Chapter XII…

Chapter XII

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

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

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

Story of Rúpiniká.

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XIII

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

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

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

Story of Devasmitá.

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

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

Story of the cunning Siddhikarí.

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

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

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

Story of Saktimatí.

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

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

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

NOTE ON CHAPTER XIII.

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

Chapter XIV

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

Story of the clever deformed child.

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

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

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

Story of Ruru.

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

NOTE TO CHAPTER XIV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XV

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

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

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

Story of the clever physician.

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

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

Story of the hypocritical ascetic.

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

Story of Unmádiní. [204]

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

Story of the loving couple who died of separation.

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

Story of Punyasena.

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

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

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

Story of Sunda and Upasunda.

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

Chapter XVI

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

Story of Kuntí.

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

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

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

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

Chapter XVII

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

Story of Urvasí. [221]

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

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

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

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

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

Story of Vihitasena.

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

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

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

Story of Somaprabhá.

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

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

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

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

Story of Ahalyá.

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XVIII

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

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

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

Story of Vidúshaka.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XIX

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

Story of Devadása.

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

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

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

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

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