in from all sides, with auspicious
prayers, versed in the good custom, [365] accompanied by dancing
girls, bringing with them splendid presents, escorted by various
excellent guards, attended with the sound of musical instruments,
like all the cardinal points in bodily form. Every movement there
was of the nature of a dance, every word uttered was attended with
full vessels, [366] every action was of the nature of munificence,
the city resounded with musical instruments, the people were adorned
with red powder, and the earth was covered with bards,--all these
things were so in that city which was all full of festivity. Thus
the great feast was carried on with increasing magnificence for many
days, and did not come to an end before the wishes of the citizens
were fully satisfied. And as days went on, that infant prince grew
like the new moon, and his father bestowed on him with appropriate
formalities the name of Naraváhanadatta, which had been previously
assigned him by the heavenly voice. His father was delighted when
he saw him make his first two or three tottering steps, in which
gleamed the sheen of his smooth fair toe-nails, and when he heard
him utter his first two or three indistinct words, shewing his teeth
which looked like buds. Then the excellent ministers brought to the
infant prince their infant sons, who delighted the heart of the king,
and commended them to him. First Yaugandharáyana brought Marubhúti,
and then Rumanvat Harisikha, and then the head-warder named Ityaka
brought Gomukha, and Vasantaka his son named Tapantaka. And the
domestic chaplain Sántikara presented the two twin sons of Pingaliká,
his nephews Sántisoma and Vaisvánara. And at that moment there fell
from heaven a rain of flowers from the gods, which a shout of joy
made all the more auspicious, and the king rejoiced with the queens,
having bestowed presents on that company of ministers' sons. And that
prince Naraváhanadatta was always surrounded by those six ministers'
sons devoted to him alone, who commanded respect even in their boyhood,
[367] as if with the six political measures that are the cause of great
prosperity. The days of the lord of Vatsa passed in great happiness,
while he gazed affectionately on his son with his smiling lotus-like
face, going from lap to lap of the kings whose minds were lovingly
attached to him, and making in his mirth a charming indistinct
playful prattling.



May Ganesa, painting the earth with mosaic by means of the particles
of red lead flying from his trunk whirled round in his madness, [368]
and so, as it were, burning up obstacles with the flames of his might,
protect you.

Thus the king of Vatsa and his queen remained engaged in bringing
up their only son Naraváhanadatta, and once on a time the minister
Yaugandharáyana, seeing the king anxious about taking care of him,
said to him as he was alone,--"King, you must never feel any anxiety
now about the prince Naraváhanadatta, for he has been created by
the adorable god Siva in your house as the future emperor over the
kings of the Vidyádharas; and by their divine power the kings of the
Vidyádharas have found this out, and meaning mischief have become
troubled, unable in their hearts to endure it; and knowing this, the
god with the moon-crest has appointed a prince of the Ganas, [369]
Stambhaka by name, to protect him. And he remains here invisible,
protecting this son of yours, and Nárada coming swiftly informed
me of this." While the minister was uttering these words, there
descended from the midst of the air a divine man wearing a diadem
and a bracelet, and armed with a sword. He bowed, and then the king
of Vatsa, after welcoming him, immediately asked him with curiosity:
"Who are you, and what is your errand here?" He said, "I was once
a mortal, but I have now become a king of the Vidyádharas, named
Saktivega and I have many enemies. I have found out by my power that
your son is destined to be our emperor, and I have come to see him, O
king." When Saktivega, over-awed at the sight of his future emperor,
had said this, the king of Vatsa was pleased and again asked him
in his astonishment, "How can the rank of a Vidyádhara be attained,
and of what nature is it, and how did you obtain it? Tell me this,
my friend." When he heard this speech of the king's, that Vidyádhara
Saktivega courteously bowing, answered him thus, "O king, resolute
souls having propitiated Siva either in this or in a former birth,
obtain by his favour the rank of Vidyádhara. And that rank, denoted
by the insignia of supernatural knowledge, of sword, garland and so
on, is of various kinds, but listen! I will tell you how I obtained
it. Having said this, Saktivega told the following story, relating
to himself, in the presence of the queen Vásavadattá.

Story of Saktivega king of the Vidyádharas.

There lived long ago in a city called Vardhamána, [370] the ornament
of the earth, a king the terror of his foes, called Paropakárin. And
this exalted monarch possessed a queen of the name of Kanakaprabhá,
[371] as the cloud holds the lightning, but she had not the fickleness
of the lightning. And in course of time there was born to him by that
queen a daughter, who seemed to have been formed by the Creator to
dash Lakshmí's pride in her beauty. And that moon of the eyes of the
world was gradually reared to womanhood by her father, who gave her the
name of Kanakarekhá suggested by her mother's name Kanakaprabhá. Once
on a time, when she had grown up, the king, her father, said to the
queen Kanakaprabhá, who came to him in secret: "A grown up daughter
cannot be kept in one's house, accordingly Kanakarekhá troubles my
heart with anxiety about a suitable marriage for her. For a maiden of
good family, who does not obtain a proper position, is like a song
out of tune; when heard of by the ears even of one unconnected with
her, she causes distress. But a daughter, who through folly is made
over to one not suitable, is like learning imparted to one not fit to
receive it, and cannot tend to glory or merit but only to regret. So I
am very anxious as to what king I must give this daughter of mine to,
and who will be a fit match for her." When Kanakaprabhá heard this,
she laughed and said,--"You say this, but your daughter does not
wish to be married; for to-day when she was playing with a doll and
making believe it was a child, I said to her in fun, 'My daughter,
when shall I see you married?' When she heard that, she answered
me reproachfully: 'Do not say so, you must not marry me to any one;
and my separation from you is not appointed, I do well enough as a
maiden, but if I am married, know that I shall be a corpse; there is
a certain reason for this.' As she has said this to me I have come
to you, O king, in a state of distress; for, as she has refused to be
married, what use is there in deliberating about a bridegroom?" When
the king heard this from the queen, he was bewildered, and going
to the private apartments of the princess he said to his daughter:
"When the maidens of the gods and Asuras practise austerities in
order to obtain a husband, why, my daughter, do you refuse to take
one?' When the princess Kanakarekhá heard this speech of her father's,
she fixed her eyes on the ground and said, Father, I do not desire to
be married at present, so what object has my father in it, and why does
he insist upon it?" That king Paropakárin, when his daughter addressed
him in that way, being the discreetest of men, thus answered her:
"How can sin be avoided unless a daughter is given in marriage? And
independence is not fit for a maiden who ought to be in dependence on
relations? For a daughter in truth is born for the sake of another
and is kept for him. The house of her father is not a fit place for
her except in childhood. For if a daughter reaches puberty unmarried,
her relations go to hell, and she is an outcast, and her bridegroom is
called the husband of an outcast." When her father said this to her,
the princess Kanakarekhá immediately uttered a speech that was in her
mind, "Father, if this is so, then whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya has
succeeded in seeing the city called the Golden City, to him I must
be given, and he shall be my husband, and if none such is found,
you must not unjustly reproach me." When his daughter said that to
him, that king reflected: "It is a good thing at any rate that she
has agreed to be married on a certain condition, and no doubt she
is some goddess born in my house for a special reason, for else how
comes she to know so much though she is a child?" Such were the king's
reflections at that time: so he said to his daughter, "I will do as you
wish," and then he rose up and did his day's work. And on the next day,
as he was sitting in the hall of audience, he said to his courtiers,
"Has any one among you seen the city called the Golden City? Whoever
has seen it, if he be a Bráhman or a Kshatriya, I will give him
my daughter Kanakarekhá, and make him crown-prince." And they all,
looking at one another's faces, said, "We have not even heard of it,
much less have we seen it." Then the king summoned the warder and
said to him, "Go and cause a proclamation to be circulated in the
whole of this town with the beating of drums, and find out if any
one has really seen that city." When the warder received this order,
he said, "I will do so," and went out; and after he had gone out, he
immediately gave orders to the police, and caused a drum to be beaten
all round the city, thus arousing curiosity to hear the proclamation,
which ran as follows: "Whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya youth has seen the
city called the Golden City, let him speak, and the king will give him
his daughter and the rank of crown-prince." Such was the astounding
announcement proclaimed all about the town after the drum had been
beaten. And the citizens said, after hearing that proclamation:
"What is this Golden City that is to-day proclaimed in our town,
which has never been heard of or seen even by those among us who are
old?" But not a single one among them said, "I have seen it."

And in the meanwhile a Bráhman living in that town, Saktideva by
name, the son of Baladeva, heard that proclamation; that youth,
being addicted to vice, had been rapidly stripped of his wealth at the
gaming-table, and he reflected, being excited by hearing of the giving
in marriage of the king's daughter: "As I have lost all my wealth by
gambling, I cannot now enter the house of my father, nor even the house
of a hetæra, so, as I have no resource, it is better for me to assert
falsely to those who are making the proclamation by beat of drum,
that I have seen that city. Who will discover that I know nothing
about it, for who has ever seen it? And in this way I may perhaps
marry the princess." Thus reflecting Saktideva went to the police, and
said falsely, "I have seen that city." They immediately said to him,
"Bravo! then come with us to the king's warder." So he went with them
to the warder. And in the same way he falsely asserted to him that he
had seen that city, and he welcomed him kindly, and took him to the
king. And without wavering he maintained the very same story in the
presence of the king: what indeed is difficult for a blackleg to do
who is ruined by play? Then the king, in order to ascertain the truth,
sent that Bráhman to his daughter Kanakarekhá, and when she heard of
the matter from the mouth of the warder, and the Bráhman came near,
she asked him: "Have you seen that Golden City?" Then he answered her,
"Yes, that city was seen by me when I was roaming through the earth
in quest of knowledge." [372] She next asked him, "By what road did
you go there, and what is it like?" That Bráhman then went on to say:
"From this place I went to a town called Harapura, and from that I
next came to the city of Benares; and from Benares in a few days to the
city of Paundravardhana, thence I went to that city called the Golden
City, and I saw it, a place of enjoyment for those who act aright,
like the city of Indra, the glory of which is made for the delight
of gods. [373] And having acquired learning there, I returned here
after some time; such is the path by which I went, and such is that
city." After that fraudulent Bráhman Saktideva had made up this story,
the princess said with a laugh;--"Great Bráhman, you have indeed seen
that city, but tell me, tell me again by what path you went." When
Saktideva heard that, he again displayed his effrontery, and then
the princess had him put out by her servants. And immediately after
putting him out, she went to her father, and her father asked her:
"Did that Bráhman speak the truth?"--And then the princess said to
her father: "Though you are a king you act without due consideration;
do you not know that rogues deceive honest people? For that Bráhman
simply wants to impose on me with a falsehood, but the liar has never
seen the golden city. And all kinds of deceptions are practised on the
earth by rogues; for listen to the story of Siva and Mádhava, which I
will tell you." Having said this, the princess told the following tale:

Story of Siva and Mádhava.

There is an excellent city rightly named Ratnapura, [374] and in it
there were two rogues named Siva and Mádhava. Surrounding themselves
with many other rogues, they contrived for a long time to rob, by
making use of trickery, all the rich men in the town. And one day
those two deliberated together and said--"We have managed by this
time to plunder this town thoroughly; so let us now go and live in
the city of Ujjayiní; there we hear that there is a very rich man
named Sankarasvámin, who is chaplain to the king. If we cheat him
out of his money we may thereby enjoy the charms of the ladies of
Málava. He is spoken of by Bráhmans as a miser, because he withholds
[375] half their usual fee with a frowning face, though he possesses
treasure enough to fill seven vessels; and that Bráhman has a pearl
of a daughter spoken of as matchless, we will manage to get her too
out of him along with the money." Having thus determined, and having
arranged beforehand what part each was to play, the two rogues Siva
and Mádhava went out of that town. At last they reached Ujjayiní,
and Mádhava, with his attendants, disguised as a Rájpút, remained
in a certain village outside the town. But Siva, who was expert in
every kind of deception, having assumed perfectly the disguise of a
religious ascetic, first entered that town alone. There he took up
his quarters in a hut on the banks of the Siprá, in which he placed,
so that they could be seen, clay, darbha grass, a vessel for begging,
and a deer-skin. And in the morning he anointed his body with thick
clay, as if testing beforehand his destined smearing with the mud of
the hell Avíchi. And plunging in the water of the river, he remained
a long time with his head downward, as if rehearsing beforehand his
future descent to hell, the result of his evil actions. And when he
rose up from his bath, he remained a long time looking up towards
the sun, as if shewing that he deserved to be impaled. Then he went
into the presence of the god and making rings of Kusa grass, [376]
and muttering prayers, he remained sitting in the posture called
Padmásana, [377] with a hypocritical cunning face, and from time to
time he made an offering to Vishnu, having gathered white flowers,
even as he took captive the simple hearts of the good by his villainy;
and having made his offering he again pretended to betake himself to
muttering his prayers, and prolonged his meditations as if fixing his
attention on wicked ways. And the next day, clothed in the skin of a
black antelope, he wandered about the city in quest of alms, like one
of his own deceitful leers intended to beguile it, and observing a
strict silence he took three handfuls of rice from Bráhmans' houses,
still equipped with stick and deer-skin, and divided the food into
three parts like the three divisions of the day, and part he gave to
the crows, and part to his guest, and with the third part he filled
his maw; and he remained for a long time hypocritically telling his
beads, as if he were counting his sins at the same time, and muttering
prayers; and in the night he remained alone in his hut, thinking over
the weak points of his fellow-men, even the smallest; and by thus
performing every day a difficult pretended penance he gained complete
ascendancy over the minds of the citizens in every quarter. And all
the people became devoted to him, and a report spread among them in
every direction that Siva was an exceedingly self-denying hermit.

And in the meanwhile his accomplice, the other rogue Mádhava, having
heard from his emissaries how he was getting on, entered that city;
and taking up his abode there in a distant temple, he went to the
bank of the Siprá to bathe, disguised as a Rájpút, and after bathing,
as he was returning with his retinue, he saw Siva praying in front
of the god, and with great veneration he fell at his feet, and said
before all the people, "There is no other such ascetic in the world,
for he has been often seen by me going round from one holy place to
another." But Siva, though he saw him, kept his neck immoveable out
of cunning, and remained in the same position as before, and Mádhava
returned to his own lodging. And at night those two met together
and ate and drank, and deliberated over the rest of their programme,
what they must do next. And in the last watch of the night Siva went
back leisurely to his hut. And in the morning Mádhava said to one
of his gang, "Take these two garments and give them as a present to
the domestic chaplain of the king here, who is called Sankarasvámin,
and say to him respectfully: 'There is a Rájpút come from the Deccan
of the name of Mádhava, who has been oppressed by his relations, and
he brings with him much inherited wealth; he is accompanied by some
other Rájpúts like himself, and he wishes to enter into the service of
your king here, and he has sent me to visit you, O treasure-house of
glory.'" The rogue, who was sent off by Mádhava with this message, went
to the house of that chaplain with the present in his hand, and after
approaching him, and giving him the present at a favourable moment, he
delivered to him in private Mádhava's message, as he had been ordered;
he, for his part, out of his greed for presents, believed it all,
anticipating other favours in the future, for a bribe is the sovereign
specific for attracting the covetous. The rogue then came back, and
on the next day Mádhava, having obtained a favourable opportunity,
went in person to visit that chaplain, accompanied by attendants,
who hypocritically assumed the appearance of men desiring service,
[378] passing themselves off as Rájpúts, distinguished by the maces
they carried; he had himself announced by an attendant preceding
him, and thus he approached the family priest, who received him with
welcomes which expressed his delight at his arrival. Then Mádhava
remained engaged in conversation with him for some time, and at last
being dismissed by him, returned to his own house. On the next day he
sent another couple of garments as a present, and again approached
that chaplain and said to him, "I indeed wish to enter into service
to please my retainers, for that reason I have repaired to you,
but I possess wealth." When the chaplain heard that, he hoped to get
something out of him, and he promised Mádhava to procure for him what
he desired, and he immediately went and petitioned the king on this
account, and, out of respect for the chaplain, the king consented to do
what he asked. And on the next day the family priest took Mádhava and
his retinue, and presented them to the king with all due respect. The
king too, when he saw that Mádhava resembled a Rájpút in appearance,
received him graciously and appointed him a salary. Then Mádhava
remained there in attendance upon the king, and every night he met
Siva to deliberate with him. And the chaplain entreated him to live
with him in his house, out of avarice, as he was intent on presents.

Then Mádhava with his followers repaired to the house of the chaplain;
this settlement was the cause of the chaplain's ruin, as that of
the mouse in the trunk of the tree was the cause of its ruin. And he
deposited a safe in the strong room of the chaplain, after filling it
with ornaments made of false gems. And from time to time he opened the
box and by cunningly half-shewing some of the jewels, he captivated
the mind of the chaplain as that of a cow is captivated by grass. And
when he had gained in this way the confidence of the chaplain, he made
his body emaciated by taking little food, and falsely pretended that
he was ill. And after a few days had passed, that prince of rogues
said with weak voice to that chaplain, who was at his bedside;
"My condition is miserable in this body, so bring, good Bráhman,
some distinguished man of your caste, in order that I may bestow my
wealth upon him for my happiness here and hereafter, for, life being
unstable, what care can a wise man have for riches?" That chaplain,
who was devoted to presents, when addressed in this way, said,
"I will do so," and Mádhava fell at his feet. Then whatever Bráhman
the chaplain brought, Mádhava refused to receive, pretending that
he wanted a more distinguished one. One of the rogues in attendance
upon Mádhava, when he saw this, said--"Probably an ordinary Bráhman
does not please him. So it will be better now to find out whether
the strict ascetic on the banks of Siprá named Siva pleases him or
not?" When Mádhava heard that, he said plaintively to that chaplain:
"Yes, be kind, and bring him, for there is no other Bráhman like him."

The chaplain, thus entreated, went near Siva, and beheld him
immoveable, pretending to be engaged in meditation. And then he walked
round him, keeping him on his right hand, and sat down in front of
him: and immediately the rascal slowly opened his eyes. Then the
family priest, bending before him, said with bowed head,--"My Lord,
if it will not make you angry, I will prefer a petition to you. There
is dwelling here a very rich Rájpút from the Deccan, named Mádhava,
and he, being ill, is desirous of giving away his whole property:
if you consent, he will give you that treasure which glitters with
many ornaments made out of priceless gems." When Siva heard that, he
slowly broke silence, and said,--"O Bráhman, since I live on alms, and
observe perpetual chastity, of what use are riches to me?" Then that
chaplain went on to say to him, "Do not say that, great Bráhman, do you
not know the due order of the periods in the life of a Bráhman? [379]
By marrying a wife, and performing in his house offerings to the Manes,
sacrifices to the gods and hospitality to guests, he uses his property
to obtain the three objects of life; [380] the stage of the householder
is the most useful of all." Then Siva said, "How can I take a wife,
for I will not marry a woman from any low family?" When the covetous
chaplain heard that, he thought that he would be able to enjoy his
wealth at will, and, catching at the opportunity, he said to him:
"I have an unmarried daughter named Vinayasváminí, and she is very
beautiful, I will bestow her in marriage on you. And I will keep for
you all the wealth which you receive as a donation from Mádhava, so
enter on the duties of a householder." When Siva heard this, having
got the very thing he wanted, he said, "Bráhman, if your heart is
set on this, [381] I will do what you say. But I am an ascetic who
knows nothing about gold and jewels: I shall act as you advise; do
as you think best." When the chaplain heard that speech of Siva's,
he was delighted, and the fool said, "Agreed"--and conducted Siva
to his house. And when he had introduced there that inauspicious
guest named Siva, [382] he told Mádhava what he had done and was
applauded by him. And immediately he gave Siva his daughter, who
had been carefully brought up, and in giving her he seemed to be
giving away his own prosperity lost by his folly. And on the third
day after his marriage, he took him to Mádhava who was pretending to
be ill, to receive his present. And Mádhava rose up and fell at his
feet and said what was quite true, "I adore thee whose asceticism is
incomprehensible." [383] And in accordance with the prescribed form
he bestowed on Siva that box of ornaments made of many sham jewels,
which was brought from the chaplain's treasury. Siva for his part,
after receiving it, gave it into the hand of the chaplain, saying,
"I know nothing about this, but you do." And that priest immediately
took it, saying, "I undertook to do this long ago, why should you
trouble yourself about it?" Then Siva gave them his blessing, and
went to his wife's private apartments, and the chaplain took the
box and put it in his strong room. Mádhava for his part gradually
desisted from feigning sickness, affecting to feel better the next
day, and said that his disease had been cured by virtue of his great
gift. And he praised the chaplain when he came near, saying to him,
"It was by your aiding me in an act of faith that I tided over this
calamity." And he openly struck up a friendship with Siva, asserting
that it was due to the might of Siva's holiness that his life had
been saved. Siva, for his part, after some days said to the chaplain:
"How long am I to feast in your house in this style? Why do you not
take from me those jewels for some fixed sum of money? If they are
valuable, give me a fair price for them." When the priest heard that,
thinking that the jewels were of incalculable value, he consented,
and gave to Siva as purchase-money his whole living. And he made
Siva sign a receipt for the sum with his own hand, and he himself
too signed a receipt for the jewels, thinking that that treasure
far exceeded his own wealth in value. And they separated, taking one
another's receipts, and the chaplain lived in one place, while Siva
kept house in another. And then Siva and Mádhava dwelt together and
remained there leading a very pleasant life consuming the chaplain's
wealth. And as time went on, that chaplain, being in need of cash,
went to the town to sell one of the ornaments in the bazar.

Then the merchants, who were connoisseurs in jewels, said after
examining it, "Ha! the man who made these sham jewels was a clever
fellow, whoever he was. For this ornament is composed of pieces of
glass and quartz coloured with various colours and fastened together
with brass, and there are no gems or gold in it." When the chaplain
heard that, he went in his agitation and brought all the ornaments from
his house, and showed them to the merchants. When they saw them, they
said that all of them were composed of sham jewels in the same way; but
the chaplain, when he heard that, was, so to speak, thunderstruck. And
immediately the fool went off and said to Siva, "Take back your
ornaments and give me back my own wealth." But Siva answered him,
"How can I possibly have retained your wealth till now? Why it has
all in course of time been consumed in my house." Then the chaplain
and Siva fell into an altercation, and went, both of them, before
the king, at whose side Mádhava was standing. And the chaplain made
this representation to the king: "Siva has consumed all my substance,
taking advantage of my not knowing that a great treasure, which he
deposited in my house, [384] was composed of skilfully coloured pieces
of glass and quartz fastened together with brass." Then Siva said,
"King, from my childhood I have been a hermit, and I was persuaded by
that man's earnest petition to accept a donation, and when I took it,
though inexperienced in the ways of the world, I said to him, 'I am no
connoisseur in jewels and things of that kind, and I rely upon you,'
and he consented saying, 'I will be your warrant in the matter.' And
I accepted all the donation and deposited it in his hand. Then he
bought the whole from me at his own price, and we hold from one another
mutual receipts; and now it is in the king's power to grant me help in
my sorest need." Siva having thus finished his speech, Mádhava said,
"Do not say this, you are honourable, but what fault have I committed
in the matter? I never received anything either from you or from Siva;
I had some wealth inherited from my father, which I had long deposited
elsewhere; then I brought that wealth and presented it to a Bráhman. If
the gold is not real gold, and the jewels are not real jewels, then let
us suppose that I have reaped fruit from giving away brass, quartz,
and glass. But the fact that I was persuaded with sincere heart that
I was giving something, is clear from this, that I recovered from a
very dangerous illness." When Mádhava said this to him without any
alteration in the expression of his face, the king laughed and all
his ministers, and they were highly delighted. And those present in
court said, laughing in their sleeves, "Neither Mádhava nor Siva has
done anything unfair." Thereupon that chaplain departed with downcast
countenance, having lost his wealth. For of what calamities is not the
blinding of the mind with excessive greed the cause? And so those two
rogues Siva and Mádhava long remained there, happy in having obtained
the favour of the delighted king.

"Thus do rogues spread the webs of their tongue with hundreds of
intricate threads, like fishermen upon dry land, living by the net. So
you may be certain, my father, that this Bráhman is a case in point. By
falsely asserting that he has seen the City of Gold, he wishes to
deceive you, and to obtain me for a wife. So do not be in a hurry
to get me married; I shall remain unmarried at present, and we will
see what will happen." When the king Paropakárin heard this from his
daughter Kanakarekhá, he thus answered her: "When a girl is grown up,
it is not expedient that she should remain long unmarried, for wicked
people envious of good qualities, falsely impute sin. And people are
particularly fond of blackening the character of one distinguished;
to illustrate this, listen to the story of Harasvámin which I am
about to tell you."

Story of Harasvámin. [385]

There is a city on the banks of the Ganges named Kusumapura,
[386] and in it there was an ascetic who visited holy places, named
Harasvámin. He was a Bráhman living by begging; and constructing a hut
on the banks of the Ganges, he became, on account of his surprisingly
rigid asceticism, the object of the people's respect. [387] And one day
a wicked man among the inhabitants, who could not tolerate his virtue,
seeing him from a distance going out to beg, said, "Do you know what
a hypocritical ascetic that is? It is he that has eaten up all the
children in this town." When a second there who was like him, heard
this, he said, "It is true, I also have heard people saying this." And
a third confirming it said, "Such is the fact." The chain of villains'
conversation binds reproach on the good. And in this way the report
spread from ear to ear, and gained general credence in the city. And
all the citizens kept their children by force in their houses, saying,
"Harasvámin carries off all the children and eats them." And then the
Bráhmans in that town, afraid that their offspring would be destroyed,
assembled and deliberated about his banishment from the city. And
as they did not dare to tell him face to face, for fear he might
perhaps eat them up in his rage, they sent messengers to him. And
those messengers went and said to him from a distance; "The Bráhmans
command you to depart from this city." Then in his astonishment he
asked them "Why?" And they went on to say; "You eat every child as
soon as you see it." When Harasvámin heard that, he went near those
Bráhmans, in order to reassure them, and the people fled before him
for fear. And the Bráhmans, as soon as they saw him, were terrified
and went up to the top of their monastery. People who are deluded by
reports are not, as a rule, capable of discrimination. Then Harasvámin
standing below called all the Bráhmans who were above, one by one,
by name, and said to them, "What delusion is this, Bráhmans? Why do
you not ascertain with one another how many children I have eaten,
and whose, and how many of each man's children." When they heard that,
the Bráhmans began to compare notes among themselves, and found that
all of them had all their children left alive. And in course of time
other citizens, appointed to investigate the matter, admitted that all
their children were living. And merchants and Bráhmans and all said,
"Alas in our folly we have belied a holy man; the children of all
of us are alive; so whose children can he have eaten?" Harasvámin,
being thus completely exonerated, prepared to leave that city, for his
mind was seized with disgust at the slanderous report got up against
him by wicked men. For what pleasure can a wise man take in a wicked
place, the inhabitants of which are wanting in discrimination? Then
the Bráhmans and merchants, prostrating themselves at his feet,
entreated him to stay there, and he at last, though with reluctance,
consented to do so.

"In this way evil men often impute crime falsely to good men,
allowing their malicious garrulity full play on beholding their
virtuous behaviour. Much more, if they obtain a slight glimpse of
any opportunity for attacking them, do they pour copious showers of
oil on the fire thus kindled. Therefore if you wish, my daughter,
to draw the arrow from my heart, you must not, while this fresh youth
of yours is developing, remain unmarried to please yourself, and so
incur the ready reproach of evil men." Such was the advice which
the princess Kanakarekhá frequently received from her father the
king, but she, being firmly resolved, again and again answered him:
"Therefore quickly search for a Bráhman or Kshatriya who has seen
that City of Gold and give me to him, for this is the condition I
have named." When the king heard that, reflecting that his daughter,
who remembered her former birth, had completely made up her mind,
and seeing no other way of obtaining for her the husband she desired,
he issued another order to the effect that henceforth the proclamation
by beat of drum was to take place every day in the city, in order to
find out whether any of the newcomers had seen the Golden City. And
once more it was proclaimed in every quarter of the city every day,
after the drum had been beaten,--"If any Bráhman or Kshatriya has
seen the Golden City, let him speak; the king will give him his own
daughter, together with the rank of Crown-prince." But no one was
found who had obtained a sight of the Golden City.


In the meanwhile the young Bráhman Saktideva, in very low spirits,
having been rejected with contempt by the princess he longed for,
said to himself; "To-day by asserting falsely that I had seen the
Golden City, I certainly incurred contempt, but I did not obtain that
princess. So I must roam through the earth to find it, until I have
either seen that city or lost my life. For of what use is my life,
unless I can return having seen that city, and obtain the princess as
the prize of the achievement?" Having thus taken a vow, that Bráhman
set out from the city of Vardhamána, directing his course toward the
southern quarter, and as he journeyed, he at last reached the great
forest of the Vindhya range, and entered it, which was difficult and
long as his own undertaking. And that forest, so to speak, fanned,
with the soft leaves of its trees shaken by the wind, him, who
was heated by the multitudinous rays of the sun; and through grief
at being overrun with many robbers, it made its cry heard day and
night in the shrill screams of animals which were being slain in it
by lions and other noisome beasts. And it seemed, by the unchecked
rays of heat flashed upward from its wild deserts, to endeavour
to conquer the fierce brightness of the sun: in it, though there
was no accumulation of water, calamity was to be easily purchased:
[388] and its space seemed ever to extend before the traveller as
fast as he crossed it. In the course of many days he accomplished
a long journey through this forest, and beheld in it a great lake
of cold pure water in a lonely spot: which seemed to lord it over
all lakes, with its lotuses like lofty umbrellas, and its swans like
gleaming white chowries. In the water of that lake he performed the
customary ablutions, and on its northern shore he beheld a hermitage
with beautiful fruit-bearing trees: and he saw an old hermit named
Súryatapas sitting at the foot of an Asvattha tree, surrounded by
ascetics, adorned with a rosary, the beads of which by their number
seemed to be the knots that marked the centuries of his life, [389]
and which rested against the extremity of his ear that was white with
age. And he approached that hermit with a bow, and the hermit welcomed
him with hospitable greetings. And the hermit, after entertaining
him with fruits and other delicacies, asked him, "Whence have you
come, and whither are you going? Tell me, good sir." And Saktideva
inclining respectfully, said to that hermit,--"I have come, venerable
sir, from the city of Vardhamána, and I have undertaken to go to the
Golden City in accordance with a vow. But I do not know where that
city lies; tell me venerable sir, if you know." The hermit answered,
"My son, I have lived eight hundred years in this hermitage, and I have
never even heard of that city." Saktideva when he heard this from the
hermit, was cast down, and said again--"Then my wanderings through the
earth will end by my dying here." Then that hermit, having gradually
elicited the whole story said to him, "If you are firmly resolved,
then do what I tell you. Three yojanas from here there is a country
named Kámpilya, and in it is a mountain named Uttara, and on it there
is a hermitage. There dwells my noble elder brother named Dírghatapas;
[390] go to him, he being old may perhaps know of that city." When
Saktideva heard that, hope arose in his breast, and having spent the
night there he quickly set out in the morning from that place. And
wearied with the laborious journey through difficult forest country,
he at last reached that region of Kámpilya and ascended that mountain
Uttara; and there he beheld that hermit Dírghatapas in a hermitage,
and he was delighted and approached him with a bow: and the hermit
received him hospitably: and Saktideva said to him, "I am on my way to
the City of Gold spoken of by the king's daughter: but I do not know,
venerable sir, where that city is. However I am bound to find it,
so I have been sent to you by the sage Súryatapas in order that I may
discover where it lies." When he had said this, the hermit answered
him, "Though I am so old, my son, I have never heard of that city
till to-day; I have made acquaintance with various travellers from
foreign lands, and I have never heard any one speak of it; much less
have I seen it. But I am sure it must be in some distant foreign
island, and I can tell you an expedient to help you in this matter;
there is in the midst of the ocean an island named Utsthala, and in
it there is a rich king of the Nishádas [391] named Satyavrata. He
goes to and fro among all the other islands, and he may have seen or
heard of that city. Therefore first go to the city named Vitankapura
situated on the border of the sea. And from that place go with some
merchant in a ship to the island where that Nisháda dwells, in order
that you may attain your object." When Saktideva heard this from
the hermit, he immediately followed his advice, and taking leave
of him set out from the hermitage. And after accomplishing many
kos and crossing many lands, he reached the city of Vitankapura,
the ornament of the sea-shore. There he sought out a merchant named
Samudradatta, who traded with the island of Utsthala, and struck up
a friendship with him. And he went on board his ship with him, and
having food for the voyage fully supplied by his kindness, he set
out on the ocean-path. Then, when they had but a short distance to
travel, there arose a black cloud with rumbling thunder, resembling a
roaring Rákshasa, with flickering lightning to represent his lolling
tongue. And a furious hurricane began to blow like Destiny herself,
whirling up light objects and hurling down heavy. [392] And from the
sea, lashed by the wind, great waves rose aloft like the mountains
equipped with wings, [393] indignant that their asylum had been
attacked. And that vessel rose on high one moment, and the next moment
plunged below, as if exhibiting how rich men are first elevated and
then cast down. And the next moment that ship, shrilly laden with
the cries of the merchants, burst and split asunder as if with the
weight. And the ship being broken, that merchant its owner fell into
the sea, but floating through it on a plank he at last reached another
vessel. But as Saktideva fell, a large fish, opening its mouth and
neck, swallowed him without injuring any of his limbs. And as that
fish was roaming at will in the midst of the sea, it happened to pass
near the island of Utsthala; and by chance some servants of that
king of the fishermen Satyavrata, who were engaged in the pursuit
of small fish, came there and caught it. And those fishermen, proud
of their prize, immediately dragged it along to shew to their king,
for it was of enormous size. He too, out of curiosity, seeing that it
was of such extraordinary size, ordered his servants to cut it open;
and when it was cut open, Saktideva came out alive from its belly,
having endured a second wonderful imprisonment in the womb. [394]
Then the fisher-king Satyavrata, when he saw that young man come
out and bestow his blessing on him, was astonished, and asked him,
"Who are you, and how did this lot of dwelling in the belly of the
fish befall you? What means this exceedingly strange fate that you
have suffered." When Saktideva heard this, he answered that king of
the fishermen: "I am a Bráhman of the name of Saktideva from the city
of Vardhamána; and I am bound to visit the City of Gold, and because
I do not know where it is, I have for a long time wandered far over
the earth; then I gathered from a speech of Dírghatapas' that it was
probably in an island, so I set out to find Satyavrata the king of
the fishermen, who lives in the island of Utsthala, in order to learn
its whereabouts, but on the way I suffered shipwreck, and so having
been whelmed in the sea and swallowed by a fish, I have been brought
here now." When Saktideva had said this, Satyavrata said to him: "I
am in truth Satyavrata, and this is the very island you were seeking;
but though I have seen many islands, I have never seen the city you
desire to find, but I have heard of it as situated in one of the
distant islands." Having said this, and perceiving that Saktideva was
cast down, Satyavrata out of kindness for his guest went on to say:
"Bráhman, do not be despondent; remain here this night, and to-morrow
morning I will devise some expedient to enable you to attain your
object." The Bráhman was thus consoled by the king, and sent off to a
monastery of Bráhmans, where guests were readily entertained. There
Saktideva was supplied with food by a Bráhman named Vishnudatta, an
inmate of the monastery, and entered into conversation with him. And in
the course of that conversation, being questioned by him, he told him
in a few words his country, his family, and his whole history. When
Vishnudatta heard that, he immediately embraced him, and said in a
voice indistinct from the syllables being choked with tears of joy:
"Bravo! you are the son of my maternal uncle and a fellow-countryman of
mine. But I long ago in my childhood left that country to come here. So
stop here awhile, and soon the stream of merchants and pilots that
come here from other islands will accomplish your wish." Having told
him his descent in these words, Vishnudatta waited upon Saktideva with
all becoming attentions. And Saktideva, forgetting the toil of the
journey, obtained delight, for the meeting a relation in a foreign
land is like a fountain of nectar in the desert. And he considered
that the accomplishment of his object was near at hand, for good luck,
befalling one by the way indicates success in an undertaking. So he
reclined at night sleepless upon his bed, with his mind fixed upon
the attainment of his desire, and Vishnudatta, who was by his side,
in order to encourage and delight him at the same time, related to
him the following tale:

Story of Asokadatta and Vijayadatta. [395]

Formerly there was a great Bráhman named Govindasvámin, living on a
great royal grant of land on the banks of the Yamuná. And in course of
time there were born to that virtuous Bráhman two sons like himself,
Asokadatta and Vijayadatta. While they were living there, there arose a
terrible famine in that land, and so Govindasvámin said to his wife;
"This land is ruined by famine, and I cannot bear to behold the misery
of my friends and relations. For who gives anything to anybody? So
let us at any rate give away to our friends and relations what
little food we possess and leave this country. And let us go with
our family to Benares to live there." When he said this to his wife,
she consented, and he gave away his food, and set out from that place
with his wife, sons, and servants. For men of noble soul cannot bear
to witness the miseries of their relatives. And on the road he beheld
a skull-bearing Saiva ascetic, white with ashes, and with matted hair,
like the god Siva himself with his half-moon. The Bráhman approached
that wise man with a bow, and out of love for his sons, asked him
about their destiny, whether it should be good or bad, and that Yogí
answered him: "The future destiny of your sons is auspicious, but you
shall be separated, Bráhman, from this younger one Vijayadatta, and
finally by the might of the second Asokadatta you shall be reunited
to him." Govindasvámin, when that wise man said this to him, took
leave of him and departed overpowered with joy, grief, and wonder;
and after reaching Benares he spent the day there in a temple of
Durgá outside the town, engaged in worshipping the goddess and
such like occupations. And in the evening he encamped outside that
temple under a tree, with his family, in the company of pilgrims who
had come from other countries. And at night, while all were asleep,
wearied with their long journey, stretched out on strewn leaves, and,
such other beds as travellers have to put up with, his younger son
Vijayadatta, who was awake, was suddenly seized with a cold ague-fit;
that ague quickly made him tremble, and caused his hair to stand on
end, as if it had been the fear of his approaching separation from
his relations. And oppressed with the cold he woke up his father,
and said to him: "A terrible ague afflicts me here now, father, so
bring fuel and light me a fire to keep off the cold, in no other way
can I obtain relief or get through the night." When Govindasvámin
heard him say this, he was distressed at his suffering, and said
to him; "Whence can I procure fire now my son?" Then his son said;
"Why surely we may see a fire burning near us on this side, and it
is very large, so why should I not go there and warm my body? So take
me by the hand, for I have a shivering fit, and lead me there." Thus
entreated by his son the Bráhman went on to say: "This is a cemetery,
[396] and the fire is that of a funeral pyre, so how can you go to a
place terrible from the presence of goblins and other spirits, for you
are only a child?" When the brave Vijayadatta heard that speech of his
affectionate father's, he laughed and said in his confidence, "What can
the wretched goblins and other evil ones do to me? Am I a weakling? So
take me there without fear." When he said this so persistently, his
father led him there, and the boy warming his body approached the pyre,
which seemed to bear on itself the presiding deity of the Rákshasas
in visible form, with the smoke of the flames for dishevelled hair,
devouring the flesh of men. The boy at once encouraged his father
[397] and asked him what the round thing was that he saw inside the
pyre. And his father standing at his side, answered him, "This, my son,
is the skull of a man which is burning in the pyre." Then the boy in
his recklessness struck the skull with a piece of wood lighted at the
top, and clove it. The brains spouted up from it and entered his mouth,
like the initiation into the practices of the Rákshasas, bestowed
upon him by the funeral flame. And by tasting them that boy became
a Rákshasa, with hair standing on end, with sword that he had drawn
from the flame, terrible with projecting tusks: so he seized the skull
and drinking the brains from it, he licked it with tongue restlessly
quivering like the flames of fire that clung to the bone. Then be flung
aside the skull, and lifting his sword he attempted to slay his own
father Govindasvámin. But at that moment a voice came out from the
cemetery, "Kapálasphota, [398] thou god, thou oughtest not to slay
thy father, come here." When the boy heard that, having obtained
the title of Kapálasphota and become a Rákshasa, he let his father
alone, and disappeared; and his father departed exclaiming aloud,
"Alas my son! Alas my virtuous son! Alas Vijayadatta!" And he returned
to the temple of Durgá; and in the morning he told his wife and his
eldest son Asokadatta what had taken place. Then that unfortunate man
together with them suffered an attack of the fire of grief, terrible
like the falling of lightning from a cloud, so that the other people,
who were sojourning in Benares, and had come to visit the shrine of the
goddess, came up to him and sympathised heartily with his sorrow. In
the meanwhile a great merchant, who had come to worship the goddess,
named Samudradatta, beheld Govindasvámin in that state. The good man
approached him and comforted him, and immediately took him and his
family home to his own house. And there he provided him with a bath
and other luxuries, for this is the innate tendency of the great, to
have mercy upon the wretched. Govindasvámin also and his wife recovered
their self-command, having heard [399] the speech of the great Saiva
ascetic, hoping to be re-united to their son. And thenceforth he lived
in that city of Benares, in the house of that rich merchant, having
been asked by him to do so. And there his other son Asokadatta grew
up to be a young man, and after studying the sciences learnt boxing
and wrestling. And gradually he attained such eminence in these arts,
that he was not surpassed by any champion on the earth. And once on a
time there was a great gathering of wrestlers at an idol procession,
and a great and famous wrestler came from the Deccan. He conquered
all the other wrestlers of the king of Benares, who was called
Pratápamukuta, before his eyes. Then the king had Asokadatta quickly
summoned from the house of that excellent merchant, and ordered him to
contend with that wrestler. That wrestler began the combat by catching
the arm of Asokadatta with his hand, but Asokadatta seized his arm,
and hurled him to the ground. Then the field of combat, as it were,
pleased, applauded the victor with the resounding noise produced by the
fall of that champion wrestler. And the king being gratified, loaded
Asokadatta with jewels, and having seen his might, he made him his own
personal attendant. So he became a favourite of the king's, and in time
attained great prosperity, for to one who possesses heroic qualities,
a king who appreciates merit is a perfect treasure-house. Once
on a time, that king went on the fourteenth day of the month away
from his capital, to worship the god Siva in a splendid temple in a
distant town. After he had paid his devotions, he was returning by
night near the cemetery when he heard this utterance issue from it:
"O king, the chief magistrate out of private malice proclaimed that I
deserved death, and it is now the third day since I was impaled, and
even now my life will not leave my body, though I am innocent, so I am
exceedingly thirsty; O king, order water to be given me." When the king
heard it, out of pity he said to his personal attendant Asokadatta,
"Send that man some water." Then Asokadatta said, "Who would go there
at night? So I had better go myself." Accordingly he took the water,
and set off. After the king had proceeded on his way to his capital,
the hero entered that cemetery, the interior of which was difficult to
penetrate, as it was filled with dense darkness within; in it there
were awful evening oblations offered with the human flesh scattered
about by the jackals; in places the cemetery was lighted up by the
flaming beacons of the blazing funeral pyres, and in it the Vetálas
made terrible music with the clapping of their hands, so that it
seemed as if it were the palace of black night. Then he cried aloud,
"Who asked the king for water?" And he heard from one quarter an
answer, "I asked for it." Following the voice he went to a funeral
pyre near, and beheld a man impaled on the top of a stake, and
underneath it he saw a woman that he had never seen before, weeping,
adorned with beautiful ornaments, lovely in every limb; like the night
adorned with the rays of the moon, now that the moon itself had set,
its splendour having waned in the dark fortnight, come to worship
the funeral pyre. He asked the woman: "Who are you, mother, and why
are you standing weeping here?" She answered him, "I am the ill-fated
wife of him who is here impaled, and I am waiting here with the firm
intention of ascending the funeral pyre with him. And I am waiting some
time for his life to leave his body, for though it is the third day
of his impalement, his breath does not depart. And he often asks for
that water which I have brought here, but I cannot reach his mouth,
my friend, as the stake is high." When he heard that speech of hers,
the mighty hero said to her: "But here is water in my hand sent to
him by the king, so place your foot on my back and lift it to his
mouth, for the mere touching of another man in sore need does not
disgrace a woman." When she heard that, she consented, and taking
the water she climbed up so as to plant her two feet on the back
of Asokadatta, who bent down at the foot of the stake. Soon after,
as drops of blood unexpectedly began to fall upon the earth and on
his back, the hero lifted up his face and looked. Then he saw that
woman cutting off slice after slice of that impaled man's flesh with
a knife, and eating it. [400]

Then, perceiving that she was some horrible demon, [401] he dragged
her down in a rage, and took hold of her by her foot with its
tinkling anklets in order to dash her to pieces on the earth. She,
for her part, dragged away from him that foot, and by her deluding
power quickly flew up into the heaven, and became invisible. And
the jewelled anklet, which had fallen from her foot, while she was
dragging it away, remained in one of Asokadatta's hands. Then he,
reflecting that she had disappeared after shewing herself mild at
first, and evil-working in the middle, and at the end horror-striking
by assuming a terrible form, like association with wicked men,--and
seeing that heavenly anklet in his hand, was astonished, grieved and
delighted at the same time; and then he left that cemetery, taking
the anklet with him, and went to his own house, and in the morning,
after bathing, to the palace of the king.

And when the king said--"Did you give the water to the man who was
impaled," he said he had done so, and gave him that anklet; and when
the king of his own accord asked him where it came from, he told
that king his wonderful and terrible night-adventure. And then the
king, perceiving that his courage was superior to that of all men,
though he was before pleased with his other excellent qualities,
was now more exceedingly delighted; and he took that anklet in his
joy and gave it with his own hand to the queen, and described to
her the way in which he had obtained it. And she, hearing the story
and beholding that heavenly jewelled anklet, rejoiced in her heart
and was continually engaged in extolling Asokadatta. Then the king
said to her: "Queen, in birth, in learning, in truthfulness and
beauty Asokadatta is great among the great; and I think it would be
a good thing if he were to become the husband of our lovely daughter
Madanalekhá; in a bridegroom these qualities are to be looked for,
not fortune that vanishes in a moment, so I will give my daughter to
this excellent hero." When she heard that speech of her husband's,
that queen approving the proposal said, "It is quite fitting, for the
youth will be an appropriate match for her, and her heart has been
captivated by him, for she saw him in a spring-garden, and for some
days her mind has been in a state of vacancy and she neither hears
nor sees; I heard of it from her confidante, and, after spending an
anxious night, towards morning I fell asleep, and I remember I was
thus addressed by some heavenly woman in a dream, 'My child, thou must
not give this thy daughter Madanalekhá to any one but Asokadatta,
for she is his wife acquired by him in a former birth.' And when I
heard it, I woke up, and in the morning I went myself on the strength
of the dream and consoled my daughter. And now, my husband has of
his own accord proposed the marriage to me. Let her therefore be
united to him, as a spring-creeper to its stalk." When the king's
beloved wife said this to him, he was pleased, and he made festal
rejoicings, and summoning Asokadatta gave that daughter to him. And
the union of those two, the daughter of the king, and the son of the
great Bráhman, was such that each enhanced the other's glory, like
the union of prosperity and modesty. And once upon a time the queen
said to the king, with reference to the anklet brought by Asokadatta:
"My husband, this anklet by itself does not look well, so let another
be made like it." When the king heard that, he gave an order to the
goldsmiths and other craftsmen of the kind, to make a second anklet
like that. But they, after examining it said;--"It is impossible,
O king, to make another like it, for the work is heavenly, not
human. There are not many jewels of this kind upon the earth, so let
another be sought for where this was obtained." When the king and the
queen heard this, they were despondent, and Asokadatta who was there,
on seeing that, immediately said, "I myself will bring you a fellow
to that anklet." And having made this promise he could not give up
the project on which he was resolved, although the king, terrified
at his temerity, endeavoured to dissuade him out of affection. And
taking the anklet he went again on the fourteenth night of the black
fortnight to the cemetery where he had first obtained it; and after
he had entered that cemetery which was full of Rákshasas as it was
of trees, besmirched with the copious smoke of the funeral pyres, and
with men hanging from their trunks [402] which were weighed down and
surrounded with nooses, he did not at first see that woman that he had
seen before, but he thought of an admirable device for obtaining that
bracelet, which was nothing else than the selling of human flesh. [403]
So he pulled down a corpse from the noose by which it was suspended on
the tree, and he wandered about in the cemetery, crying aloud--"Human
flesh for sale, buy, buy!" And immediately a woman called to him from
a distance, saying, "Courageous man, bring the human flesh and come
along with me." When he heard that, he advanced following that woman,
and beheld at no great distance under a tree a lady of heavenly
appearance, surrounded with women, sitting on a throne, glittering
with jewelled ornaments, whom he would never have expected to find in
such a place, any more than to find a lotus in a desert. And having
been led up by that woman, he approached the lady seated as has been
described, and said, "Here I am, I sell human flesh, buy, buy!" And
then the lady of heavenly appearance said to him, "Courageous hero,
for what price will you sell the flesh?" Then the hero, with the
corpse hanging over his shoulder and back, said to her, shewing her
at the same time that single jewelled anklet which was in his hand,
"I will give this flesh to whoever will give me a second anklet like
this one; if you have got a second like it, take the flesh." When
she heard that, she said to him, "I have a second like it, for this
very single anklet was taken by you from me. I am that very woman
who was seen by you near the impaled man, but you do not recognise
me now, because I have assumed another shape. So what is the use of
flesh? If you do what I tell you, I will give you my second anklet,
which matches the one in your hand." When she said this to the hero,
he consented and said, "I will immediately do whatever you say." Then
she told him her whole desire from the beginning: "There is, good sir,
a city named Trighanta on a peak of the Himálayas. In it there lived
a heroic prince of the Rákshasas named Lambajihva. I am his wife,
Vidyuchchhikhá by name, and I can change my form at will. And as fate
would have it, that husband of mine, after the birth of my daughter,
was slain in battle fighting in front of the king Kapálasphota;
then that king being pleased gave me his own city, and I have lived
with my daughter in great comfort on its proceeds up to the present
time. And that daughter of mine has by this time grown up to fresh
womanhood, and I have great anxiety in my mind as to how to obtain for
her a brave husband. Then being here on the fourteenth night of the
lunar fortnight, and seeing you coming along this way with the king,
I thought--'This good-looking youth is a hero and a fit match for
my daughter. So why should I not devise some stratagem for obtaining
him?' Thus I determined, and imitating the voice of an impaled person,
I asked for water, and brought you into the middle of that cemetery
by a trick. And there I exhibited my delusive power in assuming a
false shape and other characteristics, and saying what was false
I imposed upon you there, though only for a moment. And I artfully
left one of my anklets there to attract you again, like a binding
chain to draw you, and then I came away. And to-day I have obtained
you by that very expedient, so come to my house; marry my daughter
and receive the other anklet." When the Rákshasí said this to him,
the hero consented, and by means of her magic power he went with her
through the air to her city. And he saw that city built of gold on
a peak of the Himálayas, like the orb of the sun fixed in one spot,
being weary with the toil of wandering through the heavens. There
he married that daughter of the prince of the Rákshasas, by name
Vidyutprabhá, like the success of his own daring incarnate in bodily
form. And Asokadatta dwelt with that loved one some time in that city,
enjoying great comfort by means of his mother-in-law's wealth. Then
he said to his mother-in-law, "Give me that anklet, for I must now
go to the city of Benares, for I myself long ago promised the king
that I would bring a second anklet, that would vie with the first one
so distinguished for its unparalleled beauty." The mother-in-law,
having been thus entreated by her son-in-law, gave him that second
anklet of hers, and in addition a golden lotus. [404]

Then he left that city with the anklet and the lotus, after promising
to return, and his mother-in-law by the power of her magic knowledge
carried him once more through the air to the cemetery. And then she
stopped under the tree and said to him, "I always come here on the
fourteenth night of the black fortnight, and whenever you come here on
that [405] night, you will find me here under the banyan-tree." When
Asokadatta heard this, he agreed to come there on that night, and
took leave of that Rákshasí, and went first to his father's house. And
just as he was gladdening by his unexpected arrival his parents, who
were grieved by such an absence of his, which doubled their grief for
their separation from their younger son, the king his father-in-law,
who had heard of his arrival, came in. The king indulged in a long
outburst of joy, embracing him who bent before him, with limbs the
hairs of which stood on end like thorns, as if terrified at touching
one so daring. [406] Then Asokadatta entered with him the palace of
the king, like joy incarnate in bodily form, and he gave to the king
those two anklets matched together, which so to speak praised his
valour with their tinkling, and he bestowed on that king the beautiful
golden lotus, as it were the lotus, with which the presiding Fortune
of the Rákshasas' treasure plays, torn, from her hand; then being
questioned out of curiosity by the king and queen he told the story
of his exploits, which poured nectar into their ears. The king then
exclaimed--"Is glittering glory, which astonishes the mind by the
description of wonderful exploits, ever obtained without a man's
bringing himself to display boldness?" Thus the king spake on that
occasion, and he and the queen, who had obtained the pair of anklets,
considered their object in life attained, now that they had such a
son-in-law. And then that palace, resounding with festal instruments,
appeared as if it were chanting the virtues of Asokadatta. And on
the next day the king dedicated the golden lotus in a temple made
by himself, placing it upon a beautiful silver vessel; and the two
together, the vessel and the lotus, gleamed white and red like the
glory of the king and the might [407] of Asokadatta. And beholding them
thus, the king, a devout worshipper of Siva, with eyes expanded with
joy, spoke inspired with the rapture of adoration, "Ah! this lofty
vessel appears, with this lotus upon it, like Siva white with ashes,
with his auburn matted locks. If I had a second golden lotus like
it, I would place it in this second silver vessel." When Asokadatta
heard this speech of the king's, he said, "I, king, will bring you
a second golden lotus;" when the king heard that, he answered him,
"I have no need of another lotus, a truce to your temerity!" Then as
days went on, Asokadatta being desirous of bringing a golden lotus,
the fourteenth day of the black fortnight returned; and that evening
the sun, the golden lotus of the sky-lake, went to the mountain of
setting, as if out of fear, knowing his desire for a golden lotus;
and when the shades of night, brown as smoke, began immediately to
spread everywhere like Rákshasas, proud of having swallowed the red
clouds of evening as if they were raw flesh, and the mouth of night,
like that of an awful female goblin, began to yawn, shining and
terrible as tamála, full of flickering flames, [408] Asokadatta of
his own accord left the palace where the princess was asleep, and
again went to that cemetery. There he beheld at the foot of that
banyan-tree his mother-in-law the Rákshasí, who had again come,
and who received him with a courteous welcome, and with her the
youth went again to her home, the peak of the Himálayas, where his
wife was anxiously awaiting him. And after he had remained some time
with his wife, he said to his mother-in-law, "Give me a second golden
lotus from somewhere or other." When she heard that, she said to him,
"Whence can I procure another golden lotus? But there is a lake here
belonging to our king Kapálasphota, where golden lotuses of this
kind grow on all sides. From that lake he gave that one lotus to my
husband as a token of affection." When she said this, he answered
her, "Then take me to that lake, in order that I may myself take a
golden lotus from it." She then attempted to dissuade him saying,
"It is impossible; for the lake is guarded by terrible Rákshasas;"
but nevertheless he would not desist from his importunity. Then at last
his mother-in-law was with much difficulty induced to take him there,
and he beheld from afar that heavenly lake on the plateau of a lofty
mountain, covered with dense and tall-stalked lotuses of gleaming gold,
as if from continually facing the sun's rays they had drunk them in,
and so become interpenetrated with them.

So he went there and began to gather the lotuses, and while he was
thus engaged, the terrible Rákshasas, who guarded it, endeavoured to
prevent him from doing so. And being armed he killed some of them,
but the others fled and told their king Kapálasphota, [409] and when
that king of the Rákshasas heard of it, he was enraged and came there
himself, and saw Asokadatta with the lotuses he had carried off. And in
his astonishment he exclaimed as he recognised his brother: "What! is
this my brother Asokadatta come here?" Then he flung away his weapon,
and with his eyes washed with tears of joy, he quickly ran and fell at
his feet, and said to him: "I am Vijayadatta, your younger brother,
we are both the sons of that excellent Bráhman Govindasvámin. And by
the appointment of destiny, I became a Rákshasa such as you see, and
have continued such for this long time, and I am called Kapálasphota
from my cleaving the skull on the funeral pyre.

"But now from seeing you I have remembered my former Bráhman nature,
and that Rákshasa nature of mine, that clouded my mind with delusion,
has left me." When Vijayadatta said this, Asokadatta embraced him,
and so to speak, washed with copious tears of joy his body defiled by
the Rákshasa nature. And while he was thus engaged, there descended
from heaven by divine command the spiritual guide of the Vidyádharas,
named Kausika. And he approaching these two brothers, said, "You
and your family are all Vidyádharas, who have been reduced to this
state by a curse, and now the curse of all of you has terminated. So
receive these sciences, which belong to you, and which you must share
with your relations. And return to your own proper dwelling taking
with you your relations." Having said this, the spiritual guide,
after bestowing the sciences on them, ascended to heaven.

And they, having become Vidyádharas, awoke from their long dream,
and went through the air to that peak of the Himálayas, taking with
them the golden lotuses, and there Asokadatta repaired to his wife
the daughter of the king of the Rákshasas, and then her curse came
to an end, and she became a Vidyádharí. And those two brothers went
in a moment with that fair-eyed one to Benares, travelling through
the air. And there they visited their parents, who were scorched with
the fire of separation, and refreshed them by pouring upon them the
revivifying nectar of their own appearance. And those two, who, without
changing the body, had gone through such wonderful transformations,
produced joy not only in their parents, but in the people at large. And
when Vijayadatta's father, after so long a separation, folded him
in a close embrace, he filled full not only his arms, but also his
desire. Then the king Pratápamukuta, the father-in-law of Asokadatta,
hearing of it, came there in high delight; and Asokadatta, being
kindly received by the king, entered with his relations the king's
palace, in which his beloved was anxiously awaiting him, and which
was in a state of festal rejoicing. And he gave many golden lotuses
to that king, and the king was delighted at getting more than he had
asked for. Then Vijayadatta's father Govindasvámin, full of wonder
and curiosity, said to him in the presence of all: "Tell me, my son,
what sort of adventures you had, after you had become a Rákshasa in the
cemetery during the night." Then Vijayadatta said to him--"My father,
when in my reckless frivolity I had cloven the burning skull on the
funeral pyre, as fate would have it, I immediately, as you saw, became
a Rákshasa by its brains having entered my mouth, being bewildered
with delusion. Then I was summoned by the other Rákshasas, who gave
me the name of Kapálasphota, and I joined them. And then I was led
by them to their sovereign the king of the Rákshasas, and he, when he
saw me, was pleased with me and appointed me commander-in-chief. And
once on a time that king of the Rákshasas went in his infatuation to
attack the Gandharvas, and was there slain in battle by his foes. And
then his subjects accepted my rule, so I dwelt in his city and ruled
those Rákshasas, and while I was there, I suddenly beheld that elder
brother of mine Asokadatta, who had come for golden lotuses, and the
sight of him put a stop to that Rákshasa nature in me. What follows,
how we were released from the power of the curse, and thereby recovered
our sciences, [410] all this my elder brother will relate to you." When
Vijayadatta had told this story, Asokadatta began to tell his from the
beginning: "Long ago we were Vidyádharas, and from the heaven we beheld
the daughters of the hermits bathing in the Ganges near the hermitage
of Gálava, [411] and then we fell suddenly in love with them, and
they returned our affection; all this took place in secret, but their
relations, who possessed heavenly insight, found it out and cursed
us in their anger: 'May you two wicked ones be born both of you to a
mortal woman, and then you shall be separated in a marvellous manner,
but when the second of you shall behold the first arrived in a distant
land, inaccessible to man, and shall recognise him, then you shall
have your magic knowledge restored to you by the spiritual preceptor
of the Vidyádharas, and you shall again become Vidyádharas, released
from the curse and re-united to your friends.' Having been cursed in
this way by those hermits, we were both born here in this land, and
you know the whole story of our separation, and now by going to the
city of the king of the Rákshasas, by virtue of my mother-in-law's
magic power, to fetch the golden lotuses, I have found this younger
brother of mine. And in that very place we obtained the sciences from
our preceptor Prajnaptikausika, and suddenly becoming Vidyádharas
we have quickly arrived here." Thus Asokadatta spoke, and then that
hero of various adventures, delighted at having escaped the darkness
of the curse, bestowed on his parents and his beloved, the daughter
of the king, his own wonderful sciences of many kinds, so that their
minds were suddenly awakened, and they became Vidyádharas. Then the
happy hero took leave of the king, and with his brother, his parents,
and his two wives, flew up, and quickly reached through the air the
palace of his emperor. There he beheld him, and received his orders,
and so did his brother, and he bore henceforth the name of Asokavega,
and his brother of Vijayavega. And both the brothers, having become
noble Vidyádhara youths, went, accompanied by their relations,
to the splendid mountain named Govindakúta, which now became their
home. And Pratápamukuta the king of Benares, overpowered by wonder,
placed one of the golden lotuses in the second vessel in his temple,
and offered to Siva the other golden lotuses presented by Asokadatta,
and delighted with the honour of his connexion, considered his family
highly fortunate.

"Thus divine persons become incarnate for some reason, and are born
in this world of men, and possessing their native virtue and courage,
attain successes which it is hard to win. So I am persuaded that you, O
sea of courage, are some portion of a divinity, and will attain success
as you desire; daring in achievements hard to accomplish even by the
great, generally indicates a surpassingly excellent nature. Moreover
the princess Kanakarekhá, whom you love, must surely be a heavenly
being, otherwise being a mere child how could she desire a husband
that has seen the Golden City?" Having heard in secret this long and
interesting story from Vishnudatta, Saktideva desiring in his heart to
behold the Golden City, and supporting himself with resolute patience,
managed to get through the night.


The next morning, while Saktideva was dwelling in the monastery in
the island of Utsthala, Satyavrata, the king of the fishermen, came to
him, and said to him in accordance with the promise which he had made
before, "Bráhman, I have thought of a device for accomplishing your
wish; there is a fair isle in the middle of the sea named Ratnakúta,
and in it there is a temple of the adorable Vishnu founded by the
Ocean, and on the twelfth day of the white fortnight of Áshádha there
is a festival there with a procession, and people come there diligently
from all the islands to offer worship. It is possible that some one
there might know about the Golden City, so come let us go there,
for that day is near." When Satyavrata made this proposal, Saktideva
consented gladly, and took with him the provisions for the journey
furnished by Vishnudatta. Then he went on board the ship brought by
Satyavrata, and quickly set out with him on the ocean-path, and as
he was going with Satyavrata on the home of marvels [412] in which
the monsters resembled islands, he asked the king, who was steering
the ship, "What is this enormous object which is seen in the sea far
off in this direction, looking like a huge mountain equipped with
wings rising at will out of the sea?" Then Satyavrata said: "Bráhman,
this is a banyan-tree, [413] underneath it they say that there is
a gigantic whirlpool, the mouth of the submarine fire. And we must
take care in passing this way to avoid that spot, for those who once
enter that whirlpool never return again." While Satyavrata was thus
speaking, the ship began to be carried in that very direction by the
force of the wind; [414] when Satyavrata saw this, he again said to
Saktideva: "Bráhman, it is clear that the time of our destruction
has now arrived, for see, this ship suddenly drifts [415] in that
direction. And now I cannot anyhow prevent it, so we are certain
to be cast into that deep whirlpool, as into the mouth of death,
by the sea which draws us on as if it were mighty fate, the result
of our deeds. And it grieves me not for myself, for whose body is
continuing? But it grieves me to think that your desire has not been
accomplished in spite of all your toils, so while I keep back this
ship for a moment, quickly climb on to the boughs of this banyan-tree,
perhaps some expedient may present itself for saving the life of one
of such noble form, for who can calculate the caprices of fate or
the waves of the sea?" While the heroic Satyavrata was saying this,
the ship drew near the tree; at that moment Saktideva made a leap
in his terror, and caught a broad branch of that marine banyan-tree,
[416] but Satyavrata's body and ship, which he offered for another,
were swept down into the whirlpool, and he entered the mouth of the
submarine fire. But Saktideva, though he had escaped to the bough of
that tree, which filled the regions with its branches, was full of
despair and reflected--"I have not beheld that Golden City, and I am
perishing in an uninhabited place, moreover I have also brought about
the death of that king of the fishermen. Or rather who can resist the
awful goddess of Destiny, that ever places her foot upon the heads of
all men?" [417] While the Bráhman youth was thus revolving thoughts
suited to the occasion on the trunk of the tree, the day came to an
end. And in the evening he saw many enormous birds, of the nature of
vultures, coming into that banyan-tree from all quarters, filling the
sides of heaven with their cries, and the waves of the sea, that was
lashed by the wind of their broad wings, appeared as if running to
meet them out of affection produced by long acquaintance.

Then he, concealed by the dense leaves, overheard the conversation of
those birds perched on the branches, which was carried on in human
language. One described some distant island, another a mountain,
another a distant region as the place where he had gone to roam
during the day, but an old bird among them said, "I went to-day to
the Golden City to disport myself, and to-morrow morning I shall go
there again to feed at my ease, for what is the use of my taking a
long and fatiguing journey?" Saktideva's sorrow was removed by that
speech of the bird's, which resembled a sudden shower of nectar, and
he thought to himself, "Bravo! that city does exist, and now I have an
instrument for reaching it, this gigantic bird given me as a means of
conveyance." Thinking thus, Saktideva slowly advanced and hid himself
among the back-feathers of that bird while it was asleep, and next
morning, when the other birds went off in different directions, that
vulture exhibiting a strange partiality to the Bráhman like destiny,
[418] carrying Saktideva unseen on his back where he had climbed up,
went immediately to the Golden City to feed again. [419] Then the bird
alighted in a garden, and Saktideva got down from its back unobserved
and left it, but while he was roaming about there, he saw two women
engaged in gathering flowers; he approached them slowly, who were
astonished at his appearance, and he asked them, "What place is this,
good ladies, and who are you?" And they said to him: "Friend, this
is a city called the Golden City, a seat of the Vidyádharas, and in
it there dwells a Vidyádharí, named Chandraprabhá, and know that we
are the gardeners in her garden, and we are gathering these flowers
for her." Then the Bráhman said; "Obtain for me an interview with
your mistress here." When they heard this, they consented, and the
two women conducted the young man to the palace in their city. When
he reached it, he saw that it was glittering with pillars of precious
stones, and had walls of gold, [420] as it were the very rendezvous of
prosperity. And all the attendants, when they saw him arrived there,
went and told Chandraprabhá the marvellous tidings of the arrival of
a mortal; then she gave a command to the warder, and immediately had
the Bráhman brought into the palace and conducted into her presence;
when he entered, he beheld her there giving a feast to his eyes,
like the Creator's ability to create marvels, represented in bodily
form. And she rose from her jewelled couch, while he was still far off,
and honoured him with a welcome herself, overpowered by beholding
him. And when he had taken a seat, she asked him, "Auspicious sir,
who are you, that have come here in such guise, and how did you
reach this land inaccessible to men?" When Chandraprabhá in her
curiosity asked him this question, Saktideva told her his country
and his birth and his name, and he related to her how he had come in
order to obtain the princess Kanakarekhá as the reward of beholding
the Golden City. When Chandraprabhá heard that, she thought a little
and heaved a deep sigh, and said to Saktideva in private; "Listen,
I am now about to tell you something, fortunate sir. There is in this
land a king of the Vidyádharas named Sasikhanda, and we four daughters
were born to him in due course; I am the eldest Chandraprabhá, and
the next is Chandrarekhá, and the third is Sasirekhá and the fourth
Sasiprabhá. We gradually grew up to womanhood in our father's house,
and once upon a time those three sisters of mine went together to the
shore of the Ganges to bathe, while I was detained at home by illness;
then they began to play in the water, and in the insolence of youth
they sprinkled with water a hermit named Agryatapas, while he was
in the stream. That hermit in his wrath cursed those girls, who had
carried their merriment too far, saying:--"You wicked maidens, be born
all of you in the world of mortals." When our father heard that, he
went and pacified the great hermit, and the hermit told how the curse
of each of them severally should end, and appointed to each of them
in her mortal condition the power of remembering her former existence,
supplemented with divine insight. Then, they having left their bodies
and gone to the world of men, my father bestowed on me this city,
and in his grief went to the forest, but while I was dwelling here,
the goddess Durgá informed me in a dream that a mortal should become my
husband. For this reason, though my father has recommended to me many
Vidyádhara suitors, I have rejected them all and remained unmarried
up to this day. But now I am subdued by your wonderful arrival and
by your handsome form, and I give myself to you; so I will go on
the approaching fourteenth day of the lunar fortnight to the great
mountain called Rishabha to entreat my father for your sake, for
all the most excellent Vidyádharas assemble there from all quarters
on that day to worship the god Siva, and my father comes there too,
and after I have obtained his permission, I will return here quickly;
then marry me. Now rise up."

Having said this, Chandraprabhá supplied Saktideva with various kinds
of luxuries suited to Vidyádharas, and while he remained there,
he was as much refreshed, as one heated by a forest conflagration
would be by bathing in a lake of nectar. And when the fourteenth day
had arrived, Chandraprabhá said to him: "To-day I go to entreat my
father's permission to marry you, and all my attendants will go with
me. But you must not be grieved at being left alone for two days,
moreover, while you remain alone in this palace, you must by no means
ascend the middle terrace." When Chandraprabhá had said this to that
young Bráhman, she set out on her journey leaving her heart with him,
and escorted on her way by his. And Saktideva, remaining there alone,
wandered from one magnificent part of the palace to another, to delight
his mind; and then he felt a curiosity to know why that daughter of the
Vidyádhara had forbidden him to ascend the roof of the palace, and so
he ascended that middle terrace of the palace, for men are generally
inclined to do that which is forbidden: and when he had ascended it, he
saw three concealed pavilions, and he entered one of them, the door of
which was open, and when he had entered it he saw a certain woman lying
on a magnificently jewelled sofa, on which there was a mattress placed,
whose body was hidden by a sheet. But when he lifted up the sheet and
looked, he beheld lying dead in that guise that beautiful maiden, the
daughter of king Paropakárin; and when he saw her there, he thought,
"What is this great wonder? Is she sleeping a sleep from which there
is no awaking, or is it a complete delusion on my part? That woman,
for whose sake I have travelled to this foreign land, is lying here
without breath, though she is alive in my own country, and she still
retains her beauty unimpaired, so I may be certain that this is all
a magic show, which the Creator for some reason or other exhibits
to beguile me." Thinking thus, he proceeded to enter in succession
those other two pavilions, and he beheld within them in the same
way two other maidens; then he went in his astonishment out of the
palace, and sitting down he remained looking at a very beautiful
lake below it, and on its bank he beheld a horse with a jewelled
saddle; so he descended immediately from where he was, and out of
curiosity approached its side; and seeing that it had no rider on it,
he tried to mount it, and that horse struck him with its heel and
flung him into the lake. And after he had sunk beneath the surface
of the lake, he quickly rose up to his astonishment from the middle
of a garden-lake in his own city of Vardhamána; and he saw himself
suddenly standing in the water of a lake in his own native city, like
the kumuda plants, miserable without the light of the moon. [421] He
reflected "How different is this city of Vardhamána from that city
of the Vidyádharas! Alas! what is this great display of marvellous
delusion? Alas! I, ill-fated wretch, am wonderfully deceived by some
strange power; or rather, who on this earth knows what is the nature
of destiny?" Thus reflecting Saktideva rose from the midst of the lake,
and went in a state of wonder to his own father's house. There he made
a false representation, giving as an excuse for his absence that he
had been himself going about with a drum, and being gladly welcomed
by his father he remained with his delighted relations; and on the
second day he went outside his house, and heard again these words
being proclaimed in the city by beat of drum,--"Let whoever, being
a Bráhman or a Kshatriya, has really seen the Golden City, say so:
the king will give him his daughter, and make him crown-prince." Then
Saktideva hearing that, having successfully accomplished the task,
again went and said to those who were proclaiming this by beat of
drum,--"I have seen that city." And they took him before that king, and
the king recognising him, supposed that he was again saying what was
untrue, as he had done before. But he said--"If I say what is false,
and if I have not really seen that city, I desire now to be punished
with death; let the princess herself examine me." When he said this,
the king went and had his daughter summoned by his servants. She,
when she saw that Bráhman, whom she had seen before, again said to
the king; "My father, he will tell us some falsehood again." Then
Saktideva said to her,--"Princess, whether I speak truly or falsely,
be pleased to explain this point which excites my curiosity. How is
it that I saw you lying dead on a sofa in the golden city, and yet
see you here alive?" When the princess Kanakarekhá had been asked
this question by Saktideva, and furnished with this token of his
truth, she said in the presence of her father: "It is true that this
great-hearted one has seen that city, and in a short time he will be
my husband, when I return to dwell there. And there he will marry
my other three sisters; and he will govern as king the Vidyádharas
in that city. But I must to-day enter my own body and that city, for
I have been born here in your house owing to the curse of a hermit,
who moreover appointed that my curse should end in the following way,
'When you shall be wearing a human form, and a man, having beheld your
body in the Golden City, shall reveal the truth, then you shall be
freed from your curse, and that man shall become your husband.' And
though I am in a human body I remember my origin, and I possess
supernatural knowledge, so I will now depart to my own Vidyádhara
home, to a happy fortune." Saying this the princess left her body,
and vanished, and a confused cry arose in the palace. And Saktideva,
who had now lost both the maidens, thinking over the two beloved ones
whom he had gained by various difficult toils, and who yet were not
gained, and not only grieved but blaming himself, with his desires not
accomplished, left the king's palace and in a moment went through the
following train of thought: "Kanakarekhá said that I should attain
my desire; so why do I despond, for success depends upon courage? I
will again go to the Golden City by the same path, and destiny will
without doubt again provide me with a means of getting there." Thus
reflecting Saktideva set out from that city, for resolute men who
have once undertaken a project do not turn back without accomplishing
their object. And journeying on, he again reached after a long time
that city named Vitankapura, situated on the shore of the sea. And
there he saw the merchant coming to meet him, with whom he originally
went to sea, and whose ship was wrecked there. He thought, "Can this
be Samudradatta, and how can he have escaped after falling into the
sea? But how can it be otherwise? I myself am a strange illustration
of its possibility." While he approached the merchant thinking thus,
the merchant recognised him, and embraced him in his delight, and he
took him to his own house and after entertaining him, asked him--"When
the ship foundered, how did you escape from the sea?" Saktideva then
told him his whole history, how, after being swallowed by a fish,
he first reached the island of Utsthala, and then he asked the good
merchant in his turn: "Tell me also how you escaped from the sea." Then
the merchant said, "After I fell into the sea that time, I remained
floating for three days supported on a plank. Then a ship suddenly came
that way, and I, crying out, was descried by those in her, and taken on
board her. And when I got on board, I saw my own father who had gone
to a distant island long before, and was now returning after a long
absence. My father, when he saw me, recognised me, and embracing me
asked my story with tears, and I told it him as follows--'My father,
you had been away for a long time and had not returned, and so I set
about trading myself, thinking it was my proper employment; then on
my way to a distant island my ship was wrecked, and I was plunged
in the sea, and you have found me and rescued me.' When I had said
this to him, my father asked me reproachfully--'Why do you run such
risks? For I possess wealth, my son, and I am engaged in acquiring
it, see, I have brought you back this ship full of gold.' Thus spoke
my father to me, and comforting me took me home in that very ship
to my own dwelling in Vitankapura." When Saktideva had heard this
account from the merchant, and had rested that night, he said to him
on the next day--"Great merchant, I must once more go to the island
of Utsthala, so tell me how I can get there now." The merchant said
to him--"Some agents of mine are preparing to go there to-day, so
go on board the ship, and set out with them." Thereupon the Bráhman
set out with the merchant's agents to go to that island of Utsthala,
and by chance the sons of the king of the fishermen saw him there,
and when they were near him, they recognised him and said,--"Bráhman,
you went with our father to search here and there for the Golden
City, and how is it that you have come back here to-day alone?" Then
Saktideva said, "Your father, when out at sea, fell into the mouth
of the submarine fire, his ship having been dragged down by the
current." When those sons of the fisher-king heard that, they were
angry and said to their servants--"Bind this wicked man, for he has
murdered our father. Otherwise how could it have happened that, when
two men were in the same ship, one should have fallen into the mouth
of the submarine fire, and the other escaped it. So we must to-morrow
morning sacrifice our father's murderer in front of the goddess Durgá,
treating him as a victim." Having said this to their servants, those
sons of the fisher-king bound Saktideva, and took him off to the awful
temple of Durgá, the belly of which was enlarged, as if it continually
swallowed many lives, and which was like the mouth of death devouring
tamála with projecting teeth. There Saktideva remained bound during
the night in fear for his life, and he thus prayed to the goddess
Durgá,--"Adorable one, granter of boons, thou didst deliver the world
with thy form which was like the orb of the rising sun, appearing as
if it had drunk its fill of the blood gushing freely from the throat
of the giant Ruru; [422] therefore deliver me, thy constant votary,
who have come a long distance out of desire to obtain my beloved,
but am now fallen without cause into the power of my enemies." Thus
he prayed to the goddess, and with difficulty went off to sleep,
and in the night he saw a woman come out of the inner cell of the
temple; that woman of heavenly beauty came up to him, and said with a
compassionate manner, "Do not fear, Saktideva, no harm shall happen
to you. The sons of that fisher-king have a sister named Vindumatí,
that maiden shall see you in the morning and claim you for a husband,
and you must agree to that, she will bring about your deliverance:
and she is not of the fisher-caste: for she is a celestial female
degraded in consequence of a curse." When he heard this, he woke up,
and in the morning that fisher-maiden came to the temple, a shower of
nectar to his eyes. And announcing herself, she came up to him and
said in her eagerness, "I will have you released from this prison,
therefore do what I desire. For I have refused all these suitors
approved of by my brothers, but the moment I saw you, love arose in
my soul, therefore marry me." When Vindumatí, the daughter of the
fisher-king, said this to him, Saktideva remembering his dream,
accepted her proposal gladly; she procured his release, and he
married that fair one, whose wish was gratified by her brothers
receiving the command to do so from Durgá in a dream. And he lived
there with that heavenly creature that had assumed a human form,
obtained solely by his merits in a former life, as if with happy
success. And one day, as he was standing upon the roof of his palace,
he saw a Chandála coming along with a load of cow's flesh, and he
said to his beloved--"Look, slender one! how can this evildoer eat
the flesh of cows, those animals that are the object of veneration to
the three worlds?" Then Vindumatí, hearing that, said to her husband;
"The wickedness of this act is inconceivable, what can we say in
palliation of it. I have been born in this race of fishermen for a
very small offence owing to the might of cows, but what can atone for
this man's sin?" When she said this, Saktideva said to her;--"That
is wonderful: tell me, my beloved, who you are, and how you came
to be born in a family of fishermen." When he asked this with much
importunity, she said to him, "I will tell you, though it is a secret,
if you promise to do what I ask you." He affirmed with an oath;
"Yes, I will do what you ask me."

She then told him first what she desired him to do; "In this island you
will soon marry another wife, and she, my husband, will soon became
pregnant, and in the eighth month of her pregnancy you must cut her
open and take out the child, and you must feel no compunction about
it." Thus she said, and he was astonished, exclaiming, "What can this
mean?" and he was full of horror, but that daughter of the fisher-king
went on to say, "This request of mine you must perform for a certain
reason; now hear who I am, and how I came to be born in a family of
fishermen. Long ago in a former birth I was a certain Vidyádharí, and
now I have fallen into the world of men in consequence of a curse. For
when I was a Vidyádharí, I bit asunder some strings with my teeth
and fastened them to lyres, and it is owing to that that I have been
born here in the house of a fisherman. So, if such a degradation is
brought about by touching the mouth with the dry sinew of a cow, much
more terrible must be the result of eating cow's flesh!" While she was
saying this, one of her brothers rushed in in a state of perturbation,
and said to Saktideva, "Rise up, an enormous boar has appeared from
somewhere or other, and after slaying innumerable persons is coming
this way in its pride, towards us." When Saktideva heard that, he
descended from his palace, and mounting a horse, spear in hand,
[423] he galloped to meet the boar, and struck it the moment he
saw it, but when the hero attacked him the boar fled, and managed,
though wounded, to enter a cavern: and Saktideva entered there in
pursuit of him, and immediately beheld a great garden-shrubbery with
a house. And when he was there, he beheld a maiden of very wonderful
beauty, coming in a state of agitation to meet him, as if it were
the goddess of the wood advancing to receive him out of love.

And he asked her,--"Auspicious lady, who are you, and why are you
perturbed?"--Hearing that, the lovely one thus answered him; "There is
a king of the name of Chandavikrama, lord of the southern region. I
am his daughter, auspicious sir, a maiden named Vindurekhá. But a
wicked Daitya, with flaming eyes, carried me off by treachery from my
father's house to-day, and brought me here. And he, desiring flesh,
assumed the form of a boar, and sallied out, but while he was still
hungry, he was pierced with a spear to-day by some hero; and as soon
as he was pierced, he came in here and died. And I rushed out and
escaped without being outraged by him." Then Saktideva said to her,
"Then why all this perturbation? For I slew that boar with a spear,
princess." Then she said, "Tell me who you are," and he answered her
"I am a Bráhman named Saktideva." Then she said to him, "You must
accordingly become my husband," and the hero consenting went out
of the cavern with her. And when he arrived at home, he told it to
his wife Vindumatí, and with her consent he married that princess
Vindurekhá. So, while Saktideva was living there with his two wives,
one of his wives Vindurekhá became pregnant; and in the eighth
month of her pregnancy, the first wife Vindumatí came up to him of
her own accord and said to him, "Hero, remember what you promised
me; this is the eighth month of the pregnancy of your second wife:
so go and cut her open and bring the child here, for you cannot act
contrary to your own word of honour." When she said this to Saktideva,
he was bewildered by affection and compassion; but being bound by
his promise he remained for a short time unable to give an answer;
at last he departed in a state of agitation and went to Vindurekhá;
and she seeing him come with troubled air, said to him, "Husband, why
are you despondent to-day? Surely I know; you have been commissioned
by Vindumatí to take out the child with which I am pregnant; and
that you must certainly do, for there is a certain object in view,
and there is no cruelty in it, so do not feel compunction; in proof
of it, hear the following story of Devadatta."

Story of Devadatta.

Long ago there lived in the city of Kambuka a Bráhman named Haridatta;
and the son of that auspicious man, who was named Devadatta, though
he studied in his boyhood, was, as a young man, exclusively addicted
to the vice of gaming. As he had lost his clothes and everything
by gambling, he was not able to return to his father's house, so he
entered once on a time an empty temple. And there he saw alone a great
ascetic, named Jálapáda, who had attained many objects by magic, and
he was muttering spells in a corner. So he went up to him slowly and
bowed before him, and the ascetic, abandoning his habit of not speaking
to any one, greeted him with a welcome; and after he had remained there
a moment, the ascetic, seeing his trouble, asked him the cause, and he
told him of his affliction produced by the loss of his wealth, which
had been dissipated in gambling. Then the ascetic said to Devadatta;
"My child, there is not wealth enough in the whole world to satisfy
gamblers; but if you desire to escape from your calamity, do what
I tell you, for I have made preparations to attain the rank of a
Vidyádhara; so help me to accomplish this, O man of fortunate destiny,
[424] you have only to obey my orders and then your calamities will
be at an end." When the ascetic said this to him, Devadatta promised
to obey him, and immediately took up his residence with him. And the
next day the ascetic went into a corner of the cemetery and performed
worship by night under a banyan-tree, and offered rice boiled in
milk, and flung portions of the oblation towards the four cardinal
points, after worshipping them, and said to the Bráhman who was in
attendance on him; "You must worship here in this style every day,
and say 'Vidyutprabhá, accept this worship.' And then I am certain
that we shall both attain our ends;" having said this the ascetic went
with him to his own house. Then Devadatta, consenting, went every day
and duly performed worship at the foot of that tree, according to his
instructions. And one day, at the end of his worship, the tree suddenly
clave open, and a heavenly nymph came out of it before his eyes,
and said, "My good sir, my mistress summons you to come to her." And
then she introduced him into the middle of that tree. When he entered
it, he beheld a heavenly palace made of jewels, and a beautiful lady
within it reclining upon a sofa. And he immediately thought--"This
may be the success of our enterprise incarnate in bodily form,"
but while he was thinking thus, that beautiful lady, receiving him
graciously, rose with limbs on which the ornaments rang as if to
welcome him, and seated him on her own sofa. And she said to him,
"Illustrious sir, I am the maiden daughter of a king of the Yakshas,
named Ratnavarsha, and I am known by the name of Vidyutprabhá; and
this great ascetic Jálapáda was endeavouring to gain my favour, to
him I will give the attainment of his ends, but you are the lord of
my life. So, as you see my affection, marry me." When she said this,
Devadatta consented, and did so. And he remained there some time,
but when she became pregnant, he went to the great ascetic with the
intention of returning, and in a state of terror he told him all that
had happened, and the ascetic, desiring his own success, said to him,
"My good sir, you have acted quite rightly, but go and cut open that
Yakshí and taking out the embryo, bring it quickly here." The ascetic
said this to him, and then reminded him of his previous promise,
and being dismissed by him, the Bráhman returned to his beloved, and
while he stood there despondent with reflecting on what he had to do,
the Yakshí Vidyutprabhá of her own accord said to him;--"My husband,
why are you cast down? I know, Jálapáda has ordered you to cut me open,
so cut me open and take out this child, and if you refuse, I will do
it myself, for there is an object in it." Though she said this to him,
the Bráhman could not bring himself to do it, then she cut herself
open and took out the child, and flung it down before him and said,
"Take this, which will enable him who consumes it, to obtain the rank
of a Vidyádhara. But I, though properly a Vidyádharí, have been born as
a Yakshí owing to a curse, and this is the appointed end of my curse,
strange as it is, for I remember my former existence. Now I depart
to my proper home, but we two shall meet again in that place." Saying
this Vidyutprabhá vanished from his eyes. And Devadatta took the child
with sorrowful mind, and went to that ascetic Jálapáda, and gave it
to him, as that which would ensure the success of his incantations,
for good men do not even in calamity give way to selfishness. The great
ascetic divided the child's flesh, and sent Devadatta to the wood to
worship Durgá in her terrific form. And when the Bráhman came back
after presenting an oblation, he saw that the ascetic had made away
with all the flesh. And while he said--"What, have you consumed it
all?" the treacherous Jálapáda, having become a Vidyádhara, ascended
to heaven. When he had flown up, with sword blue as the sky, adorned
with necklace and bracelet, Devadatta reflected, "Alas! how I have
been deceived by this evil-minded one! Or rather on whom does not
excessive compliance entail misfortune? So how can I revenge myself
on him for this ill turn, and how can I reach him who has become
a Vidyádhara? Well! I have no other resource in this matter except
propitiating a Vetála." [425] After he had made up his mind to do this,
he went at night to the cemetery. There he summoned at the foot of
a tree a Vetála into the body of a man, and after worshipping him,
he made an oblation of human flesh to him. And as that Vetála was not
satisfied, and would not wait for him to bring more, he prepared to cut
off his own flesh in order to gratify him. And immediately that Vetála
said to that brave man;--"I am pleased with this courage of yours,
do not act recklessly. So, my good sir, what desire have you for me to
accomplish for you?" When the Vetála said this, the hero answered him;
"Take me to the dwelling-place of the Vidyádharas, where is the ascetic
Jálapáda, who deceives those that repose confidence in him, in order
that I may punish him." The Vetála consented, and placing him on his
shoulder, carried him through the air in a moment to the dwelling of
the Vidyádharas; and there he saw Jálapáda in a palace, seated on
a jewelled throne, elated at being a king among the Vidyádharas,
endeavouring by various speeches to induce that Vidyutprabhá,
[426] who had obtained the rank of a Vidyádharí, to marry him in
spite of her reluctance. And the moment that the young man saw him,
he attacked him with the help of the Vetála, being to the eyes of the
delighted Vidyutprabhá, what the moon, the repository of nectar, is to
the partridges. [427] And Jálapáda beholding him suddenly arrived in
this way, dropped his sword in his fright, and fell from his throne
on the floor. But Devadatta, though he had obtained his sword, did
not slay him, for the great-hearted feel pity even for their enemies
when they are terrified.

And when the Vetála wanted to kill him, he dissuaded him, and said,
"Of what use will it be to us to kill this miserable heretic? So
take him and place him in his own house on earth, it is better that
this wicked skull-bearing ascetic should remain there." At the very
moment that Devadatta was saying this, the goddess Durgá descended
from heaven and appeared to him, and said to him who bent before her,
"My son, I am satisfied with thee now, on account of this incomparable
courage of thine; so I give thee on the spot the rank of king of the
Vidyádharas." Having said this, she bestowed the magic sciences [428]
on him, and immediately disappeared. And the Vetála immediately took
Jálapáda, whose splendour fell from him, and placed him on earth;
(wickedness does not long ensure success;) and Devadatta accompanied
by Vidyutprabhá, having obtained that sovereignty of the Vidyádharas,
flourished in his kingdom.

Having told this story to her husband Saktideva, the softly-speaking
Vindurekhá again said to him with eagerness; "Such necessities
do arise, so cut out this child of mine as Vindumatí told you,
without remorse." When Vindurekhá said this, Saktideva was afraid
of doing wrong, but a voice sounded from heaven at this juncture,
"O Saktideva, take out this child without fear, and seize it by the
neck with your hand, then it will turn into a sword." Having heard this
divine voice, he cut her open; and quickly taking out the child, he
seized it by the throat with his hand; and no sooner did he seize it,
than it became a sword in his hand; like the long hair of Good Fortune
seized by him with an abiding grasp. Then that Bráhman quickly became
a Vidyádhara, and Vindurekhá that moment disappeared. And when he saw
that, he went, as he was, to his second wife Vindumatí, and told her
the whole story. She said to him, "My lord, we are three sisters,
the daughter of a king of the Vidyádharas, who have been banished
from Kanakapurí in consequence of a curse. The first was Kanakarekhá,
the termination of whose curse you beheld in the city of Vardhamána;
and she has gone to that city of hers, her proper home. For such
was the strange end of her curse, according to the dispensation of
fate, and I am the third sister, and now my curse is at an end. And
this very day I must go to that city of mine, my beloved, for there
our Vidyádhara bodies remain. And my elder sister, Chandraprabhá,
is dwelling there; so you also must come there quickly by virtue
of the magic power of your sword. And you shall rule in that city,
after obtaining all four of us as wives, bestowed upon you by our
father who has retired to the forest, and others in addition to us."

Thus Vindumatí declared the truth about herself, and Saktideva
consenting, went again to the City of Gold, this time through the
air, together with that Vindumatí. And when he arrived, he again saw
those three darlings of his bending before him, Kanakarekhá and the
others, after entering with their souls, as was fitting, those heavenly
female bodies, which he saw on a former occasion extended lifeless on
the couches in those three pavilions. And he saw that fourth sister
there, Chandraprabhá, who had performed auspicious ceremonies, and was
drinking in his form with an eye rendered eager by seeing him after
so long an absence. His arrival was joyfully hailed by the servants,
who were occupied in their several duties, as well as by the ladies,
and when he entered the private apartments, that Chandraprabhá said
to him--"Noble sir, here is that princess Kanakarekhá, who was seen
by you in the city of Vardhamána, my sister called Chandrarekhá. And
here is that daughter of the fisher king, Vindumatí, whom you first
married in the island of Utsthala, my sister Sasirekhá. And here
is my youngest sister Sasiprabhá, the princess who after that was
brought there by the Dánava, and then became your wife. So now come,
successful hero, with us into the presence of our father, and quickly
marry us all, when bestowed upon you by him."

When Chandraprabhá had swiftly and boldly uttered this decree of Cupid,
Saktideva went with those four to the recesses of the wood to meet
their father, and their father, the king of the Vidyádharas, having
been informed of the facts by all his daughters who bowed at his feet,
and also moved by a divine voice, with delighted soul gave them all at
once to Saktideva. Immediately after that, he bestowed on Saktideva
his opulent realm in the City of Gold, and all his magic sciences,
and he gave the successful hero his name, by which he was henceforth
known among his Vidyádharas. And he said to him; "No one else shall
conquer thee, but from the mighty lord of Vatsa there shall spring a
universal emperor, who shall reign among you here under the title of
Naraváhanadatta and be thy superior, to him alone wilt thou have to
submit." With these words the mighty lord of the Vidyádharas, named
Sasikhandapada, dismissed his son-in-law from the wood where he was
practising asceticism, after entertaining him kindly, that he might go
with his wives to his own capital. Then that Saktivega, having become
a king, entered the City of Gold, that glory of the Vidyádhara world,
proceeding thither with his wives. Living in that city, the palaces
of which gleamed with fabric of gold, which seemed on account of its
great height to be the condensed rays of the sun falling in brightness,
he enjoyed exceeding happiness with those fair-eyed wives, in charming
gardens, the lakes of which had steps made out of jewels.

Having thus related his wonderful history, the eloquent Saktivega
went on to say to the king of Vatsa, "Know me, O lord of Vatsa,
ornament of the lunar race, to be that very Saktideva come here,
full of desire to behold the two feet of your son who is just born,
and is destined to be our new emperor. Thus I have obtained, though
originally a man, the rank of sovereign among the Vidyádharas by the
favour of Siva: and now, O king, I return to my own home; I have seen
our future lord; may you enjoy unfailing felicity."

After finishing his tale, Saktivega said this with clasped hands,
and receiving permission to depart, immediately flew up into the sky
like the moon in brightness, and then the king of Vatsa in the company
of his wives, surrounded by his ministers, and with his young son,
enjoyed, in his own capital a state of indescribable felicity.



May the god with the face of an elephant, [429] who appears, with
his head bowed down and then raised, to be continually threatening
the hosts of obstacles, protect you.

I adore the god of Love, pierced with the showers of whose arrows even
the body of Siva seems to bristle with dense thorns, when embraced
by Umá.

Now hear the heavenly adventures which Naraváhanadatta, speaking of
himself in the third person, told from the very beginning, after
he had obtained the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas, and had been
questioned about the story of his life on some occasion or other by
the seven Rishis and their wives.

Then that Naraváhanadatta being carefully brought up by his father,
passed his eighth year. The prince lived at that time with the sons
of the ministers, being instructed in sciences, and sporting in
gardens. And the queen Vásavadattá and Padmávatí also on account of
their exceeding affection were devoted to him day and night. He was
distinguished by a body which was sprung from a noble stock, and bent
under the weight of his growing virtues, and gradually filled out,
as also by a bow which was made of a good bamboo, which bent as the
string rose, and slowly arched itself into a crescent. [430] And his
father the king of Vatsa spent his time in wishes for his marriage
and other happiness, delightful because so soon to bear fruit. Now
hear what happened at this point of the story.

Story of the merchant's son in Takshasilá.

There was once a city named Takshasilá [431] on the banks of the
Vitastá, the reflection of whose long line of palaces gleamed in
the waters of the river, as if it were the capital of the lower
regions come to gaze at its splendour. In it there dwelt a king named
Kalingadatta, a distinguished Buddhist, all whose subjects were devoted
to the great Buddha the bridegroom of Tárá. [432] His city shone with
splendid Buddhist temples densely crowded together, as if with the
horns of pride elevated because it had no rival upon earth. He not
only cherished his subjects like a father, but also himself taught
them knowledge like a spiritual guide. Moreover there was in that
city a certain rich Buddhist merchant called Vitastadatta, who was
exclusively devoted to the honouring of Buddhist mendicants. And he
had a son, a young man named Ratnadatta. And he was always expressing
his detestation of his father, calling him an impious man. And when
his father said to him, "Son, why do you blame me?"--the merchant's
son answered with bitter scorn, "My father, you abandon the religion
of the three Vedas and cultivate irreligion. For you neglect the
Bráhmans and are always honouring Sramanas. [433] What have you to
do with that Buddhist discipline, which all kinds of low-caste men
resort to, to gratify their desire to have a convent to dwell in,
released from bathing and other strict ordinances, loving to feed
whenever it is convenient, [434] rejecting the Bráhmanical lock and
other prescribed methods of doing the hair, quite at ease with only a
rag round their loins?" When the merchant heard that he said--"Religion
is not confined to one form; a transcendent religion is a different
thing from a religion that embraces the whole world. People say that
Bráhmanism too consists in avoiding passion and other sins, in truth,
and compassion to creatures, not in quarrelling causelessly with
one's relations. [435] Moreover you ought not to blame generally
that school which I follow, which extends security to all creatures,
on account of the fault of an individual. Nobody questions the
propriety of conferring benefits, and my beneficence consists
simply in giving security to creatures. So, if I take exceeding
pleasure in this system, the principal characteristic of which is
abstinence from injuring any creature, and which brings liberation,
wherein am I irreligious in doing so?" When his father said this
to him, that merchant's son obstinately refused to admit it, and
only blamed his father all the more. Then his father, in disgust,
went and reported the whole matter to the king Kalingadatta, who
superintended the religion of his people. The king, for his part,
summoned on some pretext the merchant's son into his judgement-hall,
and feigning an anger he did not feel, said to the executioner,
"I have heard that this merchant's son is wicked and addicted to
horrible crimes, so slay him without mercy as a corrupter of the
realm." When the king had said this, the father interceded, and then
the king appointed that the execution should be put off for two months,
in order that he might learn virtue, and entrusted the merchant's son
to the custody of his father, to be brought again into his presence at
the end of that time. The merchant's son, when he had been taken home
to his father's house, was distracted with fear, and kept thinking,
"What crime can I have committed against the king?" and pondering
over his causeless execution which was to take place at the end of two
months; and so he could get no sleep day or night, and was exhausted
by taking less than his usual food at all times. Then, the reprieve
of two months having expired, that merchant's son was again taken,
thin and pale, into the presence of the king. And the king seeing
him in such a depressed state said to him--"Why have you become so
thin? Did I order you not to eat?" When the merchant's son heard that,
he said to the king--"I forgot myself for fear, much more my food. Ever
since I heard your majesty order my execution, I have been thinking
every day of death slowly advancing." When the merchant's son said
this, the king said to him, "I have by an artifice made you teach
yourself what the fear of death is. [436] Such must be the fear which
every living creature entertains of death, and tell me what higher
piety can there be than the benefit of preserving creatures from
that? So I shewed you this in order that you might acquire religion
and the desire of salvation, [437] for a wise man being afraid of
death strives to attain salvation. Therefore you must not blame your
father who follows this religion." When the merchant's son heard this,
he bowed and said to the king--"Your majesty has made me a blessed man
by teaching me religion, and now a desire for salvation has arisen in
me, teach me that also, my lord." When the king heard that, as it was
a feast in the city, he gave a vessel full of oil into the hand of the
merchant's son and said to him, "Take this vessel in your hand and walk
all round this city, and you must avoid spilling a single drop of it,
my son; if you spill one drop of it, these men will immediately cut
you down." [438] Having said this, the king dismissed the merchant's
son to walk round the city, ordering men with drawn swords to follow
him. The merchant's son, in his fear, took care to avoid spilling a
drop of oil, and having perambulated that city with much difficulty,
returned into the presence of the king. The king, when he saw that
he had brought the oil without spilling it, said to him: "Did you
see any one to-day, as you went along in your perambulation of the
city?" When the merchant's son heard that, he clasped his hands,
and said to the king--"In truth, my lord, I neither saw nor heard
any thing, for at the time when I was perambulating the city I had
my undivided attention fixed on avoiding spilling a drop of oil, lest
the swords should descend upon me." When the merchant's son said this,
the king said to him; "Because your whole soul was intent on looking
at the oil, you saw nothing. So practise religious contemplation with
the same undivided attention. For a man, who with intent concentration
averts his attention from all outward operations, has intuition of the
truth, and after that intuition he is not entangled again in the meshes
of works. Thus I have given you in a compendious form instruction in
the doctrine of salvation." Thus the king spoke and dismissed him,
and the merchant's son fell at his feet and went home rejoicing to his
father's house, having attained all his objects. This Kalingadatta,
who superintended in this way the religion of his subjects, had a wife
named Tárádattá, of equal birth with the king, who being politic and
well-conducted, was such an ornament to the king as language is to
a poet, who delights in numerous illustrations. She was meritorious
for her bright qualities and was inseparable from that beloved king,
being to him what the moonlight is to the moon, the receptacle of
nectar. The king lived happily there with that queen, and passed his
days like Indra with Sachí in heaven.

Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá.

At this point of my tale Indra, for some cause or other, had a
great feast in heaven. All the Apsarases assembled there to dance,
except one beautiful Apsaras named Surabhidattá, who was not to be
seen there. Then Indra by his divine power of insight perceived her
associating in secret with a certain Vidyádhara in Nandana. When Indra
saw it, wrath arose in his bosom, and he thought--"Ah! these two,
blinded with love, are both wicked: the Apsaras, because forgetting
us she acts in a wilful manner, the Vidyádhara, because he enters the
domain of the gods and commits improprieties. Or rather, what fault
is that miserable Vidyádhara guilty of? For she has enticed him here,
ensnaring him with her beauty. A lovely one will sweep away with the
sea of her beauty, flowing between the lofty banks of her breasts,
even one who can restrain his passions. Was not even Siva disturbed
long ago when he beheld Tilottamá, whom the Creator made by taking an
atom from all the noblest beings? [439] And did not Visvámitra leave
his asceticism when he beheld Menaká? And did not Yayáti come to old
age for love of Sarmishtá? So this young Vidyádhara has committed no
crime in allowing himself to be allured by an Apsaras with her beauty,
which is able to bewilder the three worlds. [440] But this heavenly
nymph is in fault, wicked creature, void of virtue, who has deserted
the gods, and introduced this fellow into Nandana." Thus reflecting,
the lover of Ahalyá [441] spared the Vidyádhara youth, but cursed
that Apsaras in the following words: "Wicked one, take upon thyself
a mortal nature, but after thou hast obtained a daughter not sprung
from the womb, and hast accomplished the object of the gods, thou
shalt return to this heaven."

In the meanwhile Tárádattá, the consort of that king in the city
of Takshasilá, reached the period favourable for procreation. And
Surabhidattá, the Apsaras who had been degraded from heaven by the
curse of Indra, was conceived in her, giving beauty to her whole
body. Then Tárádattá beheld in a dream a flame descending from
heaven and entering into her womb; and in the morning she described
with astonishment her dream to her husband, the king Kalingadatta;
and he being pleased said to her,--"Queen, heavenly beings owing to
a curse fall into human births, so I am persuaded that this is some
divine being conceived in you. For beings, bound by various works,
good and evil, are ever revolving in the state of mundane existence
in these three worlds, to receive fruits blessed and miserable." When
the queen was thus addressed by the king, she took the opportunity of
saying to him; "It is true, actions, good and bad, have a wonderful
power, producing the perception of joy and sorrow, [442] and in proof
of it I will tell you this illustration, listen to me."

Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágasrí.

There once lived a king named Dharmadatta, the lord of Kosala; he had
a queen named Nágasrí, who was devoted to her husband and was called
Arundhatí on the earth, as, like her, she was the chief of virtuous
women. And in course of time, O slayer of your enemies, I was born
as the daughter of that king by that queen; then, while I was a mere
child, that mother of mine suddenly remembered her former birth and
said to her husband; "O king, I have suddenly to-day remembered my
former birth; it is disagreeable to me not to tell it, but if I do
tell it, it will cause my death, because they say that, if a person
suddenly remembers his or her former birth and tells it, it surely
brings death. Therefore, king, I feel excessively despondent." When
his queen said this to him, the king answered her; "My beloved, I, like
you, have suddenly remembered my former birth; therefore tell me yours,
and I will tell you mine, let what will be, be; for who can alter the
decree of fate." When thus urged by her husband, the queen said to him,
"If you press the matter, king, then I will tell you, listen.

"In my former birth I was a well-conducted female slave in this very
land, in the house of a certain Bráhman named Mádhava. And in that
birth I had a husband named Devadása, an excellent hired servant in
the house of a certain merchant. And so we two dwelled there, having
built a house that suited us, living on the cooked rice brought from
the houses of our respective masters. A water vessel and a pitcher,
a broom and a brazier, and I and my husband, formed three couples. We
lived happy and contented in our house into which the demon of
quarrelling never entered, eating the little food that remained over
after we had made offerings to the gods, the manes and guests.

"And any clothes which either of us had over, we gave to some poor
person or other. Then there arose a grievous famine in our country,
and owing to that the allowance of food, which we had to receive every
day, began to come to us in small quantities. Then our bodies became
attenuated by hunger, and we began to despond in mind, when once on a
time at meal-time there arrived a weary Bráhman guest. To him we both
gave all our own food, as much as we had, though we were in danger of
our lives. When the Bráhman had eaten and departed, my husband's breath
left him, as if angry that he respected a guest more than it. And then
I heaped up in honour of my husband a suitable pyre, and ascended it,
and so laid down the load of my own calamity. Then I was born in a
royal family, and I became your queen, for the tree of good deeds
produces to the righteous inconceivably glorious fruit." When his
queen said this to him, the king Dharmadatta said--"Come, my beloved,
I am that husband of thine in a former birth; I was that very Devadása
the merchant's servant, for I have remembered this moment this former
existence of mine." Having said this, and mentioned the tokens of
his own identity, the king, despondent and yet glad, suddenly went
with his queen to heaven.

"In this way my parents went to another world, and my mother's sister
brought me to her own house to rear me, and while I was unmarried,
there came there a certain Bráhman guest, and my mother's sister
ordered me to wait on him. And I diligently strove to please him
as Kuntí to please Durvásas, and owing to a boon conferred by him,
I obtained you, a virtuous husband. Thus good fortune is the result
of virtue, owing to which my parents were both born at the same time
in royal families, and also remembered their former birth." Having
heard this speech of the queen Tárádattá, the king Kalingadatta,
who was exclusively devoted to righteousness, answered her, "It is
true, a trifling act of righteousness duly performed will bring much
fruit, and in proof of this, O queen, hear the ancient tale of the
seven Bráhmans."

Story of the seven Bráhmans who devoured a cow in time of famine. [443]

Long ago, in a city called Kundina, a certain Bráhman teacher
had for pupils seven sons of Bráhmans. Then that teacher, under
pressure of famine, sent those pupils to ask his father-in-law,
who was rich in cows, to give him one. And those pupils of his went,
with their bellies pinched by hunger, to his father-in-law, who dwelt
in another land, and asked him, as their teacher had ordered them,
for a cow. He gave them one cow to support them, but the miserly
fellow did not give them food, though they were hungry. Then they
took the cow, and as they were returning and had accomplished half
the journey, being excessively pained by hunger, they fell exhausted
on the earth. They said--"Our teacher's house is far off, and we
are afflicted by calamity far from home, and food is hard to obtain
everywhere, so it is all over with our lives. And in the same way
this cow is certain to die in this wilderness without water, wood,
or human beings, and our teacher will not derive even the smallest
advantage from it. So let us support our lives with its flesh, and
quickly restore our teacher and his family with what remains over:
for it is a time of sore distress." Having thus deliberated, those
seven students treated that cow as a victim, and sacrificed it on the
spot according to the system prescribed in the sacred treatises. After
sacrificing to the gods and manes, and eating its flesh according to
the prescribed method, they went and took what remained of it to their
teacher. They bowed before him, and told him all that they had done,
to the letter, and he was pleased with them, because they told the
truth, though they had committed a fault. And after seven days they
died of famine, but because they told the truth on that occasion,
they were born again with the power of remembering their former birth.

"Thus even a small germ of merit, watered with the water of holy
aspiration, bears fruit to men in general, as a seed to cultivators,
but the same corrupted by the water of impure aspiration bears fruit in
the form of misfortune, and à propos of this I will tell you another
tale, listen!"

Story of the two ascetics, one a Bráhman the other a Chandála.

Once on a time two men remained for the same length of time fasting
on the banks of the Ganges, one a Bráhman and the other a Chandála. Of
those two, the Bráhman being overpowered with hunger, and seeing some
Nishádas [444] come that way bringing fish and eating them, thus
reflected in his folly--"O happy in the world are these fishermen,
sons of female slaves though they be, for they eat to their fill
of the fresh meat of fish!" But the other, who was a Chandála,
thought, the moment he saw those fishermen, "Out on these destroyers
of life, and devourers of raw flesh! So why should I stand here and
behold their faces?" Saying this to himself, he closed his eyes and
remained buried in his own thoughts. And in course of time those
two, the Bráhman and the Chandála, died of starvation; the Bráhman
was eaten by dogs on the bank, the Chandála rotted in the water
of the Ganges. So that Bráhman, not having disciplined his spirit,
was born in the family of a fisherman, but owing to the virtue of the
holy place, he remembered his former existence. As for that Chandála,
who possessed self-control, and whose mind was not marred by passion,
he was born as a king in a palace on that very bank of the Ganges,
and recollected his former birth. And of those two, who were born
with a remembrance of their former existence, the one suffered misery
being a fisherman, the other being a king enjoyed happiness.

"Such is the root of the tree of virtue; according to the purity
or impurity of a man's heart is without doubt the fruit which he
receives." Having said this to the queen Tárádattá, king Kalingadatta
again said to her in the course of conversation,--"Moreover actions
which are really distinguished by great courage produce fruit, since
prosperity follows on courage; and to illustrate this I will tell
the following wonderful tale. Listen!"

Story of king Vikramasinha and the two Bráhmans.

There is in Avanti a city named Ujjayiní, famous in the world,
which is the dwelling-place of Siva, [445] and which gleams with
its white palaces as if with the peaks of Kailása, come thither in
the ardour of their devotion to the god. This vast city, profound
as the sea, having a splendid emperor for its water, had hundreds of
armies entering it, as hundreds of rivers flow into the sea, and was
the refuge of allied kings, as the sea is of mountains that retain
their wings. [446] In that city there was a king who had the name of
Vikramasinha, [447] a name that thoroughly expressed his character,
for his enemies were like deer and never met him in fight. And he,
because he could never find any enemy to face him, became disgusted
with weapons and the might of his arm, and was inwardly grieved as
he never obtained the joy of battle. Then his minister Amaragupta,
who discovered his longing, said to him incidentally in the course
of conversation--"King, it is not hard for kings to incur guilt,
if through pride in their strong arms, and confidence in their skill
in the use of weapons, they even long for enemies; in this way Bána
in old time, through pride in his thousand arms, propitiated Siva and
asked for an enemy that was a match for him in fight, until at last his
prayer was actually granted, and Vishnu became his enemy, and cut off
his innumerable arms in battle. So you must not shew dissatisfaction
because you do not obtain an opportunity of fighting, and a terrible
enemy must never be desired. If you want to shew here your skill in
weapons and your strength, shew it in the forest an appropriate field
for it, and in hunting. And since kings are not generally exposed to
fatigue, hunting is approved to give them exercise and excitement, but
warlike expeditions are not recommended. Moreover the malignant wild
animals desire that the earth should be depopulated, for this reason
the king should slay them; on this ground too hunting is approved. But
wild animals should not be too unremittingly pursued, for it was
owing to the vice of exclusive devotion to hunting that former kings,
Pándu and others, met destruction." When the wise minister Amaragupta
said this to him, the king Vikramasinha approved the advice saying--"I
will do so." And the next day the king went out of the city to hunt,
to a district beset with horses, footmen and dogs, and where all the
quarters were filled with the pitching of various nets, and he made
the heaven resound with the shouts of joyous huntsmen. And as he was
going out on the back of an elephant, he saw two men sitting together
in private in an empty temple outside the walls. And the king, as
he beheld them from afar, supposed that they were only deliberating
together over something at their leisure, and passed on to the forest
where his hunting was to be. There he was delighted with the drawn
swords, and with the old tigers, and the roaring of lions, and the
scenery, and the elephants. He strewed that ground with pearls fallen
from the nails of elephant-slaying lions whom he killed, resembling the
seeds of his prowess. The deer leaping sideways, being oblique-goers,
[448] went obliquely across his path; his straight-flying arrow easily
transfixing them first, reached afterwards the mark of delight. And
after the king had long enjoyed the sport of hunting, he returned,
as his servants were weary, with slackened bowstring to the city
of Ujjayiní. There he saw those two men, whom he had seen as he was
going out, who had remained the whole time in the temple occupied in
the same way. He thought to himself--"Who are these, and why do they
deliberate so long? Surely they must be spies, having a long talk
over secrets." So he sent his warder, and had those men captured and
brought into his presence, and then thrown into prison. And the next
day he had them brought into his judgement-hall, and asked them--"Who
are you and why did you deliberate together so long?" When the king
in person asked them this, they entreated him to spare their lives,
and one of these young men began to say; "Hear, O king, I will now
tell the whole story as it happened.

"There lived a Bráhman, of the name of Karabhaka, in this very city
of yours. I, whom you see here, am the son of that learned student
of the Vedas, born by his propitiating the god of fire in order to
obtain a heroic son. And, when my father went to heaven, and his wife
followed him, [449] I being a mere boy, though I had learned the
sciences, abandoned the course of life suited to my caste, because
I was friendless. And I set myself to practise gaming and the use
of arms; what boy does not become self-willed if he is not kept in
order by some superior? And, having passed my childhood in this way,
I acquired overweening confidence in my prowess, and went one day
to the forest to practise archery. And while I was thus engaged,
a bride came out of the city in a covered palanquin, surrounded by
many attendants of the bridegroom. And suddenly an elephant, that had
broken its chain, came from some quarter or other at that very moment,
and attacked that bride in its fury. And through fear of that elephant,
all those cowardly attendants and her husband with them deserted the
bride, and fled in all directions. When I saw that, I immediately said
to myself in my excitement,--'What! have these miserable wretches left
this unfortunate woman alone? So I must defend this unprotected lady
from this elephant. For what is the use of life or courage, unless
employed to succour the unfortunate?' Thus reflecting I raised a shout
and ran towards that huge elephant; and the elephant, abandoning the
woman, charged down upon me. Then I, before the eyes of that terrified
woman, shouted and ran, and so drew off that elephant to a distance,
at last I got hold of a bough of a tree thickly covered with leaves,
which had been broken off, and covering myself with it, I went into the
middle of the tree; and placing the bough in front of me, I escaped by
a dexterous oblique movement, while the elephant trampled the bough
to pieces. Then I quickly went to that lady, who remained terrified
there, and asked her whether she had escaped without injury. She,
when she saw me, said with afflicted and yet joyful manner; 'How
can I be said to be uninjured, now that I have been bestowed on this
coward, who has deserted me in such straits, and fled somewhere or
other; but so far at any rate I am uninjured, that I again behold
you unharmed. So my husband is nothing to me; you henceforth are my
husband, by whom regardless of your life, I have been delivered from
the jaws of death. And here I see my husband coming with his servants,
so follow us slowly; for when we get an opportunity, you and I will
elope somewhere together.' When she said this, I consented. I ought to
have thought--'Though this woman is beautiful, and flings herself at my
head, yet she is the wife of another; what have I to do with her?' But
this is the course of calm self-restraint, not of ardent youth. And
in a moment her husband came up and greeted her, and she proceeded
to continue her journey with him and his servants. And I, without
being detected, followed her through her long journey, being secretly
supplied with provisions for the journey by her, though I passed for
some one unconnected with her. And she, throughout the journey, falsely
asserted that she suffered pain in her limbs, from a strain produced
by falling in her terror at the elephant, and so avoided even touching
her husband. A passionate woman, like a female snake, terrible from
the condensed venom she accumulates within, will never, if injured,
neglect to wreak her vengeance. And in course of time we reached the
city of Lohanagara, where was the house of the husband of that woman,
who lived by trading. And we all remained during that day in a temple
outside the walls. And there I met my friend this second Bráhman. And
though we had never met before, we felt a confidence in one another
at first sight; the heart of creatures recognises friendships formed
in a previous birth. Then I told him all my secret. When he heard it,
he said to me of his own accord; 'Keep the matter quiet, I know of a
device by which you can attain the object for which you came here;
I know here the sister of this lady's husband. She is ready to fly
from this place with me, and take her wealth with her. So with her
help I will accomplish your object for you.'

"When the Bráhman had said this to me, he departed, and secretly
informed the merchant's wife's sister-in-law of the whole matter. And
on the next day the sister-in-law, according to arrangement, came
with her brother's wife and introduced her into the temple. And while
we were there, she made my friend at that very time, which was the
middle of the day, put on the dress of her brother's wife. And she
took him so disguised into the city, and went into the house in which
her brother lived, after arranging what we were to do. But I left
the temple, and fleeing with the merchant's wife dressed as a man,
reached at last this city of Ujjayiní. And her sister-in-law at night
fled with my friend from that house, in which there had been a feast,
and so the people were in a drunken sleep.

"And then he came with her by stealthy journeys to this city; so
we met here. In this way we two have obtained our two wives in the
bloom of youth, the sister-in-law and her brother's wife, who bestowed
themselves on us out of affection. Consequently, king, we are afraid
to dwell anywhere; for whose mind is at ease after performing deeds
of reckless temerity? So the king saw us yesterday from a distance,
while we were debating about a place to dwell in, and how we should
subsist. And your majesty, seeing us, had us brought and thrown into
prison on the suspicion of being thieves, and to-day we have been
questioned about our history, and I have just told it; now it is for
your highness to dispose of us at pleasure." When one of them had
said this, the king Vikramasinha said to those two Bráhmans,--"I am
satisfied, do not be afraid, remain in this city, and I will give you
abundance of wealth." When the king had said this, he gave them as
much to live on as they wished, and they lived happily in his court
accompanied by their wives.

"Thus prosperity dwells for men even in questionable deeds, if they
are the outcome of great courage, and thus kings, being satisfied,
take pleasure in giving to discreet men who are rich in daring. And
thus this whole created world with the gods and demons will always
reap various fruits, corresponding exactly to their own stock of deeds
good or bad, performed in this or in a former birth. So rest assured,
queen, that the flame which was seen by you falling from heaven in your
dream, and apparently entering your womb, is some creature of divine
origin, that owing to some influence of its works has been conceived
in you." The pregnant queen Tárádattá, when she heard this from the
mouth of her own husband Kalingadatta, was exceedingly delighted.


Then the queen Tárádattá, the consort of king Kalingadatta in
Takshasilá, slowly became oppressed with the burden of her unborn
child. And she, now that her delivery was near, being pale of
countenance, with tremulous eyeballs, [450] resembled the East
in which the pale streak of the young moon is about to rise. And
there was soon born from her a daughter excelling all others, like a
specimen of the Creator's power to produce all beauty. The lights kept
burning to protect the child against evil spirits, blazing with oil,
[451] were eclipsed by her beauty, and darkened, as if through grief
that a son of equal beauty had not been born instead. And her father
Kalingadatta, when he saw her born, beautiful though she was, was
filled with despondency at the disappointment of his hope to obtain
a son like her. Though he divined that she was of heavenly origin, he
was grieved because he longed for a son. For a son, being embodied joy,
is far superior to a daughter, that is but a lump of grief. Then in his
affliction, the king went out of his palace to divert his mind, and he
entered a monastery full of many images of Buddha. In a certain part of
the monastery, he heard this speech being uttered by a begging hermit,
who was a religious preacher, as he sat in the midst of his hearers.

"They say that the bestowal of wealth in this world is great
asceticism; a man who gives wealth is said to give life, for life
depends on wealth. And Buddha, with mind full of pity, offered up
himself for another, as if he were worthless straw, much more should
one offer up sordid pelf. And it was by such resolute asceticism,
that Buddha, having got rid of desire, and obtained heavenly insight,
attained the rank of a Buddha. Therefore a wise man should do what
is beneficial to other beings, by abstaining from selfish aspirations
even so far as to sacrifice his own body, in order that he may obtain
perfect insight."

Story of the seven princesses.

Thus, long ago, there were born in succession to a certain king
named Krita seven very beautiful princesses, and even while they
were still youthful they abandoned, in disgust with life, the house
of their father, and went to the cemetery, and when they were asked
why they did it, they said to their retinue--"This world is unreal,
and in it this body, and such delights as union with the beloved
are the baseless fabric of a dream; only the good of others in this
revolving world is pronounced to be real; so let us with these bodies
of ours do good to our fellow creatures, let us fling these bodies,
while they are alive, to the eaters of raw flesh [452] in the cemetery;
what is the use of them, lovely though they be?"

Story of the prince who tore out his own eye.

For there lived in old time a certain prince who was disgusted with
the world, and he, though young and handsome, adopted the life of a
wandering hermit. Once on a time that beggar entered the house of a
certain merchant, and was beheld by his young wife with his eyes long
as the leaf of a lotus. She, with heart captivated by the beauty of his
eyes said to him, "How came such a handsome man as you to undertake
such a severe vow as this? Happy is the woman who is gazed upon with
this eye of yours!" When the begging hermit was thus addressed by the
lady, he tore out one eye, and holding it in his hand, said, "Mother,
behold this eye, such as it is; take the loathsome mass of flesh and
blood, if it pleases you. [453] And the other is like it; say, what is
there attractive in these?" When he said this to the merchant's wife,
and she saw the eye, she was despondent, and said, "Alas! I, unhappy
wretch that I am, have done an evil deed, in that I have become the
cause of the tearing out of your eye!" When the beggar heard that,
he said,--"Mother, do not be grieved, for you have done me a benefit;
hear the following example, to prove the truth of what I say."

Story of the ascetic who conquered anger.

There lived long ago, in a certain beautiful garden on the banks
of the Ganges, a hermit animated by the desire of experiencing all
asceticism. And while he was engaged in mortifying the flesh, it
happened that a certain king came there to amuse himself with the
women of his harem. And after he had amused himself, he fell asleep
under the influence of his potations, and while he was in this state,
his queens left him out of thoughtlessness and roamed about in the
garden. And beholding in a corner of the garden that hermit engaged
in meditation, they stood round him out of curiosity, wondering
what on earth he could be. And as they remained there a long time,
that king woke up, and not seeing his wives at his side, wandered all
round the garden. And then he saw the queens standing all round the
hermit, and being enraged, he slashed the hermit with his sword out
of jealousy. What crime will not sovereign power, jealousy, cruelty,
drunkenness, and indiscretion cause separately, much more deadly are
they when combined, like five fires. [454] Then the king departed,
and though the hermit's limbs were gashed, he remained free from wrath;
whereupon a certain deity appeared and said to him,--"Great-souled one,
if you approve I will slay by my power that wicked man who did this to
you in a passion." When the hermit heard that, he said, "O goddess,
say not so, for he is my helper in virtue, not a harmer of me. For
by his favour I have attained the grace of patience; to whom could
I have shown patience, O goddess, if he had not acted thus towards
me? What anger does the wise man shew for the sake of this perishing
body? To shew patience equally with regard to what is agreeable and
disagreeable is to have attained the rank of Brahmá." When the hermit
said this to the deity, she was pleased, and after healing the wounds
in his limbs, she disappeared.

"In the same way as that king was considered a benefactor by the
hermit, you, my mother, have increased my asceticism by causing
me to tear out my eye." Thus spake the self-subduing hermit to the
merchant's wife, who bowed before him, and being regardless of his
body, lovely though it was, he passed on to perfection.

"Therefore, though our youth be very charming, why should we cling to
this perishable body? But the only thing which, in the eye of the wise
man, it is good for, is to benefit one's fellow-creatures. So we will
lay down our bodies to benefit living creatures in this cemetery, the
natural home of happiness." Having said this to their attendants, those
seven princesses did so, and obtained therefrom the highest beatitude.

"Thus you see that the wise have no selfish affection even for their
own bodies, much less for such worthless things [455] as son, wife,
and servants."

When the king Kalingadatta had heard these and other such things from
the religious teacher in the monastery, having spent the day there, he
returned to his palace. And when he was there, he was again afflicted
with grief on account of the birth of a daughter to him, and a certain
Bráhman, who had grown old in his house, said to him--"King, why do
you despond on account of the birth of a pearl of maidens? Daughters
are better even than sons, and produce happiness in this world and the
next. Why do kings care so much about those sons that hanker after
their kingdom, and eat up their fathers like crabs? But kings like
Kuntibhoja and others, by the virtues of daughters like Kuntí and
others, have escaped harm from sages like the terrible Durvásas. And
how can one obtain from a son the same fruit in the next world, as
one obtains from the marriage of a daughter? Moreover I now proceed
to tell the tale of Sulochaná, listen to it."

Story of Sulochaná and Sushena.

There was a young king named Sushena on the mountain of Chitrakúta,
who was created like another god of love by the Creator to spite
Siva. He made at the foot of that great mountain a heavenly garden,
which was calculated to make the gods averse to dwelling in the garden
of Nandana. And in the middle of it he made a lake with full-blown
lotuses, like a new productive bed for the lotuses with which the
goddess of Fortune plays. This lake had steps leading down into
it made of splendid gems, and the king used to linger on its bank
without a bride, because there were no eligible matches for him. Once
on a time Rambhá, a fair one of heaven, came that way, wandering at
will through the air from the palace of Indra. She beheld the king
roaming in that garden like an incarnation of the Spring in the midst
of a garden of full-blown flowers. She said--"Can this be the moon,
that has swooped down from heaven in pursuit of the goddess of Fortune
fallen into a cluster of lotuses of the lake? But that cannot be, for
this hero's fortune in the shape of beauty never passes away. [456]
Surely this must be the god of the flowery arrows come to the garden
in quest of flowers. But where has Rati, his companion, gone?" Thus
Rambhá described him in her eagerness, and descending from heaven in
human form, she approached that king. And when the king suddenly beheld
her advancing towards him, he was astonished and reflected--"Who can
this be of incredible beauty? She cannot surely be a human being,
since her feet do not touch the dust, and her eye does not wink,
therefore she must be some divine person. But I must not ask her who
she is, for she might fly from me. Divine beings, who visit men for
some cause or other, are generally impatient of having their secrets
revealed." While such thoughts were passing in the monarch's mind,
she began a conversation with him, which led in due course to his
throwing his arms round her neck then and there. And he sported
long there with this Apsaras, so that she forgot heaven; love is
more charming than one's native home. And the land of that king was
filled with heaps of gold, by means of the Yakshinís, friends of
hers, who transformed themselves into trees, as the heaven is filled
with the peaks of Meru. And in course of time that excellent Apsaras
became pregnant, and bore to king Sushena an incomparably beautiful
daughter, and no sooner had she given her birth, than she said to the
king--"O king, such has been my curse, and it is now at an end; for I
am Rambhá, a heavenly nymph that fell in love with you on beholding
you: and as I have given birth to a child, I must immediately leave
you and depart. For such is the law that governs us heavenly beings;
therefore take care of this daughter; when she is married, we shall
again be united in heaven." When the Apsaras Rambhá had said this,
she departed, sorely against her will, and through grief at it, the
king was bent on abandoning life. But his ministers said to him, "Did
Visvámitra, though despondent, abandon life when Menaká had departed
after giving birth to Sakuntalá?" When the king had been plied by
them with such arguments, he took the right view of the matter, and
slowly recovered his self-command, taking to his heart the daughter
who was destined to be the cause of their re-union. And that daughter,
lovely in all her limbs, her father, who was devoted to her, named
Sulochaná, on account of the exceeding beauty of her eyes.

In time she grew up to womanhood, and a young hermit, named Vatsa,
the descendant of Kasyapa, as he was roaming about at will, beheld
her in a garden. He, though he was all compact of asceticism, the
moment he beheld that princess, felt the emotion of love, and he said
to himself then and there; "Oh! exceedingly wonderful is the beauty
of this maiden! If I do not obtain her as a wife, what other fruit of
my asceticism can I obtain?" While thinking thus, the young hermit was
beheld by Sulochaná, and he seemed to her all glorious with brightness,
like fire free from smoke. When she saw him with his rosary and water
vessel, she fell in love also and thought--"Who can this be that looks
so self-restrained and yet so lovely?" And coming towards him as if to
select him for her husband, she threw over his body the garland [457]
of the blue lotuses of her eyes, and bowed before that hermit. And
he, with mind overpowered by the decree of Cupid, hard for gods and
Asuras to evade, pronounced on her the following blessing--"Obtain a
husband." Then the excellent hermit was thus addressed by that lady,
whose modesty was stolen away by love for his exceeding beauty,
and who spoke with downcast face--"If this is your desire, and if
this is not jesting talk, then, Bráhman, ask the king, my father,
who has power to dispose of me." Then the hermit, after hearing of
her descent from her attendants, went and asked the king Sushena, her
father, for her hand. He, for his part, when he saw that the young
hermit was eminent both in beauty and asceticism, entertained him,
and said to him--"Reverend sir, this daughter is mine by the nymph
Rambhá, and by my daughter's marriage I am to be re-united with
her in heaven; so Rambhá told me when she was returning to the sky;
consider, auspicious sir, how that is to be accomplished." When the
hermit heard that, he thought for a moment--"Did not the hermit Ruru,
when Pramadvará the daughter of Menaká was bitten by a snake, give
her the half of his life, and make her his wife? Was not the Chandála
Trisanku carried to heaven by Visvámitra? So why should not I do the
same by expending my asceticism upon it?" Having thus reflected, the
hermit said--"There is no difficulty in it," and exclaimed--"Hearken ye
gods, may this king mount with his body to heaven to obtain possession
of Rambhá by virtue of part of my asceticism." Thus the hermit spoke
in the hearing of the court, and a distinct answer was heard from
heaven--"So be it." Then the king gave his daughter Sulochaná to the
hermit Vatsa, the descendant of Kasyapa, and ascended to heaven. There
he obtained a divine nature, and lived happily with that Rambhá of
god-like dignity, appointed his wife by Indra.

"Thus, O king, Sushena obtained all his ends by means of a
daughter. For such daughters become incarnate in the houses of such as
you. And this daughter is surely some heavenly nymph, fallen from her
high estate owing to a curse, and born in your house, so do not grieve,
monarch, on account of her birth." When king Kalingadatta had heard
this tale from the Bráhman that had grown old in his house, he left
off being distressed, and was comforted. And he gave to his dear young
daughter, who gave pleasure to his eyes, as if she had been a digit
of the moon, the name of Kalingasená. And the princess Kalingasená
grew up in the house of her father amongst her companions. And she
sported in the palaces, and in the palace-gardens, like a wave of
the sea of infancy that is full of the passion [458] for amusement.

Once on a time the daughter of the Asura Maya, named Somaprabhá, as she
was journeying through the sky, saw her on the roof of a palace engaged
in play. And Somaprabhá, while in the sky, beheld her lovely enough
to bewilder with her beauty the mind even of a hermit, and feeling
affection for her, reflected--"Who is this? Can she be the form of the
moon? If so, how is it that she gleams in the day? But if she is Rati,
where is Káma? Therefore I conclude that she is a mortal maiden.

"She must be some celestial nymph that has descended into a king's
palace in consequence of a curse; and I am persuaded I was certainly a
friend of her's in a former life. For my mind's being full of exceeding
affection for her, tells me so. Therefore it is fitting that I should
again select her as my chosen friend." Thus reflecting Somaprabhá
descended invisible from heaven, in order not to frighten that
maiden; and she assumed the appearance of a mortal maiden to inspire
confidence, and slowly approached that Kalingasená. Then Kalingasená,
on beholding her, reflected--"Bravo! here is a princess of wonderful
beauty come to visit me of her own accord! she is a suitable friend for
me." So she rose up politely and embraced that Somaprabhá. And making
her take a seat, she asked her immediately her descent and name. And
Somaprabhá said to her; "Be patient, I will tell you all." Then in the
course of their conversation they swore friendship to each other with
plighted hands. Then Somaprabhá, said--"My friend, you are a king's
daughter, and it is hard to keep up friendship with the children of
kings. For they fly into an immoderate passion on account of a small
fault. Hear, with regard to this point, the story of the prince and
the merchant's son which I am about to tell you."

Story of the prince and the merchant's son who saved his life. [459]

In the city of Pushkarávatí there was a king named Gúdhasena, and to
him there was born one son. That prince was overbearing, and whatever
he did, right or wrong, his father acquiesced in, because he was an
only son. And once upon a time, as he was roaming about in a garden,
he saw the son of a merchant, named Brahmadatta, who resembled himself
in wealth and beauty. And the moment he saw him, he selected him for
his special friend, and those two, the prince and the merchant's son,
immediately became like one another in all things. [460] And soon
they were not able to live without seeing one another, for intimacy
in a former birth quickly knits friendship. The prince never tasted
food that was not first prepared for that merchant's son.

Once on a time the prince set out for Ahichchhatra in order to be
married, having first decided on his friend's marriage. And, as he was
journeying with his troops, in the society of that friend, mounted
on an elephant, he reached the bank of the Ikshuvatí, and encamped
there. There he had a wine-party, when the moon arose; and after he
had gone to bed, he began to tell a story at the solicitation of his
nurse. When he had begun his story, being tired and intoxicated he
was overcome by sleep, and his nurse also, but the merchant's son
kept awake out of love for him. And when the others were asleep, the
merchant's son, who was awake, heard in the air what seemed to be the
voices of women engaged in conversation. The first said--"This wretch
has gone to sleep without telling his tale, therefore I pronounce this
curse on him. To-morrow morning he shall see a necklace, and if he
take hold of it, it shall cling to his neck, and that moment cause
his death." Then the first voice ceased, and the second went on:
"And if he escape that peril, he shall see a mango-tree, and if he
eat the fruit of it, he shall then and there lose his life." Having
uttered this, that voice also ceased, and then the third said--"If
he escape this also, then, if he enter a house to be married, it
shall fall on him and slay him." Having said so much, that voice also
ceased, and the fourth said, "If he escape this also, when he enters
that night into his private apartments, he shall sneeze a hundred
times; and if some one there does not a hundred times say to him,
'God bless you,' he shall fall into the grasp of death. And if the
person, who has heard all this, shall inform him of it in order
to save his life, he also shall die," having said this, the voice
ceased. [461] And the merchant's son having heard all this, terrible
as a thunderstroke, being agitated on account of his affection for
the prince, reflected--"Beshrew this tale that was begun, and not
finished, for divinities have come invisible to hear it, and are
cursing him out of disappointed curiosity. And if this prince dies,
what good will my life do to me? So I must by some artifice deliver
my friend whom I value as my life. And I must not tell him what has
taken place, lest I too should suffer." Having thus reflected, the
merchant's son got through the night with difficulty.

And in the morning the prince set out with him on his journey, and he
saw a necklace in front of him, and wished to lay hold of it. Then
the merchant's son said, "Do not take the necklace, my friend, it
is an illusion, else why do not these soldiers see it?" When the
prince heard that, he let the necklace alone, but going on further
he saw a mango-tree, and he felt a desire to eat its fruit. But he
was dissuaded by the merchant's son, as before. He felt much annoyed
in his heart, and travelling on slowly he reached his father-in-law's
palace. And he was about to enter a building there for the purpose of
being married, but just as his friend had persuaded him not to do so,
the house fell down. So he escaped this danger by a hair's breadth,
and then he felt some confidence in his friend's prescience. Then
the prince and his wife entered at night another building. But the
merchant's son slipped in there unobserved. And the prince, when he
went to bed, sneezed a hundred times, but the merchant's son underneath
it said a hundred times--"God bless you"--and then the merchant's son,
having accomplished his object, of his own accord left the house in
high spirits. But the prince, who was with his wife, saw him going
out, and through jealousy, forgetting his love for him, he flew into
a passion and said to the sentinels at his gate: "This designing
wretch has entered my private apartments when I wished to be alone,
so keep him in durance for the present, and he shall be executed in
the morning." When the guards heard that, they put him under arrest,
and he spent the night in confinement, but as he was being led off
to execution in the morning, he said to them--"First take me into
the presence of the prince, in order that I may tell him a certain
reason, which I had for my conduct; and then put me to death." When
he said this to the guards, they went and informed the prince, and
on their information and the advice of his ministers, the prince
ordered him to be brought before him. When he was brought, he told
the prince the whole story, and he believed it to be true, for the
fall of the house carried conviction to his mind. So the prince was
satisfied, and countermanded the order for his friend's execution,
and he returned with him to his own city, a married man. And there
his friend the merchant's son married, and lived in happiness, his
virtues being praised by all men.

"Thus the children of kings break loose from restraint and slaying
their guides, disregard benefits, like infuriated elephants. And
what friendship can there be with those Vetálas, who take people's
lives by way of a joke. Therefore, my princess, never abandon your
friendship with me."

When Kalingasená heard this story in the palace from the mouth of
Somaprabhá, she answered her affectionate friend,--"Those of whom you
speak are considered Pisáchas, not the children of kings, and I will
tell you a story of the evil importunity of Pisáchas, listen!" [462]

Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha.

Long ago there was a Bráhman dwelling on a royal grant, which was
called Yajnasthala. He once upon a time, being poor, went to the
forest to bring home wood. There, a piece of wood being cleft with the
axe, fell, as chance would have it, upon his leg, and piercing it,
entered deep into it. And as the blood flowed from him, he fainted,
and he was beheld in that condition by a man who recognised him, and
taking him up carried him home. There his distracted wife washed off
the blood, and consoling him, placed a plaster upon the wound. And
then his wound, though tended day by day, not only did not heal, but
formed an ulcer. Then the man, afflicted with his ulcerated wound,
poverty-stricken, and at the point of death, was thus advised in
secret by a Bráhman friend, who came to him; "A friend of mine, named
Yajnadatta, was long very poor, but he gained the aid of a Pisácha
by a charm, and so, having obtained wealth, lived in happiness. And
he told me that charm, so do you gain, my friend, by means of it, the
aid of a Pisácha; he will heal your wound." Having said this, he told
him the form of words and described to him the ceremony as follows:
"Rise up in the last watch of the night, and with dishevelled hair and
naked, and without rinsing your mouth, take two handfuls of rice as
large as you can grasp with your two hands, and muttering the form
of words go to a place where four roads meet, and there place the
two handfuls of rice, and return in silence without looking behind
you. Do so always until that Pisácha appears, and himself says to you,
'I will put an end to your ailment.' Then receive his aid gladly,
and he will remove your complaint."

When his friend had said this to him, the Bráhman did as he had been
directed. Then the Pisácha, being conciliated, brought heavenly herbs
from a lofty peak of the Himálayas and healed his wound. And then
he became obstinately persistent, and said to the Bráhman, who was
delighted at being healed, "Give me a second wound to cure, but if
you will not, I will do you an injury or destroy your body." When
the Bráhman heard that, he was terrified, and immediately said
to him to get rid of him--"I will give you another wound within
seven days." Whereupon the Pisácha left him, but the Bráhman felt
hopeless about his life. But eventually he baffled the Pisácha by
the help of his daughter, and having got over the disease, he lived
in happiness. [463]

"Such are Pisáchas, and some young princes are just like them,
and, though conciliated, produce misfortune, my friend, but they
can be guarded against by counsel. But princesses of good family
have never been heard to be such. So you must not expect any injury
from associating with me." When Somaprabhá heard from the mouth of
Kalingasená in due course this sweet, entertaining, and amusing tale,
she was delighted. And she said to her--"My house is sixty yojanas
distant hence, and the day is passing away; I have remained long,
so now I must depart, fair one." Then, as the lord of day was slowly
sinking to the eastern mountain, she took leave of her friend who was
eager for a second interview, and in a moment flew up into the air,
exciting the wonder of the spectators, and rapidly returned to her own
house. And, after beholding that wonderful sight, Kalingasená entered
into her house with much perplexity, and reflected, "I do not know,
indeed, whether my friend is a Siddha female, or an Apsaras, or a
Vidyádharí. She is certainly a heavenly female that travels through
the upper air. And heavenly females associate with mortal ones led
by excessive love. Did not Arundhatí live in friendship with the
daughter of king Prithu? Did not Prithu by means of her friendship
bring Surabhi from heaven to earth. And did not he by consuming its
milk return to heaven though he had fallen from it. And were not
thenceforth perfect cows born upon earth? So I am fortunate; it is by
good luck that I have obtained this heavenly creature as a friend;
and when she comes to-morrow I will dexterously as her her descent
and name." Thinking such thoughts in her heart, Kalingasená spent
that night there, and Somaprabhá spent the night in her own house
being eager to behold her again.


Then in the morning Somaprabhá took with her a basket, in which
she had placed many excellent mechanical dolls of wood with magic
properties in order to amuse her friend, and travelling through the
air she came again to Kalingasená. And when Kalingasená saw her,
she was full of tears of joy, and rising up she threw her arms
round her neck, and said to her, as she sat by her side--"The dark
night of three watches has this time seemed to me to be of a hundred
watches without the sight of the full moon of your countenance. So,
if you know, my friend, tell me of what kind may have been my union
with you in a former birth, of which this present friendship is
the result." When Somaprabhá heard this, she said to that princess:
"Such knowledge I do not possess, for I do not remember my former
birth; and hermits are not acquainted with this, but if any know,
they are perfectly acquainted with the highest truth, and they are the
original founders of the science by which it is attained." When she had
spoken thus, Kalingasená, being full of curiosity, again asked her in
private in a voice tender from love and confidence, "Tell me, friend,
of what divine father you have adorned the race by your birth, since
you are completely virtuous like a beautifully-rounded pearl. [464]
And what, auspicious one, is your name, that is nectar to the ears
of the world. What is the object of this basket? And what thing is
there in it?" On hearing this affectionate speech from Kalingasená,
Somaprabhá began to tell the whole story in due course.

"There is a mighty Asura of the name of Maya, famous in the three
worlds. And he, abandoning the condition of an Asura, fled to Siva
as his protector. And Siva having promised him security, he built
the palace of Indra. But the Daityas were angry with him, affirming
that he had become a partizan of the gods. Through fear of them he
made in the Vindhya mountains a very wonderful magic subterranean
palace, which the Asuras could not reach. My sister and I are the two
daughters of that Maya. My elder sister named Svayamprabhá follows a
vow of virginity, and lives as a maiden in my father's house. But I,
the younger daughter, named Somaprabhá, have been bestowed in marriage
on a son of Kuvera named Nadakúvara, and my father has taught me
innumerable magic artifices, and as for this basket, I have brought it
here to please you." Having said this, Somaprabhá opened the basket
and shewed to her some very interesting mechanical dolls constructed
by her magic, made of wood. One of them, on a pin in it being touched,
[465] went through the air at her orders and fetched a garland of
flowers and quickly returned. Another in the same way brought water
at will; [466] another danced, and another then conversed. With such
very wonderful contrivances Somaprabhá amused Kalingasená for some
time, and then she put that magic basket in a place of security,
and taking leave of her regretful friend, she went, being obedient to
her husband, through the air to her own palace. But Kalingasená was
so delighted that the sight of these wonders took away her appetite,
and she remained averse to all food. And when her mother perceived
that, she feared she was ill; however a physician named Ánanda having
examined the child, told her mother that there was nothing the matter
with her. He said, "She has lost her appetite through delight at
something, not from disease; for her countenance, which appears to
be laughing, with eyes wide open, indicates this." When she heard
this report from the physician, the girl's mother asked her the real
cause of her joy; and the girl told her. Then her mother believed
that she was delighted with the society of an eligible friend, and
congratulated her, and made her take her proper food.

Then the next day Somaprabhá arrived, and having found out what had
taken place, she proceeded to say to Kalingasená in secret, "I told
my husband, who possesses supernatural knowledge, that I had formed
a friendship with you, and obtained from him, when he knew the facts,
permission to visit you every day. So you must now obtain permission
from your parents, in order that you may amuse yourself with me at
will without fear." When she had said this, Kalingasená took her by
the hand, and immediately went to her father and mother, and there
introduced her friend to her father, king Kalingadatta, proclaiming
her descent and name, and in the same way she introduced her to her
mother Tárádattá, and they, on beholding her, received her politely
in accordance with their daughter's account of her. And both those
two, pleased with her appearance, hospitably received that beautiful
wife of the distinguished Asura out of love for their daughter, and
said to her--"Dear girl, we entrust this Kalingasená to your care,
so amuse yourselves together as much as you please." And Kalingasená
and Somaprabhá having gladly welcomed this speech of theirs, went
out together. And they went, in order to amuse themselves, to a
temple of Buddha built by the king. And they took there that basket
of magic toys. Then Somaprabhá took a magic Yaksha, and sent it on
a commission from herself to bring the requisites for the worship of
Buddha. That Yaksha went a long distance through the sky, and brought
a multitude of pearls, beautiful gems, and golden lotuses. Having
performed worship with these, Somaprabhá exhibiting all kinds of
wonders, displayed the various Buddhas with their abodes. When the
king Kalingadatta heard of that, he came with the queen and beheld it,
and then asked Somaprabhá about the magic performance. Then Somaprabhá
said, "King, these contrivances of magic machines, and so on, were
created in various ways by my father in old time. And even as this
vast machine, called the world, consists of five elements, so do all
these machines: I will describe them one by one. That machine, in
which earth predominates, shuts doors and things of the kind. Not even
Indra would be able to open what had been shut with it. The shapes
produced by the water-machine appear to be alive. But the machine
in which fire predominates, pours forth flames. And the wind-machine
performs actions, such as going and coming. And the machine produced
from ether utters distinct language. All these I obtained from my
father, but the wheel-machine, which guards the water of immortality,
my father knows and no one else." While she was saying this, there
arose the sound of conchs being blown in the middle of the day, that
seemed to confirm her words. Then she entreated the king to give her
the food that suited her, and taking Kalingasená as a companion, by
permission of the king she set out through the air for her father's
house in a magic chariot, to return to her elder sister. And quickly
reaching that palace, which was situated in the Vindhya mountains,
she conducted her to her sister Svayamprabhá. There Kalingasená saw
that Svayamprabhá with her head encircled with matted locks, with a
long rosary, a nun clothed in a white garment, smiling like Párvatí,
in whom love, the highest joy of earth, had undertaken a severe vow
of mortification. And Svayamprabhá, when the princess, introduced by
Somaprabhá, kneeled before her, received her hospitably and entertained
her with a meal of fruits. And Somaprabhá said to the princess: 'My
friend, by eating these fruits, you will escape old age which otherwise
would destroy this beauty, as the nipping cold does the lotus: and it
was with this object that I brought you here out of affection.' Then
that Kalingasená ate those fruits, and immediately her limbs seemed
to be bathed in the water of life. And roaming about there to amuse
herself, she saw the garden of the city, with tanks filled with golden
lotuses, and trees bearing fruit as sweet as nectar: the garden was
full of birds of golden and variegated plumage, and seemed to have
pillars of bright gems; it conveyed the idea of walls where there
was no partition, and where there were partitions, of unobstructed
space. Where there was water, it presented the appearance of dry land,
and where there was dry land, it bore the semblance of water. It
resembled another and a wonderful world, created by the delusive
power of the Asura Maya. It had been entered formerly by the monkeys
searching for Sítá, which, after a long time, were allowed to come
out by the favour of Svayamprabhá. So Svayamprabhá bade her adieu,
after she had been astonished with a full sight of her wonderful
city, and had obtained immunity from old age; and Somaprabhá making
Kalingasená ascend the chariot again, took her through the air to
her own palace in Takshasilá. There Kalingasená told the whole story
faithfully to her parents, and they were exceedingly pleased.

And while those two friends spent their days in this way, Somaprabhá
once upon a time said to Kalingasená: "As long as you are not married,
I can continue to be your friend, but after your marriage, how could
I enter the house of your husband? For a friend's husband ought never
to be seen or recognised [467]; * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As for a mother-in-law she eats the flesh of a daughter-in-law as
a she-wolf does of a sheep. And à propos of this, hear the story of
Kírtisená which I am about to tell you."

Story of Kírtisená and her cruel mother-in-law. [468]

Long ago there lived in the city of Pátaliputra a merchant named,
not without cause, Dhanapálita, [469] for he was the richest of
the rich. And there was born to him a daughter, named Kírtisená,
who was incomparably beautiful, and dearer to him than life. And
he took his daughter to Magadha and married her to a rich merchant,
named Devasena. And though Devasena was himself very virtuous, he had a
wicked mother as mistress in his house, for his father was dead. She,
when she saw that her daughter-in-law Kírtisená was beloved by her
husband, being inflamed with anger, ill-treated her in her husband's
absence. But Kírtisená was afraid to let her husband know it, for
the position of a bride in the power of a treacherous mother-in-law
is a difficult one.

Once upon a time her husband Devasena, instigated by his relations,
was preparing to go to the city of Vallabhí for the sake of trade. Then
that Kírtisená said to her husband,--"I have not told you for this long
time what I am now going to say: your mother ill-treats me though you
are here, but I do not know what she will do to me when you are in a
foreign country." When Devasena heard that, he was perplexed, and being
alarmed on account of his affection for his wife, he went and humbly
said to his mother--"Kírtisená is committed to your care, mother, now
that I am going to a foreign land; you must not treat her unkindly, for
she is the daughter of a man of good family." When Devasena's mother
heard that, she summoned Kírtisená, and elevating her eyes, said to
him then and there,--"What have I done? ask her. This is the way in
which she eggs you on, my son, trying to make mischief in the house,
but both of you are the same in my eyes." When the good merchant heard
that, he departed with his mind easy on her account. For who is not
deceived by the hypocritically affectionate speeches of a mother? But
Kírtisená stood there silent, smiling in bewilderment, and the next day
the merchant set out for Vallabhí. Then, when Kírtisená began to suffer
torture at being separated from her husband, the merchant's mother
gradually forbade the female slaves to attend on her. And making an
agreement with a handmaid of her own, that worked in the house, she
took Kírtisená inside and secretly stripped her. And saying to her,
"Wicked woman, you rob me of my son," she pulled her hair, and with the
help of her servant, mangled her with kicks, bites, and scratches. And
she threw her into a cellar that was closed with a trap-door and
strongly fastened, after first taking out all the things that were
in it previously. And the wretch put in it every day half a plate of
rice, in the evening, for the girl who was in such a state. And she
thought, "I will say in a few days 'she died of herself during her
husband's absence in a distant land, take her corpse away.'" [470]
Thus Kírtisená, who deserved all happiness, was thrown into a cellar
by that cruel mother-in-law, and while there she reflected with tears,
"My husband is rich, I was born in a good family, I am fortunately
endowed and virtuous, nevertheless I suffer such calamity, thanks
to my mother-in-law. And this is why relations lament the birth of a
daughter, exposed to the terrors of mother-in-law, and sister-in-law,
marred with inauspiciousness of every kind." While thus lamenting,
Kírtisená suddenly found a small shovel in that cellar, like a
thorn extracted from her heart by the Creator. So she dug a passage
underground with that iron instrument, until by good luck she rose up
in her own private apartment. And she was able to see that room by
the light of a lamp that had been left there before, as if she were
lighted by her own undiminished virtue. And she took out of it her
clothes and her gold, and leaving it secretly at the close of the
night, she went out of the city. She reflected--"It is not fitting
that I should go to my father's house after acting thus; what should I
say there, and how would people believe me? So I must manage to repair
to my husband by means of my own ingenuity; for a husband is the only
refuge of virtuous women in this world and the next." Reflecting thus,
she bathed in the water of a tank, and put on the splendid dress of
a prince. Then she went into the bazar and after exchanging some gold
for money, she sojourned that day in the house of a certain merchant.

The next day she struck up a friendship with a merchant named
Samudrasena who wished to go to Vallabhí. And wearing the splendid
dress of a prince, she set out for Vallabhí with the merchant
and his servants in order to catch up her husband who had set out
beforehand. And she said to that merchant, "I am oppressed by my
clansmen, [471] so I will go with you to my friends in Vallabhí."

Having heard that, the merchant's son waited upon her on the journey,
out of respect, thinking to himself that she was some distinguished
prince or other; and that caravan preferred for its march the forest
road, which was much frequented by travellers, who avoided the other
routes because of the heavy duties they had to pay. In a few days
they reached the entrance of the forest, and while the caravan was
encamped in the evening, a female jackal, like a messenger of death,
uttered a terrific howl. Thereupon the merchants, who understood
what that meant, became apprehensive of an attack by bandits, and
the guards on every side took their arms in hand; and the darkness
began to advance like the vanguard of the bandits; then Kírtisená,
in man's dress, beholding that, reflected, "Alas! the deeds of those
who have sinned in a former life seem to propagate themselves with
a brood of evils! Lo! the calamity which my mother-in-law brought
upon me has borne fruit here also! First I was engulphed by the wrath
of my mother-in-law as if by the mouth of death, then I entered the
cellar like a second prison of the womb. By good fortune, I escaped
thence, being, as it were, born a second time, and having come here,
I have again run a risk of my life. If I am slain here by bandits,
my mother-in-law, who hates me, will surely say to my husband, 'She
ran off somewhere being attached to another man.' But if some one
tears off my clothes and recognises me for a woman, then again I run
a risk of outrage, and death is better than that. So I must deliver
myself, and disregard this merchant my friend. For good women must
regard the duty of virtuous wives, not friends and things of that
kind." Thus she determined, and searching about, found a hollow like
a house in the middle of a tree, as it were, an opening made for her
by the earth out of pity. There she entered and covered her body with
leaves and such like things; and remained supported by the hope of
reunion with her husband. Then, in the dead of night, a large force
of bandits suddenly fell upon the caravan with uplifted weapons,
and surrounded it on all sides. And there followed a storm of fight,
with howling bandits for thunder-clouds, and the gleam of weapons for
long-continued lightning-flashes, and a rain of blood. At last the
bandits, being more powerful, slew the merchant-prince Samudrasena
and his followers, and went off with all his wealth.

In the meanwhile Kírtisená was listening to the tumult, and that
she was not forcibly robbed of breath is to be ascribed to fate
only. Then the night departed, and the keen-rayed sun arose, and she
went out from that hollow in the middle of the tree. Surely the gods
themselves preserve in misfortune good women exclusively devoted to
their husbands, and of unfailing virtue; for not only did a lion
beholding her in the lonely wood spare her, but a hermit that had
come from somewhere or other, when she asked him for information,
comforted her and gave her a drink of water from his vessel, and then
disappeared in some direction or other, after telling her the road to
take. Then satisfied as if with nectar, free from hunger and thirst,
that woman, devoted to her husband, set out by the road indicated
by the hermit. Then she saw the sun mounted on the western mountain,
stretching forth his rays like fingers, as if saying--"Wait patiently
one night"--and so she entered an opening in the root of a forest
tree which looked like a house, and closed its mouth with another
tree. And in the evening she saw through the opening of a chink in
the door of her retreat a terrible Rákshasí approaching, accompanied
by her young sons. She was terrified, thinking to herself--"Lo! I
shall be devoured by this Rákshasí after escaping all my other
misfortunes"--and in the meanwhile the Rákshasí ascended that tree. And
her sons ascended after her, and immediately said to that Rákshasí,
[472]--"Mother, give us something to eat." Then the Rákshasí said to
her children,--"To-day, my children, I went to a great cemetery, but
I did not obtain any food, and though I entreated the congregation of
witches, they gave me no portion; then grieved thereat I appealed to
Siva in his terrific form and asked him for food. And the god asked
me my name and lineage, and then said to me--'Terrible one, thou
art of high birth as belonging to the race of Khara and Dúshana;
[473] so go to the city of Vasudatta, not far from here. In that
city there lives a great king named Vasudatta addicted to virtue;
he defends this whole forest, dwelling on its border, and himself
takes duties and chastises robbers. Now, one day, while the king was
sleeping in the forest, fatigued with hunting, a centipede quickly
entered his ear unobserved. And in course of time it gave birth to
many others inside his head. That produced an illness which now dries
up all his sinews. And the physicians do not know what is the cause
of his disease, but if some one does not find out, he will die in a
few days. When he is dead, eat his flesh; for by eating it, you will,
thanks to your magic power, remain satiated for six months!' In these
words Siva promised me a meal, that is attended with uncertainty,
and cannot be obtained for a long time, so what must I do, my
children?" When the Rákshasí said this to her children, they asked
her, "If the disease is discovered and removed, will that king live,
mother? And tell us how such a disease can be cured in him?" When
the children said this, the Rákshasí solemnly said to them, "If the
disease is discovered and removed, the king will certainly live. And
hear how his great disease may be taken away. First his head must be
anointed by rubbing warm butter on it, and then it must be placed
for a long time in the heat of the sun intensified by noonday. And
a hollow cane-tube must be inserted into the aperture of his ear,
which must communicate with a hole in a plate, and this plate must
be placed above a pitcher of cool water. Accordingly the centipedes
will be annoyed by heat and perspiration, and will come out of his
head, and will enter that cane-tube from the aperture of the ear,
and desiring coolness will fall into the pitcher. In this way the
king may be freed from that great disease." Thus spake the Rákshasí
to her sons on the tree, and then ceased; and Kírtisená, who was in
the trunk of the tree, heard it. And hearing it, she said to herself,
"If ever I get safe away from here, I will go and employ this artifice
to save the life of that king. For he takes but small duties, and
dwells on the outskirts of this forest; and so all the merchants come
this way because it is more convenient. This is what the merchant,
Samudrasena, who is gone to heaven, told me; accordingly that husband
of mine will be sure to return by this very path. So I will go to the
city of Vasudatta, which is on the borders of the forest, and I will
deliver the king from his sickness, and there await the arrival of my
husband." Thus reflecting, she managed, though with difficulty, to get
through the night: in the morning, the Rákshasas having disappeared,
she went out from the trunk of the tree.

Then she travelled along slowly in the dress of a man, and in the
afternoon she saw a good cowherd. He was moved to compassion by seeing
her delicate beauty, and that she had accomplished a long journey,
and then she approached him, and said--"What country is this, please
tell me?" The cowherd said--"This city in front of you is the city of
Vasudatta, belonging to the king Vasudatta: as for the king, he lies
there at the point of death with illness." When Kírtisená heard that,
she said to the cowherd, "If any one will conduct me into the presence
of that king, I know how to remove his disease." When the cowherd
heard that, he said, "I am going to that very city, so come with me,
that I may point it out to you." Kírtisená answered--"So be it," and
immediately that herdsman conducted her to the city of Vasudatta,
wearing her male dress. And telling the circumstances exactly as
they were, he immediately commended that lady with auspicious marks
to the afflicted warder. And the warder, having informed the king,
by his orders introduced the blameless lady into his presence. The
king Vasudatta, though tortured with his disease, was comforted the
moment he beheld that lady of wonderful beauty; the soul is able to
distinguish friends from enemies. And he said to the lady who was
disguised as a man, "Auspicious sir, if you remove this disease,
I will give you half my kingdom; I remember a lady stripped off
from me in my dream a black blanket, so you will certainly remove
this my disease." When Kírtisená heard that, she said--"This day
is at an end, O king; to-morrow I will take away your disease;
do not be impatient." Having said this, she rubbed cow's butter on
the king's head; that made sleep come to him, and the excessive pain
disappeared. And then all there praised Kírtisená, saying--"This is
some god come to us in the disguise of a physician, thanks to our
merits in a previous state of existence." And the queen waited on her
with various attentions, and appointed for her a house in which to
rest at night, with female attendants. Then on the next day, at noon,
before the eyes of the ministers and ladies of the harem, Kírtisená
extracted from the head of that king, through the aperture of the ear,
one hundred and fifty centipedes, by employing the wonderful artifice
previously described by the Rákshasí. And after getting the centipedes
into the pitcher, she comforted the king by fomenting him with milk
and melted butter. The king having gradually recovered, and being
free from disease, everybody there was astonished at beholding those
creatures in the pitcher. And the king, on beholding these harmful
insects that had been extracted from his head, was terrified, puzzled
and delighted, and considered himself born again. And he made high
feast, and honoured Kírtisená, who did not care for half the kingdom,
with villages, elephants, horses, and gold. And the queens and the
ministers loaded her with gold and garments, saying that they ought to
honour the physician who had saved the life of their sovereign. But she
deposited for the present that wealth in the hand of the king, waiting
for her husband, and saying--"I am under a vow for a certain time."

So Kírtisená remained there some days in man's clothes, honoured by
all men, and in the meanwhile she heard from the people that her
own husband, the great merchant Devasena, had come that way from
Vallabhí. Then, as soon as she knew that that caravan had arrived in
the city, she went to it, and saw that husband of hers as a peahen
beholds the new cloud. And she fell at his feet, and her heart,
weeping from the pain of long separation, made her bestow on him
the argha [474] with her tears of joy. Her husband, for his part,
after he had examined her, who was concealed by her disguise, like
the form of the moon invisible in the day on account of the rays of
the sun, recognised her. It was wonderful that the heart of Devasena,
who was handsome as the moon, did not dissolve like the moonstone,
[475] on beholding the moon of her countenance.

Then, Kírtisená having thus revealed herself, and her husband remaining
in a state of wonder, marvelling what it could mean, and the company
of merchants being astonished, the king Vasudatta, hearing of it,
came there full of amazement. And Kírtisená, being questioned by him,
told in the presence of her husband her whole adventure, that was
due to the wickedness of her mother-in-law. And her husband Devasena,
hearing it, conceived an aversion to his mother, and was affected at
the same time by anger, forbearance, astonishment, and joy. And all
the people present there, having heard that wonderful adventure of
Kírtisená, exclaimed joyfully--"Chaste women, mounted on the chariot
of conjugal affection, protected by the armour of modesty, and armed
with the weapon of intellect, are victorious in the struggle." The
king too said--"This lady, who has endured affliction for the sake of
her husband, has surpassed even queen Sítá, who shared the hardships
of Ráma. So she is henceforth my sister in the faith, as well as
the saviour of my life." When the king said that, Kírtisená answered
him--"O king, let your gift of affection which I deposited in your
care, consisting of villages, elephants, and horses, be made over
to my husband." When she said this to the king, he bestowed on her
husband Devasena the villages and other presents, and being pleased
gave him a turban of honour. Then Devasena, having his purse suddenly
filled with stores of wealth, part of which was given by the king,
and part acquired by his own trading, avoiding his mother, and
praising Kírtisená, remained dwelling in that town. And Kírtisená
having found a happy lot, from which her wicked mother-in-law was
removed, and having obtained glory by her unparalleled adventures,
dwelt there in the enjoyment of all luxury and power, like all the
rich fruit of her husband's good deeds incarnate in a body.

"Thus chaste women, enduring the dispensations of hostile fate,
but preserving in misfortunes the treasure of their virtue,
and protected by the great power of their goodness, procure good
fortune for their husbands and themselves. And thus, O daughter of
a king, many misfortunes befall wives, inflicted by mothers-in-law
and sisters-in-law, therefore I desire for you a husband's house
of such a kind, that in it there shall be no mother-in-law and no
cruel sister-in-law."

Hearing this delightful and marvellous story from the mouth of the
Asura princess Somaprabhá, the mortal princess Kalingasená was highly
delighted. Then the sun, seeing that these tales, the matter of which
was so various, had come to an end, proceeded to set, and Somaprabhá,
having embraced the regretful Kalingasená, went to her own palace.


Then Kalingasená out of love went to the top of a palace on the high
road, to follow with her eyes the course of Somaprabhá, who had set
out for her own home, and by chance a young king of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanavega, travelling through the air, had a near view of
her. The youth beholding her, bewildering the three worlds with
her beauty, like the bunch of peacock feathers of the conjuror
Cupid, was much troubled. He reflected--"Away with the Vidyádhara
beauties! Not even the Apsarases deserve to be mentioned in presence
of the surpassing loveliness of this mortal lady. So if she will not
consent to become my wife, what is the profit of my life? But how
can I associate with a mortal lady, being a Vidyádhara?" Thereupon
he called to mind the science named Prajnapti, and that science,
appearing in bodily form, thus addressed him, "She is not really
a mortal woman, she is an Apsaras, degraded in consequence of a
curse, and born in the house of the august king Kalingadatta." When
the Vidyádhara had been thus informed by the science, he went off
delighted and distracted with love; and averse from all other things,
reflected in his palace; "It is not fitting for me to carry her off by
force; for the possession of women by force is, according to a curse,
fated to bring me death. So in order to obtain her, I must propitiate
Siva by asceticism, for happiness is procurable by asceticism, and no
other expedient presents itself." Thus he resolved, and the next day
he went to the Rishabha mountain, and standing on one foot, performed
penance without taking food. Then the husband of Ambiká was soon won
over by Madanavega's severe asceticism, and appearing to him, thus
enjoined him, "This maiden, named Kalingasená, is famous for beauty
on the earth, and she cannot find any husband equal to her in the
gift of loveliness. Only the king of Vatsa is a fitting match for
her, and he longs to possess her, but through fear of Vásavadattá,
does not dare to court her openly. And this princess, who is longing
for a handsome husband, will hear of the king of Vatsa from the mouth
of Somaprabhá, and repair to him to choose him as her husband. So,
before her marriage takes place, assume the form of the impatient king
of Vatsa, and go and make her your wife by the Gándharva ceremony. In
this way, fair sir, you will obtain Kalingasená." Having received
this command from Siva, Madanavega prostrated himself before him,
and returned to his home on the slope of the Kálakúta mountain.

Then Kalingasená went on enjoying herself in the city of Takshasilá,
in the society of Somaprabhá, who went every night to her own home, and
came back every morning to her friend, in her chariot that travelled
through the air: and one day she said to Somaprabhá in private;
"My friend, you must not tell any one what I tell you. Listen, and
I will give you a reason that makes me think the time of my marriage
has arrived. Ambassadors have been sent here by many kings to ask me
in marriage. And they, after an interview with my father, have always
hitherto been dismissed by him as they came. But now the king of the
name of Prasenajit, who lives in Srávastí, has sent a messenger, and he
alone has been received with honourable distinction by my father. And
that course has been recommended by my mother, so I conjecture,
the king, my suitor, has been approved of by my father and mother,
as of sufficiently noble lineage. For he is born in that family,
in which were born Ambá and Ambáliká, the paternal grandmothers
of the Kurus and Pándus. So, my friend, it is clear that they have
now determined to bestow me in marriage on this king Prasenajit in
the city of Srávastí." When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená,
she suddenly shed from grief a copious shower of tears, creating,
as it were, a second necklace. And when her friend asked her the
cause of her tears, that daughter of the Asura Maya, who had seen
all the terrestrial world, said to her--"Of the desirable requisites
in a suitor, youth, good looks, noble birth, good disposition, and
wealth, youth is of the greatest importance; high birth, and so on,
are of subordinate importance. But I have seen that king Prasenajit,
and he is an old man; who cares about his high lineage, as he is old,
any more than about the birth of the jasmine-flower? You will be to
be pitied when linked to him who is white as snow, as the lotus-bed,
when linked to the winter, and your face will be a withered lotus. For
this reason despondency has arisen in me, but I should be delighted if
Udayana, the king of Vatsa, were to become your husband, O auspicious
lady. For there is no king upon the earth equal to him in form,
beauty, lineage, daring and riches. If, fair one, you should be
married to that fitting mate, the display which the Creator has made
in your case of his power to create beauty, would have brought forth
fruit." By means of these speeches, artfully framed by Somaprabhá, the
mind of Kalingasená was impelled as if by engines, and flew towards
the king of Vatsa. And then the princess asked the daughter of Maya,
"Friend, how is it that he is called the king of Vatsa? In what
race was he born? And whence was he named Udayana? Tell me." Then
Somaprabhá said--"Listen, friend, I will tell you that. There is a
land, the ornament of the earth, named Vatsa. In it there is a city
named Kausámbí, like a second Amarávatí; and he is called the king of
Vatsa because he rules there. And hear his lineage, my friend, related
by me. Arjuna of the Pándava race had a son named Abhimanyu, and he,
skilled in breaking the close rings of the hostile army, destroyed the
force of the Kauravas. From him there sprang a king named Paríkshit,
the head of the race of Bharata, and from him sprang Janamejaya, who
performed the snake-sacrifice. His son was Satáníka who settled in
Kausámbí, and he was slain in a war between the gods and Asuras after
slaying many giants. His son was king Sahasráníka, an object of praise
to the world, to whom Indra sent his chariot, and he went to heaven and
returned thence. To him was born this Udayana by the queen Mrigávatí,
the ornament of the race of the Moon, a king that is a feast to the
eyes of the world. Hear too the reason of his name. That Mrigávatí,
the mother of this high-born king, being pregnant, felt a desire to
bathe in a lake of blood, and her husband, afraid of committing sin,
had a lake made of liquid lac and other coloured fluids in which she
plunged. Then a bird of the race of Garuda pounced upon her, thinking
she was raw flesh, and carried her off, and, as fate would have it,
left her alive on the mountain of the sunrise. And there the hermit
Jamadagni saw her, and comforted her, promising her reunion with her
husband, and she remained there in his hermitage. For such was the
curse inflicted upon her husband by Tilottamá jealous on account of
his neglecting her, which caused him separation from his wife for a
season. And in some days she brought forth a son in the hermitage of
Jamadagni on that very mountain of the sunrise, as the sky brings forth
the new moon. And because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise,
the gods then and there gave him the name of Udayana, uttering from
heaven this bodiless voice--'This Udayana, who is now born, shall be
sovereign of the whole earth, and there shall be born to him a son,
who shall be emperor of all the Vidyádharas.'

"Sahasráníka, for his part, who had been informed of the real state
of the case by Mátali, and had fixed his hope on the termination
of his curse, with difficulty got through the time without that
Mrigávatí. But when the curse had expired, the king obtained his token
from a Savara who, as fate would have it, had come from the mountain of
the sunrise. And then he was informed of the truth by a voice that came
from heaven, and making that Savara his guide, he went to the mountain
of the sunrise. There he found his wife Mrigávatí like the success
of his wishes, and her son Udayana like the realm of fancy. With them
he returned to Kausámbí, and appointed his son crown-prince, pleased
with the excellence of his qualities; and he gave him the sons of his
ministers, Yaugandharáyana and others. When his son took the burden
of the kingdom off his shoulders, he enjoyed pleasures for a long
time in the society of Mrigávatí. And in time the king established
his son, that very Udayana, on the throne, and being old, went with
his wife and ministers on the long journey. So, Udayana has obtained
that kingdom that belonged to his father, and having conquered all
his enemies, rules the earth with the help of Yaugandharáyana."

Having in these words quickly told her in confidence the story of
Udayana, she again said to her friend Kalingasená--"Thus that king
is called the king of Vatsa, fair one, because he rules in Vatsa,
and since he comes of the Pándava lineage, he is also descended
from the race of the sun. And the gods gave him the name of Udayana,
because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise, and in this world
even the god of love is not a match for him in beauty. He alone is a
husband fit for you, most beautiful lady of the three worlds, and he,
being a lover of beauty, no doubt longs for you, who are famous for
it. But, my friend, his head-wife is Vásavadattá, the daughter of
Chandamahásena. And she selected him herself, deserting her relations
in the ardour of her passion, and so sparing the blushes of Ushá,
Sakuntalá and other maidens. And a son has been born to him by her,
called Naraváhanadatta, who is appointed by the gods as the future
emperor of the Vidyádharas. So it is through fear of her that the king
of Vatsa does not send here to ask for your hand, but she has been
seen by me, and she does not vie with you in the gift of beauty." When
her friend Somaprabhá said this, Kalingasená, being in love with the
king of Vatsa, answered her--"I know all this, but what can I do,
as I am under the power of my parents? But in this, you, who know
all things and possess magic power, are my refuge." Somaprabhá then
said to her--"The whole matter depends on destiny; in proof of it
hear the following tale."

Story of Tejasvatí.

Once on a time there lived in Ujjayiní a king named Vikramasena,
and he had a daughter named Tejasvatí, matchless in beauty. And
she disapproved of every king who sued for her hand. But one day,
while she was on the roof of her palace, she saw a man, and as
fate would have it, she felt a desire to meet him as he was very
handsome, and she sent her confidante to him, to communicate to him
her desire. The confidante went and entreated the man, who shrank from
such an audacious step, and at last with much difficulty she made him
against his will agree to an assignation, saying, "Await, good sir,
the arrival of the princess at night in this retired temple which you
see here." After saying this, she took leave of him, and went and told
the princess Tejasvatí, who for her part remained watching the sun. But
that man, though he had consented, fled somewhere else out of fear;
a frog is not capable of relishing the fibres of a bed of red lotuses.

In the meanwhile a certain prince of high lineage came, as his father
was dead, to visit the king who had been his father's friend. And that
handsome young prince, named Somadatta, whose kingdom and wealth had
been taken by pretenders, arriving at night, entered by accident,
to pass the night there, that very temple in which the confidante
of the princess had arranged a meeting with the man. While he was
there, the princess, blind with passion, approached him, without
distinguishing who he was, and made him her self-chosen husband. The
wise prince gladly received in silence the bride offered him by fate,
who foreshadowed his union with the future Fortune of Royalty. And
the princess soon perceived that he was very charming, and considered
that she had not been deceived by the Creator. Immediately they
conversed together, and the two separated according to agreement;
the princess went to her own palace, while the king spent the rest
of the night there. In the morning the prince went and announced his
name by the mouth of the warder, and being recognised, entered into
the presence of the king. There he told his sorrow on account of
his kingdom having been taken away, and other insults, and the king
agreed to assist him in overthrowing his enemies. And he determined to
give him the daughter he had long desired to give away, and then and
there told his intention to the ministers. Then the queen told the
king his daughter's adventure, having been informed of it before by
herself, through the mouths of trusty confidantes. Then the king was
astonished at finding that calamity had been averted and his desire
attained by mere chance, as in the fable of the crow and the palm,
[476] and thereupon one of the ministers said to the king, "Fate
watches to ensure the objects of auspicious persons, as good servants
of their masters, when the latter are not on the look-out. And to
illustrate this, I will tell you the following tale: listen!"

Story of the Bráhman Harisarman.

There was a certain Bráhman in a certain village, named
Harisarman. [477] He was poor and foolish and in evil ease for want of
employment, and he had very many children, that he might reap the fruit
of his misdeeds in a former life. He wandered about begging with his
family, and at last he reached a certain city, and entered the service
of a rich householder called Sthúladatta. He made his sons keepers of
this householder's cows and other possessions, and his wife a servant
to him, and he himself lived near his house, performing the duty of
an attendant. One day there was a feast on account of the marriage
of the daughter of Sthúladatta, largely attended by many friends of
the bridegroom, and merry-makers. And then Harisarman entertained
a hope that he would be able to fill himself up to the throat with
ghee and flesh and other dainties, together with his family, in the
house of his patron. While he was anxiously expecting that occasion,
no one thought of him. Then he was distressed at getting nothing to
eat, and he said to his wife at night; "It is owing to my poverty
and stupidity that I am treated with such disrespect here: so I will
display by means of an artifice an assumed knowledge, in order that I
may become an object of respect to this Sthúladatta, and when you get
an opportunity, tell him that I possess supernatural knowledge." He
said this to her, and after turning the matter over in his mind,
while people were asleep he took away from the house of Sthúladatta
a horse on which his son-in-law rode. He placed it in concealment at
some distance, and in the morning the friends of the bridegroom could
not find the horse, though they searched in every direction. Then,
while Sthúladatta was distressed at the evil omen, and searching for
the thieves who had carried off the horse, the wife of Harisarman
came and said to him--"My husband is a wise man, skilled in astrology
and sciences of that kind; and he will procure for you the horse;
why do you not ask him?" When Sthúladatta heard that, he called that
Harisarman, who said, "Yesterday I was forgotten, but to-day, now the
horse is stolen, I am called to mind," and Sthúladatta then propitiated
the Bráhman with these words--"I forgot you, forgive me"--and asked him
to tell him who had taken away their horse? Then Harisarman drew all
kinds of pretended diagrams and said,--"The horse has been placed by
thieves on the boundary line south from this place. It is concealed
there, and before it is carried off to a distance, as it will be
at close of day, quickly go and bring it." When they heard that,
many men ran and brought the horse quickly, praising the discernment
of Harisarman. Then Harisarman was honoured by all men as a sage,
and dwelt there in happiness, honoured by Sthúladatta. Then, as days
went on, much wealth consisting of gold and jewels was carried off
by a thief from the palace of the king. As the thief was not known,
the king quickly summoned Harisarman on account of his reputation for
supernatural knowledge. And he, when summoned, tried to gain time, and
said "I will tell you to-morrow," and then he was placed in a chamber
by the king, and carefully guarded. And he was despondent about his
pretended knowledge. [478] Now in that palace there was a maid named
Jihvá, [479] who, with the assistance of her brother had carried off
that wealth from the interior of the palace: she, being alarmed at
Harisarman's knowledge, went at night and applied her ear to the door
of that chamber in order to find out what he was about. And Harisarman,
who was alone inside, was at that very moment blaming his own tongue,
that had made a vain assumption of knowledge. He said--"O Tongue, what
is this that you have done, through desire of enjoyment? Ill-conducted
one, endure now punishment in this place." When Jihvá heard this, she
thought in her terror, that she had been discovered by this wise man,
and by an artifice she managed to get in where he was, and falling
at his feet, she said to that supposed sage;--"Bráhman, here I am,
that Jihvá whom you have discovered to be the thief of the wealth,
and after I took it, I buried it in the earth in a garden behind
the palace, under a pomegranate tree. So spare me, and receive the
small quantity of gold which is in my possession." When Harisarman
heard that, he said to her proudly, "Depart, I know all this; I
know the past, present and future: but I will not denounce you,
being a miserable creature that has implored my protection. But
whatever gold is in your possession you must give back to me." When
he said this to the maid, she consented and departed quickly. But
Harisarman reflected in his astonishment; "Fate, if propitious,
brings about, as if in sport, a thing that cannot be accomplished,
for in this matter when calamity was near, success has unexpectedly
been attained by me. While I was blaming my tongue (jihvá), the thief
Jihvá suddenly flung herself at my feet. Secret crimes I see, manifest
themselves by means of fear." In these reflections he passed the night
happily in the chamber. And in the morning he brought the king by some
skilful parade of pretended knowledge into the garden, and led him up
to the treasure, which was buried there and he said that the thief had
escaped with a part of it. Then the king was pleased and proceeded to
give him villages. But the minister, named Devajnánin, whispered in the
king's ear, "How can a man possess such knowledge unattainable by men,
without having studied treatises; so you may be certain that this is
a specimen of the way he makes a dishonest livelihood, by having a
secret intelligence with thieves. So it will be better to test him
by some new artifice." Then the king of his own accord brought a new
covered pitcher into which he had thrown a frog, and said to that
Harisarman--"Bráhman, if you can guess what there is in this pitcher,
I will do you great honour to-day." When the Bráhman Harisarman heard
that, he thought that his last hour had come, and he called to mind
the pet name of frog which his father had given him in his childhood
in sport, and impelled by the deity he apostrophized himself by it,
lamenting his hard fate, and suddenly exclaimed there--"This is a fine
pitcher for you, frog, since suddenly it has become the swift destroyer
of your helpless self in this place." The people there, when they
heard that, made a tumult of applause, because his speech chimed in
so well with the object presented to him, and murmured,--"Ah! a great
sage, he knows even about the frog!" Then the king, thinking that
this was all due to knowledge of divination, was highly delighted,
and gave Harisarman villages with gold, umbrella, and vehicles of
all kinds. And immediately Harisarman became like a feudal chief.

"Thus good objects are brought about by fate for those whose actions
in a former life have been good. Accordingly fate made that daughter
of yours, Tejasvatí, approach Somadatta a man of equal birth, and kept
away one who was unsuited to her." Hearing this from the mouth of his
minister, the king Vikramasena gave his daughter to that prince as if
she were the goddess of fortune. Then the prince went and overcame his
enemies by the help of his father-in-law's host, and being established
in his own kingdom, lived happily in the company of his wife.

"So true is it that all this happens by the special favour of fate;
who on earth would be able to join you, lovely as you are, with the
king of Vatsa, though a suitable match for you, without the help of
fate? What can I do in this matter, friend Kalingasená?" Kalingasená,
hearing this story in private from the mouth of Somaprabhá,
became eager in her soul for union with the king of Vatsa, and,
in her aspirations after him, began to feel in a less degree the
fear of her relations and the warnings of modesty. Then, the sun,
the great lamp of the three worlds, being about to set, Somaprabhá
the daughter of the Asura Maya, having with difficulty taken leave,
until her morning return, of her friend, whose mind was fixed upon
her proposed attempt, went through the air to her own home.

Note on the story of Harisarman.

The story of Harisarman resembles closely that of Doctor Allwissend
in Grimm's Tales. It is shown by Benfey to exist in various forms
in many countries. It is found in the Siddhikür, the Mongolian form
of the Sanskrit Vetálapanchavinsati. In this form of the story the
incident of the frog in the pot is omitted, and the other incidents
are considerably altered. Instead of the king's treasure we find a
magic gem, on which the prosperity of the country depends; it is not
stolen but lost by the king's daughter. Instead of the horse we have
the cure of a sick Khán who had been driven mad by evil spirits. The
folly of the man who represents the Bráhman consists in his choosing
worthless presents for his reward. (The story is the IVth in Sagas
from the Far East.) Benfey considers the fullest form of the story to
be that in Schleicher's Lithuanian Legends. In this form of the story
we have the stealing of the horse. In other points it resembles the
Mongolian version. The Bráhman is represented by a poor cottager,
who puts up over his door a notice saying that he is a Doctor, who
knows everything and can do everything. The third exploit of the
cottager is the finding of a stolen treasure which is the second in
the Indian story, but his second is a miraculous cure which is in
accordance with the Siddikür. The latter is probably a late work; and
we may presume that the Mongols brought the Indian story to Europe,
in a form resembling that in the Kathá Sarit Ságara more nearly than
the form in the Siddikür does. In the third exploit of the cottager in
the Lithuanian tale, which corresponds to the second in the Indian, the
treasure has been stolen by three servants. They listen outside while
the Doctor is alone in his room. When the clock strikes one,--he says,
"We have one." When it strikes two, he says--"We have two." When it
strikes three, he says,--"We have now three." In their terror they
go to the doctor and beg him not to betray them. He is richly rewarded.

But after all, Grimm's form of the tale is nearest to the Sanskrit. The
dish with crabs in it, the contents of which the Doctor has to guess,
makes him exclaim--"Ach ich armer Krebs." This might almost have been
translated from the Sanskrit; it is so similar in form. The guilty
servants, who stole the gold are detected by the Doctor's saying to
his wife--"Margaret, that is the first"--meaning the first who waited
at table, and so on.

The story is also found in the Facetiæ of Henricus Bebelius, 1506. Here
a poor charcoal-burner represents the Bráhman. He asks three days
to consider. The king gives him a good dinner, and while the first
thief is standing at the window, he exclaims "Jam unus accessit"
meaning "one day is at an end." The next day the second thief comes
to listen. The charcoal-burner exclaims "Secundus accessit" and so
with the third, whereupon they all confess.

Benfey conceives himself to have found the incident of the horse in
Poggii Facetiæ (LXXXVI ed. Cracov. 1592, p. 59). Here a doctor boasts
a wonder-working pill. A man who has lost his ass takes one of these
pills. It conducts him to a bed of reeds where he finds his ass. (The
article from which I have taken these parallels is found in Benfey's
Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 371 and ff.)


The next morning Somaprabhá arrived, and Kalingasená said to her
friend in her confidential conversation--"My father certainly wishes
to give me to Prasenajit, I heard this from my mother, and you have
seen that he is an old man. But you have described the king of Vatsa
in such a way in the course of conversation, that my mind has been
captivated by him entering in through the gate of my ear. So first
shew me Prasenajit, and then take me there, where the king of Vatsa
is; what do I care for my father, or my mother?" When the impatient
girl said this, Somaprabhá answered her--"If you must go, then let
us go in the chariot that travels through the air. But you must take
with you all your retinue, for, as soon as you have seen the king of
Vatsa, you will find it impossible to return. And you will never see
or think of your parents, and when you have obtained your beloved, you
will forget even me, as I shall be at a distance from you. For I shall
never enter your husband's house, my friend." When the princess heard
that, she wept and said to her,--"Then bring that king of Vatsa here,
my friend, for I shall not be able to exist there a moment without
you: was not Aniruddha brought to Ushá by Chitralekhá? And though
you know it, hear from my mouth that story."

Story of Ushá and Aniruddha.

The Asura Bána had a daughter, famous under the name of Ushá. And
she propitiated Gaurí, who granted her a boon in order that she might
obtain a husband, saying to her, "He to whom you shall be united in
a dream, shall be your husband." Then she saw in a dream a certain
man looking like a divine prince. She was married by him according
to the Gándharva form of marriage, and after obtaining the joy of
union with him, she woke up at the close of night. When she did not
see the husband she had seen in her dream, but beheld the traces
of his presence, she remembered the boon of Gaurí, and was full of
disquietude, fear, and astonishment. And being miserable without
the husband whom she had seen in her dream, she confessed all to
her friend Chitralekhá, who questioned her. And Chitralekhá, being
acquainted with magic, thus addressed that Ushá, who knew not the
name of her lover nor any sign whereby to recognise him,--"My friend,
this is the result of the boon of the goddess Gaurí, what doubt can
we allege in this matter? But how are you to search for your lover
as he is not to be recognised by any token? I will sketch for you
the whole world, gods, Asuras, and men, in case you may be able to
recognise him; [480] and point him out to me among them, in order
that I may bring him." Thus spoke Chitralekhá, and when Ushá answered
"By all means!" she painted for her with coloured pencils the whole
world in order. Thereupon Ushá exclaimed joyfully, "There he is,"
and pointed out with trembling finger Aniruddha in Dváravatí of the
race of Yadu. Then Chitralekhá said--"My friend, you are fortunate,
in that you have obtained for a husband Aniruddha the grandson of the
adorable Vishnu. But he lives sixty thousand yojanas from here." When
Ushá heard that, she said to her, overpowered by excessive longing,
"Friend, if I cannot to-day repair to his bosom cool as sandal wood,
know that I am already dead, being burnt up with the uncontrollable
fire of love." When Chitralekhá heard this, she consoled her dear
friend, and immediately flew up and went through the air to the city
of Dváravatí; and she beheld it in the middle of the sea, producing
with its vast and lofty palaces an appearance as if the peaks of
the churning mountain [481] had again been flung into the ocean. She
found Aniruddha asleep in that city at night, and woke him up, and
told him that Ushá had fallen in love with him on account of having
seen him in a dream. And she took the prince, who was eager for the
interview, looking exactly as he had before appeared in Ushá's dream,
and returned from Dváravatí in a moment by the might of her magic. And
flying with him through the air, she introduced that lover secretly
into the private apartments of Ushá, who was awaiting him. When Ushá
beheld that Aniruddha arrived in bodily form, resembling the moon,
there was a movement in her limbs resembling the tide of the sea. [482]
Then she remained there with that sweet-heart who had been given
her by her friend, in perfect happiness, as if with Life embodied
in visible form. But her father Bána, when he heard it, was angry;
however Aniruddha conquered him by his own valour and the might of
his grandfather. Then Ushá and Aniruddha returned to Dváravatí and
became inseparable like Siva and Párvatí. [483]

"Thus Chitralekhá united Ushá with her lover in one day, but I consider
you, my friend, far more powerful than her. So bring me the king of
Vatsa here, do not delay." When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená,
she said--"Chitralekhá, a nymph of heaven, might take up a strange
man and bring him, but what can one like myself do in the matter,
who never touch any man but my husband? So I will take you, my friend,
to the place where the king of Vatsa is, having first shewn you your
suitor Prasenajit." When Somaprabhá made this proposal to Kalingasená,
she consented, and immediately ascended with her the magic chariot
prepared by her, and setting out through the air with her treasures
and her retinue, she went off unknown to her parents. For women
impelled by love regard neither height nor depth in front of them,
as a horse urged on by his rider does not fear the keenest sword-edge.

First she came to Srávastí, and beheld from a distance the king
Prasenajit white with age, who had gone out to hunt, distinguished
by a chouri frequently waved, which seemed at a distance to repel
her as if saying--"Leave this old man." And Somaprabhá pointed him
out with a scornful laugh, saying--"Look! this is the man to whom
your father wishes to give you." Then she said to Somaprabhá--"Old
age has chosen him for her own, what other female will choose
him?" "So take me away from here quickly, my friend, to the king of
Vatsa." Immediately Kalingasená went with her to the city of Kausámbí
through the air. Then she beheld from a distance with eagerness that
king of Vatsa, pointed out by her friend in a garden, as the female
partridge beholds the nectar-rayed moon. With dilated eye, and hand
placed on the heart, she seemed to say "He has entered my soul by
this path." Then she exclaimed, "Friend, procure me a meeting here
with the king of Vatsa this very day; for having seen him I am not
able to wait a moment." But when she said this, her friend Somaprabhá
answered her--"I have seen to-day an unfavourable omen, so remain,
my friend, this day quiet and unobserved in this garden, do not,
my friend, send go-betweens backwards and forwards. To-morrow I
will come and devise some expedient for your meeting: at present,
O thou whose home is in my heart, I desire to return to the home
of my husband." Having said this, Somaprabhá departed thence after
leaving her there; and the king of Vatsa, leaving the garden, entered
his palace. Then Kalingasená, remaining there, sent her chamberlain,
giving him her message explicitly, to the king of Vatsa; and this
she did, though previously forbidden by her friend, who understood
omens. Love, when recently enthroned in the breasts of young women,
is impatient of all restraint. And the chamberlain went and announced
himself by the mouth of the warder, and immediately entering, thus
addressed the king of Vatsa--"O king, the daughter of Kalingadatta
the king who rules over Takshasilá, Kalingasená by name, having heard
that you are most handsome, has come here to choose you for a husband,
abandoning her relatives, having accomplished the journey in a magic
car that travels through the air, together with her attendants;
and she has been conducted here by her confidante named Somaprabhá,
who travels invisible, the daughter of the Asura Maya, the wife of
Nadakúvara. I have been sent by her to inform you; do you receive
her; let there be union of you two as of the moonlight and the
moon." When the king heard this from the chamberlain, he welcomed him,
saying--"I consent," and being delighted, he honoured him with gold and
garments. And summoning his chief minister Yaugandharáyana, he said to
him, "The daughter of king Kalingadatta, who is called Kalingasená,
and whose beauty is famed on the earth, has come of her own accord
to choose me as a husband; so tell me quickly, when shall I marry
her, for she is not to be rejected?" The minister Yaugandharáyana,
when the king of Vatsa said this to him, regarding what would be best
for his master in the long run, reflected for a moment as follows:
[484] "Kalingasená is certainly famed for beauty in the three worlds,
there is no other like her; even the gods are in love with her. If
this king of Vatsa obtain her, he will abandon everything else, and
then the queen Vásavadattá will lose her life, and then the prince
Naraváhanadatta will perish, and Padmávatí out of love for him will
find life hard to retain: and then Chandamahásena and Pradyota, the
fathers of the two queens, will lose their lives or become hostile;
and thus utter ruin will follow. On the other hand it will not do to
forbid the match, since the vicious passion of this king will increase
if he is thwarted. So I will put off the time of his marriage in order
to attain a favourable issue." Having thus reflected, Yaugandharáyana
said to the king of Vatsa, "O king, you are fortunate in that this
Kalingasená has of her own accord come to your house, and the king, her
father, has become your servant. So you must consult the astrologers,
and marry her in accordance with good custom at an auspicious time,
for she is the daughter of a great king. To-day give her a suitable
palace to dwell in by herself, and send her male and female slaves,
and robes and ornaments." When his chief minister gave him this
advice, the king of Vatsa approved it, and with glad heart performed
it all with special attention. Then Kalingasená entered the palace
assigned her for residence, and considering her desire attained,
was exceedingly delighted.

The wise Yaugandharáyana, for his part, immediately left the king's
court, went to his own house, and reflected--"Often procrastination
serves to avert an inauspicious measure. For long ago, when Indra
had fled on account of having caused the death of a Bráhman, and
Nahusha obtained the sovereignty over the gods, he fell in love
with Sachí, [485] and she was saved by the preceptor of the gods
[486], to whom she had fled for refuge. For in order to gain time,
he kept saying--'She will come to you to-day or to-morrow,'--until
Nahusha was destroyed by the curse of a Bráhman, uttered with an
angry roar, and Indra regained the sovereignty of the gods. In the
same way I must keep putting off my master." Having thus reflected,
the minister secretly made an arrangement with the astrologers that
they were to fix a distant date.

Then the queen Vásavadattá found out what had taken place, and
summoned the prime-minister to her palace. When he entered and bowed
before her, the queen said to him, weeping--"Noble sir, you said to
me long ago, 'Queen, as long as I remain where I am, you shall have
no other rival but Padmávatí,' and observe now, this Kalingasená is
about to be married here: and she is beautiful, and my husband is
attached to her, so you have proved a prophet of falsehood and I am
now a dead woman." When the minister Yaugandharáyana heard this, he
said to her--"Be composed, for how could this happen, queen, while
I am alive? However, you must not oppose the king in this matter,
but must on the contrary take refuge in self-restraint, and shew him
all complaisance. The sick man is not induced to place himself in the
physician's hands by disagreeable speeches, but he is by agreeable
speeches, if the physician does his work by a conciliatory method. If
a man is dragged against the current, he will never escape from the
stream of a river, or from a vicious tendency, but if he is carried
with the current, he will escape from both. So when the king comes
into your presence, receive him with all attentions, without anger,
concealing your real feelings. Approve at present of his marrying
Kalingasená, saying that his kingdom will be made more powerful by
her father also becoming his ally. And if you do this, the king will
perceive that you possess in a high degree the virtue of magnanimity,
and his love and courtesy towards you will increase, and thinking
that Kalingasená is within his reach, he will not be impatient, for
the desire of a man for any object increases if he is restrained. And
you must teach this lesson to Padmávatí also, O blameless one, and so
that king may submit to our putting him off in this matter. And after
this, I ween, you will behold my skill in stratagem. For the wise are
tested in difficulty, even as heroes are tested in fight. So, queen,
do not be despondent." In these words Yaugandharáyana admonished the
queen, and, as she received his counsels with respect, he departed
thence. [487] But the king of Vatsa, throughout that day, neither in
light nor darkness entered the private apartments of either of the
two queens, for his mind was eager for a new well-matched union with
Kalingasená, who had approached him in such an ardour of spontaneous
choice. And then the queen and the prime-minister and the king and
Kalingasená spent the night in wakefulness like that of a great feast,
apart in their respective houses, the second couple through impatience
for a rare delight, and the first through very profound anxiety.


Then the artful minister Yaugandharáyana came the next morning to
the king of Vatsa, who was expecting him, and made the following
representation--"O king, why do you not immediately enquire about
an auspicious moment for celebrating the happy marriage of your
highness with Kalingasená, the daughter of Kalingadatta, the king
of Takshasilá?" [488] When the king heard that, he said--"The same
desire is fixed in my heart, for my mind cannot endure to remain a
moment without her." Having said this, the simple-hearted monarch
gave orders to a warder, who stood before him, and summoned the
astrologers. When he questioned them, they, having had their cue
previously given them by the prime minister, said, "For the king
there will be a favourable moment in six months from this time."

When Yaugandharáyana heard this, he pretended to be angry, and the
cunning fellow said to the king, "Out on these blockheads! That
astrologer, whom your highness previously honoured on the ground of
his cleverness, has not come to-day, ask him, and then do what is
proper." When he heard this speech of his minister's, the king of
Vatsa immediately summoned that very astrologer with mind in an agony
of suspense. He also stuck to his agreement, and in order to put off
the day of the marriage he named when asked, after some reflection,
a moment six months off. Then Yaugandharáyana pretending to be
distracted, said to the king--"Let your majesty command what is to
be done in this matter!" The king, being impatient and longing for a
favourable moment, said, after reflecting--"You must ask Kalingasená,
and see what she says." When Yaugandharáyana heard this, he took with
him two astrologers and went into the presence of Kalingasená. She
received him politely, and beholding her beauty, he reflected--"If
the king were to obtain her, he would abandon the whole kingdom in
his reckless passion." And he said to her, "I am come with these
astrologers to fix the moment of your marriage; so let these servants
inform me of the particular star in the lunar mansions under which
you were born." When the astrologers heard the lunar mansion stated
by her attendants, they pretended to investigate the matter, and kept
saying in the course of their calculations, "It is not on this side,
it must be after that." At last, in accordance with their agreement
with the minister, they named again that very moment at the end of
six months. When Kalingasená heard that distant date fixed, she was
cast down in spirit, but her chamberlain said, "You must first fix a
favourable moment, so that this couple may be happy all their lives,
what matters it whether it be near or far off?" When they heard this
speech of the chamberlain's, all there immediately exclaimed--"Well
said." And Yaugandharáyana said, "Yes, and if an inauspicious moment is
appointed for us, the king Kalingadatta, our proposed connexion, will
be grieved." Then Kalingasená, being helpless, said to them all--"Let
it be as you appoint in your wisdom"--and remained silent. And at once
accepting that speech of hers, Yaugandharáyana took leave of her, and
went with the astrologers into the presence of the king. Then he told
the proceedings to the king of Vatsa, exactly as they had happened, and
so having settled his mind by an artifice, he went to his own house.

So having attained his object of putting off the marriage, in order
to complete the scheme he had in view, he called to mind his friend,
the Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara. He, according to his previous
promise, when thought of, readily came to the minister, and bowed
before him and said--"Why am I called to mind?" Then Yaugandharáyana
told him the whole incident of Kalingasená which was tempting his
master to vice, and again said to him--"I have managed to gain time,
my friend; in that interval, do you, remaining concealed, observe
by your skill the behaviour of Kalingasená. For the Vidyádharas and
other spirits are without doubt secretly in love with her, since there
is no other woman in the three worlds equal to her in beauty. So, if
she were to have an intrigue with some Siddha or Vidyádhara, and you
were to see it, it would be a fortunate thing. And you must observe
the divine lover, though he come disguised, when he is asleep, for
divine beings, when asleep, assume their own form. If in this way
we are able to discover any offence in her by means of your eyes,
the king will be disgusted with her, and will accomplish that object
of ours." When the minister said this to him, the Bráhman-Rákshasa
answered, "Why should I not by some artifice cause her to fall or
slay her?" When the great minister Yaugandharáyana heard that, he
said to him--"This must not be done, for it would be a very wicked
deed. And whoever goes his own way without offending against the god
of justice, finds that that god comes to his assistance to enable
him to attain his objects. So you must discover in her, my friend,
a fault self-caused, in order that through your friendship the king's
objects may be accomplished by me." Having received this order from
the excellent minister, the Bráhman-Rákshasa departed, and disguised
by magic entered the house of Kalingasená.

In the meanwhile Somaprabhá, her friend, the daughter of the Asura
Maya, went again into the presence of Kalingasená. And the daughter
of Maya, after asking her friend what had happened in the night,
said to her who had abandoned her relations, in the hearing of that
Rákshasa--"I came here in the forenoon after searching for you, but
I remained concealed at your side, seeing Yaugandharáyana. However
I heard your conversation, and I understood the whole state of
affairs. So why did you make this attempt yesterday though you were
forbidden to do so by me? For any business which is undertaken,
my friend, without first counteracting the evil omen, will end in
calamity; as a proof of this, hear the following tale:"

Story of the Bráhman's son Vishnudatta and his seven foolish

Long ago there lived in Antarvedi a Bráhman named Vasudatta, and he had
a son born to him named Vishnudatta. That Vishnudatta, after he reached
the age of sixteen years, set out for the city of Vallabhí in order to
acquire learning. And there joined him seven other young Bráhmans his
fellows, but those seven were fools, while he was wise and sprung from
a good family. After they had taken an oath not to desert one another,
Vishnudatta set out with them at night without the knowledge of his
parents. And after he had set forth, he saw an evil omen presenting
itself in front of him, and he said to those friends of his who were
travelling with him,--"Ha! Here is a bad omen! it is advisable to turn
back now; we will set out again with good hope of success, when we
have auspicious omens with us." When those seven foolish companions
heard that, they said, "Do not entertain groundless fear, for we are
not afraid of the omen. If you are afraid, do not go, but we will
start this moment; to-morrow morning our relations will abandon us,
when they hear of our proceedings." When those ignorant creatures
said that, Vishnudatta set out with them, urged on by his oath, but
he first called to mind Hari, the dispeller of sin. And at the end of
the night he saw another evil omen, and again mentioned it, and he was
rebuked by all those foolish friends of his in the following words;
"This is our evil omen, you coward afraid to travel, that you have been
brought by us, since you shudder at a crow at every step you take;
we require no other evil omen." Having reviled him in these words,
they continued their journey and Vishnudatta went with them, as he
could not help it, but kept silence, reflecting--"One ought not to
give advice to a fool bent on going his own crooked way, for it only
entails ridicule, being like the beautifying of ordure. A single wise
man fallen among many fools, like a lotus in the path of the waves,
is surely overwhelmed. So I must not henceforth give these men either
good or bad advice, but I must go on in silence; destiny will educe
prosperity." Engaged in these reflections, Vishnudatta proceeded
on the way with those fools, and at the end of the day he reached a
Savara village. There he wandered about in the night and reached a
certain house inhabited by a young woman, and asked the woman for a
lodging there. She gave him a room, and he entered it with his friends,
and those seven in a moment went to sleep. He alone remained awake,
as he had entered a house belonging to a savage. For the stupid sleep
resolutely, how can the understanding sleep?

And in the meanwhile a certain young man secretly entered the inner
apartment of the house, and went into the presence of that woman. And
she remained in confidential conversation with him, and as fate
would have it, they both fell asleep. And Vishnudatta, perceiving it
all through the half-open door by the light of a candle, reflected
despondently, "Alas! have we entered the house of a profligate
woman? Surely this is her paramour, and not the husband of her youth,
for otherwise we should not have this timid secret proceeding;
I saw at the first that she was of a flighty disposition; but we
have entered here as mutual witnesses, for lack of others." While he
was thinking he heard outside a noise of men, and he saw entering a
young chief of the Savaras with a sword, looking about him, while
his attendants remained in the sleeping apartment. When the chief
said--"Who are you?" Vishnudatta, supposing him to be the master of
the house, said in his terror--"We are travellers." But the Savara
entered, and seeing his wife in such a position, he cut off with
his sword the head of her sleeping paramour. But he did not punish
or even wake his wife; but placing his sword on the ground he went
to sleep on another couch. Seeing that by the light of the candle,
Vishnudatta reflected--"He did right not to kill his wife, but to
kill the adulterer; but that he should sleep here in confidence,
after performing such a deed, is an act of surprising courage,
characteristic of men of mighty minds." While Vishnudatta was thus
reflecting, that wicked woman awoke and beheld her paramour slain,
and that husband of hers asleep. So she rose up, and took on her
shoulder the body of her lover, and carrying his head in one hand,
she went out. And going outside quickly, she threw into an ash-heap
the trunk with the head, and came secretly back. And Vishnudatta going
out beheld it all from a distance, and again entering remained as he
was, in the midst of his sleeping companions. But the wicked woman
came back, and entering the room, cut off with that very sword the
head of her sleeping husband. And going out she raised a cry so as to
make all the servants hear, "Alas! I am ruined, my husband has been
slain by these travellers." Then the servants, hearing the cry, rushed
forward and beholding their master slain, ran upon Vishnudatta and his
friends with uplifted weapons. And when those others, his companions,
rose up in terror, as they were about to be slain, Vishnudatta said
quickly--"Cease your attempt to slay Bráhmans! We did not do this deed;
this wicked woman herself did it, being in love with another man. But I
saw the whole affair from the very beginning, through a half-open door;
and I went out and observed what she did, and if you will have patience
with me, I will tell you." Vishnudatta with these words restrained the
Savaras, and told them the whole affair from the beginning, and took
them out and showed them the trunk with the head freshly severed and
thrown by the woman on that heap of refuse. Then the woman confessed
the truth by the paleness of her face, and all there reviled the
wanton, and said--"Whom will not a wicked woman kill, when won over
by another man, like a sword in an enemy's hand, since enticed by
love she commits reckless crime without being taught." Having said
this, they thereupon let Vishnudatta and his companions go; and then
the seven companions praised Vishnudatta, saying, "You became to us,
while we were asleep at night, a protecting jewel-lamp, through your
kindness we escaped to-day from death produced by an evil omen." In
these words they praised Vishnudatta, and ceased henceforth their
reviling, and after bowing before him they set out in the morning on
their errand, accompanied by him.

Having told this story to Kalingasená in their mutual conversation,
Somaprabhá again said to that friend of hers in Kausámbí.--"Thus,
my friend, an evil omen presenting itself to people engaged in
any undertaking, if not counteracted by delay and other methods,
produces misfortune. And so people of dull intelligence, neglecting
the advice of the wise, and acting impetuously, are afflicted in
the end. Accordingly you did not act wisely in sending a messenger
to the king of Vatsa, asking him to receive you, when there was an
inauspicious omen. May Fate grant you to be married without any
impediment, but you came from your house in an unlucky moment,
therefore your marriage is far off. And the gods too are in love
with you, so you must be on your guard against this. And you must
think of the minister Yaugandharáyana, who is expert in politic
wiles; he, fearing that the king may become engrossed in pleasure,
may throw impediments in your way in this business; or he may even
bring a charge against you after your marriage is celebrated: but no,
being virtuous, he will not bring a false accusation; nevertheless,
my friend, you must at all events be on your guard against your rival
wife, I will tell you a story illustrative of this, listen."

Story of Kadalígarbhá.

There is in this land a city named Ikshumatí, and by the side of
it there runs a river called by the same name; both were created
by Visvámitra. And near it there is a great forest, and in it a
hermit of the name of Mankanaka had made himself a hermitage and
performed penance with his heels upwards. And while he was performing
austerities, he saw an Apsaras of the name of Menaká coming through
the air, with her clothes floating on the breeze. Then his mind was
bewildered by Cupid, who had found his opportunity, and there was
born to him a daughter named Kadalígarbhá, [489] beautiful in every
limb. And since she was born in the interior of a plantain, her father,
the hermit Mankanaka, gave her the name of Kadalígarbhá. She grew up
in his hermitage like Kripí the wife of Drona, who was born to Gautama
on his beholding Rambhá. And once on a time Dridhavarman, a king born
in Madhyadesa, [490] who in the excitement of the chase was carried
away by his horse, entered that hermitage. He beheld Kadalígarbhá
clothed in garments of bark, having her beauty exceedingly set off
by the dress appropriate to the daughter of an ascetic. And she,
when seen, captivated the heart of that king so completely, that
she left no room in it for the women of his harem. While thinking
to himself--"Shall I be able to obtain as a wife this daughter of
some hermit or other, as Dushyanta obtained Sakuntalá the daughter
of the hermit Kanva?"--the king beheld that hermit Mankanaka coming
with fuel and kusa-grass. And leaving his horse, he approached him and
worshipped at his feet, and when questioned, discovered himself to that
hermit. Then the hermit gave the following order to Kadalígarbhá--"My
dear child, prepare the arghya [491] for this king our guest." She
said--"I will do so"--and bowing, prepared the hospitable offering,
and then the king said to the hermit--"Whence did you obtain this
maiden who is so beautiful?"--Then the hermit told the king the story
of her birth, and her name Kadalígarbhá, which indicated the manner
of it. Then the king, considering the maiden born from the hermit's
thinking on Menaká to be an Apsaras, earnestly craved her hand of
her father. And the sage gave him that daughter named Kadalígarbhá,
for the actions of the sages of old time, guided by divine insight,
were without hesitation. And the nymphs of heaven, discovering the fact
by their divine power, came there out of love for Menaká, and adorned
her for the wedding. And on that very occasion they put mustard-seeds
into her hand and said to her,--"As you are going along the path, sow
them, in order that you may know it again. If, daughter, at any time
your husband should scorn you, and you should wish to return here,
then you will be able, as you come along, to recognise the path by
these, which will have sprung up." When they had said this to her,
and her marriage had been celebrated, the king Dridhavarman placed
Kadalígarbhá on his horse, and departed thence. His army came up and
escorted him, and in company with that bride of his, who sowed the
mustard-seeds all along the path, he reached his own palace. There
he became averse to the society of his other wives, and dwelt with
that Kadalígarbhá, after telling her story to his ministers.

Then his principal wife, being exceedingly afflicted, said to his
minister in secret, after reminding him of the benefits she had
conferred upon him: "The king is now exclusively attached to his new
wife and has deserted me, so take steps to make this rival of mine
depart." When that minister heard that, he said--"Queen, it is not
appropriate for people like me to destroy or banish their masters'
wives. This is the business of the wives of wandering religious
mendicants, addicted to jugglery and such practices, associating
with men like themselves. For those hypocritical female ascetics,
creeping unforbidden into houses, skilled in deception, will stick at
no deed whatever." When he said this to her, the queen, as if abashed,
said to him in affected shame--"Then I will have nothing to do with
this proceeding disapproved of by the virtuous." But she laid up his
speech in her heart, and dismissing that minister, she summoned by
the mouth of her maid a certain wandering female ascetic. And she told
her all that desire of hers from the beginning, and promised to give
her great wealth if the business were successfully accomplished. And
the wicked female ascetic, from desire of gain, said to the afflicted
queen--"Queen, this is an easy matter, I will accomplish it for you,
for I know very many expedients of various kinds." Having thus consoled
the queen, that female ascetic departed; and after reaching her house,
she reflected as one afraid, "Alas! whom will not excessive desire of
gain delude, since I rashly made such a promise before the queen? But
the fact is, I know no device of the kind, and it is not possible to
carry on any deception in the palace, as I do in other places, for the
authorities might perhaps find it out and punish me. There may be one
resource in this difficulty, for I have a friend, a barber, and as he
is skilled in devices of the kind, all may yet go well, if he exert
himself in the matter." After thus reflecting, she went to the barber,
and told him all her plan that was to bring her prosperity. Then
the barber, who was old and cunning, reflected--"This is good luck,
that an opportunity of making something has now presented itself to
me. So we must not kill the king's new wife, but we must preserve
her alive, for her father has divine insight, and would reveal the
whole transaction. But by separating her from the king we will now
batten upon the queen, for great people become servants to a servant
who shares their criminal secrets. And in due time I will re-unite
her to the king, and tell him the whole story, in order that he and
the sage's daughter may become a source of subsistence to me. And
thus I shall not have done anything very wrong, and I shall have a
livelihood for a long time." Having thus reflected, the barber said
to the hypocritical female ascetic--"Mother, I will do all this, but
it would not be proper to slay that new wife of the king's by means
of magic, for the king might some day find it out, and then he would
destroy us all: besides we should incur the sin of woman-murder, and
her father the sage would curse us. Therefore it is far better that
she should be separated from the king by means of our ingenuity,
in order that the queen may be happy, and we may obtain wealth
[punctuation missing in scan] And this is an easy matter to me, for
what can I not accomplish by force of intellect? Hear my ingenuity,
I will relate a story which illustrates it."

Story of the king and the barber's wife

This king Dridhavarman had an immoral father. And I was then his
servant, being engaged in the duties which belong to me. He, one
day, as he was roaming about here, cast eyes on my wife; and as
she was young and beautiful, his mind became attached to her. And
when he asked his attendants who she was, they said--"The barber's
wife." He thought--"What can the barber do?" So the wicked king
entered my house, and after enjoying at will the society of my wife,
departed. But, as it happened, I was away from my house that day,
being absent somewhere or other. And the next day, when I entered,
I saw that my wife's manner had altered, and when I asked her the
reason, she told me the whole story, being full of pride at what
had occurred. And in that way the king went on puffing up my wife
by continual visits, which I was powerless to prevent. A prince
distracted by unholy passion makes no distinction between what is
lawful and what is illicit. The forest is like straw to a sylvan
fire fanned by the wind. So, not being in possession of any other
expedient for restraining my sovereign, I reduced myself with spare
diet, and took refuge in feigned sickness. And in this state I went
into the presence of that king to perform my duties, sighing deeply,
pale and emaciated. Then the king, seeing that I seemed to be ill,
asked me meaningly the following question--"Holla! tell me why you have
become thus?" And after he had questioned me persistently, I answered
the king in private, after imploring immunity from punishment--"King,
my wife is a witch. And when I am asleep she extracts my entrails and
sucks them, and then replaces them as before--This is how I have become
lean. So how can continual refreshment and eating nourish me?" When I
said this to the king, he became anxious and reflected--"Can she really
be a witch? Why was I captivated by her? I wonder whether she will
suck my entrails also, since I am well nourished with food. So I will
myself contrive to test her this very night." Having thus reflected,
the king caused food to be given me on the spot. Then I went home and
shed tears in the presence of my wife, and when she questioned me,
I said to her--"My beloved, you must not reveal to any one what I am
about to tell you. Listen! That king has teeth as sharp as the edge
of a thunderbolt, where teeth are not usually found, and they broke
my razor to-day while I was performing my duties. And in this way I
shall break a razor every time. So how am I to be continually procuring
fresh razors? This is why I weep, for the means of supporting myself
in my home are destroyed." When I had said this to my wife, she made
up her mind to investigate the marvel of the concealed teeth while the
king was asleep, since he was to visit her at night. But she did not
perceive that such a thing had never been seen since the world was,
and could not be true. Even clever women are deceived by the tales
of an impostor.

So the king came at night and visited my wife at will, and as if
fatigued, pretended to go to sleep, remembering what I had said. Then
my wife, thinking he was asleep, slowly stretched out her hand to find
his concealed teeth. And as soon as her hand reached him, the king
exclaimed--"A witch! A witch!" and left the house in terror. Henceforth
my wife, having been abandoned by the king out of fear, became
satisfied with me and devoted to me exclusively. In this way I saved
my wife on a former occasion from the king by my intelligence.

Having told this story to the female ascetic, the barber went on to
say--"So, my good lady, this desire of yours must be accomplished by
wisdom; and I will tell you, mother, how it is to be done, listen to
me. Some old servant of the harem must be won over to say to this king
in secret every day, 'Your wife Kadalígarbhá is a witch.' For she,
being a forest maiden, has no attendants of her own, and what will not
all alien servants do for gain, being easily corrupted? Accordingly,
when the king becomes apprehensive on hearing what the old servant
says, you must contrive to place at night hands and feet and other
limbs in the chamber of Kadalígarbhá. [492] Then the king will
see them in the morning, and concluding that what the old man says
is true, will be afraid of Kadalígarbhá and desert her of his own
accord. So the queen will be delighted at getting rid of a rival
wife, and entertain a favourable opinion of you, and we shall gain
some advantage." When the barber said this to the female ascetic,
she consented and went and told the whole matter to the king's head
queen. And the queen carried out her suggestions, and the king, who had
been warned, saw the hands and feet in the morning with his own eyes,
and abandoned Kadalígarbhá, thinking her to be wicked. So the female
ascetic, together with the barber, enjoyed to the full the presents
which the queen secretly gave to her, being pleased with her aid.

So Kadalígarbhá, being abandoned by Dridhavarman, went out from the
palace, grieved because the king would be cursed. And she returned
to the hermitage of her father by the same path by which she came,
which she was able to recognise by the mustard-seeds she had sown,
which had sprung up. [493] Her father, the hermit Mankanaka, when he
saw her suddenly arrived there, remained for some time suspecting
immorality on her part. And then he perceived the whole occurrence
by the power of contemplation, and after lovingly comforting her,
departed thence with her. And he went and told the king, who bowed
before him, the whole treacherous drama, which the head queen
had got up out of hatred for her rival. At that moment the barber
himself arrived, and related the whole occurrence to the king, and
then proceeded to say this to him; "In this way, my sovereign, I sent
away the lady Kadalígarbhá, and so delivered her from the danger of
the incantations which would have been practised against her, since I
satisfied the head queen by an artifice." When the king heard that,
he saw that the speech of the great hermit was certainly true, and
he took back Kadalígarbhá, recovering his confidence in her. And
after respectfully accompanying the departing hermit, he rewarded
the barber with wealth, thinking that he was attached to his person:
kings are the appointed prey of rogues. Then the king, being averse
to the society of his queen, lived in great comfort with Kadalígarbhá.

"Many false accusations of this kind do rival wives bring, O
Kalingasená of irreproachable beauty. And you are a maiden, the
auspicious moment of whose marriage is fixed at a distant date, and
even the gods, whose goings transcend our thought, are in love with
you. So do you yourself preserve yourself now, as the one jewel of
the world, dedicated to the king of Vatsa only, from all assaults,
for your own excellence brings you enmity. I indeed, my friend, shall
never return to you, since you are now established in the palace of
your husband: good women do not visit the house of a friend's husband,
O fair one! besides I have been forbidden by my own lord. And it is
not possible for me to come here secretly, induced by my affection
for you, inasmuch as my husband possesses divine insight and would
find it out; with difficulty in truth did I obtain his permission to
come here to-day. And since I can be of no use to you now, my friend,
I will return home, but if my husband should give me permission,
I will come here again, disregarding modesty." Thus Somaprabhá,
the daughter of the Asura king, spake weeping to Kalingasená, the
daughter of the mortal king, whose face also was washed with tears,
and after embracing her, departed swiftly to her own palace, as the
day was passing away.


Then the princess Kalingasená, who had deserted her own country and
relations, remembering her dear friend Somaprabhá who had left her,
and finding the great festival of her marriage with the king of
Vatsa delayed, remained in Kausámbí like a doe that had strayed from
the forest.

And the king of Vatsa, feeling a little bitter against the astrologers,
who were so dexterous in deferring the marriage of Kalingasená,
being despondent with love-longing, went that day to divert his mind,
to the private apartments of Vásavadattá. There the queen, who had
been tutored beforehand by the excellent minister, let fall no sign
of anger, but shewed especial sedulity in honouring her husband with
her usual attentions. And the king, wondering how it was that, even
though she knew the episode of Kalingasená, the queen was not angry,
being desirous of knowing the cause, said to her; "Do you know, queen,
that a princess named Kalingasená has come here to choose me for her
husband?" The moment she heard it, she answered, without changing the
hue of her countenance, "I know it; I am exceedingly delighted, for in
her the goddess of Fortune has come to our house; for by gaining her
you will also get her father Kalingadatta under your influence, and
the earth will be more completely in your power. Now I am delighted
on account of his great power and your pleasure, and long ago did
I know this circumstance with regard to you. So am I not fortunate,
since I have such a husband as you, whom princesses fall in love with,
that are themselves sought by other kings?" When thus addressed by
queen Vásavadattá, who had been previously tutored by Yaugandharáyana,
the king rejoiced in his heart. And after enjoying a drinking-bout
with her, he slept that night in her apartments, and waking up in
the morning he reflected--"What, does the magnanimous queen obey
me so implicitly as even to acquiesce in having Kalingasená for a
rival? But how could this same proud woman endure her, since it was
owing to the special favour of destiny that she did not yield her
breath, even when I married Padmávatí? So, if anything were to happen
to her, it would be utter ruin; upon her hang the lives of my son,
my brother-in-law, my father-in-law, and Padmávatí, and the welfare
of the kingdom; what higher tribute can I pay her? So how can I marry
that Kalingasená?" Thus reflecting the king of Vatsa left her chamber
at the close of night, and the next day went to the palace of queen
Padmávatí. She too, having been taught her lesson by Vásavadattá,
shewed him attentions after the very same fashion, and when questioned
by him, gave a similar answer. The next day the king, thinking over the
sentiments and speeches of the queens, which were completely in unison,
commended them to Yaugandharáyana. And the minister Yaugandharáyana,
who knew how to seize the right moment, seeing that the king was
plunged in doubt, spake slowly to him as follows--"I know well,
the matter does not end where you think, there is a terrible resolve
here. For the queens spoke thus, because they are steadfastly bent
on surrendering their lives. Chaste women, when their beloved is
attached to another, or has gone to heaven, become careless about
all enjoyments, and determined to die, though their intentions are
inscrutable on account of the haughtiness of their character. For
matrons cannot endure the interruption of a deep affection; and in
proof of this hear now, O king, this story of Srutasena."

The story of Srutasena.

There lived long ago in the Dekhan, in a city called Gokarna, a king
named Srutasena, who was the ornament of his race, and possessed of
learning. And this king, though his prosperity was complete, had yet
one source of sorrow, that he had not as yet obtained a wife who was
a suitable match for him. And once on a time the king, while brooding
over that sorrow, began to talk about it, and was thus addressed
by a Bráhman, named Agnisarman: "I have seen two wonders, O king, I
will describe them to you: listen! Having gone on a pilgrimage to all
the sacred bathing-places, I reached that Panchatírthí, in which five
Apsarases were reduced to the condition of crocodiles by the curse of
a holy sage, and were rescued from it by Arjuna, who had come there
while going round the holy spots. There I bathed in the blessed water,
which possesses the power of enabling those men, who bathe in it and
fast for five nights, to become followers of Náráyana. And while I
was departing, I beheld a cultivator in the middle of a field, who
had furrowed the earth with his plough, singing. That cultivator was
asked about the road by a certain wandering hermit, who had come that
way, but did not hear what he said, being wholly occupied with his
song. Then the hermit was angry with that cultivator, and began to
talk in a distracted manner; and the cultivator, stopping his song,
said to him--'Alas! though you are a hermit, you will not learn even
a fraction of virtue; even I, though a fool, have discovered what is
the highest essence of virtue.' When he heard that, the hermit asked
him out of curiosity--'What have you discovered?' And the cultivator
answered him--'Sit here in the shade, and listen while I tell you
a tale.'

Story of the three Bráhman brothers.

In this land there were three Bráhman brothers, Brahmadatta,
Somadatta, and Visvadatta of holy deeds. Of these the two eldest
possessed wives, but the youngest was unmarried; he remained as
their servant without being angry, obeying their orders along with
me; for I was their ploughman. And those elder brothers thought
that he was soft, and devoid of intellect, good, not swerving from
the right path, simple, and unenterprising. Then, once on a time,
the youngest brother Visvadatta was solicited by his two brothers'
wives who fell in love with him, but he rejected their advances as
if each of them had been his mother. Then they both of them went
and said falsely to their own husbands, "This younger brother of
yours makes love to us in secret." This speech made those two
elder brothers cherish anger against him in their hearts, for
men bewildered by the speeches of wicked women, do not know the
difference between truth and falsehood. Then those brothers said
once on a time to Visvadatta--"Go and level that ant-hill in the
middle of the field!" He said--"I will"--and went and proceeded to
dig up the ant-hill with his spade, though I said to him, "Do not do
it, a venomous snake lives there." Though he heard what I said, he
continued to dig at the ant-hill, exclaiming--"Let what will happen,
happen," for he would not disobey the order of his two elder brothers,
though they wished him ill. Then, while he was digging it up, he got
out of it a pitcher filled with gold, and not a venomous snake, for
virtue is an auxiliary to the good. So he took that pitcher and gave
it all to his elder brothers out of his constant affection for them,
though I tried to dissuade him. But they sent assassins, hiring them
with a portion of that gold, and had his hands and feet cut off,
in their desire to seize his wealth. But he was free from anger,
and in spite of that treatment, did not wax wroth with his brothers,
and on account of that virtue of his, his hands and feet grew again.

'After beholding that, I renounced from that time all anger, but
you, though you are a hermit, have not even now renounced anger. The
man who is free from anger has gained heaven, behold now a proof of
this.' After saying this, the husbandman left his body and ascended to
heaven. "This is one wonder which I have seen, hear a second, O king;"

After saying this to king Srutasena, the Bráhman continued, "Then, as
I was roaming about on the shore of the sea to visit sacred places,
I reached the realm of king Vasantasena. There, as I was about to
enter an almshouse where cooked food is distributed by the king,
the Bráhmans said to me,--'Bráhman, advance not in that direction,
for there the king's daughter is present, she is called Vidyuddyotá,
and if even a hermit beholds her, he is pierced by the arrow of love,
and becoming distracted ceases to live.' Then I answered them--'This
is not wonderful to me, for I continually behold king Srutasena, who
is a second god of love. When he leaves his palace on an expedition,
or for some other purpose, women of good family are removed by guards
from any place whence they may possibly see him, for fear they should
infringe chastity.' When I said this, they knew I was a subject of
your Majesty's, and the superintendent of the house of entertainment
and the king's chaplain took me into the presence of the king,
that I might share the feast. There I saw that princess Vidyuddyotá,
looking like the incarnation of the magic art with which the god of
love bewilders the world. After a long time I mastered my confusion
at beholding her, and reflected--'If this lady were to become the
wife of our sovereign, he would forget his kingdom. Nevertheless I
must tell this tale to my master, otherwise there might take place
the incident of Devasena and Unmádiní.'

The story of Devasena and Unmádiní.

Once on a time, in the realm of king Devasena, there was a merchant's
daughter, a maiden that bewildered the world with her beauty. Her
father told the king about her, but the king did not take her in
marriage, for the Bráhmans, who wished to prevent his neglecting his
duties, told him she had inauspicious marks. So she was married to his
prime minister. [494] And once on a time she showed herself to the king
at a window. And the king, struck by her with a poisonous look from a
distance, as if she had been a female snake, [495] fainted again and
again, enjoyed no pleasure, and took no food. And the righteous king,
though entreated over and over again to marry her by the ministers,
with her husband at their head, refused to do so, and devoted to her,
yielded up his breath.

"Accordingly I have come to-day and told you this wonderful tale,
thinking that if a similar distraction were to come upon you, I should
be guilty of conspiring against your life."

When king Srutasena heard from that Bráhman this speech, which was
like the command of the god of love, he became ardently attached to
Vidyuddyotá, so he immediately sent off the Bráhman and took steps to
have her brought quickly and married her. Then the princess Vidyuddyotá
became inseparable from the person of that king, as the daylight from
the orb of the sun.

Then a maiden of the name of Mátridattá, the daughter of a very rich
merchant, intoxicated with the pride of her beauty, came to select that
king for her husband. Through fear of committing unrighteousness, the
king married that merchant's daughter; then Vidyuddyotá, coming to hear
of it, died of a broken heart. And the king came and beheld that dearly
loved wife lying dead, and took her up in his arms, and lamenting,
died on the spot. Thereupon Mátridattá, the merchant's daughter,
entered the fire. And so the whole kingdom perished with the king.

"So you see, king, that the breaking off of long love is
difficult to bear, especially would it be so to the proud queen
Vásavadattá. Accordingly, if you were to marry this Kalingasená, the
queen Vásavadattá would indubitably quit her life, and queen Padmávatí
would do the same, for their life is one. And then how would your son
Naraváhanadatta live? And, I know, the king's heart would not be able
to bear any misfortune happening to him. And so all this happiness
would perish in a moment, O king. But as for the dignified reserve,
which the queens displayed in their speeches, that sufficiently
shews that their hearts are indifferent to all things, being firmly
resolved on suicide. So you must guard your own interests, for even
animals understand self-protection, much more wise men like yourself,
O king." The king of Vatsa, when he heard this at length from the
excellent minister Yaugandharáyana, having now become quite capable
of wise discrimination, said--"It is so; there can be no doubt about
it; all this fabric of my happiness would be overthrown. So what is
the use of my marrying Kalingasená? Accordingly the astrologers did
well in mentioning a distant hour as auspicious for the marriage:
and there cannot after all be much sin in abandoning one who had
come to select me as her husband." When Yaugandharáyana heard this,
he reflected with joy, "Our business has almost turned out according
to our wishes. Will not that same great plant of policy, watered with
the streams of expedient, and nourished with due time and place, truly
bring forth fruit?" Thus reflecting, and meditating upon fitting
time and place, the minister Yaugandharáyana went to his house,
after taking a ceremonious farewell of the king.

The king too went to the queen Vásavadattá, who had assumed to welcome
him a manner which concealed her real feelings, and thus spoke to her
to console her: "Why do I speak? you know well, O gazelle-eyed one,
that your love is my life, even as the water is of the lotus. Could I
bear even to mention the name of another woman? But Kalingasená came
to my house of her own impetuous motion. And this is well known, that
Rambhá, who came to visit Arjuna of her own impetuous will, having
been rejected by him, as he was engaged in austerities, inflicted on
him a curse which made him a eunuch. That curse was endured by him
to the end, living in the house of the king of Viráta in the garb
of a eunuch, though he displayed miraculous valour. So I did not
reject this Kalingasená when she came, but I cannot bring myself to
do anything without your wish." Having comforted her in these words,
and having perceived by the flush of wine which rose to her cheek, as
if it were her glowing passionate heart, that her cruel design was a
reality, the king of Vatsa spent that night with the queen Vásavadattá,
delighted at the transcendent ability of his prime minister.

And in the meanwhile that Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara, who was
a friend of Yaugandharáyana, and whom he had commissioned beforehand
to watch day and night the proceedings of Kalingasená, came that very
night of his own accord and said to the prime minister: "I remain
ever at Kalingasená's house, either without it or within it, and I
have never seen man or god come there. But to-day I suddenly heard an
indistinct noise in the air, at the commencement of the night, as I was
lying hid near the roof of the palace. Then my magic science was set
in motion to ascertain the cause of the sound, but prevailed not; so
I pondered over it, and came to this conclusion: 'This must certainly
be the voice of some being of divine power, enamoured of Kalingasená,
who is roaming in the sky. Since my science does not succeed, I must
look for some opening, for clever people who remain vigilant, find
little difficulty in discovering holes in their opponents' armour. And
I know that the prime minister said--"Divine beings are in love with
her"--moreover I overheard her friend Somaprabhá saying the same. After
arriving at this conclusion I came here to make my report to you. This
I have to ask you by the way, so tell me so much I pray you. By my
magic power I heard, without being seen, what you said to the king,
'Even animals understand self-protection.' Now tell me, sagacious
man, if there is any instance of this."--When Yogesvara asked him
this question, Yaugandharáyana answered. "There is, my friend, and
to prove it, I will tell you this tale. Listen!"

The tale of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat, and the mouse.

Once on a time there was a large banyan tree outside the city of
Vidisá. In that vast tree dwelt four creatures, an ichneumon, an owl,
a cat, and a mouse, [496] and their habitations were apart. The
ichneumon and the mouse dwelt in separate holes in the root, the
cat in a great hollow in the middle of the tree: but the owl dwelt
in a bower of creepers on the top of it, which was inaccessible
to the others. Among these the mouse was the natural prey of all
three, three out of the four of the cat. The mouse, the ichneumon,
and the owl ranged for food during the night, the two first through
fear of the cat only, the owl partly because it was his nature to
do so. But the cat fearlessly wandered night and day through the
neighbouring barley-field, in order to catch the mouse, while the
others went there by stealth at a suitable time out of desire for
food. One day a certain hunter of the Chandála caste came there. He
saw the track of the cat entering that field, and having set nooses
all round the field in order to compass its death, departed. So the
cat came there at night to slay the mouse, and entering the field
was caught in one of the hunter's nooses. The mouse, for his part,
came there secretly in search of food, and seeing the cat caught
in the noose, danced for joy. While it was entering the field, the
owl and ichneumon came from afar by the same path, and seeing the
cat fast in the noose, desired to capture the mouse. And the mouse,
beholding them afar off, was terrified and reflected--"If I fly to
the cat, which the owl and the ichneumon are afraid of, that enemy,
though fast in the noose, may slay me with one blow, but if I keep
at a distance from the cat, the owl and the ichneumon will be the
death of me. So being compassed about with enemies, where shall I go,
what shall I do? Ah! I will take refuge with the cat here, for it is
in trouble, and may save me to preserve its own life, as I shall be
of use to gnaw through the noose." Thus reflecting the mouse slowly
approached the cat, and said to it, "I am exceedingly grieved at your
being caught, so I will gnaw through your noose; the upright come to
love even their enemies by dwelling in their neighbourhood. But I do
not feel confidence in you, as I do not know your intentions." When
the cat heard that, he said "Worthy mouse, be at rest, from this day
forth you are my friend as giving me life." The moment he heard this
from the cat, he crept into his bosom; when the owl and ichneumon saw
that, they went away hopeless. Then the cat, galled with the noose,
said to the mouse, "My friend, the night is almost gone, so quickly
gnaw through my bonds." The mouse for its part, waiting for the
arrival of the hunter, slowly nibbled the noose, and protracted the
business, making a continual munching with its teeth, which was all
pretence. Soon the night came to an end, and the hunter came near;
then the mouse, at the request of the cat, quickly gnawed through the
noose which held it. So the cat's noose was severed, and it ran away,
afraid of the hunter; and the mouse, delivered from death, fled into
its hole. But when called again by the cat, it reposed no confidence
in him, but remarked, "The truth is, an enemy is occasionally made
a friend by circumstances, but does not remain such for ever."

"Thus the mouse, though an animal, saved its life from many foes,
much more ought the same thing to take place among men. You heard that
speech which I uttered to the king on that occasion, to the effect
that by wisdom he should guard his own interests by preserving the
life of the queen. And wisdom is in every exigency the best friend, not
valour, Yogesvara; in illustration of this hear the following story."

The story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his treasure.

There is a city named Srávastí, and in it there lived in old time a
king of the name of Prasenajit, and one day a strange Bráhman arrived
in that city. A merchant, thinking he was virtuous, because he lived
on rice in the husk, provided him a lodging there in the house of
a Bráhman. There he was loaded by him every day with presents of
unhusked rice and other gifts, and gradually by other great merchants
also, who came to hear his story. In this way the miserly fellow
gradually accumulated a thousand dínárs, and, going to the forest,
he dug a hole and buried it in the ground, [497] and he went every
day and examined the spot. Now one day he saw that the hole, in which
he had hidden his gold, had been re-opened, and that all the gold had
gone. When he saw that hole empty, his soul was smitten, and not only
was there a void in his heart, but the whole universe seemed to him to
be void also. And then he came crying to the Bráhman, in whose house
he lived, and when questioned, he told him his whole story: and he
made up his mind to go to a holy bathing-place, and starve himself to
death. Then the merchant, who supplied him with food, hearing of it,
came there with others, and said to him, "Bráhman, why do you long to
die for the loss of your wealth? Wealth, like an unseasonable cloud,
suddenly comes and goes." Though plied by him with these and similar
arguments, he would not abandon his fixed determination to commit
suicide, for wealth is dearer to the miser than life itself. But when
the Bráhman was going to the holy place to commit suicide, the king
Prasenajit himself, having heard of it, came to him and asked him,
"Bráhman, do you know of any mark by which you can recognize the place
where you buried your dínárs?" When the Bráhman heard that, he said:
"There is a small tree in the wood there, I buried that wealth at its
foot." When the king heard that, he said, "I will find that wealth and
give it back to you, or I will give it you from my own treasury, do
not commit suicide, Bráhman." After saying this, and so diverting the
Bráhman from his intention of committing suicide, the king entrusted
him to the care of the merchant, and retired to his palace. There
he pretended to have a headache, and sending out the door-keeper, he
summoned all the physicians in the city by proclamation with beat of
drum. And he took aside every single one of them and questioned him
privately in the following words: "What patients have you here, and
how many, and what medicine have you prescribed for each?" And they
thereupon, one by one, answered all the king's questions. Then one
among the physicians, when his turn came to be questioned, said this,
"The merchant Mátridatta has been out of sorts, O king, and this is
the second day, that I have prescribed for him nágabalá. [498] When
the king heard that, he sent for the merchant, and said to him--"Tell
me, who fetched you the nágabalá?" The merchant said--"My servant,
your highness." When the king got this answer from the merchant, he
quickly summoned the servant and said to him--"Give up that treasure
belonging to a Bráhman, consisting of a store of dínárs, which you
found when you were digging at the foot of a tree for nágabalá." When
the king said this to him, the servant was frightened and confessed
immediately, and bringing those dínárs left them there. So the king
for his part summoned the Bráhman and gave him, who had been fasting
in the meanwhile, his dínárs, lost and found again, like a second
soul external to his body.

"Thus that king by his wisdom recovered for the Bráhman his wealth,
which had been taken away from the root of the tree, knowing that
that simple grew in such spots. So true is it, that intellect
always obtains the supremacy, triumphing over valour, indeed in
such cases what could courage accomplish? Accordingly, Yogesvara,
you ought to bring it to pass by your wisdom, that some peccadillo be
discovered in Kalingasená. And it is true that the gods and Asuras
are in love with her. This explains your hearing at night the sound
of some being in the air. And if we could only obtain some pretext,
calamity would fall upon her, not on us; the king would not marry
her, and yet we should not have dealt unrighteously with her." When
the Bráhman-Rákshasa Yogesvara heard all this from the sagacious
Yaugandharáyana, he was delighted and said to him--"Who except the
god Vrihaspati can match thee in policy? This counsel of thine waters
with ambrosia the tree of empire. I, even I, will investigate with
wisdom and might the proceedings of Kalingasená." Having said this,
Yogesvara departed thence.

And at this time Kalingasená, while in her palace, was continually
afflicted by beholding the king of Vatsa roaming about in his palace
and its grounds. Thinking on him, she was inflamed with love, and
though she wore a bracelet and necklace of lotus fibres, she never
obtained relief thereby, nor from sandal-ointment, or other remedies.

In the meanwhile the king of the Vidyádharas, named Madanavega, who had
seen her before, remained wounded by the arrow of ardent love. Though
he had performed a vow to obtain her, and had been granted a boon by
Siva, still she was not easy to gain, because she was living in the
land of another, and attached to another, so the Vidyádhara prince
was wandering about at night in the air over her palace, in order to
obtain an opportunity. But, remembering the order of Siva pleased
with his asceticism, he assumed one night by his skill the form of
the king of Vatsa. And in his shape he entered her palace, saluted
with praises by the door-keepers, who said--"Unable to bear delay,
the king has come here without the knowledge of his ministers." And
Kalingasená, on beholding him, rose up bewildered with agitation,
though she was, so to speak, warned by her ornaments which jingled
out the sounds--"This is not the man." Then she by degrees gained
confidence in him, and Madanavega, wearing the form of the king
of Vatsa, made her his wife by the Gándharva rite. At that moment
Yogesvara entered, invisible by his magic, and, beholding the incident,
was cast down, supposing that he saw the king of Vatsa before him. He
went and told Yaugandharáyana, who, on receiving his report, saw by
his skill that the king was in the society of Vásavadattá. So by the
order of the prime minister he returned delighted, to observe the shape
of that secret paramour of Kalingasená, when asleep. And so he went
and beheld that Madanavega asleep in his own form on the bed of the
sleeping Kalingasená, a heavenly being, the dustless lotus of whose
foot was marked with the umbrella and the banner; and who had lost
his power of changing his form, because his science was suspended
during sleep. Then Yogesvara, full of delight, went and told what
he had seen in a joyful mood to Yaugandharáyana. He said--"One like
me knows nothing, you know everything by the eye of policy; by your
counsel this difficult result has been attained for your king. What
is the sky without the sun? What is a tank without water? What is a
realm without counsel? What is speech without truth?" When Yogesvara
said this, Yaugandharáyana took leave of him, much pleased, and went
in the morning to visit the king of Vatsa. He approached him with
the usual reverence, and in course of conversation said to the king,
who asked him what was to be done about Kalingasená--"She is unchaste,
O king, and does not deserve to touch your hand. For she went of her
own accord to visit Prasenajit. When she saw that he was old, she was
disgusted, and came to visit you out of desire for your beauty, and now
she even enjoys at her pleasure the society of another person." When
the king heard this, he said--"How could a lady of birth and rank do
such a deed? Or who has power to enter my harem?" When the king said
this, the wise Yaugandharáyana answered him, "I will prove it to you
by ocular testimony this very night, my sovereign. For the divine
Siddhas and other beings of the kind are in love with her. What can
a man do against them? And who here can interfere with the movements
of gods? So come and see it with your own eyes." When the minister
said this, the king determined to go there with him at night.

Then Yaugandharáyana came to the queen, and said--"To-day, O queen,
I have carried out what I promised, that the king should marry no
other wife except queen Padmávatí, and thereupon he told her the whole
story of Kalingasená. And the queen Vásavadattá congratulated him,
bowing low and saying--"This is the fruit which I have reaped from
following your instructions."

Then, at night, when folk were asleep, the king of Vatsa went with
Yaugandharáyana to the palace of Kalingasená. And entering unperceived,
he beheld Madanavega in his proper form, sleeping by the side of
the sleeping Kalingasená. And when the king was minded to slay that
audacious one, the Vidyádhara prince was roused by his own magic
knowledge, and when awake, he went out, and immediately flew up into
the heaven. And then Kalingasená awoke immediately. And seeing the bed
empty, she said, "How is this, that the king of Vatsa wakes up before
me, and departs, leaving me asleep?" When Yaugandharáyana heard that,
he said to the king of Vatsa--"Listen, she has been beguiled by that
Vidyádhara wearing your form. He was found out by me by means of my
magic power, and now I have exhibited him before your eyes, but you
cannot kill him on account of his heavenly might." After saying this,
he and the king approached her, and Kalingasená, for her part, seeing
them, stood in a respectful attitude. But when she began to say to the
king--"Where, O king, did you go only a moment ago, so as to return
with your minister?"--Yaugandharáyana said to her--"Kalingasená,
you have been married by some being, who beguiled you by assuming
the shape of the king of Vatsa, and not by this lord of mine."

When Kalingasená heard this, she was bewildered, and as if pierced
through the heart by an arrow, she said to the king of Vatsa with
tear-streaming eyes,--"Have you forgotten me, O king, after marrying
me by the Gándharva rite, as Sakuntalá long ago was forgotten by
Dushyanta?" [499] When the king was thus addressed by her, he said
with downcast face, "In truth you were not married by me, for I never
came here till this moment." When the king of Vatsa had said this,
the minister said to him--"Come along"--and conducted him at will to
the palace.

When the king had departed thence with his minister, that lady
Kalingasená, sojourning in a foreign country, like a doe that
had strayed from the herd, having deserted her relations, with
her face robbed of its painting by kissing, as a lotus is robbed
of its leaves by cropping, having her braided tresses disordered,
even as a bed of lotuses trampled by an elephant has its cluster
of black bees dispersed; now that her maidenhood was gone for ever,
not knowing what expedient to adopt or what course to pursue, looked
up to heaven and spake as follows--"Whoever that was that assumed
the shape of the king of Vatsa and married me, let him appear,
for he is the husband of my youth." When invoked in these words,
that king of the Vidyádharas descended from heaven, of divine shape,
adorned with necklace and bracelet. And when she asked him who he
was, he answered her;--"I, fair one, am a prince of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanavega. And long ago I beheld you in your father's house,
and by performing penance obtained a boon from Siva, which conferred
on me the attainment of you. So, as you were in love with the king
of Vatsa, I assumed his form, and quickly married you by stealth,
before your contract with him had been celebrated." By the nectar of
this speech of his, entering her ears, the lotus of her heart was a
little revived. Then Madanavega comforted that fair one, and made her
recover her composure, and bestowed on her a heap of gold, and when
she had conceived in her heart affection for her excellent husband,
as being well suited to her, he flew up into the heaven to return
again. And Kalingasená, after obtaining permission from Madanavega,
consented to dwell patiently where she was, reflecting that the
heavenly home, the abode of her husband, could not be approached by
a mortal, and that through passion she had left her father's house.


Then the king of Vatsa, thinking on the peerless beauty of
Kalingasená, was one night seized with love, so he rose up and went
sword in hand, and entered her palace alone; and she welcomed him and
received him politely. Then the king asked her to become his wife,
but she rejected his addresses, saying, "You should regard me as the
wife of another." Whereupon he answered--"Since you are unchaste as
having resorted to three men, I shall not by approaching you incur
the guilt of adultery." When the king said this to Kalingasená, she
answered him, "I came to marry you, O king, but I was married by the
Vidyádhara Madanavega at his will, for he assumed your shape. And
he is my only husband, so why am I unchaste? But such are the
misfortunes even of ordinary women who desert their relations,
having their minds bewildered with the love of lawless roaming,
much more of princesses? And this is the fruit of my own folly in
sending a messenger to you, though I had been warned not to do so by
my friend, who had seen an evil omen. So if you touch me by force,
I will abandon life, for what woman of good family will injure her
husband? And to prove this I will tell you a tale--listen O king."

The story of king Indradatta.

There lived in old time in the land of Chedi a great king called
Indradatta, he founded for his glory a great temple at the holy
bathing-place of Pápasodhana, desiring the body of good reputation,
as he saw that our mortal body is perishable. And the king in the
ardour of his devotion was continually going to visit it, and all
kinds of people were continually coming there to bathe in the holy
water. Now, one day the king saw a merchant's wife, whose husband was
travelling in foreign parts, who had come there to bathe in the holy
water; she was steeped in the nectar of pure beauty, and adorned
with various charms, like a splendid moving palace of the god of
Love. She was embraced on both her feet by the radiance of the two
quivers of the five-arrowed god, [500] as if out of love, believing
that with her he would conquer the world. [501] The moment the king
saw her, she captivated his soul so entirely that, unable to restrain
himself, he found out her house and went there at night. And when he
solicited her, she said to him--"You are a protector of the helpless,
you ought not to touch another man's wife. And if you lay violent
hands on me, you will commit a great sin; and I will die immediately,
I will not endure disgrace." Though she said this to him, the king
still endeavoured to use force to her, whereupon her heart broke in a
moment through fear of losing her chastity. When the king saw that,
he was at once abashed, and went back by the way that he came, and
in a few days died out of remorse for that crime.

Having told this tale, Kalingasená bowed in timid modesty, and
again said to the king of Vatsa--"Therefore, king, set not your
heart on wickedness that would rob me of breath; since I have come
here, allow me to dwell here; if not, I will depart to some other
place." Then the king of Vatsa, who knew what was right, hearing
this from Kalingasená, after reflecting, desisted from his intention,
and said to her--"Princess, dwell here at will with this husband of
yours; I will not say anything to you, henceforth fear not." When
the king had said this, he returned of his own accord to his house,
and Madanavega, having heard the conversation, descended from heaven,
and said--"My beloved, you have done well, if you had not acted thus,
O fortunate one, good fortune would not have resulted, for I should
not have tolerated your conduct." When the Vidyádhara had said this,
he comforted her, and passed the night there, and continued going
to her house and returning again. And Kalingasená, having a king of
the Vidyádharas for her husband, remained there, blessed even in
her mortal state with the enjoyment of heavenly pleasures. As for
the king of Vatsa, he ceased to think about her, and remembering the
speech of his minister, he rejoiced, considering that he had saved
his queens and kingdom and also his son. And the queen Vásavadattá
and the minister Yaugandharáyana were at ease, having reaped the
fruit of the wishing-tree of policy.

Then, as days went on, Kalingasená had the lotus of her face a
little pale, and was pregnant, having longing produced in her. Her
lofty breasts, with extremities a little dark, appeared like
the treasure-vessels of Love, marked with his seal of joy. [502]
Then her husband Madanavega came to her and said, "Kalingasená, we
heavenly beings are subject to this law, that, when a mortal child
is conceived we must abandon it, and go afar. Did not Menaká leave
Sakuntalá in the hermitage of Kanva? And though you were formerly an
Apsaras, you have now, goddess, become a mortal by the curse of Siva,
inflicted on account of your disobedience. Thus it has come to pass
that, though chaste, you have incurred the reproach of unchastity;
so guard your offspring, I will go to my own place. And whenever
you think upon me, I will appear to you." Thus the prince of the
Vidyádharas spake to the weeping Kalingasená, and consoled her,
and gave her a heap of valuable jewels, and departed with his mind
fixed on her, drawn away by the law. Kalingasená, for her part,
remained there; supported by the hope of offspring as by a friend,
protected by the shade of the king of Vatsa's arm.

In the meanwhile the husband of Ambiká [503] gave the following
order to Rati, the wife of the god of Love, who had performed
penance in order to get back her husband with his body restored:
"That husband of thine who was formerly consumed, has been born in
the palace of the king of Vatsa, under the name of Naraváhanadatta,
conceived in a mortal womb on account of disrespect shewn to me. But
because thou hast propitiated me, thou shalt also be born in the world
of mortals, without being conceived in a mortal womb; and then thou
shalt be reunited to thy husband, once more possessing a body." Having
said this to Rati, Siva then gave this command to the Creator; [504]
"Kalingasená shall give birth to a son of divine origin. By thy power
of illusion thou shalt remove her son, and substitute in his place
this very Rati, who shall abandon her heavenly body, and be moulded
by thee in the form of a mortal maiden." The Creator, in obedience to
the order of Siva, [505] went down to earth, and when the appointed
time came, Kalingasená gave birth to a son. The Creator abstracted,
by his divine power of illusion, her son, the moment he was born,
and substituted Rati, whom he had turned into a girl, in his place,
without the change being detected. And all present there saw that girl
born, and she seemed like the streak of the new moon suddenly rising
in broad daylight, for she illuminated with her splendour the lying-in
chamber, and eclipsing the long row of flames of the jewel-lamps [506]
robbed them of lustre, and made them, as it were, abashed. Kalingasená,
when she saw that incomparable daughter born, in her delight made
greater rejoicing, than she would have made at the birth of a son.

Then the king of Vatsa, with his queen and his ministers, heard that
such a lovely daughter had been born to Kalingasená. And when the
king heard of it, he suddenly, under the impulsion of the god Siva,
said to the queen Vásavadattá, in the presence of Yaugandharáyana;
"I know, this Kalingasená is a heavenly nymph, who has fallen down to
earth in consequence of a curse, and this daughter born to her will
also be heavenly, and of wonderful beauty. So this girl, being equal
in beauty to my son Naraváhanadatta, ought to be his head-queen." When
the queen Vásavadattá heard that, she said to the king--"Great king,
why do you suddenly say this now? What similarity can there possibly
be between this son of yours, of pure descent by both lines, and the
daughter of Kalingasená, a girl whose mother is unchaste." When the
king heard that, he reflected, and said, "Truly, I do not say this
of myself, but some god seems to have entered into me, and to be
forcing me to speak. And I seem to hear a voice uttering these words
from heaven--'This daughter of Kalingasená is the appointed wife
of Naraváhanadatta.' Moreover, that Kalingasená is a faithful wife,
of good family; and her reproach of unchastity has arisen from the
influence of her actions in a former birth." When the king had said
this, the minister Yaugandharáyana spoke--"We hear, king, that when
the god of Love was consumed, Rati performed asceticism. And Siva
granted to Rati, who wished to recover her husband, the following boon:
'Thou shalt assume the condition of a mortal, and be reunited to thy
husband, who has been born with a body in the world of mortals.' Now,
your son has long ago been declared by a heavenly voice to be an
incarnation of Káma, and Rati by the order of Siva has to become
incarnate in mortal form. And the midwife said to me to-day--'I
inspected previously the fetus when contained in the uterus, and
then I saw one quite different from what has now appeared. Having
beheld this marvel I have come here to tell you.' This is what that
woman told me, and now this inspiration has come to you. So I am
persuaded that the gods have stolen the real child of Kalingasená
and substituted this daughter not born in the ordinary way, who is
no other than Rati, ordained beforehand to be the wife of your son,
who is an incarnation of Káma, O king. To illustrate this, hear the
following story concerning a Yaksha."

Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha.

The god of wealth had for servant a Yaksha, named Virúpáksha, who
had been appointed chief guardian of lacs of treasure. [507] And he
delegated a certain Yaksha to guard a treasure lying outside the town
of Mathurá, posted there like an immovable pillar of marble. And
once on a time a certain Bráhman, a votary of Pasupati, who made
it his business to exhume treasures, went there in search of hidden
wealth. While he was examining that place, with a candle made of human
fat in his hand, the candle fell from his grasp. By that sign he knew
that treasure was concealed there; and he attempted to dig it up with
the help of some other Bráhmans his friends. Then the Yaksha, who was
told off to guard that treasure, beholding that, came and related
the whole circumstance to Virúpáksha. And Virúpáksha in his wrath
gave the following command to the Yaksha--"Go and slay immediately
those mean treasure-hunters." Then the Yaksha went and slew by his
power those Bráhmans, who were digging for treasure, before they had
attained their object. Then the god of wealth came to hear of it, and
being angry he said to Virúpáksha, "Why did you, evil one, recklessly
order the slaughter of a Bráhman? What will not poor people, who are
struggling for a livelihood, [508] do out of desire for gain? But
they must be prevented by being terrified with various bug-bears,
they must not be slain." When the god of Wealth had said this, he
cursed that Virúpáksha as follows--"Be born as a mortal on account of
your wicked conduct." Then that Virúpáksha, smitten with the curse,
was born on the earth as the son of a certain Bráhman who lived on a
royal grant. Then the Yakshiní his wife implored the lord of wealth,
"O god, send me whither my husband has gone; be merciful to me,
for I cannot live without him." When the virtuous lady addressed
this prayer to him, Vaisravana said--"Thou shalt descend, without
being born, into the house of a female slave of that very Bráhman, in
whose house thy husband is born. There thou shalt be united to that
husband of thine, and by thy power he shall surmount his curse and
return to my service." In accordance with this decree of Vaisravana,
that virtuous wife became a mortal maiden, and fell at the door of
that Bráhman's female slave's house. And the slave suddenly saw that
maiden of marvellous beauty, and took her and exhibited her to her
master the Bráhman. And the Bráhman rejoiced, and said to the female
slave--"This is without doubt some heavenly maiden not born in the
ordinary way; so my soul tells me. Bring here this girl who has entered
your house, for, I think, she deserves to be my son's wife." Then in
course of time that girl and the son of the Bráhman, having grown
up, were smitten with ardent reciprocal affection at the sight of
one another. Then they were married by the Bráhman; and the couple,
though they did not remember their previous births, felt as if a long
separation had been brought to an end. Then at last the Yaksha died,
and as his wife burnt herself with his mortal body, his sins were
wiped away by her sufferings, and he regained his former rank.

"Thus, you see, heavenly beings, on account of certain causes, descend
from heaven to the earth, by the appointment of fate, and, because they
are free from sin, they are not born in the usual way. What does this
girl's family matter to you? So this daughter of Kalingasená is, as I
said, the wife appointed for your son by destiny." When Yaugandharáyana
had said this to the king of Vatsa and the queen Vásavadattá, they
both consented in their hearts that it should be so. Then the prime
minister returned to his house, and the king, in the company of his
wife, spent the day happily, in drinking and other enjoyments.

Then, as time went on, that daughter of Kalingasená, who had lost
her recollection of her former state through illusion, gradually
grew up, and her dower of beauty grew with her; and her mother and
her attendants gave her the name of Madanamanchuká, because she was
the daughter of Madanavega, saying, "Surely the beauty of all other
lovely women has fled to her; else how could they have become ugly
before her?" And the queen Vásavadattá, hearing she was beautiful,
one day had her brought into her presence out of curiosity. Then the
king and Yaugandharáyana and his fellows beheld her clinging to the
face of her nurse, as the candle-flame clings to the wick. And there
was no one present, who did not think that she was an incarnation
of Rati, when they beheld her matchless body, which was like nectar
to their eyes. And then the queen Vásavadattá brought there her son
Naraváhanadatta, who was a feast to the eyes of the world. He beheld,
with the lotus of his face expanded, the gleaming Madanamanchuká, as
the bed of water-lilies beholds the young splendour of the sun. The
girl gazed with dilated countenance upon that gladdener of the eyes,
and could not gaze enough, as the female partridge can never be sated
with gazing on the moon. Henceforth these two children could not
remain apart even for a moment, being, as it were, fastened together
with the nooses of glances.

But, in course of time, the king of Vatsa came to the conclusion
that that marriage was made in heaven, [509] and turned his mind
to the solemnization of the nuptials. When Kalingasená heard that,
she rejoiced, and fixed her affection upon Naraváhanadatta out
of love for her daughter's future husband. And then the king of
Vatsa, after deliberating with his ministers, had made for his son
a separate palace like his own. Then that king, who could discern
times and seasons, collected the necessary utensils, and anointed
his son as crown-prince, since it was apparent that he possessed all
praiseworthy qualities. First there fell on his head the water of his
father's tears, and then the water of holy bathing-places, purified by
Vaidik spells of mickle might. When the lotus of his face was washed
with the water of inauguration, wonderful to say, the faces of the
cardinal points became also clear. When his mothers threw on him the
flowers of the auspicious garlands, the heaven immediately shed a
rain of many celestial wreaths. As if in emulation of the thunder
of the drums of the gods, the echoes of the sound of the cymbals
of rejoicing floated in the air. Every one there bowed before him,
as soon as he was inaugurated as crown-prince; then by that alone he
was exalted, without his own power.

Then the king of Vatsa summoned the good sons of the ministers, who
were the playfellows of his son, and appointed them to their offices
as servants to the crown-prince. He appointed to the office of prime
minister Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyana, and then Harisikha the
son of Rumanvat to the office of commander-in-chief, and he appointed
Tapantaka the son of Vasantaka as the companion of his lighter hours,
and Gomukha the son of Ityaka to the duty of chamberlain and warder,
and to the office of domestic chaplains the two sons of Pingaliká,
Vaisvánara and Sántisoma, the nephews of the king's family priest. When
these men had been appointed by the king servants to his son, there
was heard from heaven a voice preceded by a rain of flowers: "These
ministers shall accomplish all things prosperously for the prince,
and Gomukha shall be his inseparable companion." When the heavenly
voice had said this, the delighted king of Vatsa honoured them all
with clothes and ornaments; and while that king was showering wealth
upon his dependents, none of them could claim the title of poor on
account of the accumulation of riches. And the city was filled with
dancing girls and minstrels, who seemed to be invited by the rows of
silken streamers fanned and agitated by the wind.

Then Kalingasená came to the feast of her future son-in-law, looking
like the Fortune of the Vidyádhara race which was to attend him,
present in bodily form. Then Vásavadattá and Padmávatí and she
danced, all three of them, for joy, like the three powers [510] of
a king united together. And all the trees there seemed to dance,
as their creepers waved in the wind, much more did the creatures
possessing sense.

Then the crown-prince Naraváhanadatta, having been inaugurated in
his office, ascended an elephant of victory, and went forth. And
he was sprinkled by the city wives with their upcast eyes, blue,
white and red, resembling offerings of blue lotuses, parched grain
and water-lilies. And after visiting the gods worshipped in that city,
being praised by heralds and minstrels, he entered his palace with his
ministers. Then Kalingasená gave him, to begin with, celestial viands
and drinks far exceeding what his own magnificence could supply, and
she presented to him and his ministers, friends and servants, beautiful
robes and heavenly ornaments, for she was overpowered with love for
her son-in-law. So the day passed in high festivity for all these,
the king of Vatsa and the others, charming as the taste of nectar.

Then the night arrived, and Kalingasená pondering over her daughter's
marriage, called to mind her friend Somaprabhá. No sooner had she
called to mind the daughter of the Asura Maya, than her husband,
the much-knowing Nadakúvara, thus addressed that noble lady, his
wife--"Dear one, Kalingasená is now thinking on thee with longing,
therefore go and make a heavenly garden for her daughter." Having said
this, and revealed the future and the past history of that maiden,
her husband dismissed that instant his wife Somaprabhá. And when she
arrived, her friend Kalingasená threw her arms around her neck, having
missed her so long, and Somaprabhá, after asking after her health,
said to her--"You have been married by a Vidyádhara of great power,
and your daughter is an incarnation of Rati by the favour of Siva, and
she has been brought into the world as the wife, in a previous state
of existence, of an incarnation of Love, that has taken his birth from
the king of Vatsa. He shall be emperor of the Vidyádharas for a kalpa
of the gods; and she shall be honoured above his other wives. But
you have descended into this world, being an Apsaras degraded by the
curse of Indra, and after you have brought your duties to completion,
you shall obtain deliverance from your curse. All this was told me,
my friend, by my wise husband, so you must not be anxious; you will
enjoy every prosperity. And I will now make here for your daughter
a heavenly garden, the like of which does not exist on earth,
in heaven, or in the nether regions." Having said this, Somaprabhá
made a heavenly garden by her magic power, and taking leave of the
regretful Kalingasená, she departed. Then, at the dawn of day, people
beheld that garden, looking like the garden of Nandana suddenly fallen
down from heaven to earth. Then the king of Vatsa heard of it, and
came there with his wives and his ministers, and Naraváhanadatta with
his companions. And they beheld that garden, the trees of which bore
both flowers and fruits all the year round, [511] with many jewelled
pillars, walls, lawns, and tanks; with birds of the colour of gold,
with heavenly perfumed breezes, like a second Svarga descended to
earth from the region of the gods. The lord of Vatsa, when he saw that
wonderful sight, asked Kalingasená, who was intent on hospitality,
what it was. And she thus answered the king in the hearing of all:
"There is a great Asura, Maya by name, an incarnation of Visvakarman,
who made the assembly-hall of Yudhishthira, and the city of Indra:
he has a daughter, Somaprabhá by name, who is a friend of mine. She
came here at night to visit me, and out of love made this heavenly
garden by her magic power, for the sake of my daughter." After saying
this, she told all the past and future fortunes of her daughter,
which Somaprabhá had revealed to her, letting the king know that
she had heard them from her friend. Then all there, perceiving that
the speech of Kalingasená tallied with what they previously knew,
dismissed their doubts and were exceedingly delighted. And the king
of Vatsa, with his wives and his son, spent that day in the garden,
being hospitably entertained by Kalingasená.

The next day, the king went to visit a god in a temple, and he saw
many women well-clothed and with beautiful ornaments. And when he
asked them who they were, they said to him--"We are the sciences,
and these are the accomplishments; and we are come here on account of
your son: we shall now go and enter into him." Having said this they
disappeared, and the king of Vatsa entered his house astonished. There
he told it to the queen Vásavadattá and to the circle of his ministers,
and they rejoiced at that favour of the deity. Then Vásavadattá, by
the direction of the king, took up a lyre as soon as Naraváhanadatta
entered the room. And while his mother was playing, Naraváhanadatta
said modestly to her, "This lyre is out of tune." His father said,
"Take it, and play on it," whereupon he played upon the lyre so as to
astonish even the Gandharvas. When he was thus tested by his father
in all the sciences and the accomplishments, he became endowed with
them all, and of himself knew all knowledge. When the king of Vatsa
beheld his son endowed with all talents, he taught Madanamanchuká,
the daughter of Kalingasená, dancing. As fast as she became perfect
in accomplishments, [512] the heart of the prince Naraváhanadatta was
disturbed. So the sea is disturbed, as fast as the orb of the moon
rounds off its digits. And he delighted in beholding her singing and
dancing, accomplished in all the gestures of the body, so that she
seemed to be reciting the decrees of Love. As for her, if she did not
see for a moment that nectar-like lover, the tears rose to her eyes,
and she was like a bed of white lotuses, wet with dew at the hour
of dawn. [513] And Naraváhanadatta, being unable to live without
continually beholding her face, came to that garden of hers. There
he remained, and Kalingasená out of affection did all she could to
please him, bringing her daughter to him. And Gomukha, who saw into
his master's heart, and wished to bring about his long stay there,
used to tell various tales to Kalingasená. The king was delighted by
his friend's penetrating his intentions, for seeing into one's lord's
soul is the surest way of winning him. And Naraváhanadatta himself
perfected Madanamanchuká in dancing and other accomplishments, giving
her lessons in a concert-hall that stood in the garden, and while his
beloved danced, he played on all instruments so as to put to the blush
the most skilful minstrels. And he conquered also various professors
that came from all quarters, and were skilful in managing elephants,
horses, and chariots, in the use of hand-to-hand and missile weapons,
in painting and modelling. [514] In these amusements passed during
childhood the days of Naraváhanadatta, who was the chosen bridegroom
of Science.

Now, once on a time the prince, with his ministers, and accompanied by
his beloved, went on a pilgrimage to a garden called Nágavana. There a
certain merchant's wife fell in love with Gomukha, and being repulsed,
tried to kill him by offering to him a poisoned drink. But Gomukha
came to hear of it from the lips of her confidante, and did not take
that drink, but broke out into the following denunciation of women:
"Alas! the Creator first created recklessness, and then women in
imitation of it; by nature nothing is too bad for them to do. Surely
this being they call woman, is created of nectar and poison, for,
when she is attached to one, she is nectar, and when estranged she
is indeed poison. Who can see through a woman, with loving face
secretly planning crime? A wicked woman is like a lotus-bed with
its flowers expanded, and an alligator concealed in it. But now and
then there falls from heaven, urging on a host of virtues, a good
woman that brings praise to her husband, like the pure light of the
sun. But another, of evil augury, attached to strangers, not free
from inordinate desires, wicked, bearing the poison of aversion,
[515] slays her husband like a female snake."

Story of Satrughna and his wicked wife.

For instance, in a certain village there was a certain man named
Satrughna, and his wife was unchaste. He once saw in the evening his
wife in the society of her lover, and he slew that lover of hers,
when he was in the house, with the sword. And he remained at the door
waiting for the night, keeping his wife inside, and at night-fall
a traveller came there to ask for a lodging. He gave him refuge,
and artfully carried away with his help the corpse of that adulterer
at night, and went with it to the forest. And there, while he was
throwing that corpse into a well, the mouth of which was overgrown
with plants, his wife came behind him, and pushed him in also.

"What reckless crime of this kind will not a wicked wife commit?" In
these words Gomukha, though still a boy, denounced the conduct
of women.

Then Naraváhanadatta himself worshipped the snakes in that grove of
snakes, [516] and went back to his palace with his retinue.

While he was there, he desired one day to prove his ministers, Gomukha
and the others, so he asked them, though he himself knew it well, for
a summary of the policy of princes. They consulted among themselves,
and said--"You know all things, nevertheless we will tell you this,
now that you ask us," and so they proceeded to relate the cream of
political science.

"A king should first tame and mount the horses of the senses,
and should conquer those internal foes, love, anger, avarice and
delusion, and should subdue himself as a preparation for subduing
other enemies, for how can a man, who has not conquered himself,
being helpless, conquer others? Then he should procure ministers,
who, among other good qualities, possess that of being natives of his
own country, and a skilful family priest, knowing the Atharva Veda,
gifted with asceticism. He should test his ministers with respect to
fear, avarice, virtue and passion, by ingenious artifices, and then he
should appoint them to appropriate duties, discerning their hearts. He
should try their speech, when they are deliberating with one another
on affairs, to see if it is truthful, or inspired by malice, spoken
out of affection, or connected with selfish objects. He should be
pleased with truth, but should punish untruth as it deserves, and
he should continually inquire into the conduct of each of them by
means of spies. Thus he should look at business with unhooded eye,
and by rooting up opponents, [517] and acquiring a treasure, a force,
and the other means of success, should establish himself firmly
on the throne. Then, equipped with the three powers of courage,
kingly authority, and counsel, he should be eager to conquer the
territory of others, considering the difference between the power
of himself and his foe. He should continually take counsel with
advisers, who should be trusty, learned and wise, and should correct
with his own intellect the policy determined on by them, in all its
details. Being versed in the means of success, [518] (conciliation,
bribery and the others,) he should attain for himself security,
and he should then employ the six proper courses, of which alliance
and war are the chief. [519] Thus a king acquires prosperity, and as
long as he carefully considers his own realm and that of his rival,
he is victorious but never vanquished. But an ignorant monarch, blind
with passion and avarice, is plundered by wicked servants, who shew
him the wrong path, and leading him astray, fling him into pits. On
account of these rogues a servant of another kind is never admitted
into the presence of the king, as a husbandman cannot get at a crop of
rice enclosed with a palisade. For he is enslaved by those faithless
servants, who penetrate into his secrets; and consequently Fortune
in disgust flies from him, because he does not know the difference
between man and man. Therefore a king should conquer himself, should
inflict due chastisement, and know the difference of men's characters,
for in this way he will acquire his subjects' love and become thereby
a vessel of prosperity."

Story of king Súrasena and his ministers.

In old time a king named Súrasena, who relied implicitly upon his
servants, was enslaved and plundered by his ministers, who had formed
a coalition. Whoever was a faithful servant to the king, the ministers
would not give even a straw to, though the king wished to bestow a
reward upon him; but if any man was a faithful servant to them, they
themselves gave him presents, and by their representations induced
the king to give to him, though he was undeserving. When the king
saw that, he gradually came to be aware of that coalition of rogues,
and set those ministers at variance with one another by a clever
artifice. When they were estranged, and the clique was broken up,
and they began to inform against one another, the king ruled the
realm successfully, without being deceived by others.

Story of Harisinha.

And there was a king named Harisinha, of ordinary power but versed in
the true science of policy, who had surrounded himself with devoted
and wise ministers, possessed forts, and stores of wealth; he made
his subjects devoted to him and conducted himself in such a way that,
though attacked by an emperor, he was not defeated.

"Thus discernment and reflection are the main things in governing a
kingdom; what is of more importance?" Having said this, each taking
his part, Gomukha and his fellows ceased. Naraváhanadatta, approving
that speech of theirs, though he knew that heroic action is to be
thought upon, [520] still placed his reliance upon destiny whose
power surpasses all thought.

Then he rose up, and his ardour being kindled by delay, he went with
them to visit his beloved Madanamanchuká; when he had reached her
palace and was seated on a throne, Kalingasená, after performing the
usual courtesies, said with astonishment to Gomukha, [521] "Before
the prince Naraváhanadatta arrived, Madanamanchuká, being impatient,
went up to the top of the palace to watch him coming, accompanied by
me, and while we were there, a man descended from heaven upon it,
he was of divine appearance, wore a tiara, and a sword, and said
to me 'I am a king, a lord of the Vidyádharas named Mánasavega,
and you are a heavenly nymph named Surabhidattá who by a curse have
fallen down to earth, and this your daughter is of heavenly origin,
this is known to me well. So give me this daughter of yours in
marriage, for the connexion is a suitable one.' When he said this,
I suddenly burst out laughing, and said to him, 'Naraváhanadatta has
been appointed her husband by the gods, and he is to be the emperor
of all you Vidyádharas.' When I said this to him, the Vidyádhara
flew up into the sky, like a sudden streak of lightning dazzling
the eyes of my daughter." When Gomukha heard that, he said, "The
Vidyádharas found out that the prince was to be their future lord,
from a speech in the air, by which the future birth of the prince
was made known to the king in private, and they immediately desired
to do him a mischief. What self-willed one would desire a mighty
lord as his ruler and restrainer? For which reason Siva has made
arrangements to ensure the safety of this prince, by commissioning
his attendants to wait on him in actual presence. I heard this speech
of Nárada's being related by my father. So it comes to pass that the
Vidyádharas are now hostile to us." When Kalingasená heard this,
she was terrified at the thought of what had happened to herself,
and said, "Why does not the prince marry Madanamanchuká now, before
she is deceived, like me, by delusion?" When Gomukha and the others
heard this from Kalingasená, they said, "Do you stir up the king of
Vatsa to this business." Then Naraváhanadatta, with his heart fixed on
Madanamanchuká only, amused himself by looking at her in the garden
all that day, with her face like a full-blown lotus, with her eyes
like opening blue water-lilies, with lips lovely as the bandhúka,
with breasts like clusters of mandáras, with body delicate as the
sirísha, like a matchless arrow, composed of five flowers, appointed
by the god of love for the conquest of the world.

The next day Kalingasená went in person, and proffered her petition to
the king for the marriage of her daughter. The king of Vatsa dismissed
her, and summoning his ministers, said to them in the presence of
the queen Vásavadattá, "Kalingasená is impatient for the marriage of
her daughter: so how are we to manage it, for the people think that
that excellent woman is unchaste? And we must certainly consider the
people: did not Rámabhadra long ago desert queen Sítá, though she
was chaste, on account of the slander of the multitude? Was not Ambá,
though carried off with great effort by Bhíshma for the sake of his
brother, reluctantly abandoned, because she had previously chosen
another husband? In the same way this Kalingasená, after spontaneously
choosing me, was married by Madanavega; for this reason the people
blame her. Therefore let this Naraváhanadatta himself marry by the
Gándharva ceremony her daughter, who will be a suitable wife for
him." When the king of Vatsa said this, Yaugandharáyana answered,
"My lord, how could Kalingasená consent to this impropriety? For I
have often observed that she, as well as her daughter, is a divine
being, no ordinary woman, and this was told me by my wise friend the
Bráhman-Rákshasa." While they were debating with one another in this
style, the voice of Siva was heard from heaven to the following effect:
"The god of love, after having been consumed by the fire of my eye,
has been created again in the form of Naraváhanadatta, and having been
pleased with the asceticism of Rati I have created her as his wife in
the form of Madanamanchuká. And dwelling with her, as his head-wife,
he shall exercise supreme sovereignty over the Vidyádharas for a kalpa
of the gods, after conquering his enemies by my favour." After saying
this the voice ceased.

When he heard this speech of the adorable Siva, the king of Vatsa,
with his retinue, worshipped him, and joyfully made up his mind to
celebrate the marriage of his son. Then the king congratulated his
prime minister, who had before discerned the truth, and summoned the
astrologers, and asked them what would be a favourable moment, and
they, after being honoured with presents, told him that a favourable
moment would arrive within a few days. Again those astrologers
said to him--"Your son will have to endure some separation for a
short season from this wife of his; this we know, O lord of Vatsa,
by our own scientific foresight." Then the king proceeded to make the
requisite preparations for the marriage of his son, in a style suited
to his own magnificence, so that not only his own city, but the whole
earth was made to tremble with the effort of it. Then, the day of
marriage having arrived, Kalingasená adorned her daughter, to whom
her father had sent his own heavenly ornaments, and Somaprabhá came
in obedience to her husband's order. Then Madanamanchuká, adorned
with a heavenly marriage thread, looked still more lovely; is not
the moon truly beautiful, when accompanied by Kártika? And heavenly
nymphs, by the order of Siva, sang auspicious strains in her honour:
they were eclipsed by her beauty and remained hidden as if ashamed,
but the sound of their songs was heard. They sang the following hymn
in honour of Gaurí, blended with the minstrelsy of the matchless
musicians of heaven, so as to make unequalled harmony--"Victory to
thee, O daughter of the mountain, that hast mercy on thy faithful
votaries, for thou hast thyself come to-day and blessed with success
the asceticism of Rati." Then Naraváhanadatta, resplendent with
excellent marriage-thread, entered the wedding-pavilion full of various
musical instruments. And the bride and bridegroom, after accomplishing
the auspicious ceremony of marriage, with intent care, so that no rite
was left out, ascended the altar-platform where a fire was burning,
as if ascending the pure flame of jewels on the heads of kings. If the
moon and the sun were to revolve at the same time round the mountain
of gold, [522] there would be an exact representation in the world
of the appearance of those two, the bride and the bridegroom, when
circumambulating the fire, keeping it on their right. Not only did
the drums of the gods in the air drown the cymbal-clang in honour of
the marriage festival, but the rain of flowers sent down by the gods
overwhelmed the gilt grain thrown by the women. Then also the generous
Kalingasená honoured her son-in-law with heaps of gold studded with
jewels, so that the lord of Alaká was considered very poor compared
with him, and much more so all miserable earthly monarchs. And then
the bride and bridegroom, now that the delightful ceremony of marriage
was accomplished in accordance with their long-cherished wishes,
entered the inner apartments crowded with women, adorned with pure and
variegated decoration, even as they penetrated the heart of the people
full of pure and various loyalty. Moreover, the city of the king of
Vatsa was quickly filled with kings, surrounded with splendid armies,
who, though their valour was worthy of the world's admiration, had
bent in submission, bringing in their hands valuable jewels by way of
presents, as if with subject seas. [523] On that high day of festival,
the king distributed gold with such magnificence to his dependants,
that the children in their mothers' wombs were at any rate the only
beings in his kingdom not made of gold. [524] Then on account of the
troops of excellent minstrels and dancing girls, that came from all
quarters of the world, with hymns, music, dances and songs on all
sides, the world seemed full of harmony. And at that festival the
city of Kausámbí seemed itself to be dancing, for the pennons agitated
by the wind seemed like twining arms, and it was beautified with the
toilettes of the city matrons, as if with ornaments. And thus waxing
in mirth every day, that great festival continued for a long time,
and all friends, relations and people generally were delighted by it,
and had their wishes marvellously fulfilled. And that crown-prince
Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Madanamanchuká, enjoyed, though intent
on glory, the long-desired pleasures of this world.



May the head of Siva, studded with the nails of Gaurí engaged in
playfully pulling his hair, and so appearing rich in many moons,
[525] procure you prosperity.

May the god of the elephant face, [526] who, stretching forth his
trunk wet with streaming ichor, curved at the extremity, seems to be
bestowing successes, protect you.

Thus the young son of the king of Vatsa, having married in Kausámbí
Madanamanchuká, whom he loved as his life, remained living as he chose,
with his ministers Gomukha and others, having obtained his wish.

And once on a time, when the feast of spring had arrived, adorned
with the gushing notes of love-intoxicated cuckoos, in which the
wind from the Malaya mountain set in motion by force the dance of the
creepers,--the feast of spring delightful with the hum of bees, the
prince went to the garden with his ministers to amuse himself. After
roaming about there, his friend Tapantaka suddenly came with his
eyes expanded with delight, and stepping up to him, said--"Prince,
I have seen not far from here a wonderful maiden, who has descended
from heaven and is standing under an asoka-tree, and that very maiden,
who illumines the regions with her beauty, advancing towards me with
her friends, sent me here to summon you." When Naraváhanadatta heard
that, being eager to see her, he went quickly with his ministers to
the foot of the tree. He beheld there that fair one, with her rolling
eyes like bees, with her lips red like shoots, beautiful with breasts
firm as clusters, having her body yellow with the dust of flowers,
removing fatigue by her loveliness, [527] like the goddess of the
garden appearing in a visible shape suited to her deity. And the prince
approached the heavenly maiden, who bowed before him, and welcomed
her, for his eyes were ravished with her beauty. Then his minister
Gomukha, after all had sat down, asked her, "Who are you, auspicious
one, and for what reason have you come here?" When she heard that,
she laid aside her modesty in obedience to the irresistible decree
of Love, and frequently stealing sidelong glances at the lotus of
Naraváhanadatta's face with an eye that shed matchless affection,
she began thus at length to relate her own history.

Story of Ratnaprabhá.

There is a mountain-chain called Himavat, famous in the three worlds;
it has many peaks, but one of its peaks is the mount of Siva which
is garlanded with the brightness of glittering jewels, and flashes
with gleaming snow, and like the expanse of the heaven, cannot be
measured. Its plateaux are the home of magic powers and of magic
herbs, which dispel old age, death, and fear, and are to be obtained
by the favour of Siva. With its peaks yellow with the brightness of
the bodies of many Vidyádharas, it transcends the glory of the peaks
of Sumeru itself, the mighty hill of the immortals.

On it there is a golden city called Kánchanasringa, which gleams
refulgent with brightness, like the palace of the Sun. It extends
many yojanas, and in it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas named
Hemaprabha, who is a firm votary of the husband of Umá. And though he
has many wives, he has only one queen, whom he loves dearly, named
Alankáraprabhá, as dear to him as Rohiní to the moon. With her the
virtuous king used to rise up in the morning and bathe, and worship
duly Siva and his wife Gaurí, and then he would descend to the world
of men, and give to poor Bráhmans every day a thousand gold-pieces
mixed with jewels. And then he returned from earth and attended
to his kingly duties justly, and then he ate and drank, abiding by
his vow like a hermit. While days elapsed in this way, melancholy
arose once in the bosom of the king, caused by his childlessness, but
suggested by a passing occasion. And his beloved queen Alankáraprabhá,
seeing that he was in very low spirits, asked him the cause of his
sadness. Then the king said to her--"I have all prosperity, but the
one grief of childlessness afflicts me, O queen. And this melancholy
has arisen in my breast on the occasion of calling to mind a tale,
which I heard long ago, of a virtuous man who had no son." Then the
queen said to him, "Of what nature was that tale?" When asked this
question, the king told her the tale briefly in the following words:

Story of Sattvasíla and the two treasures.

In the town of Chitrakúta there was a king named Bráhmanavara, rightly
named, for he was devoted to honouring Bráhmans. He had a victorious
servant named Sattvasíla who devoted himself exclusively to war,
and every month Sattvasíla received a hundred gold-pieces from that
king. But as he was munificent, that gold was not enough for him,
especially as his childlessness made the pleasure of giving the
sole pleasure to which he was addicted. Sattvasíla was continually
reflecting--"The Disposer has not given me a son to gladden me, but he
has given me the vice of generosity, and that too without wealth. It is
better to be produced in the world as an old barren tree or a stone,
than as a poor man altogether abandoned to the vice of giving away
money." But once on a time Sattvasíla, while wandering in a garden,
happened by luck to find a treasure: and with the help of his servants
he quickly brought home that hoard, which gleamed with much gold and
glittered with priceless stones. Out of that he provided himself
with pleasures, and gave wealth to Bráhmans, slaves, and friends,
and thus the virtuous man spent his life. Meanwhile his relations,
beholding this, guessed the secret, and went to the king's palace,
and of their own accord informed the king that Sattvasíla had found
a treasure. Then Sattvasíla was summoned by the king, and by order
of the door-keeper remained standing for a moment in a lonely part
of the king's courtyard. There, as he was scratching the earth with
the hilt of a lílávajra, [528] that was in his hand, he found another
large treasure in a copper vessel. It appeared like his own heart,
displayed openly for him by Destiny pleased with his virtue, in order
that he might propitiate the king with it. So he covered it up again
with earth as it was before, and when summoned by the door-keeper,
entered the king's presence. When he had made his bow there, the king
himself said, "I have come to learn that you have obtained a treasure,
so surrender it to me." And Sattvasíla for his part answered him then
and there, "O king, tell me: shall I give you the first treasure I
found, or the one I found to-day." The king said to him--"Give the
one recently found." And thereupon Sattvasíla went to a corner of
the king's courtyard, and gave him up the treasure. Then the king,
being pleased with the treasure, dismissed Sattvasíla with these
words--"Enjoy the first-found treasure as you please." So Sattvasíla
returned to his house. There he remained increasing the propriety of
his name with gifts and enjoyments, and so managing to dispel somehow
or other the melancholy caused by the affliction of childlessness.

"Such is the story of Sattvasíla, which I heard long ago, and because
I have recalled it to mind, I remain sorrowful through thinking over
the fact that I have no son." When the queen Alankáraprabhá was thus
addressed by her husband Hemaprabha, the king of the Vidyádharas, she
answered him, "It is true: Fortune does assist the brave in this way;
did not Sattvasíla, when in difficulties, obtain a second treasure? So
you too will obtain your desire by the power of your courage, as an
example of the truth of this, hear the story of Vikramatunga."

Story of the brave king Vikramatunga.

There is a city called Pátaliputra, the ornament of the earth, filled
with various beautiful jewels, the colours of which are so disposed as
to form a perfect scale of colour. In that city there dwelt long ago
a brave king, named Vikramatunga, who in giving [529] never turned
his back on a suppliant, nor in fighting on an enemy. That king one
day entered the forest to hunt, and saw there a Bráhman offering a
sacrifice with vilva [530] fruits. When he saw him, he was desirous
to question him, but avoided going near him, and went off to a great
distance with his army in his ardour for the chase. For a long time
he sported with deer and lions, that rose up and fell slain by his
hand, as if with foes, and then he returned and beheld the Bráhman
still intent on his sacrifice as before, and going up to him he
bowed before him, and asked him his name and the advantage he hoped
to derive from offering the vilva fruits. Then the Bráhman blessed
the king and said to him, "I am a Bráhman named Nágasarman, and bear
the fruit I hope from my sacrifice. When the god of Fire is pleased
with this vilva sacrifice, then vilva fruits of gold will come out
of the fire-cavity. Then the god of Fire will appear in bodily form
and grant me a boon; and so I have spent much time in offering vilva
fruits. But so little is my merit that even now the god of Fire is not
propitiated." When he said this, that king of resolute valour answered
him--"Then give me one vilva fruit that I may offer it, and I will
to-day, O Bráhman, render the god of Fire propitious to you." Then
the Bráhman said to the king, "How will you, unchastened and impure,
propitiate that god of Fire, who is not satisfied with me, who remain
thus faithful to my vow, and am chastened?" When the Bráhman said this
to him, the king said to him again, "Never mind, give me a vilva fruit,
and in a moment you shall behold a wonder." Then the Bráhman, full
of curiosity, gave a vilva fruit to the king, and he then and there
meditated with soul of firm valour--"If thou art not satisfied with
this vilva fruit, O god of Fire, then I will offer thee my own head,"
and thereupon offered the fruit. And the seven-rayed god appeared from
the sacrificial cavity, bringing the king a golden vilva fruit as the
fruit of his tree of valour. And the Fire-god, present in visible form,
said to that king--"I am pleased with thy courage, so receive a boon,
O king." When the magnanimous king heard that, he bowed before him and
said--"Grant this Bráhman his wish. What other boon do I require?" On
hearing this speech of the king's, the Fire-god was much pleased and
said to him--"O king, this Bráhman shall become a great lord of wealth,
and thou also by my favour shalt have the prosperity of thy treasury
ever undiminished." When the Fire-god had, in these words, bestowed
the boon, the Bráhman asked him this question; "Thou hast appeared
swiftly to a king that acts according to his own will, but not to me
that am under vows: why is this, O revered one?" Then the Fire-god,
the giver of boons, answered--"If I had not granted him an interview,
this king of fierce courage would have offered his head in sacrifice to
me. In this world successes quickly befall those of fierce spirit, but
they come slowly, O Bráhman, to those of dull spirit like thee." Thus
spake the god of Fire, and vanished, and the Bráhman Nágasarman took
leave of the king and in course of time became very rich. But the
king Vikramatunga, whose courage had been thus seen by his dependents,
returned amid their plaudits to his town of Pátaliputra.

When the king was dwelling there, the warder Satrunjaya entered
suddenly one day, and said secretly to him; "There is standing at
the door, O king, a Bráhman lad, who says his name is Dattasarman,
he wishes to make a representation to you in private." The king gave
the order to introduce him, and the lad was introduced, and after
blessing the king, he bowed before him, and sat down. And he made
this representation--"King, by a certain device of powder I know
how to make always excellent gold out of copper. For that device was
shewn me by my spiritual teacher, and I saw with my own eyes that he
made gold by that device." When the lad said this, the king ordered
copper to be brought, and when it was melted, the lad threw the powder
upon it. But while the powder was being thrown, an invisible Yaksha
carried it off, and the king alone saw him, having propitiated the
god of Fire. And that copper did not turn into gold, as the powder
did not reach it; thrice did the lad make the attempt and thrice his
labour was in vain. Then the king, first of brave men, took the powder
from the desponding lad, and himself threw it on the melted copper;
when he threw the powder, the Yaksha did not intercept it, but went
away smiling. Accordingly the copper became gold by contact with that
powder. Then the boy, astonished, asked the king for an explanation,
and the king told him the incident of the Yaksha, just as he had seen
it. And having learned in this way the device of the powder from that
lad, the king made him marry a wife, and gave him all he wished, and
having his treasury prosperously filled by means of the gold produced
by that device, he himself enjoyed great happiness together with his
wives, and made Bráhmans rich.

"Thus you see that the Lord grants their desires to men of fierce
courage, seeming to be either terrified or pleased by them. And who,
O king, is of more firm valour or more generous than you? So Siva, when
propitiated by you, will certainly give you a son; do not sorrow." The
king Hemaprabha, when he heard this noble speech from the mouth of
queen Alankáraprabhá, believed it and was pleased. And he considered
that his own heart, radiant with cheerfulness, indicated that he would
certainly obtain a son by propitiating Siva. The next day after this,
he and his wife bathed and worshipped Siva, and he gave 90 millions of
gold-pieces to the Bráhmans, and without taking food he went through
ascetic practices in front of Siva, determined that he would either
leave the body or propitiate the god, and continuing in asceticism,
he praised the giver of boons, the husband of the daughter of the
mountain, [531] that lightly gave away the sea of milk to his votary
Upamanyu, saying, "Honour to thee, O husband of Gaurí, who art the
cause of the creation, preservation, and destruction of the world,
who dost assume the eight special forms of ether and the rest. [532]
Honour to thee, who sleepest on the ever-expanded lotus of the heart,
that art Sambhu, the swan dwelling in the pure Mánasa lake. [533]
Honour to thee, the exceeding marvellous Moon, of divine brightness,
pure, of watery substance, to be beheld by those whose sins are
put away; to thee whose beloved is half thy body, [534] and who
nevertheless art supremely chaste. Honour to thee who didst create
the world by a wish, and art thyself the world."

When the king had praised Siva in these words and fasted for three
nights, the god appeared to him in a dream, and spake as follows:
"Rise up, O king, there shall be born to thee a heroic son that
shall uphold thy race. And thou shalt also obtain by the favour of
Gaurí, a glorious daughter who is destined to be the queen of that
treasure-house of glory, Naraváhanadatta, your future emperor." When
Siva had said this, he disappeared, and Hemaprabha woke up, delighted,
at the close of night. And by telling his dream he gladdened his
wife Alankáraprabhá, who had been told the same by Gaurí in a dream,
and dwelt on the agreement of the two visions. And then the king rose
up and bathed and worshipped Siva, and after giving gifts, broke his
fast, and kept high festival.

Then, after some days had passed, the queen Alankáraprabhá became
pregnant by that king, and delighted her beloved by her face redolent
of honey, with wildly rolling eyes, so that it resembled a pale lotus
with bees hovering round it. Then she gave birth in due time to a son,
(whose noble lineage was proclaimed by the elevated longings of her
pregnancy,) as the sky gives birth to the orb of day. As soon as he
was born, the lying-in chamber was illuminated by his might, and
so was made red as vermilion. And his father gave to that infant,
that brought terror to the families of his enemies, the name of
Vajraprabha, that had been appointed for him by a divine voice. Then
the boy grew by degrees, being filled with accomplishments, and causing
the exultation of his family, as the new moon fills out with digits,
[535] and causes the sea to rise.

Then, not long after, the queen of that king Hemaprabha again became
pregnant. And when she was pregnant, she sat upon a golden throne,
and became truly the jewel of the harem, adding special lustre to
her settings. And in a chariot, in the shape of a beautiful lotus,
manufactured by help of magic science, she roamed about in the sky,
since her pregnant longings assumed that form. But when the due
time came, a daughter was born to that queen, whose birth by the
favour of Gaurí was a sufficient guarantee of her loveliness. And
this voice was then heard from heaven--"She shall be the wife of
Naraváhanadatta"--which agreed with the words of Siva's revelation. And
the king was just as much delighted at her birth as he was at that
of his son, and gave her the name of Ratnaprabhá. And Ratnaprabhá,
adorned with her own science, grew up in the house of her father,
producing illumination in all the quarters of the sky. Then the king
made his son Vajraprabha, who had begun to wear armour, take a wife,
and appointed him crown-prince. And he devolved on him the burden of
the kingdom and remained at ease; but still one anxiety lingered in
his heart, anxiety about the marriage of his daughter.

One day the king beheld that daughter, who was fit to be given away
in marriage, sitting near him, and said to the queen Alankáraprabhá,
who was in his presence; "Observe, queen, a daughter is a great misery
in the three worlds, even though she is the ornament of her family,
a misery, alas! even to the great. For this Ratnaprabhá, though
modest, learned, young and beautiful, afflicts me because she has not
obtained a husband." The queen said to him--"She was proclaimed by the
gods as the destined wife of Naraváhanadatta, our future emperor,
why is she not given to him?" When the queen said this to him,
the king answered: "In truth the maiden is fortunate, that shall
obtain him for a bridegroom. For he is an incarnation of Káma upon
earth, but he has not as yet attained his divine nature: therefore
I am now waiting for his attainment of superhuman knowledge." [536]
While he was thus speaking, Ratnaprabhá, by means of those accents of
her father, which entered her ear like the words of the bewildering
spell of the god of love, became as if bewildered, as if possessed,
as if asleep, as if in a picture, and her heart was captivated by
that bridegroom. Then with difficulty she took a respectful leave
of her parents, and went to her own private apartments, and managed
at length to get to sleep at the end of the night. Then the goddess
Gaurí, being full of pity for her, gave her this command in a dream;
"To-morrow, my daughter, is an auspicious day; so thou must go to the
city of Kausámbí and see thy future husband, and thence thy father,
O auspicious one, will himself bring thee and him into this his city,
and celebrate your marriage." So in the morning, when she woke up,
she told that dream to her mother. Then her mother gave her leave to
go, and she, knowing by her superhuman knowledge that her bridegroom
was in the garden, set out from her own city to visit him.

"Thou knowest, O my husband, that I am that Ratnaprabhá, arrived to-day
in a moment, full of impatience, and you all know the sequel." When
he heard this speech of hers, that in sweetness exceeded nectar,
and beheld the body of the Vidyádharí that was ambrosia to the
eyes, Naraváhanadatta in his heart blamed the Creator, saying to
himself--"Why did he not make me all eye and ear?" And he said to
her--"Fortunate am I; my birth and life has obtained its fruit,
in that I, O beautiful one, have been thus visited by thee out of
affection!" When they had thus exchanged the protestations of new
love, suddenly the army of the Vidyádharas was beheld there in the
heaven. Ratnaprabhá said immediately, "Here is my father come," and
the king Hemaprabha descended from heaven with his son. And with his
son Vajraprabha he approached that Naraváhanadatta, who gave him a
courteous welcome. And while they stood for a moment paying one another
the customary compliments, the king of Vatsa, who had heard of it,
came with his ministers. And then that Hemaprabha told the king,
after he had performed towards him the rites of hospitality, the
whole story exactly as it had been related by Ratnaprabhá, and said,
"I knew by the power of my supernatural knowledge that my daughter had
come here, and I am aware of all that has happened in this place. [537]

For he will afterwards possess such an imperial chariot. Pray consent,
and then thou shalt behold in a short time thy son, the prince,
returned here, united to his wife Ratnaprabhá." After he had addressed
this prayer to the king of Vatsa, and he had consented to his wish,
that Hemaprabha, with his son, prepared that chariot by his own magic
skill, and made Naraváhanadatta ascend it, together with Ratnaprabhá,
whose face was cast down from modesty, followed by Gomukha and the
others, and Yaugandharáyana, who was also deputed to accompany him
by his father, and thus Hemaprabha took him to his own capital,

And Naraváhanadatta, when he reached that city of his father-in-law,
saw that it was all of gold, gleaming with golden ramparts, embraced,
as it were, on all sides with rays issuing out like shoots, and
so stretching forth innumerable arms in eagerness of love for
that son-in-law. There the king Hemaprabha, of high emprise, gave
Ratnaprabhá with due ceremonies to him, as the sea gave Lakshmí to
Vishnu. And he gave him glittering heaps of jewels, gleaming like
innumerable wedding fires lighted. [538] And in the city of that
festive prince, who was showering wealth, even the houses, being draped
with flags, appeared as if they had received changes of raiment. And
Naraváhanadatta, having performed the auspicious ceremony of marriage,
remained there enjoying heavenly pleasures with Ratnaprabhá. And he
amused himself by looking in her company at beautiful temples of the
gods in gardens and lakes, having ascended with her the heaven by
the might of her science.

So, after he had lived some days with his wife in the city of the
king of the Vidyádharas, the son of the king of Vatsa determined,
in accordance with the advice of Yaugandharáyana, to return to his
own city. Then his mother-in-law performed for him the auspicious
ceremonies previous to starting, and his father-in-law again honoured
him and his minister, and then he set out with Hemaprabha and his son,
accompanied by his beloved, having again ascended that chariot. He soon
arrived, like a stream of nectar to the eyes of his mother, and entered
his city with Hemaprabha and his son and his own followers, bringing
with him his wife, who made the king of Vatsa rejoice exceedingly
with delight at beholding her. The king of Vatsa of exalted fortune,
with Vásavadattá, welcomed that son, who bowed at his feet with his
wife, and honoured Hemaprabha his new connexion, as well as his son,
in a manner conformable to his own dignity. Then, after that king of
the Vidyádharas, Hemaprabha, had taken leave of the lord of Vatsa and
his family, and had flown up into the heaven and gone to his own city,
that Naraváhanadatta, together with Ratnaprabhá and Madanamanchuká,
spent that day in happiness surrounded by his friends.


When that Naraváhanadatta had thus obtained a new and lovely bride
of the Vidyádhara race, and was the next day with her in her house,
there came in the morning to the door, to visit him, his ministers
Gomukha and others. They were stopped for a moment at the door by
the female warder, and announced within; then they entered and were
courteously received, and Ratnaprabhá said to the warder, "The door
must not again be closed against the entrance of my husband's friends,
for they are as dear to me as my own body. And I do not think that
this is the way to guard female apartments." After she had addressed
the female warder in these words, she said in turn to her husband,
"My husband, I am going to say something which occurs to me, so
listen. I consider that the strict seclusion of women is a mere
social custom, or rather folly produced by jealousy. It is of no use
whatever. Women of good family are guarded by their own virtue, as
their only chamberlain. But even God himself can scarcely guard the
unchaste. Who can restrain a furious river and a passionate woman? And
now listen, I will tell you a story."

Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant Svetarasmi.

There is here a great island in the midst of the sea, named
Ratnakúta. In it there lived in old times a king of great courage,
a devoted worshipper of Vishnu, rightly named Ratnádhipati. [539]
That king, in order to obtain the conquest of the earth, and all
kings' daughters as his wives, went through a severe penance,
to propitiate Vishnu. The adorable one, pleased with his penance,
appeared in bodily form, and thus commanded him--"Rise up, king,
I am pleased with thee, so I tell thee this--listen! There is in
the land of Kalinga a Gandharva, who has become a white elephant by
the curse of a hermit, and is known by the name of Svetarasmi. On
account of the asceticism he performed in a former life, and on
account of his devotion to me, that elephant is supernaturally wise,
and possesses the power of flying through the sky, and of remembering
his former birth. And I have given an order to that great elephant,
in accordance with which he will come of himself through the air,
and become thy beast of burden. That white elephant thou must mount,
as the wielder of the thunderbolt mounts the elephant of the gods,
[540] and whatever king thou shalt travel through the air to visit,
in fear shall bestow on thee, who art of god-like presence, tribute in
the form of a daughter, for I will myself command him to do so in a
dream. Thus thou shalt conquer the whole earth, and all zenanas, and
thou shalt obtain eighty thousand princesses." When Vishnu had said
this, he disappeared, and the king broke his fast, and the next day
he beheld that elephant, which had come to him through the air. And
when the elephant had thus placed himself at the king's disposal,
he mounted him, as he had been bidden to do by Vishnu, and in this
manner he conquered the earth, and carried off the daughters of
kings. And then the king dwelt there in Ratnakúta with those wives,
eighty thousand in number, amusing himself as he pleased. And in order
to propitiate Svetarasmi, that celestial elephant, he fed every day
five hundred Bráhmans.

Now once on a time the king Ratnádhipati mounted that elephant,
and, after roaming through the other islands, returned to his own
island. And as he was descending from the sky, it came to pass that
a bird of the race of Garuda struck that excellent elephant with
his beak. And the bird fled, when the king struck him with the
sharp elephant-hook, but the elephant fell on the ground stunned
by the blow of the bird's beak. The king got off his back, but the
elephant, though he recovered his senses, was not able to rise up in
spite of the efforts made to raise him, and ceased eating. For five
days the elephant remained in the same place, where it had fallen,
and the king was grieved and took no food, and prayed as follows:
"Oh guardians of the world, teach me some remedy in this difficulty;
otherwise I will cut off my own head and offer it to you." When he had
said this, he drew his sword and was preparing to cut off his head,
when immediately a bodiless voice thus addressed him from the sky--"O
king do nothing rash; if some chaste woman touches this elephant with
her hand, it will rise up, but not otherwise." When the king heard
that, he was glad, and summoned his own carefully guarded chief queen,
Amritalatá. When the elephant did not rise up, though she touched it
with her hand, the king had all his other wives summoned. But though
they all touched the elephant in succession, he did not rise up; the
fact was, not one among them was chaste. Then the king, having beheld
all those eighty thousand wives openly humiliated in the presence of
men, being himself abashed, summoned all the women of his capital,
and made them touch the elephant one after another. And when in
spite of it the elephant did not rise up, the king was ashamed,
because there was not a single chaste woman in his city.

And in the meanwhile a merchant named Harshagupta, who had arrived
from Támraliptí, [541] having heard of that event, came there full
of curiosity. And in his train there came a servant of the name of
Sílavatí, who was devoted to her husband; when she saw what had taken
place, she said to him--"I will touch this elephant with my hand:
and if I have not even thought in my mind of any other man than
my husband, may it rise up." No sooner had she said this, than she
came up and touched the elephant with her hand, whereupon it rose up
in sound health and began to eat. [542] But when the people saw the
elephant Svetarasmi rise up, they raised a shout and praised Sílavatí,
saying--"Such are these chaste women, few and far between, who, like
Siva, are able to create, preserve and destroy this world." The king
Ratnádhipati also was pleased, and congratulated the chaste Sílavatí,
and loaded her with innumerable jewels, and he also honoured her
master, the merchant Harshagupta, and gave him a house near his own
palace. And he determined to avoid all communication with his own
wives, and ordered that henceforth they should have nothing but food
and raiment.

Then the king, after he had taken his food, sent for the chaste
Sílavatí, and said to her at a private interview in the presence
of Harshagupta, "Sílavatí, if you have any maiden of your father's
family, give her to me, for I know she will certainly be like
you." When the king said this to her, Sílavatí answered--"I have a
sister in Támraliptí named Rájadattá; marry her, O king, if you wish,
for she is of distinguished beauty." When she said this to the king,
he consented and said, "So be it," and having determined on taking
this step, he mounted, with Sílavatí and Harshagupta, the elephant
Svetarasmi, that could fly though the air, and going in person to
Támraliptí, entered the house of that merchant Harshagupta. There
he asked the astrologers that very day, what would be a favourable
time for him to be married to Rájadattá, the sister of Sílavatí. And
the astrologers, having enquired under what stars both of them were
born, said, "A favourable conjuncture will come for you, O king,
in three months from this time. But if you marry Rájadattá in the
present position of the constellations, she will without fail prove
unchaste." Though the astrologers gave him this response, the king,
being eager for a charming wife, and impatient of dwelling long alone,
thus reflected--"Away with scruples! I will marry Rájadattá here
this very day. For she is the sister of the blameless Sílavatí and
will never prove unchaste. And I will place her in that uninhabited
island in the middle of the sea, where there is one empty palace, and
in that inaccessible spot I will surround her with a guard of women;
so how can she become unchaste, as she can never see men?" Having
formed this determination, the king that very day rashly married that
Rájadattá, whom Sílavatí bestowed upon him. And after he had married
her, and had been received with the customary rites by Harshagupta,
he took that wife, and with her and Sílavatí, he mounted Svetarasmi,
and then in a moment went through the air to the land of Ratnakúta,
where the people were anxiously expecting him. And he rewarded
Sílavatí again so munificently, that she attained all her wishes,
having reaped the fruit of her vow of chastity. Then he mounted his
new wife Rájadattá on that same air-travelling elephant Svetarasmi,
and conveyed her carefully, and placed her in the empty palace in the
island in the midst of the sea, inaccessible to man, with a retinue
of women only. And whatever article she required, he conveyed there
through the air on that elephant, so great was his distrust. And being
devotedly attached to her, he always spent the night there, but came
to Ratnakúta in the day to transact his regal duties. Now one morning
the king, in order to counteract an inauspicious dream, indulged with
that Rájadattá in a drinking-bout for good luck. And though his wife,
being intoxicated with that banquet, did not wish to let him go, he
left her, and departed to Ratnakúta to transact his business, for the
royal dignity is an ever-exacting wife. There he remained performing
his duties with anxious mind, which seemed ever to ask him, why he
left his wife there in a state of intoxication? And in the meanwhile
Rájadattá, remaining alone in that inaccessible place, the female
servants being occupied in culinary and other duties, saw a certain man
come in at the door, like Fate determined to baffle all expedients for
guarding her, and his arrival filled her with astonishment. And that
intoxicated woman asked him when he approached her, "Who are you,
and how have you come to this inaccessible place?" Then that man,
who had endured many hardships, answered her--

Story of Yavanasena.

Fair one, I am a merchant's son of Mathurá named Yavanasena. And when
my father died, I was left helpless, and my relations took from me my
property, so I went to a foreign country, and resorted to the miserable
condition of being servant to another man. Then I with difficulty
scraped together a little wealth by trading, and as I was going to
another land, I was plundered by robbers who met me on the way. Then
I wandered about as a beggar, and, with some other men like myself,
I went to a mine of jewels called Kanakakshetra. There I engaged to
pay the king his share, and after digging up the earth in a trench for
a whole year, I did not find a single jewel. So, while the other men
my fellows were rejoicing over the jewels they had found, smitten with
grief I retired to the shore of the sea, and began to collect fuel.

And while I was constructing with the fuel a funeral pyre, in
order that I might enter the flame, a certain merchant named
Jívadatta happened to come there; that merciful man dissuaded me
from suicide, and gave me food, and as he was preparing to go in a
ship to Svarnadvípa he took me on board with him. Then, as we were
sailing along in the midst of the ocean, after five days had passed,
we suddenly beheld a cloud. The cloud discharged its rain in large
drops, and that vessel was whirled round by the wind like the head of
a mast elephant. Immediately the ship sank, but as fate would have it,
I caught hold of a plank, just as I was sinking. I mounted on it,
and thereupon the thunder-cloud relaxed its fury, and, conducted
by destiny, I reached this country; and have just landed in the
forest. And seeing this palace, I entered, and I beheld here thee,
O auspicious one, a rain of nectar to my eyes, dispelling pain.

When he had said this, Rájadattá maddened with love and wine, placed
him on a couch and embraced him. Where there are these five fires,
feminine nature, intoxication, privacy, the obtaining of a man, and
absence of restraint, what chance for the stubble of character? So
true is it, that a woman maddened by the god of Love is incapable of
discrimination; since this queen became enamoured of that loathsome
castaway. In the meanwhile the king Ratnádhipati, being anxious,
came swiftly from Ratnakúta, borne along on the sky-going elephant;
and entering his palace he beheld his wife Rájadattá in the arms of
that creature. When the king saw the man, though he felt tempted to
slay him, he slew him not, because he fell at his feet, and uttered
piteous supplications. And beholding his wife terrified, and at
the same time intoxicated, he reflected, "How can a woman that is
addicted to wine, the chief ally of lust, be chaste? A lascivious
woman cannot be restrained even by being guarded. Can one fetter a
whirlwind with one's arms? This is the fruit of my not heeding the
prediction of the astrologers. To whom is not the scorning of wise
words bitter in its after-taste? When I thought that she was the
sister of Sílavatí, I forgot that the Kálakúta poison was twin-born
with the amrita. [543] Or rather who is able, even by doing the utmost
of a man, to overcome the incalculable freaks of marvellously working
Destiny." Thus reflecting, the king was not wroth with any one, and
spared the merchant's son, her paramour, after asking him the story
of his life. The merchant's son, when dismissed thence, seeing no
other expedient, went out and beheld a ship coming, far off in the
sea. Then he again mounted that plank, and drifting about in the sea,
cried out, puffing and blowing, "Save me! Save me!" So a merchant, of
the name of Krodhavarman, who was on that ship, drew that merchant's
son out of the water, and made him his companion. Whatever deed is
appointed by the Disposer to be the destruction of any man, dogs
his steps whithersoever he runneth. For this fool, when on the ship,
was discovered by his deliverer secretly associating with his wife,
and thereupon was cast by him into the sea and perished.

In the meanwhile the king Ratnádhipati caused the queen Rájadattá
with her retinue to mount Svetarasmi, without allowing himself to
be angry, and he carried her to Ratnakúta, and delivered her to
Sílavatí, and related that occurrence to her and his ministers. And
he exclaimed, "Alas! How much pain have I endured, whose mind has
been devoted to these unsubstantial insipid enjoyments. Therefore I
will go to the forest, and take Hari as my refuge, in order that I
may never again be a vessel of such woes." Thus he spake, and though
his sorrowing ministers and Sílavatí endeavoured to prevent him, he,
being disgusted with the world, would not abandon his intention. Then,
being indifferent to enjoyments, he first gave half of his treasure to
the virtuous Sílavatí, and the other half to the Bráhmans, and then
that king made over in the prescribed form his kingdom to a Bráhman
of great excellence, named Pápabhanjana. And after he had given away
his kingdom, he ordered Svetarasmi to be brought, with the object
of retiring to a grove of asceticism, his subjects looking on with
tearful eyes. No sooner was the elephant brought, than it left the
body, and became a man of god-like appearance, adorned with necklace
and bracelet. When the king asked him who he was, and what was the
meaning of all this, he answered:

"We were two Gandharva brothers, living on the Malaya mountain: I was
called Somaprabha, and the eldest was Devaprabha. And my brother had
but one wife, but she was very dear to him. Her name was Rájavatí. One
day he was wandering about with her in his arms, and happened to
arrive, with me in his company, at a place called the dwelling of the
Siddhas. There we both worshipped Vishnu in his temple, and began all
of us to sing before the adorable one. In the meanwhile a Siddha came
there, and stood regarding with fixed gaze Rájavatí, who was singing
songs well worth hearing. And my brother, who was jealous, said in
his wrath to that Siddha; 'Why dost thou, although a Siddha, cast a
longing look at another's wife?' Then the Siddha was moved with anger,
and said to him by way of a curse--'Fool, I was looking at her out of
interest in her song, not out of desire. So fall thou, jealous one,
into a mortal womb together with her; and then behold with thy own eyes
thy wife in the embraces of another.' When he had said this, I, being
enraged at the curse, struck him, out of childish recklessness, with a
white toy elephant of clay, that I had in my hand. Then he cursed me
in the following words--"Be born again on the earth as an elephant,
like that with which you have just struck me." Then being merciful,
that Siddha allowed himself to be propitiated by that brother of mine
Devaprabha, and appointed for us both the following termination of the
curse; "Though a mortal thou shalt become, by the favour of Vishnu,
the lord of an island, and shalt obtain as thy servant this thy younger
brother, who will have become an elephant, a beast of burden fit for
gods. Thou shalt obtain eighty thousand wives, and thou shalt come
to learn the unchastity of them all in the presence of men. Then thou
shalt marry this thy present wife, who will have become a woman, and
shalt see her with thy own eyes embracing another. Then, thou shalt
become sick in thy heart of the world, and shalt bestow thy realm on
a Bráhman, but when after doing this thou shalt set out to go to a
forest of ascetics, thy younger brother shall first be released from
his elephant nature, and thou also with thy wife shalt be delivered
from thy curse.' This was the termination of the curse appointed for
us by the Siddha, and we were accordingly born with different lots,
on account of the difference of our actions in that previous state,
and lo! the end of our curse has now arrived." When Somaprabha
had said this, that king Ratnádhipati remembered his former birth,
and said--"True! I am that very Devaprabha; and this Rájadattá is
my former wife Rájavatí." Having said this, he, together with his
wife, abandoned the body. In a moment they all became Gandharvas,
and, in the sight of men, flew up into the air, and went to their own
home, the Malaya mountain. Sílavatí too, through the nobleness of her
character, obtained prosperity, and going to the city of Támraliptí,
remained in the practice of virtue.

"So true is it, that in no case can any one guard a woman by force in
this world, but the young woman of good family is ever protected by the
pure restraint of her own chastity. And thus the passion of jealousy is
merely a purposeless cause of suffering, annoying others, and so far
from being a protection to women, it rather excites in them excessive
longing." When Naraváhanadatta had heard this tale full of good sense
related by his wife, he and his ministers were highly pleased.


Then Naraváhanadatta's minister Gomukha said to him, by way of capping
the tale, which had been told by Ratnaprabhá: "It is true that chaste
women are few and far between, but unchaste women are never to be
trusted; in illustration of this, hear the following story."

Story of Nischayadatta.

There is in this land a town of the name of Ujjayiní, famous throughout
the world: in it there lived of old time a merchant's son, named
Nischayadatta. He was a gambler and had acquired money by gambling,
and every day the generous man used to bathe in the water of the Siprá,
and worship Mahákála: [544] his custom was first to give money to the
Bráhmans, the poor, and the helpless, and then to anoint himself and
indulge in food and betel.

Every day, when he had finished his bathing and his worship, he used
to go and anoint himself in a cemetery near the temple of Mahákála,
with sandalwood and other things. And the young man placed the
unguent on a stone pillar that stood there, and so anointed himself
every day alone, rubbing his back against it. In that way the pillar
eventually became very smooth and polished. Then there came that way
a draughtsman with a sculptor; the first, seeing that the pillar
was very smooth, drew on it a figure of Gaurí, and the sculptor
with his chisel in pure sport carved it on the stone. Then, after
they had departed, a certain daughter of the Vidyádharas came there
to worship Mahákála, and saw that image of Gaurí on the stone. From
the clearness of the image she inferred the proximity of the goddess,
and, after worshipping, she entered that stone pillar to rest. In the
meanwhile Nischayadatta, the merchant's son, came there, and to his
astonishment beheld that figure of Umá carved on the stone. He first
anointed his limbs, and then placing the unguent on another part of the
stone, began to anoint his back by rubbing it against the stone. When
the rolling-eyed Vidyádhara maiden inside the pillar saw that, her
heart being captivated by his beauty, she reflected--"What! has this
handsome man no one to anoint his back? Then I will now rub his back
for him." Thus the Vidyádharí reflected, and, stretching forth her
hand from inside the pillar, she anointed his back then and there
out of affection. Immediately the merchant's son felt the touch, and
heard the jingling of the bracelet, and caught hold of her hand with
his. And the Vidyádharí, invisible as she was, said to him from the
pillar--"Noble sir, what harm have I done you? let go my hand." Then
Nischayadatta answered her--"Appear before me, and say who you are,
then I will let go your hand." Then the Vidyádharí affirmed with an
oath--"I will appear before your eyes, and tell you all." So he let
go her hand. Then she came out visibly from the pillar, beautiful
in every limb, and sitting down, with her eyes fixed on his face,
said to him, "There is a city called Pushkarávatí [545] on a peak of
the Himálayas, in it there lives a king named Vindhyapara. I am his
maiden daughter, named Anurágapará. I came to worship Mahákála, and
rested here to-day. And thereupon you came here, and were beheld by me
anointing your back on this pillar, resembling the stupefying weapon
of the god of love. Then first my heart was charmed with affection
for you, and afterwards my hand was smeared with your unguent, as I
rubbed your back. [546] The sequel you know. So I will now go to my
father's house."

When she said this to the merchant's son, he answered--"Fair one,
I have not recovered my soul which you have taken captive; how can
you thus depart, without letting go the soul which you have taken
possession of?" When he said this to her, she was immediately overcome
with love, and said--"I will marry you, if you come to my city. It is
not hard for you to reach; your endeavour will be sure to succeed. For
nothing in this world is difficult to the enterprising." Having said
this, Anurágapará flew up into the air and departed; and Nischayadatta
returned home with mind fixed upon her. Recollecting the hand that
was protruded from the pillar, like a shoot from the trunk of a tree,
he thought--"Alas! though I seized her hand I did not win it for my
own. Therefore I will go to the city of Pushkarávatí to visit her, and
either I shall lose my life, or Fate will come to my aid." So musing,
he passed that day there in an agony of love, and he set out from that
place early the next morning, making for the north. As he journeyed,
three other merchants' sons, who were travelling towards the north,
associated themselves with him as companions. In company with them
he travelled through cities, villages, forests, and rivers, and at
last reached the northern region abounding in barbarians.

There he and his companions were found on the way by some Tájikas, who
took them and sold them to another Tájika. He sent them in the care of
his servants as a present to a Turushka, named Muravára. Then those
servants took him and the other three, and hearing that Muravára
was dead, they delivered them to his son. The son of Muravára
thought--"These men have been sent me as a present by my father's
friend, so I must send them to him to-morrow by throwing them into
his grave." [547] Accordingly the Turushka fettered Nischayadatta and
his three friends with strong chains, that they might be kept till
the morning. Then, while they were remaining in chains at night,
Nischayadatta said to his three friends, the merchant's sons,
who were afflicted with dread of death--"What will you gain by
despondency? Maintain steadfast resolution. For calamities depart
far away from the resolute, as if terrified at them. Think on the
peerless adorable Durgá, that deliverer from calamity."

Thus encouraging them, he devoutly worshipped that goddess Durgá:
"Hail to thee, O goddess! I worship thy feet that are stained with
a red dye, as if it were the clotted gore of the trampled Asura
clinging to them. Thou, as the all-ruling power of Siva, dost govern
the three worlds, and inspired by thee they live and move. Thou didst
deliver the worlds, O slayer of the Asura Mahisha. Deliver me that
crave thy protection, O thou cherisher of thy votaries." In these
and similar words he and his companions duly worshipped the goddess,
and then they all fell asleep, being weary. And the goddess Durgá
in a dream commanded Nischayadatta and his companions--"Rise up,
my children, depart, for your fetters are loosed." Then they woke up
at night, and saw that their fetters had fallen off of themselves,
and after relating to one another their dream, they departed thence
delighted. And after they had gone a long journey, the night came
to an end, and then those merchant's sons, who had gone through such
terrors, said to Nischayadatta; "Enough of this quarter of the world
infested with barbarians! We will go to the Deccan, friend, but do
you do as you desire."--When they said this to him, he dismissed
them to go where they would, and set out alone vigorously on his
journey, making towards that very northern quarter, drawn by the
noose of love for Anurágapará, flinging aside fear. As he went
along, he fell in, in course of time, with four Pásupata ascetics,
and reached and crossed the river Vitastá. And after crossing it,
he took food, and as the sun was kissing the western mountain,
he entered with them a forest that lay in their path. And there
some woodmen, that met them, said to them: "Whither are you going,
now that the day is over. There is no village in front of you: but
there is an empty temple of Siva in this wood. Whoever remains there
during the night inside or outside, falls a prey to a Yakshiní, who
bewilders him, making horns grow on his forehead, and then treats him
as a victim, and devours him." Those four Pásupata ascetics, who were
travelling together, though they heard this, said to Nischayadatta,
"Come along! what can that miserable Yakshiní do to us? For we have
remained many nights in various cemeteries." When they said this,
he went with them, and finding an empty temple of Siva, he entered
it with them to pass the night there. In the court of that temple
the bold Nischayadatta and the Pásupata ascetics quickly made a great
circle with ashes, and entering into it, they lighted a fire with fuel,
and all remained there, muttering a charm to protect themselves.

Then at night there came there dancing the Yakshiní Sringotpádiní,
[548] playing from afar on her lute of bones, and when she came near,
she fixed her eye on one of the four Pásupata ascetics, and recited
a charm, as she danced outside the circle. That charm produced horns
on him, [549] and bewildered he rose up, and danced till he fell
into the blazing fire. And when he had fallen, the Yakshiní dragged
him half-burnt out of the fire, and devoured him with delight. Then
she fixed her eye on the second Pásupata ascetic, and in the same
way recited the horn-producing charm and danced. The second one also
had horns produced by that charm, and was made to dance, and falling
into the fire, was dragged out and devoured before the eyes of the
others. In this way the Yakshiní maddened one after another at night
the four ascetics, and after horns had been produced on them, devoured
them. But while she was devouring the fourth, it came to pass that,
being intoxicated with flesh and blood, she laid her lute down on the
ground. Thereupon the bold Nischayadatta rose up quickly, and seized
the lute, and began to play on it, and dancing round with a laugh, to
recite that horn-producing charm, which he had learnt from hearing it
often, fixing at the same time his eye on the face of the Yakshiní. By
the operation of the charm she was confused, and dreading death, as
horns were just about to sprout on her forehead, she flung herself
prostrate, and thus entreated him; "Valiant man, do not slay me,
a helpless woman. I now implore your protection, stop the recital of
the charm, and the accompanying movements. Spare me! I know all your
story, and will bring about your wish; I will carry you to the place,
where Anurágapará is." The bold Nischayadatta, when thus confidingly
addressed by her, consented, and stopped the recital of the charm,
and the accompanying movements. Then, at the request of the Yakshiní,
he mounted on her back, and being carried by her through the air,
he went to find his beloved. [550]

And when the night came to an end, they had reached a mountain wood;
there the Guhyakí bowing thus addressed Nischayadatta; "Now that the
sun has risen, I have no power to go upwards, [551] so spend this
day in this charming wood, my lord; eat sweet fruits and drink the
clear water of the brooks. I go to my own place, and I will return
at the approach of night; and then I will take you to the city of
Pushkarávatí, the crown of the Himálayas, and into the presence of
Anurágapará." Having said this, the Yakshiní with his permission set
him down from her shoulder, and departed to return again according
to her promise.

When she had gone, Nischayadatta beheld a deep lake, transparent and
cool, but tainted with poison, lit up by the sun, that stretching
forth the fingers of its rays, revealed it as an example illustrative
of the nature of the heart of a passionate woman. He knew by the
smell that it was tainted with poison, and left it, after necessary
ablutions, and being afflicted with thirst he roamed all over that
heavenly mountain in search of water. And as he was wandering about,
he saw on a lofty place what seemed to be two rubies glittering,
and he dug up the ground there.

And after he had removed the earth, he saw there the head of a living
monkey, and his eyes like two rubies. While he was indulging his
wonder, thinking what this could be, that monkey thus addressed him
with human voice; "I am a man, a Bráhman transformed into a monkey;
release me, and then I will tell you all my story, excellent sir." As
soon as he heard this, he removed the earth, marvelling, and drew the
ape out of the ground. When Nischayadatta had drawn out the ape, it
fell at his feet, and continued--"You have given me life by rescuing
me from calamity. So come, since you are weary, take fruit and water,
and by your favour I also will break my long fast. Having said this,
the liberated monkey took him to the bank of a mountain-torrent
some distance off, where there were delicious fruits, and shady
trees. There he bathed and took fruit and water, and coming back,
he said to the monkey who had broken his fast--"Tell me how you have
become a monkey, being really a man." Then that monkey said, "Listen,
I will tell you now."

Story of Somasvámin.

In the city of Váránasí there is an excellent Bráhman named
Chandrasvámin, I am his son by his virtuous wife, my friend. And my
father gave me the name of Somasvámin. In course of time it came to
pass that I mounted the fierce elephant of love, which infatuation
makes uncontrollable. When I was at this stage of my life, the youthful
Bandhudattá, the daughter of the merchant Srígarbha, an inhabitant of
that city, and the wife of the great merchant of Mathurá Varáhadatta,
who was dwelling in her father's house, beheld me one day, as she was
looking out of the window. She was enamoured of me on beholding me,
and after enquiring my name, she sent a confidential female friend
to me, desiring an interview. Her friend came up secretly to me
who was blind with love, and, after telling her friend's desire,
took me to her house. There she placed me, and then went and brought
secretly Bandhudattá, whose eagerness made her disregard shame. And
no sooner was she brought, than she threw her arms round my neck,
for excessive love in women is your only hero for daring. Thus every
day Bandhudattá came at will from her father's house, and sported
with me in the house of her female friend.

Now one day the great merchant, her husband, came from Mathurá to
take her back to his own house, as she had been long absent. Then
Bandhudattá, as her father ordered her to go, and her husband was eager
to take her away, secretly made a second request to her friend. She
said "I am certainly going to be taken by my husband to the city of
Mathurá, and I cannot live there separated from Somasvámin. So tell
me what resource there is left to me in this matter." When she said
this, her friend Sukhasayá, who was a witch, answered her, "I know two
spells; [552] by reciting one of them a man can be in a moment made
an ape, if a string is fastened round his neck, and by the second,
if the string is loosed, he will immediately become a man again;
and while he is an ape his intelligence is not diminished. So if you
like, fair one, you can keep your lover Somasvámin; for I will turn
him into an ape on the spot, then take him with you to Mathurá as a
pet animal. And I will shew you how to use the two spells, so that
you can turn him, when near you, into the shape of a monkey, and when
you are in a secret place, make him once more a beloved man." When
her friend had told her this, Bandhudattá consented, and sending
for me in secret, told me that matter in the most loving tone. I
consented, and immediately Sukhasayá fastened a thread on my neck
and recited the spell, and made me a young monkey. And in that shape
Bandhudattá brought and shewed me to her husband, and she said--"A
friend of mine gave me this animal to play with." And he was delighted
when he saw me in her arms as a plaything, and I, though a monkey,
retained my intelligence, and the power of articulate speech. And I
remained there, saying to myself with inward laughter--"Wonderful are
the actions of women." For whom does not love beguile? The next day
Bandhudattá, having been taught that spell by her friend, set out from
her father's house to go to Mathurá with her husband. And the husband
of Bandhudattá, wishing to please her, had me carried on the back of
one of his servants during the journey. So the servant and I and the
rest went along, and in two or three days reached a wood, that lay
in our way, which was perilous from abounding in monkeys. Then the
monkeys, beholding me, attacked me in troops on all sides, quickly
calling to one another with shrill cries. And the irrepressible apes
came and began to bite that merchant's servant, on whose back I was
sitting. He was terrified at that, and flung me off his back on to
the ground, and fled for fear, so the monkeys got hold of me then
and there. And Bandhudattá, out of love for me, and her husband and
his servants, attacked the apes with stones and sticks, but were not
able to get the better of them. Then those monkeys, as if enraged
with my evil actions, pulled off with their teeth and nails every
hair from every one of my limbs, as I lay there bewildered. At last,
by the virtue of the string on my neck, and by thinking on Siva, I
managed to recover my strength, and getting loose from them, I ran
away. And entering into the depths of the wood, I got out of their
sight, and gradually, roaming from forest to forest, I reached this
wood. And while I was wandering about here in the rainy season, blind
with the darkness of grief, saying to myself, "How is it that even in
this life adultery has produced for thee the fruit of transformation
into the shape of a monkey, and thou hast lost Bandhudattá?" Destiny,
not yet sated with tormenting me, inflicted on me another woe, for a
female elephant suddenly came upon me, and seizing me with her trunk
flung me into the mud of an ant-hill that had been saturated with
rain. I know it must have been some divinity instigated by Destiny,
for, though I exerted myself to the utmost, I could not get out of
that mud. And while it was drying up, [553] not only did I not die,
but knowledge was produced in me, while I thought continually upon
Siva. And all the while I never felt hunger nor thirst, my friend,
until to-day you drew me out of this trap of dry mud. And though I have
gained knowledge, I do not even now possess power sufficient to set
myself free from this monkey nature. But when some witch unties the
thread on my neck, reciting at the same time the appropriate spell,
then I shall once more become a man.

"This is my story, but tell me now, my friend, how you came to this
inaccessible wood, and why." When Nischayadatta was thus requested
by the Bráhman Somasvámin, he told him his story, how he came from
Ujjayiní on account of a Vidyádharí, and how he was conveyed at night
by a Yakshiní, whom he had subdued by his presence of mind. Then the
wise Somasvámin, who wore the form of a monkey, having heard that
wonderful story, went on to say; "You, like myself, have suffered
great woe for the sake of a female. But females, like prosperous
circumstances, are never faithful to any one in this world. Like the
evening, they display a short-lived glow of passion, their hearts
are crooked like the channels of rivers, like snakes they are not to
be relied on, like lightning they are fickle. So, that Anurágapará,
though she may be enamoured of you for a time, when she finds a
paramour of her own race, will be disgusted with you, who are only
a mortal. So desist now from this effort for the sake of a female,
which you will find like the fruit of the Colocynth, bitter in its
after-taste. Do not go, my friend, to Pushkarávatí, the city of the
Vidyádharas, but ascend the back of the Yakshiní and return to your
own Ujjayiní. Do what I tell you, my friend; formerly in my passion I
did not heed the voice of a friend, and I am suffering for it at this
very moment. For when I was in love with Bandhudattá, a Bráhman named
Bhavasarman, who was a very dear friend of mine, said this to me in
order to dissuade me;--'Do not put yourself in the power of a female,
the heart of a female is a tangled maze; in proof of it I will tell
you what happened to me--listen!'"

Story of Bhavasarman.

In this very country, in the city of Váránasí, there lived a young and
beautiful Bráhman woman named Somadá, who was unchaste and secretly a
witch. And as destiny would have it, I had secret interviews with her,
and in the course of our intimacy my love for her increased. One day
I wilfully struck her in the fury of jealousy, and the cruel woman
bore it patiently, concealing her anger for the time. The next day
she fastened a string round my neck, as if in loving sport, and I was
immediately turned into a domesticated ox. Then I, thus transformed
into an ox, was sold by her, on receiving the required price, to a
man who lived by keeping domesticated camels. When he placed a load
upon me, a witch there, named Bandhamochaniká, beholding me sore
burdened, was filled with pity. [554] She knew by her supernatural
knowledge that I had been made an animal by Somadá, and when my
proprietor was not looking, she loosed the string from my neck. So I
returned to the form of a man, and that master of mine immediately
looked round, and thinking that I had escaped, wandered all about
the country in search of me. And as I was going away from that place
with Bandhamochiní, it happened that Somadá came that way and beheld
me at a distance. She, burning with rage, said to Bandhamochiní, who
possessed supernatural knowledge,--"Why did you deliver this villain
from his bestial transformation? Curses on you! wicked woman, you shall
reap the fruit of this evil deed. To-morrow morning I will slay you,
together with this villain." When she had gone after saying this,
that skilful sorceress Bandhamochiní, in order to repel her assault,
gave me the following instructions--"She will come to-morrow morning
in the form of a black mare to slay me, and I shall then assume the
form of a bay mare. And when we have begun to fight, you must come
behind this Somadá, sword in hand, and resolutely strike her. In this
way we will slay her; so come to-morrow morning to my house." After
saying this, she pointed out to me her house. When she had entered
it, I went home, having endured more than one birth in this very
life. And in the morning I went to the house of Bandhamochiní, sword
in hand. Then Somadá came there, in the form of a black mare. [555]
And Bandhamochiní, for her part, assumed the form of a bay mare; and
then they fought with their teeth and heels, biting and kicking. Then I
struck that vile witch Somadá a blow with my sword, and she was slain
by Bandhamochiní. Then I was freed from fear, and having escaped the
calamity of bestial transformation, I never again allowed my mind to
entertain the idea of associating with wicked women. Women generally
have these three faults, terrible to the three worlds, flightiness,
recklessness, and a love for the congregation of witches. [556] So why
do you run after Bandhudattá, who is a friend of witches? Since she
does not love her husband, how is it possible that she can love you?

"Though my friend Bhavasarman gave me this advice, I did not do what he
told me; and so I am reduced to this state. So I give you this counsel;
do not suffer hardship to win Anurágapará, for when she obtains a lover
of her own race, she will of a surety desert you. A woman ever desires
fresh men, as a female humble bee wanders from flower to flower; so
you will suffer regret some day, like me, my friend." This speech of
Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, did not penetrate
the heart of Nischayadatta, for it was full of passion. And he said
to that monkey; "She will not be unfaithful to me, for she is born of
the pure race of the Vidyádharas." Whilst they were thus conversing,
the sun, red with the hues of evening, went to the mountain of setting,
as if wishing to please Nischayadatta. Then the night arrived, as the
harbinger of the Yakshiní Sringotpádiní, and she herself came soon
afterwards. And Nischayadatta mounted on her back, and went off to
go to his beloved, taking leave of the ape, who begged that he might
ever be remembered by him. And at midnight he reached that city of
Pushkarávatí, which was situated on the Himálayas, and belonged to
the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of Anurágapará. At that very
moment Anurágapará, having known by her power of his arrival, came out
from that city to meet him. Then the Yakshiní put down Nischayadatta
from her shoulder, and pointing out to him Anurágapará, said--"Here
comes your beloved, like a second moon giving a feast to your eyes in
the night, so now I will depart," and bowing before him, she went her
way. Then Anurágapará, full of the excitement produced by expectation,
went up to her beloved, and welcomed him with embraces and other signs
of love. He too embraced her, and now that he had obtained the joy of
meeting her after enduring many hardships, he could not be contained
in his own body, and as it were entered hers. So Anurágapará was made
his wife by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage, and she immediately
by her magic skill created a city. In that city, which was outside
the metropolis, he dwelt with her, without her parents suspecting it,
as their eyes were blinded by her skill. And when, on her questioning
him, he told her those strange and painful adventures of his journey,
she respected him much, and bestowed on him all the enjoyments that
heart could wish.

Then Nischayadatta told that Vidyádharí the strange story of
Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, and said to her,
"If this friend of mine could by any endeavour on your part be freed
from his monkey condition, then my beloved, you would have done a good
deed." When he told her this, Anurágapará said to him--"This is in
the way of witches' spells, but it is not our province. Nevertheless
I will accomplish this desire of yours, by asking a friend of mine,
a skilful witch named Bhadrarúpá. When the merchant's son heard that,
he was delighted, and said to that beloved of his--"So come and see
my friend, let us go to visit him." She consented, and the next day,
carried in her lap, Nischayadatta went through the air to the wood,
which was the residence of his friend. When he saw his friend there
in monkey form, he went up to him with his wife, who bowed before
him, and asked after his welfare. And the monkey Somasvámin welcomed
him, saying--"It is well with me to-day, in that I have beheld you
united to Anurágapará," and he gave his blessing to Nischayadatta's
wife. Then all three sat down on a charming slab of rock there, and
held a conversation [557] about his story, the various adventures of
that ape, previously discussed by Nischayadatta with his beloved. Then
Nischayadatta took leave of that monkey, and went to the house of
his beloved, flying up into the air, carried by her in her arms.

And the next day he again said to that Anurágapará, "Come, let us go
for a moment to visit that ape our friend;" then she said to him--"Go
to-day yourself, receive from me the science of flying up, and also
that of descending." When she had said this to him, he took those two
sciences, and flew through the air to his friend the ape. And as he
remained long conversing with him, Anurágapará went out of the house
into the garden. While she was seated there, a certain Vidyádhara
youth, who was wandering at will through the air, came there. The
Vidyádhara, knowing by his art that she was a Vidyádharí who had
a mortal husband, the moment he beheld her, was overpowered with a
paroxysm of love, and approached her. And she, with face bent on the
ground, beheld that he was handsome and attractive, and slowly asked
him out of curiosity, who he was and whence he came. Then he answered
her, "Know, fair one, that I am a Vidyádhara, by name Rágabhanjana,
distinguished for my knowledge of the sciences of the Vidyádharas. The
moment I beheld you, O gazelle-eyed one, I was suddenly overpowered
by love, and made your slave, so cease to honour, O goddess, a mortal,
whose abode is the earth, and favour me, your equal, before your father
finds out your intrigue." When he said this, the fickle-hearted one,
looking timidly at him with a sidelong glance, thought--"Here is a fit
match for me." When he had thus ascertained her wishes, he made her
his wife: when two are of one mind, what more does secret love require?

Then Nischayadatta arrived from the presence of Somasvámin, after that
Vidyádhara had departed. And when he came, Anurágapará, having lost
her love for him, did not embrace him, giving as an excuse that she had
a headache. But the simple-minded man, bewildered by love, not seeing
through her excuse, thought that her pain was due to illness and spent
the day in that belief. But the next day, he again went in low spirits
to see his friend the ape, flying through the air by the force of the
two sciences he possessed. When he had gone, Anurágapará's Vidyádhara
lover returned to her, having spent a sleepless night without her. And
embracing round the neck her, who was eager for his arrival owing to
having been separated during the night, he was at length overcome
by sleep. She by the power of her science concealed her lover, who
lay asleep in her lap, and weary with having kept awake all night,
went to sleep herself. In the meanwhile Nischayadatta came to the
ape, and his friend, welcoming him, asked him--"Why do I seem to see
you in low spirits to-day? Tell me." Then Nischayadatta said to that
ape, "Anurágapará is exceedingly ill, my friend; for that reason I
am grieved, for she is dearer to me than life." Then that ape, who
possessed supernatural knowledge, said to him--"Go, take her in your
arms asleep as she is, and flying through the air by the help of the
science she bestowed, bring her to me, in order that I may this very
day shew you a great marvel." When Nischayadatta heard this, he went
through the air and lightly took up that sleeping fair, but he did not
see that Vidyádhara, who was asleep in her lap, and had been previously
made invisible by the power of her science. And flying up into the air,
he quickly brought Anurágapará to that ape. That ape, who possessed
divine insight, immediately shewed him a charm, by which he was able
to behold the Vidyádhara clinging to her neck. When he saw this, he
exclaimed--"Alas! what does this mean?" And the ape, who was able to
discern the truth, told him the whole story. Then Nischayadatta fell
into a passion, and the Vidyádhara, who was the lover of his wife,
woke up, and flying up into the air, disappeared. Then Anurágapará
woke up, and seeing that her secret was revealed, stood with face cast
down through shame. Then Nischayadatta said to her with eyes gushing
with tears--"Wicked female, how could you thus deceive me who reposed
confidence in you? Although a device is known in this world for fixing
that exceedingly fickle metal quicksilver, no expedient is known for
fixing the heart of a woman." While he was saying this, Anurágapará,
at a loss for an answer, and weeping, slowly soared up into the air,
and went to her own home.

Then Nischayadatta's friend, the ape, said to him--"That you are
grieved is the fruit of the fierce fire of passion, in that you ran
after this fair one, though I tried to dissuade you. For what reliance
can be placed on fickle fortunes and fickle women? So cease your
regret. Be patient now. For even the Disposer himself cannot o'erstep
destiny." When Nischayadatta heard this speech from the ape, he flung
aside that delusion of grief, and abandoning passion, fled to Siva as
his refuge. Then, as he was remaining in that wood with his friend the
ape, it happened that a female hermit of the name of Mokshadá came near
him. She seeing him bowing before her, proceeded to ask him--"How comes
this strange thing to pass that, though a man, you have struck up a
friendship with this ape?" Then he related to her his own melancholy
story and afterwards the sad tale of his friend, and thereupon thus
said to her; "If you, reverend lady, know any incantation or spell
by which it can be done, immediately release this excellent Bráhman,
my friend, from his ape-transformation." When she heard that, she
consented, and employing a spell, she loosed the string from his
neck, and Somasvámin abandoned that monkey form and became a man as
before. Then she disappeared like lightning, clothed with celestial
brightness, and in time Nischayadatta and the Bráhman Somasvámin,
having performed many austerities, attained final beatitude.

"Thus fair ones, naturally fickle, bring about a series of evil actions
which produce true discernment, and aversion to the world. But here and
there you will find a virtuous one among them, who adorns a glorious
family, as the streak of the moon the broad sky."

When Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Ratnaprabhá, heard this wonderful
tale from the mouth of Gomukha, he was highly pleased.


Then Marubhúti, perceiving that Naraváhanadatta was pleased with the
tale of Gomukha, in order to rival him, said, "Women are generally
fickle, but not always, for even hetæræ are seen to be rich in
good qualities, much more others; in proof of this, king, hear this
famous tale."

Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra.

There was in Pátaliputra a king named Vikramáditya; he had two
cherished friends the king Hayapati, [558] and the king Gajapati, [559]
who had large armies of horse and elephants. And that proud sovereign
had a mighty enemy named Narasinha [560] the lord of Pratishthána, a
king who had a large force of infantry. Being angry with that enemy,
and puffed up on account of the power of his allies, Vikramáditya
rashly made this vow--"I will so completely conquer that king, the lord
of men, that the heralds and bards shall proclaim him at the door as my
slave." Having made this vow, he summoned those allies, Hayapati and
Gajapati, and accompanied with a large force, shaking the earth with
elephants and horses, marched with them to make a fierce attack on the
lord of men, Narasinha. When he arrived near Pratishthána, Narasinha,
the lord of men, put on his armour and went out to meet him. Then
there took place between the two kings a battle that excited wonder,
in which footmen fought with elephants and horses. And at last the
army of Vikramáditya was routed by the forces of Narasinha, the lord
of men, which contained many crores of footmen. And Vikramáditya,
being routed, fled to his city Pátaliputra, and his two allies fled
to their own countries. And Narasinha, the lord of men, entered his
own city Pratishthána, accompanied by heralds who praised his might.

Then Vikramáditya, not having gained his end, thought--"Well! as
that enemy is not to be conquered by arms, I will conquer him by
policy; let some blame me if they like, but let not my oath be made
void." Thus reflecting, he entrusted his kingdom to suitable ministers,
and secretly went out of the city with one chief minister, named
Buddhivara, and with five hundred well-born and brave Rájpúts and in
the disguise of a candidate for service, [561] went to Pratishthána,
the city of his enemy. There he entered the splendid mansion of a
beautiful hetæra named Madanamálá, that resembled the palace of a
king. It seemed to invite him with the silk of its banners, hoisted
on the pinnacles of high ramparts, the points of which waved to and
fro in the soft breeze. It was guarded at the principal entrance, the
east door, day and night, by twenty thousand footmen, equipped with all
kinds of weapons. At each of the other three doors, looking towards
the other cardinal points, it was defended by ten thousand warriors
ever on the qui vive. In such guise the king entered, proclaimed by
the warders, the enclosure of the palace, which was divided into seven
zones. In one zone it was adorned with many long lines of horses. In
another the path was impeded by dense troops of elephants. In another
it was surrounded with an imposing array of dense weapons. In another
it was resplendent with many treasure-houses, that gleamed with the
flash of jewels. In another a circle was always formed by a dense
crowd of attendants. In another it was full of the noise of many
bards reciting aloud, and in another resounding with the sound of
drums beaten in concert. Beholding all these sights the king at last
reached, with his retinue, the splendid edifice in which Madanamálá
dwelt. She having heard with great interest from her attendants that,
as he passed through the zones, the horses and other creatures were
cured of their wounds, [562] thought that he must be some great one
in disguise, and so she went to meet him, and bowed before him with
love and curiosity, and bringing him in, seated him on a throne fit
for a king. The king's heart was ravished by her beauty, gracefulness
and courtesy, and he saluted her without revealing who he was. Then
Madanamálá honoured that king with costly baths, flowers, perfumes,
garments and ornaments. And she gave daily subsistence to those
followers of his, and feasted him and his minister with all kinds
of viands. And she spent the day with him in drinking, and other
diversions, and surrendered herself to him, having fallen in love
with him at first sight. Vikramáditya, being thus entertained by her,
day by day, continued, though in disguise, to live in a style suited
to an emperor. And whatever and howmuchsoever wealth he was in the
habit of giving to suppliants, Madanamálá gladly furnished him with
from her own store. And she thought her body and wealth well employed,
while enjoyed by him, and she remained averse to gain and to other
men. For out of love to him she even kept off by stratagems Narasinha,
the king of that land, who came there being enamoured of her.

While the king was being waited on in this fashion by Madanamálá, he
one day said in secret to his minister Buddhivara, who accompanied him,
"A hetæra desires wealth, and not even if she feels love, does she
become attached without it, for when Providence framed suitors, he
bestowed greed on these women. But this Madanamálá, though her wealth
is being consumed by me, through her great love is not estranged
from me, on the contrary she delights in me. So how can I now make
her a recompense, in order that my vow may in course of time be fully
accomplished?" When the minister Buddhivara heard this, he said to the
king; "If this be so, give her some of those priceless jewels which
the mendicant Prapanchabuddhi gave you." When the king heard that, he
answered him, "If I were to give them all to her, I should not have
made her a recompense worth speaking of; but I can free myself from
obligation in another way, which is connected also with the story of
that mendicant." When the minister heard this, he said--"King, why
did that mendicant court you? Tell me his story." When his minister
Buddhivara proffered this request, the king said, "Listen: I will
tell you his story."

Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant.

Long ago a mendicant named Prapanchabuddhi used to enter my hall of
audience in Pátaliputra every day and give me a box. For a whole year
I gave these boxes, just as they were, unopened into the hand of my
treasurer. One day, one of those boxes presented by the mendicant
by chance fell from my hand on to the ground, and burst open. And a
great jewel fell out of it, glittering like fire, and it appeared as
if it were the mendicant's heart which I had not discerned before,
revealed by him. When I saw that, I took it, and I had those other
boxes brought which he had presented to me, and opened them, and
took a jewel out of every one of them. Then in astonishment I asked
Prapanchabuddhi--"Why do you court me with such splendid jewels?" Then
that mendicant took me aside, and said to me--"On the fourteenth day
of the black fortnight now approaching I have to perform a certain
incantation at night-fall, in a cemetery outside this town. I desire
you, my hero, to come and take part in that enterprise, for success is
easily obtained, when the obstacles to it are swept away by the aid
of a hero." When the mendicant said this to me, I agreed. So he went
off delighted, and in a few days the fourteenth night of the black
fortnight came, and I remembered the speech of that ascetic. [563]
Then I performed my daily observances, and waited for the night, and
after I had recited the evening prayer, it happened that I rapidly fell
asleep. Then the adorable Hari, who is compassionate to his votaries,
appeared to me in a dream, mounted on Garuda, with his breast marked
with a lotus, and thus commanded me--"My son, this Prapanchabuddhi
[564] is rightly named, for he will inveigle you into the cemetery to
take part in the incantation of the circle, [565] and will offer you
up as a victim. So do not do what he tells you to do with the object
of slaying you, but say to him--'You do it first, and when I have
learned the way, I will do it.' Then, as he is shewing you the way,
take advantage of the opportunity, and slay him immediately, and
you will acquire the power that he desires to obtain." When Vishnu
had said this, he disappeared, and I woke up and thought--"By the
favour of Hari I have detected that magician, and this day I must
slay him." Having thus reflected, when the first watch of the night
was gone, I went, sword in hand, alone to that cemetery. There I
beheld that mendicant, who had performed the ceremony of the circle
incantation, and when the treacherous fellow saw me, he welcomed me,
and said, "King, close your eyes, and fall at full length on the ground
with your face downwards, and in this way both of us will attain our
ends." Then I answered him--"Do it yourself first. Shew me how to do
it, and, after I have learned, I will do precisely as you do." When
the mendicant heard that, like a fool, he fell on the earth, and I
cut off his head with a stroke of my sword. [566] Then a voice was
heard from the air--"Bravo, king! By offering up to-day this rascally
mendicant thou hast obtained the power of going through the air, which
he wished to obtain. I, the god of wealth, that move about at will,
am pleased with thy courage. So, ask me for another boon, whatever
thou mayest desire." After saying this, he manifested himself, and I,
bowing before him, said,--"When I shall supplicate thee, adorable one,
thou shalt appear on my thinking of thee, and grant me a suitable
boon." The god of wealth said--"So be it"--and disappeared. And having
obtained magic power, I went back quickly to my own palace. Thus I
have told you my adventure, so by means of that boon of Kuvera I must
now recompense Madanamálá. And you must now go back to Pátaliputra,
taking with you my disguised Rájpút retinue, and I, as soon as I have
in a novel way recompensed my beloved, will immediately go there,
with the intention of returning here." Having said this, and having
performed his daily duties, the king dismissed his minister with his
retinue. He said, "So be it" and departed, and the king spent that
night with Madanamálá, anxious about his approaching separation. She
too, embracing him frequently, because her heart seemed to tell her
that he was going to a distance, did not sleep all that night.

In the morning the king, having performed all his necessary duties,
entered a chapel for the daily worship of the gods, on the pretence
of repeating prayers. And there the god of wealth appeared before
him on his thinking of him, and bowing before him the king craved
that boon formerly promised, in the following words--"O god, give me
here to-day in accordance with that boon, which you promised me, five
great indestructible golden figures of men, such that, though their
limbs may be continually cut off for any desired use, those very limbs
will grow again, exactly as before." The god of wealth said, "Even so;
be there unto thee five such figures as thou desirest!" Having said
this, he immediately disappeared. And the king immediately beheld
those five great golden figures of men suddenly standing in the
chapel; then he went out delighted, and not forgetting his promise,
he flew up into the air and went to his city of Pátaliputra. There
he was welcomed by his ministers, and the citizens and his wives,
and he remained engaged in his kingly duties, while his heart was far
away in Pratishthána. In the meanwhile, in Pratishthána, that beloved
of his entered that chapel to see her love, who had entered it long
before. And when she entered, she did not perceive that beloved king
anywhere, but she beheld five gigantic golden figures of men. When she
saw them, and did not find him, she reflected in her grief--"Surely
that love of mine was some Vidyádhara or Gandharva, who bestowed upon
me these men and flew away up to heaven.

"So what am I to do with these figures, which are all a mere
burden, now that I am deprived of him?" Thus reflecting she asked
her servants over and over again for news of him, and went out and
roamed all about her domain. And she found no satisfaction anywhere,
either in the palaces, the gardens, the chambers or other places,
but she kept lamenting, grieved at being separated from her lover,
ready to abandon the body.

Her attendants tried to comfort her, saying, "Do not despair, mistress,
for he is some god roaming about at will, and when he pleases, he will
return to you, fair one." With such hope-inspiring words did they at
length so far console her that she made this vow--"If in six months he
does not grant me to behold him, I will give away all my property and
enter the fire." With this promise she fortified herself, and remained
every day giving alms, thinking on that beloved of hers. And one day,
she cut off both the arms of one of those golden men, and gave them
to the Bráhmans, being intent on charity only. And the next day she
perceived with astonishment that both arms had grown again, exactly
as they were before. Then she proceeded to cut off the arms of the
others, to give them away, and the arms of all of them grew again
as they were before. Then she saw that they were indestructible,
and every day she cut off the arms of the figures and gave them to
studious Bráhmans, according to the number of the Vedas they had read.

And in a few days a Bráhman, named Sangrámadatta, having heard
the fame of her bounty, which was spread abroad in every direction,
came from Pátaliputra. He being poor, but acquainted with four Vedas,
and endowed with virtues, entered into her presence desiring a gift,
being announced by the door-keepers. She gave him as many arms of the
golden figures as he knew Vedas, after bowing before him with limbs
emaciated with her vow and pale with separation from her beloved. Then
the Bráhman, having heard from her sorrow-stricken attendants the
whole of her story, ending in that very terrible vow, was delighted,
but at the same time despondent, and loading two camels with those
golden arms went to his native city, Pátaliputra. Then that Bráhman,
thinking that his gold would not be safe there, unless guarded by
the king, entered the king's presence and said to him, while he was
sitting in the hall of judgment; "Here I am, O great king, a Bráhman
who am an inhabitant of thy town. I, being poor, and desiring wealth,
went to the southern clime, and arrived at a city named Pratishthána,
belonging to king Narasinha. There, being desirous of a donation, I
went to the house of Madanamálá, a hetæra of distinguished fame. For
with her there lived long some divine being, who departed somewhere
or other, after giving her five indestructible figures of men. Then
the high-spirited woman became afflicted at his departure, and
considering life to be poison-agony, and the body, that fruitless
accumulation of delusion, to be merely a punishment for thieving, lost
her patience, and being with difficulty consoled by her attendants
made this vow--"If in the space of six months he does not visit me,
I must enter the fire, my soul being smitten by adversity." Having
made this vow she, being resolved on death, and desiring to perform
good actions, gives away every day very large gifts. And I beheld her,
king, with tottering feet, conspicuous for the beauty of her person,
though it was thin from fasting; with hand moistened with the water of
giving, surrounded with maids like clustering bees, sorely afflicted,
looking like the incarnation of the mast condition of the elephant
of love. [567] And I think that lover who deserts her, and causes by
his absence that fair one to abandon the body, deserves blame, indeed
deserves death. She to-day gave to me, who know the four Vedas, four
golden arms of human figures, according to right usage, proportioning
her gift to the number of my Vedas. So I wish to purify my house with
sacrifice, and to follow a life of religion here; therefore let the
king grant me protection."

The king Vikramáditya, hearing these tidings of his beloved from the
mouth of the Bráhman, had his mind suddenly turned towards her. And
he commanded his door-keeper to do what the Bráhman wished, and
thinking how constant was the affection of his mistress, who valued
her life as stubble, and in his impatience supposing that she would
be able to assist him in accomplishing his vow, and remembering that
the time fixed for her abandoning the body had almost arrived, he
quickly committed his kingdom to the care of his ministers, and flying
through the air reached Pratishthána, and entered the house of his
beloved. There he beheld his beloved, with raiment pellucid like the
moonlight, having given her wealth away to Pandits, [568] attenuated
like a digit of the moon at the time of its change. Madanamálá, for
her part, on beholding him arrived unexpectedly, the quintessence
of nectar to her eyes, was for a moment like one amazed. Then she
embraced him, and threw round his neck the noose of her arms, as
if fearing that he would escape again. And she said to him with a
voice, the accents of which were choked with tears, "Cruel one, why
did you depart and forsake my innocent self?" The king said, "Come,
I will tell you in private," and went inside with her, welcomed by
her attendants. There he revealed to her who he was, and described
his circumstances, how he came there to conquer king Narasinha by
an artifice, and how, after slaying Prapanchabuddhi, he acquired the
power of flying in the air, and how he was enabled to reward her by
a boon that he obtained from the lord of wealth, and how, hearing
tidings of her from a Bráhman, he had returned there. Having told the
whole story beginning with the subject of his vow, he again said to
her--"So my beloved, that king Narasinha, being very mighty, is not
to be conquered by armies, and he contended with me in single combat,
but I did not slay him, for I possess the power of flying in the air,
and he can only go on the earth, for who, that is a true Kshatriya,
would desire to conquer in an unfair combat? The object of my vow is,
that that king may be announced by the heralds as waiting at the door;
do you assist me in that?"

When the hetæra heard this, she said, "I am honoured by your
request," and summoning her heralds she said to them--"When the king
Narasinha shall come to my house, you must stand near the door with
attentive eyes, and while he is entering, you must say again and
again--"King, prince Narasinha is loyal and devoted to thee." And
when he looks up and asks--"Who is here?"--you must immediately say
to him--"Vikramáditya is here." After giving them these orders, she
dismissed them, and then she said to the female warder--"You must
not prevent king Narasinha from entering here." After issuing these
orders, Madanamálá remained in a state of supreme felicity, having
regained the lord of her life, and gave away her wealth fearlessly.

Then king Narasinha, having heard of that profuse liberality of hers,
which was due to her possession of the golden figures, though he
had given her up, came to visit her house. And while he entered, not
being forbidden by the warder, all the heralds shouted in a loud voice,
beginning at the outer door, "King, prince Narasinha is submissive and
devoted." When that sovereign heard that, he was angry and alarmed, and
when he asked who was there, and found out that king Vikramáditya was
there, he waited a moment and went through the following reflections;
"So this king has forced his way into my kingdom, and carried out the
vow he made long ago, that I should be announced at his door. In truth
this king is a man of might, since he has thus beaten me to-day. And
I must not slay him by force, since he has come alone to a house in
my dominions. So I had better enter now." Having thus reflected, king
Narasinha entered, announced by all the heralds. And king Vikramáditya,
on beholding him enter with a smile on his face, rose up also with
smiling countenance and embraced him. Then those two kings sat down
and enquired after one another's welfare, while Madanamálá stood by
their side.

And in the course of conversation Narasinha asked Vikramáditya where he
had obtained those golden figures. Then Vikramáditya told him the whole
of that strange adventure of his, how he had slain the base ascetic,
and acquired the power of flying through the air, and how, by virtue
of the boon of the god of wealth, he had obtained five indestructible
gigantic golden figures. Then king Narasinha chose that king for his
friend, discovering that he was of great might, that he possessed the
power of flying, and that he had a good heart. And having made him
his friend, he welcomed him with the prescribed rites of hospitality,
and taking him to his own palace, he entertained him with all the
attentions paid to himself. And king Vikramáditya, after having been
thus honoured, was dismissed by him, and returned to the house of
Madanamálá. Then Vikramáditya, having accomplished his difficult vow
by his courage and intelligence, determined to go to his own city. And
Madanamálá, being unable to remain separated from him, was eager to
accompany him, and with the intention of abandoning her native land,
she bestowed her dwelling upon the Bráhmans. Then Vikramáditya,
the moon of kings, went with her, whose mind was exclusively fixed
on him, to his own city of Pátaliputra, followed by her elephants,
horses, and footmen. There he remained in happiness, (accompanied by
Madanamálá, who had abandoned her own country for his love,) having
formed an alliance with king Narasinha.

"Thus, king, even hetæræ are occasionally of noble character and
as faithful to kings as their own wives, much more then matrons of
high birth." On hearing this noble tale from the mouth of Marubhúti,
the king Naraváhanadatta, and his new wife Ratnaprabhá sprung from
the glorious race of the Vidyádharas, were much delighted.


When Marubhúti had told this story there, the commander-in-chief
Harisikha said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta--"It is true, good
women value nothing more than their husbands, and in proof of it,
listen now to this still more wonderful tale."

Story of Sringabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa.

There is a city on the earth named Vardhamána, and in it there dwelt
a king named Vírabhuja, chief of righteous men. And though he had a
hundred wives, one queen of the name of Gunavará was dearer to him than
his life. And in spite of his hundred wives, it happened, as Fate would
have it, that not one of them bore him a son. So he asked a physician
named Srutavardhana--"Is there any medicine able to bring about
the birth of a son?" When the physician heard that, he said--"King,
I can prepare such a medicine, [569] but the king must procure for
me a wild goat." When he heard this speech of the physician's, the
king gave an order to the warder, and had a goat brought for him from
the forest. The physician handed over the goat to the king's cooks,
and with its flesh prepared a sovereign elixir for the queens. The
king went off to worship his god, after ordering the queens to
assemble in one place. And ninety-nine of those queens did assemble
in one place, but the queen Gunavará alone was not present there,
for she was at that time near the king, who was engaged in praying
to his god. And when they had assembled, the physician gave them the
whole of the elixir to drink mixed with powder, not perceiving the
absence of Gunavará. Immediately the king returned with his beloved,
having performed his devotions, and perceiving that that drug was
completely finished, he said to the physician--"What! did you not keep
any for Gunavará? You have forgotten the principal object with which
this was undertaken." After saying this to the abashed physician,
the king said to the cooks--"Is there any of the flesh of that goat
left?" The cooks said, "The horns only remain." Then the physician
said, "Bravo! I can make an admirable elixir out of the centre of the
horns." After saying this, the physician had an elixir prepared from
the fleshy part of the horns, and gave it to queen Gunavará mixed with
powder. Then the ninety-nine wives of the king became pregnant, and
all in time brought forth sons. But the head queen Gunavará conceived
last of all, and afterwards gave birth to a son with more auspicious
marks than the sons of all the others. And as he was sprung from the
juice of the fleshy part of the horns, his father, the king, gave him
the name of Sringabhuja, and rejoiced greatly at his birth. He grew up
with those other brothers, and though in age he was the youngest of
all, he was superior to all in good qualities. And in course of time
that prince became like the god of Love in beauty, and like Arjuna
in his skill in archery, and like Bhíma in strength. Accordingly the
other queens, seeing that queen Gunavará, now that she had this son,
was more than ever dear to king Vírabhuja, became jealous of her.

Then an evil-minded queen among them, named Ayasolekhá, deliberated
with all the others and entered into a conspiracy; and when the
king came home one day, she exhibited an assumed sadness in her
face. The king asked her the reason, and she said with apparent
reluctance--"My husband, why do you endure patiently the disgrace
of your house? you avert disgrace from others, why do you not avert
it from yourself? You know the young superintendent of the women's
apartments named Surakshita; your queen Gunavará is secretly devoted
to him. Since no man but he can penetrate into the women's apartments,
which are strictly watched by guards, she associates with him. And this
is a well-known subject of gossip in the whole harem." When she said
this to the king, he pondered and reflected; and went and asked the
other queens one after another in private, and they were faithful to
their treacherous plot, and told him the same story. Then that wise
king conquered his anger, and reflected--"This accusation against
these two is improbable, and yet such is the gossip. So I must not
without reflecting reveal the matter to any one; but they must by an
artifice be separated now, to enable me to see the termination of
the whole matter." Having determined on this, next day he summoned
Surakshita, the superintendent of the womens' apartments, into his
judgment-hall, and with assumed anger, said to him--"I have learned,
villain, that you have slain a Bráhman, so I cannot endure to see
your face until you have made a pilgrimage to holy places." When he
heard that, he was amazed and began to murmur--"How can I have slain a
Bráhman, my sovereign?" But the king went on to say; "Do not attempt
to brazen it out, but go to Kásmír to wash away your sin, (where are
those holy fields, Vijayakshetra, and Nandikshetra the purifying,
and the kshetra [570] of the Boar), the land which was hallowed by
Vishnu the bow-handed god, where the stream of the Ganges bears the
name of Vitastá, where is the famous Mandapakshetra, and where is
Uttaramánasa; when your sin has been washed away by a pilgrimage to
these holy places, you shall behold my face again, but not till then."

With this speech the king Vírabhuja dismissed the helpless Surakshita,
sending him to a distance on the pretence of a pilgrimage to holy
places. Then the king went into the presence of that queen Gunavará,
full of love and anger and sober reflection. Then she, seeing that
his mind was troubled, asked him anxiously, "My husband, why are
you seized to-day with a sudden fit of despondency?" When the king
heard that, he gave her this feigned answer--"To-day, queen, a great
astrologer came to me and said--'King, you must place the queen
Gunavará for some time in a dungeon, and you must yourself live a
life of chastity, otherwise your kingdom will certainly be overthrown,
and she will surely die.' Having said this, the astrologer departed;
hence my present despondency." When the king said this, the queen
Gunavará, who was devoted to her husband, distracted with fear
and love, said to him--"Why do you not cast me this very day into
a dungeon, my husband? I am highly favoured, if I can benefit you
even at the sacrifice of my life. Let me die, but let not my lord
have misfortune. For a husband is the chief refuge of wives in this
world and in the next." Having heard this speech of hers, the king
said to himself with tears in his eyes; "I think there is no guilt
in her, nor in that Surakshita, for I saw that the colour of his
face did not change, and he seemed without fear. Alas! nevertheless
I must ascertain the truth of that rumour." After reflecting thus,
the king in his grief said to the queen--"Then it is best that a
dungeon should be made here, queen!" She replied--"Very good"--so the
king had a dungeon easy of access made in the women's apartments,
and placed the queen in it. And he comforted her son Sringabhuja,
(who was in despair and asked the reason,) by telling him exactly what
he told the queen. And she, for her part, thought the dungeon heaven,
because it was all for the king's good. For good women have no pleasure
of their own; to them their husbands' pleasure is pleasure. [571]

When this had been done, that other wife of the king's, named
Ayasolekhá, said of her own accord to her son, who was named
Nirvásabhuja,--"So, our enemy Gunavará has been thrown into a dungeon,
and it would be a good thing if her son were banished from this
country. So, my boy, devise a scheme with the help of your other
brothers by which Sringabhuja may be quickly banished from the
country." Having been addressed in this language by his mother,
the jealous Nirvásabhuja told his other brothers, and continued to
ponder over a scheme.

And one day, as the king's sons were practising with their weapons
of war, they all saw an enormous crane in front of the palace. And
while they were looking with astonishment at that misshapen bird,
a Buddhist mendicant, who possessed supernatural knowledge, came
that way and said to them--"Princes, this is not a crane, it is
a Rákshasa named Agnisikha, who wanders about in an assumed shape
destroying towns. So pierce him with an arrow, that being smitten he
may depart hence." When they heard this speech of the mendicant's,
the ninety-nine elder brothers shot their arrows, but not one struck
the crane. Then that naked mendicant again said to them--"This younger
brother of yours, named Sringabhuja, is able to strike this crane,
so let him take a bow suitable for the purpose." When Nirvásabhuja
heard that, the treacherous one remembered the injunction of his
mother, an opportunity for carrying out which had now arrived, and
reflected--"This will be a means of getting Sringabhuja out of the
country. [572] So let us give him the bow and arrow belonging to
our father. If the crane is pierced and goes off with our father's
golden arrow sticking in it, Sringabhuja will follow it, while we
are searching for the arrow. And when he does not find, in spite of
his search, that Rákshasa transformed into a crane, he will continue
to roam about hither and thither, he will not come back without the
arrow." Thus reflecting, the treacherous one gave to Sringabhuja
his father's bow with the arrow, in order that he might smite the
crane. The mighty prince took it and drew it, and pierced that crane
with the golden arrow, the notch of which was made of a jewel. The
crane, as soon as it was pierced, went off with the arrow sticking in
its body, and flying away departed with drops of blood falling from
the wound. Then the treacherous Nirvásabhuja and the other brothers,
instigated by his hints, said to the brave Sringabhuja--"Give us
back the golden arrow that belongs to our father, otherwise we will
abandon our bodies before your eyes. For unless we produce it, our
father will banish us from this country, and its fellow is not to be
made or obtained." When Sringabhuja heard that, he said to those crafty
ones--"Be of good cheer! Do not be afraid--Abandon your terror! I will
go and slay that miserable Rákshasa and bring back the arrow." Having
said this, Sringabhuja took his own bow and arrows, and went in the
same direction in which the Rákshasa had gone, quickly following up
the track of the drops of blood, that had fallen on the ground. The
other sons returned delighted to their mothers, and Sringabhuja, as he
went on step by step, at last reached a distant forest. Seeking about
in it, he found in the wood a great city, like the fruit of his own
tree of merit fallen to him in due time for enjoyment. There he sat
down at the root of a tree to rest, and as if in a moment beheld a
maiden of wonderful beauty coming there, appearing to have been made
by the Creator in some strange way of ambrosia and poison; since by
her absence she deprived of life, and by her presence she bestowed
it. And when the maiden slowly approached him, and looked at him
with an eye raining love, the prince fell in love with her and said
to her--"Gazelle-eyed one, what is the name of this city, and to whom
does it belong? Who are you, and why have you come here? tell me." Then
the pearly-toothed maid turned her face sideways, and fixed her eye
on the ground, and spake to him with sweet and loving voice--"This
city is Dhúmapura, the home of all felicity; in it lives a mighty
Rákshasa by name Agnisikha; know that I am his matchless daughter,
Rúpasikhá by name, who have come here with mind captivated by your
unparalleled beauty. Now you must tell me who you are, and why you
have come here." When she said this, he told her who he was, and
of what king he was the son, and how he had come to Dhúmapura for
the sake of an arrow. Then Rúpasikhá, having heard the whole story,
said--"There is no archer like you in the three worlds, since you
pierced even my father with a great arrow, when he was in the form
of a crane. And I took that golden arrow for my own, by way of a
plaything. But my father's wound was at once healed by the minister
Mahádanshtra, who excels all men in knowledge of potent drugs for
curing wounds. So I will go to my father, and after I have explained
the whole matter, I will quickly introduce you into his presence,
my husband; so I call you, for my heart is now fully set upon you."

Having said this, Rúpasikhá left Sringabhuja there, and immediately
went into the presence of her father Agnisikha, and said--"Father,
there has come here a wonderful prince named Sringabhuja, matchless
for gifts of beauty, birth, character and age. I feel certain that
he is not a man, he is some portion of a god incarnate here below,
so, if he does not become my husband, I will certainly abandon my
life." When she said this to him, her father the Rákshasa said to
her--"My daughter, men are our appropriate food, nevertheless, if
your heart is set upon it, let it be so; bring your prince here, and
shew him to me." When Rúpasikhá heard that, she went to Sringabhuja,
and after telling him what she had done, she took him into the presence
of her father. He prostrated himself, and Agnisikha, the father of the
maiden, after saluting him courteously, said to him--"Prince, I will
give you my daughter Rúpasikhá, if you never disobey my orders." When
he said this, Sringabhuja, bending low, answered him--"Good! I will
never disobey your orders." When Sringabhuja said this to him,
Agnisikha was pleased and answered--"Rise up! Go and bathe, and
return here from the bath-room." After saying this to him, he said
to his daughter--"Go and bring all your sisters here quickly." When
Agnisikha had given these orders to Sringabhuja and Rúpasikhá, they
both of them went out, after promising to obey them.

Then the wise Rúpasikhá said to Sringabhuja--"My husband, I have a
hundred sisters, who are princesses, and we are all exactly alike,
with similar ornaments and dresses, and all of us have similar
necklaces upon our necks. So our father will assemble us in one
place, and in order to bewilder you, will say 'Choose your own love
out of the midst of these.' For I know that such is his treacherous
intention, otherwise why is he assembling all of us here. So when we
are assembled, I will put my necklace on my head instead of my neck,
by that sign you will recognise me; then throw over my neck the garland
of forest flowers. And this father of mine is somewhat silly, he has
not a discerning intellect; besides what is the use against me of
those powers which he possesses by being a Rákshasa? So, whatever he
says to entrap you, you must agree to, and must tell it to me, and I
shall know well enough what further steps to take." Having said this,
Rúpasikhá went to her sisters, and Sringabhuja, having agreed to do
what she said, went to bathe. Then Rúpasikhá came with her sisters into
the presence of her father, and Sringabhuja returned, after he had been
washed by a female servant. Then Agnisikha gave a garland of forest
flowers to Sringabhuja, saying, "Give this to that one of these ladies,
who is your own love." He took the garland and threw it round the neck
of Rúpasikhá, [573] who had previously placed the necklace on her head
by way of token. Then Agnisikha said to Rúpasikhá and Sringabhuja,--"I
will celebrate your marriage ceremony to-morrow morning."

Having said this, he dismissed those two lovers and his other
daughters to their apartments, and in a short time he summoned
Sringabhuja and said this to him; "Take this yoke of oxen, and go
outside this town, and sow in the earth the hundred khárís [574]
of sesame-seed which are piled there in a heap." When Sringabhuja
heard that, he was troubled, and he went and told it to Rúpasikhá,
and she answered him as follows--"My husband, you need not be in the
least despondent about this, go there at once; I will easily perform
this by my magic power." When he heard this, the prince went there,
and, seeing the sesame-seeds in a heap, despondently began to plough
the land and sow them, but while he was beginning, he saw the land
ploughed and all the seeds sown in due course by the might of his
lady-love's magic power, and he was much astonished.

So he went to Agnisikha, and told him that this task was accomplished;
then that treacherous Rákshasa again said to him--"I do not want
the seeds sown, go and pile them up again in a heap." When he heard
that, he again went and told Rúpasikhá. She sent him to that field,
and created innumerable ants, [575] and by her magic power made them
gather together the sesame-seeds. When Sringabhuja saw that, he went
and told Agnisikha that the seeds had been piled up again in a heap.

Then the cunning but stupid Agnisikha said to him--"Only two yojanas
from this place, in a southerly direction, there is an empty temple
of Siva in a wood. In it lives my dear brother Dhúmasikha--go there
at once, and say this in front of the temple, 'Dhúmasikha, I am
sent by Agnisikha as a messenger to invite you and your retinue:
come quickly, for to-morrow the ceremony of Rúpasikhá's marriage is
to take place.' Having said this, come back here to-day with speed,
and to-morrow marry my daughter Rúpasikhá." When Sringabhuja was thus
addressed by the rascal, he said--"So be it"--and went and recounted
the whole to Rúpasikhá. The good girl gave him some earth, some
water, some thorns, and some fire, and her own fleet horse, and said
to him--"Mount this horse and go to that temple, and quickly repeat
that invitation to Dhúmasikha as it was told to you, and then you must
at once return on this horse at full gallop, and you must often turn
your head and look round; and if you see Dhúmasikha coming after you,
you must throw this earth behind you in his way; if in spite of that,
Dhúmasikha pursues you, you must in the same manner fling the water
behind you in his path; if in spite of that he comes on, you must in
like manner throw these thorns in his way. If in spite of them he
pursues, throw this fire in his way; and if you do this, you will
return here without the Daitya; so do not hesitate--go, you shall
to-day behold the power of my magic."--When she said this to him,
Sringabhuja took the earth and the other things and said, "I will
do so," and mounting her horse went to the temple in the wood. There
he saw an image of Siva, with one of Párvatí on his left and one of
Ganesa on his right, and, after bowing before the Lord of the Universe,
[576] he quickly addressed to Dhúmasikha the form of invitation told
him by Agnisikha, and fled from the place at full speed, urging on his
horse. And he soon turned his head and looked round, and he beheld
Dhúmasikha coming after him. And he quickly threw that earth behind
him in his way, and the earth, so flung, immediately produced a great
mountain. When he saw that the Rákshasa had, though with difficulty,
climbed over that mountain, and was coming on, the prince in the same
way threw the water behind him. That produced a great river in his
path with rolling waves: the Rákshasa with difficulty got across it
and was coming on, when Sringabhuja quickly strewed those thorns behind
him. They produced a dense thorny wood in Dhúmasikha's path. When the
Rákshasa emerged from it, the prince threw the fire behind him, which
set on fire the path with the herbs and the trees. When Dhúmasikha
saw that the fire was hard to cross, like Khándava, [577] he returned
home, tired and terrified. For on that occasion the Rákshasa was so
bewildered by the magic of Rúpasikhá that he went and returned on
his feet, he did not think of flying through the air.

Then Sringabhuja returned to Dhúmapura, free from fear, commending in
his heart that display of his love's magic power. He gave up the horse
to the delighted Rúpasikhá, and related his adventure, and then went
in to the presence of Agnisikha. He said, "I went and invited your
brother Dhúmasikha." When he said this, Agnisikha being perplexed,
said to him--"If you really went there, mention some peculiarity of
the place." When the crafty Rákshasa said this to Sringabhuja, he
answered him--"Listen, I will tell you a token: in that temple there
is a figure of Párvatí on the left side of Siva, and of Ganesa on his
right." When Agnisikha heard that, he was astonished and thought for a
moment--"What! did he go there, and was my brother not able to devour
him? Then he cannot be a mere man, he must be a god, so let him marry
my daughter, as he is a fitting match for her." After thus reflecting,
he sent Sringabhuja as a successful suitor to Rúpasikhá, but he never
suspected that there was a traitor in his own family. So Sringabhuja
went, eager for his marriage, and after eating and drinking with
her, managed somehow to get through the night. And the next morning
Agnisikha gave to him Rúpasikhá with all the magnificence appropriate
to his magic power, according to due form, in the presence of the
fire. Little in common have Rákshasas' daughters and princes, and
strange the union of such! Wonderful indeed are the results of our
deeds in a previous state of existence! The prince, after he had
obtained that beloved daughter of the Rákshasa, seemed like a swan
who had got hold of a soft lotus, sprung from mud. And he remained
there with her, who was devoted to him alone, enjoying various dainty
delights provided by the magic power of the Rákshasa.

When some days had passed there, he said in secret to the
Rákshasa's daughter, "Come, my beloved, let us return to the city of
Vardhamána. For that is my capital city, and I cannot endure to be
banished from my capital city by my enemies, for people like myself
hold honour dear as life. So leave for my sake the land of your birth,
though it is hard to leave; inform your father, and bring that golden
arrow in your hand." When Sringabhuja said this to Rúpasikhá, she
answered--"I must immediately obey your command. I care not for the
land of my birth, nor for my relatives, you are all those to me. [578]
Good women have no other refuge than their husbands. But it will
never do to communicate our intention to my father, for he would not
let us go. So we must depart without that hot-tempered father of mine
knowing of it. And if he hears from the attendants and comes after us,
I will bewilder him by my knowledge, for he is senseless and like an
idiot." When he heard this speech of hers, he set out delighted on the
next day, with her who gave him the half of her kingdom, and filled
a casket with priceless jewels, and brought that golden arrow; and
they both mounted her splendid horse Saravega, [579] having deceived
the attendants by representing that they were going for a pleasure
excursion in the park, and journeyed towards Vardhamána.

When the couple had gone a long distance, the Rákshasa Agnisikha
found it out, and in wrath pursued after them through the air. And
hearing afar off the noise produced by the speed of his flight,
Rúpasikhá said to Sringabhuja on the road, "My husband, my father
has come to make us turn back, so remain here without fear: see how I
will deceive him. For he shall neither see you nor the horse, since I
shall conceal both by my deluding power." After saying this, she got
down from the horse and assumed by her deluding power the form of a
man. [580] And she said to a woodcutter, who had come to the forest
to cut wood--"A great Rákshasa is coming here, so remain quiet for a
moment." Then she continued to cut wood with his axe. And Sringabhuja
looked on with a smile on his face. In the meanwhile that foolish
Rákshasa arrived there, and lighted down from the air, on beholding
his daughter in the shape of a woodcutter, and asked her whether she
had seen a man and woman pass that way. [581] Then his daughter, who
had assumed the form of a man, said with great effort as if tired,
"We two have not seen any couple, as our eyes are fatigued with
toil, for we two woodcutters have been occupied here in cutting a
great quantity of wood to burn Agnisikha the king of the Rákshasas,
who is dead." When that silly Rákshasa heard that, he thought,
"What! am I dead? What then does that daughter matter to me? I will
go and ask my own attendants at home whether I am dead or not." [582]
Thus reflecting, Agnisikha went quickly home, and his daughter set
out with her husband as before, laughing as she went.

And soon the Rákshasa returned in high spirits, for he had asked his
attendants, who could not help laughing in their sleeves, whether he
was alive, and had learned that he was. Then Rúpasikhá, knowing from
the terrible noise that he was coming again, though as yet far off,
got down from the horse and concealed her husband as before by her
deluding power, and taking letters from the hand of a letter-carrier,
who was coming along the road, she again assumed the form of a man.

And so the Rákshasa arrived as before, and asked his daughter, who was
disguised as a man--"Did you see a man and a woman on the road?" Then
she, disguised as a man, answered him with a sigh,--"I beheld no such
person, for my mind was absorbed with my haste, for Agnisikha, who was
to-day mortally wounded in battle, and has only a little breath left
in his body, and is in his capital desiring to make over his kingdom,
has despatched me as a messenger to summon to his presence his brother
Dhúmasikha, who is living an independent life." When Agnisikha heard
that, he said, "What! am I mortally wounded by my enemies?" And
in his perplexity he returned again home to get information on
the point. But it never occurred to him to say to himself--"Who is
mortally wounded? Here I am safe and sound." Strange are the fools
that the Creator produces, and wonderfully obscured with the quality
of darkness! And when he arrived at home and found that the tale
was false, he would not expose himself again to the laughter of the
people, tired of being imposed upon, and forgetting his daughter. And
Rúpasikhá, after deluding him, returned to her husband as before,
for virtuous women know of no other good than the good of their
husbands. Then Sringabhuja, mounted on the wonderful horse, again
proceeded rapidly with his wife towards the city of Vardhamána. Then
his father Vírabhuja, having heard that he was returning in company
with her, went out much pleased to meet him. The king, when he saw
him adorned with that wife, like Krishna with Bhámá, considered that
he had gained afresh the bliss of sovereign sway. And when his son
got down from his horse, and clung to his feet with his beloved,
he raised him up and embraced him, and with his eye, in which stood
the water of joyful tears, performed in noble wise the auspicious
ceremony that put an end to his own despondency, and then conducted
him into his palace, making high festival. And when he asked his son
where he had been, Sringabhuja told him his whole history from the
beginning. And after summoning his brothers, Nirvásabhuja and all,
into his father's presence, he gave them the golden arrow. Then the
king Vírabhuja, after what he had heard and seen, was displeased with
those other sons, and considered Sringabhuja his only true son.

Then that wise king drew this true conclusion--"I suspect that, as
this son of mine out of spite was banished by these enemies, brothers
only in name, though he was all the while innocent, so his mother
Gunavará, whom I love so well, was falsely accused by their mothers,
and was all the while innocent. So what is the use of delay? I will
find out the truth of it immediately." [583] After these reflections,
the king spent that day in performing his duties, and went at night
to sift his other wife Ayasolekhá. She was delighted to see him,
and he made her drink a great quantity of wine, and she in her
sleep murmured out, while the king was awake--"If we had not falsely
slandered Gunavará, would the king ever have visited me here?" [584]
When the king heard this speech of the wicked queen uttered in her
sleep, he felt he had attained certainty, and rose up in wrath and
went out; and going to his own chamber, he had the eunuchs summoned,
and said to them; "Take that Gunavará out of the dungeon, and after
she has bathed bring her quickly; for the present moment was appointed
by the astrologer as the limit of her stay in the dungeon for the
purpose of averting the evil omens." When they heard that, they said,
"So be it," and they went and quickly brought the queen Gunavará into
the presence of the king, bathed and adorned. Then that wedded pair,
happy in having crossed the sea of separation, spent that night unsated
with mutual embraces. Then the king related to the queen with delight
that adventure of Sringabhuja's, and told his son the circumstances
of his mother's imprisonment and release. In the meanwhile Ayasolekhá,
waking up, found out that the king was gone, and guessing that he had
entrapped her with his conversation, fell into deep despondency. And
in the morning the king Vírabhuja conducted his son Sringabhuja, with
his wife Rúpasikhá, into the presence of Gunavará. He came, and was
delighted to behold his mother emerged from the dungeon, and with his
new wife he worshipped the feet of his parents. Gunavará, embracing
her son, who had returned from his journey, and her daughter-in-law,
obtained in the way above related, went from joy to joy. Then by the
order of his father, Sringabhuja related to her at length his own
adventure, and what Rúpasikhá did. Then queen Gunavará delighted,
said to him, "My son, what has not that Rúpasikhá done for you? For
she, a heroine of wonderful exploits, has given up and sacrificed for
you her life, her family, her native land, these three. She must be
some goddess, become incarnate for your sake by the appointment of
Destiny. For she has placed her foot on the head of all women that
are devoted to their husbands." When the queen had said this, the
king applauded her speech, and so did Rúpasikhá with head modestly
bent. Just at that moment the superintendent of the womens' apartments,
Surakshita, who had been long ago slandered by that Ayasolekhá,
returned from visiting all the holy bathing places. He was announced
by the door-keeper, and bowed delighted at the king's foot, and then
the king, who now knew the facts, honoured him exceedingly. And by
his mouth he summoned the other queens who were wicked, and said to
him--"Go! fling all these into the dungeon." When the queen Gunavará
heard that, and the terrified women were thrown into the dungeon,
she said out of compassion to the king, clinging to his feet, "King,
do not keep them for a long time in the dungeon! Have mercy, for I
cannot bear to see them terrified." By thus entreating the king she
prevented their imprisonment, for the only vengeance that the great
make use of against their enemies is compassion. Then those queens,
dismissed by the king, went ashamed to their houses, and would even
have preferred to have been in the embrace of death. And the king
thought highly of the great-hearted Gunavará, and considered, because
he possessed that wife, that he must have accomplished virtuous acts
in a former state of existence. Then the king, determining to banish
his other sons by an artifice, had them summoned, and spake to them
this feigned speech--"I have heard that you villains have slain a
Bráhman traveller, so go and visit all the holy bathing-places in
succession, do not remain here." When the sons heard that, they were
not able to persuade the king of the truth, for when a ruler is bent
on violence, who can convince him? Then Sringabhuja, beholding those
brothers departing, with his eyes full of tears produced by pity,
thus addressed his father. "Father, pity their one fault, have mercy
upon them." Having said this, he fell at the feet of that king. And
the king, thinking that that son was able to bear the burden of
sovereignty, being even in his youth like an incarnation of Vishnu,
full of glory and compassion, hiding his real sentiments and cherishing
his anger against them, nevertheless did what Sringabhuja asked. And
all those brothers considered their younger brother as the saviour
of their lives. And all the subjects, beholding the exceeding virtue
of Sringabhuja, became attached to him.

Then the next day, his father, king Vírabhuja, anointed as crown-prince
Sringabhuja, who was the oldest in virtue of them all, though he had
elder brothers. And then Sringabhuja, having been anointed and having
obtained the leave of his father, went with all his forces to conquer
the world. And having brought back the wealth of numerous kings, whom
he overcame by the might of his arm, he returned, having diffused
the splendour of his glory through all the earth. Then bearing the
weight of the realm with his submissive brothers, the successful
prince Sringabhuja, giving pleasure to his parents, who remained in
the enjoyment of comfort free from anxiety, and bestowing gifts on
Bráhmans, dwelt at ease with Rúpasikhá as if with incarnate success.

"Thus virtuous women serve their husbands in every way, devoted
to them alone, like Gunavará, and Rúpasikhá, the mother-in-law and

When Naraváhanadatta, in the society of Ratnaprabhá, heard this story
from the lips of Harisikha, he was much delighted and exclaimed,
"Bravo!" Then he rose up, and quickly performed the religious ceremony
for the day, and went with his wife into the presence of his father,
the king of Vatsa, and after eating, and whiling away the afternoon
with singing and playing, he spent the night with his beloved in his
own private apartments.


In a Norwegian tale, called "The Widow's Son," page 295 of Thorpe's
Yule-Tide Stories, will be found an incident closely resembling
the pursuit of Sringabhuja by Dhúmasikha. The widow's son has,
contrary to the orders of a Troll, in whose house he found himself,
entered several chambers, in one of which he found a thorn-whip,
in another a huge stone, and a water-bottle. In the third he found
a boiling copper kettle, with which he scalded his finger, but the
Troll cured it with a pot of ointment. In the fourth room he found a
black horse in a stall, with a trough of burning embers at its head,
and a basket of hay at its tail. The youth thought this cruel, so he
changed their position. The horse, to reward him, informed him that
the Troll on his return would certainly kill him, and then continued,
"Lay the saddle on me, put on the armour, and take the whip of thorn,
the stone, and the water-flask and the pot of ointment, and then we
will set out." When the youth mounted the horse, it set off at a rapid
rate. After riding some time, the horse said--"I think I hear a noise;
look round, can you see anything?" "A great many are coming after us,
certainly a score at least," answered the youth. "Ah! that is the
Troll," said the horse, "he is coming with all his companions." They
travelled for a time until their pursuers were gaining on them. "Throw
now the thorn whip over your shoulder," said the horse,--"but throw
it far away from me." The youth did so, and at the same moment there
sprang up a large thick wood of briars. The youth now rode on a long
way, while the Troll had to go home to fetch something wherewith to
hew a road through the wood. After some time the horse again said,
"Look back, can you see anything now?" "Yes, a whole multitude of
people" said the youth, "like a church congregation." "That is the
Troll, now he has got more with him, throw out now the large stone,
but throw it far from me." When the youth had done what the horse
desired, there arose a large stone mountain behind them. So the Troll
was obliged to go home after something with which to bore through
the mountain; and while he was thus employed, the youth rode on a
considerable way. But now the horse bade him again look back; he then
saw a multitude like a whole army, they were so bright, that they
glittered in the sun. "Well that is the Troll with all his friends,"
said the horse. "Now throw the water-bottle behind you, but take good
care to spill none on me." The youth did so, but notwithstanding his
caution he happened to spill a drop on the horse's loins. Immediately
there arose a vast lake, and the spilling of a few drops caused the
horse to stand far out in the water; nevertheless he at last swam to
the shore. When the Trolls came to the water, they lay down to drink it
all up, and they gulped and gulped it down till they burst. (Folk-lore
demons experience great difficulty in crossing water.) "Now we are
quit of them," said the horse.

In Laura von Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 57,
we find a similar incident. In the story of Fata Morgana, a prince,
who carries off a bottle filled with her perspiration, but imprudently
wakes her by kissing her, is pursued by her with two lions. He throws
three pomegranates behind him: the first produces a river of blood,
the second a thorny mountain, the third a volcano. This he does
by the advice of his horse, who is really Fata Morgana's brother
transformed by magic: see also Vol. I, p. 343; cp. also the 79th tale
in Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmärchen (sixteenth edition in one volume)
Die Wassernixe.

In Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 113, Dr. Reinhold Köhler, in his
remarks on the West Highland Stories collected by J. F. Campbell,
compares the story of Agnisikha with the second story in Campbell's
collection, entitled: "The Battle of the Birds." In this a king's son
wishes to marry the youngest daughter of a giant. The giant sets him
three tasks to do; to clean out a stable, to thatch it with feathers,
and to fetch eggs from a magpie's nest in the top of a tree more than
five hundred feet high. All these tasks he accomplishes by the help
of the young lady herself. In the last task she makes a ladder of her
fingers for him to ascend the tree by, but in so doing she loses her
little finger. The giant requires the prince to choose his wife from
among three sisters similarly dressed. He recognizes her by the loss
of the little finger. When bed-time came, the giant's daughter told the
prince that they must fly, or the giant would kill him. They mounted on
the gray filly in the stable. But before starting the daughter cut an
apple into nine shares; she put two at the head of the bed, two at the
foot, two at the door of the kitchen, two at the house-door, and one
outside the house. The giant awoke and called "Are you asleep?" several
times, and the shares answered "No." At last he went and found the bed
empty and cold, and pursued the fugitive couple. At the break of day
the giant's daughter felt her father's breath burning her back. She
told the prince to put his hand in the horse's ear, and fling what
he found behind him. He found a sprig of sloe, flung it behind him,
and produced a wood twenty miles long. The giant had to go back for
his axe and wood-knife. In the middle of the day the prince finds
in the ear of the filly a piece of gray stone. This produces twenty
miles of gray rock behind them. The giant has to go back for his lever
and mattock. The next thing, that the prince finds and flings behind
him, is a bladder of water. This produces a fresh-water loch twenty
miles broad. In it the giant is happily drowned. The rest of the
story has no bearing upon the tale of Sringabhuja. Köhler compares
a story in William Carleton's stories of the Irish peasantry. Here
there is a sprig, a pebble and a drop of water producing a wood,
a rock and a lake. He compares also a Norwegian story, Ashbjörnsen,
No. 46, and some Swedish stories collected by Hylten Cavallius and
G. Stephens. The three tasks are very different in the different forms
of the tale. The ladder of fingers is only found in the Celtic form.

It is only in the Gaelic and Irish forms that the objects thrown
behind to check pursuit are found in the ear of the horse.

In the latter form of the story of the Mermaid, Thorpe's Yule-Tide
Stories, p. 205, we have the pursuit with much the same incidents as
in our text. See also Ralston's remarks on the story in our text at
pp. 132 and 143 of his Russian Folk-Tales. Cp. also Veckenstedt's
Wendische Sagen, p. 216. An Indian parallel will be found in Miss
Frere's Old Deccan Days, pp. 62 and 63. A Modern Greek one in Bernhard
Schmidt's Griechische Märchen, pp. 76-79.

Cp. also for the tasks the story of Bisara in Kaden's Unter den
Olivenbäumen, and that of Die schöne Fiorita. Herr Kaden aptly compares
the story of Jason and Medea. Another excellent parallel is furnished
by the story of Schneeweiss-Feuerroth in the same collection, where
we have the pursuit much as in our text.

The pursuit and the tasks are found in the tale called La Montagne
Noire, on p. 448 of Melusine, a periodical which appeared in the
year 1878, and in Branca-flor, No. XIV in Coelho's Contos Populares
Portuguezes, and in Gaal's Märchen der Magyaren, p. 60. The tasks are
found in the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 226, and in Vol. II,
p. 186; in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 182, (the title of the tale
is Die dankbaren Thiere; some grateful ants are found at page 339;)
in Grössler's Sagen aus der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 60 and 61; in
Waldau's Böhmische Märchen, pp. 18, 142, 262; in Kuhn's Westfälische
Märchen, Vol. II. p. 249, frogs, ants, and wasps help the hero. Cp. for
the pursuit Liebrecht's translation of the Pentamerone of Basile,
Vol. I, pp. 74-76 and 160.


Then, the next morning, when Naraváhanadatta was in Ratnaprabhá's
house, Gomukha and the others came to him. But Marubhúti, being a
little sluggish with intoxication produced by drinking spirits,
approached slowly, decorated with flowers, and anointed with
unguents. Then Gomukha, with face amused at his novel conception
of statesman-like behaviour, out of fun ridiculed him by imitating
his stammering utterance and staggering gait, and said to him, "How
comes it that you, though the son of Yaugandharáyana, do not know
policy, that you drink spirits in the morning, and come drunk into
the presence of the prince?" When the intoxicated Marubhúti heard
this, he said to him in his anger, "This should be said to me by the
prince or some superior. But, tell me, who are you that you take upon
you to instruct me, you son of Ityaka?" When he said this, Gomukha
replied to him smiling, "Do princes reprove with their own mouths
an ill-behaved servant? Undoubtedly their attendants must remind
him of what is proper. And it is true that I am the son of Ityaka,
but you are an ox of ministers, [585] your sluggishness alone would
show it; the only fault is that you have no horns." When Gomukha said
this to him Marubhúti answered, "You too, Gomukha, have much of the
ox-nature about you; but you are clearly of mixed breed, for you are
not properly domesticated." When all laughed at hearing this, Gomukha
said, "This Marubhúti is literally a jewel, for who can introduce the
thread of virtue [586] into that which cannot be pierced even by a
thousand efforts? But a jewel of a man is a different kind of thing,
for that is easily penetrated; as an illustration listen to the story
of the bridge of sand."

Story of Tapodatta.

There lived in Pratishthána a Bráhman of the name of Tapodatta. He,
though his father kept worrying him, would not learn the sciences
in his boyhood. Subsequently he found himself censured by all, and
being filled with regret, he went to the bank of the Ganges, in order
to perform asceticism for the acquisition of knowledge. [587] There
he betook himself to severe mortification of the flesh, and while he
was thus engaged, Indra, who had beheld him with astonishment, came
to him to prevent him, disguised as a Bráhman. And when he had come
near him, he kept taking grains of sand from the bank, and throwing
them into the billowy water of the Ganges. When Tapodatta saw that,
he broke his silence, and asked him out of curiosity--"Bráhman, why do
you do this unceasingly?" And Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, when he
had been persistently questioned by him, said, "I am making a bridge
over the Ganges for man and beast to cross by." Then Tapodatta said,
"You fool, is it possible to make a bridge over the Ganges with sand,
which will be carried away at some future time by the current?" When
Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, heard that, he said to him--"If you
know this truth, why do you attempt to acquire knowledge by vows and
fasting, without reading or hearing lectures? The horn of a hare
[588] may really exist, and the sky may be adorned with painting,
and writing may be performed without letters, if learning may be
acquired without study. If it could be so acquired, no one in this
world would study at all." When Indra, disguised as a Bráhman, had
said this to Tapodatta, Tapodatta reflected, and thinking that he
had spoken truth, put a stop to his self-mortification, and went home.

"So, you see, a wise man is easily made to listen to reason, but the
foolish Marubhúti cannot be induced to listen to reason, but when
you admonish him, he flies into a passion." When Gomukha said this,
Harisikha said before the company--"It is true, O king, that the wise
are easily induced to listen to reason."

Story of Virúpasarman.

For instance, there lived of old time in Benares a certain excellent
Bráhman, named Virúpasarman, who was deformed and poor. And he, being
despondent about his misshapen form and his poverty, went to the
grove of ascetics there, and began to practise severe mortification
of the flesh, through desire for beauty and wealth. Then the king
of the gods [589] assumed the vile shape of a deformed jackal with
a diseased body, and went and stood in front of him. When he saw
that unfortunate [590] creature with its body covered with flies,
Virúpasarman slowly reflected in his mind,--"Such creatures are born
into the world on account of actions done in a former life, so is it
a small thing for me that I was not made thus by the Creator? Who can
overstep the lot prescribed by destiny?" When Virúpasarman perceived
this, he brought his self-mortification to an end and went home.

"So true is it, O king, that a wise man is instructed with little
effort, but one, whose mi