Chapter XXVII…

Chapter XXVII

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

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

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

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

Story of the merchant's son in Takshasilá.

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

Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá.

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

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

Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágasrí.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Story of king Vikramasinha and the two Bráhmans.

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXVIII

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

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

Story of the seven princesses.

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

Story of the prince who tore out his own eye.

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

Story of the ascetic who conquered anger.

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

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

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

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

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

Story of Sulochaná and Sushena.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha.

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

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

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

Chapter XXIX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXX

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

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

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

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

Story of Tejasvatí.

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

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

Story of the Bráhman Harisarman.

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

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

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

Note on the story of Harisarman.

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXI

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

Story of Ushá and Aniruddha.

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Story of Kadalígarbhá.

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

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

Story of the king and the barber's wife

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXIII

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

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

The story of Srutasena.

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

Story of the three Bráhman brothers.

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

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

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

The story of Devasena and Unmádiní.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXIV

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

The story of king Indradatta.

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

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

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

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

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

Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Story of Satrughna and his wicked wife.

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

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

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

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

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

Story of king Súrasena and his ministers.

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

Story of Harisinha.

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

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

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

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

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