Chapter XXXV…

Chapter XXXV

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

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

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

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

Story of Ratnaprabhá.

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

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

Story of Sattvasíla and the two treasures.

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

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

Story of the brave king Vikramatunga.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXVI

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

Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant Svetarasmi.

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

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

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

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

Story of Yavanasena.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXVII

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

Story of Nischayadatta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Story of Somasvámin.

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

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

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

Story of Bhavasarman.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXVIII

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

Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra.

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

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

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

Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXIX

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

Story of Sringabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOTE ON CHAPTER XXXIX.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XL

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

Story of Tapodatta.

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

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

Story of Virúpasarman.

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

"So true is it, O king, that a wise man is instructed with little effort, but one, whose mind is void of discernment, is not instructed even with great exertion." Thus spoke Harisikha, and Gomukha assented, but Marubhúti, who was drunk and did not understand a joke, said in great anger, "There is power in the speech of Gomukha, but there is no might in the arms of men like you. A garrulous, quarrelsome, effeminate person makes heroes blush." When Marubhúti said this, being eager for a fight, king Naraváhanadatta, with a smile on his face, himself tried to appease him, and after dismissing him to his house, the king, who loved the friends of his youth, performed the duties of the day, and so spent it in great comfort. And the next day, when all these ministers came, and among them Marubhúti bowed down with shame, his beloved Ratnaprabhá spake thus to the prince: "You, my husband, are very fortunate in that you have these pure-hearted ministers bound to you by the fetters of a love dating from early childhood, and they are happy in possessing such an affectionate master; you have been gained by one another through actions in a former state of existence; of that there can be no doubt." When the queen said this, Tapantaka the son of Vasantaka, the companion in amusements of Naraváhanadatta, remarked--"It is true; our master has been gained by our actions in a former life. For every thing depends upon the power of actions in a former life--Hear in illustration of it the following tale."

Story of king Vilásasíla and the physician Tarunachandra.

There dwelt in a city named Vilásapura, the home of Siva, a king rightly named Vilásasíla. [591] He had a queen named Kamalaprabhá, whom he valued as his life, and he long remained with her addicted to pleasure only. Then in course of time there came upon the king old age, the thief of beauty, and when he beheld it, he was sorely grieved. He thought to himself--"How can I shew to the queen my face marred with grey hairs like a snow-smitten lotus? Alas! it is better that I should die." Busied with reflections like these, the king summoned into his hall of audience a physician named Tarunachandra [592] and thus spake to him respectfully--"My good man, because you are clever and devoted to me, I ask you whether there is any artifice by which this old age can be averted." When Tarunachandra, who was rightly named as being only of the magnitude of one digit, and desiring to become a full moon, heard that, the cunning fellow reflected--"I must make my profit out of this blockhead of a king, and I shall soon discover the means of doing it." Having thus reflected, the physician said to the king: "If you will remain in an underground chamber alone, O king, for eight months, and take this medicine, I engage to remove your old age." [593] When the king heard this, he had such an underground chamber prepared, for fools intent on objects of sense cannot endure reflection. But the ministers used arguments like the following with him--"O king, by the goodness and asceticism and self-denial of men of old time, and by the virtue of the age, elixirs were produced. But these forest remedies, [594] which we hear of now, O king, owing to the want of proper materials, produce the opposite effect to that which is intended, and this is quite in accordance with the treatises; for rogues do in this way make sport with fools. Does time past ever return, O king?"--Still these arguments did not penetrate into his soul, for it was encased in the thick armour of violent sensual desire. And in accordance with the advice of that physician, he entered that underground chamber alone, excluding the numerous retinue that usually waits upon a king. And alone with one servant belonging to that physician, he made himself a slave to the taking of drugs and the rest of the treatment. And the king remained there in that dark subterranean den, which seemed as if it were the overflowing, through abundance, of the ignorance of his heart. And after the king had spent six months in that underground chamber, that wicked physician, seeing that his senility had increased, brought a certain young man who resembled him in appearance, with whom he had agreed that he would make him king. Then he dug a tunnel into that underground chamber from a distance, and after killing the king in his sleep, he brought his corpse out by the underground passage, and threw it into a dark well. All this was done at night. And by the same tunnel he introduced that young man into the underground chamber, and closed that tunnel. What audacious wickedness will not a low fellow, who is held in check by no restraints, commit, when he gets a favourable chance of practising upon fools? Then, the next day, the physician said to all the subjects,--"This king has been made young again by me in six months, and in two months his form will be changed again--So show yourselves to him now at a little distance." Thus he spake, and brought them all to the door of the underground chamber, and shewed them to the young man, telling him at the same time their names and occupations. By this artifice he kept instructing that young man in the underground chamber in the names of all the subjects every day for two months, not excepting even the inhabitants of the harem.

And when a fitting time came, he brought the young man, after he had been well fed, [595] out of the subterranean chamber, saying, "This king has become young again." And then the young man was surrounded by the delighted subjects, who exclaimed "This is our own king restored by drugs." Then the young man, having thus obtained the kingdom, bathed, and performed with much pleasure by the help of his ministers the kingly duties. And from that time forth he lived in much felicity, transacting regal business, and sporting with the ladies of the harem, having obtained the name of Ajara. [596] And all the subjects considered that he was their former king transformed by drugs, not guessing the truth, and not suspecting the proceedings of the physician. And king Ajara, having gained over the subjects and the queen Kamalaprabhá by kind treatment, enjoyed the royal fortune together with his friends. Then he summoned a friend called Bheshajachandra and another called Padmadarsana, and made both of them like himself, satisfying them with gifts of elephants, horses, and villages. And he honoured the physician Tarunachandra on account of the advancement he had conferred on him, but he did not repose confidence in him because his soul had fallen from truth and virtue.

And once on a time the physician of his own motion said to the king, "Why do you make me of no account and act independently? Have you forgotten the occasion on which I made you king?" When king Ajara heard that, he said to the physician, "Ha! you are a fool: what man does anything for any one, or gives anything to any one? My friend, it is our deeds in a former state of existence that give and do. Therefore do not boast yourself, for this elevation I attained by asceticism: and I will soon shew you this by ocular proof." When he said this to the physician, the latter reflected as one terrified--"This man is not to be intimidated and speaks like a resolute sage. It is better to overawe that master, the secret of whose character is instability, but that cannot be done with this man, so I must submit to him. In the meanwhile let me wait and see what he will shew me so manifestly." Thus reflecting, the physician said, "It is true," and held his peace.

And the next day king Ajara went out to roam about and amuse himself with his friends, waited on by Tarunachandra and others. And as he was strolling, he reached the bank of a river, and in it he saw five golden lotuses come floating down the current. And he made his servants bring them, and taking them and looking at them, he said to the physician Tarunachandra, who was standing near him, "Go up along the bank of this river, and look for the place where these lotuses are produced: and when you have seen it, return, for I feel great curiosity about these wonderful lotuses, and you are my skilful friend." When he was thus commissioned by the king, the physician, not being able to help himself, said, "So be it," and went the way he was ordered. And the king returned to his capital, but the physician travelled on, and in course of time reached a temple of Siva that stood on the bank of that river. And in front of it, on the shore of a holy bathing-place in that stream, he beheld a great banyan-tree, and a man's skeleton suspended on it. And while, fatigued with his journey, he was resting after bathing and worshipping the god, a cloud came there and rained. And from that human skeleton, hanging on the branches of the banyan-tree, when rained upon by the cloud, there fell drops of water. [597] And when they fell into the water of the bathing-place in that river, the physician observed that those golden lotuses were immediately produced from them. The physician said to himself, "Ha! what is this wonder? Whom can I ask in the uninhabited wood? Or rather who knows the creation of Destiny that is full of so many marvels? I have beheld this mine of golden lotuses; so I will throw this human skeleton into the sacred water. Let right be done, and let golden lotuses grow from its back." After these reflections, he flung the skeleton down from the top of that tree: and after spending the day there, the physician set out the next day for his own country, having accomplished the object for which he was sent. And in a few days he reached Vilásapura, and went, emaciated and soiled with his journey, to the court of king Ajara. The door-keeper announced him, and he went in and prostrated himself at the feet of the king; the king asked him how he was, and while he was relating his adventure, the king put every one else out of the hall, and himself said; "So you have seen, my friend, the place where the golden lotuses are produced, that most holy sanctuary of Siva; and you saw there a skeleton on a banyan-tree; know that that is my former body. I hung there in old time by my feet; and in that way performed asceticism, until I dried up my body and abandoned it. And owing to the nobility of my penance, from the drops of rain-water, that fall from that skeleton of mine, are produced golden lotuses. And in that you threw my skeleton into the water of that holy bathing-place, you did what was right, for you were my friend in a former birth. And this Bheshajachandra and this Padmadarsana, they also were friends, who associated with me in a former birth. So it is owing to the might of that asceticism, my friend, that recollection of my former birth, and knowledge and empire have been bestowed on me. By an artifice I have given you ocular proof of this, and you have described it with a token, telling how you flung down the skeleton; so you must not boast to me, saying, that you gave me the kingdom, and you must not allow your mind to be discontented, for no one gives anything to any one without the help of actions in a former life. From his birth a man eats the fruit of the tree of his former actions." When the king said this to the physician, he saw that it was true, and he remained satisfied with the king's service, and was never afterwards discontented. And that noble-minded king Ajara, who remembered his former birth, honoured the physician becomingly with gifts of wealth, and lived comfortably with his wives and friends, enjoying the earth conquered by his policy, and originally obtained by his good actions, without an opponent.

"Thus in this world all the good and bad fortune, that befalls all men at all times, is earned by actions in a former life. For this reason I think we must have earned you for our lord in a former birth, otherwise how could you be so kind to us, while there are other men in existence?" Then Naraváhanadatta, having heard in the company of his beloved from the mouth of Tapantaka this strangely pleasing and entertaining tale, rose up to bathe. And after he had bathed, he went into the presence of his father the king of Vatsa, frequently raining nectar into the eyes of his mother, and after taking food, he spent that day and that night in drinking and other pleasures with his parents, and his wife, and his ministers.

Chapter XLI

And the next day, as Naraváhanadatta was in the apartments of Ratnaprabhá, talking over various subjects with his ministers, he suddenly heard a sound, which appeared to be like that of a man weeping outside in the court-yard of the palace. And when some one asked--"What is that?"--the female attendants came and said, "My lord, the chamberlain Dharmagiri is weeping here. For a foolish friend of his came here just now, and said that his brother, who went on a pilgrimage to holy places, was dead in a foreign land. He, bewildered with grief, forgot that he was in the court and began to lament, but he has been just now taken outside by the servants and conducted to his own house." When the prince heard this, he was grieved, and Ratnaprabhá moved with pity said in a despondent tone--"Alas! the grief which is produced by the loss of dear relatives is hard to bear! Why did not the Creator make men exempt from old age and death?" When Marubhúti heard this speech of the queen's, he said; "Queen, how can mortals ever attain this good fortune? For listen to the following story, which I will tell you, bearing on this question."

Story of king Chiráyus and his minister Nágárjuna.

In the city of Chiráyus there was in old time a king, named Chiráyus, [598] who was indeed long-lived, and the home of all good fortune. He had a compassionate, generous and gifted minister, named Nágárjuna, who was sprung from a portion of a Bodhisattva, who knew the use of all drugs, and by making an elixir he rendered himself and that king free from old age, and long-lived. One day an infant son of that minister Nágárjuna, whom he loved more than any of his other children, died. He felt grief on that account, and by the force of his asceticism and knowledge proceeded to prepare out of certain ingredients the Water of Immortality, [599] in order to prevent mortals from dying. But while he was waiting for the auspicious moment in which to infuse a particular drug, Indra found out what was going on. And Indra, having consulted with the gods, said to the two Asvins--"Go and give this message to Nágárjuna on the earth from me--'Why have you, though a minister, begun this revolutionary proceeding of making the Water of Life? Are you determined now to conquer the Creator, who indeed created men subject to the law of death, since you propose to make men immortal by preparing the Water of Life? If this takes place, what difference will there be between gods and men? And the constitution of the universe will be broken up, because there will be no sacrificer and no recipient of sacrifice. So by my advice discontinue this preparation of the Water of Life, otherwise the gods will be angry, and will certainly curse you. And your son, through grief for whom you are engaged in this attempt, is now in Svarga.'" With this message Indra despatched the two Asvins. And they arrived at the house of Nágárjuna and, after receiving the argha, [600] told Nágárjuna, who was pleased with their visit, the message of Indra, and informed him that his son was with the gods in heaven. Then Nágárjuna, being despondent, thought; "Never mind the gods, but if I do not obey the command of Indra, these Asvins will inflict a curse on me. So let this Water of Life go, I have not accomplished my desire; however my son, on account of my good deeds in a former life, has gone to the abode of bliss." Having thus reflected, Nágárjuna said to these two gods, the Asvins, "I obey the command of Indra, I will desist from making the Water of Life. If you two had not come, I should have completed the preparation of the Water of Life in five days, and freed this whole earth from old age and death." When Nágárjuna had said this, he buried by their advice the Water of Life, which was almost completed, in the earth before their eyes. Then the Asvins took leave of him, and went and told Indra in heaven that their errand was accomplished, and the king of gods rejoiced.

And in the meanwhile Nágárjuna's master, the king Chiráyus, anointed his son Jívahara crown-prince. And when he was anointed, his mother, the queen Dhanapará, on his coming in great delight to salute her, said to him, as soon as she saw him, "Why do you rejoice without cause, my son, at having obtained this dignity of crown-prince, for this is not a step to the attainment of the kingly dignity, not even by the help of asceticism? For many crown-princes, sons of your father, have died, and not one of them has obtained the throne, they have all inherited disappointment. For Nágárjuna has given this king an elixir, by the help of which he is now in the eighth century of his age. And who knows how many more centuries will pass over the head of this king, who makes his short-lived sons crown-princes." When her son heard that, he was despondent, and she went on to say to him, "If you desire the throne, adopt this expedient. This minister Nágárjuna every day, after he has performed the day's devotions, gives gifts at the time of taking food, and makes this proclamation; 'Who is a suppliant? Who wants anything? To whom can I give anything, and what?' At that moment go to him and say, 'Give me your head,'--Then he, being a truthful man, will have his head cut off, and out of sorrow for his death this king will die, or retire to the forest; then you will obtain the crown; there is no other expedient available in this matter." When he heard this speech from his mother, the prince was delighted, and he consented, and determined to carry her advice into effect, for the lust of sovereign sway is cruel, and overcomes one's affection for one's friends. Then that prince went, the next day, of his own accord to the house of that Nágárjuna, at the time when he took his food. And when the minister cried out, "Who requires anything, and what does he require?" he entered and asked him for his head. The minister said, "This is strange, my son; what can you do with this head of mine? For it is only an agglomeration of flesh, bone and hair. To what use can you put it? Nevertheless, if it is of any use to you, cut it off, and take it." With these words he offered his neck to him. But it had been so hardened by the elixir that, though he struck at it for a long time, he could not cut it, but broke many swords over it. In the meanwhile the king, hearing of it, arrived, and asked him not to give away his head, but Nágárjuna said to him: "I can remember my former births, and I have given away my head ninety-nine times in my various births. This, my lord, will be the hundredth time of my giving away my head. So do not say anything against it, for no suppliant ever leaves my presence disappointed. So I will now present your son with my head; for this delay was made by me only in order to behold your face." Thus he spoke, and embraced that king, and brought a powder out of his closet, with which he smeared the sword of that prince. Then the prince cut off the head of the minister Nágárjuna with a blow of that sword, as a man cuts a lotus from its stalk. Then a great cry of wailing was raised, and the king was on the point of giving up his own life, when a bodiless voice sounded from the heaven in these words--"Do not do what you ought not, king. You should not lament your friend Nágárjuna, for he will not be born again, but has attained the condition of a Buddha." When king Chiráyus heard this, he gave up the idea of suicide, but bestowed great gifts, and out of grief left his throne, and went to the forest. There in time he obtained by asceticism eternal bliss. Then his son Jívahara obtained his kingdom, and soon after his accession he allowed dissension to arise in his realm, and was slain by the sons of Nágárjuna remembering their father's murder. Then through sorrow for him his mother's heart broke. How can prosperity befall those who walk in the path trodden by the ignoble? And a son of that king Chiráyus, born to him by another wife, named Satáyus, was placed on his throne by his chief ministers.

"Thus, as the gods would not permit Nágárjuna to carry out the task of destroying death, which he had undertaken, he became subject to death. Therefore it is true that this world of living beings was appointed by the Creator unstable, and full of grief hard to ward off, and even with hundreds of efforts it is impossible for any one to do anything here, which the Creator does not wish him to do." When Marubhúti had told this story, he ceased speaking, and Naraváhanadatta rose up with his ministers and performed his daily duties.

Chapter XLII

Then, early the next day, Naraváhanadatta went off to the forest for the purpose of hunting, surrounded with elephants, in the company of his father and his friends; but before going he comforted his beloved Ratnaprabhá, who was anxious about him, by saying that he would quickly return.

Then the scene of the chase became like a garden adorned with lovely creepers for his delight, for in it the pearls that dropped from the claws of the lions, that had cleft the foreheads of elephants, and now fell asleep in death, were sown like seeds; and the teeth of the tigers that were cut out by the crescent-headed arrows were like buds, and the flowing blood of the deer seemed like shoots, and the wild boars, in which stuck the arrows adorned with heron feathers, seemed like clusters, and the fallen bodies of Sarabhas [601] shewed like fruit, and the arrows falling with deep hum appeared like bees. Gradually the prince became wearied, and desisted from the chase, and went on horseback to another wood with Gomukha, who was also riding. There he began to play at ball, and while he was thus engaged, a certain female ascetic came that way. Then the ball slipped from his hand and fell on her head; whereupon the female ascetic laughed a little, and said to him--"If your insolence is so great now, what will it be if you ever obtain Karpúriká for a wife." [602] When Naraváhanadatta heard this, he dismounted from his horse, and prostrating himself at the feet of that female ascetic, said to her--"I did not see you, and my ball fell on your head by chance--Reverend one, be propitiated, and pardon that fault of mine." When the female ascetic heard that, she said, "My son, I am not angry with you," and being victorious over her wrath she comforted him with blessings. And then, thinking that the wise truthful ascetic was well disposed to him, Naraváhanadatta respectfully asked her--"Who, reverend lady, is this Karpúriká spoken of by you? Condescend to inform me, if you are pleased with me, for I am curious on this head." When he said this, bending before her, the female ascetic said to him: "There is on the other side of the sea a city named Karpúrasambhava; [603] in it there is a king rightly named Karpúraka, he has a daughter, a lovely maiden, named Karpúriká, who appears like a second Lakshmí, deposited in security there by the ocean, having seen that the first Lakshmí had been carried away by the gods after the churning. And she, as she hates men, does not desire to be married, but she will desire it, if at all, when she sees you. So go there, my son, and you shall win that fair one; nevertheless, while you are going there, you will suffer great hardship in the forest. But you must not be perplexed at that, for all shall end well." When the ascetic had said this, she flew up into the air and disappeared. Then Naraváhanadatta, drawn on by the command of Love uttered through her voice, said to his attendant Gomukha, "Come, let us go to Karpúriká in the city of Karpúrasambhava, for I cannot remain a moment without beholding her." When Gomukha heard that, he said--"King, desist from your rashness. Consider how far off you are from the sea and from that city, and whether the journey is worth taking for the sake of that maiden? Why, on merely hearing her name, do you abandon celestial wives, and alone run after a mere woman who is enveloped in doubt, owing to your not knowing what her intention is." When Gomukha said this to him, the son of the king of Vatsa said, "The speech of that holy ascetic cannot be false. So I must certainly go to find that princess." Having said this, he set out thence on horseback that very moment. And Gomukha followed him silently, though it was against his wish: when a lord does not act on the advice of his servants, their only course is to follow him.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, having finished his hunting, returned to his city, thinking that that son of his was returning among his own armed followers. And the prince's followers returned with Marubhúti and the others to the city, supposing that the prince was with the armed followers of his father. When they arrived, the king of Vatsa and the others searched for him, and finding that he had not returned, they all went to the house of Ratnaprabhá. She at first was grieved at that news, but she called up a supernatural science and was told by it tidings of her husband, and said to her distressed father-in-law; "My husband heard the princess Karpúriká mentioned by a female ascetic in the forest, and in order to obtain her he has gone to the city of Karpúrasambhava. And he will soon have accomplished his object, and will return here with Gomukha. So dismiss anxiety, for this I have learned from a science." By these words she comforted the king of Vatsa and his retinue. And she despatched another science to wait on her husband during his journey, and dispel his fatigue; for good women who desire their husband's happiness do not account of jealousy.

In the meanwhile Naraváhanadatta performed a long journey on horseback in that forest, accompanied by Gomukha. Then a maiden suddenly came up to him in his path and said to him, "I am a science sent by Ratnaprabhá, named Máyávatí, I will guard you on the path without being seen, so proceed now without fear." Having said this, the incarnate science disappeared, as he gazed at it. By virtue of it, Naraváhanadatta continued his journey with his thirst and hunger appeased, praising his beloved Ratnaprabhá. And in the evening he reached a wood with a pure lake in it, and with Gomukha he bathed, and took a meal of delicious fruit and water. And at night he tied up the two horses underneath a large tree, after supplying them with grass, and he and his minister climbed up into it to sleep. While reposing on a broad bough of the tree, he was woke up by the neighings of the terrified horses, and saw a lion that had come close underneath. When he saw it, he wished [604] to get down for the sake of the horses, but Gomukha said to him--"Alas! you are neglecting the safety of your person, and acting without counsel; for kings the first duty is the preservation of their persons, and counsel is the foundation of rule. How can you desire to contend with wild beasts armed with teeth and claws. For it was to avoid these that we just now got up into this tree." When the king had been restrained from descending by these words of Gomukha's, seeing the lion killing the horse, he immediately threw his sword at it from the tree, and succeeded in wounding it with the weapon which was buried in its body. The mighty lion, though pierced with the sword, after killing that horse, slew the other also. Then the son of the king of Vatsa took Gomukha's sword from him, and throwing it, cut the lion in half in the middle. And descending he recovered his sword from the body of the lion, and ascending again to his sleeping place, he passed the night there in the tree. In the morning Naraváhanadatta got down, and set out to find Karpúriká, accompanied by Gomukha. Then Gomukha, beholding him travelling on foot, as the lion had slain his horse, in order to amuse him on the way said; "Listen, king, I will relate you this story, which is particularly appropriate on the present occasion."

Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife and his two sons.

There is in this world a city named Irávatí, which surpasses Alaká; [605] in it there dwelt a king named Parityágasena. And he had two beloved queens, whom he valued as his life. One was the daughter of his own minister and her name was Adhikasangamá, and the other was of royal race, and was called Kávyálankárá. And with those two the king propitiated Durgá to obtain a son, and performed penance without food, sleeping on darbha grass. Then Bhavání, who is kind to her votaries, pleased with his penance, appeared to him in a dream and gave him two heavenly fruits, and thus commanded him: "Rise up and give your two wives these two fruits to eat, and then, king, you will have born to you two heroic sons." Having said this, Gaurí disappeared, and the king woke up in the morning and rose delighted at beholding those fruits in his hand. And by describing that dream of his he delighted his wives, and bathed and worshipped the consort of Siva, and broke his fast. And at night he first visited that wife of his Adhikasangamá, and gave her one of the fruits, and she immediately ate it. Then the king spent the night in her pavilion, out of respect for her father, who was his own prime minister. And he placed near the head of his bed the second fruit, which was intended for the other queen. While the king was asleep, the queen Adhikasangamá rose up, and desiring for herself two similar sons, she took from his head and ate that second fruit also. For women are naturally envious of their rivals. And in the morning, when the king rose up and was looking for that fruit, she said--"I ate that second fruit also." Then the king went away despondent, and after spending the day, he went at night to the apartments of the second queen. And when she asked for that other fruit, he said to her--"While I was asleep, your fellow-wife treacherously devoured it." Then the queen Kávyálankárá, not having obtained that fruit, which was to enable her to give birth to a son, remained silently grieved.

In the course of some days that queen Adhikasangamá became pregnant, and in due time gave birth to twin sons. And the king Parityágasena rejoiced and made a great feast, since his desire was fulfilled by their birth. And the king gave the name of Indívarasena to the elder of the two, who was of wonderful beauty and had eyes like a blue lotus. And he gave to the younger the name of Anichchhasena, because his mother ate the second fruit against his wish. Then Kávyálankárá, the second wife of that king, on beholding this, was angry, and reflected--"Alas! I have been cheated by this rival wife out of having children; so I must without fail revenge myself on her; I must destroy these sons of hers by my cunning." Having thus reflected, she remained thinking over a means of doing this. And as fast as those two princes grew, the tree of enmity grew in her heart.

And in course of time those two princes, having attained manhood, and being mighty of arm, and desirous of conquest, said to their father--"We have attained manhood and we have been trained in the use of weapons, so how can we remain here endowed to no profit with these mighty arms? Out on the arms and the youth of a Kshatriya that longs not for victory! So let us go now, father, and conquer the regions." When the king Parityágasena heard this request of his sons, he was pleased and consented, and made arrangements for their expedition. And he said to them, "If ever you are in difficulties, you must think upon the goddess Durgá the remover of sorrows, for she gave you to me." Then the king sent forth those two sons on their expedition, accompanied by his troops and feudal chiefs, after their mother had performed the auspicious ceremonies to ensure them success. And he sent after them his own sagacious prime minister, their maternal grandfather, whose name was Prathamasangama. Then those two mighty princely brothers, with their army, first marched in due order to the eastern quarter, and subdued it. Then these two irresistible heroes of approved might, to whom many kings had joined themselves, went to the southern quarter to conquer it. And their parents rejoiced on hearing these tidings of them, but their second mother was consumed with the fire of concealed hate. The treacherous queen then got the following false despatch written in the king's name to the chiefs in the princes' camp, by means of the secretary for foreign affairs, whom she had bribed with heaps of treasure--"My two sons, having subdued the earth by the might of their arms, have formed the intention of killing me and seizing my kingdom; so if you are loyal to me, you must without hesitation put to death both those sons of mine."--This letter Kávyálankárá sent off secretly by a courier. And the courier went secretly to the camp of those two princes, and gave that letter to the chiefs. And they all, after reading it, reflecting that the policy of kings is very cruel, and considering that that command of their master must not be disobeyed, met and deliberated in the night, and as they saw no way out of the difficulty, determined to kill those two princes, though they had been fascinated by their virtues. But their maternal grandfather, the minister, who was with them, heard of it from a friend that he had among the chiefs, and after informing the princes of the state of affairs, he thereupon mounted them on swift horses, and conveyed them away safely out of the camp.

The two princes, when conveyed away by the minister at night, travelled along with him, and entered the Vindhya forest out of ignorance of the true road. Then, after the night had passed, as they slowly proceeded on their way, about noon their horses died, overcome with excessive thirst. And that aged maternal grandfather of theirs, whose palate was dry with hunger and thirst, died exhausted with the heat before the eyes of those two, who were also weary. Then those afflicted brothers exclaimed in their sorrow--"Why has our father reduced to this state us who are innocent, and fulfilled the desire of that wicked second mother of ours?"--In the midst of their lamentation they thought upon the goddess Ambiká, [606] whom their father had long ago pointed out to them as their natural protectress. That moment, by force of thinking on that kind protectress, their hunger, thirst and fatigue left them, and they were strong. Then they were comforted by faith in her, and without feeling the fatigue of the journey, they went to visit that goddess who dwells in the Vindhya forest. And when those two brothers had arrived there, they began a course of fasting and asceticism to propitiate her. In the meanwhile those chiefs in the camp assembled together in a band, and went with the intention of doing the princes a mischief; but they could not find them, though they searched everywhere. They said--"The princes have escaped somewhere with their maternal grandfather," and fearing that the whole thing would come out, they went in a fright to the king Parityágasena. And shewing him the letters, they told him the whole story. He, when he heard it, was agitated and said to them in his anger; "I did not send this letter, this is some deception. And how comes it that you did not know, you foolish creatures, that I should not be likely to put to death two sons obtained by severe austerities? They have been put to death as far as you are concerned, but they were saved by their own merits, and their maternal grandfather has exhibited a specimen of his statesmanship." He said this to the chiefs, and though the secretary who wrote the treacherous letter fled, the king quickly had him brought back by his royal power, and after thoroughly investigating the whole matter, punished him as he deserved. And he threw into a dungeon his wicked wife Kávyálankárá, who was guilty of such a crime as trying to slay his sons. For how can an evil deed audaciously done, the end of which is not considered through the mind being blinded with excessive hate, help bringing ruin? And as for those chiefs, who had set out with his two sons and returned, the king dismissed them, and appointed others in their place. And with their mother he continued to seek for tidings of those sons, plunged in grief, devoted to righteousness, thinking upon Durgá.

In the meanwhile that goddess, who has her shrine in the Vindhya mountains, was pleased with the asceticism of the prince Indívarasena and his younger brother. And she gave Indívarasena a sword in a dream, and appearing to him, thus addressed him--"By the power of this sword thou shalt conquer enemies hard to overcome, and whatever thou shalt think of thou shalt obtain, and by means of it you shall both gain the success you desire." When the goddess had said that, she disappeared, and Indívarasena, waking up, beheld that sword in his hand. Then he comforted his younger brother by shewing him that sword, and describing to him his dream, and in the morning he and his brother broke their fast on wild fruits. Then he worshipped that goddess, and having his fatigue removed by her favour, he departed rejoicing, with the sword in his hand, in the company of his brother. And after he had travelled a long distance, he found a great and splendid city, looking like the peak of Meru on account of its golden houses. There he beheld a terrible Rákshasa standing at the gate of the high street, and the hero asked him what was the name of the town, and who was its king. That Rákshasa said--"This city is called Sailapura, and it is possessed by our lord Yamadanshtra, the slayer of his foes, king of the Rákshasas." When the Rákshasa said this, Indívarasena attempted to enter, in order to slay Yamadanshtra, but the Rákshasa at the door tried to prevent him, upon which the mighty Indívarasena killed him, cutting off his head with one stroke of his sword. After slaying him, the hero entered the royal palace, and beheld inside it the Rákshasa Yamadanshtra sitting on his throne, having a mouth terrible with tusks, with a lovely woman at his left hand, and a virgin of heavenly beauty on his right hand. And when Indívarasena saw him, he went with the sword given him by Durgá in his hand, and challenged him to fight, and the Rákshasa drew his sword and stood up to resist him. And in the course of the fight Indívarasena frequently cut off the Rákshasa's head, but it grew again. [607] Seeing that magic power of his, and having had a sign made to him by the virgin at the Rákshasa's side, who had fallen in love with him at first sight, the prince, after cutting off the head of the Rákshasa, being quick of hand, again cut it in two with a stroke of his sword. Then the Rákshasa's magic was baffled by contrary magic, and his head did not grow again, and the Rákshasa died of the wound.

When he was slain, the lovely woman and the princess were delighted, and the prince with his younger brother sat down, and asked them the following questions: "Why did this Rákshasa live in such a city as this, guarded by one warder only, and who are you two, and why do you rejoice at his being slain?" When they heard this, the virgin was the one that answered, and she spoke as follows: "In this city of Sailapura there lived a king of the name of Vírabhuja, and this is his wife Madanadanshtrá, and this Rákshasa came and devoured him by the help of his magic power. And he ate up his attendants, but he did not eat this Madanadanshtrá, whom alone he spared because she was beautiful, but he made her his wife. Then he became disgusted with this city though beautiful, and building in it houses of gold, he remained here sporting with Madanadanshtrá, having dismissed his retinue. And I am the younger sister of this Rákshasa, and unmarried, but the moment I saw you, I fell in love with you. Accordingly she is glad at his having been slain, and so also am I; so marry me here now, my husband, since love makes me offer myself to you."

When Khadgadanshtrá said this, Indívarasena married her then and there by the Gándharva form of marriage. And he remained in that very city, having everything brought to him, on his thinking of it, by the virtue of the sword of Durgá, married and accompanied by his younger brother. And once on a time he made a chariot that would fly through the air, produced by thought through the virtue of his sword, that resembled in its powers the philosopher's stone, and placed in it his heroic younger brother Anichchhasena, and sent him off from his retreat to bear tidings of him to his parents. Anichchhasena, for his part, travelled quickly through the air in that chariot, and reached Irávatí that city of his father. There he refreshed his grief-worn parents with the sight of him, as the moon refreshes the partridges when exhausted with severe heat. And he approached them, and fell at their feet, and was embraced by them, and when they questioned him, he dispelled their apprehensions with good news of his brother. And he told in their presence the whole adventure of himself and his brother, which in the beginning was sad, but in the end was happy. And there he heard the treacherous device, which his wicked second mother had out of enmity contrived for his destruction. Then Anichchhasena remained there in tranquillity, in the company of his delighted father and his mother, honoured by the subjects. But after some days had passed, his fears were aroused by a threatening dream, and he yearned to see his brother again, and said to his father; "I will depart, and by telling my brother Indívarasena that you are anxiously awaiting him, I will bring him back; give me leave to depart, my father." When his father heard that, being anxious for the sight of his son, he and his wife gave Anichchhasena leave to depart, and he immediately mounted his chariot, and reached through the air that city of Sailapura. And when he arrived there, he entered the palace of that brother of his. He saw there his elder brother lying senseless in the presence of Khadgadanshtrá and Madanadanshtrá, who were weeping. In his perplexity he asked, "What does this mean?" And then Khadgadanshtrá said with her eyes fixed on the ground, though the other blamed her for it; "When you were away, your brother one day, on my going to bathe, had a secret intrigue with this Madanadanshtrá. And I, on returning from bathing, found him with her, and I abused him. Then he tried to propitiate me, but I, being exceedingly bewildered by unforgiving jealousy, that seemed to have possessed me, thought thus with myself, 'Ah! without taking me into account, he favours another; I believe he shews this insolence confiding in the magic properties of his sword, so I will hide this weapon of his.' After thus reflecting, in my folly I thrust his sword into the fire at night, while he was asleep. The consequence was that his sword was dimmed and he was reduced to this state. And I am grieved for this myself and upbraided by Madanadanshtrá. So you have come here now when both our minds are blinded with grief, and we have resolved on death. So take this sword and kill me with it, since I have proved true to the customs of my race and acted cruelly." When Anichchhasena was thus entreated by his brother's wife, he thought that he ought not to slay her on account of her repentance, but prepared to cut off his own head. But at that moment, he heard the following voice come from the air--"Do not act thus, prince, your brother is not dead, but he has been struck senseless by Durgá, who is angry at his not having taken sufficient care of the sword, and you must not impute guilt to Khadgadanshtrá, for this circumstance is the consequence of your all having been born into this world on account of a curse. And they were both of them your brother's wives in a former life. So propitiate Durgá in order to gain your object." Accordingly Anichchhasena gave up his intention of slaying himself. But he mounted that chariot, and took that fire-dimmed sword, and went to propitiate the soles of the feet of Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya range. There he fasted, and was about to propitiate the goddess with the offering of his head, when he heard this voice from heaven--"Do not be rash, my son, go; thy elder brother shall live, and the sword shall become pure from stain, for I am pleased with thy devotion." When Anichchhasena heard this speech of the goddess, he immediately saw that the sword in his hand had recovered its brightness, and he walked round the goddess, keeping his right hand towards her; and ascending his swift magic car, as if it were his own desire, [608] he returned in a state of anxious expectation to that Sailapura. There he saw that his elder brother had just risen up, having suddenly regained consciousness, and weeping he seized his feet, and his elder brother threw his arms round his neck. And both the wives of Indívarasena fell at the feet of Anichchhasena and said--"You have saved the life of our husband." Then he told the whole story to his brother Indívarasena who questioned him, and he, when he heard it, was not angry with Khadgadanshtrá, but was pleased with his brother. [609]

And he heard from the lips of his brother that his parents were eager to see him, and of the fraud of his second mother, that had brought about his separation from them; then he took the sword which his brother handed to him, and mounted a large chariot, which came to him the moment he thought of it, owing to the virtue of the sword, and with his golden palaces, and his two wives, and his younger brother Indívarasena, returned to his own city Irávatí. There he alighted from the air, beheld with wonder by the subjects, and entered the palace, and went with his attendants into the presence of the king. And in that condition he beheld his father and his mother, and fell at their feet with his eyes bathed in streaming tears. And they, the moment they beheld their son, embraced him and his younger brother, and having their bodies, as it were, bathed in nectar, they were relieved from their sorrow. And when their daughters-in-law, those two wives of Indívarasena, of heavenly beauty, fell at their feet, they looked on them with delight and welcomed them. And the parents, learning in course of conversation, that they were said by a divine voice to have been appointed in a previous life as his wives, were exceedingly delighted. And they rejoiced with astonishment at the power of their son, which enabled him to travel through the air, and bring golden palaces and do other things of this kind. Then Indívarasena remained, with those two wives and his attendants, in the society of his parents, causing delight to the subjects. And once on a time he took leave of his father, king Parityágasena, and went forth again to conquer the four quarters, accompanied by his younger brother. And the mighty-armed hero conquered the whole earth by the virtue of his sword, and came back bringing with him the gold, elephants, horses and jewels of conquered kings. And he reached his capital, followed out of fear by the conquered earth in the form of the army of dust, that his forces raised. And he entered the palace, where his father advanced to meet him, and he and his brother delighted their mother Adhikasangamá by their return. And after he had honoured the kings, Indívarasena spent that day in pleasure, accompanied by his wives and his followers. And on the next day the prince made over the earth to his father by way of tribute from the kings, and suddenly recollected his former birth. Then, like one waking up from sleep, he said to his father--"Father, I remember my former birth; listen, I will tell you all about it. There is a city on the plateau of the Himálayas named Muktápura; in it there lives a king named Muktásena, a king of the Vidyádharas. And by a queen named Kambuvatí he had born to him in course of time two virtuous sons, Padmasena and Rúpasena. Then a maiden, named Ádityaprabhá, the daughter of a chief of the Vidyádharas, of her own accord, out of love, chose Padmasena for her husband. Hearing of that, a Vidyádhara maiden, of the name of Chandravatí, became love-sick also, and came and chose him for her husband. Then Padmasena, having two wives, was continually worried by that wife Ádityaprabhá, who was jealous of her rival. And so Padmasena over and over again importuned his father Muktásena to the following effect: 'I cannot endure every day the ill-temper of my wife, who is blind with jealousy, let me retire to a wood of ascetics to put an end to this misery. Therefore, father, give me permission.' His father, annoyed at his persistence, cursed him and his wives, saying; 'What need is there of your going to a wood of ascetics? Fall into the world of mortals. There this quarrelsome wife of yours, Ádityaprabhá, shall be born in the race of Rákshasas, and become your wife again. And this second, Chandravatí, who is virtuous and attached to you, her husband, shall be the wife of a king, and the paramour of a Rákshasa, and shall obtain you as her beloved. And since this Rúpasena has been observed by me to follow you his elder brother with affection, he shall be your brother also in that world. There too you shall endure some affliction caused by your wives.' Thus he spoke and ceased, and appointed this as the termination of the curse; 'When you, being a prince, shall conquer the earth and give it to your father, then you and they shall remember your former birth, and be freed from your curse.' When Padmasena had been thus addressed by his own father, he went with those others to the world of mortals. I am that very Padmasena, born here as your son, Indívarasena by name, and I have done what I was appointed to do. And the other Vidyádhara prince, Rúpasena, has been born as Anichchhasena my younger brother. And as for my wives Ádityaprabhá [610] and Chandravatí, know that they have been born here as these two, Khadgadanshtrá and Madanadanshtrá. And now we have reached that appointed end of our curse. So let us go, father, to our own Vidyádhara home." Having said this, he together with his brother and his wives, who remembered their former existence, abandoned the human and assumed the Vidyádhara form. And having worshipped the feet of his father, and taken his two wives in his arms, he went with his younger brother through the air to his own city Muktápura. There the wise prince, gladly welcomed by his father Muktásena, a joy to the eyes of his mother, accompanied by his brother Rúpasena, lived with his Ádityaprabhá, who did not again display jealousy, and with Chandravatí in happiness.

The minister Gomukha, having told this delightful tale on the road, again said to Naraváhanadatta; "Thus the great must endure great pains and gain great glory, but others have little pain and little glory. But you, protected by the might of the science of queen Ratnaprabhá, shall without difficulty gain that princess Karpúriká."

When Naraváhanadatta heard this from the lips of the eloquent Gomukha, he set out on the path with him, insensible to fatigue. And as he travelled, he came in the evening to a pellucid lake, the lotuses on which were in full bloom, and which was full of an abundant supply of cold water, delicious as nectar. Its banks were adorned with pomegranate trees, bread-fruit trees, and rows of mango-trees, and on it the swans sang sweetly. They bathed in it, and devoutly worshipped the beloved [611] of the daughter of Himálaya and refreshed themselves with various fragrant, sweet-tasting, delightful fruits, and then the son of the king of Vatsa and his friend spent the night on the bank of the lake, sleeping on a bed strewn with soft young shoots.