Chapter LXXI…

Chapter LXXI

Then, as Mrigánkadatta was journeying to Ujjayiní, with Srutadhi and Vimalabuddhi, to find Sasánkavatí, he reached the Narmadá which lay in his path. The fickle stream, when she beheld him, shook her waves like twining arms, and gleamed white with laughing foam, as if she were dancing and smiling because he had so fortunately been reunited with his ministers. And when he had gone down into the bed of the river to bathe, it happened that a king of the Savaras, named Máyávatu, came there for the same purpose. When he had bathed, three water-genii [187] rose up at the same time and seized the Bhilla, whose retinue fled in terror. When Mrigánkadatta saw that, he went into the water with his sword drawn, and killed those water-genii, and delivered that king of the Bhillas. When the king of the Bhillas was delivered from the danger of those monsters, he came up out of the water and fell at the feet of the prince, and said to him,--"Who are you, that Providence has brought here to save my life on the present occasion? Of what virtuous father do you adorn the family? And what is that country favoured by fortune to which you are going?" When he said this, Srutadhi told him the prince's whole story from the beginning, and then the Savara king shewed him exceeding respect, and said to him; "Then I will be your ally in this undertaking which you have in view, as you were directed by the god, and with me will come my friend Durgapisácha the king of Mátangas. So do me the favour, my lord, of coming to my palace, since I am your slave."

Thus he entreated Mrigánkadatta with various humble speeches, and then took him to his own village. And there he entertained the prince fittingly with all the luxuries he could command, and all the people of the village shewed him respect. And the king of the Mátangas came and honoured him as the saviour of his friend's life, and placed his head on the ground to shew that he was his slave. Then Mrigánkadatta remained there some days, to please that Máyávatu, the king of the Bhillas.

And one day, while he was staying there, that king of the Savaras began to gamble with Chandaketu his own warder. And while he was playing, the clouds began to roar, and the domestic peacocks lifted up their heads and began to dance, and king Máyávatu rose up to look at them. Then the warder, who was an enthusiastic gambler, said to his sovereign, "What is the use, my master, of looking at these peacocks which are not skilled in dancing? I have a peacock in my house, to which you would not find an equal in the world. I will show it you to-morrow, if you take pleasure in such things." When the king heard that, he said to the warder, "You must certainly shew it to me," and then he set about the duties of the day. And Mrigánkadatta, when he heard all that, rose up with his companions, and performed his duties such as bathing and eating.

The adventures of Mrigánkadatta and the warder.

And when the night came, and thick darkness was diffused over the face of things, the prince went out alone and self-impelled from the chamber in which his companions were sleeping, in search of adventures, with his body smeared with musk, wearing dark-blue garments and with his sword in his hand. And as he was roaming about, a certain man, who was coming along the road and did not see him on account of the darkness, jostled against him, and struck his shoulder against his. Then he rushed at him angrily and challenged him to fight. But the person challenged, being a man not easily abashed, made an appropriate reply, "Why are you perplexed by want of reflection? If you reflect, you will see that you ought to blame the moon for not lighting up this night, or the Governor of the world for not appointing that it should rule with full sway here, [188] since in such darkness causeless quarrels take place."

Mrigánkadatta was pleased with this clever answer and he said to him, "You are right. Who are you?" The man answered, "I am a thief." Whereupon the prince said falsely, "Give me your hand, you are of the same profession as myself." And the prince made an alliance with him, and went along with him out of curiosity, and at last reached an old well covered with grass. And there the man entered a tunnel, and Mrigánkadatta went along it with him, and reached the harem of that king Máyávatu. And when he got there, he recognized the man by the light of the lamp, and lo! it was the warder Chandaketu, and not a robber. But the warder, who was the secret paramour of the king's wife, did not recognize the prince, because he had other garments on than those he usually wore, [189] and kept in a corner where there was not much light.

But the moment the warder arrived, the king's wife, who was named Manjumatí, and was desperately in love with him, rose up and threw her arms round his neck. And she made him sit down on a sofa, and said to him, "Who is this man that you have brought here to-day?" Then he said to her, "Make your mind easy, it is a friend of mine." But Manjumatí said excitedly, "How can I, ill-starred woman that I am, feel at ease, now that this king has been saved by Mrigánkadatta, after entering the very jaws of death?" When the warder heard her say that, he answered, "Do not grieve, my dear! I will soon kill the king and Mrigánkadatta too." When he said this, she answered, as fate would have it, "Why do you boast? When the king was seized that day by monsters in the water of the Narmadá, Mrigánkadatta alone was ready to rescue him; why did you not kill him then? The fact is, you fled in fear. So be silent, lest some one hear this speech of yours, and then you would certainly meet with calamity at the hands of Mrigánkadatta, who is a brave man." When she said this, her paramour the warder lost his temper with her. He said, "Wretched woman, you are certainly in love with Mrigánkadatta, so receive now from me the just recompense of that taunt." And he rose up to kill her, dagger in hand. Then a maid, who was her confidante, ran and laid hold of the dagger with her hand and held it. In the meanwhile Manjumatí escaped into another room. And the warder dragged the dagger out of the maid's hand, cutting her fingers in the process; and returned home by the way which he came, somewhat confused, with Mrigánkadatta, who was much astonished.

Then Mrigánkadatta, who could not be recognized in the darkness, said to the warder, "You have reached your own house, so I will leave you." But the warder said to the prince, "Sleep here to-night, without going further, for you are very tired." Then the prince consented, as he wished to learn something of his goings on; and the warder called one of his servants and said to him, "Take this man to the room where the peacock is, and let him rest there and give him a bed." The servant said--"I will do as you command," and took the prince to the room and placed a light in it, and gave him a bed. He then departed, fastening the outer door with a chain, and Mrigánkadatta saw the peacock there in a cage. He said to himself, "This is the very peacock, that the warder was speaking of," and out of curiosity he opened its cage. And the peacock came out and, after looking intently at Mrigánkadatta, it fell down and rolled at his feet again and again. And as it was rolling, the prince saw a string tied round its neck and at once untied it, thinking that it gave the bird pain. The peacock, the moment that the thread was loosed from its neck, became before his eyes his minister Bhímaparákrama. Then Mrigánkadatta embraced the affectionate minister, who bowed before him, and in his astonishment said to him, "Tell me, friend, what is the meaning of this?" Then Bhímaparákrama said to him in his delight, "Listen, prince, I will tell you my story from the beginning."

The adventures of Bhímaparákrama after his separation from the prince.

When I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága, I wandered about in the wood until I reached a salmali tree. [190] And I saw an image representing Ganesa carved in the tree, which I worshipped, and then I sat down at the foot of the tree being tired, and I said to myself, "All this mischief has been brought about by me, by telling my master that time the incident of the Vetála which took place at night. So I will abandon here this my sinful body." In this frame of mind I remained there, fasting, in front of the god. And after some days an old traveller came that way, and sat in the shade of that tree. And the good man, seeing me, questioned me with much persistence, saying, "Why do you remain in this solitary place, my son, with such a downcast face?" Then I told him my story, exactly as it took place, and the old traveller kindly said to me, to encourage me; "Why, being a man, are you killing yourself like a woman? Moreover, even women do not lose their courage in calamity; hear the following tale in proof of it."

Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí.

In the city of Kosala there was a king, named Vimalákara, and he had a son named Kamalákara, who was made by the Creator admirable in respect of the qualities of courage, beauty and generosity, as if to outdo Skanda, Kandarpa, and the wishing-tree of heaven. Then one day a bard, whom he had known before, came and recited a certain stanza in the presence of that prince, who deserved to be praised by bards in all the regions of the world. "Where can the row of swans [191] obtain satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed, [192] round which sings a host of many noisy birds [193] delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower [194]?" When the bard, named Manorathasiddhi, had frequently recited this stanza, prince Kamalákara questioned him, and he said to him: "Prince, as I was roaming about, I reached the city of king Meghamálin, named Vidisá, the pleasure-ground of the goddess of prosperity. There I was staying in the house of a professor of singing, named Dardura, and one day he happened to say to me, 'To-morrow the daughter of the king, named Hansávalí, will exhibit in his presence her skill in dancing, which she has lately been taught.' When I heard that, I was filled with curiosity, and managed to enter the king's palace with him the following day, and went into the dancing-hall. There I saw the slender-waisted princess Hansávalí dancing before her father, to the music of a great tabor, looking like a creeper of the tree of Love agitated by the wind of youth, shaking her ornaments like flowers, curving her hand like a shoot. Then I thought, 'There is no one fitted to be the husband of this fawn-eyed one, except the prince Kamalákara; so, if she, being such, is not joined to him, why has the god of love taken the trouble of stringing his bow of flowers thus fruitlessly? So I will adopt some expedient in this matter.' Thus minded I went, after I had seen the spectacle, to the door of the king's court, and I put up a notice with this inscription on it; 'If there is any painter here, who is a match for me, let him paint a picture.' When no one else dared to tear it down, the king coming to hear of it, appointed me to paint his daughter's bower. Then I painted you and your servants, prince Kamalákara, on the wall of the bower of that Hansávalí.

"I thought to myself, 'If I declare the matter openly, she will know that I am scheming, so I will let the princess know it by means of an artifice.' So I persuaded a handsome fellow, who was an intimate friend of mine, to come near the palace, and pretend to be mad, and I arranged with him beforehand how he was to behave. Now he was seen a long way off by the princes, as he was roaming about singing and dancing, and they had him brought into their presence to make game of him. Then Hansávalí saw him, and had him brought by way of a joke into her bower, and, when he saw the picture of you, which I had painted there, he began to praise you, saying, 'I am fortunate in beholding this Kamalákara, who is, like Vishnu, an endless store of virtues, with his hand marked with the lotus and conch, the object of the favour of the goddess of Fortune.' When the princess heard him singing such songs, as he danced, she said to me, 'What does this fellow mean? Who is it that you have painted here?' When she asked me this persistently, I said, 'This mad fellow must have previously seen this prince, whom I have painted here out of regard for his beauty.' And then I told her your name, and described to her your good qualities. Then the young tree of passion grew up in the heart of Hansávalí, which was irrigated by the overflowing streams of gushing love for you. Then the king her father came and saw what was going on, and in wrath had the pretended madman, who was dancing, and myself, both turned out of doors. After that she pined away day by day with longing, and was reduced to such a state that, like a streak of the moon during the wane, she had only her beauty left. And on the pretence of illness she went to a temple of Vishnu that dispels calamity, and so managed to live a solitary life by the permission of her father. And being unable to sleep, owing to thinking on you, she could not endure the cruel moonlight, and remained there ignorant of the changes of day and night. Then she saw me one day from a window, as I was entering there, and she summoned me, and honoured me respectfully with dresses and ornaments. [195] And then I went out, and saw this stanza which I have repeated to you written on the border of a garment that she had given me: hear it again; 'Where can the row of swans obtain satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed, round which sings a host of many noisy birds delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower.' And when I read it, I knew for certain how she felt towards you, and I came here to inform you and recited the stanza in your presence, and here is the garment on which she wrote the stanza." When Kamalákara heard the speech of the bard, and saw the stanza, he joyed exceedingly, thinking on Hansávalí, who had entered his heart, he knew not whether by eye or ear.

Now it happened that, while he was thinking with eager longing about the best means of obtaining this princess, his father summoned him and said to him; "My son, unenterprising kings perish like snakes arrested by a charm, and how can kings rise up again when they have once perished? But you have been addicted to pleasures, and up to the present time you have not been visited by any longing for conquest; so arouse yourself, and fling off sloth; advance and conquer that enemy of mine the king of Anga, who has left his own country on an enterprise against me, and I will remain at home. When the brave Kamalákara heard this, he agreed to undertake the enterprise, being desirous of marching towards the country of his beloved. Then he set out with the forces which his father assigned him, making the earth and the hearts of his enemies tremble. And he reached in a few marches the army of the king of Anga, and when that prince turned round to make a counter-attack, he fought with him. And the brave hero drank up his army, as Agastya did the water of the sea, and being victorious, captured the king alive. And he sent that enemy in chains to his father, committing him to the care of the principal warder in accordance with a letter, which he sent with him. But he commissioned the warder to give the following message by word of mouth to the king, "I now leave this place, my father, to conquer other enemies." So he went on conquering other enemies, and with his army augmented by their forces, he at last arrived in the vicinity of the city of Vidisá.

And encamping there he sent an ambassador to Meghamálin the father of Hansávalí, to ask for her in marriage. When that king learnt from the ambassador that he had come, not as an enemy, but for the sake of his daughter, he paid a friendly visit to him in person. The prince welcomed him; and Meghamálin, after he had complimented the prince, said to him, "Why did you take the trouble of coming in person about a business which might have been negotiated by an ambassador? For I desire this marriage; hear the reason. Seeing that this Hansávalí was even in her childhood devoted to the worship of Vishnu, and that she had a frame delicate as a sirísha, I became anxious about her, and kept saying to myself, 'Who will be a fitting husband for this girl.' And, as I could not think of a suitable husband for her, I was deprived of sleep by my anxiety about the matter, and contracted a violent fever. And in order to allay it, I worshipped and petitioned Vishnu, and one night, when I was only able to sleep a little on account of pain, Vishnu said to me in a dream, 'Let that Hansávalí, on account of whom you have contracted this fever, touch you with her hand, my son, then your fever will be allayed. For her hand is so holy from worshipping me, that whenever she touches any one with it, his fever, even though incurable, will certainly pass away. And you need have no more anxiety about her marriage, since prince Kamalákara is destined to be her husband. But she will endure some misery for a short time.' When I had been thus instructed by Vishnu in a dream, I woke up at the end of the night. Then my fever was removed by the touch of Hansávalí's hand. And so the union of you two is appointed by the god. Accordingly I bestow on you Hansávalí." When he had said this, he had an auspicious moment fixed for the marriage and returned to his capital.

There he told all that he had done, and when Hansávalí had heard it, she said in secret to her confidante, named Kanakamanjarí, "Go and see with your own eyes whether that prince, to whom I am to be given, is the same as he, who, when painted here by the artist, captivated my heart. For it is just possible that my father may wish, out of fear, to bestow me as a gift on some prince of the same name, that has come here with an army." With these words she sent off Kanakamanjarí, acting in accordance with her own will only.

And the confidante, having assumed the complete disguise of an ascetic, with rosary of Aksha beads, deer-skin, and matted hair, went to the camp of that prince, and entered introduced by his attendants, and beheld him looking like the god that presides over the weapon with which the god of love conquers the world. And her heart was fascinated by his beauty, and she remained a moment looking as if she were in profound meditation. And full of longing she said to herself, "If I am not united with this charming prince, I shall have been born in vain. So I will take the necessary steps to ensure that, whatever comes of it." Then she went up to him, and gave him her blessing, and bestowed on him a jewel, and he received the gem politely and sat down; then she said to him, "This is an excellent jewel of which I have often seen the properties tested. By holding it in your hand you can render ineffectual the best weapon of your enemy. And I give it you out of regard for your excellence, for it is not of so much use to me, prince, as it is to you." When she said this, the prince began to speak to her, but she forbade him, on the ground that she had vowed an exclusive devotion to the life of a beggar, and departed thence.

Then she laid aside the dress of a female ascetic, and assumed a downcast expression of face, and went into the presence of Hansávalí, and when questioned by her, made the following false statement; "I must out of love for you reveal the king's secret, although it is a matter which ought to be concealed. When I went from here to the camp of the prince dressed as a female ascetic, a man came up to me of his own accord and said in a low voice, 'Reverend madam, do you know the rites for exorcising demons?' When I heard that, I said to him, looking upon him as the warder, 'I know them very well. This is a trifling matter for me.' Then I was immediately introduced into the presence of that prince Kamalákara. And I saw him crouching, possessed by a demon, having horns on his head, and his attendants were trying to restrain him; besides he had herbs and a talismanic jewel on him. I performed certain pretended ceremonies to avert evil, and went out immediately, saying, 'To-morrow I will come and take away his affliction.' Accordingly, being exceedingly grieved with the sight of such an unexpected calamity, I have come here to tell you; it is for you to decide what you will do next."

When the unsuspecting Hansávalí heard this trumped-up tale of her maid's, terrible as a thunderstroke, she was distracted and said to her, "Out on the spite of destiny! she brings trouble on her handiwork, even when full of excellences; indeed the spot on the moon is a disgrace to him who created it. As for this prince, I chose him as my husband, but I cannot see him, so it is best for me to die or to retire into some forest. So tell me what I had better do in this matter." When the guileless lady said this, the treacherous Kanakamanjarí answered, "Have some maid of yours, dressed in your clothes, married to him, and we will escape to some place of refuge; for the people of the palace will be all in a state of excitement at that time." When the princess heard that, she said to her wicked confidante, "Then do you put on my clothes, and marry that prince; who else is as faithful to me as you?" The wicked Kanakamanjarí answered, "Cheer up, I will manage to effect this by a stratagem, happen to me what may. But when the time comes, you must do as I direct you." When she had consoled her with these words, she went and told an intimate friend of hers, named Asokakarí, her secret object. And with her she waited during three days on the desponding Hansávalí, who agreed with them on the measures to he taken.

And when the wedding-day came, the bridegroom Kamalákara arrived at night, with a train of elephants, horses, and footmen. While all the people of the palace were occupied with festal rejoicing, Kanakamanjarí, keeping by an artifice the other maids out of the way, quickly took Hansávalí into her chamber, ostensibly for the purpose of decking her, and put the princess's dress on herself, and clothed her in the dress of Asokakarí, and put her own dress on her accomplice Asokakarí, and when night came, said to Hansávalí, "If you go out only the distance of a cos from the western gate of this city, you will find an old hollow Salmali-tree. Go and hide inside it, and await my arrival. And after the business is accomplished, I will certainly come there to you." When Hansávalí heard these words of her treacherous friend, she agreed, and went out from the female apartments at night clad in her garments, and she passed out unperceived by the western gate of the city, which was crowded with the bridegroom's attendants, and reached the foot of that Salmali-tree. But when she saw that the hollow of it was black with thick darkness, she was afraid to go into it, so she climbed up a banyan-tree near it. There she remained hidden by the leaves, watching for the arrival of her treacherous friend, for she did not see through her villainy, being herself of a guileless nature. [196]

In the palace meanwhile, the auspicious moment having arrived, the king brought Kanakamanjarí, who was dressed as Hansávalí, and placed her on the sacrificial platform, and Kamalákara married that fair-hued maid, and on account of its being night nobody detected her. And the moment the marriage was over, the prince set out for his own camp at full speed by that same western gate of the city, in order to gain the benefit of propitious constellations, and he took with him the supposed Hansávalí, together with Asokakarí, who was personating Kanakamanjarí. And as he went along, he came near that Salmali-tree, in the banyan-tree near which was concealed Hansávalí, who had been so cruelly deceived. And when he arrived there, the supposed Hansávalí, who was on the back of the elephant, which the king had mounted, embraced him, as if she were terrified. And he asked her eagerly the reason of that terror, whereupon she artfully replied with gushing tears; "My husband, I remember that, last night, in a dream, a woman like a Rákshasí rushed out from this tree, and seized me to eat me. Then a certain Bráhman ran forward and delivered me, and after he had consoled me, he said, 'My daughter, you should have this tree burnt, and if this woman should come out of it, she must be thrown back into it. So all will turn out well.' When the Bráhman had said this, he disappeared. And I woke up. Now that I have seen this tree I remember it. That is why I am frightened." When she said this, Kamalákara immediately ordered his servants to burn the tree and the woman too. So they burned the tree; and the pretended Hansávalí thought that her mistress was burned in it, as she did not come out of it. Then she was satisfied, and Kamalákara returned with her to the camp, thinking that he had got the real Hansávalí. And the next morning he returned rapidly from that place to his city of Kosala, and he was anointed king by his father, who was pleased at his success. And after his father had gone to the forest, he ruled the earth, having for his wife Kanakamanjarí the pretended Hansávalí. But the bard Manorathasiddhi kept at a distance from the palace, because he feared for his own safety in case she were to find out who he was.

But when Hansávalí, who remained that night in the banyan-tree, heard and saw all that, she perceived that she had been tricked. And she said to herself, as soon as Kamalákara had departed; "Alas! my wicked confidante has robbed me of my lover by treachery. Alas! she even desires to have me burned in order to ensure her own peace of mind. But to whom is reliance upon treacherous people not a source of calamity? So I will throw my unlucky self into the glowing ashes of the Salmali-tree, that was burnt for me, and so pay my debt to the tree." After these reflections she descended from the tree, determined to destroy herself, but as fate would have it, she returned to her sober reason, and thought thus within herself; "Why should I destroy myself without reason? If I live, I shall soon be revenged on that betrayer of her friend. For when my father was seized with that fever, Vishnu appeared to him in a dream, and after saying that he was to be healed by the touch of my hand, said this to him, 'Hansávalí shall obtain Kamalákara, who will be a suitable husband for her, but she shall endure calamity for a short time.' So I will go somewhere and wait a little." When she had formed this resolution, she set out for an uninhabited forest.

And after she had gone a long distance, and was weary, and her steps began to falter, the night disappeared, as if out of pity, in order to let her see her way. And the heaven being, as it were, moved with compassion at beholding her, let fall a flood of tears in the form of drops of dew. And the sun, the friend of the virtuous, rose up so as to comfort her, by revealing to her both hopes and the face of the country, and stretched out the fingers of his rays to wipe away her tears. Then the princess, being a little consoled, went on slowly by by-paths, avoiding the sight of men; and wounded by the spikes of kusa grass, she at last reached with difficulty a certain forest, full of birds which seemed to be singing, "Come here, come here!" She entered the wood fatigued, and was, as it were, courteously fanned by the trees with their creepers waving in the wind. So she, full of longing for her beloved, beheld that wood in all the pomp of spring, where the cuckoos cooed sweetly on fragrant mango-trees in full blossom. And in her despondency she said to herself; "Although this breeze from the Malaya mountain, red with the pollen of flowers, scorches me like a fire, and these showers of flowers falling from the trees, while the bees hum, strike me like showers of the arrows of Love, still I will remain here worshipping with these flowers the husband of Ramá, [197] and by so doing purge away my sin." Having formed this resolution, she remained bathing in tanks and living on fruit, devoted to the worship of Vishnu, in order to gain Kamalákara.

In the meanwhile it happened that Kamalákara was seized with a chronic quartan fever. Then the wicked Kanakamanjarí, who personated Hansávalí, was terrified, and thought thus in her heart, "I have always one fear in my heart, lest Asokakarí should reveal my secret, and now a second has come on the top of it. For the father of Hansávalí said to my husband, in the presence of a large number of persons, that the touch of his daughter's hand removed fever; and as soon as in his present attack he shall call that to mind, I shall be exposed, as not having that power, and ruined. So I will perform on his behalf with all due rites an incantation for obtaining control over an imp of the fever-demon, who has the power of removing fever, and who was mentioned to me long ago by a certain witch. And I will by a stratagem kill this Asokakarí, in front of the imp, in order that the offering to him may be made with human flesh, and so he may be enlisted in my service and bring about the desired result. So the king's fever will be cured and Asokakarí removed at the same time, and both my fears will be ended; I do not see any chance of a prosperous issue in any other way."

Having formed this resolution, she told Asokakarí all the harmless points of her plan, taking care to omit the necessity of slaying a human being. Then Asokakarí consented, and brought the necessary utensils, and Kanakamanjarí by an artifice dismissed her attendants, and, accompanied by Asokakarí only, went out from the women's apartments secretly at night by a postern-door, and sword in hand, [198] made for a deserted temple of Siva in which there was one linga. There she killed with the sword a goat, and anointed the linga with its blood, and made an offering to it of its flesh, and threw the animal's entrails round it by way of a garland, and honoured it by placing on its summit the goat's lotus-like heart, and fumigated it with the smoke of its eyes, and lastly presented to it the animal's head by way of oblation. Then she smeared the front of the sacrificial platform with blood and sandalwood, and painted on it with yellow paint a lotus, having eight leaves, and on its pericarp she traced with crushed mango a representation of the demon of fever, with three feet and three mouths, and with a handful of ashes by way of weapon; and she represented on the leaves the fever's attendant imps in proper form, and summoned them with a spell which she knew. [199] And then she wished to make an offering to them, preparatory to bathing, with human flesh, as I said before, so she said to Asokakarí, "Now, my friend, prostrate yourself flat on the earth before the god, for thus you will obtain prosperous fortune." Then she consented, and flung herself flat on the earth, and the wicked Kanakamanjarí gave her a cut with the sword. As it happened, the sword only wounded her slightly on the shoulder, and she rose up terrified, and ran away, and seeing Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, she exclaimed again and again, "Help, help!" And thereupon some policemen, who happened to be near, ran to her assistance. When they saw Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, sword in hand, with a ferocious expression of countenance, they thought she was a Rákshasí, and slashed her with their swords till she was almost dead. But when they heard from the lips of Asokakarí the real state of the case, they took both the women to the king's court, with the governor of the town at their head. When king Kamalákara heard their story, he had that wicked wife and her confidante brought into his presence. And when they were brought, what with fear and the severe pain of her wounds, Kanakamanjarí died on the spot.

Then the king, in great despondency, said to Asokakarí, who was wounded, "What is the meaning of this? Tell me without fear." Then Asokakarí related from the very beginning the history of the daring treachery accomplished by Kanakamanjarí. Then king Kamalákara, having found out the truth, thus bewailed his lot on that occasion, "Alas! I have been deceived by this supposed Hansávalí into burning the real Hansávalí with my own hand, fool that I was! Well! this wicked woman has met the just reward of her actions, in that, after becoming the wife of a king, she has been thus put to death. But how came I to permit cruel Destiny to deceive me with mere outward appearances, like a child, and so to rob me by taking away my jewel and giving me glass instead. Moreover, I did not remember that touch of the hand of Hansávalí, of which Vishnu spoke to her father, which has given evidence of its power to remove fever." While Kamalákara was thus lamenting, he suddenly recollected the words of Vishnu and said to himself, "Her father Meghamálin told me that Vishnu said that she should obtain a husband, but that she should suffer some little affliction, and that word of the god, made known to men, will not have been spoken in vain. So it is quite possible that she may have gone somewhere else, and be still alive, for who knows the mysterious ways of a woman's heart, any more than those of destiny? So in this matter the bard Manorathasiddhi must once more be my refuge."

Thus reflecting, the king sent for that excellent bard, and said to him, "How is it, my good friend, that you are never seen in the palace?" But how can those obtain their wishes, who are deceived by rogues? When the bard heard that, he said, "My excuse is that this Asokakarí was well nigh slain, out of fear that she would reveal the secret. But you must not be despondent about Hansávalí, for Vishnu revealed that she would suffer calamity for a short time. And he certainly protects her, because she is ever intent on worshipping him; for virtue prevails; has it not been seen in the present instance? So I will go, king, to obtain tidings of her." When the bard said this to the king, he answered him, "I myself will go in search of her with you. For otherwise my mind cannot be at rest even for a moment."

When the king had said this, he resolved on the course to be taken, and next day he entrusted his kingdom to the care of his minister Prajnádhya. And though the minister did all he could to dissuade him, the king left the town unobserved with Manorathasiddhi. And he went round to many holy places, hermitages, and forests in search of her, disregarding physical suffering, for weighty is the command of Love. And it happened that he and Manorathasiddhi at last reached the wood, where Hansávalí was performing austerities. There he saw her at the foot of a red Asoka-tree, thin and pale, but yet charming, like the last digit of the gleaming moon. And he said to the bard; "Who is this silent and motionless, engaged in meditation? Can she be a goddess, for her beauty is more than human?" When the bard heard that, he looked and said, "You are fortunate, my sovereign, in finding Hansávalí; for it is she herself that is standing there." When Hansávalí heard that, she looked at them, and recognising that bard, she cried out with renewed grief; "Alas! my father, I am ruined! alas my husband, Kamalákara! alas Manorathasiddhi! alas, Destiny, source of untoward events!" Thus lamenting, she fell on the ground in a faint, and when Kamalákara heard and saw her, he too fell on the earth overpowered with grief. Then they were both brought round by Manorathasiddhi; and when they had recognised one another for certain, they were much delighted, and, having crossed the ocean of separation, they experienced indescribable joy, and they told one another in due course all their adventures. Then Kamalákara returned with Hansávalí and that bard to the city of Kosala. There he received in marriage her hand that had the power of removing disease, after summoning her father the famous Meghamálin. Then Kamalákara shone exceedingly bright, being united with Hansávalí, both whose wings were pure. [200] And having attained his object in life, he lived happily with her whose endurance had borne fruit, ruling the earth, inseparable from Manorathasiddhi.

"So you see those who do not lose heart, even in calamity, obtain all they desire, and on the same principle you should abstain from suicide, for, if you live, you will be reunited to that lord." With these words the old traveller closed his tale, and after dissuading me from death, departed whither he would.

After Bhímaparákrama had told all this to Mrigánkadatta at night in the house of Chandaketu, he went on to say:

Continuation of the adventures of Bhímaparákrama.

So, having received useful admonition, I left that forest and went to the city of Ujjayiní, for which I knew you were making, to find you. When I did not find you there, I entered the house of a certain woman to lodge, as I was worn out, and gave her money for food. She gave me a bed, and being tired I slept for some time, but then I woke up, and out of curiosity I remained quiet, and watched her, and while I was watching, the woman took a handful of barley, and sowed it all about inside the house, her lip trembling all the time with muttering spells. Those grains of barley immediately sprang up, and produced ears, and ripened, and she cut them down, and parched them, and ground them, and made them into barley-meal. And she sprinkled the barley-meal with water, and put it in a brass pot, and, after arranging her house as it was before, she went out quickly to bathe.

Then, as I saw that she was a witch, I took the liberty of rising up quickly; and taking that meal out of the brass pot, I transferred it to the meal-bin, and I took as much barley-meal out of the meal-bin, and placed it in the brass vessel, taking care not to mix the two kinds. Then I went back again to bed, and the woman came in, and roused me up, and gave me that meal from the brass pot to eat, and she ate some herself, taking what she ate from the meal-bin, and so she ate the charmed meal, not knowing that I had exchanged the two kinds. The moment she had eaten that barley-meal, she became a she-goat; then I took her and sold her by way of revenge to a butcher. [201]

Then the butcher's wife came up to me and said angrily, "You have deceived this friend of mine--you shall reap the fruit of this." When I had been thus threatened by her, I went secretly out of the town, and being weary I lay down under a banyan-tree, and went to sleep. And while I was in that state, that wicked witch, the butcher's wife, came and fastened a thread on my neck. Then the wicked woman departed, and immediately I woke up, and when I began to examine myself, lo! I had turned into a peacock, though I still retained my intelligence. [202]

Then I wandered about for some days much distressed, and one day I was caught alive by a certain fowler. He brought me here and gave me to this Chandaketu, the principal warder of the king of the Bhillas, by way of a complimentary present. The warder, for his part, immediately made me over to his wife, and she put me in this house as a pet bird. And to-day, my prince, you have been guided here by fate, and have loosened the thread round my neck, and so I have recovered my human shape.

"So let us leave this place quickly, for this warder always murders next morning [203] the companions of his midnight rambles, for fear his secrets should be disclosed. And to-day he has brought you here, after you have been a witness of his nightly adventures, so fasten, my prince, on your neck this thread prepared by the witch, and turn yourself into a peacock, and go out by this small window; then I will stretch out my hand and loosen the thread from your neck, which you must put up to me, and I will fasten it on my own neck and go out quickly in the same way. Then you must loosen the thread round my neck, and we shall both recover our former condition. But it is impossible to go out by the door which is fastened from outside."

When the sagacious Bhímaparákrama had said this, Mrigánkadatta agreed to his proposal and so escaped from the house with him; and he returned to his lodging where his other two friends were; there he and his friends all spent the night pleasantly in describing to one another all their adventures.

And in the morning Máyávatu, the Bhilla king, the head of that town, came to Mrigánkadatta, and after asking him whether he had spent the night pleasantly, he said to amuse him, "Come, let us play dice." Then Mrigánkadatta's friend Srutadhi, observing that the Bhilla had come with his warder, said to him, "Why should you play dice? Have you forgotten? To-day we are to see the dance of the warder's peacock, which was talked about yesterday." When the Savara king heard that, he remembered, and out of curiosity sent the warder to fetch the peacock. And the warder remembered the wounds he had inflicted, and thought to himself, "Why did I in my carelessness forget to put to death that thief, who witnessed my secret nightly expedition, though I placed him in the peacock's house? So I will go quickly, and do both the businesses." And thereupon he went quickly home.

But when he reached his own palace and looked into the house where the peacock was, he could not find either the thief or the peacock. Then terrified and despondent he returned and said to his sovereign; "My lord, that peacock has been taken away in the night by a thief." Then Srutadhi said smiling, "The man who took away your peacock is renowned as a clever thief." And when Máyávatu saw them all smiling, and looking at one another, he asked with the utmost eagerness what it all meant. Then Mrigánkadatta told the Savara king all his adventures with the warder; how he met him in the night, and how the warder entered the queen's apartment as a paramour, and how he drew his knife in a quarrel; how he himself went to the house of the warder, and how he set Bhímaparákrama free from his peacock transformation, and how he escaped thence.

Then Máyávatu, after hearing that, and seeing that the maid in the harem had a knife-wound in the hand, and that when that thread was replaced for a moment on the neck of Bhímaparákrama, he again became a peacock, put his warder to death at once as a violator of his harem. But he spared the life of that unchaste queen, on the intercession of Mrigánkadatta, and renouncing her society, banished her to a distance from his court. And Mrigánkadatta, though eager to win Sasánkavatí, remained some more days in the Pulinda's town, treated with great consideration by him, looking for the arrival of the rest of his friends and his re-union with them.

Chapter LXXII

While Mrigánkadatta was thus residing in the palace of Máyávatu, the king of the Bhillas, accompanied by Vimalabuddhi and his other friends, one day the general of the Bhilla sovereign came to him in a state of great excitement, and said to him in the presence of Mrigánkadatta; "As by your Majesty's orders I was searching for a man to offer as a victim to Durgá, I found one so valiant that he destroyed five hundred of your best warriors, and I have brought him here disabled by many wounds." When the Pulinda chief heard that, he said to the general, "Bring him quickly in here, and shew him to me." Then he was brought in, and all beheld him smeared with the blood that flowed from his wounds, begrimed with the dust of battle, bound with cords, and reeling, like a mad elephant tied up that is stained with the fluid that flows from his temples mixed with the vermilion painting on his cheek. Then Mrigánkadatta recognised him as his minister Gunákara, and ran and threw his arms round his neck, weeping. Then the king of the Bhillas, hearing from Mrigánkadatta's friends that it was Gunákara, bowed before him, and comforted him as he was clinging to the feet of his master, and brought him into his palace, and gave him a bath, and bandaged his wounds, and supplied him attentively with wholesome food and drink, such as was recommended by the physicians. Then Mrigánkadatta, after his minister had been somewhat restored, said to him; "Tell me, my friend, what adventures have you had?" Then Gunákara said in the hearing of all, "Hear, prince, I will tell you my story."

The adventures of Gunákara after his separation from the prince.

At that time when I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága, I was so bewildered that I was conscious of nothing, but went on roaming through that far-extending wilderness. At last I recovered consciousness and thought in my grief, "Alas! this is a terrible dispensation of unruly destiny. How will Mrigánkadatta, who would suffer even in a palace, exist in this desert of burning sand? And how will his companions exist? Thus reflecting frequently in my mind, I happened, as I was roaming about, to come upon the abode of Durgá. And I entered her temple, in which were offered day and night many and various living creatures, and which therefore resembled the palace of the god of Death. After I had worshipped the goddess there, I saw the corpse of a man who had offered himself, and who held in his hand a sword that had pierced his throat. When I saw that, I also, on account of my grief at being separated from you, determined to propitiate the goddess by the sacrifice of myself. So I ran and seized his sword. But at that moment some compassionate female ascetic, after forbidding me from a distance by a prohibitive shake of the head, came up to me, and dissuaded me from death, and after asking me my story said to me; "Do not act so, the re-union even of the dead has been seen in this world, much more of the living. Hear this story in illustration of it."

Story of king Vinítamati who became a holy man.

There is a celebrated city on the earth, of the name of Ahichchhatrá, [204] in it there dwelt of old time a mighty king, of the name of Udayatunga. And he had a noble warder named Kamalamati. This warder had a matchless son named Vinítamati. The lotus, in spite of its threads, and the bow, in spite of its string, could not be compared to that youth who possessed a string of good qualities, for the first was hollow and the second crooked. One day, as he was on a platform on the top of a palace white with plaster, he saw the moon rising in the beginning of the night, like a splendid ear-ornament on the darkness of the eastern quarter, made of a shoot from the wishing-tree of love. And Vinítamati, seeing the world gradually illuminated with its numerous rays, felt his heart leap within him, and said to himself, "Ha! the ways are seen to be lighted up by the moonlight, as if whitened with plaster, so why should I not go there and roam about? Accordingly he went out with his bow and arrows, and roamed about, and after he had gone only a cos, he suddenly heard a noise of weeping. He went in the direction of the sound and saw a certain maiden of heavenly appearance weeping, as she reclined at the foot of a tree. And he said to her, "Fair one, who are you? And why do you make the moon of your countenance like the moon when flecked with spots, by staining it with tears?" When he said this to her, she answered, "Great-souled one, I am the daughter of a king of the snakes named Gandhamálin, and my name is Vijayavatí. Once on a time my father fled from battle, and was thus cursed by Vásuki--'Wicked one, you shall be conquered and become the slave of your enemy.' In consequence of that curse, my father was conquered by his enemy, a Yaksha named Kálajihva, and made his servant, and forced to carry a load of flowers for him. Grieved thereat, I tried for his sake to propitiate Gaurí with asceticism, and the holy goddess appeared to me in visible form, and said this to me, 'Listen, my child; there is in the Mánasa lake a great and heavenly lotus of crystal expanded into a thousand leaves. Its rays are scattered abroad when it is touched by the sun-beams, and it gleams like the many-crested head of Sesha, yellow with the rays of jewels. Once on a time Kuvera beheld it, and conceived a desire for that lotus, and after he had bathed in the Mánasa lake, he began to worship Vishnu in order to obtain it. And at that time the Yakshas, his followers, were playing in the water, in the shapes of Brahmany ducks and geese, and other aquatic creatures. And it happened that the elder brother of your enemy Kálajihva, a Yaksha named Vidyujjíva, was playing with his beloved in the form of a Brahmany drake, and while flapping his wings, he struck and upset the argha vessel held in the extremity of Kuvera's hand. Then the god of wealth was enraged, and by a curse made Vidyujjíva and his wife Brahmany ducks [205] on this very Mánasa lake. And Kálajihva, now that his elder brother is so transformed and is unhappy at night on account of the absence of his beloved, assumes out of affection her form every night to console him, and remains there in the day in his own natural form, accompanied by your father Gandhamálin, whom he has made a slave. So send there, my daughter, the brave and enterprising Vinítamati, of the town of Ahichchhatrá, the son of the warder, and take this sword [206] and this horse, for with these that hero will conquer that Yaksha, and will set your father at liberty. And whatever man becomes the possessor of this excellent sword, will conquer all his enemies and become a king on the earth.' After saying this, the goddess gave me the sword and horse, and disappeared. So I have come here to-day in due course to excite you to the enterprise, and seeing you going out at night with the favour of the goddess, I brought you here by an artifice, having caused you to hear a sound of weeping. So accomplish for me that desire of mine, noble sir!" When Vinítamati was thus entreated by her, he immediately consented.

Then the snake-maiden went at once and brought that swift white horse, that looked like the concentrated rays of the moon, rushing forth into the extreme points of the earth to slay the darkness, and that splendid sword, equal in brightness to the starlight sky, appearing like a glance of the goddess of Fortune in search of a hero, and gave them both to Vinítamati. And he set out with the sword, after mounting that horse with the maiden, and thanks to its speed he reached that very lake Mánasa. The lotus-clumps of the lake were shaken by the wind, and it seemed by the plaintive cries of its Brahmany ducks to forbid his approach out of pity for Kálajihva. And seeing Gandhamálin there in the custody of some Yakshas, he wounded those miserable creatures with his sword and dispersed them, in order to set him at liberty. When Kálajihva saw that, he abandoned the form of a Brahmany duck and rose from the middle of the lake, roaring like a cloud of the rainy season. In the course of the fight Kálajihva soared up into the air, and Vinítamati, with his horse, soared up after him, and seized him by the hair. And when he was on the point of cutting off his head with his sword, the Yaksha, speaking in a plaintive voice, implored his protection. And being spared, he gave him his own ring, that possessed the power of averting all the calamities called íti, [207] and with all marks of deference he released Gandhamálin from slavery, and Gandhamálin, in his delight, gave Vinítamati his daughter Vijayavatí, and returned home. Then Vinítamati, being the possessor of a splendid sword, ring, horse, and maiden, returned home as soon as the day broke. There his father welcomed him and questioned him, and was delighted at the account of his exploits, and so was his sovereign, and then he married that Nága maiden. [208]

And one day his father Kamalamati said in secret to the youth, who was happy in the possession of these four priceless things, and of many accomplishments; "The king Udayatunga here has a daughter named Udayavatí, well taught in all the sciences, and he has publicly announced that he will give her to the first Bráhman or Kshatriya who conquers her in argument. And by her wonderful skill in argument she has silenced all other disputants, as by her beauty, which is the theme of the world's wonder, she has put to shame the nymphs of heaven. You are a distinguished hero, you are a disputant of the Kshatriya caste; why do you remain silent? Conquer her in argument, and marry her." [209] When Vinítamati's father said this to him, he answered,--"My father, how can men like me contend with weak women? Nevertheless, I will obey this order of yours." When the bold youth said this, his father went to the king, and said to him,--"Vinítamati will dispute with the princess to-morrow." And the king approved the proposal, and Kamalamati returned home, and informed his son Vinítamati of his consent.

The next morning the king, like a swan, took up his position in the midst of the lotus-bed of the assembly of learned men, and the disputant Vinítamati entered the hall, resplendent like the sun, and being gazed on by the eyes of all the accomplished men who were assembled there, that were turned towards him, he, as it were, animated the lotus-bed with circling bees. And soon after the princess Udayavatí came there slowly, like the bow of the god of love bent with the string of excellence; adorned with splendid sweetly-tinkling ornaments, that seemed, as it were, to intimate her first objection before it was uttered. [210] A pure streak of the moon in a clear heaven would give some idea of her appearance when she was seated on her emerald throne. Then she made her first objection, stringing on the threads of her glittering teeth a chain of elegant words like jewels. But Vinítamati proved that her objection was based upon premisses logically untenable, and he soon silenced the fair one, refuting her point by point. Then the learned audience commended him, and the princess, though beaten in argument, considered that she had triumphed, as she had gained an excellent husband. And Udayatunga bestowed on Vinítamati his daughter, whom he had won in the arguing match. And the king loaded Vinítamati with jewels, and he lived united to the daughter of a snake and the daughter of a king.

Once on a time, when he was engaged in gambling, and was being beaten by other gamblers, and much distressed in mind thereat, a Bráhman came and asked him for food with great importunity.

He was annoyed at that, and whispered in the ear of his servant, and caused to be presented to the Bráhman a vessel full of sand wrapped up in a cloth. The simple-minded Bráhman thought, on account of its weight, that it must be full of gold, and went to a solitary place and opened [211] it. And seeing that it was full of sand, he flung it down on the earth, and saying to himself, "The man has deceived me," he went home despondent. But Vinítamati thought no more of the matter, and left the gambling, and remained at home with his wives in great comfort.

And in course of time, the king Udayatunga became unable to bear the burden of the empire, as his vigour in negotiations and military operations was relaxed by old age. [212] Then, as he had no son, he appointed his son-in-law Vinítamati his successor, and went to the Ganges to lay down his body. And as soon as Vinítamati obtained the government, he conquered the ten cardinal points by the virtue of his horse and his sword. And, by the might of his calamity-averting ring, his kingdom was free from sickness and famine, like that of Ráma.

Now, once on a time, there came to that king from a foreign country a mendicant, named Ratnachandrámati, who was among other disputants like the lion among elephants. The king, who was fond of accomplished men, entertained him, and the mendicant challenged him to dispute on the following terms, which he uttered in the form of a verse; "If thou art vanquished, O king, thou must adopt the law of Buddha; if I am vanquished, I will abandon the rags of a Buddhist mendicant, and listen to the teaching of the Bráhmans." The king accepted this challenge, and argued with the mendicant for seven days, and on the eighth day the mendicant conquered that king, who in the dispute with Udayavatí had conquered the "Hammer of Shavelings." Then faith arose in the breast of the king, and he adopted the Bauddha law taught by that mendicant, which is rich in the merit of benefiting all creatures; and becoming devoted to the worship of Jina, he built monasteries and alms-houses for Buddhist mendicants, Bráhmans, and other sectaries, and all men generally.

And being subdued in spirit by the practice of that law, he asked that mendicant to teach him the rule for the discipline leading to the rank of a Bodhisattva, a rule which involves benefits to all. And the mendicant said to him; "King, the great discipline of a Bodhisattva is to be performed by those who are free from sin, and by no others. Now you are not tainted with any sin which is palpable, and therefore visible to men like myself, but find out by the following method, if you have any minute sin, and so destroy it." With these words the mendicant taught him a charm [213] for producing dreams, and the king, after having had a dream, said to the mendicant in the morning, "Teacher, I fancied in my dream last night that I went to the other world, and being hungry I asked for some food. And then some men with maces in their hands said to me, 'Eat, O king, these numerous grains of hot sand earned by you, which you gave long ago to the hungry Bráhman, when he came to beg of you. If you give away ten crores of gold, you will be liberated from this guilt.' When the men with maces had said this to me, I woke up, and lo! the night had come to an end."

When the king had related his dream, he gave away, by order of the mendicant, ten crores of gold as an atonement for his sin, and again employed the charm for producing dreams. And again he had that dream, and in the morning when he got up, he related it, and said; "Last night also those mace-bearers in the other world gave me sand to eat, when I was hungry, and then I said to them,--'Why should I eat this sand, though I have bestowed alms?' Then they said to me--'Your gift was of no avail, for among the gold coins was one belonging to a Bráhman;' when I heard this I woke up." Having told his dream in these words, the king gave away another ten crores of gold to beggars.

And again, when the night came, he used that charm for producing dreams, and again he had a dream, and next morning when he got up, he related it in the following words; "Last night too those men in the other world gave me sand to eat in my dream, and when I questioned them, they said this to me, 'King, that gift of yours also is of no avail, for to-day a Bráhman has been robbed and murdered in a forest in your country by bandits, and you did not protect him, so your gift is of no avail on account of your not protecting your subjects; so give to-day double the gift of yesterday.' When I heard this I woke up." After the king had related his dream to his spiritual guide in these words, he gave double his former gift.

Then he said to the mendicant, "Teacher, how can men like myself obey in this world a law which admits of so many infractions."

When the mendicant heard that, he said, "Wise men should not allow such a little thing to damp their ardour in the keeping of the law of righteousness. The gods themselves protect firm men, endowed with perseverance, that swerve not from their duty, and they bring their wishes to fulfilment. Have you not heard the story of the adorable Bodhisattva in his former birth as a boar? Listen, I will tell it you."

Story of the Holy Boar.

Long ago there dwelt in a cavern in the Vindhya mountains a wise boar, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Buddha, together with his friend a monkey. He was a benefactor of all creatures, and he remained always in the society of that friend, honouring guests, and so he spent the time in occupations suited to him. But once on a time there came on a storm lasting for five days, which was terrible, in that it hindered with its unintermitting rainfall the movements of all living creatures. On the fifth day, as the boar was lying asleep with the monkey at night, there came to the door of the cave a lion with his mate and his cub. Then the lion said to his mate, "During this long period of bad weather we shall certainly die of hunger from not obtaining any animal to eat." The lioness answered, "It is clear that hunger will prevent all of us from surviving, so you two had better eat me and so save your lives. For you are my lord and master, and this son of ours is our very life; you will easily get another mate like me, so ensure the welfare of you two by devouring me."

Now, as chance would have it, that noble boar woke up and heard the conversation of the lion and his mate. And he was delighted, and thought to himself, "The idea of my receiving such guests on such a night in such a storm! Ah! to-day my merit in a former state of existence has brought forth fruit. So let me satiate these guests with this body that perishes in a moment, while I have a chance of doing so." Having thus reflected, the boar rose up, and went out, and said to the lion with an affectionate voice; "My good friend, do not despond. For here I am ready to be eaten by you and your mate and your cub: so eat me." When the boar said this, the lion was delighted and said to his mate, "Let this cub eat first, then I will eat, and you shall eat after me." She agreed, and first the cub ate some of the flesh of the boar, and then the lion himself began to eat. And while he was eating, the noble boar said to him, "Drink my blood quickly, before it sinks into the ground, and satisfy your hunger with my flesh, and let your mate eat the rest." While the boar was saying this, the lion gradually devoured his flesh until nothing but bones was left, but still the virtuous boar did not die, for his life remained in him, as if to see what would be the end of his endurance. And in the meanwhile the lioness, exhausted with hunger, died in the cave, and the lion went off somewhere or other with his cub, and the night came to an end. At this juncture his friend the monkey woke up, and went out, and seeing the boar reduced to such a condition, said to him in the utmost excitement, "Who reduced you to such a state? Tell me, my friend, if you can." Thereupon the heroic boar told him the whole story. Then the monkey prostrated himself at his feet, and said to him with tears,--"You must be a portion of some divinity, since you have thus rescued yourself from this animal nature: so tell me any wish that you may have, and I will endeavour to fulfil it for you." When the monkey said this to the boar, the boar answered; "Friend, the only wish that I have is one difficult for even Destiny to fulfil. For my heart longs that I may recover my body as before, and that this unfortunate lioness that died of hunger before my eyes, may return to life, and satiate her hunger by devouring me."

While the boar was saying this, the god of Justice appeared in bodily form, and stroking him with his hand, turned him into a chief of sages possessing a celestial body. And he said to him; "It was I that assumed the form of this lion, and lioness, and cub, and produced this whole illusion, because I wished to conquer thee who art exclusively intent on benefiting thy fellow-creatures; but thou, possessing perfect goodness, gavest thy life for others, and so hast triumphed over me the god of Justice, and gained this rank of a chief of sages." The sage, hearing this, and seeing the god of Justice standing in front of him, said, "Holy lord, this rank of chief of sages, even though attained, gives me no pleasure, since my friend this monkey has not as yet thrown off his animal nature." When the god of Justice heard this, he turned the monkey also into a sage. Of a truth association with the great produces great benefit. Then the god of Justice and the dead lioness disappeared.

"So you see, king, that it is easy for those, who in the strength of goodness do not relax their efforts after virtue, and are aided by gods, to attain the ends which they desire." When the generous king Vinítamati had heard this tale from the Buddhist mendicant, he again used, when the night came, that charm for obtaining a dream. And after he had had a dream, he told it the next morning to the mendicant: "I remember, a certain divine hermit said to me in my dream 'Son, you are now free from sin, enter on the discipline for obtaining the rank of a Bodhisattva.' And having heard that speech I woke up this morning with a mind at ease." When the king had said this to the mendicant, who was his spiritual guide, he took upon himself, with his permission, that difficult vow on an auspicious day; and then he remained continually showering favours on suitors, and yet his wealth proved inexhaustible, for prosperity is the result of virtue.

One day a Bráhman suitor came and said to him: "King, I am a Bráhman, an inhabitant of the city of Pátaliputra. There a Bráhman-Rákshasa has occupied my sacrificial fire-chamber and seized my son, and no expedient, which I can make use of, is of any avail against him. So I have come here to petition you, who are the wishing-tree of suppliants; give me that ring of yours that removes all noxious things, in order that I may have success." When the Bráhman made this request to the king, he gave him without reluctance the ring he had obtained from Kálajihva. And when the Bráhman departed with it, the fame of the king's Bodhisattva-vow was spread abroad throughout the world.

Afterwards there came to him one day another guest, a prince named Indukalasa, from the northern region. The self-denying king, who knew that the prince was of high lineage, shewed him respect, and asked him what he desired. The prince answered, "You are celebrated on earth as the wishing-stone of all suitors, you would not send away disappointed a man who even asked you for your life. Now I have come to you as a suppliant, because I have been conquered and turned out of my father's kingdom by my brother, whose name is Kanakakalasa. So give me, hero, your excellent sword and horse, in order that by their virtue I may conquer the pretender and obtain my kingdom." When king Vinítamati heard that, be gave that prince his horse, and his sword, though they were the two talismanic jewels that protected his kingdom, and so unshaken was his self-denial that he never hesitated for a moment, though his ministers heaved sighs with downcast faces. So the prince, having obtained the horse and sword, went and conquered his brother by their aid, and got possession of his kingdom.

But his brother Kanakakalasa, who was deprived of the kingdom he had seized, came to the capital of that king Vinítamati; and there he was preparing in his grief to enter the fire, but Vinítamati, hearing of it, said to his ministers; "This good man has been reduced to this state by my fault, so I will do him the justice, which I owe him, by giving him my kingdom. Of what use is this kingdom to me, unless it is employed to benefit my fellow-creatures? As I have no children, let this man be my son and inherit my kingdom." After saying this, the king summoned Kanakakalasa, and in spite of the opposition of his ministers gave him the kingdom.

And after he had given away the kingdom, he immediately left the city with unwavering mind, accompanied by his two wives. And his subjects, when they saw it, followed him distracted, bedewing the ground with their tears, and uttering such laments as these, "Alas! the nectar-rayed moon had become full so as to refresh the world, and now a cloud has suddenly descended and hid it from our eyes. Our king, the wishing-tree of his subjects, had begun to satisfy the desires of all living creatures, when lo! he is removed somewhere or other by fate." Then Vinítamati at last prevailed on them to return, and with unshaken resolution went on his way, with his wives, to the forest, without a carriage.

And in course of time he reached a desert without water or tree, with sands heated by the sun, which appeared as if created by Destiny to test his firmness. Being thirsty and exhausted with the fatigue of the long journey, he reclined for a moment in a spot in this desert, and both he and his two wives were overtaken by sleep. When he woke up and looked about him, he beheld there a great and wonderful garden produced by the surpassing excellence of his own virtue. It had in it tanks full of cool pure water adorned with blooming lotuses, it was carpeted with dark green grass, its trees bent with the weight of their fruit, it had broad, high, smooth slabs of rock in shady places, in fact it seemed like Nandana drawn down from heaven by the power of the king's generosity. The king looked again and again, and was wondering whether it could be a dream, or a delusion, or a favour bestowed on him by the gods, when suddenly he heard a speech uttered in the air by two Siddhas, who were roaming through the sky in the shape of a pair of swans, "King, why should you wonder thus at the efficacy of your own virtue? So dwell at your ease in this garden of perennial fruits and flowers." When king Vinítamati heard this speech of the Siddhas, he remained in that garden with mind at ease, practising austerities, together with his wives.

And one day, when he was on a slab of rock, he beheld near him a certain man about to commit suicide by hanging himself. He went to him immediately, and with kindly words talked him over, and prevailed on him not to destroy himself, and asked him the reason of his wishing to do so. Then the man said, "Listen, I will tell you the whole story from the beginning. I am the son of Nágasúra, Somasúra by name, of the race of Soma. It was said by those versed in the study of astrology, that my nativity prognosticated that I should be a thief, so my father, afraid that that would come to pass, instructed me diligently in the law. Though I studied the law, I was led by association with bad companions to take to a career of thieving. For who is able to alter the actions of a man in his previous births?

"Then I was one day caught among some thieves by the police, and taken to the place of impalement, in order to be put to death. At that moment a great elephant belonging to the king, which had gone mad, and broken its fastening, and was killing people in all directions, came to that very place. The executioners, alarmed at the elephant, left me and fled somewhere or other, and I escaped in that confusion and made off. But I heard from people that my father had died on hearing that I was being led off to execution, and that my mother had followed him. Then I was distracted with sorrow, and as I was wandering about despondent, intent on self-destruction, I happened to reach in course of time this great uninhabited wood. No sooner had I entered it, than a celestial nymph suddenly revealed herself to me, and approached me, and consoling me said to me; 'My son, this retreat, which you have come to, belongs to the royal sage Vinítamati, so your sin is destroyed, and from him you shall learn wisdom.' After saying this, she disappeared; and I wandered about in search of that royal sage, but not being able to find him, I was on the point of abandoning the body, out of disappointment, when I was seen by you."

When Somasúra had said this, that royal sage took him to his own hut, and made himself known to him, and honoured him as a guest; and after he had taken food, the kingly hermit, among many pious discourses, told him, as he listened submissively, the following tale, with the object of dissuading him from ignorance.

Story of Devabhúti.

Ignorance, my son, is to be avoided, for it brings harm in both worlds upon men of bewildered intellects: listen to this legend of sacred story. There lived in Panchála, of old time, a Bráhman named Devabhúti, and that Bráhman, who was learned in the Vedas, had a chaste wife named Bhogadattá. One day when he had gone to bathe, his wife went into the kitchen-garden to get vegetables, and saw a donkey belonging to a washerman eating them. So she took up a stick and ran after the donkey, and the animal fell into a pit, as it was trying to escape, and broke its hoof. When its master heard of that, he came in a passion, and beat with a stick, and kicked the Bráhman woman. Accordingly she, being pregnant, had a miscarriage; but the washerman returned home with his donkey.

Then her husband, hearing of it, came home after bathing, and after seeing his wife, went, in his distress, and complained to the chief magistrate of the town. The foolish man immediately had the washerman, whose name was Balásura, brought before him, and, after hearing the pleadings of both parties, delivered this judgment, "Since the donkey's hoof is broken, let the Bráhman carry the donkey's load for the washerman, until the donkey is again fit for work. And let the washerman make the Bráhman's wife pregnant again, since he made her miscarry. Let this be the punishment of the two parties respectively." When the Bráhman heard this, he and his wife, in their despair, took poison and died. And when the king heard of it, he put to death that inconsiderate judge, who had caused the death of a Bráhman, and he had to be born for a long time in the bodies of animals.

"So people, who are obscured by the darkness of ignorance, stray into the evil paths of their vices, and not setting in front of them the lamp of sound treatises, of a surety stumble. When the royal sage had said this, Somasúra begged him to instruct him further, and Vinítamati, in order to train him aright, said, "Listen, my son, I will teach you in due order the doctrine of perfections."

Story of the generous Induprabha.

There lived a long time ago in Kurukshetra a king of the name of Malayaprabha. One day the king was about to give money to his subjects in a time of famine. But his ministers dissuaded him from doing so, out of avarice; thereupon his son Induprabha said to him; "Father, why do you neglect your subjects at the bidding of wicked ministers? For you are their wishing-tree, and they are your cows of plenty." When his son persisted in saying this, the king, who was under the influence of his ministers, got annoyed, and said to him--"What, my son, do I possess inexhaustible wealth? If, without inexhaustible wealth, I am to be a wishing-tree to my subjects, why do you not take upon yourself that office." When the son heard that speech of his father's, he made a vow that he would attain by austerities the condition of a wishing-tree, or die in the attempt.

Having formed this determination, the heroic prince went off to a forest where austerities were practised, and as soon as he entered it, the famine ceased. And when Indra was pleased with his severe austerities, he craved a boon from him, and became a wishing-tree in his own city. And he seemed to attract the distant, and to summon suitors with his boughs stretched out in all directions, and with the songs of his birds. And every day he granted the most difficult boons to his petitioners. And he made his father's subjects as happy as if they were in Paradise, since they had nothing left to wish for. One day Indra came to him and said to him, tempting him; "You have fulfilled the duty of benefiting others; come to Paradise." Then that prince, who had become a wishing-tree, answered him, "When these other trees with their pleasing flowers and fruits are for ever engaged in benefiting others, regardless of their own interests, how can I, who am a wishing-tree, disappoint so many men, by going to heaven for the sake of my own happiness?" When Indra heard this noble answer of his, he said, "Then let all these subjects come to heaven also." Then the prince, who had become a wishing-tree, replied, "If you are pleased with me, take all these subjects to heaven; I do not care for it: I will perform a great penance for the sole object of benefiting others." When Indra heard this, he praised him as an incarnation of Buddha, and being pleased, granted his petition, and returned to heaven, taking those subjects with him. And Induprabha left the shape of a tree, and living in the forest, obtained by austerities the rank of a Bodhisattva.

"So those, who are devoted to charity, attain success, and now I have told you the doctrine of the perfection of charity; hear that of the perfection of chastity."

Story of the parrot, who was taught virtue by the king of the parrots.

A long time ago there lived on the Vindhya mountain a continent king of parrots, named Hemaprabha, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Buddha, and was rich in chastity that he had practised during a former birth. He remembered his former state and was a teacher of virtue. He had for warder a parrot named Chárumati, who was a fool enslaved to his passions. Once on a time, a female parrot, his mate, was killed by a fowler, who was laying snares, and he was so much grieved at being separated from her, that he was reduced to a miserable condition. Then Hemaprabha, the wise king of the parrots, in order by an artifice to rescue him from his grief, told him this false tale for his good; "Your wife is not dead, she has escaped from the snare of the fowler, for I saw her alive a moment ago. Come, I will shew her to you." Having said this, the king took Chárumati through the air to a lake. There he shewed him his own reflection in the water, and said to him; "Look! here is your wife!" When the foolish parrot heard that, and saw his own reflection in the water, he went into it joyfully, and tried to embrace and kiss his wife. But not being embraced in return by his beloved, and not hearing her voice, he said to himself: "Why does not my beloved embrace me and speak to me." Supposing therefore that she was angry with him, he went and brought an ámalaka fruit, and dropped it on his own reflection, thinking that it was his beloved, in order to coax her. The ámalaka fruit sank into the water, and rose again to the surface, and the parrot, supposing that his gift had been rejected by his beloved, went full of grief to king Hemaprabha and said to him, "King, that wife of mine will not touch me or speak to me. Moreover she rejected the ámalaka fruit which I gave her." When the king heard that, he said to him slowly, as if he were reluctant to tell it, "I ought not to tell you this, but nevertheless I will tell you, because I love you so much. Your wife is at present in love with another, so how can she shew you affection? And I will furnish you with ocular proof of it in this very tank." After saying this, he took him there, and shewed him their two reflections close together in the tank. When the foolish parrot saw it, he thought his wife was in the embrace of another male parrot, and turning round disgusted, he said to the king, "Your Majesty, this is the result of my folly in not listening to your advice: So tell me, now, what I ought to do." When the warder said this, king Hemaprabha, thinking that he had now an opportunity of instructing him, thus addressed him; "It is better to take Háláhala poison, it is better to wreathe a serpent round one's neck, than to repose confidence in females, a calamity against which neither charms nor talismanic jewels avail. Females, being, like the winds, very changeful, and enveloped with a thick cloud of passion, [214] defile those who are walking in the right path, and disgrace them altogether. So wise men, of firm nature, should not cleave to them, but should practise chastity, in order to obtain the rank of sages who have subdued their passions." Chárumati, having been thus instructed by the king, renounced the society of females, and gradually became continent like Buddha.

"So you see, those that are rich in chastity deliver others; and, now that I have instructed you in the perfection of chastity, listen to the perfection of patience."

Story of the patient hermit Subhanaya.

There lived on the Kedára mountain a great hermit, named Subhanaya, who was for ever bathing in the waters of the Mandákiní, and was gentle and emaciated with penance. One night, some robbers came there to look for some gold, which they had previously buried there, but they could not find it anywhere. Accordingly, thinking that in that uninhabited place it could only have been carried off by the hermit, they entered his cell and said to him: "Ah! you hypocritical hermit, give up our gold, which you have taken from the earth, for you have succeeded in robbing us, who are robbers by profession." When the hermit, who had not taken the treasure, was falsely reproached in these words by the robbers, he said, "I did not take away your gold, and I have never seen any gold." Then the good hermit was beaten with sticks by those robbers, and yet the truthful man continued to tell the same story; and then the robbers cut off, one after another, his hands and his feet, thinking that he was obstinate, and finally gouged out his eyes. But when they found that, in spite of all this, he continued to tell the same tale without flinching, they came to the conclusion that some one else had stolen their gold, and they returned by the way that they came.

The next morning a king, named Sekharajyoti, a pupil of that hermit's, who had come to have an interview with him, saw him in that state. Then, being tortured with sorrow for his spiritual guide, [215] he questioned him, and found out the state of the case, and had a search made for those robbers, and had them brought to that very spot. And he was about to have them put to death, when the hermit said to him; "King, if you put them to death, I will kill myself. If the sword did this work on me, how are they in fault? And if they put the sword in motion, anger put them in motion, and their anger was excited by the loss of their gold, and that was due to my sins in a previous state of existence, and that was due to my ignorance, so my ignorance is the only thing that has injured me. So my ignorance should be slain by me. Moreover, even if these men deserved to be put to death for doing me an injury, ought not their lives to be saved on account of their having done me a benefit? For if they had not done to me what they have done, there would have been no one with regard to whom I could have practised patience, of which the fruit is emancipation? So they have done me a thorough benefit." With many speeches of this kind did the patient hermit instruct the king, and so he delivered the robbers from punishment. And on account of the excellence of his asceticism his body immediately became unmutilated as before, and that moment he attained emancipation.

"Thus patient men escape from the world of births. I have now explained to you the perfection of patience; listen to the perfection of perseverance."

Story of the persevering young Bráhman.

Once on a time there was a young Bráhman of the name of Máládhara: he beheld one day a prince of the Siddhas flying through the air. Wishing to rival him, he fastened to his sides wings of grass, and continually leaping up, he tried to learn the art of flying in the air. And as he continued to make this useless attempt every day, he was at last seen by the prince while he was roaming though the air. And the prince thought, "I ought to take pity on this boy who shews spirit in struggling earnestly to attain an impossible object, for it is my business to patronize such." Thereupon, being pleased, he took the Bráhman boy, by his magic power, upon his shoulder, and made him one of his followers. "Thus you see that even gods are pleased with perseverance; I have now set before you the perfection of perseverance; hear the perfection of meditation."

Story of Malayamálin.

Of old time there dwelt in the Carnatic a rich merchant, named Vijayamálin, and he had a son named Malayamálin. One day Malayamálin, when he was grown up, went with his father to the king's court, and there he saw the daughter of the king Indukesarin, Induyasas by name. That maiden, like a bewildering creeper of love, [216] entered the heart of the young merchant, as soon as he saw her. Then he returned home, and remained in a state of pallor, sleepless at night, and during the day cowering with contracted limbs, having taken upon himself the kumuda-vow. [217] And thinking continually of her, he was averse to food and all other things of the kind, and even when questioned by his relations, he gave no more answer than if he had been dumb.

Then, one day, the king's painter, whose name was Mantharaka, an intimate friend of his, said to him in private, when in this state owing to the sorrow of separation: "Friend, why do you remain leaning against the wall like a man in a picture? Like a lifeless image, you neither eat, nor hear, nor see." When his friend the painter asked him this question persistently, the merchant's son at last told him his desire. The painter said to him; "It is not fitting that you, a merchant's son, should fall in love with a princess. Let the swan desire the beautiful face of the lotuses of all ordinary lakes, but what has he to do with the delight of enjoying the lotus of that lake, which is the navel of Vishnu?" Still the painter could not prevent him from nursing his passion; so he painted the princess on a piece of canvas, and gave her picture to him to solace his longing, and to enable him to while away the time. And the young merchant spent his time in gazing on, coaxing, and touching, and adorning her picture, and he fancied that it was the real princess Induyasas, and gradually became absorbed in her, and did all that he did under that belief. [218] And in course of time he was so engrossed by that fancy, that he seemed to see her, though she was only a painted figure, talking to him and kissing him. Then he was happy, because he had obtained in imagination union with his beloved, and he was contented, because the whole world was for him contained in that piece of painted canvas.

One night, when the moon was rising, he took the picture and went out of his house with it to a garden, to amuse himself with his beloved. And there he put down the picture at the foot of a tree, and went to a distance, to pick flowers for his darling. At that moment he was seen by a hermit, named Vinayajyoti, who came down from heaven out of compassion, to rescue him from his delusion. He by his supernatural power painted in one part of the picture a live black cobra, and stood near invisible. In the meanwhile Malayamálin returned there, after gathering those flowers, and seeing the black serpent on the canvas, he reflected, "Where does this serpent come from now? Has it been created by fate to protect this fair one, the treasure-house of beauty." Thus reflecting, he adorned with flowers the fair one on the canvas, and fancying that she surrendered herself to him, he embraced her, and asked her the above question, and at that very moment the hermit threw an illusion over him, which made him see her bitten by the black snake and unconscious. Then he forgot that it was only canvas, and exclaiming, alas! alas! he fell distracted on the earth, like a Vidyádhara brought down by the canvas acting as a talisman. But soon he recovered consciousness, and rose up weeping and determined on suicide, and climbed up a lofty tree, and threw himself from its top. But, as he was falling, the great hermit appeared to him, and bore him up in his hands, and consoled him, and said to him, "Foolish boy, do you not know that the real princess is in her palace, and that this princess on the canvas is a painted figure devoid of life? So who is it that you embrace, or who has been bitten by the serpent? Or what is this delusion of attributing reality to the creation of your own desire, that has taken possession of your passionate heart? Why do you not investigate the truth with equal intensity of contemplation, in order that you may not again become the victim of such sorrows?"

When the hermit had said this to the young merchant, the night of his delusion was dispersed, and he recovered his senses, and, bowing before the hermit, he said to him; "Holy one, by your favour I have been rescued from this calamity; do me the favour of rescuing me also from this changeful world." When Malayamálin made this request to the hermit, who was a Bodhisattva, he instructed him in his own knowledge and disappeared. Then Malayamálin went to the forest, and by the power of his asceticism he came to know the real truth about that which is to be rejected and that which is to be chosen, with the reasons, and attained the rank of an Arhat. And the compassionate man returned, and by teaching them knowledge, he made king Indukesarin and his citizens obtain salvation.

"So even untruth, in the ease of those mighty in contemplation, becomes true. I have now explained the perfection of contemplation; listen to the perfection of wisdom."

Story of the robber who won over Yama's secretary.

Long ago there lived in Sinhaladvípa a robber, of the name of Sinhavikrama, who since his birth had nourished his body with other men's wealth stolen from every quarter. In time he grew old, and desisting from his occupation, he reflected; "What resources have I in the other world? Whom shall I betake myself to for protection there? If I betake myself to Siva or Vishnu, what value will they attach to me, when they have gods, hermits, and others to worship them? So I will worship Chitragupta [219] who alone records the good and evil deeds of men. He may deliver me by his power. For he, being a secretary, does alone the work of Brahmá and Siva: he writes down or erases in a moment the whole world, which is in his hand." Having thus reflected, he began to devote himself to Chitragupta; he honoured him specially, and in order to please him, kept continually feeding Bráhmans.

While he was carrying on this system of conduct, one day Chitragupta came to the house of that robber, in the form of a guest, to examine into his real feelings. The robber received him courteously, entertained him, and gave him a present, and then said to him, "Say this, 'May Chitragupta be propitious to you'." Then Chitragupta, who was disguised as a Bráhman, said, "Why do you neglect Siva, and Vishnu, and the other gods, and devote yourself to Chitragupta?" When the robber Sinhavikrama heard that, he said to him, "What business is that of yours. I do not need any other gods but him." Then Chitragupta, wearing the form of a Bráhman, went on to say to him, "Well, if you will give me your wife, I will say it." When Sinhavikrama heard that, he was pleased, and said to him: "I hereby give you my wife, in order to please the god whom I have specially chosen for my own." When Chitragupta heard that, he revealed himself to him and said, "I am Chitragupta himself, and I am pleased with you, so tell me what I am to do for you."

Then Sinhavikrama was exceedingly pleased and said to him, "Holy one, take such order as that I shall not die." Then Chitragupta said, "Death is one from whom it is impossible to guard people; but still I will devise a plan to save you: listen to it. Ever since Death was consumed by Siva, being angry on account of Sveta, and was created again in this world because he was required, [220] wherever Sveta lives, he abstains from injuring other people, as well as Sveta himself, for he is restrained by the command of the god. And at present the hermit Sveta is on the other side of the eastern ocean, in a grove of ascetics beyond the river Taranginí. That grove cannot be invaded by Death, so I will take you and place you there. But you must not return to this side of the Taranginí. However, if you do return out of carelessness, and Death seizes you, I will devise some way of escape for you, when you have come to the other world."

When Chitragupta had said this, he took the delighted Sinhavikrama, and placed him in that grove of asceticism belonging to Sveta, and then disappeared. And after some time Death went to the hither bank of the river Taranginí, to carry off Sinhavikrama. While there, he created by his delusive power a heavenly nymph, and sent her to him, as he saw no other means of getting hold of him. The fair one went and approached Sinhavikrama, and artfully enslaved him, fascinating him with her wealth of beauty. After some days had passed, she entered the Taranginí, which was disturbed with waves, giving out that she wished to see her relations. And while Sinhavikrama, who had followed her, was looking at her from the bank, she slipped in the middle of the river. And there she uttered a piercing cry, as if she was being carried away by the stream, exclaiming, "My husband, can you see me carried away by the stream without saving me? Are you a jackal in courage, and not a lion as your name denotes?" When Sinhavikrama heard that, he rushed into the river, and the nymph pretended to be swept away by the current, and when he followed her to save her, she soon led him to the other bank. When he reached it, Death threw his noose over his neck, and captured him; for destruction is ever impending over those whose minds are captivated by objects of sense.

Then the careless Sinhavikrama was led off by Death to the hall of Yama, and there Chitragupta, whose favour he had long ago won, saw him, and said to him in private; [221] "If you are asked here, whether you will stay in hell first or in heaven, ask to be allowed to take your period in heaven first. And while you live in heaven, acquire merit, in order to ensure the permanence of your stay there. And then perform severe asceticism, in order to expiate your sin." When Chitragupta said this to Sinhavikrama, who was standing there abashed, with face fixed on the ground, he readily consented to do it.

And a moment afterwards Yama said to Chitragupta, "Has this robber any amount of merit to his credit or not?" Then Chitragupta said, "Indeed he is hospitable, and he bestowed his own wife on a suitor, in order to please his favourite deity; so he has to go to heaven for a day of the gods." When Yama heard this, he said to Sinhavikrama; "Tell me, which will you take first, your happiness or your misery?" Then Sinhavikrama entreated that he might have his happiness first. So Yama ordered his chariot to be brought, and Sinhavikrama mounted it, and went off to heaven, remembering the words of Chitragupta.

There he rigidly observed a vow of bathing in the Ganges of heaven, and of muttering prayers, and remained indifferent to the enjoyments of the place, and so he obtained the privilege of dwelling there for another year of the gods. Thus in course of time he obtained a right to perpetual residence in heaven, by virtue of his severe asceticism, and by propitiating Siva his sin was burnt up, and he obtained knowledge. Then the messengers of hell were not able to look him in the face, and Chitragupta blotted out the record of his sin on his birch-bark register, and Yama was silent.

"Thus Sinhavikrama, though a robber, obtained emancipation by virtue of true discernment; and now I have explained to you the perfection of discernment. And thus, my son, the wise embark on these six perfections taught by Buddha, as on a ship, and so cross the ocean of temporal existence."

While Somasúra was being thus instructed in the forest by king Vinítamati, who had attained the rank of a Bodhisattva, the sun heard these religious lessons, and became subdued, and assuming the hue of sunset as the red robe of a Buddhist, entered the cavern of the western mountain. Then king Vinítamati and Somasúra performed their evening rites, according to pious usage, and spent the night there. And the next day, Vinítamati went on to teach Somasúra the law of Buddha with all its secrets. [222] Then Somasúra built a hut at the foot of a tree, and remained there in the wood, sitting at the feet of that instructor, absorbed in contemplation. And in course of time those two, the teacher and the pupil, attained supernatural powers, the result of abstraction, and gained the highest illumination.

And in the meanwhile, Indukalasa came, out of jealousy, and by the might of his sword and horse ejected his brother Kanakakalasa from the kingdom of Ahichchhatra also, which Vinítamati gave him, when he was afflicted at losing his first kingdom. He, having been deposed from his throne, wandered about with two or three of his ministers, and, as chance would have it, reached the grove, which was the retreat of Vinítamati. And while he was looking for fruits and water, as he suffered from severe hunger and thirst, Indra burnt up the wood by his magic power, and made it as it was before, wishing to entrap Vinítamati by making it impossible for him to shew such hospitality to every wayfarer. [223] And Vinítamati, beholding the grove, which was his retreat, suddenly turned into a desert, roamed about hither and thither for a short time, in a state of bewilderment. And then he saw Kanakalasa, who in the course of his wanderings had come there with his followers, and was now his guest, and he and his train were all on the point of death from hunger. And the hospitable Bodhisattva approached the king, when he was in this state, and asked him his story, and then he exerted his discernment, and said to him, "Though this wood has become a desert, and affords no hospitable entertainment, still I can tell you an expedient for saving your lives in your present state of hunger. Only half a kos from here there is a deer, which has been killed by falling into a hole, go and save your lives by eating its flesh." His guest, who was suffering from hunger, took his advice, and set out for that place with his followers, but the Bodhisattva Vinítamati got there before him. He reached that hole, and by his supernatural power assumed the form of a deer, and then he threw himself into it, and sacrificed his life for the sake of his petitioner. Then Kanakakalasa and his followers slowly reached that hole, and found the deer lying dead in it. So they pulled it out, and made a fire with grass and thorns, and roasted its flesh, and devoured it all. In the meanwhile the Bodhisattva's two wives, the daughter of the Nága and the princess, seeing that the wood of their retreat had been destroyed, and not seeing their husband, were much distressed, and went and told what had happened, to Somasúra, whom they roused from deep meditation. He soon discerned by contemplation what his spiritual teacher had done, and he told the news to his wives, distressing as it was to them. And he quickly went with them to that hole, in which his spiritual guide had sacrificed himself for his guests. There the princess and the Nága's daughter, seeing that only the bones and horns of the deer, into which their husband had turned himself, remained, mourned for him. And the two ladies, who were devoted to their husband, took his horns and bones, and brought a heap of wood from their hermitage, and entered the fire. And then Kanakakalasa and his companions, who were there, being grieved when they heard the story, entered the fire also."

When all this had taken place, Somasúra, unable to endure the grief, which he felt for the loss of his spiritual teacher, took to a bed of darbha-grass with the intention of yielding up his breath. And then Indra appeared to him in person and said to him, "Do not do so, for I did all this to try your spiritual teacher. And I have now sprinkled with amrita the ashes and bones, which were all that remained of him, and his wives, and his guests, and restored them all to life." [224] When Somasúra heard Indra say this, he worshipped him, and rose up delighted, and went and looked, and lo! his spiritual guide the Bodhisattva Vinítamati had risen up again alive, with his wives, and Kanakakalasa, and his attendants. Then he honoured with an inclination of the head, and worshipped with gifts of flowers and respectful speeches, his spiritual father, who had returned from the other world with his wives, and feasted his eyes upon him. And while Kanakakalasa and his followers were respectfully testifying their devotion to him, all the gods came there, headed by Brahmá and Vishnu. And pleased with the goodness of Vinítamati, they all gave him by their divine power boons earned by his disinterestedness, and then disappeared. And Somasúra and the others told their history, and then Vinítamati went with them to another and a heavenly wood of ascetics.

"So you see that in this world even those who are reduced to ashes meet again, much more men who are alive and can go where they will. So, my son, no more of abandoning the body! Go, for you are a brave man, and you shall certainly be re-united with Mrigánkadatta." When I had heard this tale from the old female ascetic, I bowed before her, and set out, sword in hand, with renewed hope, and in course of time I reached this forest, and was, as fate would have it, captured by these Savaras, who were seeking a victim for Durgá. And after wounding me in fight, they bound me, and brought me as a prisoner to this king of the Savaras Máyávatu. Here I have found you, my sovereign, accompanied by two or three of your ministers, and by your favour I am as happy as if I were in my own house.

When Mrigánkadatta, who was in the palace of the Savara prince, had heard this history of the adventures of his friend Gunákara told by himself, he was much pleased, and after he had seen the proper remedies applied to the body of that minister who had been wounded in fight, as the day was advancing, he rose up with his other friends, and performed the duties of the day.

And he remained there for some days engaged in restoring Gunákara to health, though eager to go to Ujjayiní, in order to be re-united with his other friends and to obtain Sasánkavatí. [225]

Chapter LXXIII

Then Gunákara's wounds healed, and he recovered his health, so Mrigánkadatta took leave of his friend the king of the Savaras, and set out from his town on a lucky day for Ujjayiní, to find Sasánkavatí.

But his friend followed him a long way with his retinue, accompanied by his ally Durgapisácha king of the Mátangas, and made a promise to come to his assistance. And as he was going along with his friends Srutadhi, and Vimalabuddhi, and Gunákara, and Bhímaparákrama, and searching for his other friends in that Vindhya forest, it happened that he slept one day on the road with his ministers at the foot of a certain tree. And he suddenly awoke, and got up, and looked about him, and beheld there another man asleep. And when he uncovered his face, he recognised him as his own minister Vichitrakatha, who had arrived there. And Vichitrakatha too woke up, and saw his master Mrigánkadatta, and joyfully embraced his feet. And the prince embraced him, with eyes wide open with delight at seeing him so unexpectedly, and all his ministers woke up and welcomed him. Then all in turn told him their adventures, and asked him to tell his, and Vichitrakatha began to relate his story as follows:

Story of Vichitrakatha's adventures after his separation from the prince.

At that time, when you were dispersed in all directions by the curse of Párávatáksha, I too in my bewilderment wandered about alone for a long time. And after I had roamed far, still unconscious, I suddenly reached in the course of the next day, when I was tired out, a great and heavenly town on the outskirts of the forest. There a godlike being, accompanied by two consorts, beheld me, and had me bathed with cool water, and restored my strength. And he made me enter his city, and carefully fed me with heavenly food, then he ate himself, and those two wives of his ate after him. And after the meal, [226] being refreshed, I said to him, "Who are you, sir, and why have you thus saved the life of me who am resolved on death? For I must certainly abandon the body, as I have lost my master." When I had said this, I told him my whole story. Then that noble and kind being said to me, "I am a Yaksha, these are my wives, and you have come here to-day as my guest, and you know that it is the duty of householders to honour guests to the utmost of their power. I have accordingly welcomed you. But why do you wish to abandon the body? For this separation of yours is due to the curse of a Nága, and will last only a short time. And you will certainly be all re-united, when the curse pronounced on you has spent its force. And reflect, my good man; who is born free from sorrow in this world? Hear what sorrow I have gone through, though I am a Yaksha."

Story of Srídarsana.

There is a city named Trigartá, the garland that adorns the head of this bride the earth, strung with virtues as with flowers. [227] In it there lived a young Bráhman named Pavitradhara, who was himself poor in worldly wealth, but rich in relations, high birth, and other advantages. That high-spirited Bráhman, living in the midst of rich people, reflected,--"Though I live up to the rules of my caste, I do not cut a good figure in the midst of these rich people, like a word without meaning [228] among the words of some splendid poem; and being a man of honour, I cannot have recourse to service or donations. So I will go into some out-of-the-way place and get into my power a Yakshiní, [229] for my spiritual teacher taught me a charm for accomplishing this." Having formed this resolution, the Bráhman Pavitradhara went to the forest, and according to the prescribed method he won for himself a Yakshiní, named Saudáminí. And when he had won her, he lived united with her, like a banyan-tree, that has tided through a severe winter, united to the glory of spring. One day the Yakshiní, seeing her husband Pavitradhara in a state of despondency, because no son had been born to him, thus addressed him, "Do not be despondent, my husband, for a son shall be born to us. And now hear this story which I am about to tell you."

Story of Saudáminí.

There is on the confines of the southern region a range of tamála forests, dark with clouds that obscure the sun, looking like the home of the monsoon. In it dwells a famous Yaksha of the name of Prithúdara, and I am his only daughter, Saudáminí by name. My loving father led me from one mighty mountain to another, and I was for ever amusing myself in heavenly gardens.

And one day, as I was sporting on mount Kailása with my friend Kapisabhrú, I saw a young Yaksha named Attahása. He too, as he stood among his companions, beheld me; and immediately our eyes were mutually attracted by one another's beauty. When my father saw that, and ascertained that the match would be no mésalliance, he summoned Attahása, and arranged our marriage. And after he had fixed an auspicious day, he took me home, but Attahása returned to his home with his friends in high spirits. But the next day my friend Kapisabhrú came to me with a downcast air, and when I questioned her, she was at length induced to say this; "Friend, I must tell you this bad news, though it is a thing which should not be told. As I was coming to-day, I saw your betrothed Attahása in a garden named Chitrasthala, on a plateau of the Himálayas, full of longing for you. And his friends, in order to amuse him, made him in sport king of the Yakshas, and they made his brother Díptasikha personate Nadakúvara his son, and they themselves became his ministers. While your beloved was being solaced in this way by his friends, Nadakúvara, who was roaming at will through the air, saw him. And the son of the king of wealth, being enraged at what he saw, summoned him, and cursed him in the following words; 'Since, though a servant, you desire to pose as a lord, become a mortal, you villain! As you wish to mount, fall!' When he laid this curse on Attahása, he answered despondingly, 'Prince, I foolishly did this to dispel my longing, not through aspiring to any lofty rank, so have mercy upon me.' When Nadakúvara heard this sorrowful speech of his, he ascertained by meditation that the case was so, and said to him by way of fixing an end for the curse, 'You shall become a man, and beget on that Yakshiní, with whom you are in love, your younger brother Díptasikha by way of son, [230] and so you shall be delivered from your curse, and obtain your own rank once more, together with your wife, and this brother of yours shall be born as your son, and after he has reigned on earth, he shall be released from his curse.' When the son of the god of wealth had said this, Attahása disappeared somewhere or other by virtue of the curse. And when I saw that, my friend, I came here to you grieved." When my friend said this to me, I was reduced to a terrible state by grief, and after I had bewailed my lot, I went and told it to my parents, and I spent that time in hope of a re-union with my beloved.

"You are Attahása born again as a Bráhman, and I am that Yakshiní, and we have been thus united here, so we shall soon have a son born to us. When the Bráhman Pavitradhara's wise wife Saudáminí said this to him, he conceived the hope that he would have a son, and was much delighted. And in course of time a son was born to him by that Yakshiní, whose birth cheered up their house and his mind. And when Pavitradhara saw the face of that son, he immediately assumed a celestial shape and became again the Yaksha Attahása. And he said to that Yakshiní, "My dear, our curse is at an end. I have become Attahása as before, come let us return to our own place."

When he said this, his wife said to him, "Think what is to become of the child your brother, who through a curse has been born as your son." When Attahása heard that, he saw what was to be done by means of his powers of contemplation, and said to her; "My dear, there is in this town a Bráhman of the name of Devadarsana. He is poor in children and in wealth, and, though he keeps up five fires, hunger makes two others burn more fiercely, namely, the fire of digestion in his own stomach and in that of his wife. And one day, as he was engaged in asceticism to obtain wealth and a son, the holy god of fire, whom he was propitiating, said to him in a dream, 'You have not a son of your own, but you shall have an adopted son, and by means of him, Bráhman, your poverty shall come to an end.' On account of this revelation of the god of fire, the Bráhman is at the present moment expecting that son, so we must give him this child of ours, for this is the decree of fate." After Attahása had said this to his beloved, he placed the child on the top of a pitcher full of gold, and fastened round its neck a garland of heavenly jewels, and deposited it in the house of that Bráhman at night when he and his wife were asleep, and then went with his beloved to his own place.

Then the Bráhman Devadarsana and his wife woke up, and beheld that young moon of a child glittering with resplendent jewels, and the Bráhman thought in his astonishment, "What can be the meaning of this?" but when he saw the pot of gold, he remembered what the god of fire had told him in his dream, and rejoiced. And he took that young son given him by fate, and that wealth, and in the morning he made a great feast. And on the eleventh day he gave the child the appropriate name of Srídarsana. [231] Then the Bráhman Devadarsana, having become very rich, remained performing his sacrificial and other ceremonies, and enjoying the good things of this world at the same time.

The brave Srídarsana grew up in his father's house, and acquired great skill in the Vedas and other branches of learning, and in the use of weapons. But in course of time, when he had grown up, his father Devadarsana, who had gone on a pilgrimage to sacred bathing-places, died at Prayága. His mother, hearing of that, entered the fire, and then Srídarsana mourned for them, and performed on their behalf the ceremonies enjoined in the sacred treatises. But in course of time his grief diminished, and as he was not married, and had no relations, he became, though well educated, devoted to gambling. And in a short time his wealth was consumed by means of that vice, and he had difficulty in obtaining even food.

One day, after he had remained in the gambling-hall without food for three days, being unable to go out for shame, as he had not got a decent garment to wear, and refusing to eat the food which others gave him, a certain gambler, named Mukharaka, who was a friend of his, said to him, "Why are you so utterly overwhelmed? Do you not know that such is the nature of the sinful vice of gambling? Do you not know that the dice are the sidelong loving looks of the goddess of Ill Luck? Has not Providence ordained for you the usual lot of the gambler? His arms are his only clothing, the dust is his bed, the cross-roads are his house, ruin is his wife. [232] So why do you refuse to take food? Why do you neglect your health, though you are a wise man? For what object of desire is there that a resolute man cannot obtain, as long as he continues alive? Hear in illustration of this truth the following wonderful story of Bhúnandana."

Story of Bhúnandana.

There is here a region named Kasmíra, the ornament of the earth, which the Creator made as a second heaven, after creating the first heaven, for men who have done righteous deeds. The difference between the two is that in heaven delights can only be seen, in Kasmíra they can be actually enjoyed. The two glorious goddesses Srí and Sarasvatí both frequent it, as if they vied with one another, saying--"I have the preëminence here"--"No, it is I."--The Himálaya encircles it with its embrace, as if to prevent Kali, the adversary of virtue, from entering it. The Vitastá adorns it, and repels sin with its waves, as if they were hands, and seems to say, "Depart far from this land which is full of waters sacred to the gods." In it the long lines of lofty palaces, whitened with silvery plaster, imitate the cliffs at the foot of the neighbouring Himálaya. In this land there lived a king, named Bhúnandana, who upheld as a spiritual guide the system of the castes and the prescribed stages of life, learned in science and traditional lore, the moon that delighted his subjects. His valour was displayed in the kingdoms of his foes, on which he left the impress of his nails. He was a politic governor, and his people were ever free from calamity; he was exclusively devoted to Krishna, and the minds of his people took no pleasure in vicious deeds. [233]

Once on a time, on the twelfth day of the month, the king, after duly worshipping Vishnu, saw in a dream a Daitya maiden approach him. When he woke up, he could not see her, and in his astonishment he said to himself, "This is no mere dream; I suspect she is some celestial nymph by whom I have been cajoled." Under this impression he remained thinking of her, and so grieved at being deprived of her society, that gradually he neglected all his duties as a king. Then that king, not seeing any way of recovering her, said to himself; "My brief union with her was due to the favour of Vishnu, so I will go into a solitary place and propitiate Vishnu with a view to recovering her, and I will abandon this clog of a kingdom, which without her is distasteful." After saying this, king Bhúnandana informed his subjects of his resolution, and gave the kingdom to his younger brother named Sunandana.

But after he had resigned the kingdom, he went to a holy bathing-place named Kramasaras; which arose from the footfall of Vishnu, for it was made by him long ago in his Dwarf incarnation. It is attended by the three gods Brahmá, Vishnu, and Siva, who have settled on the top of the neighbouring mountains in the form of peaks. And the foot of Vishnu created here in Kasmíra another Ganges, named Ikshuvatí, as if in emulation of the Vitastá. There the king remained, performing austerities, and pining, without desire for any other enjoyment, like the chátaka in the hot season longing for fresh rainwater.

And after twelve years had passed over his head, while he remained engaged in ascetic practices, a certain ascetic came that way who was a chief of sages: he had yellow matted hair, wore tattered garments, and was surrounded by a band of pupils; and he appeared like Siva himself come down from the top of the hills that overhang that holy bathing-place. As soon as he saw the king, he was filled with love for him, and went up to him, and bowing before him, asked him his history, and then reflected for a moment and said; "King, that Daitya maiden that you love lives in Pátála, so be of good cheer, I will take you to her. For I am a Bráhman named Bhúrivasu, the son of a sacrificing Bráhman of the Dekkan, named Yajuh, and I am a chief among magicians. My father communicated his knowledge to me, and I learnt from a treatise on Pátála the proper charms and ceremonies for propitiating Hátakesána. [234] And I went to Sríparvata and performed a course of asceticism there for propitiating Siva, and Siva, being pleased with it, appeared to me and said to me,

'Go; after you have married a Daitya maiden and enjoyed pleasures in the regions below the earth, you shall return to me; and listen; I will tell you an expedient for obtaining those delights. There are on this earth many openings leading to the lower regions; but there is one great and famous one in Kasmíra made by Maya, by which Ushá the daughter of Bána introduced her lover Aniruddha into the secret pleasure-grounds of the Dánavas, and made him happy there. And Pradyumna, in order to deliver his son, laid it open, making a door in one place with the peak of a mountain, and he placed Durgá there, under the name of Sáriká, to guard that door, after propitiating her with hundreds of praises. Consequently even now the place is called by the two names of Peak of Pradyumna and Hill of Sáriká. So go and enter Pátála with your followers by that famous opening, and by my favour you shall succeed there.'

"When the god had said this, he disappeared, and by his favour I acquired all knowledge at once, and now I have come to this land of Kasmíra. So come with us, king, to that seat of Sáriká, in order that I may conduct you to Pátála, to the maid that you love." When the ascetic had said this to king Bhúnandana, the latter consented and went with him to that seat of Sáriká. There he bathed in the Vitastá, and worshipped Ganesa, and honoured the goddess Sáriká, and performed the ceremony of averting evil spirits from all quarters by waving the hand round the head, [235] and other ceremonies. And then the great ascetic, triumphing by the favour of the boon of Siva, revealed the opening by scattering mustard-seeds in the prescribed manner, and the king entered with him and his pupils, and marched along the road to Pátála for five days and five nights. [236] And on the sixth day they all crossed the Ganges of the lower regions, and they beheld a heavenly grove on a silver plain. It had splendid coral, camphor, sandal, and aloes trees, and was perfumed with the fragrance of large full-blown golden lotuses. And in the middle of it they saw a lofty temple of Siva. It was of vast extent, adorned with stairs of jewels; its walls were of gold, it glittered with many pillars of precious stone; and the spacious translucent body of the edifice was built of blocks of the moon-gem.

Then king Bhúnandana and the pupils of that ascetic, who possessed supernatural insight, were cheered, and he said to them, "This is the dwelling of the god Siva, who inhabits the lower regions in the form of Hátakesvara, and whose praises are sung in the three worlds, so worship him." Then they all bathed in the Ganges of the lower regions, and worshipped Siva with various flowers, the growth of Pátála. And after the brief refreshment of worshipping Siva, they went on and reached a splendid lofty jambu-tree, the fruits of which were ripe and falling on the ground. And when the ascetic saw it, he said to them; "You must not eat the fruits of this tree, for, if eaten, they will impede the success of what you have in hand." In spite of his prohibition one of his pupils, impelled by hunger, ate a fruit of the tree, and, as soon as he had eaten it, he became rigid and motionless. [237]

Then the other pupils, seeing that, were terrified, and no longer felt any desire to eat the fruit; and that ascetic, accompanied by them and king Bhúnandana, went on only a cos further, and beheld a lofty golden wall rising before them, with a gate composed of a precious gem. On the two sides of the gate they saw two rams with bodies of iron, ready to strike with their horns, put there to prevent any one from entering. But the ascetic suddenly struck them a blow on their heads with a charmed wand, and drove them off somewhere, as if they had been struck by a thunderbolt. Then he and his pupils and that king entered by that gate, and beheld splendid palaces of gold and gems. And at the door of every one they beheld warders terrible with many teeth and tusks, [238] with iron maces in their hands. And then they all sat down there under a tree, while the ascetic entered into a mystic contemplation to avert evil. And by means of that contemplation all those terrible warders were compelled to flee from all the doors, and disappeared.

And immediately there issued from those doors lovely women with heavenly ornaments and dresses, who were the attendants of those Daitya maidens. They approached separately all there present, the ascetic among them, and invited them in the name of their mistresses into their respective palaces. And the ascetic, having now succeeded in his enterprise, said to all the others,--"You must none of you disobey the command of your beloved after entering her palace." Then he entered with a few of those attendants a splendid palace, and obtained a lovely Daitya maiden and the happiness he desired. And the others singly were introduced into magnificent palaces by other of the attendants, and were blessed with the love of Daitya maidens.

And the king Bhúnandana was then conducted by one of the attendants, who bowed respectfully to him, to a palace built of gems outside the wall. Its walls of precious stone were, so to speak, adorned all round with living pictures, on account of the reflections on them of the lovely waiting-women. It was built on a platform of smooth sapphire, and so it appeared as if it had ascended to the vault of heaven, in order to outdo a sky-going chariot. [239] It seemed like the house of the Vrishnis, [240] made rich by means of the power of Vishnu. In it sported fair ones wild with intoxication, and it was full of the charming grace of Cupid. Even a flower, that cannot bear the wind and the heat, would in vain attempt to rival the delicacy of the bodies of the ladies in that palace. It resounded with heavenly music, and when the king entered it, he beheld once more that beautiful Asura maiden, whom he had seen in a dream. Her beauty illuminated the lower world which has not the light of the sun or the stars, and made the creation of sparkling jewels and other lustrous things, an unnecessary proceeding on the part of the Creator. [241]

The king gazed with tears of joy on that indescribably beautiful lady, and, so to speak, washed off from his eyes the pollution, which they had contracted by looking at others. And that girl, named Kumudiní, who was being praised by the songs of female attendants, [242] felt indescribable joy when she saw the prince. She rose up, and took him by the hand and said to him, "I have caused you much suffering," and then with all politeness she conducted him to a seat. And after he had rested a little while, he bathed, and the Asura maiden had him adorned with robes and jewels, and led him out to the garden to drink. Then she sat down with him on the brink of a tank filled with wine, and with the blood and fat of corpses, that hung from trees on its banks, and she offered that king a goblet, full of that fat and wine, to drink, but he would not accept the loathsome compound. And she kept earnestly saying to the king: "You will not prosper if you reject my beverage." But he answered, "I certainly will not drink that undrinkable compound, whatever may happen." Then she emptied the goblet on his head and departed; and the king's eyes and mouth were suddenly closed, and her maids took him and flung him into the water of another tank.

And the moment he was thrown into the water, he found himself once more in the grove of ascetics, near the holy bathing-place of Kramasaras, where he was before. [243] And when he saw the mountain there, as it were, laughing at him with its snows, [244] the disappointed king, despondent, astonished, and bewildered, reflected as follows: "What a difference there is between the garden of the Daitya maiden and this mountain of Kramasaras. Ah! what is this strange event? Is it an illusion or a wandering of the mind? But what other explanation can there be than this, that undoubtedly this has befallen me, because, though I heard the warning of the ascetic, I disobeyed the injunction of that fair one. And after all the beverage was not loathsome; she was only making trial of me; for the liquor, which fell upon my head, has bestowed on it heavenly fragrance. So it is indubitable that, in the case of the unfortunate, even great hardships endured bring no reward, for Destiny is opposed to them." While king Bhúnandana was engaged in these reflections, bees came and surrounded him on account of the fragrant perfume of his body, that had been sprinkled with the liquor offered by the Asura maiden. When those bees stung the king, he thought to himself, "Alas! so far from my toils having produced the desired fruit, they have produced disagreeable results, as the raising of a Vetála does to a man of little courage." [245] Then he became so distracted that he resolved on suicide.

And it happened that, at that very time, there came a young hermit that way, who, finding the king in this state, and being of a merciful disposition, went up to him and quickly drove away the bees, and after asking him his story, said to him--"King, as long as we retain this body, how can woes come to an end? So the wise should always pursue without distraction the great object of human existence. And until you perceive that Vishnu, Siva, and Brahmá are really one, you will always find the successes, that are gained by worshipping them separately, short-lived and uncertain. So meditate on Brahmá, Vishnu, and Siva, in the light of their unity, and patiently perform asceticism here for another twelve years. Then you shall obtain that beloved, and eventually everlasting salvation; and observe, you have already attained a body possessing heavenly fragrance. Now receive from me this skin of a black antelope, to which a charm is attached, and if you wrap yourself up in it, you will not be annoyed here by bees." When the hermit had said this, he gave him the deer-skin and the charm, and departed; and the king accepted his advice, and taking to himself patience, so lived in that place. And after the king had lived there twelve years, and propitiated Siva by penance, that Daitya maiden, named Kumudiní, came to him of her own accord. And the king went with that beloved to Pátála, and after he had lived with her a long time in happiness, he attained salvation.

"So those fortunate ones, whose characters are free from perturbation, and who betake themselves to patient endurance, obtain again their own rank, though they may have fallen far from it. [246] And since you, Srídarsana, are a man fated to be prosperous, being covered with auspicious marks, why do you, out of perturbation, allow yourself to go without food?" When Srídarsana, who was fasting, was thus addressed in the gambling-hall by his friend Mukharaka, he said to him, "What you say, is true, but being a man of good family, I cannot for shame go out into this town, as I am reduced so low by gambling. So if you will permit me, my friend, to go to some other country this very night, I will take food." When Mukharaka heard that, he consented, and brought food and gave it to him, and he ate it. And after Srídarsana had eaten it, he set out for another country with that friend of his, who followed him out of affection.

And as he was going along the road at night, it happened that the two Yakshas, Attahása and Saudáminí, his father and mother, who had deposited him, as soon as he was born, in the house of the Bráhman, saw him while they were roaming through the air. When they saw him in distress, impoverished by the vice of gambling, and on his way to a foreign country, affection made them say to him, while still remaining invisible, the following words; "Srídarsana, your mother, the wife of Devadarsana, buried in her house some jewels. Take those, and do not omit to go with them to Málava, for there is a magnificent prince there of the name of Srísena. And since he was much afflicted in his youth by miseries arising from gambling, he has made a large and glorious asylum for gamblers. There gamblers live, and are fed with whatever food they desire. So go there, darling, and you shall be prosperous."

When Srídarsana heard this speech from heaven, he went back to his house with his friend, and found those ornaments in it, in a hole in the ground. Then he set out delighted for Málava, with his friend, thinking that the gods had shewn him favour. So in that night and the succeeding day he went a long distance, and the next evening he reached with his friend a village named Bahusasya. And being weary, he sat down with his friend on the bank of a translucent lake, not far from that village. While he remained for a brief period on the bank of that lake, after washing his feet and drinking water, there came there a certain maiden, matchless in beauty, to fetch water. Her body resembled a blue lotus in colour, and she seemed like Rati left alone, and blackened by the smoke from the body of the god of Love, when he had just been consumed by Siva. Srídarsana was delighted to behold her, and she went up to him, and looked at him with an eye full of love, and said to him and his friend, "Worthy sirs, why have you come hither to your death? Why, through ignorance, have you fallen like moths into burning fire?" When Mukharaka heard this, he said to the maiden, without the least trepidation, "Who are you? And what is the meaning of what you say? Tell us." Then she said, "Listen both of you! I will tell you the whole story in few words.

"There is a large and famous royal grant to Bráhmans, named Sughosha. In it there dwelt a Bráhman named Padmagarbha, who possessed a thorough knowledge of the Vedas. He had a wife of very good family, named Sasikalá. And the Bráhman had two children by that wife, a son of the name of Mukharakha, and myself a daughter of the name of Padmishthá. My brother Mukharaka was ruined by the vice of gambling in early youth, and left his home and went off to some other country. My mother died of grief on that account, and my father, afflicted with two sorrows, abandoned the state of a householder. And he roamed about from place to place, with no other companion than myself, to look for that son, and, as it happened, he reached this village. Now in this village there lives a great bandit, the chief of a gang of robbers, called Vasubhúti, a Bráhman only by name. When my father arrived here, that ruffian, with the help of his servants, killed him, and took away the gold that he had about his person. And he made me a prisoner and carried me off to his house, and he has made arrangements to give me in marriage to his son Subhúti. But his son has gone off somewhere to plunder a caravan, and, owing to my good fortune, the result of good deeds in a former birth, he has not yet returned; now it remains for Destiny to dispose of me. But, if this bandit were to see you, he would certainly do you some violence: so think of some artifice by which you may escape him."

When the maiden said this, Mukharaka recognized her, and at once clasping her round the neck, said to her, "Alas, my sister Padmishthá! I am that very brother of yours Mukharaka, the murderer of his relations. Alas! wretched that I am, I am ruined." When Padmishthá heard this, and saw her elder brother, pity caused her to be, as it were, suddenly encircled with all sorrows. Then Srídarsana comforted the brother and sister, who were lamenting their parents, and addressed a timely admonition and encouragement to them. He said, "This is not the time for lamentation, we must now save our lives even at the cost of our wealth, and by means of it we must protect ourselves against this bandit." When Srídarsana said this, they checked their grief with self-control, and all three agreed together what each was to do.

Then Srídarsana, being thin by reason of his former fasts, flung himself down on the bank of that tank, and pretended to be ill. And Mukharaka remained holding his feet and weeping: but Padmishthá immediately repaired to that bandit chief, and said, "A traveller has arrived, and is lying ill on the border of the tank, and there is another there who is his servant." When the bandit chief heard that, he sent some of his followers there. They went, and seeing the two men as had been described, asked Mukharaka why he wept so much for his companion. When Mukharaka heard this, he said with affected sorrow, "This Bráhman, who is my elder brother, left his native land to visit holy bathing-places, but was attacked by disease, and slowly travelling along he has arrived here, accompanied by me. And the moment he got here, he became incapable of movement, and he said to me, 'Rise up, my dear brother, and quickly prepare for me a bed of darbha-grass. And fetch me some virtuous Bráhman from this village. On him I will bestow all my wealth, for I cannot live through this night.' When he said this to me in this foreign country after sunset, I felt quite puzzled as to what I ought to do, and, being afflicted, I had recourse to weeping. So bring here some Bráhman while he is alive, in order that he may bestow on him with his own hand whatever wealth we possess. For he will certainly not live through the night, and I shall not be able to survive the sorrow of his loss, so to-morrow I shall enter the fire. So do for us this which we ask, since we have met with you here as compassionate men and friends without any cause."

When the bandits heard that, pity arose in their minds, and they went and told the story, exactly as they had heard it, to their master Vasubhúti, and went on to say, "So come and receive, as a pious gift, from this Bráhman, who is eager to bestow it on you, the wealth which ordinarily is to be obtained only by killing its possessor." When they said this to Vasubhúti, he said, "What course is this which you suggest? It is highly impolitic for us to take wealth without killing its possessor, for, if he is deprived of his wealth, without being killed, he will certainly do us an injury." When the villain said this, those servants answered him, "What is there to fear in this? There is some difference between taking wealth by force, and receiving it as a pious gift from a dying man. Besides, to-morrow morning we will kill those two Bráhmans, if they are still alive. Otherwise, what is the use of incurring needlessly the guilt of killing a Bráhman?" When Vasubhúti heard this, he consented, and in the night he came to Srídarsana to receive his pious gift, and Srídarsana concealed a part of his mother's ornaments, and gave him the rest, assuming a faltering voice. Then the bandit, having got what he wanted, returned home with his followers.

Then Padmishthá came at night to Srídarsana and Mukharaka, while the bandits were asleep. Then they quickly deliberated together, and set off at once from that place for Málava by a path not frequented by the robbers. And during that night they went a long distance, and reached a wood that seemed to be afraid of the roaring lions, tigers, and other wild beasts within it. It seemed by its thorns to be in a state of perpetual horripilation, and by its roaming black antelopes to be rolling its eyes. The dry creepers shewed that its body was dried up from fear, and the shrill whistling of the loose bark was its screams of terror. And while they were journeying through that forest, the sun, that had observed their sufferings all day, withdrew its light, as if in compassion, and set. Then they sat down weary and hungry at the foot of a tree, and in the early part of the night they saw in the distance a light, as of fire. And Srídarsana said, "Can there possibly be a village here? I will go and look." So he went in the direction of the light. And when he reached it, and looked at it, lo! it was a great palace built of jewels, and its splendour produced that light as of fire. [247] And he saw inside it a Yakshiní of heavenly beauty, surrounded by many Yakshas, with feet turned the wrong way and squinting eyes. And the brave man, seeing that they had brought there all kinds of meat and drink, went up to the Yakshiní, and asked her to give him his share as a guest. And she was pleased with his courage and gave him what he asked for, enough food and water to satisfy himself and his two companions. The refreshment was placed on the back of a Yaksha ordered off by her for that duty, and Srídarsana returned with it to his friend and Padmishthá. And then he dismissed the Yaksha, and partook there with them of all that splendid food of various kinds, and drank pure cold water. Then Mukharaka was pleased, perceiving that he must be an incarnation of a divinity, as he was so rich in courage and might, and, desiring his own prosperity, he said to him, "You are some incarnation of a divinity, and this sister of mine Padmishthá is the greatest beauty in the world, so I now give her to you as a wife meet for you." When Srídarsana heard that, he was delighted, and said to his friend, "I accept with joy this offer of yours which I have long desired. But when I reach my goal I will marry her in proper form." This he said to those two, and then passed the night in a joyful state of mind. And the next morning they all set out from that place, and reached in due course the city of that king Srísena, the sovereign of Málava. And arriving tired, they immediately entered the house of an old Bráhman woman to rest. And in the course of conversation they told her their story and their names, and then they saw that the old woman was much disturbed, and when they questioned her, she said to them:

"I am the well-born wife of a Bráhman here, named Satyavrata, who was a servant of the king's, and my name is Yasasvatí. And after my husband died, the compassionate king gave me the fourth part of his salary to live upon, as I had not a son to support me. But now this moon of kings, though his virtues are great, and though he is generous enough to give away the whole world, has been seized by a consumption [248] which the physicians cannot cure. And the drugs and charms of those skilled in such things do not prevail against it; but a certain enchanter made this promise in his presence, 'If I could only get a hero, equal to the task, to help me, I would certainly put an end to this illness by getting a Vetála into my power.' Then proclamation was made by beat of drum, but no such hero was found. Then the king gave the following order to his ministers; 'You must look out for some daring gambler, who comes to reside in the great and well-known asylum, which I built for such. For gamblers are reckless, abandoning wife and relations, fearless, sleeping at the foot of trees and in other exposed places, like ascetics.' When the king gave this order to his ministers, they instructed to this effect the superintendent of the asylum, and he is now on the lookout for some brave man who may come there to reside awhile. Now you are gamblers, and if you, Srídarsana, feel able to accomplish the undertaking, I will take you to-day to that asylum. And you will be well treated by the king, and you will confer a benefit on me, for grief is killing me."

When the old lady said this, Srídarsana answered her, "Agreed! I am able to accomplish this, so lead me quickly to that asylum." When she heard this, she took him, and Padmishthá, and Mukharaka, to that asylum, and there said to the superintendent, "Here is a Bráhman gambler arrived from a foreign land, a hero who is able to assist that enchanter in performing incantations for the good of the king." When the superintendent heard this, he questioned Srídarsana, and when he confirmed the words of the old lady, he treated him with great respect, and led him quickly into the presence of the king.

And Srídarsana, being introduced by him, beheld the king, who was thin and pale as the new moon. And the king Srísena observed that Srídarsana, who bowed before him and sat down, was of a taking appearance, and pleased with his look, he felt comforted, and said to him, "I know that your exertions will certainly put an end to my disease; my body tells me this, for the mere sight of you has quieted its sufferings. So aid the enchanter in this matter." When the king said this, Srídarsana said to him "The enterprise is a mere trifle." Then the king summoned the enchanter and said to him, "This hero will aid you; do what you said." When that enchanter heard that, he said to Srídarsana,

"My good sir, if you are able to assist me in raising a Vetála, come to me in the cemetery at night-fall this very day, the fourteenth of the black fortnight." When the ascetic, who practised magic, had said this, he went away, and Srídarsana took leave of the king and returned to that asylum.

There he took food with Padmishthá and Mukharaka, and at night he went alone, sword in hand, to the cemetery. It was full of many ghosts, empty of men, inauspicious, full of roaring jackals, covered with impenetrable darkness, but shewed in some places a faint gleam where the funeral pyres were. [249] The hero Srídarsana wandered about in that place of horrors and saw the enchanter in the middle of it. His whole body was smeared with ashes, he had a Bráhmanical thread of hair, he wore a turban made of the clothes of the dead, and he was clad in a black garment. Srídarsana approached him, and made himself known to him, and then girding up his loins, he said, "Tell me, what shall I do for you?" The enchanter answered in high spirits, "Half a cos only to the west of this place there is an Asoka tree, the leaves of which are burnt with the hot flame of funeral pyres. At the foot of it there is a corpse, go and bring it here unharmed."

Then Srídarsana said, "I will," and going quickly to the place he saw some one else taking away the corpse. So he ran and tried to drag it from the shoulder of that person, who would not let it go, and said to him,--"Let go this corpse: where are you taking my friend whom I have to burn?" Then that second person said to Srídarsana, "I will not let the dead man go; I am his friend; what have you to do with him?" While they were dragging the corpse from one another's shoulders, and making these mutual recriminations, the corpse itself, which was animated by a Vetála, uttered a terrible shriek. That terrified the second person so that his heart broke, and he fell down dead, and then Srídarsana went off with that corpse in his arms. Then the second man, though dead, rose up, being possessed by a Vetála, and tried to stop Srídarsana, and said to him, "Halt! do not go off with my friend on your shoulder." Then Srídarsana, knowing that his rival was possessed by a Vetála, said to him, "What proof is there that you are his friend? He is my friend." The rival then said, "The corpse itself shall decide between us." Then Srídarsana, said, "Well! let him declare who is his friend." Then the corpse, that was on his back, being possessed by a Vetála, said, "I am hungry, so I decide that whoever gives me food is my friend; let him take me where he likes." When the second corpse, that was also possessed by a Vetála, heard this, he answered,--"I have no food; if he has any, let him give you some." Srídarsana, hearing this, said, "I will give him food," and proceeded to strike with his sword at the second corpse, in order to procure food for the Vetála that was on his shoulder. [250] But that second corpse, which was also possessed by a Vetála, the moment he began to strike it, disappeared by its supernatural power.

Then the Vetála, that was on Srídarsana's shoulder, said to him, "Now give me the food that you promised me." So Srídarsana, not being able to obtain any other flesh to give him to eat, cut off with his sword some of his own flesh, and gave it to him. This pleased the Vetála, and he said to him, "I am satisfied with you, brave man, let your body be restored whole as before. Now take me off; this enterprise of yours shall succeed, but that ascetic enchanter shall be destroyed, for he is a great coward." When Srídarsana was thus addressed by the Vetála, he immediately became whole as before, and taking the corpse he handed it to that magician. And he received it joyfully, and honoured it with unguents and garlands of blood, and he placed the corpse, possessed by the Vetála, on its back in a great circle marked out with powdered human bones, in the corners of which were placed pitchers of blood, and which was lighted up with lamps fed by oil from the human body. And he sat on the breast of the corpse, and holding in his hand a ladle and spoon of human bone, he began to make an oblation of clarified butter in its mouth. Immediately such a flame issued from the mouth of that corpse possessed by the Vetála, that the sorcerer rose up in terror and fled. When he thus lost his presence of mind, and dropped his spoon and ladle; the Vetála pursued him, and opening his mouth swallowed him whole. [251]

When Srídarsana saw that, he lifted up his sword and attacked the Vetála, but the Vetála said to him, "Srídarsana, I am pleased with this courage of yours, so take these mustard-seeds produced in my mouth. If you place these on the head and hands of the king, the malady of consumption will immediately leave him, and you in a short time will become the king of the whole earth." When Srídarsana heard this, he said, "How can I leave this place without that sorcerer? The king is sure to say that I killed him out of a selfish regard to my own interests." When Srídarsana said this to the Vetála, he answered, "I will tell you a convincing proof, which will clear you. Cut open the body of this corpse, and shew inside it this sorcerer dead, whom I have swallowed." When the Vetála had said this, he gave him the mustard-seeds, and went off somewhere or other, leaving that corpse, and the corpse fell on the ground.

Then Srídarsana went off, taking with him the mustard-seeds, and he spent that night in the asylum in which his friend was. And the next morning he went to the king, and told him what had happened in the night, and took and shewed to the ministers that sorcerer in the stomach of the corpse. Then he placed the mustard-seeds on the head and the hand of the king, and that made the king quite well, as all his sickness at once left him. Then the king was pleased, and, as he had no son, he adopted as his son Srídarsana, who had saved his life. And he immediately anointed that hero crown-prince; for the seed of benefits, sown in good soil, produces abundant fruit. Then the fortunate Srídarsana married there that Padmishthá, who seemed like the goddess of Fortune that had come to him in reward for his former courting of her, and the hero remained there in the company of her brother Mukharaka, enjoying pleasures and ruling the earth.

One day a great merchant, named Upendrasakti, found an image of Ganesa, carved out of a jewel, on the border of a tank, and brought it and gave it to that prince. The prince, seeing that it was of priceless value, out of his fervent piety, set it up in a very splendid manner in a temple. And he appointed a thousand villages there for the permanent support of the temple, and he ordained in honour of the idol a festive procession, at which all Málava assembled. And Ganesa, being pleased with the numerous dances, songs, and instrumental performances in his honour, said to the Ganas at night, "By my favour this Srídarsana shall be a universal emperor on the earth. Now there is an island named Hansadvípa in the western sea; and in it is a king named Anangodaya, and he has a lovely daughter named Anangamanjarí. And that daughter of his, being devoted to me, always offers to me this petition after she has worshipped me, "Holy one, give me a husband who shall be the lord of the whole earth." So I will marry her to this Srídarsana, and thus I shall have bestowed on both the meet reward of their devotion to me. So you must take Srídarsana there, and after you have contrived that they should see one another, bring him back quickly; and in course of time they shall be united in due form; but it cannot be done immediately, for such is the will of destiny. Moreover I have determined by these means to recompense Upendrasakti, the merchant, who brought my image to the prince."

The Ganas, having received this order from Ganesa, took Srídarsana that very night, while he was asleep, and carried him to Hansadvípa by their supernatural power. And there they introduced him into the chamber of Anangamanjarí, and placed him on the bed on which that princess was lying asleep. Srídarsana immediately woke up, and saw Anangamanjarí. She was reclining on a bed covered with a coverlet of pure white woven silk, in a splendid chamber in which flashed jewel-lamps, and which was illuminated by the numerous priceless gems of the canopy and other furniture, and the floor of which was dark with the rájávarta stone. As she lay there pouring forth rays of beauty like the lovely effluence of a stream of nectar, she seemed like the orb of the autumn moon lapped in a fragment of a white cloud, in a sky adorned with a host of bright twinkling stars, gladdening the eyes. Immediately he was delighted, astonished, and bewildered, and he said to himself, "I went to sleep at home and I have woke up in a very different place. What does all this mean? Who is this woman? Surely it is a dream! Very well, let it be so. But I will wake up this lady and find out." After these reflections he gently nudged Anangamanjarí on the shoulder with his hand. And the touch of his hand made her immediately awake and roll her eyes, as the kumudvatí opens under the rays of the moon, and the bees begin to circle in its cup. When she saw him, she reflected for a moment, "Who can this being of celestial appearance be? Surely he must be some god that has penetrated into this well-guarded room?" So she rose up, and asked him earnestly and respectfully who he was, and how and why he had entered there. Then he told his story, and the fair one, when questioned by him, told him in turn her country, name, and descent. Then they both fell in love with one another, and each ceased to believe that the other was an object seen in a dream, and in order to make certain, they exchanged ornaments.

Then they both became eager for the Gándharva form of marriage, but the Ganas stupefied them, and laid them to sleep. And, as soon as Srídarsana fell asleep, they took him and carried him back to his own palace, cheated by Destiny of his desire. Then Srídarsana woke up in his own palace, and seeing himself decked with the ornaments of a lady, he thought, "What does this mean? At one moment I am in that heavenly palace with the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa, at another moment I am here. It cannot be a dream, for here are these ornaments of hers on my wrist, so it must be some strange freak of Destiny." While he was engaged in these speculations, his wife Padmishthá woke up, and questioned him, and the kind woman comforted him, and so he passed the night. And the next morning he told the whole story to Srísena, before whom he appeared wearing the ornaments marked with the name of Anangamanjarí. And the king, wishing to please him, had a proclamation made by beat of drum, to find out where Hansadvípa was, but could not find out from any one the road to that country. Then Srídarsana, separated from Anangamanjarí, remained overpowered by the fever of love, averse to all enjoyment. He could not like his food while he gazed on her ornaments, necklace and all, and he abandoned sleep, having ceased to behold within reach the lotus of her face. [252]

In the meanwhile the princess Anangamanjarí, in Hansadvípa, was awakened in the morning by the sound of music. When she remembered what had taken place in the night, and saw her body adorned with Srídarsana's ornaments, longing love made her melancholy. And she reflected, "Alas I am brought into a state, in which my life is in danger, by these ornaments, which prove that I cannot have been deluded by a dream, and fill me with love for an unattainable object." While she was engaged in these reflections, her father Anangodaya suddenly entered, and saw her wearing the ornaments of a man. The king, who was very fond of her, when he saw her covering her body with her clothes, and downcast with shame, took her on his lap and said to her, "My daughter, what is the meaning of these masculine decorations, and why this shame? Tell me. Do not shew a want of confidence in me, for my life hangs on you." These and other kind speeches of her father's allayed her feeling of shame, and she told him at last the whole story.

Then her father, thinking that it was a piece of supernatural enchantment, felt great doubt as to what steps he ought to take. So he went and asked an ascetic of the name of Brahmasoma, who possessed superhuman powers, and observed the rule of the Pásupatas, and who was a great friend of his, for his advice. The ascetic by his powers of contemplation penetrated the mystery, and said to the king; "The truth is that the Ganas brought here prince Srídarsana from Málava, for Ganesa is favourably disposed both to him and your daughter, and by his favour he shall become a universal monarch. So he is a capital match for your daughter." When that gifted seer said this, the king bowed and said to him,--"Holy seer, Málava is far away from this great land of Hansadvípa. The road is a difficult one, and this matter does not admit of delay. So in this matter your ever propitious self is my only stay."

When the ascetic, who was so kind to his admirers, had been thus entreated by the king, he said, "I myself will accomplish this," and he immediately disappeared. And he reached in a moment the city of king Srísena in Málava. There he entered the very temple built by Srídarsana, and after bowing before Ganesa, he sat down and began to praise him, saying "Hail to thee of auspicious form, whose head is crowned with a garland of stars, so that thou art like the peak of mount Meru! I adore thy trunk flung up straight in the joy of the dance, so as to sweep the clouds, like a column supporting the edifice of the three worlds. Destroyer of obstacles, I worship thy snake-adorned body, swelling out into a broad pitcher-like belly, the treasure-house of all success." While the ascetic was engaged in offering these praises to Ganesa in the temple, it happened that the son of the merchant-prince Upendrasakti, who brought his image, entered the temple as he was roaming about. His name was Mahendrasakti, and he had been rendered uncontrollable by long and violent madness, so he rushed forward to seize the ascetic. Then the ascetic struck him with his hand. The merchant's son, as soon as he was struck by the charm-bearing hand of that ascetic, was freed from madness and recovered his reason. And, as he was naked, he felt shame, and left the temple immediately, and covering himself with his hand, he made for his home. Immediately his father Upendrasakti, hearing of it from the people, met him full of joy and led him to his house. There he had him bathed, and properly clothed and adorned, and then he went with him to the ascetic Brahmasoma. And he offered him much wealth as the restorer of his son, but the ascetic, as he possessed godlike power, would not receive it.

In the meanwhile king Srísena himself, having heard what had taken place, reverently approached the ascetic, accompanied by Srídarsana. And the king bowed before him, and praised him, and said, "Owing to your coming, this merchant has received a benefit, by having his son restored to health, so do me a benefit also by ensuring the welfare of this son of mine Srídarsana." When the king craved this boon of the ascetic, he smiled and said, "King, why should I do anything to please this thief, who stole at night the heart and the ornaments of the princess Anangamanjarí in Hansadvípa, and returned here with them? Nevertheless I must obey your orders." With these words the ascetic seized Srídarsana by the fore-arm, and disappeared with him. He took him to Hansadvípa, and introduced him into the palace of king Anangodaya, with his daughter's ornaments on him. When Srídarsana arrived, the king welcomed him gladly, but first he threw himself at the feet of the ascetic and blessed him. And on an auspicious day he gave Srídarsana his daughter Anangamanjarí, as if she were the earth garlanded with countless jewels. And then by the power of that ascetic he sent his son-in-law, with his wife, to Málava. And when Srídarsana arrived there, the king welcomed him gladly, and he lived there in happiness with his two wives.

In course of time king Srísena went to the next world, and that hero took his kingdom and conquered the whole earth. And when he had attained universal dominion, he had two sons by his two wives Padmishthá and Anangamanjarí. And to one of them the king gave the name of Padmasena, and to the other of Anangasena, and he reared them up to manhood.

And in course of time king Srídarsana, as he was sitting inside the palace with his two queens, heard a Bráhman lamenting outside. So he had the Bráhman brought inside, and asked him why he lamented. Then the Bráhman shewed great perturbation and said to him; "The fire that had points of burning flame (Díptasikhu) has been now destroyed by a dark cloud of calamity, discharging a loud laugh (Attahása), together with its line of brightness and line of smoke (Jyotirlekhá and Dhúmalekhá)." [253] The moment the Bráhman had said this, he disappeared. And while the king was saying in his astonishment, "What did he say, and where has he gone," the two queens, weeping copiously, suddenly fell dead.

When the king saw that sudden calamity, terrible as the stroke of a thunderbolt, he exclaimed in his grief, "Alas! Alas! what means this?" and fell on the ground wailing. And when he fell, his attendants picked him up, and carried him to another place, and Mukharaka took the bodies of the queens, and performed the ceremony of burning them. At last the king came to his senses, and after mourning long for the queens, he completed out of affection their funeral ceremonies. And after he had spent a day darkened by a storm of tears, he divided the empire of the earth between his two sons. Then, having conceived the design of renouncing the world, he left his city, and turning back his subjects who followed him, he went to the forest to perform austerities.

There he lived on roots and fruits, and one day, as he was wandering about at will, he came near a banyan-tree. As soon as he came near it, two women of celestial appearance suddenly issued from it with roots and fruits in their hands, and they said to him, "King, take these roots and fruits which we offer." When he heard that, he said, "Tell me now who you are." Then those women of heavenly appearance said to him, "Well come into our house and we will tell you the truth." When he heard that, he consented, and entering with them, he saw inside the tree a splendid golden city. There he rested and ate heavenly fruits, and then those women said to him, "Now, king, hear."

"Long ago there dwelt in Pratishthána a Bráhman, of the name of Kamalagarbha, and he had two wives, the name of the one was Pathyá, and the name of the other Abalá. Now in course of time all three, the husband and the wives, were worn out with old age, and at last they entered the fire together, being attached to one another. And at that time they put up a petition to Siva from the fire, 'May we be connected together as husband and wives in all our future lives!' Then Kamalagarbha, owing to the power of his severe penances, was born in the Yaksha race as Díptasikha, the son of the Yaksha Pradíptáksha, and the younger brother of Attahása. His wives too, Pathyá and Abalá, were born as Yaksha maidens, that is to say, as the two daughters of the king of the Yakshas named Dhúmaketu, and the name of the one was Jyotirlekhá, and the name of the other Dhúmalekhá.

"Now in course of time those two sisters grew up, and they went to the forest to perform asceticism, and they propitiated Siva with the view of obtaining husbands. The god was pleased and he appeared to them and said to them, 'That man with whom you entered the fire in a former birth, and who you asked might be your husband in all subsequent births, was born again as a Yaksha named Díptasikha, the brother of Attahása, but he has become a mortal owing to the curse of his master, and has been born as a man named Srídarsana, so you too must go to the world of men and be his wives there, but as soon as the curse terminates, you shall all become Yakshas, husband and wives together.' When Siva said this, those two Yaksha maidens were born on the earth as Padmishthá and Anangamanjarí. They became the wives of Srídarsana, and after they had been his wives for some time, that Attahása, as fate would have it, came there in the form of a Bráhman, and by the device of employing an ambiguous speech, he managed to utter their names and remind them of their former existence, and this made them abandon that body and become Yakshinís. "Know that we are those wives of yours, and you are that Díptasikha." When Srídarsana had been thus addressed by them, he remembered his former birth, and immediately became the Yaksha Díptasikha, and was again duly united to those two wives of his.

"Know therefore, Vichitrakatha, that I am that Yaksha, and that these wives of mine are Jyotirlekhá and Dhúmalekhá. So, if creatures of godlike descent, like myself, have to endure such alternations of joy and sorrow, much more then must mortals. But do not be despondent, my son, for in a short time you shall be reunited to your master Mrigánkadatta. And I remained here to entertain you, for this is my earthly dwelling, so stay here, I will accomplish your desire. Then I will go to my own home in Kailása." When the Yaksha had in these words told me his story, he entertained me for some time. And the kind being, knowing that you had arrived here at night, brought me and laid me asleep in the midst of you who were asleep. So I was seen by you, and you have been found by me. This, king, is the history of my adventures during my separation from you."

When prince Mrigánkadatta had heard at night this tale from his minister Vichitrakatha, who was rightly named, [254] he was much delighted, and so were his other ministers.

So, after he had spent that night on the turf of the forest, he went on with those companions of his towards Ujjayiní, having his mind fixed on obtaining Sasánkavatí, and he kept searching for those other companions of his, who were separated by the curse of the Nága, and whom he had not yet found.

Chapter LXXIV

Then Mrigánkadatta, as he gradually travelled along in the Vindhya forest, accompanied by those ministers, Srutadhi and the four others, reached a wood, which was refreshing with the shade of its goodly fruit-laden trees, and in which there was a tank of very pure sweet cold water. He bathed in it with his ministers and ate many fruits, and lo! he suddenly thought that he heard conversation in a place shut in with creepers. So he went and looked into that bower of creepers, and he saw inside it a great elephant, which was refreshing a blind way-worn man by throwing over him showers of water from his trunk, by giving him fruits, and fanning him with his ears. And like a kind man, the elephant said to him lovingly, over and over again, with articulate voice, "Do you feel at all better?" When the prince saw that, he was astonished, and he said to his companions, "Look! how comes it that a wild elephant conducts itself like a man? So you may be sure that this is some higher being translated into this form for some reason. And this man is very like my friend Prachandasakti. But he is blind. So let us keep a sharp lookout." When Mrigánkadatta had said this to his friends, he remained there concealed, and listened attentively. In the meanwhile the blind man recovered a little, and the elephant said to him, "Tell me; who are you, and how did you come here, being blind?" Then the blind man said to that mighty elephant, "There is in this land a king of the name of Amaradatta, lord of the city of Ayodhyá, he has a son of excellent qualities, named Mrigánkadatta, of auspicious birth, and I am that prince's servant. For some reason or other his father banished him from his native land, with us his ten companions. We had set out for Ujjayiní to obtain Sasánkavatí, when we were separated in the forest by the curse of a Nága. And I was blinded by his curse, and wandering about I have arrived here, living on the fruits, and roots, and water I could get on the way. And to me death by falling into a chasm, or in some other way, would be most desirable, but alas! Providence has not bestowed it on me, but makes me endure calamity. However I feel convinced that, as my pangs of hunger have been to-day assuaged by your favour, so my blindness also will be somewhat alleviated, for you are a divinity." When he said this, Mrigánkadatta felt certain who he was, and with a mind wavering between joy and grief he said to those ministers, "It is our friend Prachandasakti that is reduced to this melancholy state, but it will not do for us to be in a hurry to greet him immediately. Perhaps this elephant will cure his blindness. But if he were to see us, he would flee away; so we must stop here and look at him." When the prince had said this, he remained listening with his followers. Then Prachandasakti said to that elephant, "Now great-souled one, tell me your history; who are you? How comes it that, though you are an elephant, and are subject to the fury of elephants, you speak in this gentle way?" When the great elephant heard this, he sighed, and said to him, "Listen! I will tell you my story from the beginning."

Story of Bhímabhata.

Long ago, in the city of Ekalavyá, there was a king named Srutadhara, and he had two sons by two wives. When the king went to heaven, his younger son, named Satyadhara, expelled the elder son, named Síladhara, from the throne. Síladhara was angry on that account, so he went and propitiated Siva, and craved the following boon from the god, who was pleased with his asceticism, "May I become a Gandharva, in order that I may be able to move through the air, and so slay with ease that kinsman of mine, Satyadhara!" When the holy god Siva heard this, he said to him, "This boon shall be granted to thee, but that enemy of thine has to-day died a natural death. And he shall be again born in the city of Rádhá, as Samarabhata, the favourite son of king Ugrabhata. But thou shalt be born as Bhímabhata, his elder brother, by a different mother, and thou shalt kill him and rule the kingdom. But because thou didst perform these ascetic penances under the influence of anger, thou shalt be hurled from thy rank by the curse of a hermit, and become a wild elephant, that remembers its birth and possesses articulate speech, and when thou shalt comfort a guest in distress and tell him thy history, then thou shalt be freed from thy elephant-nature and become a Gandharva, and at the same time a great benefit will be conferred upon that guest." When Siva had said this, he disappeared, and Síladhara, seeing that his body was emaciated by long penance, flung himself into the Ganges.

At this point of my tale it happened that, while that king named Ugrabhata, whom I have before mentioned, was living happily in the city of Rádhá with his wife Manoramá who was equal to him in birth, there came to his court from a foreign country an actor named Lásaka. And he exhibited before the king that dramatic piece in which Vishnu, in the form of a woman, carries off the amrita from the Daityas. And in that piece the king saw the actor's daughter Lásavatí dancing in the character of Amritiká. When he saw her beauty, that was like that of the real Amritá, with which Vishnu bewildered the Dánavas, he fell in love with her. And at the end of the dance he gave her father much wealth, and immediately introduced her into his harem. And then he married that dancer Lásavatí, and lived with her, having his eyes riveted upon her face. One day he said to his chaplain named Yajuhsvámin, "I have no son, so perform a sacrifice in order to procure me a son." The chaplain obeyed, and performed duly, with the help of learned Bráhmans, a sacrifice for that king's benefit. And, as he had been previously gained over by Manoramá, he gave her to eat, as being the eldest queen, the first half of the oblation purified with holy texts. [255] And he gave the rest to the second queen Lásavatí. Then those two, Síladhara and Satyadhara, whom I have before mentioned, were conceived in those two queens. And when the time came, Manoramá, the consort of that king, brought forth a son with auspicious marks. And at that moment a distinct utterance was heard from heaven, "This child who is born shall be a famous king under the name of Bhímabhata." On the next day Lásavatí also brought forth a son, and the king his father gave him the name of Samarabhata. And the usual sacraments were performed for them, and the two boys gradually grew up. But the eldest Bhímabhata surpassed the youngest in all accomplishments, and rivalry in these increased the natural ill-feeling between them.

One day, as they were engaged in wrestling, Samarabhata, being jealous, struck Bhímabhata with his arm with great force on the neck. Then Bhímabhata was enraged, and immediately throwing his arms round Samarabhata, he lifted him up and flung him on the ground. The fall gave him a severe shock, and his servants took him up and carried him to his mother, discharging blood from all the apertures in his body. When she saw him, and found out what had taken place, she was alarmed on account of her love for him, and she placed her face close to his and wept bitterly. At that moment the king entered, and when he saw this sight, he was much troubled in mind, and asked Lásavatí what it meant, and she gave the following answer: "This son of mine has been reduced to this state by Bhímabhata. And he is always ill-treating him, but I have never told you, king; however now, that I have seen this, I must say, I cannot [256] understand how your majesty can be safe with such a son as this, but let your majesty decide." When king Ugrabhata was thus appealed to by his favourite wife, he was angry, and banished Bhímabhata from his court. And he took away from him his allowance, and appointed a hundred Rájpúts with their retainers to guard that Samarabhata. And he put his treasury at the disposal of the younger son, but he drove the elder son from his presence, and took away all that he possessed.

Then his mother Manoramá sent for him and said, "Your father has thrown you over, because he is in love with a dancer. So go to the palace of my father in Pátaliputra, and when you arrive there, your grandfather will give you his kingdom, for he has no son. But, if you remain here, your enemy, this Samarabhata, will kill you, for he is powerful." When Bhímabhata heard this speech of his mother's, he said, "I am a Kshatriya, and I will not sneak away from my native land, like a coward. Be of good cheer, mother! what wretch is able to injure me?" When he said this, his mother answered him, "Then procure a numerous body of companions to guard you, by means of my wealth." When Bhímabhata heard this proposal, he said, "Mother, this is not becoming; for if I did this, I should be really opposing my father. You may be quite at your ease, for your blessing alone will procure me good fortune." When Bhímabhata had encouraged her with these words, he left her. In the meanwhile all the citizens came to hear of it, and they thought, "Alas! a great injustice has been done to Bhímabhata by the king. Surely Samarabhata does not think he is going to rob him of the kingdom. Well it is an opportunity for us to do him a service, before he comes to the throne." Having formed this resolution, the citizens secretly supplied Bhímabhata with such abundance of wealth, that he lived in great comfort with his servants. But the younger brother was ever on the look out to kill his elder brother, supposing that this was his father's object in furnishing him with a guard.

In the meanwhile a heroic and wealthy young Bráhman, of the name of Sankhadatta, who was a friend of both brothers, came and said to Samarabhata, "You ought not to carry on hostility with your elder brother; it is not right, and you cannot do him an injury; on the contrary the result of a quarrel would be disgraceful to you." When he said this, Samarabhata abused and threatened him; good advice given to a fool does not calm but rather enrages him. Then the resolute Sankhadatta went away indignant at this treatment, and made a strict friendship with Bhímabhata, in order to have the opportunity of conquering Samarabhata.

Then a merchant, of the name of Manidatta, came there from a foreign country, bringing with him an excellent horse; it was as white as the moon; the sound of its neighing was as musical as that of a clear conch or other sweet-sounding instrument; it looked like the waves of the sea of milk surging on high; it was marked with curls on the neck; and adorned with the crest-jewel, the bracelet, and other signs, which it seemed as if it had acquired by being born in the race of the Gandharvas. When Bhímabhata heard of that splendid horse, which was mentioned to him by Sankhadatta, he went and bought it for a high price from that merchant-prince. At that moment Samarabhata, hearing of it, came and tried to buy the horse from the merchant for double the price. But he refused to give it him, as it had already been sold to another; then Samarabhata, out of envy, proceeded to carry it off by force. Then there took place a fierce combat between those two princes, as the adherents of both came running up with weapons in their hands. Then the mighty arm of Bhímabhata laid low the attendants of Samarabhata, and he himself abandoned the horse, and began to retire through fear of his brother. But as he was retiring, Sankhadatta, full of overpowering anger, pursued him, and laying hold of his hair behind, was on the point of killing him, when Bhímabhata rushed up and prevented him, saying, "Let be for the present, it would be a grief to my father." Then Sankhadatta let Samarabhata go, and he fled in fear, discharging blood from his wounds, and repaired to his father.

Then the brave Bhímabhata took possession of the horse, and immediately a Bráhman came up to him, and taking him aside, said to him, "Your mother the queen Manoramá, and the chaplain Yajuhsvámin, and Sumati, the minister of your father, send you the following advice at this juncture. "You know, [257] dear boy, how the king is always affected towards you, and he is especially angry with you at present, now that this misfortune has happened. So if you feel disposed to save your own life, and to preserve glory, and justice inviolate, if you have any regard for the future, if you consider us well disposed towards you; leave this place unobserved this very evening, as soon as the sun has set, and make for the palace of your maternal grandfather, and may good fortune attend you. This is the message they gave me for you, and they sent you this casket full of precious jewels and gold; receive it from my hand." When the wise Bhímabhata heard this message, he accepted it, saying, "I consent to act thus," and he took that casket of gold and valuable jewels. And he gave him an appropriate message to take back, and then dismissed him, and mounted that horse, sword in hand. And Sankhadatta took some gold and jewels, and mounted another horse. And then prince Bhímabhata set out with him, and after he had gone a long distance, he reached at dead of night a great thicket of reeds that lay in his way. As he and his companion pursued their course through it without stopping, a couple of lions, roused by the noise, which the reeds made when trampled by the horses' hoofs, rushed out roaring, with their cubs, and began to rip up the bellies of the horses with their claws. And immediately the hero and his companion cut off the limbs of the lions with their swords, and killed them. Then he got down with his friend to look at the state of the two horses, but as their entrails were torn out, they immediately fell down dead. When Bhímabhata saw that, he felt despondent, and he said to Sankhadatta, "Friend, by a great effort we have escaped from our hostile relatives. Tell me, where, even by a hundred efforts, shall we find an escape from Fate, who has now smitten us even here, not allowing us even to retain our horses. The very horse, for which I abandoned my native land, is dead; so how can we travel on foot through this forest at night?" When he said this, his friend Sankhadatta answered him, "It is no new thing for hostile Fate to conquer courage. This is its nature, but it is conquered by firm endurance. What can Fate do against a firm unshaken man, any more than the wind against a mountain? So come, let us mount upon the horse of endurance and so plod on here." When Sankhadatta said this, Bhímabhata set out with him. Then they slowly crossed that thicket, wounding their feet with the canes, and at last the night came to an end. And the sun, the lamp of the world, arose, dispelling the darkness of night, and the lotus-flowers in the lotus-clumps, by the side of their path, with their expanding cups and the sweet murmur of their bees, seemed to be looking at one another and saying, "It is a happy thing that this Bhímabhata has crossed this thicket full of lions and other dangerous animals." So travelling on, he at last reached with his friend the sandy shore of the Ganges, dotted with the huts of hermits. There he drank its sweet waters, which seemed to be impregnated with the nectar of the moon, from dwelling on the head of Siva, and he bathed in them, and felt refreshed. And he ate, by way of sustenance, some venison, which they had bought from a hunter whom they happened to meet, and which Sankhadatta brought to him roasted. And seeing that the Ganges was full and difficult to cross, for with its waves uplifted like hands it seemed again and again to warn him back, he proceeded to roam along the bank of the river. And there he saw a young Bráhman in the court of an out-of-the-way hut, engaged in the study of the Vedas. So he went up to him and said, "Who are you, and what are you doing in this solitary place?" Then the young Bráhman answered him:

"I am Nílakantha, the son of a Bráhman named Sríkantha, who lived at Váránasí, and after all the ceremonies had been performed for me, and I had learnt knowledge in the family of my spiritual preceptor, I returned home and found all my relations dead. That left me helpless and poor, and as I was not in a position to carry on the duties of a householder, I became despondent, and repaired to this place, and had recourse to severe asceticism. Then the goddess Gangá gave me some fruits in a dream, and said to me, 'Remain here living on these fruits, until you obtain your desire.' Then I woke up and went and bathed, and when the morning came, I found in the water some fruits, that had been washed here by the stream of the Ganges. I brought those fruits, delicious as nectar, into my hut, and ate them there, and so I remain here engaged in asceticism, receiving these fruits day by day."

When he said this, Bhímabhata said to Sankhadatta, "I will give this virtuous youth enough wealth to enable him to enter the householder-state." Sankhadatta approved his speech; whereupon the prince gave the Bráhman the wealth that his mother gave him. For what is the use of the greatness of great ones, who have abundant courage and wealth, if they do not put a stop to the sufferings of their neighbour as soon as they hear of them?

And after he had made the fortune of the Bráhman, Bhímabhata searched in every direction for some means of crossing the Ganges, but could not find any. Then he tied his ornaments and sword on his head, and plunged in with Sankhadatta to swim across it.

And in the middle of the river the current carried his friend to a distance from him, and he himself was swept away by the waves, and reached the bank with difficulty. When he reached the other side, he could not see his friend Sankhadatta, and while he was looking for him along the bank, the sun set. Then he began to despair, and he exclaimed in bitter grief, "Alas my friend!" and it being now the beginning of the night, he prepared to drown himself in the waters of the Ganges. He said, "Goddess Jáhnaví, you have taken from me my life in the form of my friend, so now receive also this empty vessel of my body," and he was on the point of plunging in, when Gangá appeared to him from the middle of the flood. And pleased with his violent agitation she said to him then and there, "Do not act rashly, my son! your friend is alive, and in a short time you shall be reunited with him. Now receive from me this charm called, 'Forwards and Backwards.' If a man repeats it forwards, he will become invisible to his neighbour, but if he repeats it backwards, he will assume whatever shape he desires. [258] Such is the force of this charm only seven syllables long, and by its help you shall become a king on this earth." When the goddess Gangá had said this, and given him the charm, she disappeared from his eyes, and he gave up the idea of suicide, now that he had got a hope of regaining his friend and of other successes. And being anxious to regain his friend, he passed the night in impatience, like the lotus-flower, and the next morning he set out in search of him.

Then, as he was travelling about in search of Sankhadatta, he one day reached alone the district of Láta, where, though the colours of the castes are not mixed, the people lead a diversified and richly coloured life, which though a seat of fine arts, is not reputed a home of crimes. [259] In this city he wandered about, looking at the temples and the dwelling-houses, and at last he reached a hall of gamblers. He entered it and saw a number of fraudulent dice-players, who though they were clothed in a loin-rag only, shewed by their handsome, well-shaped, stout limbs, which indicated good living and plenty of exercise, that they were men of rank though they concealed it, and that they had resorted to that occupation for the sake of making money. They began to talk to him, so he sat down to play with them, and they fancied that they would make a fine thing out of him and his ornaments. Then he beat them at the dice-play, and won from the rogues all the wealth which they had acquired by cheating others.

Then those gamblers, having lost their wealth, were preparing to go home, when Bhímabhata set his arms against the door and stopped them, and said to them, "Where are you going? Take back this wealth; I do not want it. I must give it away to my friends, and are not you my friends? Where can I find [260] such dear friends as you?" When he said this, and they declined to take the money out of shame, a gambler there, of the name of Akshakshapanaka, said, "Undoubtedly it is the definition of gambling that what is won is not returned, but if this gentleman becomes our friend, and gives us of his own accord wealth which he has fairly won, why should we not take it?" The others, when they heard this, exclaimed, "It is fitting, if he makes such an eternal friendship with us." When they said this, he came to the conclusion that they were men of spirit, and he at once consented to swear eternal friendship to them, and gave them back their wealth. And at their request he went into a garden with them and their families, and refreshed himself with food, and wine, and other luxuries, supplied by them. Then, at the request of Akshakshapanaka and the others, he told his name, race, and history, and asked them also for theirs. Then Akshakshapanaka told him the story of his life.

Story of Akshakshapanaka.

There lived in Hastinápura a Bráhman named Sivadatta, a very rich man, and I am his son, and my real name is Vasudatta. And in my youth I learnt skill in arms as well as in the Vedas. Then my father made me marry a wife from a family equal in rank to my own. But my mother was a great scold, implacable, and very passionate. And she worried my father so intolerably, that as soon as he saw me married, he left his home, and went away somewhere where he could not be traced. When I saw that, I was afraid, and I earnestly enjoined on my wife to study carefully my mother's disposition, and she, being terrified, did so. But my mother was bent on quarrelling, and it was impossible for my wife to please her in any way. The ill-natured woman interpreted her silence as contempt, her plaintive lamentation as hypocrisy, and her attempts at explanation as wrangling. For who can deprive the fire of its tendency to burn? Then her disagreeable behaviour in a short time worried my wife also so much, that she left the house and fled I know not where.

Then I was so despondent that I made up my mind to abandon family life, but my wretched relations assembled together and forced me to take another wife. That second wife of mine also was so worried by my mother, that she committed suicide by hanging herself. Then I was exceedingly vexed, and I determined to go to a foreign country. And when my relations tried to prevent me, I told them of the wickedness of my mother. They assigned another reason for my father's leaving the country, and would not believe my story; so I adopted the following artifice. I had a wooden doll made, and pretended to marry it privately as a third wife, and I brought it and placed it in another secluded house which I locked up. And I made another female puppet to guard her, dressed like a servant. And I said to my mother, "I have put this wife of mine in a separate house. So you and I must for the present remain apart from her in our own house; you must not go there and she must not come here. For she is timid as yet, and does not know how to win your affection." To this arrangement my mother gave her consent.

After some days had elapsed, my mother, finding that she could not manage anyhow to get at that supposed daughter-in-law of hers, who was in a private house kept always locked, took a stone one day and struck herself on the head, and remained in the courtyard in front of her own house, streaming with blood, and lamenting with loud cries. Then I and all my relations came in, hearing the cries, and when we saw her, we said, "Tell us, what is the matter?" When we asked her this question, she said spitefully, "My daughter-in-law came without any reason and reduced me to this state; so now my only remedy is death." When my relations heard this, they were furious, and they took her and me with them to the house where I kept the wooden doll. They removed the fastening, and opened the door, and went in, and lo! they saw nothing there but a wooden doll. Then they laughed at my mother, who was covered with shame, having imposed on no one but herself, and they began to repose confidence in what I had said, and so they went away again.

And I left that country, and travelled about till I came to this region, and here I happened to enter a gambling-hall. And there I saw these five men playing, this man named Chandabhujanga, and that Pásupata, and this Smasánavetála, and that Kálavarátaka, and this Sáriprastara, heroes equal in valour. And I gambled with them on this mutual understanding, that whoever was conquered should be the slave of the conqueror. Then they became my slaves by being beaten by me in gambling, but I have become their slave by being won over by their good qualities. And dwelling with them I have forgotten my woes.

So know that here I bear the name of Akshakshapana, [261] a name suited to my condition. Here I have lived with these excellent men of good family, who conceal their real position, and now you have joined us. So now you are our chief, and it was with this view that we took that money of yours originally, being charmed with your virtues.

When Akshakshapana had told his story in these words, all the others in succession also told their adventures. And prince Bhímabhata perceived that his friends were heroes, who had disguised their real character by taking up gambling practices for the sake of gaining wealth, so he had much more pleasant chat with them, and spent the day in amusement, and then seeing that the eastern quarter had adorned its face with the rising moon, as with an ornamental patch, he went from that garden with Akshakshapanaka and the other six to their dwelling. And while he was there with them, the rainy season arrived, seeming to announce with the roarings of its joyous clouds his recovery of his friend. And then the impetuous river there, named Vipásá, that flowed into the sea, was filled with an influx of sea-water and began to flow backwards, and it deluged that shore with a great inundation, and then owing to the cessation of that influx, [262] it seemed to flow on again to the sea. Now at that time the sudden influx of sea-water brought in a great fish, and on account of its unwieldy size it was stranded on the bank of the river. And the inhabitants, when they saw the fish stranded, ran forward with all kinds of weapons to kill it, and ripped open its stomach. And when its stomach was cut open, there came out of it alive a young Bráhman; and the people, astonished at that strange sight, raised a shout. [263] When Bhímabhata heard that, he went there with his friends, and saw his friend Sankhadatta, who had just issued from the inside of the fish. So he ran and embraced him, and bedewed him with copious tears, as if he wished to wash off the evil smell he had contracted by living in the gulf of the fish's maw. [264] Sankhadatta, for his part, having escaped that calamity, and having found and embraced his friend, went from joy to joy. Then being questioned out of curiosity by Bhímabhata, he gave this brief account of his adventures.

"On that occasion, when I was swept out of your sight by the force of the waves of the Ganges, I was suddenly swallowed by a very large fish. Then I remained for a long time inside the capacious habitation of his stomach, eating in my hunger his flesh, which I cut off with a knife. To-day Providence somehow or other brought this fish here, and threw it up upon the bank, so that it was killed by these men and I was taken out of its stomach. I have seen again you and the light of the sun, the horizon has been once more illuminated for me. This, my friend, is the story of my adventures, I know no more than this."

When Sankhadatta said this, Bhímabhata and all that were present exclaimed in astonishment, "To think that he should have been swallowed in the Ganges by a fish, and that that fish should have got into the sea, and then that from the sea it should have been brought into the Vipásá, and that it should have been killed, and then that Sankhadatta should have come out of it alive. Ah! the way of fate is inscrutable, and wonderful are its works!" While uttering such remarks with Akshakshapanaka and the others, Bhímabhata took Sankhadatta to his own dwelling. And there in high delight he entertained with a bath, clothes, and other needful things, his friend, who had, as it were, been born a second time with the same body from the belly of a fish.

And while Bhímabhata was living with him in that country, there came on there a festive procession in honour of Vásuki the king of the snakes. In order to see it, the prince went, surrounded with his friends, to the temple of that chief of the snakes, where great crowds were assembling. He worshipped there in the temple, where his idol was, which was full of long wreaths [265] of flowers in form like serpents, and which therefore resembled the abyss of Pátála, and then going in a southerly direction, he beheld a great lake sacred to Vásuki, studded with red lotuses, resembling the concentrated gleams of the brilliance of the jewels on snakes' crests; [266] and encircled with blue lotuses, which seemed like clouds of smoke from the fire of snake-poison; overhung with trees, that seemed to be worshipping with their flowers blown down by the wind. When he saw it, he said to himself in astonishment, "Compared with this expanded lake, that sea from which Vishnu carried off the goddess of Fortune, seems to me to be only worthy of neglect, for its fortune of beauty is not to be taken from it by anything else." [267] In the meanwhile he saw a maiden, who had come there to bathe, by name Hansávalí, the beautiful daughter of Chandráditya, king of Láta, by Kuvalayavatí; her mortal nature, which was concealed by all her other members moulded like those of gods, was revealed by the winking of her rolling eye. She had ten million perfections darting forth from her flower-soft body, she was with her waist, that might be spanned with the hand, a very bow of Cupid, and the moment she looked at Bhímabhata, she pierced him in the heart with the sidelong arrows of her eyes, and bewildered him. [268] He too, who was a thief of the world's beauty, entered by the oblique path of her eyes the treasure-chamber of her heart, and robbed her of her self-control. Then she sent secretly a trustworthy and discreet maid, and enquired from his friends his name and residence. And after she had bathed, she was taken back to her palace by her attendants, frequently turning round her face to fix her eyes on him. And then Bhímabhata, accompanied by his friends, went to his dwelling, with faltering steps, for he was entangled with the net which his beloved had cast over him.

And immediately the princess Hansávalí sent that maid to him as an ambassadress of love, with the message for which he longed. The maid came up to him and said to him in secret, "Prince, the princess Hansávalí solicits you thus, 'When you see me, who love you, being carried away by the stream of love, you should rescue me quickly, you should not remain indifferent upon the bank [269]'" When Bhímabhata heard from the messenger the nectar of his beloved's message, he was delighted at having his life saved, and said to her, "I am in the current, I am not upon the bank; does not my beloved know that? But now, that I have obtained some hope to cling to, [270] I will gladly do her bidding. I will this night come and wait upon her in her private apartments, and no one shall see me, for I will enter concealed by a charm." When he said this to the maid, she was pleased, and went and told it to Hansávalí, and then she remained anxiously expecting an interview with him.

And he, in the early part of the night, went adorned with heavenly ornaments, and making himself invisible by repeating forwards the charm bestowed on him by Gangá, entered her splendid chamber which she had previously cleared of attendants. In that chamber, which suggested thoughts of love, which was perfumed with aloes, and adorned with nose-gays of flowers of five hues [271] arranged there, and which therefore resembled the garden of the god of love, he beheld that lovely one exhaling heavenly fragrance, like a blossom put forth by the creeper of the wonderful charm bestowed by Gangá. And then the handsome prince recited the charm backwards, and immediately became visible to that princess. When he beheld her timidly trembling with a joyful agitation that made her hair stand on end, his ornaments immediately tinkled like musical instruments, and he seemed to be dancing with joy to their music. And the maiden hid her face with the shame of love, and seemed to be asking her heart, that caused all that display of emotion, what she was to do now. Then Bhímabhata said to her, "Fair one, why do you allow your heart to exhibit shame, though its feelings have been already revealed? It does not deny the state of affairs; besides how is it possible to conceal this trembling of the limbs and this bursting boddice?" Then Bhímabhata with such words, and other loving persuasions, made the fair one forget her modesty, and married her by the Gándharva form of marriage. And after he had spent that night with her, in sporting like a bee round the lotus of her mouth, he at last tore himself away, and saying, "I will come again at night," returned to his house.

And when the chamberlains belonging to Hansávalí entered her chamber the next morning, they saw that her lover had been with her. The ends of her curls were disordered, she had marks of moist teeth and nails, and she seemed as if the god of Love had appeared in person and afflicted her with the wounds of all his arrows. They immediately went and reported the matter to the king, and he secretly appointed spies to watch at night. And Bhímabhata spent the day with his friends in their usual employments, and in the beginning of the night again repaired to the bower of his beloved. When the spies saw that he had entered without being seen, by virtue of his charm, and discovered that he possessed supernatural powers, they went out, and told the king, and he gave them this order, "The being, who has entered a well-guarded room without being seen, cannot be a mere man; so bring him here that I may see what this means. And say to him politely from me, 'Why did you not openly ask me for my daughter? Why did you make a secret of it? For it is difficult to obtain a bridegroom for my daughter as accomplished as yourself.'" When the king had sent off the spies with this message, they went as he commanded, and stood at the door and delivered this message to Bhímabhata. And the resolute prince, perceiving that the king had discovered him, answered them boldly from inside; "Tell the king from me, that to-morrow I will enter his hall of audience, and tell him the truth, for now it is the dead of night." They then went and gave this message to the king and he remained silent. And in the morning Bhímabhata went to rejoin his friends. And putting on a magnificent costume, he went with those seven heroes to the hall of king Chandráditya. When the king saw his splendour, his resolute bearing and handsome appearance, he received him kindly, and made him sit on a throne equal to his own, and then his friend, the Bráhman Sankhadatta, said to the king, "King, this is the son of Ugrabhata the king of Rádhá, Bhímabhata by name; his might is irresistible on account of the wonderful power of the charm which he possesses. And he has come here to sue for the hand of your daughter." When the king heard that, he remembered the occurrence of the night, and seeing that he was a suitable match for his daughter, he exclaimed, "I am fortunate indeed," and accepted the proposal. And after he had made splendid preparations for the marriage, he bestowed his daughter Hansávalí on Bhímabhata with much wealth. Then Bhímabhata, having obtained many elephants, horses, and villages, remained there in great comfort, possessed of Hansávalí and the goddess of Fortune. And in a few days his father-in-law gave him that kingdom of Láta, and, being childless and old, retired to the forest. Then the successful Bhímabhata, having obtained that kingdom, ruled it admirably with the help of those seven heroes, Sankhadatta and the others.

Then, in the course of some days, he heard from his spies, that his father king Ugrabhata had gone to Prayága and died there; and that, when he was intent on death, he had anointed his youngest son Samarabhata, the son of the dancing-girl, king of Rádhá. Then he mourned for his father, and performed his funeral ceremonies, and sent a messenger to that Samarabhata with a letter. And in the letter, he sent the following message to the pretender who was treating him unjustly, "Foolish son of a dancing-girl, what business have you to sit on my father's throne, for it belongs to me, though I have this kingdom of Láta; so you must not ascend it." And the messenger went, and after announcing himself, delivered the letter to that Samarabhata, when he was in the hall of assembly. And when Samarabhata read this letter of such an import, under his brother's sign manual, he was angry, and answered, "This baseless presumption is becoming in this ill-conducted man, who was long ago banished by my father from the country, because he was not fit to remain in it. Even the jackal apes the lion, when he is comfortably ensconced in his native cavern, but when he comes within view of the lion, he is discovered to be only a jackal." Such was the answer he roared forth, and he wrote to the same effect in a letter, and sent his return-messenger to carry it to Bhímabhata.

So the return-messenger went, and gave, when introduced by the warder, that letter to the king of Láta. And when Bhímabhata had read that letter, he laughed loudly, and said to the return-messenger of his brother--"Go, messenger, and tell that dancing-girl's son from me, 'On that former occasion when you tried to seize the horse, I saved you from Sankhadatta, because you were a child and dear to my father, but I will no longer endure your insolence. I will certainly send you to my father who is so fond of you. Make ready, and know that in a few days I shall have arrived.'" With these words he dismissed the messenger, and then he began his expedition. When that moon of kings, glorious in his magnificence, [272] mounted his elephant which resembled a hill, the great sea of his army was agitated and surged up with a roar, and the horizon was filled with innumerable feudal chiefs and princes arrived for war, [273] and setting out with their forces; and the earth, swiftly trampled by the elephants and horses trooping along in great numbers, groaned and trembled under the weight, as if afraid of being cleft open. In this fashion Bhímabhata marched and came near Rádhá, eclipsing the light of the sun in the heavens with the clouds of dust raised by his army.

In the meanwhile king Samarabhata heard of it, and became indignant; and armed himself, and went out with his army to meet him in battle. And those two armies met, like the eastern and western seas, and a great battle took place between the heroes on both sides, awful as the destruction of the world. Then the fire, produced by the loud clashing of swords, which seemed as if it had been kindled by the gnashing of the teeth of the angry god of Death, hid the sky; and javelins flew with their long points resembling eyelashes, and seemed like the glances of the nymphs of heaven, as they gazed on the warriors. Then the field of battle appeared like a stage; its canopy was dust, its music was the shouting of the army, and its dancers palpitating trunks. And a furious [274] torrent of blood, sweeping along heads, and garlanded with trunks, carried off all living creatures, like the night of destruction at the end of the world.

But the archer Bhímabhata soon routed the army of his enemies, by means of a combined attack of the mighty warriors Sankhadatta, and Akshakshapanaka, and Chandabhujanga and his fellows, skilled in wrestling, resembling impetuous elephants. And Samarabhata was furious, when his army was routed, and he dashed forward on his chariot, and began to churn the sea of battle, as Mount Mandara churned the ocean. [275] Then Bhímabhata, who was mounted on an elephant, attacked him, and cut his bow in two with his arrows, and also killed all the four horses of his chariot. Then Samarabhata, being prevented from using his chariot, ran and struck with a javelin on the forehead the splendid elephant of Bhímabhata, and the elephant, as soon as it was struck, fell dead on the ground. Then both of them, being deprived of their means of conveyance, had to fight on foot. And the two angry kings, armed with sword and shield, engaged in single combat. But Bhímabhata, though he might have made himself invisible by means of his charm, and so have killed him, out of a regard for fairness, would not kill his enemy in that way. But being a skilful swordsman, he contended against him in open fight, and cut off with his sword the head of that son of the dancing-girl.

And when that Samarabhata was slain with his soldiers, and the bands of the Siddhas had applauded from the heavens, and the fight had come to an end, Bhímabhata with his friends entered the city of Rádhá, being praised by heralds and minstrels. Then, returning from a long absence, after slaying his enemy, he delighted his mother, who was eager to behold him, as Ráma did Kausalyá. And the citizens welcomed him, and then he adorned the throne of his father, and took his seat on it, honoured by his father's ministers, who loved his good qualities. And then he honoured all his subjects, who made high festival; and on a lucky day he gave to Sankhadatta the kingdom of Láta. And he sent him to the territory of Láta, escorted by a force composed of natives of that country; and he gave villages and wealth to Akshakshapanaka and his fellows, and he remained surrounded by them, ruling his ancestral realm, with that queen Hansávalí, the daughter of the king of Láta. And, in course of time, he conquered the earth, and carried off the daughters of kings, and became exclusively addicted to the enjoyment of their society. And he devolved his duties on his ministers, and amused himself with the women of his harem, and never left its precincts, being engrossed with drinking and other vices.

Then, one day, the hermit Uttanka came of his own accord to visit him, as if he were the time of accomplishment of the previous decree of Siva. And when the hermit came to the door, the king, being blinded with passion, intoxication, and the pride of sovereignty, would not listen, though the warders announced his arrival. Then the hermit was angry, and denounced this curse on the king, "O man blinded with intoxication, you shall fall from your throne, and become a wild elephant." When the king heard that, fear dispelled his intoxication, and he went out, and prostrating himself at the foot of the hermit, began to appease him with humble words. Then the anger of the great sage was calmed, and he said to him, "King, you must become an elephant, that decree cannot be altered; but when you shall have relieved a minister of Mrigánkadatta's, named Prachandasakti, afflicted with the curse of a Nága and blinded, who shall become your guest, and shall tell him your story, you shall be delivered from this curse; and you shall return to the state of a Gandharva, as Siva foretold to you, and then that guest of yours shall recover the use of his eyes." When the hermit Uttanka had said this, he returned as he came, and Bhímabhata was hurled from his throne, and became an elephant.

"So know, my friend, that I am that very Bhímabhata, become an elephant, and you are Prachandasakti; I know that my curse is now at an end." When Bhímabhata had said this, he abandoned the form of an elephant, and at once became a Gandharva of heavenly might. And immediately Prachandasakti recovered, to his intense delight, the use of his eyes, and looked upon that Gandharva there. And in the meanwhile the discreet Mrigánkadatta, who had heard their conversation from the bower of creepers, with his other ministers, having discovered that it was indeed his friend, rushed quickly and impetuously forth, and threw his arms round the neck of his minister Prachandasakti. And Prachandasakti looked at him, and feeling as if his body had been irrigated with a sudden flood of nectar, immediately embraced the feet of his lord.

Then the Gandharva Bhímabhata comforted those two, who were weeping, both deeply moved at being reunited after so long a separation. And Mrigánkadatta, bowing, said to that Gandharva, "That I have recovered this friend of mine, and that he has recovered his eyesight, is all due to your wondrous might. Honour to you!" When the Gandharva heard that, he said to that prince, "You shall soon recover all your other ministers, and obtain Sasánkavatí as a wife, and become king of the whole earth. So you must not lose heart. Now, auspicious one, I depart, but I will appear to you when you think of me."

When the matchless chief of the Gandharvas had said this to the prince, and so testified his friendship for him, as his curse was at an end, and he had obtained prosperous felicity, he flew up swiftly into the sky, making the whole air resound with the tinkling of his beautiful bracelet and necklace.

And Mrigánkadatta, having recovered Prachandasakti, and so regained his spirits, spent that day in the wood, accompanied by his ministers.