Chapter L…

Chapter L

Then Súryaprabha and his ministers rose up early in the morning, and accompanied by all the troops of the Dánavas and their allies, went to the field of battle. And Srutasarman came surrounded by all the forces of the Vidyádharas; and all the gods, Asuras, and others again came to look on. Both armies adopted the crescent formation, then there took place a battle between those two armies. The swift arrows, [690] winged with feathers, clashing against one another and cutting one another in pieces, also fought. The long sword-blades issued from the mouths of the scabbards, and drinking blood, and waving to and fro, appeared like the tongues of Death. The field of battle seemed like a lake, the full-blown lotuses of which were the faces of heroes; on these the shower of discuses descended like a flight of Brahmany ducks, and so ruined the kingly swans. The combat appeared, with the severed heads of heroes flying up and down, like a game of ball, with which Death was amusing himself. When the arena of combat was cleared from the obscuring dust by the sprinkling of bloody drops, there took place on it the single combats of furious champions. There Súryaprabha fought with Srutasarman, and Prabhása fought with Dámodara, and Siddhártha fought with Mahotpáta, and Prahasta with Brahmagupta, and Vítabhí with Sangama, and Prajnádhya with Chandragupta, and Priyankara with Ákrama, and Sarvadamana fought with Atibala, and Kunjarakumáraka fought with Dhurandhara, and other great champions fought with others respectively.

Then first Mahotpáta silenced the arrows of Siddhártha with his arrows, and after cleaving his bow, slew his horses and charioteer. Siddhártha, though deprived of his chariot, charged him angrily, and with a large iron mace broke in pieces his chariot and horses. Then Siddhártha fought on foot with Mahotpáta also on foot, and in a wrestling-bout hurled him to the ground. But while he was trying to crush him, that Vidyádhara was delivered by his father Bhaga, and flying up into the air left the battle-field. And Prahasta and Brahmagupta destroyed one another's chariots, and then fought with swords, shewing various arts of fence; and Prahasta cleft his foe's shield in the course of their sword-play, and with a dexterous sleight laid him low on the earth; but when he was about to cut off his head, as he lay on the ground, he was forbidden by his father Brahmá himself by a sign from a distance; then all the Dánavas laughed the gods to scorn, saying, "You gods have come to save your sons, not to behold the fray." In the meanwhile Vítabhaya, after cutting in two the bow of Sankrama, and slaying his charioteer, slew him by piercing his heart with the weapon of Káma. And Prajnádhya, fighting on foot with Chandragupta, sword to sword, after both their chariots had been destroyed, killed him by cutting off his head. Then the Moon, angry at the death of his son, himself came and fought with Prajnádhya, and the two combatants were evenly matched. And Priyankara, who had lost his chariot, fighting with Ákrama, who had also had his chariot destroyed, cut him in two with one blow of his sword. And Sarvadamana easily killed Atibala in fight, for when his bow was cleft, he threw his elephant-hook and smote him in the heart.

Then Kunjarakumára in a contest, in which missiles were opposed by answering missiles, frequently deprived Dhurandhara of his chariot, and as frequently Vikramasakti brought him a chariot, and defended him in sore straits, repelling weapons with weapons; then Kunjarakumára in wrath rushed forward, and swiftly hurled a great rock on to the chariot of Vikramasakti, and, when Vikramasakti retired with broken chariot, he crushed Dhurandhara with that very stone. [691]

Then Súryaprabha, while fighting with Srutasarman, being angry on account of the slaughter of Virochana, killed Dama with one arrow. Enraged at that, the two Asvins descended to the combat, but Sunítha received them with showers of arrows, and a great fight took place between him and them. And Sthirabuddhi slew Parákrama in fight with a javelin, and then fought with the eight Vasus enraged on account of his death. And Prabhása, seeing Bhása deprived of his chariot, though himself engaged in fighting with Dámodara, killed Mardana with one arrow. The Dánava Prakampana killed Tejahprabha in a missile combat, and then fought with the god of Fire enraged on account of his death. And when Dhúmraketu had slain Yamadanshtra in fight, he had a terrible combat with the enraged Yama. [692] And Sinhadanshtra, having crushed Suroshana with a stone, fought with Nirriti, [693] enraged on account of his death. Kálachakra also cut Váyubala in two with a discus, and then fought with Váyu [694] inflamed with rage thereat. And Mahámáya slew Kuveradatta, who deluded his foes by assuming the forms of a snake, a mountain, and a tree, assuming himself the forms of Garuda, of the thunderbolt, and of fire. Then Kuvera [695] himself fought with him in wrath. In the same way all the gods fought, angry on account of the slaughter of their sons. And then various other princes of the Vidyádharas were slain by various men and Dánavas, darting forward from time to time.

And in the meanwhile a conflict went on between Prabhása and Dámodara, terrible from its unceasing exchange of missiles. Then Dámodara, though his bow was cleft asunder, and his charioteer slain, took another bow and fought on, holding the reins in his own hands. And when Brahmá applauded him, Indra said to him, "Revered one, why are you pleased with one who is getting the worst of it?" Then Brahmá answered him,--"How can I help being pleased with one, who fights for so long with this Prabhása? Who but Dámodara, who is a portion of Hari, would do this? For all the gods would be a scant match for Prabhása in fight. For that Asura Namuchi, who was so hard for the gods to subdue, and who was then born again as Prabala, one entire and perfect jewel, has now been born as the invincible Prabhása son of Bhása, and Bhása too was in a former birth the great Asura Kálanemi, who afterwards became Hiranyakasipu and then Kapinjala. And Súryaprabha is the Asura who was called Sumundíka. And the Asura who was before called Hiranyáksha is now this Sunítha. And as for Prahasta and others, they are all Daityas and Dánavas; and since the Asuras slain by you have been born again in these forms, the other Asuras, Maya and others, have espoused their cause. And see, Bali has come here to look on, for his bonds have been broken by virtue of the great sacrifice to Siva, duly performed by Súryaprabha and the others, but keeping his promise faithfully, he remains content with the realm of Pátála until your allotted period of rule is at an end, and then he will be Indra. These are now favoured by Siva, so it is not now a time of victory for you, make peace with your foes." While Brahmá was saying this to the king of the gods, Prabhása sent forth the great weapon of Siva. When Vishnu saw that terrible all-destroying weapon let loose, he also sent forth, out of regard for his son, his discus called Sudarsana. Then there took place between those divine weapons, which had assumed visible shapes, a struggle which made the three worlds dread a sudden destruction of all creatures. Then Hari said to Prabhása--"Recall your weapon and I will recall mine," and Prabhása answered him,--"My weapon cannot be launched in vain, so let Dámodara turn his back, and retire from the fight, and then I will recall my weapon." When Prabhása said that, Vishnu answered--"Then do you also honour my discus, let not either of these weapons be fruitless." When Vishnu said this, Prabhása who possessed tact, said "So be it, let this discus of thine destroy my chariot." Vishnu agreed, and made Dámodara retire from the fight, and Prabhása withdrew his weapon, and the discus fell on his chariot. Then he mounted another chariot and went to Súryaprabha, and then Dámodara, for his part, repaired to Srutasarman.

And then the single combat between Srutasarman, who was puffed up by being a son of Indra, and Súryaprabha, became exceedingly fierce. Whatever weapon Srutasarman vigorously employed, Súryaprabha immediately repelled with opposing weapons. And whatever delusion Srutasarman employed, was overmastered by Súryaprabha with opposing delusion. Then Srutasarman in fierce wrath sent forth the weapon of Brahmá, and the mighty Súryaprabha let loose the weapon of Siva. That mighty weapon of Siva repelled the weapon of Brahmá, and being irresistible, was overpowering Srutasarman, when Indra and the other Lokapálas, being indignant, sent forth their tremendous weapons beginning with thunderbolts. But the weapon of Siva conquered all those weapons, and blazed exceedingly, eager to slay Srutasarman. Then Súryaprabha praised that great weapon, and entreated it not to kill Srutasarman, but to take him prisoner and hand him over to himself. Then all the gods speedily prepared for fight, and the other Asuras also, who had come to look on, did the same, being eager to conquer the gods. Then a Gana named Vírabhadra, sent by Siva, came and delivered this order of his to Indra and the other gods: "You came to look on, so what right have you to fight here? Moreover, your overstepping the bounds of propriety will produce other bad results." When the gods heard that, they said--"All of us have sons here that have been slain, or are being slain, so how can we help fighting? [696] Love for one's offspring is a feeling hard to lay aside, so we must certainly revenge ourselves on their slayers to the utmost of our power; what impropriety is there in this?" When the gods said this, Vírabhadra departed, and a great fight took place between the gods and the Asuras: Sunítha fought with the two Asvins, and Prajnádhya fought with the Moon, and Sthirabuddhi with the Vasus, and Kálachakra with Váyu, and Prakampana with Agni, and Sinhadanshtra with Nirriti, and Pramathana with Varuna, and Dhúmraketu with Yama, and then Mahámáya fought with the god of wealth, and other Asuras [697] at the same time fought with other gods, with missiles and opposing missiles. And finally, whatever mighty weapon any god sent forth, Siva immediately destroyed with an angry roar. But the god of wealth, when his club was uplifted, was restrained by Siva in a conciliatory manner, while various other gods, their weapons having been broken, fled from the field of battle. Then Indra himself, in wrath, attacked Súryaprabha, and let fly a storm of arrows at him and various other weapons. And Súryaprabha repelled those weapons with ease, and kept striking Indra with hundreds of arrows drawn back to the ear. Then the king of the gods, enraged, seized his thunderbolt, and Siva made an angry noise and destroyed that thunderbolt. Then Indra turned his back and fled, and Náráyana himself, in wrath, attacked Prabhása with sharp-edged [698] arrows. And he fearlessly fought with him, opposing those and other missiles with his own missiles, and when his horses were slain, and he was deprived of his chariot, he ascended another, and still fought with that enemy of the Daityas on equal terms. Then the god enraged sent forth his flaming discus. And Prabhása sent forth a heavenly sword, after consecrating it with magic formulas. While those two weapons were contending, Siva, seeing that the sword was gradually being overpowered by the discus, made an angry roar. That caused the discus and sword to be both destroyed. Then the Asuras rejoiced, and the gods were cast down, as Súryaprabha had obtained the victory, and Srutasarman was taken prisoner. Then the gods praised and propitiated Siva, and the husband of Ambiká, being pleased, gave this command to the gods--"Ask any boon but that promised to Súryaprabha; who can set aside what has been once promised at a burnt-sacrifice?" The gods said--"But, Lord, let that also which we promised to Srutasarman be fulfilled, and let not our sons perish." Then they ceased, and the Holy Lord thus commanded them, "When peace is made, let that be so, and this is the condition of peace;----let Srutasarman with all his retinue do homage to Súryaprabha. Then we will issue a decree which shall be for the weal of both." The gods acquiesced in this decision of Siva's, and made Srutasarman do homage to Súryaprabha. Then they renounced their enmity and embraced one another, and the gods and Asuras also laid aside their enmity and made peace with one another. Then, in the hearing of the gods and Asuras, the holy Siva said this to Súryaprabha: "You must rule yourself in the southern half-vedi, but the northern half-vedi give to Srutasarman. For you are destined, my son, soon to receive the fourfold sovereignty of all the sky-goers, Kinnaras and all. And when you receive this, as you will be in a distinguished position, you must also give the southern half-vedi to Sríkunjarakumára." And as for the heroes slain on both sides in the battle, let them all rise up alive with unwounded limbs. After saying this, Siva disappeared, and all those heroes, who were slain in that battle, rose up unwounded, as if they had awaked from sleep.

Then Súryaprabha, the tamer of his foes, intent on observing the command of Siva, went to a remote extensive plain, and sitting in full court, himself made Srutasarman, who came to him, sit down on half of his throne. And his companions, headed by Prabhása, and Srutasarman's companions, headed by Dámodara, sat at the side of the two princes. And Sunítha and Maya, and the other Dánavas, and the kings of the Vidyádharas too sat on seats in order of precedence. Then the Daityas, who were kings of the seven Pátálas, headed by Prahláda, and the kings of the Dánavas came there out of joy. And Indra came with the Lokapálas, preceded by Vrihaspati, and the Vidyádhara Sumeru with Suvásakumára. And all the wives of Kasyapa came, headed by Danu, and the wives of Súryaprabha in the chariot Bhútásana. When they had all sat down, after shewing one another affection, and going through the prescribed courtesies, a friend of Danu's, named Siddhi, spoke to them as from her: "O gods and Asuras, the goddess Danu says this to you--'Say, if you have ever felt before the joy and satisfaction which we all feel in this friendly meeting! so you ought not to wage against one another war, which is terrible on account of the sorrow it produces. Hiranyáksha and those other elder Asuras, who waged it to obtain the empire of heaven, have passed away, and Indra is now the eldest, so what cause is there for enmity?

"'So let your mutual antagonism drop, and be happy, in order that I may be pleased, and the prosperity of the worlds may be ensured.'" When they had heard this address of the revered Danu, uttered by the mouth of Siddhi, Vrihaspati, Indra having looked him in the face, said to her--"The gods entertain no design against the Asuras, and are willing to be friends with them, unless they display a treacherous animosity against the gods." When the preceptor of the gods said this, Maya the king of the Dánavas said--"If the Asuras entertained any animosity, how could Namuchi have given to Indra the horse Uchchhaihsravas that resuscitates the dead? And how could Prabala have given his own body to the gods? And how could Bali have given the three worlds to Vishnu, and himself have gone to prison? Or how could Ayodeha have given his own body to Visvakarman? What more shall I say? The Asuras are ever generous, and if they are not treacherously injured, they cherish no animosity." When the Asura Maya had said this, Siddhi made a speech, which induced the gods and Asuras to make peace and embrace one another.

In the meanwhile a female warder, named Jayá, sent by Bhavání, came there and was honoured by all, and she said to Sumeru, "I am sent by the goddess Durgá to you, and she gives you this order--'You have an unmarried daughter named Kámachúdámani; give her quickly to Súryaprabha, for she is a votary of mine.'" When Jayá said this to Sumeru, he bowed, and answered her--"I will do as the goddess Durgá commands me, for this is a great favour to me, and this very thing was long ago enjoined on me by the god Siva." When Sumeru answered Jayá on this wise, she said to Súryaprabha--"You must set Kámachúdámani above all your wives, and she must be respected by you more than all the others; this is the order given to you to-day by the goddess Gaurí, being propitious to you." When Jayá had said this, she disappeared, after having been honoured by Súryaprabha. And Sumeru quickly fixed upon an auspicious moment in that same day for the marriage, and he had an altar made there, with pillars and pavement of refulgent jewels, furnished with fire that seemed, as it were, eclipsed by their rays. And he summoned there his daughter Kámachúdámani, whose beauty was greedily drunk in by the eager eyes of gods and Asuras. Her loveliness was like that of Umá, and no wonder, for if Párvatí was the daughter of Himálaya, she was the daughter of Sumeru. Then he made her ascend the altar, fully adorned, resplendent from the ceremony of the marriage-thread, and then Súryaprabha took the lotus-hand of Kámachúdámani, on which bracelets had been fastened by Danu, and the other ladies. And when the first handful of parched grain [699] was thrown into the fire, Jayá immediately came and gave her an imperishable celestial garland sent by Bhavání, and then Sumeru bestowed priceless jewels, and an excellent elephant of heavenly breed, descended from Airávata. And at the second throwing of parched grain, Jayá, bestowed a necklace, of such a kind that, as long as it is upon a person's neck, hunger, thirst and death cannot harm them; and Sumeru gave twice as many jewels as before, and a matchless horse descended from Uchchhaihsravas. And at the third throwing of grain, Jayá gave a single string of jewels, such that, as long as it is on the neck, youth does not wither, and Sumeru gave a heap of jewels three times as large as the first, and gave a heavenly pearl that bestowed all kinds of magic powers upon its possessor.

Then the wedding being over, Sumeru said to all present; "Gods, Asuras, Vidyádharas, mothers of the gods, and all. To-day all of you must eat in my house, you must do me this honour, I entreat you with palms folded above my head." They all were inclined to refuse Sumeru's invitation, but in the meanwhile Nandin arrived; he said to them, who bowed humbly before him, "Siva commands you to feast in the house of Sumeru, for he is the god's servant, and if you eat his food, you will be satisfied for ever." All of them, when they heard this from Nandin, agreed to it. Then there came there innumerable Ganas sent by Siva, under the leadership of Vináyaka, Mahákála, Vírabhadra and others. They prepared a place fit for dining, and caused the guests to sit down in order, gods, Vidyádharas and men. And the divine beings Vírabhadra, Mahákála, Bhringin and others, ministered to them viands produced by Sumeru by magic, and others supplied by the cow Kámadhenu ordered to do so by Siva, and they waited upon every single guest according to his rank, and then there was a concert, charming on account of the dancing of heavenly nymphs, and in which the bards of the Vidyádharas kept continually joining out of delight. And at the end of the feast, Nandin and the others gave them all celestial garlands, robes, and ornaments. After they had thus honoured the gods and others, all the chiefs of the Ganas, Nandin and the others, departed with all the Ganas as they had come. Then all the gods and Asuras, and those mothers of theirs, and Srutasarman and his followers took leave of Sumeru, and went each to his own place. But Súryaprabha and his wife, accompanied by all his former wives, went in the chariot first to that ascetic grove of Sumeru. And he sent his companion Harsha to announce his success to the kings and to his brother Ratnaprabha. And at the close of day he entered the private apartments of his wife Kámachúdámani, in which were splendid jewelled couches, and which were admirably built. There he flattered her by saying to her, "Now other women dwell outside of me, but you alone live in my heart." Then the night and his sleep gradually came to an end.

And in the morning Súryaprabha got up, and went and paid compliments to his head-wives, who were all together. And while they were rejecting him, as being in love with a new wife, with playfully sarcastic, sweet, affectionate, and bashful turns of speech, a Vidyádhara named Sushena came, announced by the warder, and after doing homage, said to that triumphant king--"Your highness, I have been sent here by all the princes of the Vidyádharas, the lord of Trikúta and others, and they make this representation to your highness--'It is auspicious that your coronation should take place on the third day at the mountain Rishabha, let this be announced to all, and let the necessary preparations be made.'" When Súryaprabha heard that, he answered the ambassador--"Go, and say to the king of Trikúta and the other Vidyádharas from me--'Let your honours begin the preparations, and say yourselves what further is to be done; I for my part am ready. But I will announce the day to all, as is fitting.'" Then Sushena departed, taking with him this answer. But Súryaprabha sent off his friends Prabhása and the others, one by one, to invite all the gods, and the hermits, Yájnavalkya and others, and the kings, and the Vidyádharas, and the Asuras to the great festival of his coronation.

He himself went alone to Kailása the monarch of mountains, in order to invite Siva and Ambiká. And as he was ascending that mountain, he saw that it gleamed white as ashes, looking like a second Siva to be adored by the Siddhas, Rishis, and gods. After he had got more than half-way up it, and had seen that further on it was hard to climb, he beheld on one side a coral door. When he found that, though gifted with supernatural power, he could not enter, he praised Siva with intent mind. Then a man with an elephant's face opened the door, and said--"Come! enter! the holy Ganesa is satisfied with you." Then Súryaprabha entered, inly wondering, and beheld the god seated on a broad slab of jyotírasa, [700] with one tusk, and an elephant's proboscis, in brightness like twelve suns, with pendent stomach, with three eyes, with flaming axe and club, surrounded by many Ganas with the faces of animals, and falling at his feet, he adored him. The vanquisher of obstacles, being pleased, asked him the cause of his coming, and said to him with an affectionate voice--"Ascend by this path." Súryaprabha ascended by that path another five yojanas, and saw another great door of ruby. And not being able to enter there either, he praised the god Siva by his thousand names with intent mind. Then the son of Skanda, called Visákha, himself opened the door, proclaiming who he was, and introduced the prince into the interior. And Súryaprabha, having entered, beheld Skanda of the brightness of burning fire, accompanied by his five sons like himself, Sákha, Visákha and their brothers, surrounded by inauspicious planets, and infant planets, [701] that submitted to him as soon as he was born, and by ten millions of Ganesas, prostrate at his feet. That god Kártikeya also, being pleased, asked the cause of his coming, and shewed him the path by which to ascend the mountain. In the same manner he passed five other jewel-doors in succession, kept by Bhairava, Mahákála, Vírabhadra, Nandin, and Bhringin severally, each with his attendants, and at last he reached on the top of the mountain an eighth door of crystal. Then he praised Siva, and he was introduced courteously by one of the Rudras, and beheld that abode of Siva that excelled Svarga, in which blew winds of heavenly fragrance, in which the trees ever bore fruit and flowers, [702] in which the Gandharvas had begun their concert, which was all joyous with the dancing of Apsarases. Then, in one part of it, Súryaprabha beheld with joy the great god Siva, seated on a throne of crystal, three-eyed, trident in hand, in hue like unto pure crystal, with yellow matted locks, with a lovely half-moon for crest, adored by the holy daughter of the mountain, who was seated at his side. And he advanced, and fell at the feet of him and the goddess Durgá. Then the adorable Hara placed his hand on his back, and made him rise up, and sit down, and asked him why he had come. And Súryaprabha answered the god, "My coronation is nigh at hand, therefore I desire the Lord's presence at it." Then Siva said to him, "Why have you gone through so much toil and hardship? Why did you not think of me where you were, in order that I might appear there. Be it so, I will be present." The god, who is kind to his votaries, said this, and calling a certain Gana who stood near him, gave him the following command: "Go and take this man to the Rishabha mountain, in order that he may be crowned emperor, for that is the place appointed for the grand coronation of emperors such as he is." When the Gana had received this command from the holy god, he took in his lap with all respect Súryaprabha, who had circumambulated Siva. And he carried him and placed him on the Rishabha mountain by his magic power that very moment, and then disappeared. And when Súryaprabha arrived there, his companions came to him, and his wives with Kámachúdámani at their head, and the kings of the Vidyádharas, and the gods with Indra, and the Asuras with Maya at their head, and Srutasarman, and Sumeru with Suvásakumára. And Súryaprabha honoured them all in becoming fashion, and when he told the story of his interview with Siva, they congratulated him. Then Prabhása and the others brought the water of consecration with their own hands, mixed with various herbs, in pitchers of jewels and gold, taking it from male and female rivers, seas and holy bathing places. In the meanwhile the holy Siva came there, accompanied by Durgá; and the gods, and Asuras and Vidyádharas, and kings, and great rishis adored his foot. And while all the gods, and Dánavas, and Vidyádharas uttered loud cries of "Blessed be this day," the rishis made Súryaprabha sit on the throne, and pouring all the waters over him, declared him emperor of the Vidyádharas. And the discreet Asura Maya joyfully fastened on his turban and diadem. And the drum of the gods, preceded by the dancing of lovely Apsarases, sounded joyfully in heaven, in unison with the cymbals of earth. And that assembly of great rishis poured the water of consecration over Kámachúdámani also, and made her the appropriate queen consort of Súryaprabha. Then, the gods and Asuras having departed, Súryaprabha, the emperor of the Vidyádharas, protracted his great coronation feast with his relations, friends, and companions. And in a few days he gave to Srutasarman that northern half vedi mentioned by Siva, and having obtained his other beloved ones, he enjoyed for a long time, together with his companions, the fortune of king of the Vidyádharas.

"Thus by virtue of the favour of Siva, Súryaprabha, though a man, obtained of yore the empire of the Vidyádharas."

Having told this story in the presence of the king of Vatsa, and having bowed before Naraváhanadatta, Vajraprabha, the king of the Vidyádharas, ascended to heaven. And after he had gone, that hero, king Naraváhanadatta, together with his queen Madanamanchuká, remained in the house of his father the king of Vatsa, waiting to obtain the rank of emperor of the Vidyádharas.

Chapter LI

We bow before that Ganesa before whom, when dancing, even the mountains seem to bow, for they are made to stoop, owing to the earth being bent by the weight of Nisumbha.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, dwelt in Kausámbí in the palace of his father, having heard with astonishment of the reign of the king of the Vidyádharas. And once on a time, having gone out hunting, he dismissed his army, and entered a great forest, with Gomukha as his only companion. There the throbbing of his right eye indicated the approach of good fortune, and he soon heard the sound of singing mixed with the notes of a heavenly lyre. After going a short distance to find whence the sound proceeded, he beheld a Svayambhú [703] temple of Siva, and after tying up his horse, he entered it. And there he beheld a heavenly maiden, surrounded by many other lovely maidens, praising Siva with the harp. As soon as he saw her, with the effluent streams of her loveliness she disturbed his heart, as the orb of the moon disturbs the heart of the sea. She too looked on him with impassioned, loving, and bashful eye, and had her mind solely fixed on him, and forgot to pour forth her notes. Then Gomukha, who read his master's soul, began to ask her attendants--"Who is she, and whose daughter is she?" But in the meanwhile a Vidyádharí of mature age, resembling her in feature, descended from heaven, preceded by a gleam red as gold. And she came down, and sat by the side of that maiden, and then the maiden rose up, and fell at her feet. And that mature dame blessed that girl, saying, "Obtain without impediment a husband, who shall be king of all the Vidyádharas." Then Naraváhanadatta came to that gentle-looking Vidyádharí, and bowed before her, and after she had given him her blessing, he slowly said to her: "Who is this maiden of thine, mother, tell me?" then that Vidyádharí said to him "Listen, I will tell you."

Story of Alankáravatí.

There is on the mountain-heights of the father of Gaurí, [704] a city named Srísundarapura, and in it there dwells a king of the Vidyádharas, named Alankárasíla. That lofty-souled king had a wife named Kánchanaprabhá, and in course of time a son was born to the king by her. And, when Umá announced to his father in a dream that he should be devoted to religion, he named him Dharmasíla. And in course of time that son Dharmasíla grew up to be a young man, and the king, having had him taught the sciences, appointed him Crown-prince. Then Dharmasíla, when appointed Crown-prince, being exclusively devoted to virtue, and self-controlled, delighted the subjects even more than did his father. Then the queen Kánchanaprabhá, the consort of king Alankárasíla, became pregnant again, and gave birth to a daughter. Then a heavenly voice proclaimed, "This daughter shall be the wife of the emperor Naraváhanadatta." Then her father gave her the name of Alankáravatí, and the girl gradually grew like a digit of the moon. And in course of time she attained mature youth, and learned the sciences from her own father, and through devotion to the god Siva, began to roam from temple to temple of his. In the meanwhile that brother of hers, Dharmasíla, who was saintly, though in the bloom of youth, said in secret to his father Alankárasíla--"My father, these enjoyments, that vanish in a moment, do not please me; for what is there in this world which is not distasteful at the last? Have you not heard on this point the saying of the hermit Vyása? 'All aggregations end in dissolution, all erections end in a fall, all unions end in separation, and life ends in death.' So what pleasure can wise men take in these perishable objects? Moreover, neither enjoyments nor heaps of wealth accompany one into the other world, but virtue is the only friend that never moves a step from one's side. Therefore I will go to the forest, and perform a severe penance, in order by it to attain everlasting supreme felicity." When the king's son Dharmasíla said this, his father Alankárasíla was perturbed, and answered him with tears in his eyes; "My son, what is this sudden delusion that has overtaken you while still a boy? For good men desire a life of retirement after they have enjoyed their youth. This is the time for you to marry a wife, and rule your kingdom justly, and enjoy pleasures, not to abandon the world." When Dharmasíla heard this speech of his father's, he answered: "There is no period for self-control or absence of self-control fixed by age; any one, even when a child, attains self-control, if favoured by the Lord, but no bad man attains self-control even when old. And I take no pleasure in reigning, nor in marrying a wife; the object of my life is to propitiate Siva by austerities." When the prince said this, his father Alankárasíla, seeing that he could not be turned from his purpose even by the greatest efforts, shed tears, and said; "If you, who are young, my son, display such freedom from passion, why should not I, who am an old man? I too will go to the forest." He said this, and went to the world of men, and bestowed on Bráhmans and the poor a myriad loads of gold and jewels. And returning to his city, he said to his wife Kánchanaprabhá: "You must, if you wish to obey my commands, remain here in your own city, and take care of this daughter of ours, Alankáravatí, and when a year has past, there will be on this very day an auspicious moment for her marriage. And then I will give her in marriage to Naraváhanadatta, and that son-in-law of mine shall be an emperor, and shall come to this city of ours." Having said this to his wife, the king made her take an oath, and then made her return weeping with her daughter, and himself went with his son to the forest. But his wife Kánchanaprabhá lived in her own city with her daughter; what virtuous wife would disobey her husband's commands? Then her daughter Alankáravatí wandered about to many temples together with her mother, who accompanied her out of affection. And one day the science named Prajnapti said to her, "Go to the holy places in Kasmíra named Svayambhú, and there offer worship, for then you will obtain without difficulty for a husband, Naraváhanadatta, the sole emperor of all the Vidyádhara kings." After hearing this from the science, she went with her mother to Kasmíra and worshipped Siva in all the holy places, in Nandikshetra, in Mahádevagiri, in Amaraparvata, in the mountains of Suresvarí, and in Vijaya, and Kapatesvara. After worshipping the husband of Párvatí in these and other holy places, that princess of the Vidyádharas and her mother returned home.

Know, auspicious youth, that this is that very maiden Alankáravatí, and that I am her mother Kánchanaprabhá. And to-day she came to this temple of Siva without telling me. Then I, perceiving it by the Prajnapti science, came here, and I was told by the same science that you had come here also. So marry this daughter of mine who has been ordained your wife by the god. And to-morrow arrives the day of her marriage appointed by her father, so return for this day, my son, to Kausámbí your own city. And we will go hence, but to-morrow the king Alankárasíla will come from the grove of asceticism, and himself give you this daughter of his.

When she said this, Alankáravatí and Naraváhanadatta were thrown into a strange state of distraction, for their eyes were full of tears, since their hearts could not bear that they should be separated from one another even for a night, and they were like chakravákas when the end of the day is near. When Kánchanaprabhá saw them in such a state, she said: "Why do you show such a want of self-restraint because you are to be separated for one night. People, who possess firmness, endure for a long time mutual separation to which no termination is assigned; hear in proof of this the tale of Rámabhadra and Sítá."

Story of Ráma and Sítá.

Long ago king Dasaratha, the sovereign of Ayodhyá, had a son, named Ráma, the elder brother of Bharata, Satrughna and Lakshmana. He was a partial incarnation of Vishnu for the overthrow of Rávana, and he had a wife named Sítá, the daughter of Janaka, the lady of his life. As fate would have it, his father handed over the kingdom to Bharata, and sent Ráma to the forest with Sítá and Lakshmana. There Rávana carried off his beloved Sítá by magic, and took her to the city of Lanká, having slain Jatáyus on the way. Then Ráma, in his bereaved state, made Sugríva his friend by killing Bálin, and by sending Hanumán to Lanká, obtained news of his wife. And he crossed the sea by building a bridge over it, and slew Rávana, and gave the sovereignty of Lanká to Vibhíshana and recovered Sítá. Then he returned from the forest, and while he was ruling his kingdom, that Bharata had made over to him, Sítá became pregnant in Ayodhyá. And while the king was roaming through the city at leisure, with a small retinue, to observe the actions of his subjects, he beheld a certain man turning his wife, whom he held by the hand, out of his house, and giving out that her fault was going to the house of another man. [705] And king Ráma heard the wife saying to her husband,--"King Ráma did not desert his wife, though she dwelt in the house of the Rákshasa; this fellow is superior to him, for he abandons me for going to the house of a relation." So he went home afflicted; and afraid of the slander of the people, he abandoned Sítá in the forest; a man of reputation prefers the sorrow of separation to ill-repute. And Sítá, languid with pregnancy, happened to reach the hermitage of Válmíki, and that rishi comforted her, and made her take up her abode there. And the other hermits there debated among themselves; "Surely this Sítá is guilty, otherwise how could her husband have deserted her? So, by beholding her, everlasting pollution will attach to us; but Válmíki does not expel her from the hermitage out of pity, and he neutralizes by means of his asceticism the pollution produced by beholding her, so come, let us go to some other hermitage." When Válmíki perceived that, he said; "Bráhmans, you need not have any misgivings about the matter, I have perceived her by my meditation to be chaste. When even then they exhibited incredulity, Sítá said to them; "Reverend sirs, test my purity by any means that you know of, and if I turn out to be unchaste, let me be punished by having my head cut off." When the hermits heard that, they experienced an emotion of pity, and they said to her, "There is a famous bathing-place in this forest, called Títhibhasaras, for a certain chaste woman named Títhibhí, being falsely accused by her husband, who suspected her of familiarity with another man, in her helplessness invoked the goddess Earth and the Lokapálas, and they produced it for her justification. There let the wife of Ráma clear herself for our satisfaction." When they said that, Sítá went with them to that lake. And the chaste woman said--"Mother Earth, if my mind was never fixed even in a dream on any one besides my husband, may I reach the other side of the lake,"--and after saying this, she entered the lake, and the goddess Earth appeared, and, taking her in her lap, carried her to the other side. Then all the hermits adored that chaste woman, and enraged at Ráma's having abandoned her, they desired to curse him. But Sítá, who was devoted to her husband, dissuaded them, saying,--"Do not entertain an inauspicious thought against my husband, I beg you to curse my wicked self." The hermits, pleased with that conduct of hers, gave her a blessing which enabled her to give birth to a son, and she, while dwelling there, in good time did give birth to a son, and the hermit Válmíki gave him the name of Lava. [706] One day she took the child and went to bathe, and the hermit, seeing that it was not in the hut, thought--"She is in the habit, when she goes to bathe, of leaving her child behind her, so what has become of the child? Surely it has been carried off by a wild beast. I will create another, otherwise Sítá, on returning from bathing, will die of grief." Under this impression, the hermit made a pure babe of kusa grass, resembling Lava, and placed him there, and Sítá came, and seeing it, said to the hermit, "I have my own boy, so whence came this one, hermit?" When the hermit Válmíki heard this, he told her exactly what had taken place, and said, "Blameless one, receive this second son named Kusa, because I by my power created him out of kusa grass." When he said this to her, Sítá brought up those two sons Kusa and Lava, for whom Válmíki performed the sacraments. And those two young princes of the Kshatriya race, even when children, learned the use of all heavenly weapons, and all sciences from the hermit Válmíki.

And one day they killed a deer belonging to the hermitage, and ate its flesh, and made use of a linga, which Válmíki worshipped, as a plaything. The hermit was offended thereby, but at Sítá's intercession he appointed for those youths the following expiatory penance: "Let this Lava go quickly and bring from the lake of Kuvera golden lotuses, and mandára [707] flowers from his garden, then worship, both of you brothers, this linga with those flowers; in this way this crime of those two will be atoned for." When Lava heard this, he went, though a boy, to Kailása, and invaded that lake and garden of Kuvera, and after killing the Yakshas, brought back the lotuses and the flowers, and as he was returning, being tired, he rested in the way under a tree. And in the meanwhile Lakshmana came that way, seeking a man with auspicious marks for Ráma's human sacrifice. [708] He, according to the custom of Kshatriyas, challenged Lava to fight, and paralyzed him by the stupefying weapon, and taking him prisoner, led him to the city of Ayodhyá. And in the meanwhile Válmíki comforted Sítá, who was anxious about the return of Lava, and said to Kusa in his hermitage, "Lakshmana has taken prisoner the child Lava and has carried him off to Ayodhyá; go and deliver him from Lakshmana, after conquering him with these weapons." When the sage said this, and gave to Kusa a heavenly weapon, he went and with it attacked and besieged the sacrificial enclosure in Ayodhyá, and he conquered in fight Lakshmana, who advanced to repel him, by the help of those heavenly weapons; then Ráma advanced to meet him; and when he could not, though exerting himself to the utmost, conquer with weapons that Kusa, owing to the might of Válmíki, he asked him who he was, and why he came. Then Kusa said, "Lakshmana has taken my elder brother prisoner and brought him here; I have come here to set him at liberty. We two are Kusa and Lava the sons of Ráma, this is what our mother, the daughter of Janaka, says." Thereupon he told her story. Then Ráma burst into tears, and summoned Lava and embraced both, saying, "I am that same wicked Ráma." Then the citizens assembled and praised Sítá, beholding those two heroic youths, and Ráma recognised them as his sons. And then he summoned the queen Sítá from the hermitage of Válmíki, and dwelt with her in happiness, transferring to his sons the burden of the empire.

"Thus heroic souls endure separation for so long a time, and how can you find it difficult to endure it for only one night?" When Kánchanaprabhá had said this to her daughter Alankáravatí, who was eager to be married, and to Naraváhanadatta, she departed through the air with the intention of returning again, and took her daughter with her: and Naraváhanadatta, for his part, returned despondent to Kausámbí.

Then, as he could not sleep at night, Gomukha said to him to amuse him--"Prince, hear this story of Prithvírúpa, which I will relate to you."

Story of the handsome king Prithvírúpa.

There is in the Dekhan a city named Pratishthána, in it lived a very handsome king, named Prithvírúpa. Once on a time two discerning Buddhist hermits came to him, and seeing that that king was very handsome, they said to him, "King, we have travelled through the world, and we have nowhere seen a man or woman equal to you in beauty, except the daughter of king Rúpadhara and queen Hemalatá, in the isle of Muktipura, Rúpalatá by name, and that maiden alone is a match for you, and you alone are a match for her; if you were to be united in marriage, it would be well." With these words of the hermit, which entered by his ears, the arrows of Love entered also and stuck in his heart. Then king Prithvírúpa, being full of longing, gave this order to his admirable painter, Kumáridatta by name; "Take with you my portrait, accurately painted on canvas, and with these two mendicants go to the isle of Muktipura, and there shew it by some artifice to the king Rúpadhara and his daughter Rúpalatá. Find out if that king will give me his daughter or not, and take a likeness of Rúpalatá, and bring it back." When the king had said this, he made the painter take his likeness on canvas, and sent him with the mendicants to that island. And so the painter and the mendicants set out, and in course of time reached a city named Putrapura on the shore of the sea. There they embarked on a ship, and going across the sea, they reached in five days that island of Muktipura. There the painter went and held up at the gate of the palace a notice, to the effect that there was no painter like him in the world. When the king Rúpadhara heard of that, he summoned him, and the painter entered the palace, and bowing, he said: "O king, though I have travelled all over the earth, I have never seen my match as a painter, so tell me, whom I am to paint of gods, mortals, and Asuras." When the king heard that, he summoned his daughter Rúpalatá into his presence, and gave him the following order: "Make a portrait of this daughter of mine, and shew it me." Then the painter Kumáridatta made a portrait of the princess on canvas and shewed it, and it was exactly like the original. Then king Rúpadhara was pleased, and thinking him clever, he asked that painter, in his desire to obtain a son-in-law, "My good fellow, you have travelled over the earth: so tell me if you have anywhere seen a woman or a man equal to my daughter in beauty." When the king said this, the painter answered him, "I have nowhere in the world seen a woman or a man equal to her, except a king in Pratishthána, named Prithvírúpa, who is a match for her; if she were married to him, it would be well. Since he has not found a princess equal in beauty, he remains, though in his fresh youth, without a wife. And I, your majesty, having beheld that king, dear to the eyes, took a faithful likeness of him, out of admiration of his beauty." When the king heard that, he said: "Have you that portrait with you?" And the painter said, "I have," and showed the portrait. Thereupon the king Rúpadhara, beholding the beauty of that king Prithvírúpa, found his head whirl round with astonishment. And he said, "Fortunate are we to have beheld that king even in a picture; I felicitate those who behold him in the flesh. When Rúpalatá heard this speech of her father's, and saw the king in the picture, she was full of longing, and could neither hear nor see anything else. Then the king Rúpadhara, seeing that his daughter was distracted with love, said to that painter Kumáridatta, "Your pictures exactly correspond to the original, so that king Prithvírúpa must be an appropriate husband for my daughter. So take this portrait of my daughter, and set off immediately, and shew my daughter to king Prithvírúpa; and tell the whole incident as it took place, and if he pleases, let him come here quickly, to marry her." Thus the king spake, and honoured the painter with gifts, and sent him off with his ambassador, in the company of the mendicants.

The painter, the ambassador, and the mendicants crossed the sea, and all reached the court of Prithvírúpa in Pratishthána. There they gave the present to that king, and told him the whole transaction, as it took place, and the message of Rúpadhara. And then that painter Kumáridatta shewed to that king his beloved Rúpalatá in a painting. As the king gazed, [709] his eye was drowned in that sea of beauty her person, so that he could not draw it out again. For the king, whose longing was excessive, could not be satisfied with devouring her form, which poured forth a stream of the nectar of beauty, as the partridge cannot be satisfied with devouring the moonlight. And he said to the painter, "My friend, worthy of praise is the Creator who made this beauty, and yourself who copied it. So I accept the proposal of king Rúpadhara; I will go to the island of Muktipura and marry his daughter." After saying this, the king honoured the painter, the ambassador, and the hermits, and remained looking at the picture.

And afflicted with the sorrow of absence, the king spent that day in gardens and other places, and set out the next day on his expedition, after ascertaining a favourable moment. And the king mounted the great elephant Mangalaghata, and proceeded on his way with many horses and elephants, with chiefs and Rájpúts, and with the painter and the hermits, together with the ambassador of Rúpadhara, and in a few days he reached the entrance of the Vindhya forest, and encamped there in the evening. The next day, the king Prithvírúpa mounted an elephant named Satrumardana, and going on entered that forest. And as he was slowly proceeding, he beheld his army, which was marching in front of him, suddenly fleeing. And while he was perplexed as to what it could mean, a Rájpút named Nirbhaya, mounted on an elephant, came up and said to him, "King, a very large army of Bhillas attacked us in front there; in the fight that ensued those Bhillas slew with their arrows just fifty of our elephants, and a thousand of our footmen, and three hundred horses; but our troops laid low two thousand Bhillas, so that for every single corpse seen in our host two were seen in theirs. Then our forces were routed, galled with their arrows, which resemble thunderbolts." When the king heard that, he was angry, and advancing he slew the army of the Bhillas, as Arjuna slew that of the Kauravas. Then the other bandits were slain by Nirbhaya and his comrades, [710] and the king cut off with one crescent-headed arrow the head of the commander of the Bhillas. The king's elephant Satrumardana, with the blood flowing from arrow-wounds, resembled a mountain of collyrium pouring forth streams coloured with cinnabar. Then his whole army, that had been dispersed, returned, finding themselves victorious, and those Bhillas, that had escaped slaughter, fled in all directions. And the king Prithvírúpa, having brought the fight to an end, had his might extolled by the ambassador of Rúpadhara, and being victorious, encamped in that very forest district, on the bank of a lake, to recruit the strength of his wounded troops.

And in the morning the king set out thence, and slowly advancing he reached that city of Putrapura on the shore of the sea. There he rested for a day, being entertained in becoming fashion by the king of that place, named Udáracharita. And he crossed the sea in ships supplied by him, and in eight days reached the isle of Muktipura.

And the king Rúpadhara, hearing of it, came to meet him delighted, and the two kings met and embraced one another. Then the king Prithvírúpa entered his city with him, being, so to speak, drunk in by the eyes of the ladies of the city. Then the queen Hemalatá and the king Rúpadhara, seeing that he was a suitable husband for their daughter, rejoiced. And that king Prithvírúpa remained there, and Rúpadhara honoured him with entertainment in accordance with his own magnificence.

And the next day, the long-desiring Rúpalatá ascended the altar in an auspicious moment, and he with exultation received her hand in marriage. And when they beheld one another's beauty, the expanded eye of each was extended to the ear, as if to inform that organ that the report it had heard before was true. When the parched grain was thrown, Rúpadhara gave jewels in such abundance to the happy couple, that men thought he was a perfect mine of jewels. And after his daughter's marriage had taken place, he honoured the painter and the two mendicants with dresses and ornaments, and bestowed gifts on all the others. Then that king Prithvírúpa, remaining in that city with his attendants, enjoyed the best meat and drink the isle could produce. The day was spent in singing and dancing, and at night the eager king entered the private apartments of Rúpalatá, in which jewelled couches were spread, which was adorned with jewelled pavement, the circuit of which was propped on jewelled pillars, and which was lit up with jewel-lamps. And in the morning he was woke up by the bards and heralds reciting, and he rose up and remained as the moon in heaven.

Thus king Prithvírúpa remained ten days in that island, amusing himself with ever-fresh enjoyments furnished by his father-in-law. On the eleventh day, the king, with the consent of the astrologers, set out with Rúpalatá, after the auspicious ceremony had been performed for him. And he was escorted by his father-in-law as far as the shore of the sea, and accompanied by his retainers, he embarked on the ships with his wife. He crossed the sea in eight days, and his army, that was encamped on the shore, joined him, and the king Udáracharita came to meet him, and then he went to Putrapura. There king Prithvírúpa rested some days, and was entertained by that king, and then he set out from that place. And he mounted his beloved Rúpalatá on the elephant Jayamangala, and he himself mounted an elephant named Kalyánagiri. And the king, proceeding by continual stages, in due course reached his good city of Pratishthána, where flags and banners were waving. Then, after beholding Rúpalatá, the ladies of the city lost at once all pride in their own beauty, and gazed on her with eyes unwinking from wonder. Then king Prithvírúpa entered his palace, making high festival, and he gave to that painter villages and wealth, and he honoured those two hermits with wealth as they deserved, and gave complimentary presents to the chiefs, ministers and Rájpúts. Then that king, having attained his object, enjoyed there this world's happiness in the society of Rúpalatá.

After the minister Gomukha had told Naraváhanadatta this tale with the object of amusing him, he went on to say to the impatient prince,--"Thus the resolute endure painful separation for a long time, but how is it that you cannot endure it even for one night, O king? For to-morrow your Highness shall marry Alankáravatí." When Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyana came up at that instant, and said, "What stuff will you not prate, being ungalled, and never having felt the agony of love? A man possesses firmness and discernment and morality, only so long as he does not come within the range of the arrows of Love. Happy in the world are Sarasvatí, Skanda, and Buddha, these three, who have brushed off and flung away love, like a blade of grass clinging to the skirt of the robe." When Marubhúti said this, Naraváhanadatta, perceiving that Gomukha was distressed, said in order to comfort him,--"What Gomukha said to me was appropriate, and it was said to amuse me, for what loving friend exults over one in the agony of separation? One afflicted by the pain of separation should be comforted by his friends to the best of their ability, and the sequel should be left to the disposal of the five-arrowed god." Talking in this style, and hearing various tales from his attendants, Naraváhanadatta somehow managed to get through that night. And when morning came, he rose up and performed his necessary duties, and saw Kánchanaprabhá descending from heaven, accompanied by her husband Alankárasíla, and her son Dharmasíla, and that Alankáravatí her daughter; and they all descended from the chariot and came near him, and he welcomed them as was fitting, and they saluted him in like manner. And in the meanwhile thousands of other Vidyádharas descended from heaven, carrying loads of gold, jewels, and other valuables; and after hearing of this occurrence, the king of Vatsa came there with his ministers and his queens, delighted at the advancement of his son. After the king of Vatsa had performed the rites of hospitality duly, the king Alankárasíla said to him, bowing graciously,--"King, this is my daughter Alankáravatí, and when she was born, she was declared by a voice, that came from heaven, to be destined to be the wife of this thy son Naraváhanadatta, the future emperor of all the Vidyádhara kings. So I will give her to him, for this is a favourable moment for them; for this reason I have come here with all these." The king of Vatsa welcomed that speech of the Vidyádhara sovereign's, saying, "It is a great favour that you do me." Then the ruler of the Vidyádharas sprinkled with water, produced in the hollow of his hand by virtue of his science, the ground of the courtyard. Immediately there was produced there an altar of gold, covered with a heavenly cloth, and a pavilion, not made with hands, for the preliminary ceremony, composed of various jewels. Then the successful king Alankárasíla said to Naraváhanadatta--"Rise up, the favourable moment has arrived--bathe." After he had bathed, and had the marriage-thread put on, the king Alankárasíla, being delighted, gave him with all his heart his daughter, after bringing her to the altar in her bridal dress. And when the grain was thrown into the fire, he and his son gave to his daughter thousands of loads of jewels, gold, garments and ornaments, and heavenly nymphs. And after the marriage was over, he honoured them all, and then took his leave of them, and with his wife and son departed, as he came, through the air. Then the king of Vatsa, seeing his son destined to advancement, being honoured by the bending kings of the Vidyádharas, was delighted, and prolonged that feast to a great length. And Naraváhanadatta, having obtained Alankáravatí, charming on account of her good conduct, and of noble virtues, like a skilful poet who has obtained a style, charming on account of its excellent metre, and of splendid merits, remained delighted with her. [711]

Chapter LII

Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, being united to Alankáravatí his new wife, remained in the house of his father, pleased with the heavenly dancing and singing of her maids, and enjoying banquets with his ministers.

And one day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá, the mother of Alankáravatí, came to him and said, after he had hospitably entertained her--"Come to our palace, behold that city of Sundarapura, and take your delight in its gardens with Alankáravatí." When he heard this, he consented, and he informed his father, and by his advice took Vasantaka with him, and with his wife and his minister, he ascended a splendid chariot created by his mother-in-law by her science, and set out through the air, and while in the chariot, he looked down from heaven, and beheld the earth of the size of a mound, and the seas small as ditches, and in due course he reached the Himálayas with his mother-in-law, wife, and attendants, and it resounded with the songs of the Kinnarís, and was adorned with the companies of heavenly nymphs. There he saw a great many wonderful sights, and then he reached the city of Sundarapura. It was adorned with many palaces of gold and jewels, and, thus, though it was on the Himálayas, it made the beholder suppose that he was looking on the peaks of mount Meru. [712] And he descended from the heaven, and getting out of the carriage entered that city, which, as it were, danced with the waving silk of its banners, in its joy at having once more a king. And he entered that palace, with the auspicious ceremony performed for him by his mother-in-law, accompanied by Alankáravatí, and with his favourites and Vasantaka. There the fortunate prince spent the day in his father-in-law's palace, in enjoyments which were provided for him by the power of his mother-in-law. And on the next day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá said to him; "There is in this city an image of the holy self-existent husband of Umá. [713] He, if visited and worshipped, gives enjoyment and even salvation. Around it the father of Alankáravatí made a great garden, and brought down to it a holy water, rightly named the Ganges-pool: go there to-day to worship the god and to amuse yourselves." When his mother-in-law said this to him, Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by his wife Alankáravatí, and followed by his attendants, went to that garden of Siva. It looked lovely with its golden-trunked trees, which were charming with their branches of jewels, the clear white flowers of which were clusters of pearls, and the shoots of which were coral. [714] There he bathed in the Ganges-pool and worshipped Siva, and wandered round the tanks that were adorned with ladders of jewels and lotuses of gold. And, accompanied by his attendants, he amused himself with Alankáravatí on their charming banks, and in bowers of the wish-granting creeper. And in those he delighted his soul with heavenly banquets and concerts, and amusing jokes caused by the simplicity of Marubhúti. And so Naraváhanadatta dwelt a month there, amusing himself in gardens, thanks to the resources of his mother-in-law. Then that Kánchanaprabhá bestowed on him, his wife, and his ministers, garments and ornaments fit for gods, and with his mother-in-law and his attendants, he returned in that same chariot to Kausámbí, accompanied by his wife, and he gladdened the eyes of his parents.

There Alankáravatí was thus addressed by her mother in the presence of the king of Vatsa; "You must never by jealous anger make your husband unhappy, for the fruit of that fault, my daughter, is separation that causes great affliction. Because I was jealous in old time and afflicted my husband, I am now consumed with remorse, as he has gone to the forest." After saying this, she embraced her daughter with eyes blinded with tears, and flying up into the air went to her own city.

Then, that day having come to an end, the next morning Naraváhanadatta, having performed the appropriate duties, was sitting with his ministers, when a woman rushed into the presence of Alankáravatí and said--"Queen, I am a woman in the utmost terror, protect me, protect me! For there is a Bráhman come to slay me, and he is standing outside; through fear of him I have fled and come in here to implore protection." The queen said, "Do not fear. Tell your tale. Who is he? Why does he wish to slay you?" When thus questioned, the woman began to say:--

Story of Asokamálá.

My sovereign, I am the daughter of a Kshatriya in this city, named Balasena, and my name is Asokamálá. When I was a virgin, I was demanded from my father by a rich Bráhman named Hathasarman, who was captivated by my beauty. And I said to my father; "I do not like this ugly grim-visaged man for a husband; if you give me to him, I will not remain in his house." Though Hathasarman heard that, he sat in dharna at the door of my father's house, until he gave me to him, being afraid of causing the death of a Bráhman. Then the Bráhman married me and carried me off reluctant, and I deserted him, and fled to another man, the son of a Kshatriya. But that Hathasarman managed to crush him by the power of his wealth, and then I went to another Kshatriya, who was well off. Then this Bráhman went at night and set his house on fire. Then he abandoned me, and I went to a third Kshatriya, and this Bráhman burnt his house also at night. Then I was abandoned by him also, and I became a fugitive, flying in terror, as the sheep flies from the jackal, from that Hathasarman, who wishes to slay me, and follows me step by step. In this very city I entered the service of the mighty Vírasarman your servant, a Rájpút who protects the helpless. When the wicked Hathasarman found that out, he was miserable at having no hope of recovering me, and being afflicted with separation, he was reduced to skin and bone. But the Rájpút Vírasarman, when disposed to imprison him for my protection, was prevented by me, O queen. To-day it chanced that I went outside the house, and Hathasarman, seeing me, drew his sword and rushed on me to kill me, but I thereupon fled here, and the female warder, melted with compassion, opened the door and let me enter, but he, I know, is waiting for me outside.

When she said this, the king had the Bráhman Hathasarman summoned into his presence; he looked at Asokamálá with an eye inflamed with anger, his form was distorted, he held a sword in his hand, and the joints of his limbs trembled with rage. The king said to him, "Wicked Bráhman, do you try to kill a woman, and for her sake set on fire your neighbours' houses? Why are you so wicked?" When the Bráhman heard that, he said, "She is my lawful wife. She has left my protection and gone elsewhere, how could I endure that?" When he said this, Asokamálá, in distress, exclaimed, "O guardians of the world, tell me this; did he not in your presence marry me and carry me off by force against my own will? And did I not say at the time, 'I will not dwell in his house?'" When she said this, a heavenly voice said, "The statement of Asokamálá is true. But she is not a woman; hear the truth about her. There is a heroic king of the Vidyádharas named Asokakara. He had no sons, and once on a time it happened that a daughter was born to him, and she grew up in the house of her father, under the name of Asokamálá. And when she arrived at an adult age, and he, desiring to perpetuate his race, offered her in marriage, she would not take any husband, through exceeding pride in her own beauty. For that reason her father, vexed with her obstinacy, denounced this curse on her; 'Become a mortal, and in that state thou shalt have the same name. And an ugly Bráhman shall marry thee by force; thou shalt abandon him, and in thy fear resort to three husbands in succession. Even then he shall persecute thee, and thou shalt take refuge with a mighty Kshatriya as his slave, but even then the Bráhman shall not desist from persecuting thee. And he shall see thee, and run after thee, with the object of killing thee, but thou shalt escape, and entering the king's palace, shalt be delivered from this curse.'

Accordingly that very Vidyádharí, Asokamálá, who was in old time cursed by her father, has now been born as a woman under the same name. And this appointed end of her curse has now arrived. She shall now repair to her Vidyádhara home, and enter her own body which is there. There she, remembering her curse, shall live happily with a Vidyádhara prince, named Abhiruchita, who shall become her husband." When the heavenly voice had said this, it ceased, and immediately that Asokamálá fell dead on the ground. But the king and Alankáravatí, when they saw that, had their eyes suffused with tears, and so had their courtiers. But in Hathasarman grief overpowered anger, and he wept, blinded with passion. Then his eyes suddenly became expanded with joy. All of them thereupon said to him,--"What does this mean?" Then that Bráhman said, "I remember my former birth, and I will give an account of it, listen."

Story of Sthúlabhuja.

On the Himálayas there is a splendid city, named Madanapura; in it dwelt a Vidyádhara prince, named Pralambabhuja. He had born to him, my lord, a son named Sthúlabhuja, and he in course of time became a handsome prince in the flower of youth. Then a king of the Vidyádharas, named Surabhivatsa, came with his daughter to the palace of that king Pralambabhuja, and said to him: "I give this daughter of mine, called Surabhidattá, to your son Sthúlabhuja; let the accomplished youth marry her now." When Pralambabhuja heard this, he approved it, and summoning his son, he communicated the matter to him. Then his son Sthúlabhuja, out of pride in his beauty, said to him, "I will not marry her, my father, for she is not a first-class beauty." His father thereupon said to him, "What does her plainness matter? For she is of high lineage and must be honoured on that account, and her father offered her to me for you, and I have accepted her, so do not refuse." Although Sthúlabhuja was thus entreated a second time by his father, he would not consent to marry her. Then his father, in his anger, denounced against him the following curse--"On account of this your pride in your good looks, be born as a man, and in that state you shall be ugly and with a large mouth. And you shall acquire by force a wife named Asokamálá, also fallen by a curse, and she, not liking you, shall leave you, and you shall experience the grief of separation. And as she shall be attached to another, you shall commit for her sake arson and other crimes, being maddened with passion and emaciated with grief." When Pralambabhuja had uttered this curse, that virtuous Surabhidattá clung to his feet, weeping, and entreated him, "Pronounce a curse on me also, let our lot be the same, let not my husband alone suffer calamity owing to my fault." When she said this, Pralambabhuja was pleased, and, in order to comfort that virtuous woman, he appointed for her this end to his son's curse: "Whenever Asokamálá shall be released from her curse, then he shall remember his birth and be released from this curse, and he shall regain his own body, and remembering his curse, he shall be free from pride, and soon marry you; then he shall live with you in happiness." When the virtuous woman was thus addressed by him, she managed to recover her self-composure.

"Know that I am that very Sthúlabhuja, fallen here by a curse, and I have experienced this great grief owing to the fault of pride. How can proud men have happiness in a previous or in a present state of existence? And that curse of mine is now at an end." After saying this, Hathasarman abandoned that body, and became a Vidyádhara youth. And he took by the might of his science the body of Asokamálá, and flung it, without its being seen, into the Ganges, out of compassion. And he sprinkled immediately the chamber of Alankáravatí all round with water of the Ganges, brought by the might of his science, and after bending before Naraváhanadatta, his future lord, he flew up into the heaven to his destined prosperity.

All being astonished, Gomukha told this story of Anangarati, which was appropriate to the incident--

Story of Anangarati and her four suitors.

There is on the earth a city, rightly named Súrapura, [715] and in it there lived a king named Mahávaráha, the destroyer of his foes. That king had a daughter named Anangarati, born to him by his wife Padmarati, owing to his having propitiated Gaurí, and he had no other children. And in course of time she attained womanhood, and proud of her beauty, she did not wish to have any husband, though kings asked her in marriage. But she said decidedly; "I must be given to a man who is brave and handsome, and knows some one splendid accomplishment.

Then there came from the Dekhan four heroes, who, having heard tidings of her, were eager to obtain her, and they were furnished with the qualities which she desired. They were announced by the warder and introduced, and then king Mahávaráha asked them in the presence of Anangarati; "What are your names? what is your descent, and what do you know?" When they heard this speech of the king's, one of them said--"I am Panchaphuttika by name, a Súdra; I possess a peculiar talent; I weave every day five pairs of garments, one of them I give to a Bráhman, and the second I offer to Siva, and the third I wear myself, and as for the fourth, if I had a wife, I would give it to her, and the fifth I sell, and live upon the proceeds." Then the second said, "I am a Vaisya named Bháshájna; I know the language of all beasts and birds." [716]

Then the third said, "I am a Kshatriya named Khadgadhara, and no one surpasses me in fighting with the sword." And the fourth said, "I am an excellent Bráhman named Jívadatta; by means of the sciences which I possess by the favour of Gaurí, I can raise to life a dead woman." [717] When they had thus spoken, the Súdra, the Vaisya, and the Kshatriya one after another praised their own beauty, courage and might, but the Bráhman praised his might and valour, and said nothing about his beauty.

Then king Mahávaráha said to his door-keeper--"Take all these now and make them rest in your house." The door-keeper, when he heard the order, took them to his house. Then the king said to his daughter Anangarati, "My daughter, which of these four heroes do you prefer?" When Anangarati heard that, she said to her father; "Father, I do not like any one of the four; the first is a Súdra and a weaver, what is the use of his good qualities? The second is a Vaisya, and what is the use of his knowing the language of cattle, and so on? How can I give myself to them, when I am a Kshatriya woman? The third indeed is a meritorious Kshatriya, equal to me in birth, but be is a poor man and lives by service, selling his life. As I am the daughter of a king, how can I become his wife? The fourth, the Bráhman Jívadatta, I do not like; he is ugly and is addicted to unlawful arts, and, as he has deserted the Vedas, he has fallen from his high position. You ought to punish him, why do you offer to give me to him? For you, my father, being a king, are the upholder of the castes and the various stages of life. And a king, who is a hero in upholding religion, is preferred to a king, who is only a hero with the sword. A hero in religion will be the lord of a thousand heroes with the sword." When his daughter had said this, the king dismissed her to her own private apartments, and rose up to bathe and perform his other duties.

And the next day, the four heroes went out from the house of the door-keeper, and roamed about in the town out of curiosity. And at that very time a vicious elephant, named Padmakabala, broke his fastening, and in his fury rushed out from the elephant-stable, trampling down the citizens. And that great elephant, when he saw the four heroes, rushed towards them to slay them, and they too advanced towards him with uplifted weapons. Then the one Kshatriya among them, named Khadgadhara, putting aside the other three, alone attacked that elephant. And he cut off with one blow the protended trunk of that roaring elephant, with as much ease as if it had been a lotus-stalk. And after showing his agility by escaping between his feet, he delivered a second blow on the back of that elephant. And with the third he cut off both his feet. Then that elephant gave a groan and fell down and died. All the people were astonished when they beheld that valour of his, and king Mahávaráha was also amazed when he heard of it.

The next day, the king went out to hunt, mounted on an elephant, and the four heroes, with Khadgadhara at their head, accompanied him. There the king with his army slew tigers, deer, and boars, and the lions rushed out upon him in anger, hearing the trumpeting of the elephants. Then that Khadgadhara cleft in twain, with one blow of his sharp sword, the first lion that attacked them, and the second he seized with his left hand by the foot, and dashing it on the earth, deprived it of life. And in the same way Bháshájna, and Jívadatta, and Panchaphuttika, each dashed a lion to pieces on the earth. Thus in turn those heroes killed on foot many tigers, and lions, and other animals, with ease, before the eyes of the king. Then that king, being pleased and astonished, after he had finished his hunting, entered his city, and those heroes went to the house of the door-keeper. And the king entered the harem, and though tired, had his daughter Anangarati quickly summoned. And after describing the valour of those heroes, one by one, as he had seen it in the chase, he said to her who was much astonished--"Even if Panchaphuttika and Bháshájna are of inferior caste, and Jívadatta, though a Bráhman, is ugly and addicted to forbidden practices, what fault is there in the Kshatriya Khadgadhara, who is handsome, and of noble stature, and is distinguished for strength and valour; who slew such an elephant, and who takes lions by the foot and crushes them on the ground, and slays others with the sword? And if it is made a ground of reproach against him that he is poor and a servant, I will immediately make him a lord to be served by others: so choose him for a husband, if you please, my daughter." When Anangarati heard this from her father, she said to him--"Well then, bring all those men here, and ask the astrologer, and let us see what he says." When she said this to him, the king summoned those heroes, and in their presence he, accompanied by his wives, said to the astrologer with his own mouth: "Find out with which of these Anangarati has conformity of horoscope, and when a favourable moment will arrive for her marriage." When the skilful astrologer heard that, he asked the stars under which they were born, and after long considering the time, he said to that king--"If you will not be angry with me, king, I will tell you plainly. Your daughter has no conformity of lot with any one of them. And she will not be married on earth, for she is a Vidyádharí fallen by a curse; that curse of hers will be at an end in three months. So let these wait here three months, and if she is not gone to her own world then, the marriage shall take place." All those heroes accepted the advice of that astrologer, and remained there for three months.

When three months had passed, the king summoned into his presence those heroes, and that astrologer, and Anangarati. And the king, when he saw that his daughter had suddenly become exceedingly beautiful, rejoiced, but the astrologer thought that the hour of her death had arrived. And while the king was saying to the astrologer--"Now tell me what it is proper to do, for those three months are gone," Anangarati called to mind her former birth, and covering her face with her garment, she abandoned that human body. The king thought--"Why has she put herself in this position?" But when he himself uncovered her face, he saw that she was dead, like a frost-smitten lotus-plant, for her eyes like bees had ceased to revolve, the lotus-flower of her face was pale, and the sweet sound of her voice had ceased, even as the sound of the swans departs. Then the king suddenly fell to earth motionless, smitten by the thunderbolt of grief for her, crushed by the extinction of his race. [718] And the queen Padmarati also fell down to the earth in a swoon, and with her ornaments fallen from her like flowers, appeared like a cluster of blossoms broken by an elephant.

The attendants raised cries of lamentation, and those heroes were full of grief, but the king, immediately recovering consciousness, said to that Jívadatta, "In this matter those others have no power, but now it is your opportunity; you boasted that you could raise to life a dead woman; if you possess power by means of science, then recall my daughter to life; I will give her, when restored to life, to you as being a Bráhman." When Jívadatta heard this speech of the king's, he sprinkled that princess with water, over which charms had been said, and chanted this Áryá verse: "O thou of the loud laugh, adorned with a garland of skulls, not to be gazed on, Chámundá, the terrible goddess, assist me quickly." When, in spite of this effort of Jívadatta's, that maiden was not restored to life, he was despondent, and said--"My science, though bestowed by the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya range, has proved fruitless, so what is the use to me of my life that has become an object of scorn?" When he had said this, he was preparing to cut off his head with a great sword, when a voice came from the sky--"O Jívadatta, do not act rashly, listen now. This noble Vidyádhara maiden, named Anangaprabhá, has been for so long a time a mortal owing to the curse of her parents. She has now quitted this human body, and has gone to her own world, and taken her own body. So go and propitiate again the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills, and by her favour you shall recover this noble Vidyádhara maiden. But as she is enjoying heavenly bliss, neither you nor the king ought to mourn for her." When the heavenly voice had told this true tale, it ceased. Then the king performed his daughter's rites, and he and his wife ceased to mourn for her, and those other three heroes returned as they had come.

But hope was kindled in the breast of Jívadatta, and he went and propitiated with austerities the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and she said to him in a dream:

"I am satisfied with thee, so rise up and listen to this that I am about to tell thee."

Story of Anangarati in a former birth when she was a Vidyádharí named Anangaprabhá.

There is a city on the Himálayas named Vírapura; and in it there dwells a sovereign of Vidyádharas named Samara. He had a daughter, named Anangaprabhá, born to him by his queen Anangavatí. When, in the pride of her youth and beauty, she refused to have any husband, her parents, enraged at her persistence, cursed her--

"Become a human being, and even in that state you shall not enjoy the happiness of married life. When you are a maiden of sixteen years, you shall abandon the body and come here. But an ugly mortal, who has become such by a curse, on account of his falling in love with the daughter of a hermit, and who possesses a magic sword, shall then become your husband, and he shall carry you off against your will to the world of mortals. There you, being unchaste, shall be separated from your husband. Because that husband in a former life carried off the wives of eight other men, he shall endure sorrow enough for eight births. And you, having become a mortal by the loss of your supernatural science, shall endure in that one birth the sufferings of eight births. [719] For to every one the association with the evil gives an evil lot, but to women the union with an evil husband is equivalent to evil. And having lost your memory of the past, you shall there take many mortal husbands, because you obstinately persisted in detesting the husband fitted for you. That Vidyádhara Madanaprabha, who, being equal in birth, demanded you in marriage, shall become a mortal king and at last become your husband. Then you shall be freed from your curse, and return to your own world, and you shall obtain that suitable match, who shall have returned to his Vidyádhara state." So that maiden Anangaprabhá has become Anangarati on the earth, and returning to her parents, has once more become Anangaprabhá.

"So go to Vírapura and conquer in fight her father, though he is possessed of knowledge and protected by his high birth, and obtain that maiden. Now take this sword, and as long as you hold it in your hand, you will be able to travel through the air, and moreover you will be invincible." Having said this, and having given the sword to him, the goddess vanished, and he woke up, and beheld in his hand a heavenly sword. Then Jívadatta rose up delighted and praised Durgá, and all the exhaustion produced by his penance was removed by the refreshment caused by the nectar of her favour. And he flew up into the air with his sword in his hand, and after roaming all round the Himálayas, he found that prince of the Vidyádharas Samara in Vírapura. He conquered him in fight, and then the king gave him his daughter Anangaprabhá, and he married her, and lived in heavenly felicity. And after he had remained there some time, he said to his father-in-law Samara and to his beloved Anangaprabhá, "Let us two go to the world of men, for I feel a longing for it, for one's native land is exceedingly dear to living beings, even though it may be an inferior place." [720] When the father-in-law heard that, he consented, but the far-seeing Anangaprabhá was with difficulty induced to consent; then Jívadatta descended from heaven to the world of mortals, taking that Anangaprabhá in his arms. And Anangaprabhá, beholding there a pleasant mountain, being wearied, said to him--"Let us immediately rest here." Then he consented, and descending there with her, he produced food and drink by the power of the various sciences. Then Jívadatta, being impelled by fate, said to Anangaprabhá--"Dear one, sing some sweet song." When she heard that, she began to sing devoutly the praise of Siva, and with that sound of her singing the Bráhman was sent to sleep.

In the meanwhile a king, named Harivara, wearied out with hunting, came that way in search of spring-water; he was attracted by hearing the sound of that singing, as deer are attracted, and, leaving his chariot, he went there alone. The king first had happiness announced by omens, and then he beheld that Anangaprabhá like the real brightness of the god of love. Then, as his heart was distracted with her song and her beauty, the god of love cleft it at will with his arrows. Anangaprabhá too, seeing that he was handsome, came within the range of the god of the flowery bow, and said to herself--"Who is this? is he the god of love, without his flowery bow? Is he the incarnation of the favour of Siva towards me, he being pleased with my song?" Then maddened with love, she asked him--"Who are you, and how have you come to this forest, tell me." Then the king told her who he was, and why he had come; then he said to her, "Tell me, who are you, fair one? And who is this, O lotus-faced one, who is sleeping here?" When he asked these questions, she answered him briefly: "I am a Vidyádharí, and this is my husband, who possesses a magic sword, and now I have fallen in love with you at first sight. So come, let us quickly go to your city, before he awakes; then I will tell my story at length." When the king heard that, he agreed, and felt as much delighted as if he had obtained the sovereignty of the three worlds. And Anangaprabhá hurriedly thought in her heart, "I will take this king in my arms, and quickly fly up to the heaven," but in the meanwhile her knowledge was stripped from her by her treachery to her husband; and remembering her father's curse, she became at once despondent. When the king saw that, he asked the cause, and then said to her--"This is not the time for despondency; your husband here may awake. And you ought not to lament, my beloved, over this matter which depends on destiny. For who can escape from the shadow of his own head, or the course of destiny? So come, let us depart." When the king Harivara said this, she consented to his proposal, and he took her quickly up in his arms. Then he went off quickly thence, as delighted as if he had obtained a treasure, and ascended his chariot, welcomed with joy by his servants. And he reached his city in that chariot, which travelled swift as thought, accompanied by his beloved, and he aroused curiosity in his subjects. Then king Harivara remained in heavenly enjoyments in that city, which was named after him, in the society of that Anangaprabhá. And Anangaprabhá remained there devotedly attached to him, forgetting all her supernatural power, bewildered by the curse.

In the meanwhile Jívadatta woke up on the mountain, and saw that not only Anangaprabhá was gone, but his sword also. He thought "Where is that Anangaprabhá? Alas! Where is that sword? Has she gone off with it? Or were they both carried off by some being?" In his perplexity, he made many surmises of this sort, and he searched that mountain for three days, being consumed with the fire of love. Then he came down, and wandered through the forests for ten days, but did not find a trace of her anywhere. He kept crying out--"Alas spiteful fortune, how did you carry off, together with the magic power of the sword, my beloved Anangaprabhá, both which you granted with difficulty?" Thus employed he wandered about without food, and at last reached a village, and there he entered the opulent mansion of a Bráhman. There the handsome and well-dressed mistress of the house, Priyadattá by name, made him sit down on a seat, and immediately gave this order to her maids--"Wash quickly the feet of this Jívadatta, for to-day is the thirteenth day that he has gone without food on account of his separation." When Jívadatta heard that, he was astonished, and reflected in his own mind--"Can Anangaprabhá have come here, or is this woman a witch?" Thus he reflected, and after his feet were washed, and he had eaten the food that she gave, he humbly asked Priyadattá in his great grief--"Tell me one thing: how do you know my history, blameless one? And tell me another thing, where are my sword and my beloved gone?" When the devoted wife Priyadattá heard that, she said--"No one but my husband has any place in my heart even in a dream, my son, and I look on all other men as brothers, and no guest leaves my house without entertainment; by virtue of that I know the past, the present and the future. And that Anangaprabhá of yours has been carried off by a king named Harivara, living in a town named after him, who, as destiny would have it, came that way, while you were asleep, attracted by her song. And you cannot recover her, for that king is very powerful; moreover that unchaste woman will in turn leave him and go to another man. And the goddess Durgá gave you that sword only that you might obtain that lady; having accomplished that, the weapon, in virtue of its divine nature, has returned to the goddess, as the lady has been carried off. Moreover, how have you forgotten what the goddess was pleased to tell you, when she told the story of the curse of Anangaprabhá? So why are you so distracted about an event, which was destined to take place? Abandon this chain of sins, which again and again produces extreme sorrow. And of what profit can be to you now, my brother, that wicked female, who is attached to another, and who has become a mortal, having lost her science by her treachery against you?" When that virtuous woman said this to Jívadatta, he abandoned all passion for Anangaprabhá, being disgusted with her fickleness, and thus answered the Bráhman lady--"Mother, my delusion has been brought to an end by this true speech of thine; whom does not association with persons of virtuous conduct benefit? This misfortune has befallen me in consequence of my former crimes, so I will abandon jealousy, and go to holy places to wash them out. What can I gain by taking up an enmity with others on account of Anangaprabhá? For one, who has conquered anger, conquers this whole world." While he was saying this, the righteous husband of Priyadattá, who was hospitable to guests, returned to the house. The husband also welcomed him, and made him forget his grief, and then he rested, and taking leave of them both, started on his pilgrimage to holy places.

Then, in course of time, he roamed round to all the holy bathing-places on the earth, enduring many toils in difficult ways, living on roots and fruits. And after visiting holy bathing-places, he went to the shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills; there he went through a severe penance, without food, on a bed of kusa grass. And Ambiká, satisfied with his asceticism, said to him, appearing to him in bodily form--"Rise up, my son, for you four are four ganas of mine. Three are Panchamúla, Chaturvaktra, and Mahodaramukha, and thou art the fourth, last in order, and thy name is Vikatavadana. You four once went to the sand of the Ganges to amuse yourselves, and saw there a hermit's daughter bathing. She was called Chápalekhá, the daughter of Kapilajata. And she was solicited by all of you, distracted with love. When she said 'I am a maiden, go away all of you,' the three others remained quiet, but thou didst forcibly seize her by the arm. And she cried out--'Father, Father, deliver me.' Then the hermit, who was near, came up in wrath. Then thou didst let go her arm; then he immediately cursed you, saying--'Wicked ones, be born, all of you, as human beings.' Then you asked the hermit that the curse might end, and he said--'When the princess Anangarati shall be demanded in marriage by you, and shall go to the Vidyádhara world, then three of you shall be released from your curse. But when she has become a Vidyádharí, then thou, Vikatavadana, shalt gain her, and lose her again, and then thou shalt suffer great sorrow. But after propitiating the goddess Durgá for a long time, thou shalt be released from this curse. This will happen to thee, because thou didst touch the hand of this Chápalekhá, and also because thou hast much guilt attaching to thee, on account of having carried off the wives of others.' You four ganas of mine, whom that hermit thus cursed, became four heroes in the Dekhan, Panchaphuttika, and Bháshájna, and Khadgadhara, these three friends, and you the fourth Jívadatta. Now the first three, when Anangarati returned to her own place, came here, and by my favour were freed from their curse. And thou hast propitiated me now, therefore thy curse is at an end. So take this fiery meditation, and abandon this body; and consume at once the guilt, which it would take eight births to exhaust." When the goddess Durgá had said this, she gave him the meditation, and disappeared. And with that meditation he burned up his wicked mortal body, and at last was freed from the curse, and became once more an excellent gana. When even gods have to endure so much suffering by associating with the wives of others, what must be the result of it to inferior beings?

In the meanwhile Anangaprabhá became head-queen in Harivara, the city of the king Harivara. And the king remained day and night with his mind fixed on her, and entrusted the great burden of his kingdom to his minister named Sumantra. And once on a time there came to that king from Madhyadesa, [721] a fresh teacher of dancing, named Labdhavara. The king, having seen his skill in music and dancing, honoured him, and made him the instructor in dancing of the ladies of the harem. He brought Anangaprabhá to such excellence in dancing, that she was an object of admiration even to her rival wives. And from associating with the professor of dancing, and from the delight she took in his teaching, she fell in love with him. And the professor of dancing, attracted by her youth and beauty, gradually learnt a new strange [722] dance, thanks to the god of Love. And once she approached the professor of dancing secretly in the dancing-hall, and being desperately in love with him, said to him--"I shall not be able to live for a moment without you, and the king Harivara, when he hears of it, will not tolerate it, so come, let us depart elsewhere, where the king will not find us out. You have wealth in the form of gold, horses, and camels, given by the king, pleased with your dancing, and I have ornaments. So let us quickly go and dwell where we shall be secure." The professor of dancing was pleased with her proposal, and consented to this. Then she put on the dress of a man, and went to the house of the professor of dancing, accompanied by one female servant, who was exceedingly devoted to her. Thence she started on horseback, with that teacher of dancing, who placed his wealth on the back of a camel. First she abandoned the splendour of the Vidyádharas, then of a throne, and now she put herself under the shelter of a bard's fortune; alas! fickle is the mind of women! And so Anangaprabhá went with the teacher of dancing, and reached a distant city named Viyogapura. There she dwelt in happiness with him, and the distinguished dancer thought that by obtaining her his name of Labdhavara [723] had been justified.

And in the meanwhile king Harivara, finding out that his beloved Anangaprabhá had gone somewhere or other, was ready to abandon the body out of grief. Then the minister Sumantra said to the king to comfort him, "Why do you appear as if you do not understand the matter? Consider it yourself? How, my sovereign, could you expect that a woman, who deserted a husband, that had by means of his sword obtained the power of a Vidyádhara, and repaired to you as soon as she saw you, would be faithful even to you? She has gone off with something that she has managed to get, having no desire for anything good, as one to whom a blade of grass is a sprout of jewels, falling in love at sight with a blade of grass. Certainly the teacher of dancing has gone off with her, for he is nowhere to be seen. And I hear that they both were in the concert-hall in the morning. So tell me, king; why are you so persistent about her, though you know all this? The truth is, a fickle dame is like a sunset, momentarily aglow for every one." When the minister said this to him, the king fell into a musing, and thought--"Yes, that wise man has told me the truth. For a fickle dame is like human life; connexion with her is unstable, she changes every moment, and is terrible, bringing disgust at the end. The wise man never falls into the power of deep rivers or of women, both which drown him who falls into their power, while they exhibit wanton sportfulness. Those men are truly masters of themselves, who are free from excitement about pleasures, who are not puffed up in prosperity, and who are unshrinking in dangers; such men have conquered the world." After saying this, king Harivara abandoned his grief by the advice of his minister, and remained satisfied with the society of his own wives.

And after Anangaprabhá had dwelt some time with the teacher of dancing, in the city named Viyogapura, he, as fate would have it, struck up an acquaintance with a young gambler named Sudarsana; then the gambler, before the eyes of Anangaprabhá, soon stripped the teacher of dancing of all his wealth. Then Anangaprabhá deserted her husband, who was stripped of all his fortune, as if in anger on that account, and threw herself into the arms of Sudarsana. Then the teacher of dancing, having lost his wife and his wealth, having no refuge, in disgust with the world, matted his hair in a knot, and went to the banks of the Ganges to practise mortification of the flesh. But Anangaprabhá, who was ever taking new paramours, remained with that gambler. But one night, her lord Sudarsana was robbed of all that he had by some robbers, who entered his house in the darkness. Then Sudarsana, seeing that Anangaprabhá was uncomfortable and unhappy on account of their poverty, said to her: "Come and let us borrow something from a rich friend of mine, named Hiranyagupta, a distinguished merchant." After saying this, he, being deprived of his senses by destiny, went with his wife, and asked that great merchant Hiranyagupta to lend him some money. And the merchant, when he saw her, immediately fell in love with her, and she also with him, the moment that she beheld him. And the merchant said politely to Sudarsana--"To-morrow I will give you gold, but dine here to-day." When Sudarsana heard this, beholding the altered bearing of those two, he said--"I did not come here to-day to dine." Then the great merchant said--"If this be the case, at any rate let your wife dine here, my friend, for this is the first time that she has visited my house." When Sudarsana was thus addressed by him, he remained silent in spite of his cunning, and that merchant went into his house with Anangaprabhá. There he indulged in drinking and other pastimes with that fair one, unexpectedly thrown in his way, who was merry with all the wantonness of wine. But Sudarsana, who was standing outside, waiting for her to come out, had the following message brought to him by the merchant's servants, in accordance with their master's orders: "Your wife has dined and gone home; you must have failed to see her going out. So what are you doing here so long? Go home." He answered--"She is within the house, she has not come out, and I will not depart." Thereupon the merchant's servants drove him away from the house with kicks. Then Sudarsana went off, and sorrowfully reflected with himself: "What! has this merchant, though my friend, robbed me of my wife? Or rather, in this very birth the fruit of my sin has in such a form fallen to my lot. For what I did to one, another has done to me. Why should I then be angry with another, when my own deeds merit anger? So I will sever the chain of works, so that I may not be again humiliated." Thus reflecting, the gambler abandoned his anger, and going to the hermitage of Badariká, [724] he proceeded to perform such austerities as would cut the bonds of mundane existence.

And Anangaprabhá, having obtained that exceedingly handsome merchant for a dear husband, was as pleased as a bee that has lighted on a flower. And in course of time she attained undisputed control over the wealth, as well as over the heart of that opulent merchant, who was deeply in love with her. But the king Vírabáhu, though he heard of the matchless beauty residing there, did not carry her off, but remained strictly within the limits of virtue. And in course of time, the wealth of the merchant began to diminish, on account of the expenditure of Anangaprabhá; for, in a house presided over by an unchaste woman, Fortune pines as well as virtuous women. Then the merchant Hiranyagupta got together wares, and went off to an island named Suvarnabhúmi to trade, and he took that Anangaprabhá with him, out of fear of being separated from her, and journeying on his way, he at last reached the city of Ságarapura. There he fell in with a chief of fishermen, a native of that place, Ságaravíra by name, whom he found in that city near the sea. He went with that sea-faring man to the shore of the sea, and with his beloved embarked on a ship which he provided. And after the merchant had travelled in anxiety for some days over the sea, in that ship, accompanied by Ságaravíra, one day a terrible black cloud of doom appeared, with flashing eyes of lightning, filling them with fear of destruction. Then that ship, smitten by a mighty wind, with a violent shower of rain, began to sink in the waves. That merchant Hiranyagupta, when the crew raised a cry of lamentation, and the ship began to break up like his own hopes, fastened his cloak round his loins, and looking at the face of Anangaprabhá, exclaimed "Ah! my beloved, where art thou," and threw himself into the sea. And he oared himself along with his arms, and, as luck would have it, he reached a merchant-ship, and he caught hold of it, and climbed up into it.

But that Ságaravíra tied together some planks with a cord, and quickly placed Anangaprabhá upon them. And he himself climbed up upon them, and comforted that terrified woman, and went paddling along in the sea, throwing aside the water with his arms. And as soon as the ship had been broken to pieces, the clouds disappeared from the heaven, and the sea was calm, like a good man whose wrath is appeased. But the merchant Hiranyagupta, after climbing up into the ship, which was impelled by the wind, as fate would have it, reached in five days the shore of the sea. Then he went on shore, grieved at the loss of his beloved, but he reflected that the dispensations of Destiny were irremediable; and he went slowly home to his own city, and being of resolute soul, he recovered his self-command, and again acquired wealth, and lived in great comfort.

But Anangaprabhá, seated on the plank, was piloted to the shore of the sea in one day by Ságaravíra. And there that chief of the fishermen, consoling her, took her to his own palace in the city of Ságarapura. There Anangaprabhá, reflecting that that chief of the fishermen was a hero who had saved her life, and was equal to a king in opulence, and in the prime of youth and good looks, and obedient to her orders, made him her husband: a woman who has lost her virtue does not distinguish between high and low. Then she dwelt with that chief of fishermen, enjoying in his house his wealth that he put at her disposal.

One day she saw from the roof of the palace a handsome Kshatriya youth, named Vijayavarman, going along the high street of the town. Falling in love with his good looks, she went up to him, and said--"Receive me, who am in love with you, for my mind has been fascinated by the sight of you." And he gladly welcomed that fairest woman of the three worlds, who had fallen to him, as it were, from the sky, and took her home to his house. But Ságaravíra, finding that his beloved had gone somewhere or other, abandoned all, and went to the river Ganges, intending to leave the body by means of ascetic practices; and no wonder that his grief was great, for how could a man of servile caste ever have expected to obtain such a Vidyádharí? But Anangaprabhá lived at ease in that very town with Vijayavarman, free from restraint.

Then, one day the king of that place, named Ságaravarman, mounted a female elephant and went out to roam round his city. And while the king was looking at that well-built city named after him, he came along the street where the house of Vijayavarman was. And Anangaprabhá, finding out that the king was coming that way, went up to the top of the house, out of curiosity to behold him. And, the moment she saw the king, she fell so desperately in love with him, that she insolently exclaimed to the elephant-driver--"Mahout, I never in my life have ridden on an elephant, so give me a ride on yours, and let me see how pleasant it is." When the elephant-driver heard this, he looked at the face of the king, and in the meanwhile the king beheld her, like the splendour of the moon fallen from heaven. And the king, drinking her in with insatiate eye like a partridge, having conceived the hope of gaining her, said to his elephant-driver--"Take the elephant near and comply with her wish, and without delay seat this moon-faced dame on the elephant." When the king said this, the elephant-driver at once brought that elephant close under the house. When Anangaprabhá saw that the elephant had come near, she immediately flung herself into the lap of the king Ságaravarman. How came it that, though at first she was averse to a husband, she now showed such an insatiable appetite for husbands? Surely her father's curse made her exhibit a great change of character. And she clasped the king round the neck, as if afraid of falling, and he, when his limbs were irrigated with the nectar of her touch, was much delighted. And the king quickly carried off to his own palace her, who had surrendered herself by an artifice, being desirous of being kissed. There he made that Vidyádharí enter his harem, and after she had told him her story, he made her his principal wife. And then that young Kshatriya, finding out that she had been carried off by the king, came and attacked the king's servants outside the palace, and there he left his corpse, not turning his back in fight, for brave men do not submit to insult on account of a woman. And it seemed as if he was carried off to the abode of the gods by the nymphs of heaven, saying--"What have you to do with this contemptible woman? Come to Nandana and court us."

As for that Anangaprabhá, when she had come into the possession of the king Ságaravarman, she roamed no more, but remained faithful to him, as rivers are at rest in the bosom of the sea. And owing to the force of destiny, she thought herself fortunate in having obtained that husband, and he thought that his life was complete by his having obtained her for a wife.

And in some days Anangaprabhá, the queen of that king Ságaravarman, became pregnant, and in due time gave birth to a son. And the king made a great feast on account of the birth of a noble son, and gave the boy the name of Samudravarman. And when that son attained his full stature, and became a young man distinguished for might, the king appointed him crown-prince. Then he brought to his court Kamalavatí the daughter of a certain king named Samaravarman, to be married to him. And when that son Samudravarman was married, the king, being impressed by his virtues, gave him his own kingdom. That brave son Samudravarman, being thoroughly acquainted with the duties of Kshatriyas, when he had obtained the kingdom, said to his father, bowing before him: "Father, give me leave to depart; I am setting out to conquer the regions. A lord of earth, that is not intent on conquest, is to be blamed as much as the effeminate husband of a woman. And in this world, only that fortune of kings is righteous and glorious, which is acquired by one's own strength after conquering the kingdoms. What is the use, father, of the sovereignty of those kings, who hold it merely for the sake of oppressing the poor? They devour their own subjects, ravenous like cats." [725] When he had said this, his father Ságaravarman replied, "Your rule, my boy, is young; so for the present secure that; no demerit or disgrace attaches to one who rules his subjects justly. And war is not meet for kings without considering their power; though, you my child, are a hero, and your army is numerous, still you ought not to rely upon the fortune of victory, which is fickle in fight." Though his father used these and similar arguments with him, the brave Samudravarman at last, with great difficulty, induced him to consent, and marched out to conquer the regions. And having conquered the regions in due course, and reduced the kings under his sway, he returned to his own city in possession of elephants, horses, gold, and other tributes. And there he humbly honoured the feet of his delighted parents with great jewels produced in various regions. And the glorious prince gave, by their orders, to the Bráhmans great gifts of elephants, horses, gold and jewels. Then he showered gold in such profusion upon suppliants and servants, that the only thing in the country devoid of wealth was the word poor, which had become without meaning. [726] The king Ságaravarman, dwelling with Anangaprabhá, when he beheld the glory of his son, considered that his objects in life had been accomplished.

And the king, after spending those days in feasting, said to his son Samudravarman in the presence of the ministers--"I have accomplished, my son, what I had to accomplish in this birth; I have enjoyed the pleasures of rule, I have not experienced defeat from my enemies, and I have seen you in possession of sovereignty, what else does there remain for me to obtain? So I will retire to a holy bathing-place, while my body retains strength. For see, old age whispers at the root of my ear--'Since this body is perishable, why do you still remain in your house?'" Having said this, the king Ságaravarman, all whose ends were attained, went, though his son was opposed to it, to Prayága with his beloved. And Samudravarman escorted his father there, and, after returning to his own city, ruled it in accordance with the law.

And the king Ságaravarman, accompanied by his wife Anangaprabhá, propitiated the god Siva in Prayága with asceticism. And at the end of the night, the god said to him in a dream--"I am pleased with this penance of yourself and your wife, so hear this--This Anangaprabhá and you, my son, are both of the Vidyádhara race, and to-morrow the curse will expire, and you will go to your own world." When the king heard that, he woke up, and Anangaprabhá too, who had seen a similar dream, and they told their dreams to one another. And then Anangaprabhá, delighted, said to the king--"My husband, I have now remembered all the history of my former birth; I am the daughter of Samara, a prince of the Vidyádharas, in the city of Vírapura, and my name has always been Anangaprabhá. And I came here owing to the curse of my father, having become a human being by the loss of my science, and I forgot my Vidyádharí nature. But now I have recovered consciousness of it." While she was saying this, her father Samara descended from heaven; and after he had been respectfully welcomed by the king Ságaravarman, he said to that daughter Anangaprabhá, who fell at his feet, "Come, daughter, receive these sciences, your curse is at an end. For you have endured in one birth the sorrows of eight births." [727] Saying this, he took her on his lap, and gave her back the sciences; then he said to the king Ságaravarman--"You are a prince of the Vidyádharas, named Madanaprabha, and I am by name Samara, and Anangaprabhá is my daughter. And long ago, when she ought to have been given in marriage, her hand was demanded by several suitors, but being intoxicated by her beauty, she did not desire any husband. Then she was asked in marriage by you, who were equal in merit, and very eager to marry her, but as fate would have it, she would not then accept even you. For that reason I cursed her, that she might go to the world of mortals. And you, being passionately in love with her, fixed your heart on Siva the giver of boons, and wished intently that she might be your wife in the world of mortals, and then you abandoned your Vidyádhara body by magic art. Then you became a man and she became your wife. Now return to your own world linked together." When Samara said this to Ságaravarman, he, remembering his birth, abandoned his body in the water of Prayága, [728] and immediately became Madanaprabha. And Anangaprabhá was rekindled with the brightness of her recovered science, and immediately becoming a Vidyádharí, gleamed with that very body, which underwent a heavenly change. And then Madanaprabha, being delighted, and Anangaprabhá also, feeling great passion stir in both their hearts at the sight of one another's heavenly bodies, and the auspicious Samara, king of the sky-goers, all flew up into the air, and went together to that city of the Vidyádharas, Vírapura. And there Samara immediately gave, with due rites, his daughter Anangaprabhá to the Vidyádhara king, Madanaprabha. And Madanaprabha went with that beloved, whose curse had been cancelled, to his own city, and there he dwelt at ease.

"Thus divine beings fall by virtue of a curse, and owing to the consequences of their own wickedness, are incarnate in the world of men, and after reaping the fruit appropriate to their bad conduct, they again go to their own home on account of previously acquired merit."

When Naraváhandadatta heard this tale from his minister Gomukha, he and Alankáravatí were delighted, and then he performed the duties of the day.

Chapter LIII

Then, on the next day, Naraváhanadatta's friend Marubhúti said to him, when he was in the company of Alankáravatí--"See, king, this miserable dependent [729] of yours remains clothed with one garment of leather, with matted hair, thin and dirty, and never leaves the royal gate, day or night, in cold or heat; so why do you not shew him favour at last? For it is better that a little should be given in time, than much when it is too late; so have mercy on him before he dies." When Gomukha heard this, he said--"Marubhúti speaks well, but you, king, are not the least in fault in this matter; for until a suitor's guilt, which stands in his way, is removed, a king, even though disposed to give, cannot give; but when a man's guilt is effaced, a king gives, though strenuously dissuaded from doing so; this depends upon works in a previous state of existence. And à propos of this, I will tell you, O king, the story of Lakshadatta the king, and Labdhadatta the dependent; listen."

Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta. [730]

There was on the earth a city named Lakshapura. In it there lived a king named Lakshadatta, chief of generous men. He never knew how to give a petitioner less than a lac of coins, but he gave five lacs to any one with whom he conversed. As for the man with whom he was pleased, he lifted him out of poverty, for this reason his name was called Lakshadatta. A certain dependent named Labdhadatta stood day and night at his gate, with a piece of leather for his only loin-rag. He had matted hair, and he never left the king's gate for a second, day or night, in cold, rain, or heat, and the king saw him there. And, though he remained there long in misery, the king did not give him anything, though he was generous and compassionate.

Then, one day the king went to a forest to hunt, and his dependent followed him with a staff in his hand. There, while the king seated on an elephant, armed with a bow, and followed by his army, slew tigers, bears, and deer, with showers of arrows, his dependent, going in front of him, alone on foot, slew with his staff many boars and deer. When the king saw his bravery, he thought in his heart--"It is wonderful that this man should be such a hero," but he did not give him anything. And the king, when he had finished his hunting, returned home to his city, to enjoy himself, but that dependent stood at his palace-gate as before. Once on a time, Lakshadatta went out to conquer a neighbouring king of the same family, and he had a terrible battle. And in the battle the dependent struck down in front of him many enemies, with blows from the end of his strong staff of acacia wood. And the king, after conquering his enemies, returned to his own city, and though he had seen the valour of his dependent, he gave him nothing. In this condition the dependent Labdhadatta remained, and many years passed over his head, while he supported himself with difficulty.

And when the sixth year had come, king Lakshadatta happened to see him one day, and feeling pity for him, reflected--"Though he has been long afflicted, I have not as yet given him anything, so why should I not give him something in a disguised form, and so find out whether the guilt of this poor man has been effaced, or not, and whether even now Fortune will grant him a sight of her, or not." Thus reflecting, the king deliberately entered his treasury, and filled a citron with jewels, as if it were a casket. And he held an assembly of all his subjects, having appointed a meeting outside his palace, and there entered the assembly all his citizens, chiefs, and ministers. And when the dependent entered among them, the king said to him with an affectionate voice, "Come here;" then the dependent, on hearing this, was delighted, and coming near, he sat in front of the king. Then the king said to him--"Utter some composition of your own." Then the dependent recited the following Áryá verse--"Fortune ever replenishes the full man, as all the streams replenish the sea, but she never even comes within the range of the eyes of the poor." When the king had heard this, and had made him recite it again, he was pleased, and gave him the citron full of valuable jewels. And the people said, "This king puts a stop to the poverty of every one with whom he is pleased; so this dependent is to be pitied, since this very king, though pleased with him, after summoning him politely, has given him nothing but this citron; a wishing-tree, in the case of ill-starred men, often becomes a palása-tree." [731] These were the words which all in the assembly said to one another in their despondency, when they saw that, for they did not know the truth.

But the dependent went out, with the citron in his hand, and when he was in a state of despondency, a mendicant came before him. And that mendicant, named Rájavandin, seeing that the citron was a fine one, obtained it from that dependent by giving him a garment. And then the mendicant entered the assembly, and gave that fruit to the king, and the king, recognizing it, said to that hermit, [732] "Where, reverend sir, did you procure this citron." Then he told the king that the dependent had given it to him. Then the king was grieved and astonished, reflecting that his guilt was not expiated even now. The king Lakshadatta took the citron, rose up from the assembly, and performed the duties of the day. And the dependent sold the garment, and after he had eaten and drunk, remained at his usual post at the king's gate.

And on the second day the king held a general assembly, and everybody appeared at it again, citizens and all. And the king, seeing that the dependent had entered the assembly, called him as before, and made him sit near him. And after making him again recite that very same Áryá verse, being pleased, he gave him that very same citron with jewels concealed in it. And all there thought with astonishment--"Ah! this is the second time that our master is pleased with him without his gaining by it. And the dependent, in despondency, took the citron in his hand, and thinking that the king's good will had again been barren of results, went out. At that very moment a certain official met him, who was about to enter that assembly, wishing to see the king. He, when he saw that citron, took a fancy to it, and regarding the omen, procured it from the dependent by giving him a pair of garments. And entering the king's court, he fell at the feet of the sovereign, and first gave him the citron, and then another present of his own. And when the king recognised the fruit, he asked the official where he got it, and he replied--"From the dependent." And the king, thinking in his heart that Fortune would not even now give the dependent a sight of her, was exceedingly sad. [733] And he rose up from the assembly with that citron, and the dependent went to the market with the pair of garments he had got. And by selling one garment he procured meat and drink, and tearing the other in half he made two of it. Then on the third day also the king held a general assembly, and all the subjects entered, as before, and when the dependent entered, the king gave him the same citron again, after calling him and making him recite the Áryá verse. Then all were astonished, and the dependent went out, and gave that citron to the king's mistress. And she, like a moving creeper of the tree of the king's regard, gave him gold, which was, so to speak, the flower, the harbinger of the fruit. The dependent sold it, and enjoyed himself that day, and the king's mistress went into his presence. And she gave him that citron, which was large and fine, and he, recognising it, asked her whence she procured it. Then she said--"The dependent gave it me." Hearing that, the king thought, "Fortune has not yet looked favourably upon him; his merit in a former life must have been slight, since he does not know that my favour is never barren of results. And so these splendid jewels come back to me again and again." Thus the king reflected, and he took that citron, and put it away safely, and rose up and performed the duties of the day. And on the fourth day the king held an assembly in the same way, and it was filled with all his subjects, feudatories, ministers and all. And the dependent came there again, and again the king made him sit in front of him, and when he bowed before him, the king made him recite the Áryá verse: and gave him the citron, and when the dependent had half got hold of it, he suddenly let it go, and the citron fell on the ground and broke in half. And as the joining of the citron, which kept it together, was broken, there rolled out of it many valuable jewels, illuminating that place of assembly. All the people, when they saw it, said, "Ah! we were deluded and mistaken, as we did not know the real state of the case, but such is the nature of the king's favour." When the king heard that, he said--"By this artifice I endeavoured to ascertain, whether Fortune would now look on him or not. But for three days his guilt was not effaced; now it is effaced, and for that reason Fortune has now granted him a sight of herself." After the king had said this, he gave the dependent those jewels, and also villages, elephants, horses and gold, and made him a feudal chief. And he rose up from that assembly, in which the people applauded, and went to bathe; and that dependent too, having obtained his ends, went to his own dwelling.

So true is it that, until a servant's guilt is effaced, he cannot obtain the favour of his master; even by going through hundreds of hardships.

When Gomukha the prime-minister had told this tale, he again said to his master Naraváhanadatta; "So, king, I know that even now the guilt of that dependent of yours is not expiated, since even now you are not pleased with him." When the son of the king of Vatsa heard this speech of Gomukha's, he said, "Ha! good!" and he immediately gave to his own dependent, who was named Kárpatika, a number of villages, elephants and horses, a crore of gold pieces, and excellent garments, and ornaments. Then that dependent, who had attained prosperity, became like a king; how can the attendance on a grateful king, who has excellent courtiers, be void of fruit.

When Naraváhanadatta was thus employed, there came one day, to take service with him, a young Bráhman from the Dekhan, named Pralambabáhu. That hero said to the prince: "I have come to your feet, my sovereign, attracted by your renown; and I on foot will never leave your company for a step, as long as you travel on the earth with elephants, horses, and chariots; but in the air I cannot go; I say this because it is rumoured that my lord will one day be emperor of the Vidyádharas. A hundred gold pieces should be given to me every day as salary." When that Bráhman, who was really of incomparable might, said this, Naraváhanadatta gave him this salary. And thereupon Gomukha said--"My lord, kings have such servants: à propos of this, hear this story."

Story of the Bráhman Víravara. [734]

There is in this country a great and splendid city of the name of Vikramapura. In it there lived long ago a king named Vikramatunga. He was distinguished for statesmanship, and though his sword was sharp, his rod of justice was not so; and he was always intent on righteousness, but not on women, hunting, and so forth. And while he was king, the only atoms of wickedness were the atoms of earth in the dust, the only departure from virtue was the loosing of arrows from the string, the only straying from justice was the wandering of sheep in the folds of the keepers of cattle. [735] Once on a time a heroic and handsome Bráhman, from the country of Málava, named Víravara, came there to take service under that king; he had a wife named Dharmavatí, a daughter named Víravatí, and a son named Sattvavara; these three constituted his family; and his attendants consisted of another three: at his hip a dagger, in one hand a sword, and in the other a polished shield. Though he had such a small following, he demanded from that king five hundred dínárs every day by way of salary. And the king gave him that salary, perceiving his courage, and thinking to himself, "I will make trial of his excellence." And the king set spies on him, to find out what this man, with only two arms, would do with so many dínárs. And Víravara, every day, gave his wife a hundred of those dínárs for food and other purposes; and with another hundred he bought clothes, and garlands, and so on; and he appointed a third hundred, after bathing, for the worship of Vishnu and Siva; and the remaining two hundred he gave to Bráhmans, the poor and so on; and so he expended every day the whole five hundred. And he stood at the palace-gate of the king for the first half of the day, and after he had performed his daily prayers and other duties, he came back and remained there at night also. The spies reported to the king continually that daily practice of his, and then the king, being satisfied, ordered those spies to desist from observing him. And Víravara remained day and night at the gate of the king's palace, sword in hand, excepting only the time set apart for bathing and matters of that kind. Then there came a collection of clouds, bellowing terribly, as if determined to conquer that Víravara, being impatient of his valour. And then, though the cloud rained a terrible arrow-shower of drops, Víravara stood like a column and did not leave the palace-gate. And the king Vikramatunga, having beheld him from the palace in this position, went up to the roof of the palace at night to try him again. And he called out from above--"Who waits at the palace-gate?" And Víravara, when he heard that, answered--"I am here." The king hearing this, thought--"Surely this brave man deserves high rank, for he does not leave the palace-gate, though such a cloud is raining." While engaged in these reflections, the king heard a woman weeping bitterly in the distance; and he thought--"There is not an afflicted person in my dominions, so why does she weep?" Thereupon he said to Víravara, "Hark, Víravara, there is some woman weeping at some distance from this place, so go, and find out who she is, and what is her sorrow." When Víravara heard that, he set out, brandishing his sword, with his dagger at his side. Then the king, seeing that he had set out when such a cloud was blazing with lightning, and when the interval between heaven and earth [736] was full of descending drops of rain, being moved with curiosity and pity, came down from the roof of his palace, and set out behind him, sword in hand, unobserved.

And Víravara, going in the direction of the wailing, [737] followed unperceived by the king, reached a lake outside the city. And he saw a woman lamenting in the midst of it; "Ah lord! Ah merciful one! Ah hero! How shall I exist abandoned by thee?" He asked her; "Who are you, and what lord do you lament?" Then she said; "My son, know that I am this earth. At present Vikramatunga is my righteous lord, and his death will certainly take place on the third day from now. And how shall I obtain such a lord again? For with divine foresight I behold the good and evil to come, as Suprabha, the son of a god, did, when in heaven."

Story of Suprabha.

For he, possessing divine foresight, foresaw that in seven days he would fall from heaven on account of the exhaustion of his merits, and be conceived in the body of a sow. Then that son of a god, reflecting on the misery of dwelling in the body of a sow, regretted with himself those heavenly enjoyments: "Alas for heaven! Alas for the Apsarases! Alas for the arbours of Nandana! Alas! how shall I live in the body of a sow, and after that in the mire?" When the king of the gods heard him indulging in these lamentations, he came to him, and questioned him, and that son of a god told him the cause of his grief. Then Indra said to him, "Listen, there is a way out of this difficulty open to you. Have recourse to Siva as a protector, exclaiming 'Om! Honour to Siva!' If you resort to him as a protector, you shall escape from your guilt and obtain merit, so that you shall not be born in the body of a pig nor fall from heaven." When the king of the gods said this to Suprabha, he followed his advice, and exclaiming "Om! Honour to Siva!" he fled to Siva as an asylum. After remaining wholly intent on him for six days, he not only by his favour escaped being sent into the body of a pig, but went to an abode of bliss higher than Svarga. And on the seventh day, when Indra, not seeing him in heaven, looked about, he found he had gone to another and a superior world.

"As Suprabha lamented, beholding pollution impending, so I lament, beholding the impending death of the king." When Earth said this, Víravara answered her:--"If there is any expedient for rescuing this king, as there was an expedient for rescuing Suprabha in accordance with the advice of Indra, pray tell it me." When Earth was thus addressed by Víravara, she answered him: "There is an expedient in this case, and it is in your hands." When the Bráhman Víravara heard this, he said joyfully-- [738]

"Then tell me, goddess, quickly; if my lord can be benefited by the sacrifice of my life, or of my son or wife, my birth is not wasted." When Víravara said this, Earth answered him--"There is here an image of Durgá near the palace; if you offer to that image your son Sattvavara, then the king will live, but there is no other expedient for saving his life." When the resolute Víravara heard this speech of the goddess Earth, he said--"I will go, lady, and do it immediately." And Earth said "What other man is so devoted to his lord? Go, and prosper." And the king, who followed him, heard all.

Then Víravara went quickly to his house that night, and the king followed him unobserved. There he woke up his wife Dharmavatí and told her, that, by the counsel of the goddess Earth, he must offer up his son for the sake of the king. She, when she heard it, said--"We must certainly do what is for the advantage of the king; so wake up our son and tell him." Then Víravara woke up his son, and told him all that the goddess Earth had told him, as being for the interest of the king, down to the necessity of his own sacrifice. When the child Sattvavara heard this, he, being rightly named, said to his father, [739] "Am I not fortunate, my father, in that my life can profit the king? I must requite him for his food which I have eaten; so take me and sacrifice me to the goddess for his sake." When the boy Sattvavara said this, Víravara answered him undismayed, "In truth you are my own son." When king Vikramatunga, who was standing outside, heard this, he said to himself--"Ah! the members of this family are all equally brave."

Then Víravara took that son Sattvavara on his shoulder, and his wife Dharmavatí took his daughter Víravatí on her back, and the two went to the temple of Durgá by night.

And the king Vikramatunga followed them, carefully concealing himself. When they reached the temple, Sattvavara was put down by his father from his shoulder, and, though he was a boy, being a store-house of courage, he bowed before the goddess, and addressed this petition to her: "Goddess, may our lord's life be saved by the offering of my head! And may the king Vikramatunga rule the earth without an enemy to oppose him!" When the boy said this, Víravara exclaimed, "Bravo! my son!" And drawing his sword, he cut off his son's head, and offered it to the goddess Durgá, saying, "May the king be prosperous!" Those who are devoted to their master grudge them neither their sons' lives nor their own. Then a voice was heard from heaven, saying, "Bravo, Víravara! you have bestowed life on your master by sacrificing even the life of your son." Then, while the king was seeing and hearing with great astonishment all that went on, the daughter of Víravara, named Víravatí, who was a mere girl, came up to the head of her slain brother, and embraced it, and kissed it, and crying out "Alas! my brother!" died of a broken heart. When Víravara's wife, Dharmavatí, saw that her daughter also was dead, in her grief she clasped her hands together, and said to Víravara; "We have now ensured the prosperity of the king, so permit me to enter the fire with my two dead children. Since my infant daughter, though too young to understand anything, has died out of grief for her brother, what is the use of my life, my two children being dead?" When she spoke with this settled purpose, Víravara said to her; "Do so, what can I say against it? For, blameless one, there remains no happiness for you in a world, which will be all filled for you with grief for your two children; so wait a moment while I prepare the funeral pyre." Having said this, he constructed a pyre with some wood, that was lying there to make the fence of the enclosure of the goddess's temple, and put the corpses of his children upon it, and lit a fire under it, so that it was enveloped in flames. Then his virtuous wife, Dharmavatí, fell at his feet, and exclaiming, "May you, my husband, be my lord in my next birth, and may prosperity befall the king!" she leapt into that burning pyre, with its hair of flame, as gladly as into a cool lake. And king Vikramatunga, who was standing by unperceived, remained fixed in thought as to how he could possibly recompense them.

Then Víravara, of resolute soul, reflected--"I have accomplished my duty to my master, for a divine voice was heard audibly, and so I have requited him for the food which I have eaten, but now that I have lost all the dear family I had to support, [740] it is not meet that I should live alone, supporting myself only, so why should I not propitiate this goddess Durgá by offering up myself?" Víravara, firm in virtue, having formed this determination, first approached with a hymn of praise that goddess Durgá, the granter of boons. "Honour to thee, O great goddess, that givest security to thy votaries, rescue me plunged in the mire of the world, that appeal to thee for protection. Thou art the principle of life in creatures, by thee this world moves. In the beginning of creation Siva beheld thee self-produced, blazing and illuminating the world with brightness hard to behold, like ten million orbs of fiery suddenly-produced infant suns rising at once, filling the whole horizon with the circle of thy arms, bearing a sword, a club, a bow, arrows and a spear. And thou wast praised by that god Siva in the following words--'Hail to thee Chandí, Chámundá, Mangalá, Tripurá, Jayá, Ekánansá, Sivá, Durgá, Náráyaní, Sarasvatí, Bhadrakálí, Mahálakshmí, Siddhá, slayer of Ruru. Thou art Gáyatrí, Mahárájní, Revatí, and the dweller in the Vindhya hills; thou art Umá and Kátyáyaní, and the dweller in Kailása, the mountain of Siva.' When Skandha, and Vasishta, and Brahmá, and the others heard thee praised, under these and other titles, by Siva well skilled in praising, they also praised thee. And by praising thee, O adorable one, immortals, rishis, and men obtained, and do now obtain, boons above their desire. So be favourable to me, O bestower of boons and do thou also receive this tribute of the sacrifice of my body, and may prosperity befall my lord the king!" After saying this, he was preparing to cut off his own head, [741] but a bodiless voice was heard at that moment from the air, "Do not act rashly, my son, for I am well-pleased with this courage of thine, so crave from me the boon that thou dost desire." When Víravara heard that, he said, "If thou art pleased, goddess, then may king Vikramatunga live another hundred years. And may my wife and children return to life." When he craved this boon, there again sounded from the air the words "So be it!" And immediately the three, Dharmavatí, Sattvavara, and Víravatí rose up with unwounded bodies. Then Víravara was delighted, and took home to his house all those who had been thus restored to life by the favour of the goddess, and returned to the king's gate.

But the king, having beheld all this with joy and astonishment, went and again ascended the roof of his palace unobserved. And he cried out from above--"Who is on guard at the palace-gate?" When Víravara, who was below, heard that, he answered--"I am here, and I went to discover that woman, but she vanished somewhere as soon as I saw her, like a goddess." When king Vikramatunga heard this, as he had seen the whole transaction, which was exceedingly wonderful, he reflected with himself alone in the night: "Oh! surely this man is an unheard of marvel of heroism, to perform such an exceedingly meritorious action, and not to give any account of it. The sea, though deep, and broad, and full of great monsters, [742] does not vie with this man, who is firm even in the shock of a mighty tempest. What return can I make to him, who secretly redeemed my life this night by the sacrifice of his son and wife?" Thus reflecting, the king descended from the roof of the palace, and went into his private apartments, and passed that night in smiling. And in the morning, when Víravara was present in the great assembly, he related his wonderful exploit that night. Then all praised that Víravara, and the king conferred on him and his son a turban of honour. And he gave him many domains, horses, jewels, and elephants, and ten crores of gold pieces, and a salary sixty times as great as before. And immediately the Bráhman Víravara became equal to a king, with a lofty umbrella, being prosperous, himself and his family.

When the minister Gomukha had told this tale, he again said to Naraváhanadatta, summing up the subject--"Thus, king, do sovereigns, by their merit in a previous life, sometimes fall in with exceptionally heroic servants, who, in their nobility of soul, abandoning regard for their lives and all other possessions for the sake of their master, conquer completely the two worlds. And Pralambabáhu, this lately arrived heroic Bráhman servant of yours, my king, is seen to be such, of settled virtue and character, a man in whom the quality of goodness is ever on the increase." When the noble-minded prince Naraváhanadatta heard this from his minister, the mighty-minded Gomukha, he felt unsurpassed satisfaction in his heart.

Chapter LIV

Thus Naraváhanadatta dwelt in the house of his father the king of Vatsa, being attended by his affectionate ministers, Gomukha and the others, and amusing himself with his loving queen Alankáravatí, whose jealousy was removed by her great love, that refused to be hampered by female pride. Then, once on a time, he went to a forest of wild beasts, mounted on a chariot, with Gomukha seated behind him. And, with that heroic Bráhman Pralambabáhu going in front of him, he indulged in silvan sports, accompanied by his attendants. And though the horses of his chariot galloped at the utmost of their speed, Pralambabáhu outstripped their swiftness, and still kept in front of them. The prince from his position on the chariot killed lions, and tigers, and other wild beasts with arrows, but Pralambabáhu, going on foot, slew them with his sword. And Naraváhanadatta, as often as he beheld that Bráhman, said in astonishment--"What courage, and what fleetness of foot he possesses!"

And the prince, being wearied at the end of his hunting, and overcome with thirst, went in search of water, mounted on his chariot, with Gomukha and his charioteer, and preceded by that champion Pralambabáhu, and in the course of his search he reached another great forest far distant. There he came to a great and charming lake with full-blown golden lotuses, looking like a second sky on earth, studded with many solar orbs. There he bathed and drank water, and, after he and his companions had performed their ablutions and other duties, he beheld at one end of the lake, at a distance, four men of heavenly appearance, dressed in heavenly garments, adorned with heavenly ornaments, engaged in culling golden lotuses from that lake. And out of curiosity he approached them, and when they asked him who he was, he told them his descent, his name and his history.

And they, pleased at seeing him, told him their story when he asked them; "There is in the midst of the great sea a great, prosperous and splendid island, which is called the island of Nárikela, and is renowned in the world for its beauty. [743] And in it there are four mountains with splendid expanses of land, named Maináka, Vrishabha, Chakra, and Baláhaka, in those four we four live. One of us is named Rúpasiddhi, and he possesses the power of assuming various forms; another is by name Pramánasiddhi, who can measure the most minute as well as the largest things; and the third is Jnánasiddhi, who knows the past, the present, and the future; and the fourth is Devasiddhi, who possesses the power of calling down to his aid all the deities. We have now gathered these golden lotuses, and are going to offer them to the god, the husband of Srí, in Svetadvípa. For we are all of us devoted to him, and it is by his favour that we possess rule over those mountains of ours, and prosperity accompanied with supernatural power. So come, we will shew you the lord Hari in Svetadvípa; we will carry you through the air, friend, if you approve." When those sons of gods said this, Naraváhanadatta consented, and leaving Gomukha and the others in that place, where they could obtain water, fruits and so on, he went with them to Svetadvípa through the air, for Devasiddhi, one of the four brothers, carried him in his lap. There he descended from heaven, and beheld Vishnu, and approached him from a distance, introduced by those four sons of gods. The god was reclining upon the snake Sesha, in front of him sat Garuda, at his side was the daughter of the sea, [744] at his feet was the Earth, he was waited upon by the discus, the conch, the club, and the lotus, incarnate in bodily form, and the Gandharvas, with Nárada at their head, were piously chanting hymns in his honour, and the gods, Siddhas, and Vidyádharas were bowing before him. To whom is not association with the good a cause of exaltation?

Then, after that Lord had been honoured by those sons of gods, and praised by Kasyapa and others, Naraváhanadatta thus praised him with folded hands, "All hail to thee, venerable one, the wishing-tree of thy worshippers, whose body is encircled with the wish-granting creeper of Lakshmí, who art the granter of all desires; hail to thee, the divine swan, dwelling in the Mánasa-lake of the minds of the good, [745] ever soaring and singing in the highest ether. Hail to thee, who dost transcend all, and dwell within all, who hast a form transcending qualities, and whose shape is the full aggregate of the six kingly measures; [746] Brahmá is the bee on the lotus of thy navel, O Lord, humming with the soft sound of Veda-murmur, though from him spring many verses; [747] thy foot is the earth, the heaven is thy head, the cardinal points are thy ears, the sun and moon are thy eyes; thy belly is the egg of Brahmá, the globe of the world; thou art hymned by the wise as the infinite soul. From thee, the home of brightness, spring all these creatures, O Lord, as the host of sparks from the blazing fire, and when the time of destruction comes, they again enter thy essence, as at the end of the day a flock of birds enters the great tree in which they dwell. Thou flashest forth, and createst these lords of the world, who are parts of thee, as the ocean, disturbed with a continual flow, creates waves. Though the world is thy form, thou art formless; though the world is thy handiwork, thou art free from the bondage of works; though thou art the support of the world, thou art thyself without support; who is he that knows thy real nature? The gods have obtained various stages of prosperity by being looked upon by thee with a favourable eye; so be propitious, and look upon me, thy suppliant, with an eye melting with love."

When Naraváhanadatta had in these words praised Vishnu, the god looked upon him with a favourable eye, and said to Nárada: "Go and demand back from Indra in my name those lovely Apsarases of mine, who long ago sprang from the sea of milk, and whom I deposited in his hand, and make them mount the chariot of Indra, and quickly bring them here." When Nárada received this command from Hari, he said "So be it," and with Mátali he brought the Apsarases from Indra in his chariot, and then bowing he presented the Apsarases to Vishnu, and the Holy one spake thus to the son of the king of Vatsa--"Naraváhanadatta, I give these Apsarases to thee, the future emperor of the kings of the Vidyádharas. Thou art a fitting husband for them, and they are fitting wives for thee, for thou hast been created by Siva as an incarnation of the god of Love." When Vishnu said that, the son of the king of Vatsa fell at his feet, delighted at having obtained favour, and Vishnu thus commanded Mátali,--"Let this Naraváhanadatta, together with the Apsarases, be taken back by thee to his palace, by whatever path he desires."

When the Holy one gave this command, Naraváhanadatta, with the Apsarases and those sons of gods who invited him, mounted the chariot which was driven by Mátali, and went to the island of Nárikela, being envied even by gods. There the successful hero, honoured by those four sons of gods, Rúpasiddhi and his brethren, and accompanied by Indra's chariot, sported in succession on those four mountains on which they dwelt, Maináka, Vrishabha, and the others, that vied with heaven, in the company of those Apsarases. And he roamed, full of joy, in the thickets of their pleasure-grounds, the various splendid trees of which were in blossom on account of the arrival of the month of spring. And those sons of gods said to him: "See! these clusters on the trees seem to be regarding with the expanded eyes of their open flowers their beloved spring that has arrived. See! the full-blown lotuses shield the lake, as if to prevent their place of birth from being afflicted by the warmth of the sun's rays. See! the bees, after resorting to a Karnikára splendid with blossoms, leave it again, finding it destitute of perfume, as good men leave a rich man of mean character. See! a concert is being held in honour of spring, the king of the seasons, with the songs of the Kinnarís, the notes of the cuckoos, and the humming of bees." With such words those sons of gods shewed Naraváhanadatta the range of their pleasure-grounds. And the son of the king of Vatsa amused himself also in their cities, beholding the merry-makings of the citizens, who danced without restraint in honour of the spring-festival. And he enjoyed with the Apsarases delights fitted for gods; wherever the virtuous go, their good fortunes precede them.

After remaining there for four days thus occupied, Naraváhanadatta said to those sons of gods his friends; "I now wish to go to my own city, being anxious to behold my father; [748] so come you also to that city and bless it with a visit." When they heard that, they said: "We have seen you, the choicest jewel in that town; what more do we require? But when you have obtained the sciences of the Vidyádharas, you must not forget us." With these words they dismissed him, and Naraváhanadatta said to Mátali, who brought him the splendid chariot of Indra; "Take me to the city of Kausámbí by a course leading past that lovely lake, on the bank of which I left Gomukha and the others." Mátali consented, and the prince ascended the chariot with the Apsarases, and reached that lake, and saw Gomukha and the others, and said to them, "Come quickly by your own way, I will tell you all when I get home." Having said this, he went to Kausámbí in the chariot of Indra. There he descended from heaven, and dismissed Mátali after honouring him, and entered his own palace accompanied by those Apsarases. And leaving them there, he went and prostrated himself before the feet of his father, who was delighted at his arrival, and also of Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, and they welcomed him, and their eyes were never satisfied with gazing on him. And in the meanwhile Gomukha came, riding on the chariot, with the charioteer, and that Bráhman Pralambabáhu. Then, being questioned by his father, Naraváhanadatta related in the presence of all his ministers his very wonderful adventures. And all said--"God grants to that virtuous man, whom he wishes to favour, association with good friends." When all said this, the king was pleased, and ordered a festival for his son on account of the favour which Vishnu had shewed towards him. And he and his wives saw those Apsarases his daughters-in-law, obtained by the favour of Vishnu, whom Gomukha brought to fall at his feet, Devarupá, and Devarati, and Devamálá, and the fourth Devapriyá, whose names he enquired by the mouth of their maids. And the city of Kausámbí, making festival, appeared as if scattering red paint with its waving scarlet banners, as much as to say: "What am I that Apsarases should dwell in me? Blessed am I that the prince Naraváhanadatta has made me a heavenly city upon earth." And Naraváhanadatta, after he had rejoiced the eyes of his father, visited his other wives, who were anxiously awaiting him, and they, who had been emaciated by those four days, as if they were four years, exulted, relating the various woes of their separation. And Gomukha described the valour of Pralambabáhu, while he was protecting the horses during their sojourn in the forest, in killing lions and other noxious beasts. Thus listening to pleasing unrestrained conversation, and contemplating the beauty of his beloved ones, that was as nectar to his eyes, and making flattering speeches, and drinking wine in the company of his ministers, Naraváhanadatta passed that time there in happiness.

Once on a time, as he was in the apartments of Alankáravatí with his ministers, he heard a loud sound of drums outside. Then he said to his general Harisikha: "What may be the cause of this sudden great noise of drums outside?" When Harisikha heard this, he went out, and entering again immediately said to the prince, the son of the king of Vatsa; "There is in this town a merchant of the name of Rudra, and he went to the island of Suvarnadvípa on a mercantile expedition. As he was returning, the hoard of wealth, that he had managed to acquire, was lost, being sunk in the sea by his ship foundering. And he himself happened to escape from the sea alive. And to-day is the sixth day since he arrived in misery at his own house. After he had been living here for some days in distress, it happened that he found a great treasure in his garden. And the king of Vatsa heard of it from his relations, so the merchant came to-day and represented the matter to the king; saying--'I have obtained four crores of gold pieces with a multitude of valuable jewels, so, if the king commands me, I will hand them over.' The king of Vatsa thereupon gave this command to the merchant--'Who that had any sense, [749] after seeing you in distress, plundered by the sea, would plunder you again, now that you have been supplied with wealth by the mercy of Providence. Go and enjoy at will the wealth obtained from your own ground.' The merchant fell at the king's feet full of joy, and it is this very man that is now returning to his house, with his attendants beating drums." When Harisikha said this, Naraváhanadatta praised the justice of his father, and said in astonishment to his ministers--"If Destiny sometimes takes away wealth, does she not sometimes afterwards give it. She sports in a strange way with the raising and depressing of men." When Gomukha heard that, he said--"Such is the course of Destiny! And in proof of this, hear the story of Samudrasúra."

Story of the merchant Samudrasúra.

In old times there was a splendid city, belonging to the king Harshavarman, called Harshapura, the citizens of which were made happy by good government. In this city there was a great merchant, named Samudrasúra; he was of good family, just, of resolute courage, a lord of much wealth. He was once compelled by his business to go to Suvarnadvípa, and reaching the shore of the sea, he embarked on a ship. As he was travelling over the sea, when his journey was very nearly at an end, a terrible cloud arose and a wind that agitated the deep. The wind tossed the ship about with the violence of the waves, and it was struck by a sea-monster and split asunder; and then the merchant, girding up his loins, plunged into the sea. And after the brave man had made some way by swimming, he found the corpse of a man long dead, driven hither and thither by the wind. And he climbed up on the corpse, and skilfully paddling himself along with his arms, he was carried to Suvarnadvípa by a favourable wind. There he got off that corpse on to the sand, and he perceived that it had a cloth tied round its loins, with a knot in it. When he unfastened the cloth from its loins, and examined it, he found inside it a necklace richly studded with jewels. He saw that it was of inestimable value, and he bathed and remained in a state of great felicity, thinking that the wealth he had lost in the sea was but straw in comparison with it. Then he went on to a city called Kalasapura, and with the bracelet in his hand, entered the enclosure of a great temple. There he sat in the shade, and being exceedingly tired with his exertions in the water, he slowly dropped off to sleep, bewildered by Destiny. And while he was asleep, the policemen came and saw that necklace in his hand exposed to view. They said--"Here is the necklace stolen from the neck of the princess Chakrasená; without doubt this is the thief." And so they woke the merchant up and took him to the palace. There the king himself questioned him, and he told him what had taken place. The king held out the necklace, and said to the people present in court,--"This man is speaking falsely; he is a thief, look at this necklace." And at that very moment a kite saw it glittering, and quickly swooping down from heaven, carried off the necklace, and disappeared where he could not be traced. Then the king, in his anger, commanded that the merchant should be put to death, and he, in great grief, invoked the protection of Siva. Then a voice was heard from heaven--"Do not put this man to death: he is a respectable merchant named Samudrasúra from the city of Harshapura, that has landed on your territory. The thief, who stole the necklace, fled, beside himself with fear of the police, and falling into the sea at night, perished. But this merchant here, when his ship foundered, came upon the body of that thief, and climbing up on it, he crossed the sea and came here. And then he found the necklace in the knot of the cloth fastened round his loins; he did not take it from your house. So let go, king, this virtuous merchant, who is not a thief; dismiss him with honour." Having said this, the voice ceased. When the king heard this, he was satisfied, and revoking the capital sentence passed on the merchant, he honoured him with wealth, and let him go. And the merchant, having obtained wealth, bought wares, and again crossed the terrible ocean in a ship, in order to return to his own native land.

And after he had crossed the sea, he travelled with a caravan, and one day, at evening time, he reached a wood. The caravan encamped in the wood for the night, and while Samudrasúra was awake, a powerful host of bandits attacked it. While the bandits were massacring the members of the caravan, Samudrasúra left his wares and fled, and climbed up a banyan-tree without being discovered. The host of bandits departed, after they had carried off all the wealth, and the merchant spent that night there, perplexed with fear, and distracted with grief. In the morning he cast his eye towards the top of the tree, and saw, as fate would have it, what looked like the light of a lamp, trembling among the leaves. And in his astonishment he climbed up the tree, and saw a kite's nest, in which there was a heap of glittering priceless jewelled ornaments. He took them all out of it, and found among the ornaments that necklace, which he had found in Svarnadvípa and the kite had carried off. He obtained from that nest unlimited wealth, and, descending from the tree, he went off delighted, and reached in course of time his own city of Harshapura. There the merchant Samudrasúra remained, enjoying himself to his heart's content with his family, free from the desire of any other wealth.

"So you have that merchant's whelming in the sea, and that loss of his wealth, and the finding of the necklace, and again the losing of it, and his undeserved degradation to the position of a malefactor, and his immediate obtaining of wealth from the satisfied king, and his return-voyage over the sea, and his being stripped of all his wealth by falling in with bandits on the journey, and at last his acquisition of wealth from the top of a tree. So you see, prince, such is the various working of destiny, but a virtuous man, though he may have endured sorrow, obtains joy at the last." When Naraváhanadatta heard this from Gomukha, he approved it, and rising up, he performed his daily duties, such as bathing and the like.

And the next day, when he was in the hall of assembly, the heroic prince Samaratunga, who had been his servant ever since he was a boy, came and said to him--"Prince, my relation Sangrámarvarsha has ravaged my territory, with the help of his four sons, Vírajita and the others. So I will go myself, and bring them all five here as prisoners. Let my lord know this." After saying this he departed. And the son of the king of Vatsa, knowing that he had but a small force, and that those others had large forces, ordered his own army to follow him. But that proud man refused to receive this accession to his force, and went and conquered those five enemies in fight by the help of his own two arms only, and brought them back prisoners. Naraváhanadatta honoured and praised his follower, when he came back victorious, and said--"How wonderful! This man has conquered his five enemies, though with their forces they had overrun his territory, and has done the deed of a hero, as a man conquers the senses, when they have laid hold upon outward objects, and are powerful, and so accomplishes emancipation, the work of the soul." [750] When Gomukha heard that, he said--"If, prince, you have not heard the tale of king Chamarabála, which is similar, listen, I will tell it."

Story of king Chamarabála.

There is a city named Hastinápura, and in it there lived a king named Chamarabála, who possessed treasure, a fort, and an army. And he had, as neighbours to his territory, several kings of the same family as himself, the chief of whom was Samarabála, and they put their heads together and reflected: "This king Chamarabála defeats us all, one by one; so we will join together and accomplish his overthrow." After thus deliberating, those five kings' being anxious to march out against him to conquer him, secretly asked an astrologer when a favourable moment would come. The astrologer, not seeing a favourable moment, and not seeing good omens, said--"There is no favourable moment for you this year. Under whatever circumstances you set out on your expedition, you will not be victorious. And why are you so eager for the undertaking, beholding his prosperity? Enjoyment is after all the fruit [751] of prosperity, and you have enjoyments in abundance. And now hear, if you have not heard it before, the story of the two merchants."

Story of Yasovarman and the two fortunes.

There was in old time in this country a city, named Kautukapura. In it there lived a king, called Bahusuvarnaka, [752] rightly named. And he had a young Kshatriya servant named Yasovarman. To that man the king never gave anything, though he was generous by nature. Whenever in his distress he asked the king, the king said to him, pointing to the sun, "I wish to give to you, but this holy god will not permit me to give to you. Tell me what I am to do." While he remained distressed, watching for an opportunity, the time for an eclipse of the sun arrived. Then Yasovarman, who had constantly served the king, went and said to him, when he was engaged in giving many valuable presents: "Give me something, my sovereign, while this sun, who will not permit you to give, is in the grasp of his enemy." When the king, who had given many presents, heard that, he laughed, and gave garments, gold, and other things to him.

In course of time that wealth was consumed, and he, being afflicted, as the king gave him nothing, and having lost his wife, went to the shrine of the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills. [753] He said--"What is the use of this profitless body that is dead even while alive? I will abandon it before the shrine of the goddess, or gain the desired boon." Resolved on this course, he lay down on a bed of darbha grass in front of the goddess, with his mind intent on her, and fasting he performed a severe penance. And the goddess said to him in a dream, "I am pleased with thee, my son; tell me, shall I give thee the good fortune of wealth, or the good fortune of enjoyment?" When Yasovarman heard this, he answered the goddess, "I do not precisely know the difference between these two good fortunes." Then the goddess said to him: "Return to thy own country, and there go and examine into the good fortunes of the two merchants, Arthavarman and Bhogavarman, and find out which of the two pleases thee, and then come here and ask a like fortune for thyself." When Yasovarman heard this, he woke up, and next morning he broke his fast, and went to his own country of Kautukapura.

There he first went to the house of Arthavarman, [754] who had acquired much wealth, in the form of gold, jewels, and other precious things, by his business transactions. Seeing that prosperity of his, he approached him with due politeness, and was welcomed by him, and invited to dinner. Then he sat by the side of that Arthavarman, and ate food appropriate to a guest, with meat-curry and ghee. But Arthavarman ate barley-meal, with half a pal of ghee and a little rice, and a small quantity of meat-curry. Yasovarman said to the merchant out of curiosity--"Great merchant, why do you eat so little?" Thereupon the merchant gave him this answer: "To-day out of regard for you I have eaten a little rice with meat-curry and half a pal of ghee; I have also eaten some barley-meal. But as a general rule, I eat only a karsha of ghee and some barley-meal, I have a weak digestion, and cannot digest more in my stomach." When Yasovarman heard that, he turned the matter over in his mind, and formed an unfavourable opinion of that prosperity of Arthavarman's, as being without fruit. Then, at nightfall, that merchant Arthavarman again brought rice and milk for Yasovarman to eat. And Yasovarman again ate of it to his fill, and then Arthavarman drank one pala of milk. And in that same place Yasovarman and Arthavarman both made their beds, and gradually fell asleep.

And at midnight Yasovarman suddenly saw in his sleep some men of terrible appearance with clubs in their hands, entering the room. And they exclaimed angrily--"Fie! why have you taken to-day one karsha more of ghee than the small amount allowed to you, and eaten meat-curry, and drunk a pala of milk?" Then they dragged Arthavarman by his foot and beat him with clubs. And they extracted from his stomach the karsha of ghee, and the milk, flesh, and rice, which he had consumed above his allowance. When Yasovarman had seen that, he woke up and looked about him, and lo! Arthavarman had woke up, and was seized with colic. Then Arthavarman, crying out, and having his stomach rubbed by his servants, vomited up all the food he had eaten above the proper allowance. After the merchant's colic was allayed, Yasovarman said to himself: "Away with this good fortune of wealth, which involves enjoyment of such an equivocal kind! This would be altogether neutralized by such misery of ill health." In such internal reflections he passed that night.

And in the morning he took leave of Arthavarman, and went to the house of that merchant Bhogavarman. There he approached him in due form, and he received him with politeness, and invited him to dine with him on that day. Now he did not perceive any wealth in the possession of that merchant, but he saw that he had a nice house, and dresses, and ornaments. While Yasovarman was waiting there, the merchant Bhogavarman proceeded to do his own special business. He took merchandise from one man, and immediately handed it over to another, and without any capital of his own, gained dínárs by the transaction. And he quickly sent those dínárs by the hand of his servant to his wife, in order that she might procure all kinds of food and drink. And immediately one of that merchant's friends, named Ichchhábharana, rushed in and said to him: "Our dinner is ready, rise up and come to us, and let us eat, for all our other friends have assembled and are waiting for you." He answered, "I shall not come to-day, for I have a guest here." Thereupon his friend went on to say to him, "Then let this guest come with you; is he not our friend also? Rise up quickly." Bhogavarman, being thus earnestly invited by that friend, went with him, accompanied by Yasovarman, and ate excellent food. And, after drinking wine, he returned, and again enjoyed all kinds of viands and wines at his own house in the evening. And when night came on, he asked his servants--"Have we enough wine left for the latter part of the night or not?" When they replied, "No, master," the merchant went to bed, exclaiming, "How are we to drink water in the latter part of the night?"

Then Yasovarman, sleeping at his side, saw in a dream two or three men enter, and some others behind them. And those who entered last, having sticks in their hands, exclaimed angrily to those who entered first--"You rascals! Why did you not provide wine for Bhogavarman to drink in the latter half of the night? Where have you been all this time?" Then they beat them with strokes of their sticks. The men who were beaten with sticks, said, "Pardon this single fault on our part." And then they and the others went out of the room.

Then Yasovarman, having seen that sight, woke up and reflected, "The good fortune of enjoyment of Bhogavarman, in which blessings arrive unthought of, is preferable to the good fortune of wealth of Arthavarman, which, though attended with opulence, is devoid of enjoyment."

In these reflections he spent the rest of the night.

And early the next morning Yasovarman took leave of that excellent merchant, and again repaired to the feet of Durgá, the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya range. And he chose out of those two good fortunes mentioned by the goddess, when she appeared to him on a former occasion, [755] while he was engaged in austerities, the good fortune of enjoyment, and the goddess granted it to him. Then Yasovarman returned home and lived in happiness, thanks to the good fortune of enjoyment, which, owing to the favour of the goddess, continually presented itself to him unthought of.

"So a smaller fortune, accompanied with enjoyment, is to be preferred to a great fortune, which, though great, is devoid of enjoyment and therefore useless. So why are you annoyed at the good fortune of king Chamarabála, which is combined with meanness, and do not consider your own fortune, which is rich in the power of giving and in enjoyment?

"So an attack on him by you is not advisable, and there is no auspicious moment for commencing the expedition, and I do not foresee victory to you." Though those five kings were thus warned by the astrologer, they marched in their impatience against king Chamarabála.

And when king Chamarabála heard that they had reached the border, he bathed in the morning, and worshipped Siva duly by his auspicious names referring to sixty-eight excellent parts of the body, [756]--his names that destroy sin and grant all desires. And then he heard a voice coming from heaven, "King, fight without fear, thou shalt conquer thy enemies in battle." Then king Chamarabála was delighted, and girded on his armour, and accompanied by his army, marched out to fight with those foes. In the army of his enemies there were thirty thousand elephants, and three hundred thousand horses, and ten million foot-soldiers. And in his own army there were twenty hundred thousand foot-soldiers, and ten thousand elephants, and a hundred thousand horses. Then a great battle took place between those two armies, and king Chamarabála, preceded by his warder Víra, [757] who was rightly so named, entered that field of battle, as the holy Vishnu, in the form of the great boar, entered the great ocean. And though he had but a small army, he so grievously smote that great army of his foes, that slain horses, elephants, and footmen lay in heaps. And when king Samarabála came across him in the battle, he rushed upon him, and smote him with an iron spear, and drawing him towards him with a lasso, made him prisoner. And then in the same way he smote the second king Samarasúra in the heart with an arrow, and drawing him towards him with a noose, made him also prisoner. And his warder, named Víra, captured the third king, named Samarajita, and brought him to him. And his general, named Devabala, brought and presented to him the fourth king, named Pratápachandra, wounded with an arrow. Then the fifth king Pratápasena, beholding that, fell furiously upon king Chamarabála in the fight. But he repelled his arrows with the multitude of his own, and pierced him with three arrows in the forehead. And when he was bewildered with the blows of the arrows, Chamarabála, like a second Destiny, flung a noose round his neck, and dragging him along made him a captive. When those five kings had in this way been taken prisoners in succession, as many of their soldiers, as had escaped slaughter, fled, dispersing themselves in every direction. And king Chamarabála captured an infinite mass of gold and jewels, and many wives belonging to those kings. And among them, the head queen of king Pratápasena, called Yasolekhá, a lovely woman, fell into his hands.

Then he entered his city, and gave turbans of honour to the warder Víra and the general Devabala, and loaded them with jewels. And the king made Yasolekhá an inmate of his own harem, on the ground that she, being the wife of Pratápasena, was captured according to the custom of the Kshatriyas. And she, though flighty, submitted to him because he had won her by the might of his arm; in those abandoned to the intoxication of love the impressions of virtue are evanescent. And after some days, king Chamarabála, being solicited by the queen Yasolekhá, let go those five captive kings, Pratápasena and the others, after they had learnt submission and done homage, and after honouring them, dismissed them to their own kingdoms. And then king Chamarabála long ruled his own wealthy kingdom, in which there were no opponents, and the enemies of which had been conquered, and he sported with that Yasolekhá, who surpassed in form and loveliness beautiful Apsarases, being, as it were, the banner that announced his victory over his foes.

"Thus a brave man, though unsupported, conquers in the front of battle even many enemies coming against him in fight, distracted with hate, and not considering the resources of themselves and their foe, and by his surpassing bravery puts a stop to the fever of their conceit and pride."

When Naraváhanadatta had heard this instructive tale told by Gomukha, he praised it, and set about his daily duties of bathing and so on. And he spent that night, which was devoted to the amusement of a concert, in singing with his wives in such a ravishing way, that Sarasvatí from her seat in heaven gave him and his beloved ones high commendation.

Chapter LV

Then, the next day, as Naraváhanadatta was sitting in the apartments of Alankáravatí, a servant of Marubhúti's, the brother of Sauvidalla the guard of the prince's harem, came and said to him in the presence of all his ministers--"King, I have attended on Marubhúti for two years; he has given food and clothing to me and my wife: but he will not give me the fifty dínárs a year, which he promised me in addition. And when I asked him for it, he gave me a kick. So I am sitting in dharna against him at your Highness's door. If your Highness does not give judgment in this case, I shall enter the fire. What more can I say? For you are my sovereign." When he had said this, he stopped, and Marubhúti said--"I must give him the dínárs, but I have not got the money at present." When he said this, all the ministers laughed at him, and Naraváhanadatta said to the minister Marubhúti: "What are you thinking about, you fool? Your intentions are not over-creditable. Rise up, give him the hundred dínárs without delay." When Marubhúti heard this speech of his sovereign's, he was ashamed, and immediately brought that hundred dínárs and gave it to him. Then Gomukha said--"Marubhúti is not to be blamed, because the works of the Creator's hand have varying moods of mind. Have you not heard the story of king Chiradátri, and his servant named Prasanga?"

Story of Chiradátri.

In old time there was a king named Chiradátri, sovereign or Chirapura. Though he was an excellent man, his followers were extremely wicked. And that king had a servant, named Prasanga, who had come from another country, and was accompanied by two friends. And five years passed, while he was performing his duties, but the king gave him nothing, not even when an occasion was presented by a feast or something of the kind. And owing to the wickedness of the courtiers, he never obtained an opportunity of representing his case to the king, though his friends were continually instigating him to do so.

Now one day the king's infant son died, and when he was grieved at it, all his servants came and crowded round him. And among them the servant, named Prasanga, out of pure sorrow, said to the king as follows, though his two friends tried to prevent him, "We have been your servants, your Highness, for a long time, and you have never given us anything, nevertheless we have remained here because we had hopes from your son; for we thought that, although you have never given us anything, your son would certainly give us something. If Fate has carried him off, what is the use of remaining here now? We will immediately take our departure." Thus he exclaimed, and fell at the feet of the king, and went out with his two friends. The king reflected--"Ah! though these men had fixed their hopes on my son, they have been faithful servants to me, so I must not abandon them." Thereupon he immediately had Prasanga and his companions summoned, and loaded them so with wealth that poverty did not again lay hold on them.

"So you see, men have various dispositions, for that king did not give at the proper season, but did give in the unseasonable hour of calamity." When Gomukha, skilful in story-telling, had said this, he went on, at the instigation of the son of the sovereign of Vatsa, to tell the following tale:

Story of king Kanakavarsha and Madanasundarí.

There was in old time on the banks of the Ganges an excellent city, named Kanakapura, the people of which were purified in the water of the river; and which was a delightful place on account of its good government. In this city the only imprisonment seen was the committing to paper of the words of poets, the only kind of defeat was the curling in the locks of the women, the only contest was the struggle of getting the corn into the granary. [758]

In that city there dwelt in old time a glorious king, named Kanakavarsha, who was born to Priyadarsana, the son of Vásuki, king of the snakes, by the princess Yasodhará. Though he bore the weight of the whole earth, he was adorned with innumerable virtues, he longed for glory, not for wealth, he feared sin, not his enemy. He was dull in slandering his neighbour, but not in the holy treatises; there was restraint in the high-souled hero's wrath, not in his favour; he was resolute-minded; he was niggardly in curses, not in gifts; he ruled the whole world; and such was his extraordinary beauty that all women, the moment they saw him, were distracted with the pain of love.

Once on a time, in an autumn, that was characterized by heat, that maddened elephants, that was attended by flocks of swans, and delighted the subjects with rejoicings, [759] he entered a picture-palace which was cooled by winds that blew laden with the scent of lotuses. There he observed and praised the display of pictures, and in the meanwhile there entered the warder, who said to the king--

"Your majesty, an unequalled painter has arrived here from Ujjayiní, boasting himself to be matchless in the art of painting. His name is Roladeva, and he has to-day set up a notice at the palace gate to the above effect." When the king heard that, he felt respect for him, and ordered him to be introduced, and the warder immediately went and brought him in. The painter entered, and beheld the king Kanakavarsha amusing himself in private with looking at pictures, reclining his body on the lap of beautiful women, and taking in carelessly crooked fingers the prepared betel. And the painter Roladeva made obeisance to the king, who received him politely, and sitting down said slowly to him--"O king, I put up a notice principally through the desire of beholding your feet, not out of pride in my skill, so you must excuse this deed of mine. And you must tell me what form I am to represent on canvas, let not the trouble I took in learning this accomplishment be thrown away, O king." When the painter said this to the king, he replied, "Teacher, paint anything you will, let us give our eyes a treat: what doubt can there be about your skill?"

When the king said this, his courtiers exclaimed--"Paint the king: what is the use of painting others, ugly in comparison with him?" When the painter heard this, he was pleased, and painted the king, with aquiline nose, with almond-shaped fiery eye, with broad forehead, with curly black hair, with ample breast, glorious with the scars of wounds inflicted by arrows and other weapons, with handsome arms resembling the trunks of the elephants that support the quarters, with waist capable of being spanned with the hand, as if it had been a present from the lion-whelps conquered by his might, and with thighs like the post for fastening the elephant of youth, and with beautiful feet, like the shoots of the asoka. And all, when they beheld that life-like likeness of the king, applauded that painter, and said to him; "We do not like to see the king alone on the picture-panel, so paint on it one of these queens by his side, carefully choosing one, that will be a worthy pendant to him; let the feast of our eyes be complete."

When they said this, the painter looked at the picture and said, "Though there are many of these queens, there is none among them like the king, and I believe there is no woman on the earth a match for him in beauty, except one princess--listen, I will tell you about her.

"In Vidarbha there is a prosperous town named Kundina, and in it there is a king of the name of Devasakti. And he has a queen named Anantavatí, dearer to him than life, and by her there was born to him a daughter named Madanasundarí. How could one like me presume to describe her beauty with this one single tongue, but so much will I say. When the Creator had made her, through delight in her he conceived a desire to make another like her, but he will not be able to do it even in the course of yugas. That princess, alone on the earth, is a match for this king in shape, beauty and refinement, in age and birth. For I, when I was there, was once summoned by her by the mouth of a maid, and I went to her private apartments. There I beheld her, freshly anointed with sandal unguent, having a necklace of lotus-fibres, tossing on a bed of lotuses, being fanned by her ladies-in-waiting with the wind of plantain leaves, pale and emaciated, exhibiting the signs of love's fever. And in these words was she dissuading her ladies occupied in fanning her,--'O my friends, away with this sandal unguent and these breezes wafted by plantain leaves; for these, though cool, scorch up unhappy me.' And when I saw her in this state, I was troubled to divine the reason, and after doing obeisance, I sat down in front of her. And she said, 'Teacher, paint such a form as this on canvas and give it me.'

"And then she made me paint a certain very handsome youth, slowly tracing out the form on the ground with trembling, nectar-distilling hand, to guide me. And when I had so painted that handsome youth, I said to myself--'She has made me paint the god of Love in visible form; but, as I see that the flowery bow is not represented in his hand, I know that it cannot be the god of Love, it must be some extraordinarily handsome young man like him. And her outburst of love-sickness has to do with him. So I must depart hence, for this king, her father Devasakti, is severe in his justice, and if he heard of this proceeding of mine, he would not overlook it.' Thus reflecting, I did obeisance to that princess Madanasundarí, and departed, honoured by her.

"But when I was there, O king, I heard from her attendants, as they talked freely together, that she had fallen in love with you from hearing of you only. So I have secretly taken a picture of that princess on a sheet of canvas, and have come here quickly to your feet. And when I beheld your majesty's appearance, my doubt was at an end, for it was clearly your majesty that the princess caused to be painted by my hand. And as it is not possible to paint her twice, such as she is, I will not represent her in the picture as standing at your side, though she is equal to you in beauty."

When Roladeva said this, the king said to him--"Then shew her as she is represented on the canvas you have brought with you." Then the painter looked out a piece of canvas which was in a bag, and shewed the king Madanasundarí in a painting. And the king Kanakavarsha, seeing that even in a painting she was wonderfully beautiful, immediately became enamoured of her. And he loaded that painter with much gold, and taking the picture of his beloved, retired into his private apartments. There he remained with his mind fixed on her alone, abandoning all occupations, and his eyes were never satisfied with gazing on her beauty. It seemed as if the god of love was jealous of his good looks, for now that he had obtained an opportunity, he tormented him, smiting him with his arrows and robbing him of his self-control. And the love-pain, which he had inflicted on women enamoured of his handsome shape, was now visited on that king a hundredfold.

And in the course of some days, being pale and emaciated, he told to his confidential ministers, who questioned him, the thought of his heart. And after deliberating with them, he sent to the king Devasakti, as ambassador, to ask for the hand of his daughter, a trustworthy Bráhman of good birth, named Sangamasvámin, who was skilled in affairs, knew times and seasons, and could speak in a sweet and lofty style. That Sangamasvámin went to Vidarbha with a great retinue, and entered the city of Kundina. And there he had a formal interview with the king Devasakti, and on behalf of his master asked for the hand of his daughter. And Devasakti reflected--"I must give away this daughter of mine to some one, and this king Kanakavarsha has been described as my equal, and he asks for her; so I will give her to him." Accordingly he granted the prayer of Sangamasvámin, and the king displayed to the ambassador the astonishing elegance in the dance of his daughter Madanasundarí. Then the king sent away, after honouring him, and promising to give his daughter, that Sangamasvámin, who was charmed with his sight of her. And he sent with him a counter-ambassador to say, "Fix an auspicious moment and come here for the marriage. And Sangamasvámin returned, accompanied by the counter-ambassador, and told the king Kanakavarsha that his object was effected. Then the king ascertained a favourable moment, and honoured that ambassador, and heard from him over and over again how Madanasundarí was in love with him. And then the king Kanakavarsha set out for the city of Kundina, in order to marry her, with mind at ease on account of his own irresistible valour, mounted on the horse Asíkala, [760] and he smote the Savaras that inhabited the border-forests, and took the lives of living creatures, like lions and other wild beasts. And he reached Vidarbha, and entered that city of Kundina, with king Devasakti, who came out to meet him. Then he entered the king's palace, in which preparations had been made for the marriage, robbing the ladies of the city of the feast which he had given to their eyes. And there he rested a day with his retinue, pleased at the noble reception which king Devasakti gave him. And on the next day Devasakti gave him his daughter Madanasundarí, together with all his wealth, retaining only his kingdom.

And king Kanakavarsha, after he had remained there seven days, returned to his own city with his recently-married bride. And when he arrived with his beloved, giving joy to the world, like the moon with the moonlight, that city was full of rejoicing. Then that queen Madanasundarí was dearer than life to that king, though he had many wives, as Rukminí is to Vishnu. And the wedded couple remained fastened together by their eyes with lovely eyelashes, which were fixed on one another's faces, resembling the arrows of love. And in the meanwhile arrived the lion of spring, with a train of expanding filaments for mane, tearing to pieces the elephant of female coyness. And the garden made ready blossoming mango-plants, by way of bows for the god of Love, with rows of bees clinging to them by way of bowstring. And the wind from the Malaya mountain blew, swaying the love-kindled hearts of the wives of men travelling in foreign lands, as it swayed the suburban groves. And the sweetly-speaking cuckoos seemed to say to men, "The brimming of the streams, the flowers of the trees, the digits of the moon wane and return again, but not the youth of men. [761] Fling aside coyness and quarrelling, and sport with your beloved ones."

And at that time king Kanakavarsha went with all his wives to a spring-garden, to amuse himself. And he eclipsed the beauty of the asokas with the red robes of his attendants, and with the songs of his lovely ladies the song of the cuckoos and bees. There the king, though all his wives were with him, amused himself with Madanasundarí in picking flowers and other diversions. And after roaming there a long time, the king entered the Godávarí with his wives to bathe, and began the water-game. His ladies surpassed the lotuses with their faces, with their eyes the blue water-lilies, with their breasts the couples of Brahmany ducks, with their hips the sandbanks, and when they troubled the bosom of the stream, it showed frowns of anger in the form of curling waves. Then the mind of Kanakavarsha took pleasure in them, while they displayed the contours of their limbs in the splashing-game. And in the ardour of the game, he splashed one queen with water from his palms on her breast.

When Madanasundarí saw it, she was jealous, and got angry with him, and in an outburst of indignation said to him, "How long are you going to trouble the river?" And going out of the water, she took her other clothes and rushed off in a passion to her own palace, telling her ladies of that fault of her lover's. Then king Kanakavarsha, seeing her state of mind, stopped his water-game, and went off to her apartments. Even the parrots in the cages warned him off in wrath, when he approached, and entering he saw within the queen afflicted with wrath: with her downcast lotus-like face supported on the palm of her left hand, with tear-drops falling like transparent pearls. And she was repeating, with accents charming on account of her broken speech, in a voice interrupted with sobs, shewing her gleaming teeth, this fragment of a Prákrit song: "If you cannot endure separation, you must cheerfully abandon anger. If you can in your heart endure separation, then you must increase your wrath. Perceiving this clearly, remain pledged to one or the other; if you take your stand on both, you will fall between two stools." And when the king saw her in this state, lovely even in tears, he approached her bashfully and timidly. And embracing her, though she kept her face averted, he set himself to propitiate her with respectful words tender with love. And when her retinue signified her scorn with ambiguous hints, he fell at her feet, blaming himself as an offender. Then she clung to the neck of the king, and was reconciled to him, bedewing him with the tears that flowed on account of that very annoyance. And he, delighted, spent the day with his beloved, whose anger had been exchanged for good-will, and slept there at night.

But in the night he saw in a dream his necklace suddenly taken from his neck, and his crest-jewel snatched from his head, by a deformed woman. Then he saw a Vetála, with a body made up of the limbs of many animals, and when the Vetála wrestled with him, he hurled him to earth. And when the king sat on the Vetála's back, the demon flew up with him through the air, like a bird, and threw him into the sea. Then, after he had with difficulty struggled to the shore, he saw that the necklace was replaced on his neck, and the crest-jewel on his head. When the king had seen this, he woke up, and in the morning he asked a Buddhist mendicant, who had come to visit him as an old friend, the meaning of the dream. And the mendicant answered clearly--"I do not wish to say what is unpleasant, but how can I help telling you when I am asked? The fact that you saw your necklace and crest-jewel taken away, means that you will be separated from your wife and from your son. And the fact that, after you had escaped from the sea, you found them again, means that you will be reunited with them, when your calamity comes to an end." Then the king said, "I have not a son as yet, let him be born first." Then the king heard from a reciter of the Rámáyana, who visited his palace, how king Dasaratha endured hardship to obtain a son; and so there arose in his mind anxiety about obtaining a son, and the mendicant having departed, the king Kanakavarsha spent that day in despondency.

And at night, as he was lying alone and sleepless upon his bed, he saw a woman enter without opening the door. She was modest and gentle of appearance, and, when the king bowed before her, she gave him her blessing and said to him: "Son, know that I am the daughter of Vásuki the king of the snakes, and the elder sister of thy father, Ratnaprabhá by name. I always dwell near thee, invisible, to protect thee, but to-day, seeing thee despondent, I have displayed to thee my real form. I cannot bear to behold thy sorrow, so tell me the cause." When the king had been thus addressed by his father's sister, he said to her: "I am fortunate, mother, in that you shew me such condescension. But know that my anxiety is caused by the fact that no son is born to me. How can people like myself help desiring that, which even heroic saints of old days, like Dasaratha and others, desired for the sake of obtaining svarga." When the Nágí [762] Ratnaprabhá heard this speech of that king, she said to her brother's son; "My son, I will tell thee an admirable expedient, carry it out. Go and propitiate Kártikeya with a view to obtain a son. I will enter thy body, and by my power thou shalt support the rain of Kártikeya falling on thy head to impede thee, difficult to endure. And after thou hast overcome a host of other impediments, thou shalt obtain thy wish." When the Nágí had said this, she disappeared, and the king spent the night in bliss.

The next morning he committed his realm to the care of his ministers, and went, desiring a son, to visit the sole of Kártikeya's foot. There he performed a severe penance to propitiate that lord, having power given him by the Nágí that entered his body. Then the rain of Kumára [763] fell on his head like thunderbolts, and continued without ceasing. But he endured it by means of the Nágí that had entered his body. Then Kártikeya sent Ganesa to impede him still further. And Ganesa created in that rain a very poisonous and exceedingly terrible serpent, but the king did not fear it. Then Ganesa, invincible [764] even by gods, came in visible form, and began to give him bites on the breast. Then king Kanakavarsha, thinking that he was a foe hard to subdue, proceeded, after he had endured that ordeal, to propitiate Ganesa with praises.

"Honour to thee, O god of the projecting belly, adorned with the elephant's ornament, whose body is like a swelling pitcher containing success in all affairs! Victory to thee, O elephant-faced one, that makest even Brahmá afraid, shaking the lotus, which is his throne, with thy trunk flung up in sport! Even the gods, the Asuras, and the chief hermits do not succeed, unless thou art pleased, the only refuge of the world, O thou beloved of Siva! The chief of the gods praise thee by thy sixty-eight sin-destroying names, calling thee the pitcher-bellied, the basket-eared one, [765] the chief of the Ganas, the furious mast elephant, Yama the noose-handed, the Sun, Vishnu, and Siva. With these names to the number of sixty-eight, corresponding to so many parts of the body, do they praise thee. And when one remembers thee, and praises thee, O Lord, fear produced by the battle-field, by the king's court, by gambling, by thieves, by fire, by wild beasts, and other harms, departs." With these laudatory verses, and with many others of the same kind, king Kanakavarsha honoured that king of impediments. And the conqueror of impediments said, "I will not throw an impediment in thy way, obtain a son," and disappeared then and there from the eyes of that king.

Then Kártikeya said to that king, who had endured the rain; "Resolute man, I am pleased with thee, so crave thy boon." Then the king, delighted, said to the god, "Let a son be born to me by thy favour." Then the god said, "Thou shalt have a son, the incarnation of one of my Ganas, and his name shall be Hiranyavarsha on the earth." And then the rider on the peacock summoned him to enter his inmost shrine, in order to shew him special favour. [766] Thereupon the Nágí left his body invisibly, for females do not enter the house of Kártikeya through dread of a curse. Then king Kanakavarsha entered the sanctifying temple of that god, armed only with his human excellence. When the god saw that he was deprived of the excellence he formerly had, because he was no longer inhabited by the Nágí, he reflected--"What can this mean?" And Kártikeya, perceiving by his divine meditation, that that king had performed a very difficult vow by the secret help of the Nágí, thus cursed him in his wrath: "Since thou didst make use of deceit, intractable man, thou shalt be separated from thy son, as soon as he is born, and from thy queen. When the king heard this curse, terrible as a thunderstroke, he was not amazed, but being a mighty poet, praised that god with hymns. Then the six-faced god, pleased with his well turned language, said to him; "King, I am pleased with thy hymns; I appoint thee this end of thy curse; thou shalt be separated from thy wife and son for one year, but after thou hast been saved from three great dangers, thou shalt come to an end of the separation." When the six-faced god had said this, he ceased to speak, and the king, satisfied with the nectar of his favour, bowed before him, and went to his own city.

Then, in course of time, he had a son born to him by queen Madanasundarí, as the nectar-stream is born of the light of the cold-rayed moon. When the king and queen saw the face of that son, being filled with great delight, they were not able to contain themselves. [767] And at that time the king made a feast, and showered riches, and made his name of Kanakavarsha [768] a literal fact on the earth.

When five nights had passed, while guard was being kept in the lying-in-house, on the sixth night a cloud suddenly came there. It swelled, and gradually covered the whole sky, as a neglected enemy overruns the kingdom of a careless king. Then the mast elephant of the wind began to rush, showering drops of rain like drops of ichor, and rooting up trees. At that moment a terrible woman, sword in hand, opened the door, though it was bolted, and entered that lying-in-chamber. She took that babe from the queen as she was nursing it, and ran out, having bewildered the attendants. And then the queen, distracted, and exclaiming, "Alas! a Rákshasí has carried off my child," pursued that woman, though it was dark. And the woman rushed on and plunged into a tank with the child, and the queen, pursuing her, plunged in also, eager to recover her offspring. Immediately the cloud disappeared, and the night came to an end, and the lamentation of the attendants was heard in the lying-in-chamber. Then the king Kanakavarsha, hearing it, came to the lying-in-chamber, and seeing it empty of his son and wife, was distracted. After he had recovered consciousness, he began to lament, "Alas, my queen! Alas, my infant son!" and then he called to mind that the curse was to end in a year. And he exclaimed, "Holy Skanda, how could you give to ill-starred me a boon joined with a curse, like nectar mixed with poison? Alas! how shall I be able to pass a year, long as a thousand years, without the queen Madanasundarí, whom I value more than my life?" And the king, though exhorted by the ministers, who knew the circumstances, did not recover his composure, which had departed with his queen.

And in course of time he left his city, distracted with a paroxysm of love, and wandered through the Vindhya forest in a state of bewilderment. There, as he gazed on the eyes of the young does, he remembered the beauty of the eyes of his beloved, and the bushy tails of the chamarís reminded him of the loveliness of her luxuriant hair, and when he marked the gait of the female elephant, he called to mind the languid grace of her gait, so that the fire of his love broke out into a fiercer flame. And wandering about exhausted with thirst and heat, he reached the foot of the Vindhya mountains, and, after drinking the water of a stream, he sat down at the foot of a tree. In the meanwhile a long-maned lion came out of a cavern of the Vindhya hills, uttering a roar which resembled a loud demoniac laugh, and rushed towards him to slay him. At that very moment a certain Vidyádhara descended rapidly from heaven, and cleft that lion in two with a sword-stroke. And that sky-goer, coming near, said to the king, "King Kanakavarsha, how have you come to this region?" When the king heard it, he recovered his memory, and said to him, "How do you know me, who am tossed with the wind of separation?" Then the Vidyádhara said, "I, when in old time I was a religious mendicant, of the name of Bandhumitra, dwelt in your city. Then you helped me in my rites, when I respectfully asked you to do so, and so I obtained the rank of a Vidyádhara, by making a goblin my servant. Thus I recognized you, and being desirous to confer on you a benefit by way of recompense, I have slain this lion which I saw on the point of killing you.

"And my name has now become Bandhuprabha." When the Vidyádhara said this, the king conceived an affection for him, and said, "Ah! I remember, and this friendship has been nobly acted up to by you, so tell me when I shall be reunited with my wife and son." When the Vidyádhara Bandhuprabha heard that, he perceived it by his divine knowledge, and said to the king--"By a pilgrimage to the shrine of Durgá, in the Vindhya hills, you will recover your wife and son, so go you to prosperity, and I will return to my own world." When he had said this, he departed, and king Kanakavarsha, having recovered his self-command, went to visit that shrine of Durgá.

As he was going along, a great and furious wild elephant, stretching out its trunk, and shaking its head, charged him in the path. When the king saw that, he fled by a way full of holes, so that the elephant, pursuing him, fell into a chasm and was killed. Then the king, fatigued with toil and exertion, slowly going along, reached a great lake full of lotuses with straight upstanding stalks. There the king bathed, drank the water of the lake, and ate the fibres of the lotuses, and lying tired at the foot of a tree, was for a moment overpowered by sleep. And some Savaras, returning that way from hunting, saw that king with auspicious marks lying asleep. And they immediately bound him, and took him to their king Muktáphala, in order that he might serve as a victim. The king of the Savaras, for his part, seeing that the king was a suitable victim, took him to the temple of Durgá to offer him up. And when the king saw the goddess, he bowed before her, and by her mercy and the favour of Skanda his bonds fell off. When the king of the Savaras saw that miracle, he knew that it was a mark of the goddess's favour towards him, and he spared his life. So Kanakavarsha escaped the third danger, and accomplished the year of his curse.

And in the meanwhile the Nágí, the aunt of the king, came there, bringing the queen Madanasundarí with her son, and said to the king--"O king, when I heard the curse of Kártikeya, I took these away by an artifice to my own dwelling, and preserved them there. Therefore, Kanakavarsha, receive here your wife and son, enjoy this empire of the earth, for now your curse is at an end." When the Nágí had said this to the king, who bowed before her, she disappeared, and the king looked upon the arrival of his wife and child as a dream. Then the grief of separation of the king and queen, who had so long been forced to live apart, trickled away in their tears of joy. Then Muktáphala, the king of the Savaras, fell at the feet of the king Kanakavarsha, on finding that he was his master, the lord of the whole earth. And after he had propitiated him, and persuaded him to visit his town, he furnished his wife and child with all kinds of luxuries, such as it was in his power to give. Then the king, remaining there, summoned by messengers his father-in-law Devasakti and his army [769] from his own city. Then he sent on in front of him his beloved wife Madanasundarí, mounted on a female elephant, and his son, who Kártikeya said was to be called Hiranyavarsha, and went with his father-in-law towards his father-in-law's house. [770] And in a few days he reached the residence of his father-in-law, a hermitage in the country of Vidarbha, and after that his wealthy city of Kundina, and there he remained some time with his wife and son, and his army, being entertained by his father-in-law. And setting out thence, he at last reached his own town of Kanakapura, where he was, as it were, drunk in by the eyes of the wives of the citizens, long desirous of beholding him again. And with his son and Madanasundarí he entered the palace, like an embodied feast, accompanied with joy and splendour. And there he gave Madanasundarí a turban of honour, and made her his head wife, and he honoured his subjects with gifts on this day of triumph. [771] And then king Kanakavarsha ruled this circle of the earth, four-limited by the sea, without opponents, in perpetual happiness, with his wife and son, without experiencing again the grief of separation.

When the prince Naraváhanadatta heard this magnificent tale from his head minister Gomukha, in the company of the fair Alankáravatí, he was exceedingly delighted.