Chapter CXX…

Chapter CXX

Glory be to that god, half of whose body is the moon-faced Párvatí, who is smeared with ashes white as the rays of the moon, whose eyes gleam with a fire like that of the sun and moon, who wears a half-moon on his head!

May that elephant-faced god protect you, who, with his trunk bent at the end, uplifted in sport, appears to be bestowing successes!

Then Naraváhanadatta, in the hermitage of the hermit Kasyapa, on that Black Mountain, said to the assembled hermits, "Moreover, when, during my separation from the queen, Vegavatí, who was in love with me, took me and made me over to the protection of a Science, I longed to abandon the body, being separated from my beloved and in a foreign land; but while, in this state of mind, I was roaming about in a remote part of the forest, I beheld the great hermit Kanva.

"That compassionate hermit, seeing me bowing at his feet, and knowing by the insight of profound meditation that I was miserable, took me to his hermitage, and said to me, 'Why are you distracted, though you are a hero sprung from the race of the Moon? As the ordinance of the god standeth sure, why should you despair of reunion with your wife?

"'The most unexpected meetings do take place for men in this world; I will tell you, to illustrate this, the story of Vikramáditya; listen.'"

The story of Vikramáditya.

There is in Avanti a famous city, named Ujjayiní, the dwelling-place of Siva, built by Visvakarman in the commencement or the Yuga; which, like a virtuous woman, is invincible by strangers; like a lotus-plant is the resort of the goddess of prosperity; like the heart of the good, is rich in virtue; like the earth, is full of many wonderful sights.

There dwelt in that city a world-conquering king, named Mahendráditya, the slayer of his enemies' armies, like Indra in Amarávatí. In regard of prowess he was a wielder of many weapons; in regard of beauty he was the flower-weaponed god [734] himself; his hand was ever open in bounty, but was firmly clenched on the hilt of his sword. That king had a wife named Saumyadarsaná, who was to him as Sachí to Indra, as Gaurí to Siva, as Srí to Vishnu. And that king had a great minister named Sumati, and a warder named Vajráyudha, in whose family the office was hereditary. With these the king remained ruling his realm, propitiating Siva, and ever bearing various vows in order to obtain a son.

In the meanwhile, as Siva was with Párvatí on the mighty mountain Kailása, the glens of which are visited by troops of gods, which is beautiful with the smile that the Northern quarter smiles joyous at vanquishing all the others, all the gods with Indra at their head came to visit him, being afflicted by the oppression of the Mlechchhas; and the immortals bowed, and then sat down and praised Siva; and when he asked them the reason of their coming, they addressed to him this prayer: "O god, those Asuras, who were slain by thee and Vishnu, have been now again born on the earth in the form of Mlechchhas. They slay Bráhmans, they interfere with the sacrifices and other ceremonies, and they carry off the daughters of hermits: indeed, what crime do not the villains commit? Now, thou knowest, lord, that the world of gods is ever nourished by the earth, for the oblation offered in the fire by Bráhmans nourishes the dwellers in heaven. But, as the Mlechchhas have overrun the earth, the auspicious words are nowhere pronounced over the burnt-offering, and the world of gods is being exhausted by the cutting off of their share of the sacrifice and other supplies. [735] So devise an expedient in this matter; cause some hero to become incarnate on the earth, mighty enough to destroy those Mlechchhas."

When Siva had been thus entreated by the gods, he said to them, "Depart; you need not be anxious about this matter; be at your ease. Rest assured that I will soon devise an expedient which will meet the difficulty." When Siva had said this, he dismissed the gods to their abodes. [736]

And when they had gone, the Holy one, with Párvatí at his side, summoned a Gana, named Mályavat, and gave him this order, "My son, descend into the condition of a man, and be born in the city of Ujjayiní as the brave son of king Mahendráditya. That king is a portion of me, and his wife is sprung from a portion of Ambiká; be born in their family, and do the heaven-dwellers the service they require. Slay all those Mlechchhas that obstruct the fulfilment of the law contained in the three Vedas. And by my favour thou shalt be a king ruling over the seven divisions of the world; moreover the Rákshasas, the Yakshas and the Vetálas shall own thy supremacy; [737] and after thou hast enjoyed human pleasures, thou shalt again return to me."

When the Gana Mályavat received this command from Siva, he said "The command of you two divine beings cannot be disobeyed by me: but what enjoyments are there in the life of a man, which involves separations from relations, friends, and servants, very hard to bear, and the pain arising from loss of wealth, old age, disease, and the other ills of humanity?" When the Gana said this to Siva, the god thus replied, "Go, blameless one! These woes shall not fall to thy lot; by my favour thou shalt be happy throughout the whole of thy sojourn on earth." When Siva said this to Mályavat, that virtuous Gana immediately disappeared. And he went and was conceived in Ujjayiní, in the proper season, in the womb of the queen of king Mahendráditya.

And at that time the god, whose diadem is fashioned of a digit of the moon, said to that king in a dream, "I am pleased with thee, king, so a son shall be born to thee, who by his might shall conquer the earth with all its divisions; and that hero shall reduce under his sway the Yakshas, Rákshasas, Pisáchas and others, even those that move in the air, and dwell in Pátála, and shall slay the hosts of the Mlechchhas; for this reason he shall be named Vikramáditya; and also Vishamasíla on account of his stern hostility [738] to his enemies."

When the god had said this, he disappeared; and next morning the king woke up, and joyfully related his dream to his ministers. And they also told the king, one after another, with great delight, that Siva had made a revelation to each of them in a dream that he was to have a son. And at that moment a handmaid of the harem came and shewed the king a fruit, saying, "Siva gave this to the queen in a dream." Then the king rejoiced, saying, again and again, "Truly, Siva has given me a son," and his ministers congratulated him.

Then his illustrious queen became pregnant, like the eastern quarter in the morning, when the orb of the sun is about to arise, and she was conspicuous for the black tint of the nipples of her breasts, which appeared like a seal to secure the milk for the king with whom she was pregnant. In her dreams at that time she crossed seven seas, being worshipped by all the Yakshas, Vetálas, and Rákshasas. And when the due time was come, she brought forth a glorious son, who lit up the chamber, as the rising sun does the heaven. And when he was born, the sky became indeed glorious, laughing with the falling rain of flowers, and ringing with the noise of the gods' drums. And on that occasion the city was altogether distracted with festive joy, and appeared as if intoxicated, as if possessed by a demon, as if generally wind-struck. And at that time the king rained wealth there so unceasingly, that, except the Buddhists, no one was without a god. [739] And king Mahendráditya gave him the name of Vikramáditya, which Siva had mentioned, and also that of Vishamasíla.

When some more days had passed, there was born to that king's minister, named Sumati, a son of the name of Mahámati, and the warder Vajráyudha had a son born to him, named Bhadhráyudha, and the chaplain Mahídhara had a son of the name of Srídhara. And that prince Vikramáditya grew up with those three minister's sons, as with spirit, courage, and might. When he was invested with the sacred thread, and put under teachers, they were merely the occasions of his learning the sciences, which revealed themselves to him without effort. And whatever science or accomplishment he was seen to employ, was known by those, who understood it, to be possessed by him to the highest degree of excellence. And when people saw that prince fighting with heavenly weapons, they even began to pay less attention to the stories about the great archer Ráma and other heroes of the kind. And his father brought for him beautiful maidens, given by kings who had submitted after defeat, like so many goddesses of Fortune.

Then his father, king Mahendráditya, seeing that his son was in the bloom of early manhood, of great valour, and beloved by the subjects, duly anointed him heir to his realm, and being himself old, retired with his wife and ministers to Váránasí, [740] and made the god Siva his refuge.

And king Vikramáditya, having obtained that kingdom of his father, began in due course to blaze forth, as the sun, when it has occupied the sky. Even haughty kings, when they saw the string fitted into the notch of his bending bow, [741] learnt a lesson from that weapon, and bent likewise on every side. Of godlike dignity, having subdued to his sway even Vetálas, Rákshasas and other demons, he chastised righteously those that followed evil courses. The armies of that Vikramáditya roamed over the earth like the rays of the sun, shedding into every quarter the light of order. Though that king was a mighty hero, he dreaded the other world, though a brave warrior, he was not hard-handed, [742] though not uxorious, he was beloved by his wives. He was the father of all the fatherless, the friend of all the friendless, and the protector of all the unprotected among his subjects. Surely his glory furnished the Disposer with the material out of which he built up the White Island, the Sea of Milk, Mount Kailása, and the Himálayas. [743]

And one day, as the king Vikramáditya was in the hall of assembly, the warder Bhadráyudha came in and said to him, "Your Majesty despatched Vikramasakti with an army to conquer the southern region and other territories, and then sent to him a messenger named Anangadeva; that messenger has now returned, and is at the gate with another, and his delighted face announces good tidings, my lord." The king said, "Let him enter," and then the warder respectfully introduced Anangadeva, with his companion. The messenger entered and bowed, and shouted "Victory" [744] and sat down in front of the king; and then the king said to him, "Is it well with king Vikramasakti, the general of my forces, and with Vyághrabala and the other kings? And does good fortune attend on the other chief Rájpúts in his army, and on the elephants, horses, chariots and footmen?"

When Anangadeva had been thus questioned by the king, he answered, "It is well with Vikramasakti and the whole of the army. And Your Majesty has conquered the Dekkan and the western border, and Madhyadesa and Sauráshtra and all the eastern region of the Ganges; and the northern region and Kasmíra have been made tributary, and various forts and islands have been conquered, and the hosts of the Mlechchhas have been slain, and the rest have been reduced to submission, and various kings have entered the camp of Vikramasakti, and he himself is coming here with those kings, and is now, my lord, two or three marches off."

When the messenger had thus told his tale, king Vikramáditya was pleased and loaded [745] him with garments, ornaments, and villages. Then the king went on to say to that noble messenger, "Anangadeva, when you went there, what regions did you see, and what object of interest did you meet with anywhere? Tell me, my good fellow!" When Anangadeva had been thus questioned by the king, he began to recount his adventures, as follows:--

The adventures of Anangadeva.

Having set out hence by Your Majesty's orders, I reached in course of time that army of yours assembled under Vikramasakti, which was like a broad sea resorted to by allied kings, adorned by many princes of the Nágas that had come together with horses and royal magnificence. [746] And when I arrived there, that Vikramasakti bowed before me, and treated me with great respect, because I had been sent by his sovereign; and while I was there considering the nature of the triumphs he had gained, a messenger from the king of Sinhala [747] came there.

And that messenger, who had come from Sinhala, told to Vikramasakti in my presence his master's message as follows, "I have been told by messengers, who have been sent by me to your sovereign and have returned, that your sovereign's very heart Anangadeva is with you, so send him to me quickly, I will reveal to him a certain auspicious affair, that concerns your king." Then Vikramasakti said to me, "Go quickly to the king of Sinhala; and see what he wishes to say to you when he has you before him."

Then I went through the sea in a ship to the island of Sinhala with that king of Sinhala's ambassador. And in that island I saw a palace all made of gold, with terraces of various jewels, like the city of the gods. And in it I saw that king of Sinhala, Vírasena, surrounded by obedient ministers, as Indra is by the gods. When I approached him, he received me politely, and asked me about Your Majesty's health, and then he refreshed me with most sumptuous hospitality.

The next day the king summoned me, when he was in his hall of audience; and showing his devotion to you, said to me in the presence of his ministers, "I have a maiden daughter, the peerless beauty of the world of mortals, Madanalekhá by name, and I offer her to your king. She is a fitting wife for him, and he is a suitable husband for her; for this reason I have invited you; so accept her in the name of your king. [748] And go on in front with my ambassador to tell your master; I will send my daughter here close after you."

When the king had said this, he summoned into that hall his daughter whose load of ornaments was adorned by her graceful shape, loveliness, and youth. And he made her sit on his lap, and shewing her, said to me, "I offer this girl to your master, receive her." And when I saw that princess, I was astonished at her beauty, and I said joyfully, "I accept this maiden on behalf of my sovereign," and I thought to myself, "Well, the Creator is never tired of producing marvels, since even after creating Tilottamá, he has produced this far superior beauty."

Then, having been honoured by that king, I set forth from that island, with this ambassador of his, Dhavalasena. So we embarked on a ship, and as we were sailing along in it, through the sea, we suddenly saw a great sandbank in the middle of the ocean. And on it we saw two maidens of singular beauty; one had a body as dark as priyangu, the other gleamed white like the moon, and they both looked more splendid from having put on dresses and ornaments suited to their respective hues. They made a sound like the clashing of cymbals with their bracelets adorned with splendid gems, and they were making a young toy-deer, which, though of gold and studded with jewels to represent spots, possessed life, dance in front of them. [749] When we saw this, we were astonished and we said to one another, "What can this wonder mean? Is it a dream, magic, or delusion? Who would ever expect to see a sandbank suddenly start up in the middle of the ocean, or such maidens upon it? And who would ever have thought of seeing such a thing as this living golden deer studded with jewels, which they possess? Such things are not usually found together."

While we were saying this to one another, king, in the greatest astonishment, a wind suddenly began to blow, tossing up the sea. That wind broke up our ship, which was resting on the surging waves, and the people in it were whelmed in the sea, and the sea-monsters began to devour them. But those two maidens came and supported both of us in their arms, and lifted us up and carried us to the sandbank, so that we escaped the jaws of the sea-monsters. And then that bank began to be covered with waves, at which we were terrified, but those two ladies cheered us, and made us enter what seemed like the interior of a cave. There we began to look at a heavenly wood of various trees, and while we were looking at it, the sea disappeared, and the bank, and the young deer, and the maidens.

We wandered about there for a time, saying to ourselves, "What is this strange thing? It is assuredly some magic." And then we saw there a great lake, transparent, deep, and broad, like the heart of great men, looking like a material representation of Nirvána that allays the fire of desire. [750]

And we saw a certain beautiful woman, coming to bathe in it, accompanied by her train, looking like an incarnation of the beauty of the wood. And that lady alighted from her covered chariot, [751] and gathered lotuses in that lake, and bathed in it, and meditated on Siva. And thereupon, to our astonishment, Siva arose from the lake, a present god, in the form of a linga, composed of splendid jewels, and came near her; and that fair one worshipped him with various luxuries suited to her majesty, and then took her lyre. And she played upon it, singing skilfully to it with rapt devotion, following the southern style in respect of notes, time, and words. So splendid was her performance that even the Siddhas and other beings appeared there in the air, having their hearts attracted by hearing it, and remained motionless as if painted. And after she had finished her music, [752] she dismissed the god, and he immediately sank in the lake. Then the gazelle-eyed lady rose up, and mounted her chariot, and proceeded to go away slowly with her train.

We followed her, and eagerly asked her train over and over again, who she was, but none of them gave us any answer. Then, wishing to shew that ambassador of the king of Sinhala your might, I said to her aloud, "Auspicious one, I adjure thee by the touch of king Vikramáditya's feet, that thou depart not hence without revealing to me who thou art." When the lady heard this, she made her train retire, and alighted from her chariot, and coming up to me, she said with a gentle voice, "Is my lord the noble king Vikramáditya well? But why do I ask, Anangadeva, since I know all about him? For I exerted magic power, and brought you here for the sake of that king, for I must honour him, as he delivered me from a great danger. So come to my palace; there I will tell you all, who I am, and why I ought to honour that king, and what service he needs to have done him."

When she had said this, having left her chariot out of courtesy, that fair one went along the path on foot and respectfully conducted me to her castle, which looked like heaven; it was built of various jewels and different kinds of gold; its gates were guarded on every side by brave warriors wearing various forms, and bearing various weapons; and it was full of noble ladies of remarkable beauty, looking as if they were charms that drew down endless heavenly enjoyments. There she honoured us with baths, unguents, splendid dresses and ornaments, and made us rest for a time.

Chapter CXXI

When Anangadeva had told this to king Vikramáditya in his hall of audience, he continued as follows:--

Then, after I had taken food, that lady, sitting in the midst of her attendants, said to me, "Listen, Anangadeva, I will now tell you all."

Story of Madanamanjarí.

I am Madanamanjarí, the daughter of Dundubhi the king of the Yakshas, and the wife of Manibhadra the brother of Kuvera. I used always to roam about happily with my husband on the banks of rivers, on hills, and in charming groves.

And one day I went with my beloved to a garden in Ujjayiní called Makaranda to amuse myself. There it happened that in the dawn a low hypocritical scoundrel of a kápálika [753] saw me, when I had just woke up from a sleep brought on by the fatigue of roaming about. That rascal, being overcome with love, went into a cemetery, and proceeded to try and procure me for his wife by means of a spell, and a burnt-offering. But I by my power found out what he was about, and informed my husband; and he told his elder brother Kuvera. And Kuvera went and complained to Brahmá, and the holy Brahmá, after meditating, said to him, "It is true that kápálika intends to rob your brother of his wife, for such is the power of those spells for mastering Yakshas, which he possesses. But when she feels herself being drawn along by the spell, she must invoke the protection of king Vikramáditya; he will save her from him." Then Kuvera came and told this answer of Brahmá's to my husband, and my husband told it to me, whose mind was troubled by that wicked spell.

And in the meanwhile that hypocritical kápálika, offering a burnt-offering in the cemetery, began to draw me to him by means of a spell, duly muttered in a circle. And I, being drawn by that spell, reached in an agony of terror that awful cemetery, full of bones and skulls, haunted by demons. And then I saw there that wicked kápálika: he had made an offering to the fire, and he had in a circle a corpse lying on its back, which he had been worshipping. And that kápálika, when he saw that I had arrived, was beside himself with pride, and with difficulty tore himself away to rinse his mouth in a river, which happened to be near.

At that moment I called to mind what Brahmá had said, and I thought, "Why should I not call to the king for aid? He may be roaming about in the darkness somewhere near." When I had said this to myself, I called aloud for his help in the following words, "Deliver me, noble king Vikramáditya! See, protecting talisman of the world, this kápálika is bent on outraging by force, in your realm, me a chaste matron, the Yakshí Madanamanjarí by name, the daughter of Dundubhi, and the wife of Manibhadra the younger brother of Kuvera."

No sooner had I finished this plaintive appeal, than I saw that king coming towards me, sword in hand; he seemed to be all resplendent with brightness of valour, and he said to me, "My good lady, do not fear; be at ease; I will deliver you from that kápálika, fair one. For who is able to work such unrighteousness in my realm?" When he had said this, he summoned a Vetála, named Agnisikha. And he, when summoned, came, tall, with flaming eyes, with upstanding hair; and said to the king, "Tell me what I am to do." Then the king said, "Kill and eat this wicked kápálika, who is trying to carry off his neighbour's wife." Then that Vetála Agnisikha entered the corpse that was in the circle of adoration, and rose up, and rushed forward, stretching out his arms and mouth. And when the kápálika, who had come back from rinsing his mouth, was preparing to fly, he seized him from behind by the legs; and he whirled him round in the air and then dashed him down with great force on the earth, and so at one blow crushed his body and his aspirations.

When the demons saw the kápálika slain, they were all eager for flesh, and a fierce Vetála, named Yamasikha, came there. As soon as he came, he seized the body of the kápálika; then the first Vetála Agnisikha said to him, "Hear, villain! I have killed this kápálika by the order of king Vikramáditya; pray what have you to do with him?" When Yamasikha heard that, he said to him, "Then tell me, what kind of power has that king?" Then Agnisikha said, "If you do not know the nature of his power, listen, I will tell you."

Story of the gambler Dágineya, who was too cunning for the Vetála Agnisikha, and of Agnisikha's submission to king Vikramáditya.

There once lived in this city a very resolute gambler of the name of Dágineya. Once on a time some gamblers, by fraudulent play, won from him all he possessed, and then bound him in order to obtain from him the borrowed money which he had lost in addition. And as he had nothing, they beat him with sticks and other instruments of torture, [754] but he made himself like a stone, and seemed as rigid as a corpse. Then all those wicked gamblers took him and threw him into a large dark well, fearing that, if he lived, he might take vengeance on them.

But that gambler Dágineya, when flung down into that very deep well, saw in front of him two great and terrible men. But they, when they saw him fall down terrified, said to him kindly, "Who are you, and how have you managed to fall into this deep well? Tell us!" Then the gambler recovered his spirits, and told them his story, and said to them "Do you also tell me who you are and whence you come." When those men, who were in the pit, heard that, they said, "Good Sir, we were Bráhman demons [755] dwelling in the cemetery belonging to this city, and we possessed two maidens in this very city; one was the daughter of the principal minister, the other of the chief merchant. And no conjurer on the earth, however powerful his spells, was able to deliver those maidens from us.

"Then king Vikramáditya, who had an affection for their fathers, heard of it, and came to the place, where those maidens were with a friend of their fathers'. The moment we saw the king, we left the maidens, and tried to escape, but we were not able to do so, though we tried our utmost. We saw the whole horizon on fire with his splendour. Then that king, seeing us, bound us by his power. And seeing us unhappy, as we were afraid of being put to death, he gave us this order, 'Ye wicked ones, dwell for a year in a dark pit, and then ye shall be set at liberty. But when freed, ye must never again commit such a crime; if ye do, I will punish you with destruction.' After king Vishamasíla had given us this order, he had us flung into this dark pit; but out of mercy he did not destroy us.

"And in eight more days the year will be completed, and with it the period during which we were to dwell in this cave, and we shall then be released from it. Now, friend, if you engage to supply us with some food during those days, we will lift you out of this pit, and set you down outside it; but if you do not, when lifted out, supply us with food according to your engagement, we will certainly, when we come out, devour you."

When the Bráhman demons made this proposal to the gambler, he consented to it, and they put him out of the pit. When he got out of it, he went to the cemetery at night to deal in human flesh, as he saw no other chance of getting what he wanted. And I, happening to be there at that time, saw that gambler, who was crying out, "I have human flesh for sale; buy it somebody." Then I said, "I will take it off your hands; what price do you want for it?" And he answered, "Give me your shape and power." Then I said again to him, "My fine fellow, what will you do with them?" The gambler then told me his whole story, and said to me, "By means of your shape and power I will get hold of those enemies of mine, the gamblers, together with the keeper of the gambling-house, and will give them to the Bráhman demons to eat." When I heard that, I was pleased with the resolute spirit of that gambler, and gave him my shape and my power for a specified period of seven days. And by means of them he drew those men that had injured him into his power, one after another, and flung them into the pit, and fed the Bráhman demons on them during seven days.

Then I took back from him my shape and power, and that gambler Dágineya, beside himself with fear, said to me, "I have not given those Bráhman demons any food this day, which is the eighth, so they will now come out and devour me. Tell me what I must do in this case, for you are my friend." When he said this, I, having got to like him from being thrown with him, said to him, "If this is the case, since you have made those two demons devour the gamblers, I for your sake will in turn eat the demons. So shew them to me, my friend." When I made the gambler this offer, he at once jumped at it, and took me to the pit where the demons were.

I, suspecting nothing, bent my head down to look into the pit, and while I was thus engaged, the gambler put his hand on the back of my neck, and pushed me into it. When I fell into it, the demons took me for some one sent for them to eat, and laid hold of me, and I had a wrestling-match with them. When they found that they could not overcome the might of my arms, they desisted from the struggle, and asked me who I was.

Then I told them my own story from the point where my fortunes became involved with those of Dágineya, [756] and they made friends with me, and said to me, "Alas! What a trick that evil-minded gambler has played you, and us two, and those other gamblers! But what confidence can be placed in gamblers, who profess exclusively the science of cheating, whose minds are proof against friendship, pity, and gratitude for a benefit received? Recklessness and disregard of all ties are ingrained in the nature of gamblers; hear in illustration of this the story of Thinthákarála."

Story of Thinthákarála the bold gambler.

Long ago there lived in this very city of Ujjayiní a ruffianly gambler, who was rightly named Thinthákarála. [757] He lost perpetually, and the others, who won in the game, used to give him every day a hundred cowries. With those he bought wheat-flour from the market, and in the evening made cakes by kneading them somewhere or other in a pot with water, and then he went and cooked them in the flame of a funeral pyre in the cemetery, and ate them in front of Mahákála, smearing them with the grease from the lamp burning before him: and he always slept at night on the ground in the court of the same god's temple, pillowing his head on his arm.

Now, one night, he saw the images of all the Mothers and of the Yakshas and other divine beings in the temple of Mahákála trembling from the proximity of spells, and this thought arose in his bosom, "Why should I not employ an artful device here to obtain wealth? If it succeeds, well and good; if it does not succeed, wherein am I the worse?" When he had gone through these reflections, he challenged those deities to play, saying to them, "Come now, I will have a game with you, and I will act as keeper of the gaming-table, and will fling the dice; and mind, you must always pay up what you lose." When he said this to the deities they remained silent; so Thinthákarála staked some spotted cowries, and flung the dice. For this is the universally accepted rule among gamblers, that, if a gambler does not object to the dice being thrown, he agrees to play.

Then, having won much gold, he said to the deities, "Pay me the money I have won, as you agreed to do." But though the gambler said this to the deities over and over again, they made no answer. Then he flew in a passion and said to them, "If you remain silent, I will adopt with you the same course as is usually adopted with a gambler, who will not pay the money he has lost, but makes himself as stiff as a stone. [758] I will simply saw through your limbs with a saw as sharp as the points of Yama's teeth, for I have no respect for anything." When he had said this, he ran towards them, saw in hand; and the deities immediately paid him the gold he had won. Next morning he lost it all at play, and in the evening he came back again, and extorted more money from the Mothers in the same way by making them play with him.

He went on doing this every day, and those deities, the Mothers, were in very low spirits about it; then the goddess Chámundá said to them, "Whoever, when invited to gamble, says 'I sit out of this game' cannot be forced to play; this is the universal convention among gamblers, ye Mother deities. So when he invites you, say this to him, and so baffle him." When Chámundá had said this to the Mothers, they laid her advice up in their minds. And when the gambler came at night and invited them to play with him, all the goddesses said with one accord "We sit out of this game."

When Thinthákarála had been thus repulsed by those goddesses, he invited their sovereign Mahákála himself to play. But that god, thinking that the fellow had taken this opportunity of trying to force him to gamble, said, "I sit out of this game." Even gods, you see, like feeble persons, are afraid of a thoroughly self-indulgent, ruffianly scoundrel, flushed with impunity.

Then that Thinthákarála, being depressed at finding his gambler's artifice baffled by a knowledge of the etiquette of play, was disgusted, and said to himself, "Alas! I am baffled by these deities through their learning the conventions of gamblers; so I must now flee for refuge to this very sovereign of the gods." Having formed this resolution in his heart, Thinthákarála embraced the feet of Mahákála, and praising him, addressed to him the following petition; "I adore thee that sittest naked [759] with thy head resting on thy knee; thy moon, thy bull, and thy elephant-skin having been won at play by Deví. When the gods give all powers at thy mere desire, and when thou art free from longings, having for thy only possessions the matted lock, the ashes and the skull, how canst thou suddenly have become avaricious with regard to hapless me, in that thou desirest to disappoint me for so small a gain? Of a truth the wishing-tree no longer gratifies the hope of the poor, as thou dost not support me, lord Bhairava, though thou supportest the world. So, as I have fled to thee as a suppliant, holy Sthánu, with my mind pierced with grievous woe, thou oughtest even to pardon presumption in me. Thou hast three eyes, I have three dice, [760] so I am like thee in one respect; thou hast ashes on thy body, so have I; thou eatest from a skull, so do I; shew me mercy. When I have conversed with you gods, how can I afterwards bear to converse with gamblers? So deliver me from my calamity."

With this and similar utterances the gambler praised that Bhairava, until at last the god was pleased, and manifesting himself, said to him, "Thinthákarála, I am pleased with thee; do not be despondent. Remain here with me; I will provide thee with enjoyments." In accordance with this command of the god's that gambler remained there, enjoying all kinds of luxuries provided by the favour of the deity.

Now, one night, the god saw certain Apsarases, that had come to bathe in that holy pool of Mahákála, and he gave this command to Thinthákarála, "While all these nymphs of heaven are engaged in bathing, quickly snatch up the clothes, which they have laid on the bank, and bring them here; and do not give them back their garments, until they surrender to you this young nymph, named Kalávatí." [761]

"When Thinthákarála had received this command from Bhairava, he went and carried off the garments of those heavenly beauties, while they were bathing; and they said to him, "Give us back our garments, please; do not leave us naked." But he answered them, confident in the power which Siva gave, "If you will give me the young nymph Kalávatí, I will give you back these garments, but not otherwise." When they heard that, seeing that he was a stubborn fellow to deal with, and remembering that Indra had pronounced a curse of this kind upon Kalávatí, they agreed to his demand. And on his giving back the garments, they bestowed on him, in due form, Kalávatí the daughter of Alambushá.

Then the Apsarases departed, and Thinthákarála remained there with that Kalávatí in a house built by the wish of Siva. And Kalávatí went in the day to heaven to attend upon the king of the gods, but at night she always returned [762] to her husband. And one day she said to him in the ardour of her affection, "My dear, the curse of Siva, which enabled me to obtain you for a husband, has really proved a blessing." Thereupon her husband Thinthákarála asked her the cause of the curse, and the nymph Kalávatí thus answered him:

"One day, when I had seen the gods in a garden, I praised the enjoyments of mortals, depreciating the pleasures of the dwellers in heaven, as giving joys that consist only in seeing. [763] When the king of the gods heard that, he cursed me, saying, 'Thou shalt go and be married by a mortal, and enjoy those human pleasures.' In this way has come about our union that is mutually agreeable. And to-morrow I shall return to heaven after a long absence; do not be unhappy about it; for Rambhá is going to dance a new piece before Vishnu, and I must remain there, my beloved, until the exhibition is at an end."

Then Thinthákarála, whom love had made like a spoiled child, said to her, "I will go there and look at that dance unperceived, take me there." When Kalávatí heard that, she said, "How is it fitting for me to do this? The king of the gods might be angry, if he found it out." Though she said this to him, he continued to press her; then out of love she agreed to take him there.

So the next morning Kalávatí by her power concealed Thinthákarála in a lotus, which she placed as an ornament in her ear, and took him to the palace of Indra. When Thinthákarála saw that palace, the doors of which were adorned by the elephant of the gods, which was set off by the garden of Nandana, he thought himself a god, and was highly delighted. And in the court of Indra, frequented by gods, he beheld the strange and delightful spectacle of Rambhá's dance, accompanied by the singing of all the nymphs of heaven. And he heard all the musical instruments played by Nárada and the other minstrels; for what is hard to obtain in this world if the supreme god [764] is favourable to one?

Then, at the end of the exhibition a mime, in the shape of a divine goat, rose up, and began to dance with heavenly [765] movements. And Thinthákarála, when he saw him, recognized him, and said to himself, "Why, I see this goat in Ujjayiní, figuring as a mere animal, and here he is dancing as a mime before Indra. Of a truth this must be some strange incomprehensible heavenly delusion." While Thinthákarála was going through these reflections in his mind, the dance of the goat-mime came to an end, and then Indra returned to his own place. And then Kalávatí, in high spirits, also took back Thinthákarála to his own home, concealed in the lotus-ornament of her ear.

And the next day Thinthákarála beheld in Ujjayiní that goat-formed mime of the gods, who had returned there, and he insolently said to him, "Come, dance before me, as you dance before Indra. If you do not, I shall be angry with you; show off your dancing powers, you mime." When the goat heard this, he was astonished, and remained silent, saying to himself, "How can this mere mortal know so much about me?" But when, in spite of persistent entreaties, the goat refused to dance, Thinthákarála beat him on the head with sticks.

Then the goat went with bleeding head to Indra, and told him all that had taken place. And Indra by his supernatural powers of contemplation discovered the whole secret, how Kalávatí had brought Thinthákarála to heaven when Rambhá was dancing, and how that profane fellow had there seen the goat dancing. Then Indra summoned Kalávatí, and pronounced on her the following curse, "Since, out of love, thou didst secretly bring here the man who has reduced the goat to this state, to make him dance, depart and become an image on a pillar in the temple built by king Narasinha in the city of Nágapura."

When Indra had said this, Alambushá, the mother of Kalávatí, tried to appease him, and at last he was with difficulty appeased, and he thus fixed an end to the curse, "When that temple, which it has taken many years to complete, shall perish and be levelled with the ground, then shall her curse come to an end." So Kalávatí came weeping and told to Thinthákarála the curse Indra had pronounced, together with the end he had appointed to it, and how he himself was to blame, and then, after giving him her ornaments, she entered into an image on the front of a pillar in the temple in Nágapura.

Thinthákarála for his part, smitten with the poison of separation from her, could neither hear nor see, but rolled swooning on the ground. And when that gambler came to his senses, he uttered this lament, "Alas! fool that I was, I revealed the secret, though I knew better all the time; for how can people like myself, who are by nature thoughtless, shew self-restraint? So now this intolerable separation has fallen to my lot." However in a moment he said to himself, "This is no time for me to despond; why should I not recover firmness and strive to put an end to her curse?"

After going through these reflections, the cunning fellow thought carefully over the matter, and assuming the dress of a mendicant devotee, went with rosary, antelope-skin, and matted hair, to Nágapura. There he secretly buried in a forest outside the city, four pitchers containing his wife's ornaments, one towards each of the cardinal points; and one full of sets of the five precious things [766] he deliberately buried within the city, in the earth of the market-place, in front of the god himself.

When he had done this, he built a hut on the bank of the river, and remained there, affecting a hypocritical asceticism, pretending to be meditating and muttering. And by bathing three times in the day, and eating only the food given him as alms, after washing it with water on a stone, he acquired the character of a very holy man.

In course of time his fame reached the ears of the king, and the king often invited him, but he never went near him: so the king came to see him, and remained a long time in conversation with him. And in the evening, when the king was preparing to depart, a female jackal suddenly uttered a yell at a distance. When the cunning gambler, who was passing himself off as an ascetic, heard that, he laughed. And when the king asked him the meaning of the laugh, he said, "Oh! never mind." But when the king went on persistently questioning him, the deceitful fellow said, "In the forest to the east of this city, under a ratan, there is a pitcher full of jewelled ornaments; so take it. This, king, is what that female jackal told me, for I understand the language of animals."

Then the king was full of curiosity: so the ascetic took him to the spot, and dug up the earth, and took out that pitcher, and gave it to him. Then the king, having obtained the ornaments, began to have faith in the ascetic, and considered that he not only possessed supernatural knowledge but was a truthful and unselfish devotee. So he conducted him to his cell, and prostrated himself at his feet again and again, and returned to his palace at night with his ministers, praising his virtues.

In the same way, when the king again came to him, the ascetic pretended to understand the cry of an animal, and in this way made over to the king the other three pitchers, buried towards the other three cardinal points. Then the king, and the citizens, and the king's wives became exclusively devoted to the ascetic, and were, so to speak, quite absorbed in him.

Now, one day, the king took that wicked ascetic to the temple for a moment; so he contrived to hear in the market-place the cry of a crow. Then he said to the king, "Did you hear what the crow said? 'In this very market-place there is a pitcher full of valuable jewels buried in front of the god: why do you not take it up also?' This was the meaning of his cry; so come, and take possession of it." When the deceitful ascetic had said this, he conducted him there, and took up out of the earth the pitcher full of valuable jewels, and gave it to the king. Then the king, in his excessive satisfaction, entered the temple holding that pretended seer by the hand.

There the mendicant brushed against that image on the pillar, which his beloved Kalávatí had entered, and saw her. And Kalávatí, wearing the form of the image on the pillar, was afflicted when she saw her husband, and began to weep then and there. When the king and his attendants saw this, they were amazed, and cast down, and said to that pretended seer, "Reverend Sir, what is the meaning of this?" Then the cunning rascal, pretending to be despondent and bewildered, said to the king, "Come to your palace: there I will tell you this secret, though it is almost too terrible to be revealed."

When he had said this, he led the king to the palace, and said to him, "Since you built this temple on an unlucky spot and in an inauspicious moment, on the third day from now a misfortune will befall you. It was for this reason that the image on the pillar wept when she saw you. So, if you care for your body's weal, my sovereign, take this into consideration, and this very day quickly level this temple with the earth; and build another temple somewhere else, on a lucky spot, and in an auspicious moment. Let the evil omen be averted, and ensure the prosperity of yourself and your kingdom." When he had said this to the king, he, in his terror, gave command to his subjects, and in one day levelled that temple with the earth, and he began to build another temple in another place. So true is it that rogues with their tricks gain the confidence of princes, and impose upon them.

Accordingly, the gambler Thinthákarála, having gained his object, abandoned the disguise of a mendicant, and fled, and went to Ujjayiní. And Kalávatí, finding it out, went to meet him on the road, freed from her curse and happy, and she comforted him, and then went to heaven to visit Indra. And Indra was astonished, but when he heard from her mouth the artifice of her husband the gambler, he laughed and was highly delighted. Then Vrihaspati, who was at his side, said to Indra, "Gamblers are always like this, abounding in every kind of trickery."

Story of the gambler who cheated Yama. [767]

For instance, in a previous kalpa there was in a certain city a gambler, of the name of Kuttaníkapata, accomplished in dishonest play. When he went to the other world, Indra said to him, "Gambler, you will have to live a kalpa in hell on account of your crimes, but owing to your charity you are to be Indra for one day, for once on a time you gave a gold coin to a knower of the Supreme Soul. So say, whether you will take out first your period in hell or your period as Indra." When the gambler heard that, be said, "I will take out first my period as Indra."

Then Yama sent the gambler to heaven, and the gods deposed Indra for a day, and crowned him sovereign in his stead. He, having obtained sovereign sway, summoned to heaven the gamblers his friends and his female favourites, and in virtue of his regal authority gave this order to the gods, "Carry us all in a moment to all the holy bathing-places, [768] those in heaven, and those on earth, and those in the seven dvípas: and enter this very day into all the kings on the earth, and bestow without ceasing, great, gifts for our benefit."

When he gave this order to the gods, they did everything as he had desired, and by means of those holy observances his sins were washed [769] away, and he obtained the rank of Indra permanently. And by his favour his friends and his female favourites, that he had summoned to heaven, had their sins destroyed and obtained immortality. The next day Chitragupta informed Yama that the gambler had by his discretion obtained the rank of Indra permanently. Then Yama, hearing of his meritorious actions, was astonished, and said, "Dear me! this gambler has cheated us."

When Vrihaspati had told this story, he said, "Such, O wielder of the thunderbolt, are gamblers," and then held his peace. And then Indra sent Kalávatí to summon Thinthákarála to heaven. There the king of the gods, pleased with his cleverness and resolution, honoured him, and gave him Kalávatí to wife, and made him an attendant on himself. Then the brave Thinthákarála lived happily, like a god, in heaven, with Kalávatí, by the favour of Siva.

"So, you see, such is the style in which gamblers exhibit their treachery and audacity; accordingly Agnisikha the Vampire, what is there to be surprised at in your having been treacherously thrown into this well by Dágineya the gambler? So come out of this pit, friend, and we will come out also."

When the Bráhman demons said this to me, I came up out of that pit, and being hungry, I came across a Bráhman traveller that night in the city. So I rushed forward and seized that Bráhman to eat him, but he invoked the protection of king Vikramáditya. And the moment the king heard his cry, he rushed out like flame, and while still at a distance, checked me by exclaiming "Ah villain! do not kill the Bráhman:" and then he proceeded to cut off the head of a figure of a man he had drawn; that did not sever my neck, but made it stream with blood.

Then I left the Bráhman and clung to the king's feet, and he spared my life.

"Such is the power of that god, king Vikramáditya. And it is by his orders that I have slain this hypocritical kápálika. So he is my proper prey, to be devoured by me as being a Vetála; let him go, Yamasikha!"

Though Agnisikha made this appeal to Yamasikha, the latter proceeded contumaciously to drag with his hand the corpse of that hypocritical kápálika. Then king Vikramáditya appeared there, and drew the figure of a man on the earth and then cut off its hand with his sword. That made the hand of Yamasikha fall severed; so he left the corpse, and fled in fear. And Agnisikha immediately devoured the corpse of that kápálika. And I witnessed all this, securely protected by the might of the king. [770]

"In these words did that wife of the Yaksha, Madanamanjarí by name, describe your power, O king, and then she went on to say to me."

Then, Anangadeva, the king said to me in a gentle voice, "Yakshí, being delivered from the kápálika, go to the house of your husband." Then I bowed before him, and returned to this my own home, thinking how I might repay to that king the benefit he had conferred on me. In this way your master gave me life, family and husband; and when you tell him this story of mine, it will agree with his own recollections.

Moreover, I have to-day found out that the king of Sinhala has sent to that king his daughter, the greatest beauty in the three worlds, who has of her own accord elected to marry him. And all the kings, being jealous, have gathered themselves together and formed the intention of killing Vikramasakti, and the dependent kings, [771] and of carrying off that maiden. So, do you go, and make known that their intention to Vikramasakti, in order that he may be on his guard and ready to repel their attack. And I will exert myself to enable king Vikramáditya to conquer those enemies and gain the victory.

"For this reason I brought you here by my own deluding power, in order that you might tell all this to king Vikramasakti and the dependent monarchs; and I will send to your sovereign such a present as shall to a certain small extent be a requital for the benefit that he conferred on me."

While she was saying this, the two maidens, that we had seen in the sea, came there with the deer; one had a body white as the moon, the other was dark as a priyangu; so they seemed like Gangá and Yamuná returned from worshipping the ocean, the monarch of rivers. When they had sat down, I put this question to the Yakshí, "Goddess, who are these maidens, and what is the meaning of this golden deer?" When the Yakshiní heard this, king, she said to me, "Anangadeva, if you feel any curiosity about the matter, listen, I will tell you."

Story of Ghanta and Nighanta and the two maidens.

Long ago there came to impede Prajápati, in his creation of creatures, two terrible Dánavas, named Ghanta and Nighanta, invincible even by gods. And the Creator, being desirous of destroying them, created these two maidens, the splendour of whose measureless beauty seemed capable of maddening the world. And those two mighty Asuras, when they saw these two exceedingly wonderful maidens, tried to carry them off; and fighting with one another, they both of them met their death. [772]

Then Brahmá bestowed these maidens on Kuvera, saying, "You must give these girls to some suitable husband;" and Kuvera made them over to my husband, who is his younger brother; and in the same way my husband passed these fair ones [773] on to me; and I have thought of king Vikramáditya as a husband for them, for, as he is an incarnation of a god, he is a fit person for them to marry.

"Such are the facts with regard to these maidens, now hear the history of the deer."

Story of the golden deer.

Indra has a beloved son, named Jayanta. Once on a time, when he, still an infant, was being carried about in the air by the celestial nymphs, he saw some princes in a wood on earth playing with some young deer. Then Jayanta [774] went to heaven, and cried in the presence of his father because he had not got a deer to play with, as a child would naturally do. Accordingly Indra had a deer made for him by Visvakarman of gold and jewels, and life was given to the animal by sprinkling it with nectar. Then Jayanta played with it, and was delighted with it, and the young deer was continually roaming about in heaven.

In course of time that son of Rávana, who was rightly named Indrajit, [775] carried off the young deer from heaven and took it to his own city Lanká. And after a further period had elapsed, Rávana and Indrajit having been slain by the heroes Ráma and Lakshmana, to avenge the carrying off of Sítá, and Vibhíshana having been set upon the throne of Lanká, as king of the Rákshasas, that wonderful deer of gold and jewels remained in his palace. And once on a time, when I was taken by my husband's relations to Vibhíshana's palace on the occasion of a festival, he gave me the deer as a complimentary present. And that young heaven-born deer is now in my house, and I must bestow it on your master.

And while the Yakshiní was telling me this string of tales, the sun, the friend of the kamaliní, went to rest. Then I and the ambassador of the king of Sinhala went to sleep, both of us, after the evening ceremonies, in a palace which the Yakshiní assigned to us.

In the morning we woke up and saw, my sovereign, that the army of Vikramasakti, your vassal, had arrived. We reflected that that must be a display of the Yakshiní's power, and quickly went wondering into the presence of Vikramasakti. And he, as soon as he saw us, showed us great honour, and asked after our welfare; and was on the point of asking us what message the king of Sinhala had sent, when the two heavenly maidens, whose history the Yakshiní had related to us, and the young deer arrived there, escorted by the army of the Yakshas. When king Vikramasakti saw this, he suspected some glamour of malignant demons, and he said to me apprehensively "What is the meaning of this?" Then I told him in due course the commission of the king of Sinhala, and the circumstances connected with the Yakshiní, the two maidens, and the deer. Moreover I informed him of the hostile scheme of your majesty's enemies, which was to be carried out by all the kings in combination, and which I had heard of from the Yakshí. Then Vikramasakti honoured us two ambassadors, and those two heavenly maidens; and being delighted made his army ready for battle with the assistance of the other vassal kings.

And immediately, king, there was heard in the army the loud beating of drums, and immediately there was seen the mighty host of hostile kings, accompanied by the Mlechchhas. Then our army and the hostile army, furious at beholding one another, closed with a rush, and the battle began. Thereupon some of the Yakshas sent by the Yakshí entered our soldiers, and so smote the army of the enemies, and others smote them in open fight. [776] And there arose a terrible tempest of battle, overspread with a cloud formed of the dust raised by the army, in which sword-blades fell thick as rain, and the shouts of heroes thundered. And the heads of our enemies flying up, as they were cut off, and falling again, made it seem as if the Fortune of our victory were playing at ball. And in a moment those kings that had escaped the slaughter, their troops having been routed, submitted and repaired for protection to the camp of your vassal.

Then, lord of earth, as you had conquered the four cardinal points and the dvípas, and had destroyed all the Mlechchhas, that Yakshiní appeared, accompanied by her husband, and said to king Vikramasakti and to me, "You must tell your master that what I have done has been done merely by way of service to him, and you must also request him, as from me, to marry these two god-framed maidens, and to look upon them with favour, and to cherish this deer also, for it is a present from me." When the Yakshí had said this, she bestowed a heap of jewels, and disappeared with her husband, and her attendants. The next day, Madanalekhá, the daughter of the king of Sinhala, came with a great retinue and much magnificence. And then Vikramasakti went to meet her, and bending low, joyfully conducted her into his camp. And on the second day Vikramasakti, having accomplished his object, set out with the other kings from that place, in order to come here and behold your Majesty's feet, bringing with him that princess and the two heavenly maidens, and that deer composed of gold and jewels, a marvel for the eyes of the three worlds. And now, sovereign, that vassal prince has arrived near this city, and has sent us two on in front to inform Your Highness. So let the king, out of regard for the lord of Sinhala and the Yakshí, go forth to meet those maidens and the deer, and also the subject kings.

When Anangadeva had said this to king Vikramáditya, though the king recollected accomplishing that difficult rescue of the Yakshiní, he did not consider it worth a straw, when he heard of the return she had made for it; great-souled men, even when they have done much, think it worth very little. And, being much pleased, he loaded [777] Anangadeva for the second time, with elephants, horses, villages, and jewels, and bestowed similar gifts on the ambassador of the king of Sinhala.

And after he had spent that day, the king set out from Ujjayiní, with his warriors mounted on elephants and horses, to meet that daughter of the king of Sinhala, and those two maidens created by Brahmá. And the following speeches of the military officers, assigning elephants and horses, were heard in the neighbourhood of the city when the kings started, and within the city itself when the sovereign started; "Jayavardhana must take the good elephant Anangagiri, and Ranabhata the furious elephant Kálamegha, and Sinhaparákrama Sangrámasiddhi, and the hero Vikramanidhi Ripurákshasa, and Jayaketu Pavanajava, and Vallabhasakti Samudrakallola, and Báhu and Subáhu the two horses Saravega and Garudavega, and Kírtivarman the black Konkan mare Kuvalayamálá, and Samarasinha the white mare Gangálaharí of pure Sindh breed."

When that king, the supreme sovereign of all the dvípas, had started on his journey, the earth was covered with soldiers, the quarters were full of nothing but the shouts that they raised, even the heaven was obscured with the dust that was diffused by the trampling of his advancing army, and all men's voices were telling of the wonderful greatness of his might.

Chapter CXXII

Then king Vikramáditya reached that victorious army commanded by that Vikramasakti his general, and he entered it at the head of his forces, accompanied by that general, who came to meet him, eager and with loyal mind, together with the vassal kings.

The kings were thus announced by the warders in the tent of assembly, "Your Majesty, here is Saktikumára the king of Gauda come to pay you his respects, here is Jayadhvaja the king of Karnáta, here is Vijayavarman of Láta, here is Sunandana of Kasmíra, here is Gopála king of Sindh, here is Vindhyabala the Bhilla, and here is Nirmúka the king of the Persians." And when they had been thus announced, the king honoured them, and the feudal chiefs, and also the soldiers. And he welcomed in appropriate fashion the daughter of the king of Sinhala, and the heavenly maidens, and the golden deer, and Vikramasakti. And the next day the successful monarch Vikramáditya set out with them and his forces, and reached the city of Ujjayiní.

Then, the kings having been dismissed with marks of honour [778] to their own territories, and the world-gladdening festival of the spring season having arrived, when the creepers began, so to speak, to adorn themselves with flowers for jewels, and the female bees to keep up a concert with their humming, and the ranges of the wood to dance embraced by the wind, and the cuckoos with melodious notes to utter auspicious prayers, king Vikramáditya married on a fortunate day that daughter of the king of Sinhala, and those two heavenly maidens. And Sinhavarman, the eldest brother of the princess of Sinhala, who had come with her, bestowed at the marriage-altar a great heap of jewels.

And at that moment the Yakshiní Madanamanjarí appeared, and gave those two heavenly maidens countless heaps of jewels. The Yakshí said, "How can I ever, king, recompense you for your benefits? But I have done this unimportant service to testify my devotion to you. So you must shew favour to these maidens, and to the deer." When the Yakshí had said this, she departed honoured by the king.

Then the successful king Vikramáditya, having obtained those wives and the earth with all its dvípas, ruled a realm void of opponents; and he enjoyed himself roaming in all the garden grounds; during the hot season living in the water of tanks and in artificial fountain-chambers, during the rains in inner apartments charming on account of the noise of cymbals that arose in them, during the autumn on the tops of palaces, joyous with banquets under the rising moon, during the winter in chambers where comfortable couches were spread, and which were fragrant with black aloes, being ever surrounded by his wives.

Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden.

Now this king, being such as I have described, had a painter named Nagarasvámin, who enjoyed the revenues of a hundred villages, and surpassed Visvakarman. That painter used every two or three days to paint a picture of a girl, and give it as a present to the king, taking care to exemplify different types of beauty.

Now, once on a time, it happened that that painter had, because a feast was going on, forgotten to paint the required girl for the king. And when the day for giving the present arrived, the painter remembered and was bewildered, saying to himself, "Alas! what can I give to the king?" And at that moment a traveller come from afar suddenly approached him and placed a book in his hand, and went off somewhere quickly. The painter out of curiosity opened the book, and saw within a picture of a girl on canvas. Inasmuch as the girl was of wonderful beauty, no sooner did he see her picture then he took it and gave it to the king, rejoicing that, so far from having no picture to present that day, he had obtained such an exceedingly beautiful one. But the king, as soon as he saw it, was astonished, and said to him, "My good fellow, this is not your painting, this is the painting of Visvakarman: for how could a mere mortal be skilful enough to paint such beauty?" When the painter heard this, he told the king exactly what had taken place.

Then the king kept ever looking at the picture of the girl, and never took his eyes off it, and one night he saw in a dream a girl exactly like her, but in another dvípa. But as he eagerly rushed to embrace her, who was eager to meet him, the night came to an end, and he was woke up by the watchman. [779] When the king awoke, he was so angry at the interruption of his delightful interview with that maiden, that he banished that watchman from the city. And he said to himself, "To think that a traveller should bring a book, and that in it there should be the painted figure of a girl, and that I should in a dream behold this same girl apparently alive! All this elaborate dispensation of destiny makes me think that she must be a real maiden, but I do not know in what dvípa she lives; how am I to obtain her?"

Full of such reflections, the king took pleasure in nothing, [780] and burnt with the fever of love so that his attendants were full of anxiety. And the warder Bhadráyudha asked the afflicted king in private the cause of his grief, whereupon he spake as follows:

"Listen, I will tell you, my friend. So much at any rate you know, that that painter gave me the picture of a girl. And I fell asleep thinking on her, and I remember that in my dream I crossed the sea, and reached and entered a very beautiful city. There I saw many armed maidens in front of me, and they, as soon as they saw me, raised a tumultuous cry of 'Kill, kill.' [781] Then a certain female ascetic came and with great precipitation made me enter her house, and briefly said to me this, 'My son, here is the man-hating princess Malayavatí come this way, diverting herself as she pleases. And the moment she sees a man, she makes these maidens of hers kill him: so I brought you in here to save your life.' [782]

"When the female ascetic had said this, she immediately made me put on female attire; and I submitted to that, knowing that it was not lawful to slay those maidens. But, when the princess entered into the house with her maidens, I looked at her, and lo! she was the very lady that had been shewn me in a picture. And I said to myself, 'Fortunate am I in that, after first seeing this lady in a picture, I now behold her again in flesh and blood, dear as my life.'

"In the meanwhile the princess, at the head of her maidens, said to that female ascetic, 'We saw some male enter here.' The ascetic shewed me, and answered, 'I know of no male; here is my sister's daughter, who is with me as a guest.' Then the princess seeing me, although I was disguised as a woman, forgot her dislike of men, and was at once overcome by love. She remained for a moment, with every hair on her body erect, motionless as if in thought, being, so to speak, nailed to the spot at once with arrows by Love, who had spied his opportunity. And in a moment the princess said to the ascetic, 'Then, noble lady, why should not your sister's daughter be my guest also? Let her come to my palace; I will send her back duly honoured.' Saying this, she took me by the hand, and led me away to her palace. And I remember, I discerned her intention, and consented, and went there, and that sly old female ascetic gave me leave to depart.

"Then I remained there with that princess, who was diverting herself with the amusement of marrying her maidens to one another, and so forth. Her eyes were fixed on me, and she would not let me out of her sight for an instant, and no occupation pleased her in which I did not take part. Then those maidens, I remember, made the princess a bride, and me her husband, and married us in sport. And when we had been married, we entered at night the bridal chamber, and the princess fearlessly threw her arms round my neck. And then I told her who I was, and embraced her, and delighted at having attained her object, she looked at me and then remained a long time with her eyes bashfully fixed on the ground. And at that moment that villain of a watchman woke me up. So, Bhadráyudha, the upshot of the whole matter is that I can no longer live without that Malayavatí, whom I have seen in a picture and in a dream."

When the king said this, the warder Bhadráyudha perceived that it was a true dream, and he consoled the monarch, and said to him, "If the king remembers it all exactly, let him draw that city on a piece of canvas in order that some expedient may be devised in this matter." The moment the king heard this suggestion of Bhadráyudha's, he proceeded to draw that splendid city on a piece of canvas, and all the scene that took place there. Then the warder at once took the drawing, and had a new monastery [783] made, and hung it up there on the wall. And he directed that in relief-houses attached to the monastery, a quantity of food, with pairs of garments and gold, should be given to bards coming from distant countries. And he gave this order to the dwellers in the monastery, "If any one comes here, who knows the city represented here in a picture, let me be informed of it."

In the meanwhile the fierce elephant of the rainy season with irresistible loud deep thunder-roar and long ketaka tusks came down upon the forest of the heats, a forest the breezes of which were scented with the perfume of the jasmine, in which travellers sat down on the ground in the shade, and trumpet-flowers bloomed. At that time the forest-fire of separation of that king Vikramáditya began to burn more fiercely, fanned by the eastern breeze. [784] Then the following cries were heard among the ladies of his court, "Háralatá, bring ice! Chitrángí, sprinkle him with sandal-wood juice! Patralekhá, make a bed cool with lotus-leaves! Kandarpasená, fan him with plantain-leaves!" And in course of time the cloudy season terrible with lightning passed away for that king, but the fever of love burning [785] with the sorrow of separation did not pass away.

Then the autumn with her open lotus-face, and smile of unclosed flowers, came, vocal with the cries of swans, [786] seeming to utter this command, "Let travellers advance on their journey; let pleasant tidings be brought about absent dear ones; happy may their merry meetings be!" On a certain day in that season a bard, who had come from a distance, of the name of Sanvarasiddhi, having heard the fame of that monastery, built by the warder, entered it to get food. After he had been fed, and presented with a pair of garments, he saw that painting on the wall of the monastery. When the bard had carefully scanned the city delineated there, he was astonished, and said, "I wonder who can have drawn this city? For I alone have seen it, I am certain, and no other; and here it is drawn by some second person." When the inhabitants of the monastery heard that, they told Bhadráyudha; then he came in person, and took that bard to the king. The king said to Sanvarasiddhi, "Have you really seen that city?" Then Sanvarasiddhi gave him the following answer.

"When I was wandering about the world, I crossed the sea that separates the dvípas, and beheld that great city Malayapura. In that city there dwells a king of the name of Malayasinha, and he has a matchless daughter, named Malayavatí, who used to abhor males. But one night she somehow or other saw in a dream a great hero in a convent. [787] The moment she saw him, that evil spirit of detestation of the male sex fled from her mind, as if terrified. Then she took him to her palace, and in her dream married him, and entered with him the bridal chamber. And at that moment the night came to an end, and an attendant in her room woke her up. Then she banished that servant in her anger, and thinking upon that dear one, whom she had seen in her dream, seeing no way of escape owing to the blazing fire of separation, utterly overpowered by love, she never rose from her couch except to fall back upon it again with relaxed limbs. She was dumb, as if possessed by a demon, as if stunned by a blow, [788] for when her attendants questioned her, she gave them no answer.

"Then her father and mother came to hear of it, and questioned her; and at last she was, with exceeding difficulty, persuaded to tell them what happened to her in the dream, by the mouth of a confidential female friend. Then her father comforted her, but she made a solemn vow that, if she did not obtain her beloved in six months, she would enter the fire. And already five months are past; who knows what will become of her? This is the story that I heard about her in that city."

When Sanvarasiddhi had told this story, which tallied so well with the king's own dream, the king was pleased at knowing the certainty of the matter, and Bhadráyudha said to him, "The business is as good as effected, for that king and his country own your paramount supremacy. So let us go there before the sixth month has passed away." When the warder had said this, king Vikramáditya made him inform Sanvarasiddhi of all the circumstances connected with the matter, and honoured him with a present of much wealth, and bade him shew him the way, and then he seemed to bequeath his own burning heat to the rays of the sun, his paleness to the clouds, and his thinness to the waters of the rivers, [789] and having become free from sorrow, set out at once, escorted by a small force, for the dwelling-place of his beloved.

In course of time, as he advanced, he crossed the sea, and reached that city, and there he saw the people in front of it engaged in loud lamentation, and when he questioned them, he received this answer, "The princess Malayavatí here, as the period of six months is at an end, and she has not obtained her beloved, is preparing to enter the fire." Then the king went to the place where the pyre had been made ready.

"When the people saw him, they made way for him, and then the princess beheld that unexpected nectar-rain to her eyes. And she said to her ladies-in-waiting, "Here is that beloved come who married me in a dream, so tell my father quickly." They went and told this to her father, and then that king, delivered from his grief, and filled with joy, submissively approached the sovereign. At that moment the bard Sanvarasiddhi, who knew his time, lifted up his arm, and chanted aloud this strain, "Hail thou that with the flame of thy valour hast consumed the forest of the army of demons and Mlechchhas! Hail king, lord of the seven-sea-girt earth-bride! Hail thou that hast imposed thy exceedingly heavy yoke on the bowed heads of all kings, conquered by thee! Hail, Vishamasíla, hail Vikramáditya, ocean of valour!"

When the bard said this, king Malayasinha knew that it was Vikramáditya himself that had come, and embraced his feet. [790] And after he had welcomed him, he entered his palace with him, and his daughter Malayavatí, thus delivered from death. And that king gave that daughter of his to king Vikramáditya, thinking himself fortunate in having obtained such a son-in-law. And king Vikramáditya, when he saw in his arms, in flesh and blood, that Malayavatí, whom he had previously seen in a picture and in a dream, considered it a wonderful fruit of the wishing-tree of Siva's favour. Then Vikramáditya took with him his wife Malayavatí, like an incarnation of bliss, and crossed the sea resembling his long regretful [791] separation, and being submissively waited upon at every step by kings, with various presents in their hands, returned to his own city Ujjayiní. And on beholding there that might of his, that satisfied [792] freely every kind of curiosity, what people were not astonished, what people did not rejoice, what people did not make high festival?

Chapter CXXIII

Then, once on a time, in the course of conversation, one of Vikramáditya's queens, called Kalingasená, said to her rival queens, "What the king did for the sake of Malayavatí was not wonderful, for this king Vishamasíla has ever been famous on the earth for such like acts. Was not I swooped down on by him and married by force, after he had seen a carved likeness of me and been overcome by love? On this account the kárpatika [793] Devasena told me a story: that story I will proceed to tell you; listen."

"I was very much vexed, and exclaimed 'How can the king be said to have married me lawfully?' Then the kárpatika said to me, 'Do not be angry, queen, for the king married you in eager haste out of a violent passion for you; hear the whole story from the beginning.'"

Story of Kalingasená's marriage

Once on a time, when I was serving your husband as a kárpatika, I saw a great boar far away in the wood. Its mouth was formidable with tusks, its colour was black as a Tamála tree, it looked like an incarnation of the black fortnight devouring the digits of the moon. And I came, queen, and informed the king of it, describing it to him as I have done to you. And the king went out to hunt, attracted by his love for the sport. And when he reached the wood, and was dealing death among the tigers and deer, he saw in the distance that boar of which I had informed him. And when he saw that wonderful boar, he came to the conclusion that some being had assumed that form with an object, and he ascended his horse called Ratnákara, the progeny of Ucchaihsravas.

For every day at noon, the sun waits a brief space in the sky, and then his charioteer the dawn lets the horses loose, that they may bathe and feed: and one day Uchchhaihsravas, having been unyoked from the chariot of the sun, approached a mare of the king's, that he saw in the forest, and begot that horse. [794]

So the king mounted that swift horse, and quickly pursued that boar, that fled to a very remote [795] part of the forest. Then that boar escaped somewhere from his view, being swifter even than that horse that had Uchchhaihsravas for a sire. Then the king, not having caught him, and seeing that I alone had followed him, while he had left the rest of his suite far behind, asked me this question, "Do you know how much ground we have traversed to get to this place?" When I heard that, queen, I made the king this answer, "My lord, we have come three hundred yojanas." Then the king being astonished said, "Then how have you managed to come so far on foot?" When he asked me this question, I answered, "King, I have an ointment for the feet; hear the way in which I acquired it."

How Devasena obtained the magic ointment.

Long ago, on account of the loss of my wife, I went forth to make a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing places, and in the course of my journey I came one evening to a temple with a garden. And I went in there to pass the night, and I saw inside a woman, and I remained there hospitably welcomed by her. And during the course of the night she elevated one lip to heaven, resting the other on the earth, and with expanded jaws said to me, "Have you seen before anywhere such a mouth as this?" Then I fearlessly drew my dagger with a frown, and said to her, "Have you seen such a man as this?" Then she assumed a gentle appearance without any horrible distortion of shape, and said to me, "I am a Yakshí, Vandhyá by name, and I am pleased with your courage; so now tell me what I can do to gratify you."

When the Yakshiní said this, I answered her, "If you are really pleased with me, then enable me to go round to all the holy waters without any suffering." When the Yakshí heard this, she gave me an ointment for my feet; [796] by means of it I travelled to all the holy bathing-places, and I have been able to run behind you now so far as this place. And by its aid I come to this wood here every day, and eat fruits, and then return to Ujjayiní and attend upon you.

When I told that tale to the king, I saw by his pleased face that he thought in his heart that I was a follower well-suited to him. I again said to him, "King, I will bring you here some very sweet fruits, if you will be pleased to eat them." The king said to me, "I will not eat; I do not require anything; but do you eat something, as you are exhausted." Then I got hold of a gourd and ate it, and no sooner had I eaten it, than it turned me into a python.

But king Vishamasíla, when he saw me suddenly turn into a python, was astonished and despondent. So, being there alone, he called to mind the Vetála Bhútaketu, whom he had long ago made his servant, by delivering him with a look from a disease of the eyes. That Vetála came, as soon as the king called him to mind, and bowing before him said, "Why did you call me to mind, great king? Give me your orders." Then the king said, "Good sir, this my kárpatika has been suddenly turned into a python by eating a gourd; restore him to his former condition." But the Vetála said, "King, I have not the power to do this. Powers are strictly limited: can water quench the flame of lightning?" Then the king said, "Then let us go to this village, my friend. We may eventually hear of some remedy from the Bhillas there."

When the king had come to this conclusion, he went to that village with the Vetála. There the bandits surrounded him, seeing that he wore ornaments. But when they began to rain arrows upon him, the Vetála, by the order of the king, devoured five hundred of them. The rest fled and told their chief what had occurred, and he, whose name was Ekákikesarin, came there in wrath, with his host. But one of his servants recognised the monarch, and the chief hearing from him who it was, came and clung to Vikramáditya's feet, and announced himself. Then the king welcomed kindly the submissive chief, and asked after his health, and said to him, "My kárpatika has become a python by eating the fruit of a gourd in the forest; so devise some plan for releasing him from his transformation."

When that chief heard this speech of the king's, he said to him, "King, let this follower of yours shew him to my son here." Then that son of his came with the Vetála, and made me a man as before by means of a sternutatory made of the extract of a plant. And then we went joyful into tho presence of the king; and when I bent at the feet of the king, the king informed the delighted chief who I was.

Then the Bhilla chief Ekákikesarin, after obtaining the king's consent, conducted him and us to his palace. And we beheld that dwelling of his, crowded with Savaras, having its high walls covered with the tusks of elephants, adorned with tiger-skins; in which the women had for garments the tails of peacocks, for necklaces strings of gunjá-fruit, and for perfume the ichor that flows from the foreheads of elephants. There the wife of the chief, having her garments perfumed with musk, adorned with pearls and such like ornaments, herself waited on the king.

Then the king, having bathed and taken a meal, observed that the chief's sons were old, while he was a young man, and put this question to him, "Chief, explain, I pray you, this that puzzles me. How comes it, that you are a young man, whereas these children of yours are old?" When the king had said this to the Savara chief, he answered him, "This, king, is a strange story; listen if you feel any curiosity about it."

Story of the grateful Monkey. [797]

I was long ago a Bráhman named Chandrasvámin, and I lived in the city of Máyápur. One day I went by order of my father to the forest to fetch wood. There a monkey stood barring my way, but without hurting me, looking at me with an eye of grief, pointing out to me another path. I said to myself, "This monkey does not bite me, so I had better go along the path which he points out, and see what his object is." Thereupon I set out with him along that path, and the monkey kept going along in front of me, and turning round to look at me. And after he had gone some distance, he climbed up jambu-tree, and I looked at the upper part of the tree, which was covered with a dense network of creepers: and I saw a female monkey there with her body fettered by a mass of creepers twisted round her, and I understood that it was on this account that the monkey had brought me there. Then I climbed up the tree, and cut with my axe the creepers [798] that had twisted round and entangled her, and set that female monkey at liberty.

And when I got down from the tree, the male and female monkey came down also and embraced my feet. And the male monkey left that female clinging to my feet for a moment, and went and fetched a heavenly fruit, and gave it to me. I took it and returned home after I had got my fuel, and there I and my wife ate that splendid fruit together, and as soon as we had eaten it, we ceased to be liable to old age and disease. [799]

Then there arose in that country of ours the scourge of famine. And afflicted by that calamity the people of that land fled in all directions. And I happened in course of time to reach this country with my wife. And at that time there was a king of the Savaras here named Kánchanadanshtra: I entered his service with my sword. And as Kánchanadanshtra saw that I came to the front in several engagements, he appointed me general. And as I had won the affections of that master of mine by my exclusive devotion to him, when he died, having no son, he bestowed on me his kingdom. And twenty-seven hundred years have passed over my head, since I have been in this place, and yet, owing to eating that fruit, I do not suffer from old age.

When Ekákikesarin, the king of the Bhillas, had told in these words his own history, he went on to ask a favour of the astonished monarch, saying, "By the fruit given by the monkey I gained a long life, and by that long life I have again obtained a perfect fruit, namely, the sight of your august self. So I entreat, king, that the condescension towards me, which you have shown by coming to my house, may be developed into gracious approval. I have, king, a daughter of matchless beauty, born to me by a Kshatriyá wife, and her name is Madanasundarí. That pearl of maidens ought not to fall to the lot of any one but your Highness. Therefore I bestow her on you; marry her with due ceremonies. And I, my sovereign, will follow you as your slave with twenty thousand archers."

When the Bhilla chief addressed this petition to the king, he granted it. And in an auspicious hour he married the daughter of that chief, who gave him a hundred camels laden with pearls and musk. And after the king had remained there seven days, he set out thence with Madanasundarí and the army of the Bhillas.

In the meanwhile, after the king had been carried away by his horse, our army remained despondent in the forest, where the hunting took place; but the warder Bhadráyudha said to them, "Away with despondency! Even though our king has been away for a long time, he is of divine power, and no serious misfortune will happen to him. Do you not remember how he went to Pátála and married there the daughter of a Nága, whose name was Surúpá, and came back here alone, and how the hero went to the world of the Gandharvas, and returned here with Tárávalí the daughter of the king of the Gandharvas?" With these words Bhadráyudha consoled them all, and they remained at the entrance of the forest waiting for the king.

And while that Madanasundarí was advancing leisurely by an open path, accompanied by the Savara hosts, the king entered that forest on horseback, with myself and the Vetála, in order to get a sight of the boar he had before seen: and when he entered it, the boar rushed out in front of him, and the moment the king saw it, he killed it with five arrows. When it was slain, the Vetála rushed to it, and tore its belly open, and suddenly there issued from it a man of pleasing appearance.

The king, astonished, asked him who he was, and then there came there a wild elephant, resembling a moving mountain. When the king saw that wild elephant charging down on him, he smote it in a vital place and slew it with a single arrow. The Vetála tore open its belly also, and there issued from it a man of heavenly appearance, and a woman beautiful in all her limbs. And when the king was about to question the man, who issued from the boar, he said to him, "Listen, king; I am going to tell you my history.

"We two, king, are two sons of gods: [800] this one's name is Bhadra, and I am Subha. As we were roaming about we observed the hermit Kanva engaged in meditation. We assumed in sport the forms of an elephant and a boar, and having done so, we terrified the great sage in our reckless folly, and he pronounced on us this curse, 'Become in this forest an elephant and boar such as you are now; but when you shall be killed by king Vikramáditya, you shall be released from the curse.' So we became an elephant and a boar by the curse of the hermit, and we have to-day been set free by you; as for this woman, let her tell her own story. But touch this boar on the neck and this elephant on the back; and they will become for you celestial sword and shield."

When he had said this, he disappeared with his companion, and the boar and elephant, touched by the hand of the king, became for him a sword and a shield. Then the woman, being questioned about her history, spoke as follows:

"I am the wife of a great merchant in Ujjayiní named Dhanadatta. One night, as I was sleeping on the top of a palace, this elephant came and swallowed me and brought me here; however this man was not inside the elephant, but when its belly was torn open, he came out of it with me."

When the woman said this in grief, the king said to her, "Be of good courage: I will take you to your husband's house: go and journey along in security with my harem." When he had said this, he made the Vetála take her and hand her over to the queen Madanasundarí, who was travelling by a different path.

Then, the Vetála having returned, we suddenly saw there in the wood two princesses, with a numerous and splendid retinue. And the king sent me and summoned their chamberlains, and they, when asked whence the two maidens came, told the following story;

Story of the two princesses.

There is a dvípa named Katáha, the home of all felicities. In it there is a king rightly named Gunaságara. [801] He had born to him by his principal queen a daughter named Gunavatí, who by her beauty produced astonishment even in the Creator who made her. And holy seers announced that she should have for a husband the lord of the seven dvípas; whereupon her father the king deliberated with his counsellors; and came to this conclusion, "King Vikramáditya is a suitable husband for my daughter; so I will send her to marry him."

Accordingly, the king made his daughter embark in a ship on the sea, with her retinue and wealth, and sent her off. But it so happened that when the ship came near Suvarnadvípa, it was swallowed, with the princess and the people on board, by a large fish. But that monstrous fish was carried by the current of the sea as if by the course of Destiny, and thrown up on a coast near that dvípa, and there stranded. And the people of the neighbourhood, the moment they saw it, ran with many weapons in their hands, and killed that marvellous fish, and cut open its belly. [802] And then there came out of it that great ship full of people; and when the king of that dvípa heard of it, he came there greatly wondering. And that king, whose name was Chandrasekhara, and who was the brother-in-law of king Gunaságara, heard the whole story from the people in the ship. Then the king, finding that Gunavatí was the daughter of his sister, took her into his palace, and out of joy celebrated a feast. And the next day that king put on board a ship in a lucky moment his daughter Chandravatí, whom he had long intended to give to king Vikramáditya, with that Gunavatí, and sent her off with much magnificence as a gift to that sovereign.

These two princesses, having crossed the sea, by advancing gradually, have at length arrived here; and we are their attendants. And when we reached this place, a very large boar and a very large elephant rushed upon us; then, king, we uttered this cry, "These maidens have come to offer themselves for wives to king Vikramáditya: so preserve them for him, ye Guardians of the World, as is meet." When the boar and the elephant heard this, they said to us with articulate speech, "Be of good courage! the mere mention of that king's name ensures your safety. And you shall see him arrive here in a moment." When the boar and the elephant, who were, no doubt, some heavenly beings or other, had said this, they went away.

"This is our story," said the chamberlain, and then, queen, I said to them, "And this is the king you seek." Then they fell at the king's feet rejoicing, and made over to him those two princesses Gunavatí and Chandravatí. And the king gave orders to the Vetála and had those two fair ones also taken to his queen, saying, "Let all three travel with Madanasundarí."

The Vetála returned immediately, and then, queen, the king went with him and myself by an out-of-the-way path. And as we were going along in the forest, the sun set; and just at that time we heard there the sound of a drum. The king asked, "Whence comes this sound of a drum?" The Vetála answered him, "King, there is a temple here. It is a marvel of heavenly skill, having been built by Visvakarman; and this beating of the drum is to announce the commencement of the evening spectacle."

When the Vetála had said this, he and the king and I went there out of curiosity, and after we had tied up the horse, we entered. And we saw worshipped there a great linga of tárkshyaratna [803] and in front of it a spectacle with blazing lights. And there danced there for a long time three nymphs of celestial beauty, in four kinds of measures, accompanied with music and singing. And at the end of the spectacle we beheld a wonder, for the dancing nymphs disappeared in the figures carved on the pillars of the temple: and in the same way the singers and players went into the figures of men painted on the walls. When the king saw this, he was astonished, but the Vetála said to him, "Such is this heavenly enchantment produced by Visvakarman, lasting for ever, for this will always take place at both twilights."

When he had said this, we wandered about in the temple, and saw in one place a female figure on a pillar, of extraordinary beauty. When the king saw her, he was bewildered by her beauty, and remained for a moment absent-minded and motionless, so that he himself was like a figure cut on a pillar. And he exclaimed, "If I do not see a living woman like this figure, of what profit to me is my kingdom or my life?" When the Vetála heard this, he said, "Your wish is not hard to gratify, for the king of Kalinga has a daughter named Kalingasená, and a sculptor of Vardhamána seeing her, and being desirous of representing her beauty, carved this figure in imitation of her. [804] So return to Ujjayiní, king, and ask that king of Kalinga for his daughter, or carry her off by force." This speech of the Vetála's the king laid up in his heart.

Then we spent that night there, and the next morning we set out, and we saw two handsome men under an asoka-tree, and then they rose up and bowed before the king. Then the king said to them, "Who are you, and why are you in the forest?" One of them answered, "Listen, king, I will tell you the whole story."

Story of Dhanadatta.

I am the son of a merchant in Ujjayiní, and my name is Dhanadatta. Once on a time I went to sleep with my wife on the top of my palace. In the morning I woke up and looked about me, and lo! my wife was not in the palace, nor in the garden attached to it, nor anywhere about it. I said to myself, "She has not lost her heart to another man; of that I am convinced by the fact that the garland which she gave me, telling me that as long as she remained chaste, it would certainly not fade, is still as fresh as ever. [805] So I cannot think where she has gone, whether she has been carried off by a demon or some other evil being, or what has happened to her." With these thoughts in my mind, I remained looking for her, crying out, lamenting, and weeping; consumed by the fire of separation from her; taking no food. Then my relations succeeded at last in consoling me to a certain extent, and I took food, and I made my abode in a temple, and remained there plunged in grief, feasting Bráhmans.

Once when I was quite broken down, this Bráhman came to me there, and I refreshed him with a bath and food, and after he had eaten, I asked him whence he came, and he said, "I am from a village near Váránasí." My servants told him my cause of woe, and he said, "Why have you, like an unenterprising man, allowed your spirits to sink? The energetic man obtains even that which it is hard to attain; so rise up my friend, and let us look for your wife; I will help you."

I said, "How are we to look for her, when we do not even know in what direction she has gone?" When I said this, he answered me kindly, "Do not say this; did not Kesata long ago recover his wife, when it seemed hopeless that he should ever be reunited with her? Hear his story in proof of it."

Story of Kesata and Kandarpa.

There lived in the city of Pátaliputra a wealthy young Bráhman, the son of a Bráhman; his name was Kesata, and he was in beauty like a second god of love. He wished to obtain a wife like himself, and so he went forth secretly [806] from his parents' house, and wandered through various lands on the pretext of visiting holy bathing-places. And in the course of his wanderings he came once on a time to the bank of the Narmadá, and he saw a numerous procession of bridegroom's friends coming that way. And a distinguished old Bráhman, belonging to that company, when he saw Kesata in the distance, left his companions, and coming up to him accosted him, and respectfully said to him in private, "I have a certain favour to ask of you, and it is one which you can easily do for me, but the benefit conferred on me will be a very great one; so, if you will do it, I will proceed to say what it is." When Kesata heard this, he said, "Noble sir, if what you say is possible, I must certainly do it: let the benefit be conferred on you."

When the Bráhman heard that, he said, "Listen, my good young man; I have a son, who is the prince of ugly, as you are of good-looking, men. He has projecting teeth, a flat nose, a black colour, squinting eyes, a big belly, crooked feet, and ears like winnowing baskets. Though he is such, I, out of my love for him, described him as handsome, and asked a Bráhman, named Ratnadatta, to give him his daughter, named Rúpavatí, and he has agreed to do it. The girl is as beautiful as her name expresses, and to-day they are to be married. For this reason we have come, but I know that, when that purposed connexion of mine sees my son, he will refuse to give him his daughter, and this attempt will be fruitless. And while thinking how I could find some way out of the difficulty, I have met you here, courteous sir; so quickly perform for me my desire, as you have pledged your word to do. Come with us, and marry that maiden, and hand her over to my son to-day, for you are as good-looking as the bride."

When Kesata heard this, he said, "Agreed," and so the old Bráhman took Kesata with him, and they crossed the Narmadá in boats and landed on the opposite bank. And so he reached the city, and rested outside it with his followers, and at that time the sun also, the traveller of the sky, went to his rest on the mountain of setting. Then the darkness began to diffuse itself abroad, and Kesata, having gone to rinse his mouth, saw a terrible Rákshasa rise up near the water; and the Rákshasa said, "Where will you go from me, [807] Kesata? I am about to devour you." Thereupon Kesata said to the Rákshasa, "Do not devour me now; I will certainly come back to you presently, when I have done the Bráhman the service I promised." When the Rákshasa heard this, he made Kesata take an oath to this effect, and then let him go; and he returned to the company of the bridegroom's friends.

Then the old Bráhman brought Kesata adorned with the ornaments of a bridegroom, and entered that city with all the bridegroom's party. And then he made him enter the house of Ratnadatta, in which an altar-platform was ready prepared, and which was made to resound with the music of various instruments. And Kesata married there with all due ceremonies that fair-faced maiden Rúpavatí, to whom her father gave great wealth. And the women there rejoiced, seeing that the bride and bridegroom were well-matched; and not only Rúpavatí, when she saw that such a bridegroom had arrived, but her friends also, fell in love with him. But Kesata at that time was overpowered with despondency and astonishment.

And at night Rúpavatí seeing that her husband, as he lay on the bed, was plunged in thought, and kept his head turned away, pretended to be asleep. And in the dead of night Kesata, thinking that she was asleep, went out to that Rákshasa to keep his promise. And that faithful wife Rúpavatí also gently rose up unobserved, and followed her husband, full of curiosity. And when Kesata arrived where the Rákshasa was, the latter said to him, "Bravo! you have kept your promise faithfully, Kesata; you are a man of noble character. You sanctify your city of Pátaliputra and your father Desata by your virtue, so approach, that I may devour you." When Rúpavatí heard that, she came up quickly and said, "Eat me, for, if my husband is eaten, what will become of me?" The Rákshasa said, "You can live on alms." She replied, "Who, noble sir, will give alms to me who am a woman?" The Rákshasa said, "If any one refuses to give you alms, when asked to do so, his head shall split in a hundred pieces." [808] Then she said, "This being so, give me my husband by way of alms." And, as the Rákshasa would not give him, his head at once split asunder, and he died. Then Rúpavatí returned to her bridal-chamber, with her husband, who was exceedingly astonished at her virtue, and at that moment the night came to an end.

And the next morning the bridegroom's friends took food and set out from that city, and reached the bank of the Narmadá with the newly married pair. Then the old Bráhman, who was their leader, put the wife Rúpavatí with her attendants on board one boat, and went on board a second himself, and cunningly made Kesata embark on a third, having previously made an agreement with the boatmen; and before he went on board took from him all the ornaments he had lent him. Then the Bráhman was ferried across with the wife and the bridegroom's party, but Kesata was kept out in the middle of the stream by the boatmen, and carried to a great distance. Then those boatmen pushed the boat and Kesata into a place where the current ran full and strong, and swam ashore themselves, having been bribed by the old Bráhman.

But Kesata was carried with the boat, by the river which was lashed into waves by the wind, into the sea, and at last a wave flung him up on the coast. There he recovered strength and spirits, as he was not doomed to die just yet, and he said to himself, "Well, that Bráhman has made me a fine recompense. But was not the fact that he married his son by means of a substitute, in itself sufficient proof that he was a fool and a scoundrel?"

While he remained there, buried in such thoughts, the night came on him, when the companies of air-flying witches begin to roam about. He remained sleepless through it, and in the fourth watch he heard a noise in the sky, and saw a handsome [809] man fall from heaven in front of him. Kesata was terrified at first, but after some time he saw that he had nothing uncanny about him, so he said to him, "Who are you, Sir?" Then the man said, "First tell me who you are; and then I will tell you who I am." Hearing that, Kesata told him his history. Then the man said, "My friend, you are exactly in the same predicament as myself, so I will now tell you my history, listen.

"There is on the bank of the river Vená a city named Ratnapura; I am a Bráhman householder in that city, the son of a rich man, and my name is Kandarpa. One evening I went down to the river Vená to draw water, and I slipped and fell into it, and was carried away by the current. The current carried me a long way during that night, and when the morning came, as I was not doomed to die yet, it brought me to the foot of a tree that grew on the bank. I climbed up the bank by the help of the tree, and when I had recovered breath, I saw in front of me a great empty temple dedicated to the Mothers. I entered it, and when I saw before me the Mothers flashing, as it were, with brightness and power, my fear was allayed, and I bowed before them, and praised them and addressed this prayer to them, 'Venerable ones, deliver me a miserable man; for I have to-day come here as a suppliant for your protection.' When I had uttered this prayer, being exhausted with my struggles in the current of the river, I rested, my friend, till my fatigue gradually disappeared, and the day disappeared also. And then there appeared the horrible female ascetic called night, furnished with many stars by way of a bone-necklace, white with moonlight instead of ashes, and carrying the moon for a gleaming seull.

"And then, I remember, a band of witches came out from the company of the Mothers, and they said to one another, 'To night we must go to the general assembly of the witches in Chakrapura, [810] and how can this Bráhman be kept safe in this place which is full of wild beasts? So let us take him to some place where he will be happy: and afterwards we will bring him back again; he has fled to us for protection.' When they had said this, they adorned me, and carrying me through the air, placed me in the house of a rich Bráhman in a certain city, and went away.

"And when I looked about me there, lo! the altar was prepared for a marriage, and the auspicious hour had arrived, but the procession of bridegroom's friends was nowhere to be seen. And all the people, seeing me in front of the door arrayed in bridegroom's garments of heavenly splendour, said, 'Here is the bridegroom at any rate arrived.' Then the Bráhman of the house took me to the altar, and led his daughter there adorned, and gave her to me with the usual ceremonies. And the women said to one another, 'Fortunate is it that the beauty of Sumanas has borne fruit by winning her a bridegroom like herself!' Then, having married Sumanas, I slept with her in a palace, gratified by having every want supplied in the most magnificent style.

"Then those witches came back from their assembly in this last watch of the night, and by their supernatural power carried me off, and flew up into the air with me. And while they were flying through the air, they had a fight with another set of witches, who came, wishing to carry me off, and they let me go and I fell down here. And I do not know the city where I married that Sumanas; and I cannot tell what will become of her now. This succession of misfortunes, which Destiny has brought upon me, has now ended in happiness by my meeting with you."

When Kandarpa had given this account of his adventure, Kesata said to him, "Do not be afraid, my friend; the witches will have no power over you henceforth; since I possess a certain irresistible charm, which will keep them at a distance: now let us roam about together: Destiny will bestow on us good fortune." And while they were engaged in this conversation, the night came to an end.

In the morning Kesata and Kandarpa set out from that place together, and crossing the sea, reached in due course a city named Bhímapura near the river called Ratnanadí. There they heard a great noise on the bank of that river, and when they went to the place whence it came, they saw a fish that filled the channel of the stream from bank to bank. It had been thrown up by the tide of the sea, and got fast in the river owing to the vastness of its bulk, and men with various weapons in their hands were cutting it up to procure flesh. And while they were cutting it open, there came out of its belly a woman, and being beheld by the people with astonishment, she came terrified to the bank.

Then Kandarpa looked at her, and said exultingly to Kesata, "My friend, here is that very Sumanas, whom I married. But I do not know how she came to be living in the belly of a fish. So let us remain here in silence, until the whole matter is cleared up." Kesata consented, and they remained there. And the people said to Sumanas, "Who are you, and what is the meaning of this?" Then she said very reluctantly,

"I am the daughter of a crest-jewel of Bráhmans, named Jayadatta, who lived in the city of Ratnákara. My name is Sumanas, and one night I was married to a certain handsome young Bráhman, who was a suitable match for me. That very night, my husband went away somewhere, while I was asleep; and though my father made diligent search for him, he could not find him anywhere. Then I threw myself into the river to cool the fire of grief at separation from him, and I was swallowed by this fish; and now Destiny has brought me here."

While she was saying this, a Bráhman named Yajnasvámin rushed out of the crowd, and embraced her and said this to her, "Come, come with me, niece; you are the daughter of my sister; for I am Yajnasvámin, your mother's own brother." When Sumanas heard that, she uncovered her face and looked at him, and recognising her uncle, she embraced his feet weeping. But after a moment she ceased weeping, and said to him, "Do you give me fuel, for, as I am separated from my husband, I have no other refuge but the fire."

Her uncle did all he could to dissuade her, but she would not abandon her intention; and then Kandarpa, having thus seen her real feelings tested, came up to her. When the wise Sumanas saw him near her, she recognised him, and fell weeping at his feet. And when the discreet woman was questioned by the people, and by that uncle of hers, she answered, "He is my husband." Then all were delighted, and Yajnasvámin took her husband Kandarpa to his house, together with Kesata. There they told their adventures, and Yajnasvámin and his family lovingly waited on them with many hospitable attentions.

After some days had passed, Kesata said to Kandarpa, "You have gained all you want by recovering your longed-for wife; so now go with her to Ratnapura your own city; but, as I have not attained the object of my desire, I will not return to my own country: I, my friend, will make a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing-places and so destroy my body." When Yajnasvámin, in Bhímapura, heard this, he said to Kesata, "Why do you utter this despondent speech? As long as people are alive, there is nothing they cannot get: in proof of this hear the story of Kusumáyudha, which I am about to tell you."

Story of Kusumáyudha and Kamalalochaná.

There was in a town named Chandrapura a Bráhman named Devasvámin: he had a very beautiful daughter named Kamalalochaná. And he had a young Bráhman pupil named Kusumáyudha; and that pupil and his daughter loved one another well.

One day her father made up his mind to give her to another suitor, and at once that maiden sent by her confidante the following message to Kusumáyudha, "Though I have long ago fixed my heart on you for a husband, my father has promised to give me to another, so devise a scheme for carrying me off hence." So Kusumáyudha made an arrangement to carry her off, and he placed outside her house at night a servant with a mule for that purpose. So she quietly went out and mounted the mule, but that servant did not take her to his master; he took her somewhere else, to make her his own.

And during the night he took Kamalalochaná a long distance, and they reached a certain city by the morning, when that chaste woman said to the servant, "Where is my husband your master? Why do you not take me to him?" When the cunning rogue heard this, he said to her who was alone in a foreign country, "I am going to marry you myself: never mind about him; how can you get to him now?" When the discreet woman heard this, she said, "Indeed I love you very much." [811] Then the rascal left her in the garden of the city, and went to the market to buy the things required for a wedding. In the meanwhile that maiden fled, with the mule, and entered the house of a certain old man who made garlands. She told him her history, and he made her welcome, so she remained there. And the wicked servant, not finding her in the garden, went away from it disappointed, and returned to his master Kusumáyudha. And when his master questioned him, he said, "The fact is, you are an upright man yourself, and you do not understand the ways of deceitful women. No sooner did she come out and was seen, than I was seized there by those other men, and the mule was taken away from me. By good luck I managed to escape and have come here." When Kusumáyudha heard this, he remained silent, and plunged in thought.

One day his father sent him to be married, and as he was going along, he reached the city, where Kamalalochaná was. There he made the bridegroom's followers encamp in a neighbouring garden, and while he was roaming about alone, Kamalalochaná saw him, and told the garland-maker in whose house she was living. He went and told her intended husband what had taken place, and brought him to her. Then the garland-maker collected the necessary things, and the long-desired marriage between the youth and the maiden was immediately celebrated. Then Kusumáyudha punished that wicked servant, and married in addition that second maiden, who was the cause of his finding Kamalalochaná, and in order to marry whom he had started from home, and he returned rejoicing to his own country with those two wives.

"Thus the fortunate are reunited in the most unexpected manner, and so you may be certain, Kesata, of regaining your beloved soon in the same way." When Yajnasvámin had said this, Kandarpa, Sumanas and Kesata, remained for some days in his house, and then they set out for their own country. But on the way they reached a great forest, and they were separated from one another in the confusion produced by a charge of wild elephants. Of the party Kesata went on alone and grieved, and in course of time reached the city of Kásí and found his friend Kandarpa there. And he went with him to his own city Pátaliputra, and he remained there some time welcomed by his father. And there he told his parents all his adventures, beginning with his marrying Rúpavatí, and ending with the story of Kandarpa.

In the meanwhile Sumanas fled, terrified at the elephants, and entered a thicket, and while she was there, the sun set for her. And when night came on, she cried out in her woe, "Alas, my husband! Alas, my father! Alas, my mother!" and resolved to fling herself into a forest fire. And in the meanwhile that company of witches, that were so full of pity for Kandarpa, having conquered the other witches, reached their own temple. There they remembered Kandarpa, and finding out by their supernatural knowledge that his wife had lost her way in a wood, they deliberated as follows, "Kandarpa, being a resolute man, will unaided obtain his desire; but his wife, being a young girl, and having lost her way in the forest, will assuredly die. So let us take her and put her down in Ratnapura, in order that she may live there in the house of Kandarpa's father with his other wife." When the witches had come to this conclusion, they went to that forest and comforted Sumanas there, and took her and left her in Ratnapura.

When the night had passed, Sumanas, wandering about in that city, heard the following cry in the mouths of the people who were running hither and thither, "Lo! the virtuous Anangavatí, the wife of the Bráhman Kandarpa, who, after her husband had gone somewhere or other, lived a long time in hope of reunion with him, not having recovered him, has now gone out in despair to enter the fire, followed by her weeping father-in-law and mother-in-law." When Sumanas heard that, she went quickly to the place where the pyre had been made, and going up to Anangavatí, said to her, in order to dissuade her, "Noble lady, do not act rashly, for that husband of yours is alive." Having said this, she told the whole story from the beginning. And she shewed the jewelled ring that Kandarpa gave her. Then all welcomed her, perceiving that her account was true. Then Kandarpa's father honoured that bride Sumanas and gladly lodged her in his house with the delighted Anangavatí.

Then Kandarpa left Pátaliputra [812] without telling Kesata, as he knew he would not like it, in order to roam about in search of Sumanas. And after he had gone, Kesata, feeling unhappy without Rúpavatí, left his house without his parents' knowledge, and went to roam about hither and thither. And Kandarpa, in the course of his wanderings, happened to visit that very city, where Kesata, married Rúpavatí. And hearing a great noise of people, he asked what it meant, and a certain man said to him, "Here is Rúpavatí preparing to die, as she cannot find her husband Kesata,; the tumult is on that account; listen to the story connected with her." Then that man related the strange story of Rúpavatí's marriage with Kesata and of her adventure with the Rákshasa, and then continued as follows:

"Then that old Bráhman, having tricked Kesata, went on his way, taking with him Rúpavatí for his son: but nobody knew where Kesata had gone after marrying her. And Rúpavatí, not seeing Kesata on the journey, said, 'Why do I not see my husband here, though all the rest of the party are travelling along with me?' When the old Bráhman heard that, he shewed her that son of his, and said to her, 'My daughter, this son of mine is your husband; behold him.' Then Rúpavatí said in a rage to the old man there, 'I will not have this ugly fellow for a husband; I will certainly die, if I cannot get that husband, who married me yesterday.'

"Saying this, she at once stopped eating and drinking; and the old Bráhman, through fear of the king, had her taken back to her father's house. There she told the trick that the old Bráhman had played her, and her father, in great grief, said to her, 'How are we to discover, my daughter, who the man that married you, is?' Then Rúpavatí said, 'My husband's name is Kesata, and he is the son of a Bráhman named Desata in Pátaliputra; for so much I heard from the mouth of a Rákshasa.' When she had said this, she told her father the whole story of her husband and the Rákshasa. Then her father went and saw the Rákshasa lying dead, and so he believed his daughter's story, and was pleased with the virtue of that couple.

"He consoled his daughter with hopes of reunion with her husband, and sent his son to Kesata's father in Pátaliputra, to search for him. And after some time they came back and said, 'We saw the householder Desata in Pátaliputra. But when we asked him where his son Kesata was, he answered us with tears, "My son Kesata is not here; he did return here, and a friend of his named Kandarpa came with him; but he went away from here without telling me, pining for Rúpavatí"--When we heard this speech of his, we came back here in due course.'

"When those sent to search had brought back this report, Rúpavatí said to her father, 'I shall never recover my husband, so I will enter the fire; how long, father, can I live here without my husband?' She went on saying this, and as her father has not been able to dissuade her, she has come out to-day to perish in the fire. And two maidens, friends of hers, have come out to die in the same way; one is called Sringáravatí and the other Anurágavatí. For long ago, at the marriage of Rúpavatí, they saw Kesata and made up their minds that they would have him for a husband, as their hearts were captivated by his beauty. This is the meaning of the noise which the people here are making."

When Kandarpa heard this from that man, he went to the pyre which had been heaped up for those ladies. He made a sign to the people from a distance to cease their tumult, and going up quickly, he said to Rúpavatí, who was worshipping the fire; "Noble lady; desist from this rashness; that husband of yours Kesata is alive; he is my friend; know that I am Kandarpa." When he had said this, he told her all Kesata's adventures, beginning with the circumstance of the old Bráhman's treacherously making him embark on the boat. Then Rúpavatí believed him, as his story tallied so completely with what she knew, and she joyfully entered her father's house with those two friends. And her father kindly welcomed Kandarpa and took good care of him; and so he remained there, to please him.

In the meanwhile it happened that, as Kesata was roaming about, he reached Ratnapura and found there the house of Kandarpa, in which his two wives were. And as he was wandering about near the house, Sumanas, the wife of Kandarpa, saw him from the top of the house and said delighted to her father-in-law and mother-in-law, and the other people in the house, "Here now is Kesata my husband's friend arrived; we may hear news of my husband from him; quickly invite him in." Then they went and on some pretext or other brought in Kesata as she advised, and when he saw Sumanas come towards him, he was delighted. And after he had rested she questioned him, and he immediately told her his own and Kandarpa's adventures, after the scare produced by the wild elephants.

He remained there some days, hospitably entertained, and then a messenger came from Kandarpa with a letter. The messenger said, "Kandarpa and Rúpavatí are in the town where Kandarpa's friend Kesata married Rúpavatí;" and the contents of the letter were to the same effect; and Kesata communicated the tidings with tears to the father of Kandarpa.

And the next day Kandarpa's father sent in high glee a messenger to bring his son, and dismissed Kesata, that he might join his beloved. And Kesata went with that messenger, who brought the letter, to that country where Rúpavatí was living in her father's house. There, after a long absence, he greeted and refreshed the delighted Rúpavatí, as the cloud does the chátakí. He met Kandarpa once more, and he married at the instance of Rúpavatí her two before-mentioned friends, Anurágavatí and Sringáravatí. And then Kesata went with Rúpavatí and them to his own land, after taking leave of Kandarpa. And Kandarpa returned to Ratnapura with the messenger, and was once more united to Sumanas and Anangavatí and his relations. So Kandarpa regained his beloved Sumanas, and Kesata his beloved Rúpavatí, and they lived enjoying the good things of this life, each in his own country.

Thus men of firm resolution, though separated by adverse destiny, are reunited with their dear ones, despising even terrible sufferings, and taking no account of their interminable duration. So rise up quickly my friend, let us go; you also will find your wife, if you search for her; who knows the way of Destiny? I myself regained my wife alive after she had died.

"Telling me this tale my friend encouraged me; and himself accompanied me; and so roaming about with him, I reached this land, and here I saw a mighty elephant and a wild boar. And, (wonderful to say!) I saw that elephant bring my helpless wife out of his mouth, and swallow her again; and I followed that elephant, which appeared for a moment and then disappeared for a long time, and in my search for it I have now, thanks to my merits, beheld your Majesty here."

When the young merchant had said this, Vikramáditya sent for his wife, whom he had rescued by killing the elephant, and handed her over to him. And then the couple, delighted at their marvellous reunion, recounted their adventures to one another, and their mouths were loud in praise of the glorious king Vishamasíla.