Chapter LVI…

Chapter LVI

Then the prince Naraváhanadatta, with his beloved by his side, being much pleased at the tale of Gomukha, but seeing that Marubhúti was quite put out, in order to pay him a compliment, said to him, attempting to conciliate him; "Marubhúti, why do you not tell a tale also?" Then he said, "Well, I will tell one," and with pleased soul began to relate the following story.

Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála, and his daughter Chandravatí.

There once lived in a town called Devakamalapura, belonging to the king Kamalavarman, an excellent Bráhman, named Chandrasvámin. And that wise man had a wife like himself, distinguished for modesty, and she was a worthy match for Sarasvatí and Lakshmí. And to that Bráhman was born a son with auspicious marks, and when he was born, this voice was heard from heaven:

"Chandrasvámin, you must call your son Mahípála, [772] because he shall be a king and long protect the earth." When Chandrasvámin heard this, he made a feast and called that son Mahípála. And in course of time Mahípála grew up, and was taught the science of missile and hand to hand weapons, and was at the same time instructed in all knowledge. And in the meanwhile his wife Devamati brought forth to Chandrasvámin another child, a daughter, beautiful in all her limbs. And the brother and sister, Mahípála and Chandravatí, grew up together in their father's house.

Then a famine, caused by want of rain, sprang up in that country, the corn having been scorched up by the rays of the sun. And owing to that, the king began to play the bandit, leaving the right path, and taking wealth from his subjects unlawfully. Then, as that land was going rapidly to ruin, Chandrasvámin's wife said to her husband: "Come to my father's house, let us leave this city, for our children will perish here some day or other." When Chandrasvámin heard this, he said to his wife--"By no means, for flight from one's own country in time of famine is a great sin. So I will take these children and deposit them in your father's house, and do you remain here; I will return soon. She agreed, and then Chandrasvámin left her in his house, and taking those two children, the boy Mahípála and the girl Chandravatí, set out from that city for his father-in-law's house. And in course of time, as he roamed on, he reached a great wilderness, with sands heated by the rays of the sun, and with but a few parched up trees in it. And there he left his two children, who were exhausted with thirst, and went to a great distance to look for water for them. Then there met him a chief of the Savaras, named Sinhadanshtra, with his followers, going somewhere or other for his own ends. The Bhilla saw him and questioned him, and finding out that he was in search of water, said to his followers, "Take him to some water," at the same time making a sign to them. When they heard it, two or three of the Savara king's followers, perceiving his intention, took the innocent Chandrasvámin to the village, and fettered him. And he, learning from them that he was fettered in order to be offered as a victim, lamented for his two children that he had left in the wild:

"Ah Mahípála! Ah dear Chandravatí! why did I foolishly abandon you in the wilderness and make you the prey of lions and tigers? And I have brought myself also into a position where I am sure to be slain by bandits, and there is no escape for me." While he was thus lamenting in his terror, he saw to his delight the sun. And exclaiming, "Ah! I will fling aside bewilderment and fly for refuge to my own lord," the Bráhman began to praise the sun in the following verses--"Hail to thee, O Lord, the brightness residing in the near and in the remote ether, that dispersest the internal and external darkness. Thou art Vishnu pervading the three worlds, thou art Siva the treasure-house of blessings, thou art the supreme lord of creatures, calling into activity the sleeping Universe. Thou deposest thy brightness in fire and in the moon, out of pity, as it were, saying, 'Let these two dull things shine,' and so thou dispellest the night. When thou risest, the Rákshasas disperse, the Dasyus have no power, and the virtuous rejoice. [773] So, thou matchless illuminator of the three worlds, deliver me, who take refuge with thee. Disperse this darkness of my grief, have mercy upon me." When the Bráhman had devoutly praised the sun with these and other similar hymns, a voice was heard from heaven--"Chandrasvámin, I am pleased with thee, thou shalt not be put to death, and by my favour thou shalt be reunited with thy wife and children." When the divine voice had said this to Chandrasvámin, he recovered his spirits, and remained in a state of tranquillity, being supplied with bathing requisites and food by the Savaras.

And in the meanwhile the boy Mahípála, left in the wilderness with his sister, as his father did not return, remained lamenting bitterly, supposing that some calamity had befallen him. And in this state he was beheld by a great merchant, of the name of Sárthadhara, who came that way, and the merchant asked him what had happened to him. And feeling compassion, he consoled the boy, and observing that he had auspicious marks, he took him and his sister to his own country. There that Mahípála lived in the house of that merchant, who looked upon him with all the affection of a father for his son; and though a boy, he was occupied in the rites of the sacred fire.

But one day the minister of the king Tárávarman, who lived in the city of Tárápura, the excellent Bráhman Anantasvámin, came that way on business, with his elephants, horses and foot-soldiers, and entered the house of that merchant, being a friend of his. After he had rested, he saw the handsome boy Mahípála, engaged in muttering prayers and in sacrificing to the fire, and asked his story; then the Bráhman minister, finding that the boy was of his own caste, as he had no children, begged the boy and his sister from the merchant. Then the merchant, who was a Vaisya, gave him the children, and Anantasvámin went with them to Tárápura. There Mahípála remained in the house of that minister, which abounded in wealth on account of its master's knowledge, and was treated by him as a son.

And in the meanwhile Sinhadanshtra, the king of the Bhillas, came to Chandrasvámin, who was in captivity in that village, and said to him; "Bráhman, I have been ordered in a dream by the Sun-god not to slay you but to set you free, after doing you honour. So rise up, and go where you please." After saying this, he let him go, giving him pearls and musk, and supplying him with an escort through the forest. And Chandrasvámin, being thus set at liberty, not finding his son and his younger sister in the wood, wandered in search of them, and as he wandered he found a city named Jalapura on the shore of the sea, and entered as a guest the house of a certain Bráhman. There, after he had taken refreshment, and then told his story, the Bráhman, the master of the house, said to him; "A merchant named Kanakavarman came here some days ago; he found in the forest a Bráhman boy with his sister, and he has gone off with those two very handsome children to the great island of Nárikela, but he did not tell his name." When Chandrasvámin heard that, he made up his mind that those children were his, and he determined to go to that beautiful island. And after he had spent the night, and looked about him, he made acquaintance with a merchant, named Vishnuvarman, who was about to go to the isle of Nárikela. And with him he embarked in a ship, and went across the sea to the island, out of love for his children. When he began to enquire there, the merchants, who lived there, said to him; "It is true that a merchant named Kanakavarman did come here, with two beautiful Bráhman children, whom he found in a wood. But he has now gone with them to the island of Katáha. When the Bráhman heard that, he went in a ship with the merchant Dánavarman to the island of Katáha. There he heard that the merchant Kanakavarman had gone from that island to an island named Karpúra. In the same way he visited in turn the islands of Karpúra, Suvarna, and Sinhala with merchants, but he did not find the merchant whom he was in search of. But from the people of Sinhala he heard that that merchant Kanakavarman had gone to his own city, named Chitrakúta. Then Chandrasvámin went with a merchant, named Kotísvara, to Chitrakúta, crossing the sea in his ship. And in that city he found the merchant Kanakavarman, and longing for his children, he told him the whole story. Then Kanakavarman, when he knew the cause of his grief, showed him the children, whom he had found in the forest and brought away. But when Chandrasvámin looked at those two children, he saw that they were not his, but some other children. Then he, being afflicted with tears and grief, lamented in desperate mood--"Alas! though I have wandered so far, I have not found my son or my daughter. Malignant Providence, like a wicked master, has held out hopes to me but has not fulfilled them, and has made me wander far and wide on a false surmise." While he was indulging in such lamentations, he was at last, though with difficulty, consoled by Kanakavarman, and exclaimed in his grief, "If I do not find those children in a year, by wandering over the earth, I will abandon the body by austerities on the bank of the river Ganges. When he said this, a certain seer there said to him, "Go, you will recover your children by the favour of Náráyaní. When he heard that, he was delighted, remembering the compassion shown him by the sun, and he departed from that city, honoured by the merchants.

Then, searching the lands which were royal grants to Bráhmans, and the villages and the towns, he reached one evening a wood with many tall trees in it. There he made a meal on fruits and water, and climbed up into a tree to spend the night there, dreading the lions, and tigers, and other noisome beasts. And being sleepless, he saw in the night at the foot of the tree a great body of divine Mothers assembled, with Náráyaní at their head; waiting for the arrival of the god Bhairava, having brought with them all kinds of presents suited to their resources. And thereupon the Mothers asked Náráyaní why the god delayed, but she laughed and gave no reason. And being persistently questioned by them, she answered--"He has stopped to curse a Guhyaka who has incurred his displeasure." [774] And on account of that business some delay has taken place about his arrival, but know that he will be here soon. While Náráyaní was saying this to the Mothers, there came there Bhairava [775] the lord of the company of Mothers. And he, having been honoured with gifts by all the Mothers, spent some time in dancing, and sported with the witches.

And while Chandrasvámin was surveying that from the summit of a tree, he saw a slave belonging to Náráyaní, and she saw him. And as chance would have it, they fell in love with one another, and the goddess Náráyaní perceived their feelings. And when Bhairava had departed, accompanied by the witches, she, lingering behind, summoned Chandrasvámin who was on the tree. And when he came down, she said to him and her slave: "Are you in love with one another?" And they confessed the truth, and said they were, and thereupon she dismissed her anger and said to Chandrasvámin, "I am pleased with thee for confessing the truth, so I will not curse thee, but I will give thee this slave, live in happiness." When the Bráhman heard this, he said--"Goddess, though my mind is fickle, I hold it in check, I do not touch a strange woman. For this is the nature of the mind, but bodily sin should be avoided." When that firm-souled Bráhman said this, the goddess said to him--"I am pleased with thee and I give thee this boon: thou shalt quickly find thy children. And receive from me this unfading lotus that destroys poison." When the goddess had said this, she gave the Bráhman Chandrasvámin a lotus, and disappeared from his eyes.

And he, having received the lotus, set out, at the end of the night, and roaming along reached the city of Tárápura, where his son Mahípála and his daughter were living in the house of that Bráhman minister Anantasvámin. There he went and recited at the door of that minister, in order to obtain food, having heard that he was hospitable. And the minister, having been informed by the door-keepers, had him introduced by them, and when he saw that he was learned, invited him to dinner. And when he was invited, having heard that there was a lake there, named Anantahrada, that washed away sin, he went to bathe there. While he was returning after bathing, the Bráhman heard all round him in the city a cry of grief. And when he asked the cause, the people said to him--"There is in this city a Bráhman boy, of the name of Mahípála, who was found in the forest by the merchant Sárthadhara. The minister Anantasvámin, observing that he had auspicious marks, with some difficulty begged him and his sister from the merchant, and brought them both here. And being without a son, he has adopted the boy, whose excellent qualities have endeared him to king Tárávarman and his people. To-day he has been bitten by a poisonous snake; hence the cry of grief in the city." When Chandrasvámin heard that, he said to himself, "This must be my son," and reflecting thus, he went to the house of that minister as fast as he could. There he saw his son surrounded by all, and recognized him, and rejoiced, having in his hand the lotus that was an antidote to snake-poison. And he put that lotus to the nose of that Mahípála, and the moment he smelt it, he was free from the effects of poison. And Mahípála rose up, and was as one who had just awoke from sleep, [776] and all the people in the city, and the king rejoiced. And Chandrasvámin was honoured with wealth by Anantasvámin, the king, and the citizens, who said "This is some incarnation of the divinity." And he remained in the house of the minister in great comfort, honoured by him, and he saw his son Mahípála and his daughter Chandravatí. And the three, though they mutually recognized one another, said nothing, for the wise have regard to what is expedient, and do not discover themselves out of season.

Then the king Tárávarman, being highly pleased with the virtues of Mahípála, gave him his daughter Bandhumatí. Then that king, after giving him the half of the kingdom, being pleased with him, laid the whole burden of the kingdom upon him, as he had no other son. And Mahípála, after he had obtained the kingdom, acknowledged his father, and gave him a position next to his, and so lived in happiness.

One day his father Chandrasvámin said to him, "Come, let us go to our own country to bring your mother. For if she hears that you are the occupant of a throne, having been long afflicted, she might think, 'How comes it that my son has forgotten me,' and might curse you in her anger. But one who is cursed by his father and mother does not long enjoy prosperity. In proof of this hear this tale of what happened long ago to the merchant's son."

Story of Chakra. [777]

In the city of Dhavala there was a merchant's son, named Chakra. He went on a trading voyage to Svarnadvípa against the will of his parents. There he gained great wealth in five years, and in order to return embarked on the sea in a ship laden with jewels. And when his voyage was very nearly at an end, the sea rose up against him, troubled with a great wind, and with clouds and rain. And the huge billows broke his vessel, as if angry because he had come against the wish of his parents. Some of the passengers were whelmed in the waves, others were eaten by sea-monsters. But Chakra, as his allotted term of life had not run out, was carried to the shore and flung up there by the waves. While he was lying there in a state of exhaustion, he saw as if in a dream, a man of black and terrible appearance come to him, with a noose in his hand. Chakra was caught in the noose by that man, who took him up and dragged him a long distance to a court presided over by a man on a throne. By the order of the occupant of the throne, the merchant's son was carried off by that noose-bearer, and flung into a cell of iron.

In that cell Chakra saw a man being tortured by means of an iron wheel [778] on his head, that revolved incessantly. And Chakra asked him,--"Who are you, by what crime did you incur this, and how do you manage to continue alive?" And the man answered--"I am a merchant's son named Khadga, and because I did not obey the commands of my parents, they were angry and in wrath laid this curse upon me: [779] 'Because, wicked son, you torture us like a hot wheel placed on the head, therefore such shall be your punishment.' When they had said this they ceased, and as I wept, they said to me, 'Weep not, your punishment shall only last for one month.' When I heard that, I spent the day in grief, and at night when I was in bed, I saw, as if in a dream, a terrible man come. He took me off and thrust me by force into this iron cell, and he placed on my head this burning and ever-revolving wheel. This was my parents' curse, hence I do not die. And the month is at an end to-day; still I am not set free." When Khadga said that, Chakra in pity answered him--"I too did not obey my parents, for I went abroad to get wealth against their will, and they pronounced against me the curse that my wealth, when acquired, should perish. So I lost in the sea my whole wealth, that I had acquired in a foreign island. My case is the same as yours. So what is the use of my life? Place this wheel on my head. Let your curse, Khadga, depart." When Chakra said this, a voice was heard in the air "Khadga, thou art released, so place this wheel on the head of Chakra." When Khadga heard this, he placed the wheel on the head of Chakra, and was conveyed by some invisible being to his parents' house.

There he remained without disobeying again the orders of his parents: but Chakra put that wheel upon his head, and then spake thus--"May other sinners also on the earth be released from the result of their sins; until all sins are cancelled, may this wheel revolve on my head." When the resolute Chakra said this, the gods in heaven, being pleased, rained flowers and thus addressed him: "Bravo! Bravo! man of noble spirit, this compassion has cancelled thy sin, go; thou shalt possess inexhaustible wealth." When the gods said this, that iron wheel fell from the head of Chakra, and disappeared somewhere. Then a Vidyádhara youth descended from heaven, and gave him a valuable treasure of jewels, sent by Indra pleased with his self-abnegation, and taking Chakra in his arms, carried him to his city named Dhavala, and departed as he had come. Then Chakra delighted his relations by his arrival at the house of his parents, and, after telling his adventures, remained there without falling away from virtue.

When Chandrasvámin had told this story, he said again to Mahípála, "Such evil fruits does opposition to one's parents produce, my son, but devotion to them is a wishing-cow of plenty: in illustration of this hear the following tale."

Story of the hermit and the faithful wife.

There was in old time a hermit of great austerity, who roamed in the forest. And one day a hen-crow, as he was sitting under the shade of a tree, dropped dirt upon him, so he looked at the crow with angry eyes. And the crow, as soon as he looked at it, was reduced to ashes; and so the hermit conceived a vain-glorious confidence in the might of his austerities.

Once on a time, in a certain city, the hermit entered the house of a Bráhman, and asked his wife for alms. And that wife, who was devoted to her husband, answered him, "Wait a little, I am attending upon my husband." Then he looked at her with an angry look, and she laughed at him and said, "Remember, [780] I am not a crow." When the hermit heard that, he sat down in a state of astonishment, and remained wondering how she could possibly have come to know of the fate of the crow. Then, after she had attended upon her husband in the oblation to the fire and in other rites, the virtuous woman brought alms, and approached that hermit. Then the hermit joined his hands in the attitude of supplication, and said to that virtuous woman: "How did you come to know of my adventure with the crow in the forest; tell me first, and then I will receive your alms?" When the hermit said this, that wife, who adored her husband, said, "I know of no virtue other than devotion to my husband, accordingly by his favour I have such power of discernment. But go and visit a man here who lives by selling flesh, whose name is Dharmavyádha, from him thou shalt learn the secret of blessedness free from the consciousness of self." The hermit, thus addressed by the all-knowing faithful wife, took the portion of a guest, and after bowing before her, departed.

Story of Dharmavyádha the righteous seller of flesh. [781]

The next day he went in search of that Dharmavyádha, and approached him, as he was selling flesh in his shop. And as soon as Dharmavyádha saw the hermit, he said, "Have you been sent here, Bráhman, by that faithful wife?" When the hermit heard that, he said to Dharmavyádha in his astonishment,--"How come you to have such knowledge, being a seller of flesh?" When the hermit said this, Dharmavyádha answered him--"I am devoted to my father and mother, that is my only object in life. I bathe after I have provided them with the requisites for bathing, I eat after I have fed them, I lie down after I have seen them to bed; thus it comes to pass that I have such knowledge. And being engaged in the duties of my profession, I sell only for my subsistence the flesh of deer and other animals slain by others, not from desire of wealth. And I and that faithful wife do not indulge self-consciousness, the impediment of knowledge, so the knowledge of both of us is free from hindrance. Therefore do you, observing the vow of a hermit, perform your own duties, without giving way to self-consciousness, with a view to acquiring purity, in order that you may quickly attain the supreme brightness." When he had been thus instructed by Dharmavyádha, he went to his house and observed his practice, and afterwards he returned satisfied to the forest. And by his advice he became perfected, and the faithful wife and Dharmavyádha also attained perfection by such performance of their duties.

"Such is the power of those who are devoted to husband or father and mother. So come, visit that mother who longs for a sight of you." When thus addressed by his father Chandrasvámin, Mahípála promised to go to his native land to please his mother. And he disclosed that of his own accord to Anantasvámin his spiritual father, and when he took upon him the burden of his kingdom, the king set out with his natural father by night. And at last he reached his own country, and refreshed his mother Devamati with a sight of him, as the spring refreshes the female cuckoo. And Mahípála stayed there some time with his mother, being welcomed by his relations, together with his father who related their adventures.

In the meanwhile in Tárápura the princess, his wife Bandhumatí, who was sleeping within the house, woke up at the close of night. And discovering that her husband had gone somewhere, she was distressed at her lonely state, and could not find solace in the palace, the garden, or any other place. But she remained weeping, shedding tears that seemed to double her necklace, intent on lamentation only, desiring relief by death. But the minister Anantasvámin came and comforted her with hope-inspiring words, saying, "Before your husband went, he said to me, 'I am going away on some business and I will quickly return,' so do not weep, my daughter." Then she recovered self-control, though with difficulty. Then she remained continually honouring with gifts excellent Bráhmans, that came from a foreign country, in order to obtain news of her husband. And she asked a poor Bráhman, named Sangamadatta, who came for a gift, for tidings of her husband, having told him his name and the signs by which to recognize him. Then the Bráhman said, "I have never beheld a man of that kind; but, queen, you must not give way to excessive anxiety on this account. Doers of righteous actions eventually obtain reunion with loved ones, and in proof of that I will tell you a wonder which I saw, listen."

Story of the treacherous Pásupata ascetic.

As I was wandering round all the holy places, I came to the Mánasa lake on the Himálayas, and in it I saw, as in a mirror, [782] a house composed of jewels, and from that building there came out suddenly a man with a sword in his hand, and he ascended the bank of the lake, accompanied by a troop of celestial females. There he amused himself with the females in a garden in the recreation of drinking, and I was looking on from a distance unobserved, full of interest in the spectacle. In the meanwhile a man of prepossessing appearance came there from somewhere or other. And when he met me, I told him what I had seen. And with much interest I pointed out to him that man from a distance, and when he beheld him he told me his own story in the following words:

Story of the king Tribhuvana.

I am a king named Tribhuvana in the city of Tribhuvana. There a certain Pásupata ascetic for a long time paid me court. And being asked the reason by me, he at once asked me to be his ally in obtaining a sword concealed in a cavern, and I agreed to that. Then the Pásupata ascetic went with me at night, and having by means of a burnt-offering and other rites discovered an opening in the earth, the ascetic said to me, "Hero! enter thou first, and after thou hast obtained the sword, come out, and cause me also to enter; make a compact with me to do this." When he said this, I made that compact with him, and quickly entered the opening, and found a palace of jewels. And the chief of the Asura maidens who dwelt there came out from the palace, and out of love led me in, and there gave me a sword. She said, "Keep this sword which confers the power of flying in the air, and bestows all magical faculties." Then I remained there with her. But I remembered my compact, and going out with the sword in my hand, I introduced that ascetic into the palace of the Asuras by that opening. There I dwelt with the first Asura lady who was surrounded by her attendants, and he dwelt with the second. One day when I was stupefied with drinking, the ascetic treacherously took away from my side the sword, and grasped it in his own hand. When he had it in his grasp, he possessed great power, and with his hand he seized me and flung me out of the cavern. Then I searched for him for twelve years at the mouths of caverns, hoping that some time I might find him outside. And this very day the scoundrel has presented himself to my eyes, sporting with that very Asura lady who belongs to me.

While the king Tribhuvana was relating this to me, O queen, that ascetic, stupefied with drink, went to sleep. And while he was asleep, the king went and took the sword from his side, and by its operation he recovered celestial might. Then the hero woke up that ascetic with a kick, and reproached the unfortunate man, but did not kill him. And then he entered the palace with the Asura lady and her attendants, recovered again like his own magic power. But the ascetic was much grieved at having lost his magic power. For the ungrateful, though long successful, are sure to fail at last.

"Having seen this with my own eyes, I have now arrived here in the course of my wanderings; so be assured, queen, that you shall eventually be reunited to your beloved, like Tribhuvana, for the righteous does not sink." When Bandhumatí heard that from the Bráhman, she was highly delighted, and made him successful by giving him much wealth.

And the next day a distinguished Bráhman came there from a distant land, and Bandhumatí eagerly asked him for tidings of her husband, telling his name and the tokens by which he might be recognized. Then that Bráhman said to her: "Queen, I have not seen your husband anywhere, but I, who have to-day come to your house, am named not without reason, the Bráhman Sumanas, [783] so you will quickly have your wishes satisfied, thus my heart tells me. And reunions do take place, even of the long separated. In proof of thus I will tell you the following tale; listen, queen."

Story of Nala and Damayantí.

Of old time there lived a king named Nala, whose beauty, I fancy, so surpassed that of the god of Love, that in disgust he offered his body as a burnt-offering in the fire of the eye of the enraged Siva. He had no wife, and when he made enquiries, he heard that Damayantí, the daughter of Bhíma the king of Vidarbha, would make him a suitable wife. And Bhíma, searching through the world, found that there was no king except Nala fit to marry his daughter.

In the meanwhile Damayantí went down into a tank in her own city, to amuse herself in the water. There the girl saw a swan that had fed on blue and white lotuses, and by a trick she threw over it her robe and made it a prisoner in sport. But the celestial swan, when captured, said to her in accents that she could understand: "Princess, I will do you a good turn, let me go. There is a king of the name of Nala, whom even the nymphs of heaven bear on their hearts, like a necklace strung with threads of merit. [784] You are a wife fitted for him and he is a husband suited for you, so I will be an ambassador of Love to bring like to like." When she heard that, she thought that the celestial swan was a polished speaker, and so she let him go, saying--"So be it."--And she said, "I will not choose any husband but Nala," having her mind captivated by that prince, who had entered by the channel of her ear.

And the swan departed thence, and quickly repaired to a tank resorted to by Nala, when bent on sporting in the water. And Nala, seeing that the swan was beautiful, took it captive out of curiosity by throwing his robe over it in sport. Then the swan said--"Set me free, O king, for I have come to benefit you; listen, I will tell you. There is in Vidarbha one Damayantí, the daughter of king Bhíma, the Tilottamá of the earth, to be desired even by gods. And she has chosen you as her future husband, having fallen in love with you on account of my description of your virtues; and I have come here to tell you. Nala was at the same time pierced with the words of that excellent swan, that were brightened by the splendid object they had in view, [785] and with the sharp arrows of the god of the flowery shafts. And he said to that swan, "I am fortunate, best of birds, in that I have been selected by her, as if by the incarnate fulfilment of my wishes." When the swan had been thus addressed by him and let go, it went and related the whole occurrence to Damayantí, as it took place, and then went whither it would.

Now Damayantí was longing for Nala; so, by way of a device to obtain him, she sent her mother to ask her father to appoint for her the ceremony of the Svayamvara. And her father Bhíma consented, and sent messengers to all the kings on the earth, to invite them to the Svayamvara. And all the kings, when they had received the summons, set out for Vidarbha, and Nala went also eagerly, mounted on his chariot.

And in the meanwhile, Indra and the other Lokapálas heard from the hermit Nárada of the Svayamvara of Damayantí, and of her love for Nala. And of them Indra, the Wind, the god of Fire, Yama and Varuna, longing for Damayantí, deliberated together, and went to Nala, and they found Nala setting off on the journey, and when he prostrated himself before them, they said to him "Go, Nala, and tell Damayantí this from us--'Choose one of us five; what is the use of choosing Nala who is a mortal? Mortals are subject to death, but the gods are undying.' And by our favour, thou shalt enter where she is, unperceived by the others." Nala said "So be it," and consented to do the errand of the gods. And he entered the apartments of Damayantí without being seen, and delivered that command of the gods, exactly as it was given. But when the virtuous woman heard that, she said "Suppose the gods are such, nevertheless Nala shall be my husband, I have no need of gods." When Nala had heard her utter this noble sentiment, and had revealed himself, he went and told it, exactly as it was said, to Indra and the others; and they, pleased with him, gave him a boon, saying, "We are thy servants from this time forth, and will repair to thee as soon as thought of, truthful man."

Then Nala went delighted to Vidarbha, and Indra and the other gods assumed the form of Nala, with intent to deceive Damayantí. And they went to the court of Bhíma, assuming the attributes of mortals, and, when the Svayamvara began, they sat near Nala. Then Damayantí came, and leaving the kings who were being proclaimed one by one by her brother, gradually reached Nala. And when she saw six Nalas, all possessing shadows and the power of winking, [786] she thought in her perplexity, while her brother stood amazed, "Surely these five guardians of the world have produced this illusion to deceive me, but I think that Nala is the sixth here, and so I cannot go in any other direction." When the virtuous one had thus reflected, she stood facing the sun, with mind fixed on Nala alone, and spoke thus--"O guardians of the world, if even in sleep I have never fixed my heart on any but Nala, on account of that loyal conduct of mine shew me your real forms. And to a maiden any other men than her lover previously chosen are strangers, and she is to them the wife of another, so how comes this delusion upon you?" When the five, with Indra at their head, heard that, they assumed their own forms, and the sixth, the true Nala, preserved his true form. The princess in her delight cast upon the king her eye, beautiful as a blown blue lotus, and the garland of election. And a rain of flowers fell from heaven. Then king Bhíma performed the marriage ceremony of her and Nala. And the kings and the gods, Indra and the others, returned by the way that they came, after due honour had been done to them by the king of Vidarbha.

But Indra and his companions saw on the way Kali and Dvápara, [787] and knowing that they had come for Damayantí, they said to them, "It is of no use your going to Vidarbha; we come thence; and the Svayamvara has taken place; Damayantí has chosen king Nala. When the wicked Kali and Dvápara heard that, they exclaimed in wrath, "Since she has chosen that mortal in preference to gods like thyself, we will certainly separate that couple." After making this vow they turned round and departed thence. And Nala remained seven days in the house of his father-in-law, and then departed, a successful man, for Nishada, with his wife Damayantí. There their love was greater than that of Siva and Párvatí. Párvatí truly is half of Siva, but Damayantí was Nala's self. And in due time Damayantí brought forth to Nala a son named Indrasena, and after that a daughter named Indrasená.

And in the meanwhile Kali, who was resolved on effecting what he had promised, was seeking an occasion against Nala, who lived according to the Sástras. Then, one day, Nala lost his senses from drunkenness, and went to sleep without saying the evening prayer and without washing his feet. After Kali had obtained this opportunity, for which he had been watching day and night, he entered into the body of Nala. When Kali had entered his body, king Nala abandoned righteous practices and acted as he pleased. The king played dice, he loved female slaves, he spoke untruths, he slept in the day, he kept awake at night, he became angry without cause, he took wealth unjustly, he despised the good, and he honoured the bad.

Moreover Dvápara entered into his brother Pushkara, having obtained an opportunity, and made him depart from the true path. And one day Nala saw, in the house of his younger brother Pushkara, a fine white bull, named Dánta. And Pushkara would not give the bull to his elder brother, though he wanted it and asked for it, because his respect for him had been taken away by Dvápara. And he said to him, "If you desire this bull, then win it from me at once at play." When Nala heard that challenge, in his infatuation he accepted it, and then those two brothers began to play against each other. Pushkara staked the bull, Nala staked elephants and other things, and Pushkara continually won, Nala as continually lost. In two or three days Nala had lost his army and his treasure, but he still refused to desist from gambling, though entreated to desist, for he was distracted by Kali. Damayantí, thinking that the kingdom was lost, put her children in a splendid chariot, and sent them to the house of her father. In the mean-while Nala lost his whole kingdom; then the hypocritical Pushkara said, "Since you have lost everything else, now stake Damayantí on the game against that bull of mine."

This windy speech of Pushkara's, like a strong blast, made Nala blaze like fire; but he did not say anything unbecoming, nor did he stake his wife. Then Pushkara said to him, "If you will not stake your wife, then leave this country of mine with her." When Nala heard this, he left that country with Damayantí, and the king's officers saw him as far as the frontier. Alas! when Kali reduced Nala to such a state, say, what will be the lot of other mortals, who are like worms compared with him? Curse on this gambling, the livelihood of Kali and Dvápara, without law, without natural affection, such a cause of misfortunes even to royal sages.

So Nala, having been deprived of his sovereignty by his brother, started to go to another land with Damayantí, and as he was journeying along, he reached the centre of a forest, exhausted with hunger. There, as he was resting with his wife, whose soft feet were pierced with darbha grass, on the bank of a river, he saw two swans arrive. And he threw his upper garment over them, to capture them for food, and those two swans flew away with it. And Nala heard a voice from heaven,--"These are those two dice in the form of swans, they have descended and flown off with your garment also." Then the king sat down despondent, with only one garment on, and providently shewed to Damayantí the way to her father's house; saying, "This is the way to Vidarbha, my beloved, to your father's house, this is the way to the country of the Angas, and this is the way to Kosala." When Damayantí heard this, she was terrified, thinking to herself--"Why does my husband tell me the way, as if he meant to abandon me?" Then the couple fed on roots and fruits, and when night came on, lay down both of them, wearied, in the wood, on a bed of kusa grass. And Damayantí, worn out with the journey, gradually dropt off to sleep, but Nala, desiring to depart, kept awake, deluded by Kali. So he rose up with one garment, deserting that Damayantí, and departed thence, after cutting off half her upper garment and putting it on. But Damayantí woke up at the end of the night, and when she did not see in the forest her husband, who had deserted her and gone, she thought for some time, and then lamented as follows: "Alas, my husband, great of heart, merciful even to your enemy! You that used to love me so well, what has made you cruel to me? And how will you be able to go alone on foot through the forests, and who will attend on you to remove your weariness? How will the dust defile on the journey your feet, that used to be stained with the pollen of the flowers in the garlands worn on the heads of kings! How will your body, that could not endure to be anointed with the powder of yellow sandal-wood, endure the heat of the sun in the middle of the day? What do I care for my young son? What for my daughter? What for myself? May the gods, if I am chaste, procure good fortune for you alone!" Thus Damayantí lamented, in her loneliness, and then set out by the path, which her husband had shewn her beforehand. And with difficulty she crossed the woods, forests, rivers, and rocks, and never did she depart from her devotion to her husband in, any point. And the might of her chastity preserved her on the way, [788] so that the hunter, who, after delivering her from the serpent, fell in love with her for a moment, was reduced to ashes. Then she joined a caravan of merchants, which she met on the way, and with them she reached the city of a king named Subáhu. There the daughter of the king saw her from her palace, and pleased with her beauty, had her brought and gave her as a present to her mother. Then she remained in attendance on the queen, respected by her, and when questioned, she answered only--"My husband has abandoned me."

And in the meanwhile her father Bhíma, having heard the tidings of Nala's misfortune, sent trustworthy men in every direction, to make search for the royal couple. And one of them, his minister named Suvena, as he was wandering about disguised as a Bráhman, reached that palace of Subáhu. There he saw Damayantí, who always examined guests, and she saw with sorrow her father's minister. And having recognized one another, they wept together so violently, that Subáhu's queen heard it. And the queen had them summoned, and asked them the truth of the matter, and then she found out that the lady was Damayantí, the daughter of her sister. Then she informed her husband, and after shewing her honour, she sent her to the house of her father with Suvena and an army. There Damayantí remained, reunited with her two children, enquiring under her father's guidance for news of her husband. And her father sent out spies to look for her husband, who was distinguished by preternatural skill in cooking and driving. And king Bhíma commanded the spies to say; "Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?" [789] This he told them to utter wherever they suspected the presence of Nala.

And in the meanwhile king Nala travelled a long way at night in that forest, clothed with the half-garment, and at last he saw a jungle-fire. And he heard some one exclaim--"Great-hearted one, take me away from the neighbourhood of this fire, in order that I, being helpless, may not be burned up by it." [790] When Nala heard this, he looked round, and beheld a snake coiled up near the fire, having his head encircled with the rays of the jewels of his crest, [791] as if seized on the head by the jungle-fire, with terrible flaming weapons in its hand. He went up to it, and in compassion put it on his shoulder, and carried it a long distance, and when he wished to put it down, the snake said to him--"Carry me ten steps further, counting them as you go." Then Nala advanced, counting the steps, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven--listen, snake--eight, nine, ten, and when he said ten (dasa), [792] the snake took him at his word, and bit him in the front of the forehead, as he lay on his shoulder. That made the king small in the arms, deformed and black. Then the king took down the snake from his shoulder, and said to him--"Who art thou, and what kind of a return for my kindness is this which thou hast made?" When the snake heard this speech of Nala's, he answered him,--"King, know that I am a king of the snakes named Kárkotaka, and I gave you the bite for your good; that you will come to learn; when great ones wish to live concealed, a deformed appearance of body furthers their plans. Receive also from me this pair of garments, named the 'fire-bleached,' [793] you need only put them on and you will recover your true form." When Kárkotaka had said this, and had departed after giving those garments, Nala left that wood, and in course of time reached the city of Kosala.

And going by the name of Hrasvabáhu, he took service as a cook in the family of king Rituparna, the sovereign of Kosala. And he acquired renown by making dishes of exquisite flavour, and by his skill in chariot-driving. And while Nala was living there, under the name of Hrasvabáhu, it happened that once upon a time one of the spies of the king of Vidarbha came there. And the spy heard men there saying,--"In this place there is a new cook, of the name of Hrasvabáhu, equal to Nala in his own special art and also in the art of driving." The spy suspected that the cook was Nala himself, and hearing that he was in the judgment-hall of the king, he went there and repeated the following Áryá verse, taught him by his master, "Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?" The people present in the judgment-hall, when they heard that, thought that his words were those of a madman, but Nala, who stood there disguised as a cook, answered him, "What cruelty was there in the moon's becoming invisible to the lotus-cluster, when it reached and entered another region, after one part of the heaven [794] had become exhausted?"

When the spy heard this, he surmised that the supposed cook was really Nala transformed by misfortune, and he departed thence, and when he reached Vidarbha, he told king Bhíma and his queen and Damayantí all that he had heard and seen.

Then Damayantí, of her own accord, said to her father, "Without doubt that man is my husband disguised as a cook. So let this amusing artifice be employed to bring him here. Let a messenger be sent to king Rituparna, and the moment he arrives let him say to that king, 'Nala has gone off somewhere or other, no tidings are heard of him; accordingly to-morrow morning Damayantí will again make her Svayamvara; so come quickly to Vidarbha this very day;' and the moment the king hears his speech, he will certainly come here in one day, together with that husband of mine who is skilled in chariot-driving." Having thus debated with her father, Damayantí sent off that very moment a messenger to the city of Kosala with exactly this message. He went and told it, as it was given him to Rituparna, and the king thereupon, being excited, said affectionately to his attendant Nala, who was disguised as a cook: "Hrasvabáhu, you said--'I possess skill in chariot-driving.' So take me this very day to Vidarbha if you have sufficient endurance." When Nala heard that, he said, "Good! I will take you there," and thereupon he yoked swift horses, and made ready the splendid chariot. He said to himself; "Damayantí has spread this report of a Svayamvara in order to recover me, otherwise, I know, she would not have behaved in this way even in her dreams. So I will go there and see what happens." With such reflections he brought to Rituparna the chariot ready. And as soon as the king had mounted it, Nala proceeded to drive on that chariot with a speed exceeding even that of Garuda. Then Rituparna dropped his garment, and wished to stop the chariot in order to recover it, but Nala said to him,--"King, where is that garment of yours? Why the chariot has in this moment left it many yojanas behind." When Rituparna heard this, he said:--"Well, give me this skill in chariot-driving, and I will give you my skill in dice, so that the dice shall obey your command and you shall acquire skill in numbers. And now look; I will give you a proof of the truth of what I say. You see this tree in front of us; I will tell you the number of its leaves and fruits, and then do you count them for yourself and see." When he had said this, he told him the number of the leaves and fruits on that tree, and Nala counted them and found them exactly as many as he had said. Then Nala gave to Rituparna his skill in driving, and Rituparna gave to Nala his skill in dice and numbers.

And Nala tested that skill on another tree, and found the number of leaves and fruits to be exactly what he had guessed. And while he was rejoicing, a black man issued from his body, and he asked him who he was. Then he said, "I am Kali; when you were chosen by Damayantí, I entered your body out of jealousy, so you lost your fortune at play. And when Kárkotaka bit you in the forest, you were not consumed, but I was burnt, as you see, being in your body. For to whom is a treacherous injury done to another likely to be beneficial? So I depart, my friend, for I have opportunities against others." After saying this, Kali vanished from his sight, and Nala at once became well-disposed as before, and recovered his former splendour. And he returned and remounted the chariot; and in the course of the same day he drove king Rituparna into Vidarbha, so rapidly did he get over the ground, and there the king was ridiculed by the people, who asked the cause of his coming; and he put up near the palace.

And when he arrived, Damayantí knew of it, having heard the wonderful noise of the chariot, and she inly rejoiced, as she suspected that Nala had come too. And she sent her own maid to find out the truth, and she enquired into it, and came back and said to her mistress, who was longing for her beloved lord; "Queen, I have enquired into the matter; this king of Kosala heard a false report of your Svayamvara and has come here, and he has been driven here in one day by Hrasvabáhu his charioteer and cook, who is famous for his skill in managing chariots. And I went into the kitchen and saw that cook. And he is black and deformed, but possesses wonderful powers. It is miraculous that water gushed up in his pots and pans, without being put in, and wood burst into flames of its own accord, without having been lighted, [795] and various cates were produced in a moment. After I had seen this great miracle, I came back here." When Damayantí heard this from the maid, she reflected--"This cook, whom the fire and the water obey, and who knows the secret of chariot-driving, can be no other than my husband, and I suspect he has become changed and deformed on account of separation from me, but I will test him." When she had formed this resolve, she sent, by way of stratagem, her two children with that same maid, to shew them to him. And Nala, when he had seen his children and taken them on his knees after a long separation, wept silently with a flood of tears. And he said to the maid--"I have two children like these in the house of their maternal grandfather, I have been moved to sorrow by recollecting them." The maid returned with the children and told all to Damayantí, and then she conceived much hope.

And early the next day she gave her maid this order; "Go and tell that cook of Rituparna's from me; 'I hear that there is no cook like you in the world, so come and prepare curry for me to-day.'" When the maid communicated to Nala this politic request, he got leave from Rituparna and came to Damayantí. And she said, "Tell me the truth; are you the king Nala disguised as a cook? I am drowned in a sea of anxiety, and you must to-day bring me safe to shore." When Nala heard that, he was full of joy, love, grief and shame, and with downcast face, he spoke, in a voice faltering from tears, this speech suited to the occasion,--"I am in truth that wicked Nala, hard as adamant, who in his madness behaved like fire in afflicting you." When he said this, Damayantí asked him--"If it is so, how did you become deformed?" Then Nala told her the whole of his adventures, from his making friends with Kárkotaka to the departure of Kali from him. And immediately he put on the pair of garments called the "fire-bleached," given him by Kárkotaka, and recovered on the spot his own original shape.

When Damayantí saw that Nala had resumed his own charming form, the lotus of her face quickly expanded, and she quenched, as it were, with the waters of her eyes the forest-fire of her grief, and attained indescribable unequalled happiness. And Bhíma, the king of Vidarbha, quickly heard that intelligence from his joyful attendants, and coming there he welcomed Nala, who showed him becoming respect, and he made his city full of rejoicing. Then king Rituparna was welcomed with the observance of all outward courtesy and every hospitable rite [796] by king Bhíma, who in his heart could not help laughing, and after he had in return honoured Nala, he returned to Kosala. Then Nala lived there happily with his wife, describing to his father-in-law his outburst of wickedness due to the influence of Kali. And in a few days he returned to Nishada with the troops of his father-in-law, and he humbled his younger brother Pushkara, beating him by his knowledge of dice, but, righteous as he was, he gave him a share of the kingdom again, after Dvápara had left his body, and glad at having recovered Damayantí, he enjoyed his kingdom lawfully.

When the Bráhman Sumanas had told this story to the princess Bandhumatí in Tárápura, whose husband was away, he went on to say to her--"Even thus, queen, do great ones, after enduring separation, enjoy prosperity, and following the example of the sun, after suffering a decline, they rise again. So you also, blameless one, shall soon recover your husband returning from his absence; use patient self-control, banish grief, and console yourself with the approaching gratification of your wishes in the return of your husband." When the virtuous Bráhman had spoken these appropriate words, she honoured him with much wealth, and taking refuge in patience, she remained there awaiting her beloved. And in a few days her husband Mahípála returned, with his father, bringing that mother of his from a distant land. And when he returned, furnishing a feast to all eyes, he gladdened Bandhumatí, as the full moon gladdens the lovely water of the ocean. Then Mahípála, on whom her father had already devolved the burden of the kingdom, enjoyed as a king desired pleasures with her.

When prince Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard in the company of his wife, from the mouth of his minister Marubhúti, this matchless romantic story, pleasing on account of its picture of affection, he was exceedingly pleased.

Chapter LVII

We worship the elephantine proboseis of Ganesa, not to be resisted by his enemies, reddened with vermilion, a sword dispelling great arrogance. [1] May the third eye of Siva, which, when all three were equally wildly-rolling, blazed forth beyond the others, as he made ready his arrow upon the string, for the burning of Pura, protect you. May the row of nails of the Man-lion, [2] curved and red with blood, when he slew his enemy, and his fiery look askance, destroy your calamities.

Story of the porter who found a bracelet.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, remained in Kausámbí in happiness, with his wives, and his ministers. And one day, when he was present, a merchant living in the city, came to make a representation to his father, as he was sitting on his throne. That merchant, of the name of Ratnadatta, entered, announced by the warder, and bowing before the king, said as follows: "O king, there is a poor porter here, of the name of Vasundhara; and suddenly he is found of late to be eating, drinking, and bestowing alms. So, out of curiosity, I took him to my house, and gave him food and drink to his heart's content, and when I had made him drunk. I questioned him, and he gave me this answer, 'I obtained from the door of the king's palace a bracelet with splendid jewels, and I picked out one jewel and sold it. And I sold it for a lakh of dínárs to a merchant named Hiranyagupta; this is how I come to be living in comfort at present." When he had said this, he shewed me that bracelet, which was marked with the king's name, and therefore I have come to inform your majesty of the circumstance." When the king of Vatsa heard that, he had the porter and the merchant of precious jewels summoned with all courtesy, and when he saw the bracelet, he said of himself; "Ah! I remember, this bracelet slipped from my arm when I was going round the city." And the courtiers asked the porter, "Why did you, when you had got hold of a bracelet marked with the king's name, conceal it?" He replied, "I am one who gets his living by carrying burdens, and how am I to know the letters of the king's name? When I got hold of it, I appropriated it, being burnt up with the misery of poverty." When he said this, the jewel-merchant, being reproached for keeping the jewel, said--"I bought it in the market, without putting any pressure on the man, and there was no royal mark upon it, though now it is said that it belongs to the king. And he has taken five thousand of the price, the rest is with me." When Yaugandharáyana, who was present, heard this speech of Hiranyagupta's, he said--"No one is in fault in this matter. What can we say against the porter who does not know his letters? Poverty makes men steal, and who ever gave up what he had found? And the merchant who bought it from him cannot be blamed." The king when he heard this decision of his prime minister's, approved it. And he took back his jewel from the merchant, paying him the five thousand dínárs, which had been spent by the porter, and he set the porter at liberty, after taking back his bracelet, and he, having consumed his five thousand, went free from anxiety to his own house. And the king, though in the bottom of his heart he hated that merchant Ratnadatta, as being a man who ruined those that reposed confidence in him, honoured him for his service. When they had all departed, Vasantaka came before the king, and said, "Ah! when men are cursed by destiny, even the wealth they obtain departs, for the incident of the inexhaustible pitcher has happened to this porter."

Story of the inexhaustible pitcher. [3]

For you must know that there lived long ago, in the city of Pátaliputra, a man of the name of Subhadatta, and he every day carried in a load of wood from the forest, and sold it, and so maintained his household. Now one day he went to a distant forest, and, as it happened, he saw there four Yakshas with heavenly ornaments and dresses. The Yakshas, seeing he was terrified, kindly asked him of his circumstances, and finding out that he was poor, they conceived pity for him, and said--"Remain here as a servant in our house, we will support your family for you without trouble on your part." When Subhadatta heard that, he agreed, and remained with them, and he supplied them with requisites for bathing and performed other menial offices for them. When the time for eating came, those Yakshas said to him--"Give us food from this inexhaustible pitcher." But he hesitated, seeing that it was empty, and then the Yakshas again said to him, smiling--"Subhadatta, do you not understand? Put your hand in the pitcher, and you will obtain whatever you want, for this is a pitcher that supplies whatever is required." When he heard that, he put his hand in the pitcher, and immediately he beheld all the food and drink that could be required. And Subhadatta out of that store supplied them and ate himself.

Thus waiting on the Yakshas every day with devotion and awe, Subhadatta remained in their presence anxious about his family. But his sorrowing family was comforted by them in a dream, and this kindness on their part made him happy. At the termination of one month the Yakshas said to him, "We are pleased with this devotion of yours, we will grant you a boon, say what it shall be." When he heard that, he said to them, "Then give me this inexhaustible pitcher." Then the Yakshas said to him, "You will not be able to keep it, for, if broken, it departs at once, so choose some other boon." Though they warned him in these words, Subhadatta would not choose any other boon, so they gave him that inexhaustible pitcher. Then Subhadatta bowed before them delighted, and, taking that pitcher, quickly returned to his house, to the joy of his relations. Then he took out of that pitcher food and drink, and in order to conceal the secret, he placed them in other vessels, and consumed them with his relations. And as he gave up carrying burdens, and enjoyed all kinds of delights, his kinsmen one day said to him, when he was drunk; "How did you manage to acquire the means of all this enjoyment?" He was too much puffed up with pride to tell them plainly, but taking the wish-granting pitcher on his shoulder, he began to dance. [4] And as he was dancing, the inexhaustible pitcher slipped from his shoulder, as his feet tripped with over-abundance of intoxication, and falling on the ground, was broken in pieces. And immediately it was mended again, and reverted to its original possessors, but Subhadatta was reduced to his former condition, and filled with despondency.

"So you see that these unfortunate persons, whose intellects are destroyed with the vice of drinking, and other vices, and with infatuation, cannot keep wealth, even when they have obtained it." When the king of Vatsa had heard this amusing story of the inexhaustible pitcher, he rose up, and bathed, and set about the other duties of the day. And Naraváhanadatta also bathed, and took food with his father, and at the end of the day went with his friends to his own house. There he went to bed at night, but could not sleep, and Marubhúti said to him in the hearing of the ministers: "I know, it is love of a slave-girl that prevents your summoning your wives, and you have not summoned the slave-girl, so you cannot sleep. But why in spite of your better knowledge do you still fall in love with hetæræ? For they have no goodness of character; in proof that they have not, hear the following tale:"

Story of the merchant's son, the hetæra, and the wonderful ape Ála.

There is in this country a great and opulent city named Chitrakúta. In it there lived a merchant named Ratnavarman, a prince among the wealthy. He had one son born to him by propitiating Siva, and he gave that son the name of Ísvaravarman. After he had studied the sciences, his father the rich merchant, who had no other son but him, seeing that he was on the verge of manhood, said to himself: "Providence has created in this world that fair and frail type of woman, the hetæra, to steal the wealth and life of rich young men blinded with the intoxication of youth. So I will entrust my son to some kuttiní, in order that he may learn the tricks of the hetæræ and not be deceived by them." Having thus reflected, he went with his son Ísvaravarman to the house of a certain kuttiní, whose name was Yamajihvá. There he saw that kuttiní, with massive jaw, and long teeth, and snub nose, instructing her daughter in the following words--"Every one is valued on account of wealth, a hetæra especially; and hetæræ who fall in love do not obtain wealth, therefore a hetæra should abandon passion. For rosy red, love's proper hue, is the harbinger of eclipse to the hetæra as to the evening twilight; a properly trained hetæra should exhibit love without sincerity, like a well-trained actress. With that she should gain a man's affections, then she should extract from him all his wealth, when he is ruined, she should finally abandon him, but if he should recover his wealth, she should take him back into favour. A hetæra, like a hermit, is the same towards a young man, a child, an old man, a handsome man, and a deformed man, and so she always attains the principal object of existence." [5] While the kuttiní was delivering this lesson to her daughter, Ratnavarman approached her, and after she had welcomed him, he took a seat by her side. And he said to her--"Reverend mother, teach my son this skill of the hetæra, in order that he may become clever in it. And I will give you a thousand dínárs by way of recompense." When the kuttiní heard his desire, she consented, and he paid the dínárs, and made over his son Ísvaravarman to her, and then returned home.

Then Ísvaravarman, in the course of one year, learned in the house of Yamajihvá all the graceful accomplishments, and then returned to his father's house. And after he had attained sixteen years, he said to his father--"Wealth gives us religion and love, wealth gives us consideration and renown." When his father heard this, he exclaimed in approval, "It is even so," and being delighted, he gave him five crores by way of capital. The son took it, and set out on an auspicious day with a caravan, with the object of journeying to Svarnadvípa. And on the way he reached a town named Kánchanapura, and there he encamped in a garden, at a short distance outside the town. And after bathing and anointing himself, the young man entered the town, and went to a temple to see a spectacle. And there he saw a dancing-girl, of the name of Sundarí, dancing, like a wave of the sea of beauty [6] tossed up by the wind of youth. And the moment he saw her, he became so devoted to her, that the instructions of the kuttiní fled far from him, as if in anger. At the end of the dance, he sent a friend to solicit her, and she bowed and said--"I am highly favoured." And Ísvaravarman left vigilant guards in his camp, to watch over his treasure, and went himself to the house of that Sundarí. And when he came, her mother, named Makarakatí, honoured him with the various rites of hospitality which became the occasion. And at nightfall she introduced him into a chamber with a canopy of flashing jewels and a bed. There he passed the night with Sundarí, [7] whose name expressed her nature, and who was skilled in all movements of the dance. And the next day he could not bring himself to part from her, as she shewed great affection for him, and never left his side. And the young merchant gave her twenty-five lakhs of gold and jewels in those two days. But Sundarí, with a false affectation of disinterestedness, refused to take them, saying--"I have obtained much wealth, but I never found a man like you; since I have obtained you, what should I do with wealth?" But her mother Makarakatí, whose only child she was, said to her, "Henceforth, whatever wealth belongs to us, is as much his as his own property, so take it, my daughter, as a contribution to our common stock, what harm is there in that?" When Sundarí's mother said this to her, she took it with affected unwillingness, and the foolish Ísvaravarman thought she was really in love with him. While the merchant remained in her house, charmed by her beauty, her dancing, and singing, two months passed, and in course of time he bestowed upon her two crores.

Then his friend, named Arthadatta, of his own accord came to him and said--"Friend, has all that training of yours, though painfully acquired from the kuttiní, proved useless, now that the occasion has presented itself, as skill in the use of weapons does to a coward, in that you believe that there is sincerity in this love of a hetæra? Is water ever really found in desert-mirages? So let us go before all your wealth is consumed, for, if your father were to hear of it, he would be very angry." When his friend said this to him, the merchant's son said, "It is true that no reliance can be placed upon hetæræ as a rule, but Sundarí is not like the rest of her class, for, if she were to lose sight of me for a moment, my friend, she would die. So do you break it to her, if we must in any case go."

When he said this to Arthadatta, Arthadatta said to Sundarí, in the presence of Ísvaravarman and her mother Makarakatí, "You entertain extraordinary affection for Ísvaravarman, but he must certainly go on a trading expedition to Svarnadvípa immediately. There he will obtain so much wealth, that he will come and live with you in happiness all his life, consent to it, my friend." When Sundarí heard this, she gazed on the face of Ísvaravarman with tears in her eyes and assumed despondency, and said to Arthadatta, "What am I to say? you gentlemen know best. Who can rely on any one before seeing the end? Never mind! Let fate deal with me as it will!" When she said this, her mother said to her, "Do not be grieved, control yourself; your lover will certainly return when he has made his fortune; he will not abandon you." In these words her mother consoled her, but made an agreement with her, and had a net secretly prepared in a well, that lay in the road they must take. And then Ísvaravarman's mind was in a state of tremulous agitation about parting, and Sundarí, as if out of grief, took but little food and drink. And she shewed no inclination for singing, music, or dancing, but she was consoled by Ísvaravarman with various affectionate attentions.

Then, on the day named by his friend, Ísvaravarman set out from the house of Sundarí, after the kuttiní had offered a prayer for his success. And Sundarí followed him weeping, with her mother, outside the city, as far as the well in which the net had been stretched. There he made Sundarí turn back, and he was proceeding on his journey, when she flung herself into the well on the top of the net. Then a loud cry was heard from her mother, from the female slaves, and all the attendants, "Ah! my daughter! Ah! mistress!" That made the merchant's son and his friend turn round, and when he heard that his beloved had thrown herself into a well, he was for a moment stupefied with grief. And Makarakatí, lamenting with loud cries, made her servants, who were attached to her, and in the secret, go down into the well. They let themselves down by means of ropes, and exclaiming, "Thank heaven, she is alive, she is alive," they brought up Sundarí from the well. When she was brought up, she assumed the appearance of one nearly dead, and after she had mentioned the name of the merchant's son, who had returned, she slowly began to cry. But he, being comforted, took her to her house in great delight, accompanied by his attendants, returning there himself. And having made up his mind that the love of Sundarí was to be relied on, and considering that, by obtaining her, he had obtained the real end of his birth, he once more gave up the idea of continuing his journey. And when he had taken up his abode there, determined to remain, his friend said to him once more, "My friend, why have you ruined yourself by infatuation? Do not rely on the love of Sundarí simply because she flung herself into a well, for the treacherous schemes of a kuttiní are not to be fathomed even by Providence. And what what will you say to your father, when you have spent all your property, or where will you go? So leave this place even at this eleventh hour, if your mind is sound." When the merchant's son heard this speech of his friend's, he paid no attention to it, and in another month he spent those other three crores. Then he was stripped of his all; and the kuttiní Makarakatí had him seized by the back of the neck and turned out of Sundarí's house.

But Arthadatta and the others quickly returned to their own city, and told the whole story, as it happened, to his father. His father Ratnavarman, that prince of merchants, was much grieved when he heard it, and in great distress went to the kuttiní Yamajihvá, and said to her, "Though you received a large salary, you taught my son so badly, that Makarakatí has with ease stripped him of all his wealth." When he had said this, he told her all the story of his son. Then the old kuttiní Yamajihvá said: "Have your son brought back here; I will enable him to strip Makarakatí of all her wealth." When the kuttiní Yamajihvá made this promise, Ratnavarman quickly sent off that moment his son's well-meaning friend Arthadatta with a message, to bring him, and to take at the same time means for his subsistence.

So Arthadatta went back to that city of Kánchanapura, and told the whole message to Ísvaravarman. And he went on to say to him--"Friend, you would not do what I advised you, so you have now had personal experience of the untrustworthy dispositions of hetæræ. After you had given that five crores, you were ejected neck and crop. What wise man looks for love in hetæræ or for oil in sand? Or why do you put out of sight this unalterable nature of things? [8] A man is wise, self-restrained, and possesses happiness, only so long as he does not fall within the range of woman's cajoleries. So return to your father and appease his wrath." With these words Arthadatta quickly induced him to return, and encouraging him, led him into the presence of his father. And his father, out of love for his only son, spoke kindly to him, and again took him to the house of Yamajihvá. And when she questioned him, he told his whole story by the mouth of Arthadatta, down to the circumstance of Sundarí's flinging herself into the well, and how he lost his wealth. Then Yamajihvá said--"I indeed am to blame, because I forgot to teach him this trick. For Makarakatí stretched a net in the well, and Sundarí flung herself upon that, so she was not killed. Still there is a remedy in this case." Having said this, the kuttiní made her female slaves bring her monkey named Ála. And in their presence she gave the monkey her thousand dínárs, and said--"Swallow these," and the monkey, being trained to swallow money, did so. Then she said, "Now, my son give twenty to him, twenty-five to him, and sixty to him, and a hundred to him." And the monkey, as often as Yamajihvá told him to pay a sum, brought up the exact number of dínárs, and gave them as commanded. [9] And after Yamajihvá had shewn this device of Ála, she said to Ísvaravarman, "Now take with you this young monkey. And repair again to the house of Sundarí, and keep asking him day by day for sums of money, which you have secretly made him swallow. And Sundarí, when she sees Ála, resembling in his powers the wishing-stone, will beg for him, and will give you all she has so as to obtain possession of the ape, and clasp him to her bosom. And after you have got her wealth, make him swallow enough money for two days, and give him to her, and then depart to a distance without delay."

After Yamajihvá had said this, she gave that ape to Ísvaravarman, and his father gave him two crores by way of capital. And with the ape and the money he went once more to Kánchanapura, and despatching a messenger on in front, he entered the house of Sundarí. Sundarí welcomed him as if he were an incarnation of perseverance, which includes in itself all means for attaining an end, and his friend with him, embracing him round the neck, and making other demonstrations. Then Ísvaravarman, having gained her confidence, said to Arthadatta in her presence in the house: "Go, and bring Ála." He said, "I will," and went and brought the monkey. And as the monkey had before swallowed a thousand dínárs, he said to him, "Ála, my son, give us to-day three hundred dínárs for our eating and drinking, and a hundred for betel and other expenses, and give one hundred to our mother Makarakatí, and a hundred to the Bráhmans, and give the rest of the thousand to Sundarí." When Ísvaravarman said this, the monkey brought up the dínárs he had before swallowed, to the amounts ordered, and gave them for the various objects required.

So by this artifice Ála was made to supply every day the necessary expenses, for the period of a fortnight, and in the meanwhile Makarakatí [10] and Sundarí began to think; "Why this is a very wishing-stone which he has got hold of in the form of an ape, which gives every day a hundred dínárs; if he would only give it us, all our desires would be accomplished." Having thus debated in private with her mother, Sundarí said to that Ísvaravarman, when he was sitting at his ease after dinner,--"If you really are well pleased with me, give me Ála." But when Ísvaravarman heard that, he answered laughingly, "He is my father's all in the world, and it is not proper to give him away." When he said this, Sundarí said to him again, "Give him me and I will give you five crores." Thereupon Ísvaravarman said with an air of decision, "If you were to give me all your property, or indeed this city, it would not do to give him you, much less for your crores." When Sundarí heard this, she said, "I will give you all I possess; but give me this ape, otherwise my mother will be angry with me." And thereupon she clung to Ísvaravarman's feet. Then Arthadatta and the others said, "Give it her, happen what will." Then Ísvaravarman promised to give it her, and he spent the day with the delighted Sundarí. And the next day he gave to Sundarí, at her earnest entreaties, that ape, which had in secret been made to swallow two thousand dínárs, and he immediately took by way of payment all the wealth in her house, and went off quickly to Svarnadvípa to trade.

And to Sundarí's delight, the monkey Ála, when asked, gave her regularly a thousand dínárs for two days. But on the third day he did not give her anything, though coaxed to do it, then Sundarí struck the ape with her fist. And the monkey, being beaten, sprang up in a rage, and bit and scratched the faces of Sundarí and her mother, who were thrashing him. Then the mother, whose face was streaming with blood, flew in a passion and beat the ape with sticks, till he died on the spot. When Sundarí saw that he was dead, and reflected that all her wealth was gone, she was ready to commit suicide for grief, and so was her mother. And when the people of the town heard the story, they laughed and said, "Because Makarakatí took away this man's wealth by means of a net, he in his turn has stripped her of all her property, like a clever fellow that he is, by means of a pet; she was sharp enough to net him, but did not detect the net laid for herself. Then Sundarí, with her scratched face and vanished wealth, was with difficulty restrained by her relations from destroying herself, and so was her mother. And Ísvaravarman soon returned from Svarnadvípa to the house of his father in Chitrakúta. And when his father saw him returned, having acquired enormous wealth, he rewarded the kuttiní Yamajihvá with treasure, and made a great feast. And Ísvaravarman, seeing the matchless deceitfulness of hetæræ, became disgusted with their society, and taking a wife remained in his own house. [11]

"So you see, king, that there never dwells in the minds of hetæræ even an atom of truth, unalloyed with treachery, so a man who desires prosperity should not take pleasure in them, as their society is only to be gained by the wealthy, any more than in uninhabited woods to be crossed only with a caravan. [12]"

"When Naraváhanadatta heard, from the mouth of Marubhúti, the above story, word for word, of Ála and the net, he and Gomukha approved it, and laughed heartily.

Chapter LVIII

When Marubhúti had thus illustrated the untrustworthy character of hetæræ, the wise Gomukha told this tale of Kumudiká, the lesson of which was the same.

Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra, and the young Bráhman.

There was in Pratishthána a king named Vikramasinha, who was made by Providence a lion in courage, so that his name expressed his nature. He had a queen of lofty lineage, beautiful and beloved, whose lovely form was her only ornament, and she was called Sasilekhá. Once on a time, when he was in his city, five or six of his relations combined together, and going to his palace, surrounded him. Their names were Mahábhata, Vírabáhu, Subáhu, Subhata and Pratápáditya, all powerful kings. The king's minister was proceeding to try the effect of conciliation on them, but the king set him aside, and went out to fight with them. And when the two armies had begun to exchange showers of arrows, the king himself entered the fray, mounted on an elephant, confiding in his might. And when the five kings, Mahábhata and the others, saw him, seconded only by his bow, dispersing the army of his enemies, they all attacked him together. And as the numerous force of the five kings made an united charge, the force of Vikramasinha, being inferior in number, was broken. Then his minister Anantaguna, who was at his side, said, "Our force is routed for the present, there is no chance of victory to-day, and you would engage in this conflict with an overwhelming force in spite of my advice, so now at the last moment do what I recommend you, in order that the affair may turn out prosperously; come now, descend from your elephant, and mount a horse, and let us go to another country; if you live, you will conquer your enemies on some future occasion." When the minister said this, the king readily got down from his elephant, and mounted on a horse, and left his army in company with him. And in course of time, the king, in disguise, reached with his minister the city of Ujjayiní. There he entered with his minister the house of a hetæra, named Kumudiká, renowned for her wealth; and she, seeing him suddenly entering the house, thought, "This is a distinguished hero that has come to my house: and his majesty and the marks on his body shew him to be a great king, so my desire is sure to be attained if I can make him my instrument." Having thus reflected, Kumudiká rose up and welcomed him, and entertained him hospitably, and immediately she said to the king, who was wearied,--"I am fortunate, to-day the good deeds of my former life have borne fruit, in that Your Majesty has hallowed my house by coming to it in person. So by this favour Your Majesty has made me your slave. The hundred elephants, and two myriads of horses, and house full of jewels, which belong to me, are entirely at your majesty's disposal." Having said this, she provided the king and his minister with baths and other luxuries, all in magnificent style.

Then the wearied king lived in her palace, at his ease, with her, who put her wealth at his disposal. He consumed her substance and gave it away to petitioners, and she did not show any anger against him on that account, but was rather pleased at it. Thereupon the king was delighted, thinking that she was really attached to him, but his minister Anantaguna, who was with him, said to him in secret: "Your majesty, hetæræ are not to be depended upon, though, I must confess, I cannot guess the reason why Kumudiká shews you love." When the king heard this speech of his, he answered him: "Do not speak thus; Kumudiká would even lay down her life for my sake. If you do not believe it, I will give you a convincing proof." After the king had said this to his minister, he adopted this artifice; he took little to eat and little to drink, and so gradually attenuated his body, and at last he made himself as dead, without movement, prostrate on the ground. Then his attendants put him on a bier, and carried him to the burning-ghat with lamentations, while Anantaguna affected a grief which he did not feel. And Kumudiká, out of grief, came and ascended the funeral pyre with him, though her relations tried to prevent her. But before the fire was lighted, the king, perceiving that Kumudiká had followed him, rose up with a yawn. And all his attendants took him home with Kumudiká to his lodging, exclaiming, "Fortunate is it that our king has been restored to life."

Then a feast was made, and the king recovered his normal condition, and said in private to his minister,--"Did you observe the devotion of Kumudiká?" Then the minister said,--"I do not believe even now. You may be sure that there is some reason for her conduct, so we must wait to get to the bottom of the matter. But let us reveal to her who we are, in order that we may obtain a force granted by her, and another force supplied by your ally, and so smite our enemies in battle." While he was saying this, the spy, that had been secretly sent out, returned, and when questioned, answered as follows; "Your enemies have overrun the country, and queen Sasilekhá, having heard from the people a false report of your majesty's death, has entered the fire." When the king heard this, he was smitten by the thunderbolt of grief, and lamented--"Alas! my queen! Alas, chaste lady!"

Then Kumudiká at last came to know the truth, and after consoling the king Vikramasinha, she said to him; "Why did not the king give me the order long ago? Now punish your enemies with my wealth and my forces." When she said this, the king augmented the force by means of her wealth, and repaired to a powerful king who was an ally of his. And he marched with his forces and those forces of his own, and after killing those five enemies in battle, he got possession of their kingdoms into the bargain. Then he was delighted, and said to Kumudiká who accompanied him; "I am pleased with you, so tell me what I can do to gratify you." Then Kumudiká said--"If you are really pleased, my lord, then extract from my heart this one thorn that has long remained there. I have an affection for a Bráhman's son, of the name of Srídhara, in Ujjayiní, whom the king has thrown into prison for a very small fault, so deliver him out of the king's hand. Because I saw by your royal marks, that your majesty was a glorious hero, and destined to be successful, and able to effect this object of mine, I waited on you with devoted attentions. Moreover, I ascended that pyre out of despair of attaining my object, considering that life was useless without that Bráhman's son. When the hetæra said this, the king answered her; "I will accomplish it for you, fair one, do not despair." After saying this, he called to mind his minister's speech, and thought--"Anantaguna was right, when he said that hetæræ were not to be depended upon. But I must gratify the wish of this miserable creature." Thus resolved, he went with his troops to Ujjayiní, and after getting Srídhara set at liberty, and giving him much wealth, he made Kumudiká happy by uniting her with her beloved there. And after returning to his city, he never disobeyed the advice of his minister, and so in time he came to enjoy the whole earth.

"So you see, the hearts of hetæræ are fathomless and hard to understand."

Then Gomukha stopped, after he had told this story. But then Tapantaka said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta--"Prince, you must never repose any confidence at all in women, for they are all light, even those that, being married or unmarried, dwell in their father's house, as well as those that are hetæræ by profession. I will tell you a wonder which happened in this very place, hear it.

Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her husband's body.

There was a merchant in this very city named Balavarman, and he had a wife named Chandrasrí, and she beheld from a window a handsome merchant's son, of the name of Sílahara, and she sent her female friend to invite him to her house, and there she used to have assignations with him in secret. And while she was in the habit of meeting him there every day, her attachment to him was discovered by all her friends and relations. But her husband Balavarman was the only one who did not discover that she was unchaste; very often men blinded by affection do not discover the wickedness of their wives.

Then a burning fever seized Balavarman, and the merchant consequently was soon reduced to a very low state. But, though he was in this state, his wife went every day to her friend's house, to meet her paramour. And the next day, while she was there, her husband died. And on hearing of it she returned, quickly taking leave of her lover. And out of grief for her husband, she ascended the pyre with his body, being firmly resolved, though her attendants, who knew her character, tried to dissuade her. [13]

"Thus is the way of a woman's heart truly hard to understand. They fall in love with strange men, and die when separated from their husbands." When Tapantaka said this, Harisikha said in his turn, "Have you not heard what happened in this way to Devadása?"

Story of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered.

Of old time there lived in a village a householder, named Devadása, and he had a wife named with good cause Duhsílá. [14] And the neighbours knew that she was in love with another man. Now, once on a time, Devadása went to the king's court on some business. And his wife, who wished to have him murdered, took advantage of the occasion to bring her paramour, whom she concealed on the roof of the house. And in the dead of night she had her husband Devadása killed by that paramour, when he was asleep. And she dismissed her paramour, and remained quiet until the morning, when she went out, and exclaimed, "My husband has been killed by robbers." Then his relations came there, and after they had seen his body, they said, "If he was killed by thieves, why did they not carry off anything?" After they had said this, they asked her young son, who was there, "Who killed your father?" Then he said plainly; "A man had gone up on the roof here in the day, he came down in the night, and killed my father before my eyes; but first my mother took me and rose up from my father's side." When the boy said this, the dead man's relations knew that Devadása had been killed by his wife's paramour, and they searched him out, and put him to death then and there, and they adopted that boy and banished Duhsílá.

"So you see, a woman, whose heart is fixed on another man, infallibly kills like the snake." When Harisikha said this, Gomukha said again--"Why should we tell any out-of-the-way story? Listen to the ridiculous fate that befell Vajrasára here, the servant of the king of Vatsa."

Story of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears.

He, being brave and handsome, had a beautiful wife that came from Málava, whom he loved more than his own body. Once on a time his wife's father, longing to see her, came in person, accompanied by his son, from Málava, to invite him and her. Then Vajrasára entertained him, and informed the king, and went, as he had been invited to do, to Málava with his wife and his father-in-law. And after he had rested a month only in his father-in-law's house, he came back here to attend upon the king, but that wife of his remained there. Then, after some days had passed, suddenly a friend of the name of Krodhana came to him, and said:--"Why have you ruined your family by leaving your wife in her father's house? For the abandoned woman has there formed a connexion with another man. This was told me to-day by a trustworthy person who came from that place. Do not suppose that it is untrue; punish her, and marry another." When Krodhana had said this, he went away, and Vajrasára stood bewildered for a moment, and then reflected--"I suspect this may be true; otherwise, why did she not come back, though I sent a man to summon her? So I will go myself to bring her, and see what the state of the case is."

Having formed this resolution, he went to Málava, and after taking leave of his father-in-law and his mother-in-law, he set out with his wife. And after he had gone a long distance, he eluded his followers by a trick, and going by the wrong path, entered with his wife a dense wood. He sat down in the middle of it, and said to her, out of hearing of any one: "I have heard from a trustworthy friend, that you are in love with another, and when I, remaining at home, sent for you, you did not come; so tell me the truth; if you do not, I will punish you." When she heard this, she said: "If this is your intention, why do you ask me? Do what you like." When Vajrasára heard this contemptuous speech of hers, he was angry and tied her up, and began to beat her with creepers. But while he was stripping off her clothes, he felt his passion renewed, and asked her to forgive him, whereupon she said; "I will, if I may tie you up and beat you with creepers, in the same way as you tied me up and beat me, but not otherwise." Vajrasára, whose heart was made like stubble by love, consented, for he was blinded by passion. Then she bound him firmly, hand and foot, to a tree, and, when he was bound, she cut off his ears and nose with his own sword, and the wicked woman took his sword and clothes, and disguising herself as a man, departed whither she would.

But Vajrasára, with his nose and ears cut off, remained there, depressed by great loss of blood, and loss of self-respect. Then a certain benevolent physician, who was wandering through the wood in search of healing herbs, saw him, and out of compassion unbound him, and brought him home to his house. And Vajrasára, having been brought round by him, slowly returned to his own house, but he did not find that wicked wife, though he sought for her. And he described the whole occurrence to Krodhana, and he related it in the presence of the king of Vatsa; and all the people in the king's court mocked him, saying, that his wife had justly taken away his man's dress and suitably punished him, because he had lost all manly spirit and faculty of just resentment, and so become a woman. But in spite of their ridicule he remains there with heart of adamant, proof against shame. So what confidence, your Royal Highness, can be placed in women?

When Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti went on to say, "The mind of woman is unstable, hear a tale in illustration of this truth."

Story of king Sinhabala and his fickle wife.

Formerly there dwelt in the Deccan a king, of the name of Sinhabala. And his wife named Kalyánavatí, the daughter of a prince of Málava, was dear to him above all the women of his harem. And the king ruled the realm with her as consort, but once on a time he was expelled from his kingdom by his powerful relations, who banded together against him. And then the king, accompanied by the queen, with his weapons and but few attendants, set out for the house of his father-in-law in Málava.

And as he was going along through a forest, which lay in his road, a lion charged him, and the hero easily cut it in two with a stroke of his sword. And when a wild elephant came at him trumpeting, he circled round it and cut off with his sword its trunk and feet, and stripped it of its jewel, and killed it. And alone he dispersed the hosts of bandits like lotuses, and trampled them, as the elephant, lord of the forest, tramples the beds of white water-lilies. Thus he accomplished the journey, and his wonderful courage was seen, and so he reached Málava, and then this sea of valour said to his wife: "You must not tell in your father's house this that happened to me on the journey, it will bring shame to me, my queen, for what is there laudable in courage displayed by a man of the military caste?" After he had given her this injunction, he entered his father-in-law's house with her, and when eagerly questioned by him, told his story. His father-in-law honoured him, and gave him elephants and horses, and then he repaired to a very powerful king named Gajáníka. But being intent on conquering his enemies, he left his wife Kalyánavatí there in her father's house.

Some days after he had gone, his wife, while standing at the window, saw a certain man. The moment she saw him, he captivated her heart by his good looks; and being drawn on by love, she immediately thought, "I know, no one is more handsome or more brave than my husband, but alas! my mind is attracted towards this man. So let what must be, be. I will have an interview with him." So she determined in her own mind, and told her desire to a female attendant, who was her confidante. And she made her bring him at night, and introduce him into the women's apartments by the window, pulling him up with a rope. When the man was introduced, he had not courage to sit boldly on the sofa on which she was, but sat apart on a chair. The queen, when she saw that, was despondent, thinking he was a mean man, and at that very moment a snake, which was roaming about, came down from the roof. When the man saw the snake, he sprang up quickly in fear, and taking his bow, he killed the snake with an arrow. And when it fell dead, he threw it out of the window, and in his delight at having escaped that danger, the coward danced for joy. When Kalyánavatí saw him dancing, she was cast down, and thought to herself over and over again: "Alas! alas! What have I to do with this mean-spirited coward?" And her friend, who was a discerning person, saw that she was disgusted, and so she went out, and quickly returned with assumed trepidation, and said, "Queen, your father has come, so let this young man quickly return to his own house by the way by which he came." When she said this, he went out of the window by means of the rope, and being overpowered by fear, he fell, but as luck would have it, he was not killed.

When he had gone, Kalyánavatí said to her confidante,--"My friend, you have acted rightly in turning out this low fellow. [15] You penetrated my feelings, for my heart is vexed. My husband, after slaying tigers and lions, conceals it through modesty, and this cowardly man, after killing a snake, dances for joy. So why should I desert such a husband and fall in love with a common fellow? Curse on my unstable mind, or rather curse on women, who are like flies that leave camphor and haste to impurity!" The queen spent the night in these self-reproaches, and afterwards remained waiting in her father's house for the return of her husband. In the meanwhile Sinhabala, having been supplied with another army by king Gajáníka, slew those five wicked relations. Then he recovered his kingdom, and at the same time brought back his wife from her father's house, and after loading his father-in-law with abundance of wealth, he ruled the earth for a long time without opposition.

"So you see, king, that the mind of even discerning women is fickle, and, though they have brave and handsome husbands, wanders hither and thither, but women of pure character are scarce."

When Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard this story related by Marubhúti, he sank off into a sound sleep and so passed the night.

Chapter LIX

Early the next day, Naraváhanadatta, after he had performed his necessary duties, went to his garden by way of amusement. And while he was there, he saw first a blaze of splendour descend from heaven, and after it a company of many Vidyádhara females. And in the middle of those glittering ones, he saw a maiden charming to the eye like a digit of the moon in the middle of the stars, with face like an opening lotus, with rolling eyes like circling bees, with the swimming gait of a swan, diffusing the perfume of a blue lotus, with dimples charming like waves, with waist adorned with a string of pearls, like the presiding goddess of the lovely lake in Cupid's garden, appearing in bodily form. And the prince, when he saw that charming enamoured creature, a medicine potent to revive the god of love, was disturbed like the sea, when it beholds the orb of the moon. And he approached her, saying to his ministers--"Ah! extraordinary is the variety in producing fair ones that is characteristic of Providence!" And when she looked at him with a sidelong look tender with passion, he asked her--"Who are you, auspicious one, and why have you come here?" When the maiden heard that, she said, "Listen, I will tell you."

"There is a town of gold on the Himálayas, named Kánchanasringa. In it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas, named Sphatikayasas, who is just, and kind to the wretched, the unprotected, and those who seek his aid. Know that I am his daughter, born to him by the queen Hemaprabhá, in consequence of a boon granted by Gaurí. And I, being the youngest child, and having five brothers, and being dear to my father as his life, kept by his advice propitiating Gaurí with vows and hymns. She, being pleased, bestowed on me all the magic sciences, and deigned to address me thus--'Thy might in science shall be tenfold that of thy father, and thy husband shall be Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas. After the consort of Siva had said this, she disappeared, and by her favour I obtained the sciences and gradually grew up. And last night the goddess appeared to me and commanded me--'To-morrow, my daughter, thou must go and visit thy husband, and thou must return here the same day, for in a month thy father, who has long entertained this intention, will give thee in marriage.' The goddess, after giving me this command, disappeared, and the night came to an end; so here I am come, your Highness, to pay you a visit. So now I will depart." Having said this, Saktiyasas flew up into the heaven with her attendants, and returned to her father's city.

But Naraváhanadatta, being eager to marry her, went in disappointed, considering the month as long as a yuga. And Gomukha, seeing that he was despondent, said to him, "Listen, prince, I will tell you a delightful story."

Story of king Sumanas, the Nisháda maiden and the learned parrot. [16]

In old time there was a city named Kánchanapurí, and in it there lived a great king named Sumanas. He was of extraordinary splendour, and crossing difficult and inaccessible regions, he conquered the fortresses and fastnesses of his foes. Once, as he was sitting in the hall of assembly, the warder said to him--"King, the daughter of the king of the Nishádas, named Muktálatá, is standing outside the door with a parrot in a cage, accompanied by her brother Víraprabha, and wishes to see your Majesty." The king said "Let her enter," and, introduced by the warder, the Bhilla maiden entered the enclosure of the king's hall of assembly. And all there, when they saw her beauty, thought--"This is not a mortal maiden, surely this is some heavenly nymph." And she bowed before the king and spoke as follows--"King, here is a parrot that knows the four Vedas, called Sástraganja, a poet skilled in all the sciences and in the graceful arts, and I have brought him here to-day by the order of king Maya, so receive him." With these words she handed over the parrot, and it was brought by the warder near the king, as he had a curiosity to see it, and it recited the following sloka:

"King, this is natural, that the black-faced smoke of thy valour should be continually increased by the windy sighs of the widows of thy enemies, but this is strange, that the strong flame of thy valour blazes in the ten cardinal points all the more fiercely on account of the overflowing of the copious tears wrung from them by the humiliation of defeat."

When the parrot had recited this sloka, it began to reflect, and said again, "What do you wish to know? tell me from what sástra I shall recite."

Then the king was much astonished, but his minister said--"I suspect, my lord, this is some rishi of ancient days become a parrot on account of a curse, but owing to his piety he remembers his former birth, and so recollects what he formerly read." When the ministers said this to the king, the king said to the parrot--"I feel curiosity, my good parrot, tell me your story, where is your place of birth? How comes it that in your parrot condition you know the sástras? Who are you?" Then the parrot shed tears and slowly spoke: "The story is sad to tell, O king, but listen, I will tell it in obedience to thy command."

The parrot's account of his own life as a parrot.

Near the Himálayas, O king, there is a rohiní tree, which resembles the Vedas, in that many birds take refuge in its branches that extend through the heaven, as Bráhmans in the various branches of the sacred tradition. [17] There a cock-parrot used to dwell with his hen, and to that pair I was born, by the influence of my evil works in a former life. And as soon as I was born, the hen-parrot, my mother, died, but my old father put me under his wing, and fostered me tenderly. And he continued to live there, eating what remained over from the fruits brought by the other parrots, and giving some to me.

Once on a time, there came there to hunt a terrible army of Bhillas, making a noise with cows' horns strongly blown; and the whole of that great wood was like an army fleeing in rout, with terrified antelopes for dust-stained banners, and the bushy tails of the chamarí deer, agitated in fear, resembling chowries, as the host of Pulindas rushed upon it to slay various living creatures. And after the army of Savaras had spent the day in the hunting-grounds, in the sport of death, they returned with the loads of flesh which they had obtained. But a certain aged Savara, who had not obtained any flesh, saw the tree in the evening, and being hungry, approached it, and he quickly climbed up it, and kept dragging parrots and other birds from their nests, killing them, and flinging them on the ground. And when I saw him coming near, like the minister of Yama, I slowly crept in fear underneath the wing of my father. And in the meanwhile the ruffian came near our nest, and dragged out my father, and wringing his neck, flung him down on the ground at the foot of the tree. And I fell with my father, and slipping out from underneath his wing, I slowly crept in my fear into the grass and leaves. Then the rascally Bhilla came down, and roasted some of the parrots and ate them, and others he carried off to his own village.

Then my fear was at an end, but I spent a night long from grief, and in the morning, when the flaming eye [18] of the world had mounted high in the heaven, I, being thirsty, went to the bank of a neighbouring lake full of lotuses, tumbling frequently, clinging to the earth with my wings, and there I saw on the sand of the lake a hermit, named Maríchi, who had just bathed, as it were my good works in a former state of existence. He, when he saw me, refreshed me with drops of water flung in my face, and, putting me in the hollow of a leaf, out of pity, carried me to his hermitage. There Pulastya, the head of the hermitage, laughed when he saw me, and being asked by the other hermits, why he laughed, having supernatural insight, he said--"When I beheld this parrot, who is a parrot in consequence of a curse, I laughed out of sorrow, but after I have said my daily prayers, I will tell a story connected with him, which shall cause him to remember his former birth, and the occurrences of his former lives." After saying this, the hermit Pulastya rose up for his daily prayer, and, after he had performed his daily prayer, being again solicited by the hermits, the great sage told this story concerning me.

The hermit's story of Somaprabha, Manorathaprabhá, and Makarandiká, wherein it appears who the parrot was in a former birth.

There lived in the city of Ratnákara a king named Jyotishprabha, who ruled the earth with supreme authority, as far as the sea, the mine of jewels. There was born to him, by his queen named Harshavatí, a son, whose birth was due to the favour of Siva propitiated by severe asceticism. Because the queen saw in a dream the moon entering her mouth, the king gave his son the name of Somaprabha. And the prince gradually grew up with ambrosial qualities, furnishing a feast to the eyes of the subjects.

And his father Jyotishprabha, seeing that he was brave, young, beloved by the subjects, and able to bear the weight of empire, gladly anointed him crown-prince. And he gave him as minister the virtuous Priyankara, the son of his own minister named Prabhákara. On that occasion Mátali descended from the heaven with a celestial horse, and coming up to Somaprabha, said to him: "You are a Vidyádhara, a friend of Indra's, born on earth, and he has sent you an excellent horse named Ásusravas, the son of Uchchhaihsravas, in memory of his former friendship; if you mount it, you will be invincible by your foes." After the charioteer of Indra had said this, he gave Somaprabha that splendid horse, and after receiving due honour, he flew up to heaven again.

Then Somaprabha spent that day pleasantly in feasting, and the next day said to his father the king; "My father, the duty of a Kshatriya is not complete without a desire for conquest, so permit me to march out to the conquest of the regions." When his father Jyotishprabha heard that, he was pleased, and consented, and made arrangements for his expedition. Then Somaprabha bowed before his father, and marched out on an auspicious day, with his forces, for the conquest of the regions, mounted on the horse given by Indra. And by the help of his splendid horse, he conquered the kings of every part of the world, and being irresistible in might, he stripped them of their jewels. He bent his bow and the necks of his enemies at the same time; the bow was unbent again, but the heads of his enemies were never again uplifted.

Then, as he was returning in triumph, on a path which led him near the Himálayas, he made his army encamp, and went hunting in a wood. And as chance would have it, he saw there a Kinnara, made of a splendid jewel, and he pursued him on his horse given by Indra, with the object of capturing him. The Kinnara entered a cavern in the mountain, and was lost to view, but the prince was carried far away by that horse.

And when the sun, after diffusing illumination over the quarters of the world, had reached the western peak, where he meets the evening twilight, the prince, being tired, managed, though with difficulty, to return, and he beheld a great lake, and wishing to pass the night on its shores, he dismounted from his horse. And after he had given grass and water to the horse, and had taken fruits and water himself, and felt rested, he suddenly heard from a certain quarter the sound of a song. Out of curiosity he went in the direction of the sound, and saw at no great distance a heavenly nymph, singing in front of a linga of Siva. He said to himself in astonishment, "Who may this lovely one be?" And she, seeing that he was of noble appearance, said to him bashfully--"Tell me, who are you? How did you reach alone this inaccessible place?" When he heard this, he told his story, and asked her in turn, "Tell me, who are you and what is your business in this wood?" When he asked this question, the heavenly maiden said--"If you have any desire, noble sir, to hear my tale, listen, I will tell it;" after this preface she began to speak with a gushing flood of tears.

Episode of Manorathaprabhá and Rasmimat.

There is here, on the table-land of the Himálayas, a city named Kánchanábha, and in it there dwells a king of the Vidyádharas named Padmakúta. Know that I am the daughter of that king by his queen Hemaprabhá, and that my name is Manorathaprabhá, and my father loves me more than his life. I, by the power of my science, used to visit, with my female companions, the isles, and the principal mountains, and the woods, and the gardens, and after amusing myself, I made a point of returning every day at my father's meal-time, at the third watch of the day, to my palace. Once on a time I arrived here as I was roaming about, and I saw on the shore of the lake a hermit's son with his companion. And being summoned by the splendour of his beauty, as if by a female messenger, I approached him, and he welcomed me with a wistful look. And then I sat down, and my friend, perceiving the feelings of both, put this question to him through his companion, "Who are you, noble sir, tell me?" And his companion said; "Not far from here, my friend, there lives in a hermitage a hermit named Dídhitimat. He, being subject to a strict vow of chastity, was seen once, when he came to bathe in this lake, by the goddess Srí, who came there at the same time. As she could not obtain him in the flesh, as he was a strict ascetic, and yet longed for him earnestly with her mind, she conceived a mind-born son. And she took that son to Dídhitimat, saying to him, 'I have obtained this son by looking at you; receive it.' And after giving the son to the hermit, Srí disappeared. And the hermit gladly received the son, so easily obtained, and gave him the name of Rasmimat, and gradually reared him, and after investing him with the sacred thread, taught him out of love all the sciences. Know that you see before you in this young hermit that very Rasmimat the son of Srí, come here with me on a pleasure journey." When my friend had heard this from the youth's friend, she, being questioned by him in turn, told my name and descent as I have now told it to you.

Then I and the hermit's son became still more in love with one another from hearing one another's descent, and while we were lingering there, a second attendant came and said to me, "Rise up, your father, fair one, is waiting for you in the dining-room of the palace." When I heard that, I said--"I will return quickly," and leaving the youth there, I went into the presence of my father out of fear. And when I came out, having taken a very little food, the first attendant came to me and said of her own accord: "The friend of that hermit's son came here, my friend, and standing at the door of the court said to me in a state of hurried excitement--'Rasmimat has sent me here now, bestowing on me the power of travelling in the air, which he inherits from his father, to see Manorathaprabhá: he is reduced to a terrible state by love and cannot retain his breath a moment longer, without that mistress of his life.'" The moment I heard this, I left my father's palace, and, accompanied by that friend of the hermit's son, who showed me the way, and my attendant, I came here, and when I arrived here, I saw that that hermit's son, separated from me, had resigned, at the rising of the moon, the nectar of his life. So I, grieved by separation from him, was blaming my vital frame, and longing to enter the fire with his body. But at that very moment a man, with a body like a mass of flame, descended from the sky, and flew up to heaven with his body.

Then I was desirous to hurl myself into the fire alone, but at that moment a voice issued from the air here; "Manorathaprabhá, do not do this thing, for at the appointed time thou shalt be re-united to this thy hermit's son." On hearing this, I gave up the idea of suicide, and here I remain full of hope, waiting for him, engaged in the worship of Siva. And as for the friend of the hermit's son, he has disappeared somewhere.

When the Vidyádhara maiden had said this, Somaprabha said to her, "Then, why do you remain alone, where is that female attendant of yours?" When the Vidyádhara maiden heard this, she answered: "There is a king of the Vidyádharas, named Sinhavikrama, and he has a matchless daughter named Makarandiká; she is a friend of mine, dear as my life, who sympathizes with my grief, and she to-day sent her attendant to learn tidings of me. So I sent back my own attendant to her, with her attendant; it is for that reason that I am at present alone." As she was saying this, she pointed out to Somaprabha her attendant descending from heaven. And she made the attendant, after she had told her news, strew a bed of leaves for Somaprabha, and also give grass to his horse.

Then, after passing the night, they rose up in the morning, and saw approaching a Vidyádhara, who had descended from heaven. And that Vidyádhara, whose name was Devajaya, after sitting down, spoke thus to Manorathaprabhá--"Manorathaprabhá, king Sinhavikrama informs you that your friend, his daughter Makarandiká, out of love for you, refuses to marry until you have obtained a bridegroom. So he wishes you to go there and admonish her, that she may be ready to marry." When the Vidyádhara maiden heard this, she prepared to go, out of regard for her friend, and then Somaprabha said to her:--"Virtuous one, I have a curiosity to see the Vidyádhara world: so take me there, and let my horse remain here supplied with grass." When she heard that, she consented, and taking her attendant with her, she flew through the air, with Somaprabha, who was carried in the arms of Devajaya.

When she arrived there, Makarandiká welcomed her, and seeing Somaprabha, asked, "Who is this?" And when Manorathaprabhá told his story, the heart of Makarandiká was immediately captivated by him. He, for his part, thought in his mind, deeming he had come upon Good Fortune in bodily form--"Who is the fortunate man destined to be her bridegroom?"

Then, in confidential conversation, Manorathaprabhá put the following question to Makarandiká; "Fair one, why do you not wish to be married?" And she, when she heard this, answered:--"How could I desire marriage until you have accepted a bridegroom, for you are dearer to me than life?" When Makarandiká said this in an affectionate manner, Manorathaprabhá said--"I have chosen a bridegroom, fair one; I am waiting here in hopes of union with him." When she said this, Makarandiká said--"I will do as you direct." [19]

Then Manorathaprabhá, seeing the real state of her feelings, said to her, "My friend, Somaprabha has come here as your guest, after wandering through the world, so you must entertain him as a guest with becoming hospitality." When Makarandiká heard this, she said:--"I have already bestowed on him, by way of hospitality, every thing but myself, but let him accept me, if he is willing." When she said this, Manorathaprabhá told their love to her father, and arranged a marriage between them. Then Somaprabha recovered his spirits, and delighted said to her:--"I must go now to your hermitage, for possibly my army, commanded by my minister, may come there tracking my course, and if they do not find me, they may return, suspecting something untoward. So I will depart, and after I have learned the tidings of the host, I will return, and certainly marry Makarandiká on an auspicious day." When Manorathaprabhá heard that, she consented, and took him back to her own hermitage, making Devajaya carry him in his arms.

In the meanwhile his minister Priyankara came there with the army, tracking his footsteps. And while Somaprabha, in delight, was recounting his adventures to his minister, whom he met there, a messenger came from his father, with a written message that he was to return quickly. Then, by the advice of his minister, he went with his army back to his own city, in order not to disobey his father's command, and as he started, he said to Manorathaprabhá and Devajaya, "I will return as soon as I have seen my father."

Then Devajaya went and informed Makarandiká of that, and in consequence she became afflicted with the sorrow of separation. She took no pleasure in the garden, nor in singing, nor in the society of her ladies-in-waiting, nor did she listen to the amusing voices of the parrots; she did not take food; much less did she care about adorning herself. And though her parents earnestly admonished her, she did not recover her spirits. And she soon left her couch of lotus-fibres, and wandered about like an insane woman, causing distress to her parents. And when she would not listen to their words, though they tried to console her, her parents in their anger pronounced this curse on her, "You shall fall for some time among the unfortunate race of the Nishádas, with this very body of yours, without the power of remembering your former birth." When thus cursed by her parents, Makarandiká entered the house of a Nisháda, and became that very moment a Nisháda maiden. And her father Sinhavikrama, the king of the Vidyádharas, repented, and through grief for her died, and so did his wife. Now that king of the Vidyádharas was in a former birth a rishi who knew all the sástras, but now on account of some remnant of former sin he has become this parrot, and his wife also has been born as a wild sow, and this parrot, owing to the power of former austerities, remembers what it learned in a former life.

"So I laughed, considering the marvellous results of his works. But he shall be released, as soon as he has told this tale in the court of a king. And Somaprabha shall obtain the parrot's daughter in his Vidyádhara birth, Makarandiká, who has now become a Nisháda female. And Manorathaprabhá also shall obtain the hermit's son Rasmimat, who has now become a king; but Somaprabha, as soon as he had seen his father, returned to her hermitage, and remains there propitiating Siva in order to recover his beloved."

When the hermit Pulastya had said thus much, he ceased, and I remembered my birth, and was plunged in grief and joy. Then the hermit Maríchi, who carried me out of pity to the hermitage, took me and reared me. And when my wings grew, I flew about hither and thither with the flightiness natural to a bird, [20] displaying the miracle of my learning. And falling into the hands of a Nisháda, I have in course of time reached your court. And now my evil works have spent their force, having been brought with me into the body of a bird.

When the learned and eloquent parrot had finished this tale in the presence of the court, king Sumanas suddenly felt his soul filled with astonishment, and disturbed with love. In the meanwhile Siva, being pleased, said to Somaprabha in a dream--"Rise up, king, and go into the presence of king Sumanas, there thou wilt find thy beloved. For the maiden, named Makarandiká, has become, by the curse of her father, a Nisháda maiden, named Muktálatá, and she has gone with her own father, who has become a parrot, to the court of the king. And when she sees thee, her curse will come to an end, and she will remember her existence as a Vidyádhara maiden, and then a union will take place between you, the joy of which will be increased by your recognizing one another." Having said this to that king, Siva, who is merciful to all his worshippers, said to Manorathaprabhá, who also was living in his hermitage, "The hermit's son Rasmimat, whom thou didst accept as thy bridegroom, has been born again under the name of Sumanas, so go to him and obtain him, fair one; he will at once remember his former birth, when he beholds thee." So Somaprabha and the Vidyádhara maiden, being separately commanded in a dream by Siva, went immediately to the court of that Sumanas. And there Makarandiká, on beholding Somaprabha, immediately remembered her former birth, and being released from her long curse, and recovering her heavenly body, she embraced him. And Somaprabha, having, by the favour of Siva, obtained that daughter of the Vidyádhara prince, as if she were the incarnate fortune of heavenly enjoyment, embraced her, and considered himself to have attained his object. And king Sumanas, having beheld Manorathaprabhá, remembered his former birth, and entered his former body, that fell from heaven, and became Rasmimat the son of the chief of hermits. And once more united with his beloved, for whom he had long yearned, he entered his own hermitage, and king Somaprabha departed with his beloved to his own city. And the parrot too left the body of a bird, and went to the home earned by his asceticism.

"Thus you see that the appointed union of human beings certainly takes place in this world, though vast spaces intervene." When Naraváhanadatta heard this wonderful, romantic, and agreeable story from his own minister Gomukha, as he was longing for Saktiyasas, he was much pleased.

Chapter LX

Then the chief minister Gomukha, having told the story of the two Vidyádhara maidens, said to Naraváhanadatta, "Some ordinary men even, being kindly disposed towards the three worlds, resist with firm resolution the disturbance of love and other passions.

Story of Súravarman who spared his guilty wife.

For the king Kuladhara once had a servant of distinguished valour, a young man of good family, named Súravarman. And one day, as he was returning from war, he entered his house suddenly, and found his wife alone with his friend. And when he saw it, he restrained his wrath, and in his self-control reflected, "What is the use of slaying this animal who has betrayed his friend? Or of punishing this wicked woman? Why too should I saddle my soul with a load of guilt?" After he had thus reflected, he left them both unharmed and said to them, "I will kill whichever of you two I see again. You must neither of you come in my sight again. When he said this and let them depart, they went away to some distant place, but Súravarman married another wife, and lived there in comfort.

"Thus, prince, a man who conquers wrath will not be subject to grief; and a man, who displays prudence, is never harmed. Even in the case of animals prudence produces success, not valour. In proof of it, hear this story about the lion, and the bull, and other animals."

Story of the Ox abandoned in the Forest. [21]

There was in a certain city a rich merchant's son. Once on a time, as he was going to the city of Mathurá to trade, a draught-bull belonging to him, named Sanjívaka, as it was dragging the yoke vigorously, broke it, and so slipped in the path, which had become muddy by a mountain torrent flowing into it, and fell and bruised its limbs. The merchant's son, seeing that the bull was unable to move on account of its bruises, and not succeeding in his attempts to raise it up from the ground, at last in despair went off and left it there. And, as fate would have it, the bull slowly revived, and rose up, and by eating tender grass recovered its former condition. And it went to the bank of the Yamuná, and by eating green grass and wandering about at will, it became fat and strong. And it roamed about there, with full hump, wantoning, like the bull of Siva, tearing up ant-hills with its horns, and bellowing frequently.

Now at that time there lived in a neighbouring wood a lion named Pingalaka, who had subdued the forest by his might; and that king of beasts had two jackals for ministers; the name of the one was Damanaka, and the name of the other was Karataka. That lion, going one day to the bank of the Yamuná to drink water, heard close to him the roar of that bull Sanjívaka. And when the lion heard the roar of that bull, never heard before, resounding through the air, he thought, "What animal makes this sound? Surely some great creature dwells here, so I will depart, for if it saw me, it might slay me, or expel me from the forest." Thereupon the lion quickly returned to the forest without drinking water, and continued in a state of fear, hiding his feelings from his followers.

Then the wise jackal [22] Damanaka, the minister of that king, said secretly to Karataka the second minister, "Our master went to drink water; so how comes it that he has so quickly returned without drinking? We must ask him the reason." Then Karataka said--"What business is this of ours? Have you not heard the story of the ape that drew out the wedge?"

Story of the monkey that pulled out the wedge. [23]

In a certain town, a merchant had begun to build a temple to a divinity, and had accumulated much timber. The workmen there, after sawing through the upper half of a plank, placed a wedge in it, and leaving it thus suspended, went home. In the meanwhile a monkey came there and bounded up out of mischief, and sat on the plank, the parts of which were separated by the wedge. And he sat in the gap between the two parts, as if in the mouth of death, and in purposeless mischief pulled out the wedge. Then he fell with the plank, the wedge of which had been pulled out, and was killed, having his limbs crushed by the flying together of the separated parts.

"Thus a person is ruined by meddling with what is not his own business. So what is the use of our penetrating the mind of the king of beasts?" When the grave Damanaka heard Karataka say this, he answered--"Certainly wise ministers must penetrate and observe the peculiarities of their master's character. For who would confine his attention to filling his belly?" When Damanaka said this, the good Karataka said--"Prying for one's own gratification is not the duty of a servant." Damanaka, being thus addressed, replied--"Do not speak thus, every one desires a recompense suited to his character; the dog is satisfied with a bone only, the lion attacks an elephant."

When Karataka heard this, he said, "And supposing under these circumstances the master is angry, instead of being pleased, where is your special advantage? Lords, like mountains, are exceedingly rough, firm, uneven, difficult of access, and surrounded with noxious creatures." Then Damanaka said, "This is true, but he who is wise, gradually gets influence over his master by penetrating his character."

Then Karataka said--"Well, do so," and Damanaka went into the presence of his master the lion. The lion received him kindly: so he bowed, and sat down, and immediately said to him; "King, I am a hereditary useful servant of yours. One useful is to be sought after, though a stranger, but a mischievous one is to be abandoned; a cat, being useful, is bought with money, brought from a distance, and cherished; but a mouse, being harmful, is carefully destroyed, though it has been nourished up in one's house. And a king, who desires prosperity, must listen to servants who wish him well, and they must give their lord at the right time useful counsel, even without being asked. So, king, if you feel confidence in me, if you are not angry, and if you do not wish to conceal your feelings from me, and if you are not disturbed in mind by my boldness, I would ask you a certain question." When Damanaka said this, the lion Pingalaka answered; "You are trustworthy, you are attached to me, so speak without fear."

When Pingalaka said this, Damanaka said: "King, being thirsty, you went to drink water; so why did you return without drinking, like one despondent?" When the lion heard this speech of his, he reflected--"I have been discovered by him, so why should I try to hide the truth from this devoted servant?" Having thus reflected, he said to him, "Listen, I must not hide anything from you. When I went to drink water, I heard here a noise which I never heard before, and I think, it is the terrible roar of some animal superior to myself in strength. For, as a general rule, the might of creatures is proportionate to the sound they utter, and it is well known that the infinitely various animal creation has been made by God in regular gradations. And now that he has entered here, I cannot call my body nor my wood my own; so I must depart hence to some other forest." When the lion said this, Damanaka answered him; "Being valiant, O king, why do you wish to leave the wood for so slight a reason? Water breaks a bridge, secret whispering friendship, counsel is ruined by garrulity, cowards only are routed by a mere noise. There are many noises, such as those of machines, which are terrible till one knows the real cause. So your Highness must not fear this. Hear by way of illustration the story of the jackal and the drum.

Story of the Jackal and the Drum. [24]

Long ago there lived a jackal in a certain forest district. He was roaming about in search of food, and came upon a plot of ground where a battle had taken place, and hearing from a certain quarter a booming sound, he looked in that direction. There he saw a drum lying on the ground, a thing with which he was not familiar. He thought, "What kind of animal is this, that makes such a sound?" Then he saw that it was motionless, and coming up and looking at it, he came to the conclusion that it was not an animal. And he perceived that the noise was produced by the parchment being struck by the shaft of an arrow, which was moved by the wind. So the jackal laid aside his fear, and he tore open the drum, and went inside, to see if he could get anything to eat in it, but lo! it was nothing but wood and parchment.

So, king, why do creatures like you fear a mere sound? If you approve, I will go there to investigate the matter." When Damanaka said this, the lion answered, "Go there, by all means, if you dare;" so Damanaka went to the bank of the Yamuná. While he was roaming slowly about there, guided by the sound, he discovered that bull eating grass. So he went near him, and made acquaintance with him, and came back, and told the lion the real state of the ease. The lion Pingalaka was delighted and said, "If you have really seen that great ox, and made friends with him, bring him here by some artifice, that I may see what he is like." So he sent Damanaka back to that bull. Damanaka went to the bull and said--"Come! our master, the king of beasts is pleased to summon you," but the bull would not consent to come, for he was afraid. Then the jackal again returned to the forest, and induced his master the lion to grant the bull assurance of protection. And he went and encouraged Sanjívaka with this promise of protection, and so brought him into the presence of the lion. And when the lion saw him come and bow before him, he treated him with politeness, and said--"Remain here now about my person, and entertain no fear." And the bull consented, and gradually gained such an influence over the lion, that he turned his back on his other dependents, and was entirely governed by the bull.

Then Damanaka, being annoyed, said to Karataka in secret: "See! our master has been taken possession of by Sanjívaka, and does not trouble his head about us. He eats his flesh alone, and never gives us a share. And the fool is now taught his duty by this bull. [25] It was I that caused all this mischief by bringing this bull. So I will now take steps to have him killed, and to reclaim our master from his unbecoming infatuation." When Karataka heard this from Damanaka, he said--"Friend, even you will not be able to do this now." Then Damanaka said--"I shall certainly be able to accomplish it by prudence. What can he not do whose prudence does not fail in calamity? As a proof, hear the story of the makara [26] that killed the crane."

Story of the crane and the Makara. [27]

Of old time there dwelt a crane in a certain tank rich in fish; and the fish in terror used to flee out of his sight. Then the crane, not being able to catch the fish, told them a lying tale: "There has come here a man with a net who kills fish. He will soon catch you with a net and kill you. So act on my advice, if you repose any confidence in me. There is in a lonely place a translucent lake, it is unknown to the fishermen of these parts; I will take you there one by one, and drop you into it, that you may live there." When those foolish fish heard that, they said in their fear--"Do so, we all repose confidence in you." Then the treacherous crane took the fish away one by one, and, putting them down on a rock, devoured in this way many of them.

Then a certain makara dwelling in that lake, seeing him carrying off fish, said:--"Whither are you taking the fish?" Then that crane said to him exactly what he had said to the fish. The makara, [28] being terrified, said--"Take me there too." The crane's intellect was blinded with the smell of his flesh, so he took him up, and soaring aloft carried him towards the slab of rock. But when the makara got near the rock, he saw the fragments of the bones of the fish that the crane had eaten, and he perceived that the crane was in the habit of devouring those who reposed confidence in him. So no sooner was the sagacious makara put down on the rock, than with complete presence of mind he cut off the head of the crane. And he returned and told the occurrence, exactly as it happened, to the other fish, and they were delighted, and hailed him as their deliverer from death.

"Prudence indeed is power, so what has a man, devoid of prudence, to do with power? Hear this other story of the lion and the hare."

Story of the lion and the hare. [29]

There was in a certain forest a lion, who was invincible, and sole champion of it, and whatever creature he saw in it, he killed. Then all the animals, deer and all, met and deliberated together, and they made the following petition to that king of beasts--"Why by killing us all at once do you ruin your own interests? We will send you one animal every day for your dinner." When the lion heard this, he consented to their proposal, and as he was in the habit of eating one animal every day, it happened that it was one day the lot of a hare to present himself to be eaten. The hare was sent off by the united animals, but on the way the wise creature reflected--"He is truly brave who does not become bewildered even in the time of calamity, so, now that Death stares me in the face, I will devise an expedient." Thus reflecting, the hare presented himself before the lion late. And when he arrived after his time, the lion said to him: "Hola! how is this that you have neglected to arrive at my dinner hour, or what worse penalty than death can I inflict on you, scoundrel?" When the lion said this, the hare bowed before him, and said: "It is not my fault, your Highness, I have not been my own master to-day, for another lion detained me on the road, and only let me go after a long interval." When the lion heard that, he lashed his tail, and his eyes became red with anger, and he said: "Who is that second lion? Shew him me." The hare said: "Let your Majesty come and see him." The lion consented and followed him. Thereupon the hare took him away to a distant well. "Here he lives, behold him," said the hare, and when thus addressed by the hare, the lion looked into the well, roaring all the while with anger. And seeing his own reflexion in the clear water, and hearing the echo of his own roar, thinking that there was a rival lion there roaring louder than himself, [30] he threw himself in a rage into the well, in order to kill him, and there the fool was drowned. And the hare, having himself escaped death by his wisdom, and having delivered all the animals from it, went and delighted them by telling his adventure.

"So you see that wisdom is the supreme power, not strength, since by virtue of it even a hare killed a lion. So I will effect my object by wisdom." When Damanaka said this, Karataka remained silent.

Then Damanaka went and remained in the presence of the king Pingalaka, in a state of assumed depression. And when Pingalaka asked him the reason, he said to him in a confidential aside: "I will tell you, king, for if one knows anything, one ought not to conceal it. And one should speak too without being commanded to do so, if one desires the welfare of one's master. So hear this representation of mine, and do not suspect me. This bull Sanjívaka intends to kill you and gain possession of the kingdom, for in his position of minister he has come to the conclusion that you are timid; and longing to slay you, he is brandishing his two horns, his natural weapons, and he talks over the animals in the forest, encouraging them with speeches of this kind--'We will kill by some artifice this flesh-eating king of beasts, and then you can live in security under me, who am an eater of herbs only.' So think about this bull; as long as he is alive, there is no security for you." When Damanaka said this, Pingalaka answered, "What can that miserable herb-eating bull do against me? But how can I kill a creature that has sought my protection, and to whom I have promised immunity from injury." When Damanaka heard this, he said--"Do not speak so. When a king makes another equal to himself, Fortune does not proceed as favourably as before. [31] The fickle goddess, if she places her feet at the same time upon two exalted persons, cannot keep her footing long, she will certainly abandon one of the two. And a king, who hates a good servant and honours a bad servant, is to be avoided by the wise, as a wicked patient by physicians. Where there is a speaker and a hearer of that advice, which in the beginning is disagreeable, but in the end is useful, there Fortune sets her foot. He, who does not hear the advice of the good, but listens to the advice of the bad, in a short time falls into calamity, and is afflicted. So what is the meaning of this love of yours for the bull, O king? And what does it matter that you gave him protection, or that he came as a suppliant, if he plots against your life? Moreover, if this bull remains always about your person, you will have worms produced in you by his excretions. And they will enter your body, which is covered with the scars of wounds from the tusks of infuriated elephants. Why should he not have chosen to kill you by craft? If a wicked person is wise enough not to do an injury [32] himself, it will happen by association with him, hear a story in proof of it."

Story of the Louse and the Flea. [33]

In the bed of a certain king there long lived undiscovered a louse, that had crept in from somewhere or other, by name Mandavisarpiní. And suddenly a flea, named Tittibha, entered that bed, wafted there by the wind from some place or other. And when Mandavisarpiní saw him, she said, "Why have you invaded my home? go elsewhere." Tittibha answered, "I wish to drink the blood of a king, a luxury which I have never tasted before, so permit me to dwell here." Then, to please him, the louse said to him, "If this is the case, remain. But you must not bite the king, my friend, at unseasonable times, you must bite him gently when he is asleep." When Tittibha heard that, he consented and remained. But at night he bit the king hard when he was in bed, and then the king rose up, exclaiming, "I am bitten," then the wicked flea fled quickly, and the king's servants made a search in the bed, and finding the louse there, killed it.

"So Mandavisarpiní perished by associating with Tittibha. Accordingly your association with Sanjívaka will not be for your advantage; if you do not believe in what I say, you will soon yourself see him approach, brandishing his head, confiding in his horns, which are sharp as lances."

By these words the feelings of Pingalaka were changed towards the bull, and so Damanaka induced him to form in his heart the determination that the bull must be killed. And Damanaka, having ascertained the state of the lion's feelings, immediately went off of his own accord to Sanjívaka, and sat in his presence with a despondent air. The bull said to him, "Friend, why are you in this state? Are you in good health?" The jackal answered, "What can be healthy with a servant? Who is permanently dear to a king? What petitioner is not despised? Who is not subject to time?" When the jackal said this, the bull again said to him--"Why do you seem so despondent to-day, my friend, tell me?" Then Damanaka said--"Listen, I speak out of friendship. The lion Pingalaka has to-day become hostile to you. So unstable is his affection that, without regard for his friendship, he wishes to kill you and eat you, and I see that his evilly-disposed courtiers have instigated him to do it." The simple-minded bull, supposing, on account of the confidence he had previously reposed in the jackal, that this speech was true, and feeling despondent, said to him: "Alas a mean master, with mean retainers, though he be won over by faithful service, becomes estranged; in proof of it hear this story."

Story of the Lion, the Panther, the Crow and the Jackal. [34]

There lived once in a certain forest a lion, named Madotkata, and he had three followers, a panther, a crow, and a jackal. That lion once saw a camel, that had escaped from a caravan, entering his wood, a creature he was not familiar with before, of ridiculous appearance. That king of beasts said in astonishment, "What is this creature?" And the crow, who knew when it behoved him to speak, [35] said, "It is a camel." Then the lion, out of curiosity, had the camel summoned, and giving him a promise of protection, he made him his courtier, and placed him about his person.

One day the lion was wounded in a fight with an elephant, and being out of health, made many fasts, though surrounded by those attendants who were in good health. Then the lion, being exhausted, roamed about in search of food, but not finding any, secretly asked all his courtiers, except the camel, what was to be done. They said to him:--"Your Highness, we must give advice which is seasonable in our present calamity. What friendship can you have with a camel, and why do you not eat him? He is a grass-eating animal, and therefore meant to be devoured by us flesh-eaters. And why should not one be sacrificed to supply food to many? If your Highness should object, on the ground that you cannot slay one to whom you have granted protection, we will contrive a plot by which we shall induce the camel himself to offer you his own body." When they had said this, the crow, by the permission of the lion, after arranging the plot, went and said to that camel: "This master of ours is overpowered with hunger, and says nothing to us, so we intend to make him well-disposed to us by offering him our bodies, and you had better do the same, in order that he may be well-disposed towards you." When the crow said this to the camel, the simple-minded camel agreed to it, and came to the lion with the crow. Then the crow said, "King, eat me, for I am my own master." Then the lion said, "What is the use of eating such a small creature as you?" Thereupon the jackal said--"Eat me," and the lion rejected him in the same way. Then the panther said "Eat me," and yet the lion would not eat him; and at last the camel said "Eat me." So the lion, and the crow, and his fellows entrapped him by these deceitful offers, and taking him at his word, killed him, divided him into portions, and ate him.

"In the same way some treacherous person has instigated Pingalaka against me without cause. So now destiny must decide. For it is better to be the servant of a vulture-king with swans for courtiers, than to serve a swan as king, if his courtiers be vultures, much less a king of a worse character, with such courtiers. [36] "When the dishonest Damanaka heard Sanjívaka say that, he replied, "Everything is accomplished by resolution, listen--I will tell you a tale to prove this."

Story of the pair of Tittibhas.

There lived a certain cock tittibha on the shore of the sea with his hen. And the hen, being about to lay eggs, said to the cock: "Come, let us go away from this place, for if I lay eggs here, the sea may carry them off with its waves." When the cock-bird heard this speech of the hen's, he said to her--"The sea cannot contend with me." On hearing that, the hen said--"Do not talk so; what comparison is there between you and the sea? People must follow good advice, otherwise they will be ruined."

Story of the Tortoise and the two Swans. [37]

For there was in a certain lake a tortoise, named Kambugríva, and he had two swans for friends, Vikata and Sankata. Once on a time the lake was dried up by drought, and they wanted to go to another lake; so the tortoise said to them, "Take me also to the lake you are desirous of going to." When the two swans heard this, they said to their friend the tortoise--"The lake to which we wish to go is a tremendous distance off; but, if you wish to go there too, you must do what we tell you. You must take in your teeth a stick held by us, and while travelling through the air, you must remain perfectly silent, otherwise you will fall and be killed." The tortoise agreed, and took the stick in his teeth, and the two swans flew up into the air, holding the two ends of it. And gradually the two swans, carrying the tortoise, drew near that lake, and were seen by some men living in a town below; and the thoughtless tortoise heard them making a chattering, while they were discussing with one another, what the strange thing could be that the swans were carrying. So the tortoise asked the swans what the chattering below was about, and in so doing let go the stick from its mouth, and falling down to the earth, was there killed by the men.

"Thus you see that a person who lets go common sense will be ruined, like the tortoise that let go the stick." When the hen-bird said this, the cock-bird answered her, "This is true, my dear, but hear this story also."

Story of the three Fish.

Of old time there were three fish in a lake near a river, one was called Anágatavidhátri, a second Pratyutpannamati and the third Yadbhavishya, [38] and they were companions. One day they heard some fishermen, who passed that way, saying to one another, "Surely there must be fish in this lake. Thereupon the prudent Anágatavidhátri, fearing to be killed by the fishermen, entered the current of the river and went to another place. But Pratyutpannamati remained where he was, without fear, saying to himself, "I will take the expedient course if any danger should arise." And Yadbhavishya remained there, saying to himself, "What must be, must be." Then those fishermen came and threw a net into that lake. But the cunning Pratyutpannamati, the moment he felt himself hauled up in the net, made himself rigid, and remained as if he were dead. The fishermen, who were killing the fish, did not kill him, thinking that he had died of himself, so he jumped into the current of the river, and went off somewhere else, as fast as he could. But Yadbhavishya, like a foolish fish, bounded and wriggled in the net, so the fishermen laid hold of him and killed him.

"So I too will adopt an expedient when the time arrives; I will not go away through fear of the sea." Having said this to his wife, the tittibha remained where he was, in his nest; and there the sea heard his boastful speech. Now, after some days, the hen-bird laid eggs, and the sea carried off the eggs with his waves, out of curiosity, saying to himself; "I should like to know what this tittibha will do to me." And the hen-bird, weeping, said to her husband; "The very calamity which I prophesied to you, has come upon us." Then that resolute tittibha said to his wife, "See, what I will do to that wicked sea!" So he called together all the birds, and mentioned the insult he had received, and went with them and called on the lord Garuda for protection. And the birds said to him: "Though thou art our protector, we have been insulted by the sea as if we were unprotected, in that it has carried away some of our eggs." Then Garuda was angry, and appealed to Vishnu, who dried up the sea with the weapon of fire, and made it restore the eggs. [39]

"So you must be wise in calamity and not let go resolution. But now a battle with Pingalaka is at hand for you. When he shall erect his tail, and arise with his four feet together, then you may know that he is about to strike you. And you must have your head ready tossed up, and must gore him in the stomach, and lay your enemy low, with all his entrails torn out."

After Damanaka had said this to the bull Sanjívaka, he went to Karataka, and told him that he had succeeded in setting the two at variance.

Then Sanjívaka slowly approached Pingalaka, being desirous of finding out the mind of that king of beasts by his face and gestures. And he saw that the lion was prepared to fight, being evenly balanced on all four legs, and having erected his tail, and the lion saw that the bull had tossed up his head in fear. Then the lion sprang on the bull and struck him with his claws, the bull replied with his horns, and so their fight went on. And the virtuous Karataka, seeing it, said to Damanaka--"Why have you brought calamity on our master to gain your own ends? Wealth obtained by oppression of subjects, friendship obtained by deceit, and a lady-love gained by violence, will not remain long. But enough; whoever says much to a person who despises good advice, incurs thereby misfortune, as Súchímukha from the ape."

Story of the Monkeys, the Firefly, and the Bird. [40]

Once on a time, there were some monkeys wandering in a troop in a wood. In the cold weather they saw a firefly and thought it was real fire. So they placed grass and leaves upon it, and tried to warm themselves at it, and one of them fanned the firefly with his breath. A bird named Súchímukha, when he saw it, said to him, "This is not fire, this is a firefly, do not fatigue yourself." Though the monkey heard, he did not desist, and thereupon the bird came down from the tree, and earnestly dissuaded him, at which the ape was annoyed, and throwing a stone at Súchímukha, crushed him.

"So one ought not to admonish him, who will not act on good advice. Why then should I speak? you well know that you brought about this quarrel with a mischievous object, and that which is done with evil intentions cannot turn out well."

Story of Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi. [41]

For instance, there were long ago in a certain village two brothers, the sons of a merchant, Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi by name. They left their father's house and went to another country to get wealth, and with great difficulty acquired two thousand gold dínárs. And with them they returned to their own city. And they buried those dínárs at the foot of a tree, with the exception of one hundred, which they divided between them in equal parts, and so they lived in their father's house.

But one day Dushtabuddhi went by himself and dug up of his own accord those dínárs, which were buried at the foot of the tree, for he was vicious and extravagant. [42] And after one month only had passed, he said to Dharmabuddhi: "Come, my elder brother, let us divide those dínárs; I have expenses." When Dharmabuddhi heard that, he consented, and went and dug with him, where he had deposited the dínárs. And when they did not find any dínárs in the place where they had buried them, the treacherous Dushtabuddhi said to Dharmabuddhi: "You have taken away the dínárs, so give me my half." But Dharmabuddhi answered: "I have not taken them, you must have taken them." So a quarrel arose, and Dushtabuddhi hit Dharmabuddhi on the head with a stone, and dragged him into the king's court. There they both stated their case, and as the king's officers could not decide it, they were proceeding to detain them both for the trial by ordeal. Then Dushtabuddhi said to the king's officers; "The tree, at the foot of which these dínárs were placed, will depose, as a witness, that they were taken away by this Dharmabuddhi. And they were exceedingly astonished, but said, "Well, we will ask it to-morrow." Then they let both Dharmabuddhi and Dushtabuddhi go, after they had given bail, and they went separately to their house.

But Dushtabuddhi told the whole matter to his father, and secretly giving him money, said; "Hide in the trunk of the tree and be my witness." His father consented, so he took him and placed him at night in the capacious trunk of the tree, and returned home. And in the morning those two brothers went with the king's officers, and asked the tree, who took away those dínárs. And their father, who was hidden in the trunk of the tree, replied in a loud clear voice: "Dharmabuddhi took away the dínárs." When the king's officers heard this surprising utterance, they said; "Surely Dushtabuddhi must have hidden some one in the trunk." So they introduced smoke into the trunk of the tree, which fumigated the father of Dushtabuddhi so, that he fell out of the trunk on to the ground, and died. When the king's officers saw this, they understood the whole matter, and they compelled Dushtabuddhi to give up the dínárs to Dharmabuddhi. And so they cut off the hands and cut out the tongue of Dushtabuddhi, and banished him, and they honoured Dharmabuddhi as a man who deserved his name. [43]

"So you see that a deed done with an unrighteous mind is sure to bring calamity, therefore one should do it with a righteous mind, as the crane did to the snake."

Story of the Crane, the Snake and the Mungoose. [44]

Once on a time a snake came and ate the nestlings of a certain crane, as fast as they were born; that grieved the crane. So, by the advice of a crab, he went and strewed pieces of fish from the dwelling of a mungoose as far as the hole of the snake, and the mungoose came out, and following up the pieces of fish, eating as it went on, was led to the hole of the snake, which it saw and entered, and killed him and his offspring.

"So by a device one can succeed; now hear another story."

Story of the mice that ate an iron balance. [45]

Once on a time there was a merchant's son, who had spent all his father's wealth, and had only an iron balance left to him. Now the balance was made of a thousand palas of iron; and depositing it in the care of a certain merchant, he went to another land. And when, on his return, he came to that merchant to demand back his balance, the merchant said to him: "It has been eaten by mice." He repeated, "It is quite true, the iron, of which it was composed, was particularly sweet, and so the mice ate it." This he said with an outward show of sorrow, laughing in his heart. Then the merchant's son asked him to give him some food, and he, being in a good temper, consented to give him some. Then the merchant's son went to bathe, taking with him the son of that merchant, who was a mere child, and whom he persuaded to come with him by giving him a dish of ámalakas. And after he had bathed, the wise merchant's son deposited the boy in the house of a friend, and returned alone to the house of that merchant. And the merchant said to him, "Where is that son of mine?" He replied, "A kite swooped down from the air and carried him off." The merchant in a rage said, "You have concealed my son," and so he took him into the king's judgment-hall; and there the merchant's son made the same statement. The officers of the court said, "This is impossible, how could a kite carry off a boy?" But the merchant's son answered; "In a country where a large balance of iron was eaten by mice, a kite might carry off an elephant, much more a boy." [46] When the officers heard that, they asked about it, out of curiosity, and made the merchant restore the balance to the owner, and he, for his part, restored the merchant's child.

"Thus, you see, persons of eminent ability attain their ends by an artifice. But you, by your reckless impetuosity, have brought our master into danger." When Damanaka heard this from Karataka, he laughed and said--"Do not talk like this! What chance is there of a lion's not being victorious in a fight with a bull? There is a considerable difference between a lion, whose body is adorned with numerous scars of wounds from the tusks of infuriated elephants, and a tame ox, whose body has been pricked by the goad." While the jackals were carrying on this discussion, the lion killed the bull Sanjívaka. When he was slain, Damanaka recovered his position of minister without a rival, and remained for a long time about the person of the king of beasts in perfect happiness.

Naraváhanadatta much enjoyed hearing from his prime minister Gomukha this wonderful story, which was full of statecraft, and characterized by consummate ability.

NOTE TO CHAPTER 60. THE FABLES OF PILPAY.

Wilson in his collected works, (Vol. IV, p. 139) remarks that we have in the Kathá Sarit Ságara an earlier representative of the original collection of Indian fables, than even the Panchatantra, as it agrees better with the Kalilah and Dimnah than the Panchatantra does. The earliest Indian form of the Panchatantra appears to have been translated into Pehlevi in the time of the king of Persia, Khushru Naushírváns (between 531 and 572 A. D.); upon this the Arabic translation was based. It was edited by Silvestre de Sacy under the title, "Calila et Dimna ou Fables de Bidpai," and has been translated into German by Wolff, and into English by Knatchbull. There are many recensions of the Arabic translation as of the Panchatantra. (Benfey is of opinion that originally the latter work consisted of more than five sections.) The oldest translation of the Arabic version is the Greek one by Symeon Seth, which was made about 1080, A. D. (Benfey, Einleitung, p. 8, with note). The Latin translation of Possinus was made from this. Perhaps the most important translation of all is the Hebrew translation of Rabbi Joel. It must have been made about 1250. It has never been edited, with the exception of a small fragment, and is practically represented by the Latin translation of John of Capua, made between 1263 and 1278. Benfey considers that the first German translation was made from a MS. of this. The oldest German translation has no date. The second appeared at Ulm in 1483. Another version, probably not based upon any of these, is a poetical paraphrase, the Alter Aesopus of Baldo, edited by Edéléstand du Méril in his Poésies inédites du Moyen Age. There is a Spanish translation from the Arabic, perhaps through an unknown Latin version, which appeared about 1251. A portion has been published by Rodriguez De Castro. Possibly Raimond's Latin translation was based partly on this, and partly on the Latin translation of the Hebrew by John of Capua.

The Arabic version was translated into Persian by Nasr Allah in the 12th century. Upon it is based the Anvár-i-Suhaili of Husain Vaiz, which was written three centuries later. It has been translated into English by Eastwick. (Hertford 1854). (The above note is summarized from Benfey's Einleitung). See also Rhys Davids' Buddhist Birth Stories, Introduction, pp. xciii and xciv. He says that the Arabic version was made from the Syriac.

Chapter LXI

Then the minister Gomukha again said to Naraváhanadatta, in order to solace him while pining for Saktiyasas; "Prince, you have heard a tale of a wise person, now hear a tale about a fool."

Story of the foolish merchant who made aloes-wood into charcoal. [47]

A certain rich merchant had a blockhead of a son. He, once on a time, went to the island of Katáha to trade, and among his wares there was a great quantity of fragrant aloes-wood. And after he had sold the rest of his wares, he could not find any one to take the aloes-wood off his hands, for the people who live there are not acquainted with that article of commerce. Then, seeing people buying charcoal from the woodmen, the fool burnt his stock of aloes-wood and reduced it to charcoal. Then he sold it for the price which charcoal usually fetched, and returning home, boasted of his cleverness, and became a laughing-stock to everybody.

"I have told you of the man who burnt aloes-wood, now hear the tale of the cultivator of sesame."

Story of the man who sowed roasted seed. [48]

There was a certain villager who was a cultivator, and very nearly an idiot. He one day roasted some sesame-seeds, and, finding them nice to eat, he sowed a large number of roasted seeds, hoping that similar ones would come up. When they did not come up, on account of their having been roasted, he found that he had lost his substance, and people laughed at him.

"I have spoken of the sesame-cultivator, now hear about the man who threw fire into water."

Story of the fool who mixed fire and water. [49]

There was a silly man, who, one night, having to perform a sacrifice next day, thus reflected:--"I require water and fire, for bathing, burning incense, and other purposes; so I will put them together, that I may quickly obtain them when I want them." Thus reflecting, he threw the fire into the pitcher of water, and then went to bed. And in the morning, when he came to look, the fire was extinct, and the water was spoiled. And when he saw the water blackened with charcoal, his face was blackened also, and the faces of the amused people were wreathed in smiles.

"You have heard the story of the man who was famous on account of the pitcher of fire, now hear the story of the nose-engrafter."

Story of the man who tried to improve his wife's nose.

There lived in some place or other a foolish man of bewildered intellect. He, seeing that his wife was flat-nosed, and that his spiritual instructor was high-nosed, [50] cut off the nose of the latter when he was asleep: and then he went and cut off his wife's nose, and stuck the nose of his spiritual instructor on her face, but it would not grow there. Thus he deprived both his wife and his spiritual guide of their noses.

"Now hear the story of the herdsman who lived in a forest."

Story of the foolish herdsman.

There lived in a forest a rich but silly herdsman. Many rogues conspired together and made friends with him. They said to him, "We have asked the daughter of a rich inhabitant of the town in marriage for you, and her father has promised to give her. When he heard that, he was pleased and gave them wealth, and after a few days they came again and said, "Your marriage has taken place." He was very much pleased at that, and gave them abundance of wealth. And after some more days they said to him: "A son has been born to you." He was in ecstasies at that, and he gave them all his wealth, like the fool that he was, and the next day he began to lament, saying, "I am longing to see my son." And when the herdsman began to cry, he incurred the ridicule of the people on account of his having been cheated by the rogues, as if he had acquired the stupidity of cattle from having so much to do with them.

"You have heard of the herdsman; now hear the story of the ornament-hanger."

Story of the fool and the ornaments. [51]

A certain villager, while digging up the ground, found a splendid set of ornaments, which thieves had taken from the palace and placed there. He immediately took them and decorated his wife with them; he put the girdle on her head, and the necklace round her waist, and the anklets on her wrists, and the bracelets on her ears.

When the people heard of it, they laughed, and bruited it about. So the king came to hear of it, and took away from the villager the ornaments, which belonged to himself, but let the villager go unharmed, because he was as stupid as an animal.

Story of the Fool and the Cotton. [52]

I have told you, prince, of the ornament-finder, now hear the story of the cotton-grower. A certain blockhead went to the market to sell cotton, but no one would buy it from him on the ground that it was not properly cleaned. In the meanwhile he saw in the bazar a goldsmith selling gold, which he had purified by heating it, and he saw it taken by a customer. When the stupid creature saw that, he threw the cotton into the fire in order to purify it, and when it was burnt up, the people laughed at him.

"You have heard, prince, this story of the cotton-grower, now hear the story of the men who cut down the palm-trees."

Story of the Foolish Villagers who cut down the palm-trees.

Some foolish villagers were summoned by the king's officers, and set to work to gather some dates in accordance with an order from the king's court. [53] They, perceiving that it was very easy to gather the dates of one date-palm that had tumbled down of itself, cut down all the date-palms in their village. And after they had laid them low, they gathered from them their whole crop of dates, and then they raised them up and planted them again, but they did not succeed in making them grow. And then, when they brought the dates, they were not rewarded, but on the contrary punished with a fine by the king, who had heard of the cutting down of the trees. [54]

"I have told you this joke about the dates, now I am going to tell you about the looking for treasure."

Story of the Treasure-finder who was blinded.

A certain king took to himself a treasure-finder. And the wicked minister of that king had both the eyes of the man, who was able to find the places where treasure was deposited, torn out, in order that he might not run away anywhere. The consequence was that, being blind, he was incapacitated from seeing the indications of treasure in the earth, whether he ran away or remained; and people, seeing that, [55] laughed at the silly minister.

"You have heard of the searching for treasure, now hear about the eating of salt."

Story of the Fool and the Salt.

There was once on a time an impenetrably stupid man living in a village. [56] He was once taken home by a friend who lived in the city, and was regaled on curry and other food, made savoury by salt. And that blockhead asked, "What makes this food so savoury?" His friend told him that its relish was principally due to salt. He came to the conclusion that salt was the proper thing to eat, so he took a handful of crushed salt and threw it into his mouth, and ate it; the powdered salt whitened the lips and beard of the foolish fellow, and so the people laughed at him till his face became white also.

"You have heard, prince, the story of the devourer of salt, now hear the story of the man who had a milch-cow."

Story of the Fool and his Milch-cow. [57]

There was once on a time a certain foolish villager, and he had one cow. And that cow gave him every day a hundred palas of milk. And once on a time it happened that a feast was approaching. So he thought; "I will take all the cow's milk at once on the feast-day, and so get very much." Accordingly the fool did not milk his cow for a whole month. And when the feast came, and he did begin to milk it, he found its milk had failed, but to the people this was an unfailing source of amusement.

"You have heard of the fool who had a milch-cow, now hear the story of these other two fools."

Story of the Foolish Bald Man and the Fool who pelted him.

There was a certain bald man with a head like a copper pot. Once on a time a young man, who, being hungry, had gathered wood-apples, as he was coming along his path, saw him sitting at the foot of a tree. In fun he hit him on the head with a wood-apple; the bald man took it patiently and said nothing to him. Then he hit his head with all the rest of the wood-apples that he had, throwing them at him one after another, and the bald man remained silent, even though the blood flowed. So the foolish young fellow had to go home hungry without his wood-apples, which he had broken to pieces in his useless and childish pastime of pelting the bald man; and the foolish bald man went home with his head streaming with blood, saying to himself; "Why should I not submit to being pelted with such delicious wood-apples?" And everybody there laughed, when they saw him with his head covered with blood, looking like the diadem with which he had been crowned king of fools.

"Thus you see, prince, that foolish persons become the objects of ridicule in the world, and do not succeed in their objects; but wise persons are honoured."

When Naraváhanadatta had heard from Gomukha these elegant and amusing anecdotes, he rose up and performed his day's duties. And when night came on, the prince was anxious to hear some more stories, and at his request, Gomukha told this story about wise creatures.

Story of the Crow and the King of the Pigeons, the Tortoise and the Deer. [58]

There was in a certain forest region a great Salmali tree; and in it there lived a crow, named Laghupátin, who had made his dwelling there. One day, as he was in his nest, he saw below the tree a terrible-looking man arrive with a stick, net in hand. And while the crow looked down from the tree, he saw that the man spread out the net on the ground, and strewed there some rice, and then hid himself.

In the meanwhile the king of the pigeons, named Chitragríva, as he was roaming through the air, attended by hundreds of pigeons, came there, and seeing the grains of rice scattered on the ground, he alighted on the net out of desire for food, and got caught in the meshes with all his attendants. When Chitragríva saw that, he said to all his followers; "Take the net in your beaks, and fly up into the air as fast as you can." All the terrified pigeons said,--"So be it"--and taking the net, they flew up swiftly, and began to travel through the air. The fowler too rose up, and with eye fixed upwards, returned despondent. Then Chitragríva, being relieved from his fear, said to his followers; "Let us quickly go to my friend the mouse Hiranya, he will gnaw these meshes asunder and set us at liberty." With these words he went on with those pigeons, who were dragging the net along with them, and descended from the air at the entrance of a mouse's hole. And there the king of the pigeons called the mouse, saying,--"Hiranya, come out, I, Chitragríva, have arrived." And when the mouse heard through the entrance, and saw that his friend had come, he came out from that hole with a hundred openings. The mouse went up to him, and when he had heard what had taken place, proceeded with the utmost eagerness to gnaw asunder the meshes, that kept the pigeon-king and his retinue prisoners. And when he had gnawed the meshes asunder, Chitragríva took leave of him with kind words, and flew up into the air with his companions.

And when the crow, who had followed the pigeons, saw that, he came to the entrance of the hole, and said to the mouse who had re-entered it; "I am Laghupátin, a crow; seeing that you tender your friends dearly, I choose you for my friend, as you are a creature capable of delivering from such calamities." When the mouse saw that crow from the inside of his hole, he said, "Depart! what friendship can there be between the eater and his prey?" Then the crow said,--"God forbid! If I were to eat you, my hunger might be satisfied for a moment, but if I make you my friend, my life will be always preserved by you." When the crow had said this, and more, and had taken an oath, and so inspired confidence in the mouse, the mouse came out, and the crow made friends with him. The mouse brought out pieces of flesh and grains of rice, and there they both remained eating together in great happiness.

And one day the crow said to his friend the mouse: "At a considerable distance from this place there is a river in the middle of a forest, and in it there lives a tortoise named Mantharaka, who is a friend of mine; for his sake I will go to that place where flesh and other food is easily obtained; it is difficult for me to obtain sustenance here, and I am in continual dread of the fowler." When the crow said this to him, the mouse answered,--"Then we will live together, take me there also; for I too have an annoyance here, and when we get there, I will explain the whole matter to you." When Hiranya said this, Laghupátin took him in his beak, and flew to the bank of that forest stream. And there he found his friend, the tortoise Mantharaka, who welcomed him, and he and the mouse sat with him. And after they had conversed a little, that crow told the tortoise the cause of his coming, together with the circumstance of his having made friends with Hiranya. Then the tortoise adopted the mouse, as his friend on an equal footing with the crow, and asked the cause of the annoyance which drove him from his native place. Then Hiranya gave this account of his experiences in the hearing of the crow and the tortoise.

Story of the Mouse and the Hermit. [59]

I lived in a great hole near the city, and one night I stole a necklace from the palace, and laid it up in my hole. And by looking at that necklace I acquired strength, [60] and a number of mice attached themselves to me, as being able to steal food for them. In the meanwhile a hermit had made a cell near my hole, and he lived on a large stock of food, which he obtained by begging. Every evening he used to put the food, which remained over after he had eaten, in his beggar's porringer on an inaccessible peg, meaning to eat it the next day. [61] And, every night, when he was asleep, I entered by a hole, and jumping up, carried it off.

Once on a time, another hermit, a friend of his, came there, and after eating, conversed with him during the night. And I was at that time attempting to carry off the food, so the first hermit, who was listening, made the pot resound frequently by striking it with a piece of split cane. And the hermit, who was his guest, said, "Why do you interrupt our conversation to do this?" Whereupon the hermit to whom the cell belonged, answered him, "I have got an enemy here in the form of this mouse, who is always jumping up and carrying off this food of mine, though it is high up. I am trying to frighten him by moving the pot of food with a piece of cane." When he said this, the other hermit said to him, "In truth this covetousness is the bane of creatures, hear a story illustrative of this."

Story of the Bráhman's wife and the sesame-seeds. [62]

Once on a time, as I was wandering from one sacred bathing-place to another, I reached a town, and there I entered the house of a certain Bráhman to stay. And while I was there, the Bráhman said to his wife, "Cook to-day, as it is the change of the moon, a dish composed of milk, sesame, and rice, for the Bráhmans." She answered him, "How can a pauper, like you, afford this?" Then the Bráhman said to her, "My dear, though we should hoard, we should not direct our thoughts to excessive hoarding--hear this tale."

Story of the greedy Jackal. [63]

In a certain forest a hunter, after he had been hunting, fixed an arrow in a self-acting bow, [64] and after placing flesh on it, pursued a wild boar. He pierced the wild boar with a dart, but was mortally wounded by his tusks, and died; and a jackal beheld all this from a distance. So he came, but though he was hungry, he would not eat any of the abundant flesh of the hunter and the boar, wishing to hoard it up. But he went first to eat what had been placed on the bow, and that moment the arrow fixed in it flew up, and pierced him so that he died.

"So you must not indulge in excessive hoarding." When the Bráhman said this, his wife consented, and placed some sesame-seeds in the sun. And while she went into the house, a dog tasted them and defiled them, so nobody would buy that dish of sesame-seeds and rice. [65]

"So, you see, covetousness does not give pleasure, it only causes annoyance to those who cherish it." When the hermit, who was a visitor, had said this, he went on to say; "If you have a spade, give it me, in order that I may take steps to put a stop to this annoyance caused by the mouse." Thereupon the hermit, to whom the cell belonged, gave the visitor a spade, and I, who saw it all from my place of concealment, entered my hole. Then the cunning hermit, who had come to visit the other, discovering the hole by which I entered, began to dig. And while I retired further and further in, he went on digging, until at last he reached the necklace and the rest of my stores. And he said to the hermit, who resided there, in my hearing, "It was by the power of this necklace that the mouse had such strength." So they took away all my wealth and placed the necklace on their necks, and then the master of the cell and the visitor went to sleep with light hearts. But when they were asleep, I came again to steal, and the resident hermit woke up and hit me with a stick on the head. That wounded me, but, as it chanced, did not kill me, and I returned to my hole. But after that, I had never strength to make the bound necessary for stealing the food. For wealth is youth to creatures, and the want of it produces old age; owing to the want of it, spirit, might, beauty, and enterprise fail. So all my retinue of mice, seeing that I had become intent on feeding myself only, left me. Servants leave a master who does not support them, bees a tree without flowers, swans a tank without water, in spite of long association.

"So I have been long in a state of despondency, but now, having obtained this Laghupátin for a friend, I have come here to visit you, noble tortoise." When Hiranya had said this, the tortoise Manthara answered--"This is a home to you; so do not be despondent, my friend. To a virtuous man no country is foreign; a man who is content cannot be unhappy; for the man of endurance calamity does not exist; there is nothing impossible to the enterprising." While the tortoise was saying this, a deer, named Chitránga, came to that wood from a great distance, having been terrified by the hunters. When they saw him, and observed that no hunter was pursuing him, the tortoise and his companions made friends with him, and he recovered his strength and spirits. And those four, the crow, the tortoise, the mouse, and the deer, long lived there happily as friends, engaged in reciprocal courtesies.

One day Chitránga was behind time, and Laghupátin flew to the top of a tree to look for him, and surveyed the whole wood. And he saw Chitránga on the bank of the river, entangled in the fatal noose, and then he came down and told this to the mouse and the tortoise. Then they deliberated together, and Laghupátin took up the mouse in his beak, and carried him to Chitránga. And the mouse Hiranya comforted the deer, who was distressed at being caught, and in a moment set him at liberty by gnawing his bonds asunder. [66] In the meanwhile the tortoise Manthara, who was devoted to his friends, came up the bank near them, having travelled along the bed of the river. At that very moment the hunter, who had set the noose, arrived from somewhere or other, and when the deer and the others escaped, caught and made prize of the tortoise. And he put it in a net, and went off, grieved at having lost the deer. In the meanwhile the friends saw what had taken place, and by the advice of the far-seeing mouse, the deer went a considerable distance off, and fell down as if he were dead. [67] And the crow stood upon his head, and pretended to peck his eyes. When the hunter saw that, he imagined that he had captured the deer, as it was dead, and he began to make for it, after putting down the tortoise on the bank of the river. When the mouse saw him making towards the deer, he came up, and gnawed a hole in the net which held the tortoise, so the tortoise was set at liberty, and he plunged into the river. And when the deer saw the hunter coming near, without the tortoise, he got up, and ran off, and the crow, for his part, flew up a tree. Then the hunter came back, and finding that the tortoise had escaped by the net's having been gnawed asunder, he returned home, lamenting that the tortoise had fled and could not be recovered.

Then the four friends came together again in high spirits, and the gratified deer addressed the three others as follows; "I am fortunate in having obtained you for friends, for you have to-day delivered me from death at the risk of your lives." In such words the deer praised the crow and the tortoise and the mouse, and they all lived together delighting in their mutual friendship.

Thus, you see, even animals attain their ends by wisdom, and they risk their lives sooner than abandon their friends in calamity. So full of love is the attachment that subsists among friends; but attachment to women is not approved because it is open to jealousy; hear a story in proof of this.

Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of murdering a Bhilla. [68]

There lived once on a time in a certain town a jealous husband, who had for wife a beautiful woman, whom he loved exceedingly. But being suspicious he never left her alone, for he feared that she might be seduced even by men in pictures. However, one day he had to go to another country on unavoidable business, and he took his wife with him. And seeing that a forest inhabited by Bhillas lay in his way, he left his wife in the house of an old Bráhman villager, and proceeded on his journey. But, while she was there, she saw some Bhillas, who had come that way, and she eloped with a young Bhilla whom she saw. And she went with him to his village, [69] following her inclinations, having escaped from her jealous husband, as a river that has broken a dam.

In the meanwhile her husband finished his business, and returned, and asked the Bráhman villager for his wife, and the Bráhman answered him, "I do not know where she has gone; so much only I know, that some Bhillas came here: she must have been carried off by them. And their village is near here, go there quickly, you will find your wife there, without doubt." When the Bráhman told him this, he wept, and blamed his own folly, and went to that village of Bhillas, and there he saw his wife. When the wicked woman saw him, she approached him in fear and said, "It is not my fault, the Bhilla brought me here by force." Her husband, blind with love, said, "Come along, let us return home, before any one discovers us." But she said to him, "Now is the time when the Bhilla returns from hunting; when he returns he will certainly pursue you and me, and kill us both. So enter this cavern at present, and remain concealed. But at night we will kill him when he is asleep, and leave this place in perfect safety." When the wicked woman said this to him, he entered the cave; what room is there for discernment in the heart of one blinded with love?

The Bhilla returned at the close of the day, and that wicked woman shewed him her husband in the cave, whom his passion had enabled her to decoy there. And the Bhilla, who was a strong man, and cruel, dragged out the husband, and tied him firmly to a tree, in order that he might next day offer him to Bhavání.

And he ate his dinner, and at night lay down to sleep by the side of the faithless wife, before the eyes of the husband. Then that jealous husband, who was tied to the tree, seeing him asleep, implored Bhavání to help him in his need, praising her with hymns. She appeared and granted him a boon, so that he escaped from his bonds, and cut off the head of the Bhilla with his own sword. Then he woke up his wife, and said to her: "Come, I have killed this villain," and she rose up much grieved. And the faithless woman set out at night with her husband, but she secretly took with her the head of the Bhilla. And the next morning, when they reached a town, she shewed the head, and laying hands upon her husband, cried out, "This man has killed my husband." Then the city police took her with her husband before the king. And the jealous husband, being questioned, told the whole story. Then the king enquired into it, and finding that it was true, he ordered the ears and nose of that faithless wife to be cut off, and set her husband at liberty. And he went home freed from the demon of love for a wicked woman.

"This, prince, is how a woman behaves when over-jealously watched, for the jealousy of the husband teaches the wife to run after other men. So a wise man should guard his wife without shewing jealousy. And a man must by no means reveal a secret to a woman, if he desires prosperity. Hear a story shewing this."

Story of the snake who told his secret to a woman.

A certain snake, [70] out of fear of Garuda, fled to earth, and taking the form of a man, concealed himself in the house of a hetæra. And that hetæra used to take as payment five hundred elephants; [71] and the snake by his power gave her five hundred every day. And the lady importuned him to tell her how he acquired so many elephants every day, and who he was. And he, blinded with love, replied--"I am a snake hiding here from fear of Garuda, do not tell any one." But the hetæra privately told all this to the kuttiní.

Now Garuda, searching through the world for the snake, came there in the form of a man, and he came to the kuttiní and said; "I wish to remain to-day in your daughter's house, take my payment." And the kuttiní said to him, "There is a snake living here, who gives us five hundred elephants every day. What do we care about one day's pay?" Then Garuda, finding out that the snake was living there, entered as a guest that hetæra's house. And there he saw the snake on the flat roof, and revealing himself in his real form, he swooped down, and killed him, and ate him.

"So a wise man should not recklessly tell secrets to women." Having said this, Gomukha told him another story of a simpleton.

Story of the bald man and the hair-restorer.

There was a bald man, with a head like a copper pot. And he, being a fool, was ashamed because, though a rich man in the world, he had no hair on his head. Then a rogue, who lived upon others, came to him and said, "There is a physician who knows a drug that will produce hair." When he heard it, he said;--"If you bring him to me, I will give wealth to you and to that physician also." When he said this, the rogue for a long time devoured his substance, and brought to that simpleton a doctor who was a rogue also. And after the doctor too had long lived at his expense, he one day removed his head-dress designedly, and shewed him his bald head. In spite of that, the blockhead, without considering, asked him for a drug which would produce hair, then the physician said to him,--"Since I am bald myself, how can I produce hair in others? It was in order to explain this to you, that I showed you my bald head. But out on you! you do not understand even now." With these words the physician went away.

"So you see, prince, rogues perpetually make sport of fools. You have heard the story of the simpleton and his hair, now hear that of the simpleton and the oil."

Story of a foolish servant.

A certain gentleman had a simpleton for a servant. His master sent him once to fetch oil from a merchant, and he received from him the oil in a vessel. And as he was returning, with the vessel in his hand, a friend of his said to him,--"Take care of this oil-vessel, it leaks at the bottom." When the blockhead heard this, he turned the vessel upside down to look at the bottom of it, and that made all the oil fall on the ground. When his master heard that, he turned out of his house that fool, who was the laughing-stock of the place.

"So it is better for a simpleton to rely upon his own sense, and not to take advice. You have heard about the simpleton and the oil, now hear the story of the simpleton and the bones."

Story of the faithless wife who was present at her own Sráddha. [72]

There was once a foolish man, and he had an unchaste wife. Once on a time, when her husband had gone away for some business to another country, she placed in charge of the house a confidential servant of hers, a truly unique maid, after giving her instructions as to what she was to do, and went away alone to the house of her paramour, intent on enjoying herself without being interfered with. When the lady's husband returned, the maid, who had been well schooled beforehand, said with a voice choked with tears: "Your wife is dead and burnt." She then took him to the burning-ghaut, and shewed him the bones belonging to the pyre of some other person; the fool brought them home with tears, and after bathing at the sacred bathing-places, and strewing her bones there, he proceeded to perform her sráddha. And he made his wife's paramour the officiating Bráhman at the ceremony, as the maid brought him, saying that he was an excellent Bráhman. And every month his wife came with that Bráhman, splendidly dressed, and ate the sweetmeats. And then the maid said to him, "See, master, by virtue of her chastity your wife is enabled to return from the other world, and eat with the Bráhman." And the matchless fool believed most implicitly what she said.

"In this way people of simple dispositions are easily imposed upon by wicked women. You have heard about the simpleton and the bones; now hear the story of the Chandála maiden."

Story of the ambitious Chandála maiden.

There was once a simple but good-looking Chandála maiden. And she formed in her heart the determination to win for her bridegroom a universal monarch. Once on a time, she saw the supreme sovereign go out to make a progress round his city, and she proceeded to follow him, with the intention of making him her husband. At that moment a hermit came that way; and the king, though mounted on an elephant, bowed at his feet, and returned to his own palace. When she saw that, she thought that the hermit was a greater man even than the king, and abandoning him, she proceeded to follow the hermit. The hermit, as he was going along, beheld in front of him an empty temple of Siva, and kneeling on the ground, he worshipped Siva, and then departed. Then the Chandála maiden thought that Siva was greater even than the hermit, and she left the hermit, and attached herself to the god, with the intention of marrying him. Immediately a dog entered, and going up on to the pedestal of the idol, lifted up his leg, and behaved after the manner of the dog tribe. Then the Chandála maiden thought that the dog was superior even to Siva, and leaving the god, followed the departing dog, desiring to marry him. And the dog entered the house of a Chandála, and out of affection rolled at the feet of a young Chandála whom it knew. When she saw that, she concluded that the young Chandála was superior to the dog, and satisfied with her own caste, she chose him as her husband.

"So fools, after aspiring high, fall into their proper place. And now hear in a few words the tale of the foolish king."

Story of the miserly king.

There was a certain foolish king, who was niggardly, though he possessed an abundant treasure, and once on a time his ministers, who desired his prosperity, said to him: "King, charity here averts misery in the next life. So bestow wealth in charity; life and riches are perishable." When the king heard this, he said, "Then I will bestow wealth, when I am dead, and see myself reduced to a state of misery here." Then the ministers remained silent, laughing in their sleeves.

"So, you see, a fool never takes leave of his wealth, until his wealth takes leave of him. You have heard, prince, of the foolish king, now hear the story of the two friends, by way of an episode in these tales of fools."

Story of Dhavalamukha, his trading friend, and his fighting friend. [73]

There was a king in Kányakubja, named Chandrapída. And he had a servant named Dhavalamukha. And he, whenever he came to his house, had eaten and drunk abroad. And one day his wife asked him,--"Where do you always eat and drink before you come home?" And Dhavalamukha answered her, "I always eat and drink with my friends before I come home, for I have two friends in the world. The one is called Kalyánavarman, who obliges me with food and other gifts, and the other is Vírabáhu, who would oblige me with the gift of his life." When his wife heard this, she said to Dhavalamukha, "Then shew me your two friends."

Then he went with her to the house of Kalyánavarman, and Kalyánavarman honoured him with a splendid entertainment. The next day he went with his wife to Vírabáhu, and he was gambling at the time, so he welcomed him and dismissed him. Then Dhavalamukha's wife, being full of curiosity, said to him: "Kalyánavarman entertained you splendidly, but Vírabáhu only gave you a welcome. So why do you think more highly of Vírabáhu than of the other?" When he heard that, he said, "Go and tell them both in succession this fabrication, that the king has suddenly become displeased with us, and you will find out for yourself." She agreed, and went to Kalyánavarman and told him that falsehood, and he answered: "Lady, I am a merchant's son, what can I do against the king?" When he gave her this answer, she went to Vírabáhu, and told him also that the king was angry with her husband; and the moment he heard it, he came running with his shield and his sword. But Dhavalamukha induced him to return home, saying that the king's ministers had pacified his resentment. And he said to his wife: "This, my dear, is the difference between those two friends of mine." And she was quite satisfied.

"So you see that a friend, that shews his friendship by ceremonious entertainment only, is a different thing from a real friend; though oil and ghee both possess the property of oiliness, [74] oil is oil, and ghee is ghee." When Gomukha had told this story, he continued his tales of fools for the benefit of Naraváhanadatta.

Story of the thirsty fool that did not drink.

A certain foolish traveller, tormented by thirst, having with difficulty got through a wood, reached a river; however, he did not drink of it, but kept looking at the water. Some one said to him: "Why do you not drink water, though you are thirsty?" But the blockhead answered, "How could I drink so much water as this?" The other person ridiculed him, saying, "What! will the king punish you, if you drink it all up?" But still the foolish man did not drink the water.

"So you see that in this world fools will not even do a part of a task to the best of their power, if they are not able to complete it altogether. Now you have heard about the fool and the water, hear the story of the son-slayer."

Story of the fool who killed his son.

There was once a foolish man, who was poor and had many sons. When one of his sons died, he killed another, saying, How could this child go such a long journey alone? So he was banished by the people, as being a fool and a criminal.

"Thus a fool is as void of sense and discernment as an animal. You have heard of the son-killer, now hear the story of the fool and his brother."

Story of the fool and his brother.

A certain stupid fellow was talking in a crowd of men. Seeing a respectable man some way off, he said: "That man there is brother to me, so I shall inherit his property, but I am no relation to him, so I am not liable for his debts." When the fool said this, even the stones laughed at him.

Thus fools shew folly, and people blinded by the thought of their own advantage behave in a very wonderful way. So you have heard the story of the fool and his brother, now hear the story of the man whose father followed a strict vow of chastity."

Story of the Brahmachárin's son.

A certain fool was engaged in relating his father's good qualities in the midst of his friends. And describing his father's superior excellence, he said: "My father has followed a strict vow of chastity from his youth, there is no man who can be compared with him." When his friends heard that, they said, "How did you come into the world?" He answered "Oh! I am a mind-born son of his;" whereupon the matchless fool was well laughed at by the people. [75]

"Thus foolish people make self-contradictory statements with regard to others. You have heard the story of the son of the man who observed a strict vow of chastity. Hear now the story of the astrologer."

Story of the astrologer who killed his son.

There was a certain astrologer wanting in discernment. He left his own country with his wife and son, because he could not earn a subsistence, and went to another country. There he made a deceitful display of his skill, in order to gain complimentary presents by a factitious reputation for ability. He embraced his son before the public and shed tears. When the people asked him why he did this, the wicked man said: "I know the past, the present, and the future, and that enables me to foresee that this child of mine will die in seven days from this time: this is why I am weeping." By these words he excited the wonder of the people, and when the seventh day arrived, he killed his son in the morning, as he lay asleep. When the people saw that his son was dead, they felt confidence in his skill, and honoured him with presents, and so he acquired wealth and returned leisurely to his own country.

"Thus foolish men, through desire of wealth, go so far as to kill their sons, in order to make a false display of prescience; the wise should not make friends with such. Now hear the story of the foolish man who was addicted to anger."

Story of the violent man who justified his character.

One day a man was relating to his friends, inside a house, the good qualities of a man, who was listening outside. Then a person present said: "It is true, my friend, that he possesses many good qualities, but he has two faults; he is violent and irascible." While he was saying this, the man, who was outside, overhearing him, entered hastily, and twisted his garment round his throat, and said: "You fool, what violence have I done, what anger have I been guilty of?" This he said in an abusive way, inflamed with the fire of anger. Then the others who were there laughed, and said to him, "Why should he speak? You have been good enough to give us ocular demonstration of your anger and your violence."

"So you see that fools do not know their own faults, though they are patent to all men. Now hear about the foolish king who made his daughter grow."

Story of the foolish king who made his daughter grow. [76]

A certain king had a handsome daughter born to him. On account of his great affection for her, he wished to make her grow, so he quickly summoned physicians, and said politely to them: "Make some preparation of salutary drugs, in order that my daughter may grow up quickly, and be married to a good husband." When the physicians heard this, they said, in order to get a living out of the silly king: "There is a medicine which will do this, but it can only be procured in a distant country, and while we are sending for it, we must shut up your daughter in concealment, for this is the treatment laid down for such cases." When they had said this, they placed his daughter in concealment there for many years, saying that they were engaged in bringing that medicine. And when she grew up to be a young woman, they shewed her to that king, telling him that she had been made to grow by the medicine; and he was pleased, and loaded them with heaps of wealth.

"In this way rogues by means of imposture live on foolish sovereigns. Now hear the story of a man who shewed his cleverness by recovering half a pana."

Story of the man who recovered half a pana from his servant. [77]

There was once on a time a man living in a town, who was vain of his wisdom. And a certain villager, who had served him for a year, being dissatisfied with his salary, left him and went home. And when he had gone, the town-bred gentleman said to his wife,--"My dear, I hope you did not give him anything before he went?" She answered, "Half a pana." Then he spent ten panas in provisions for the journey, and overtook that servant on the bank of a river, and recovered from him that half pana. And when he related it as a proof of his skill in saving money, he became a public laughing-stock.

"Thus men, whose minds are blinded with wealth, fling away much to gain little. Now hear the story of the man who took notes of the spot."

Story of the fool who took notes of a certain spot in the sea. [78]

A certain foolish person, while travelling by sea, let a silver vessel fall from his hand into the water. The fool took notes of the spot, observing the eddies and other signs in the water, and said to himself: "I will bring it up from the bottom, when I return." He reached the other side of the sea, and as he was re-crossing, he saw the eddies and other signs, and thinking he recognized the spot, he plunged into the water again and again to recover his silver vessel. When the others asked him what his object was, he told them, and got well laughed at and abused for his pains.

"Now hear the story of the king who wished to substitute other flesh for what he had taken away."

Story of the king who replaced the flesh. [79]

A foolish king saw from his palace two men below. And seeing that one of them had taken flesh from the kitchen, he had five palas of flesh cut from his body. When the flesh had been cut away, the man groaned and fell on the earth, and the king, seeing him, was moved with compassion, and said to the warder: "His grief cannot be assuaged because five palas of flesh were cut from him, so give him more than five palas of flesh by way of compensation." The warder said: "When a man's head is cut off, does he live even if you give him a hundred heads?" Then he went outside and had his laugh out, and comforted the man from whom the flesh had been cut, and handed him over to the physicians.

"So you see, a silly king knows how to punish, but not how to shew favour. Hear this story of the silly woman who wanted another son."

Story of the woman who wanted another son. [80]

One day a woman with only one son, desiring another, applied to a wicked female ascetic belonging to a heretical sect. The ascetic told her that, if she killed her young son and offered him to the divinity, another son would certainly be born to her. When she was preparing to carry out this advice, another and a good old woman said to her in private: "Wicked woman, you are going to kill the son you have already, and wish to get another. Supposing a second is not born to you, what will you do?" So that good old woman dissuaded her from crime.

"So women, who associate with witches, fall into evil courses, but they are restrained and saved by the advice of the old. Now, prince, hear the story of the man who brought the ámalaka fruit."

Story of the servant who tasted the fruit. [81]

A certain householder had a stupid servant. As the householder was fond of ámalakas, he said to his servant, "Go, and bring me some perfectly sweet ámalakas from the garden." The foolish fellow bit every one, to taste if it was sweet, and then brought them, and said; "Look, master, I tasted these and found them sweet, before bringing them." And his master, seeing that they were half eaten, sent them away in disgust and his stupid servant too.

"Thus a foolish person ruins his master's interests and then his own, and here by way of episode hear the story of the two brothers."

Story of the two brothers Yajnasoma and Kírtisoma.

There were two Bráhmans, brothers, in the city of Pátaliputra; the elder was called Yajnasoma and the younger Kírtisoma. And those two young Bráhmans had much wealth derived from their father. Kírtisoma increased his share by business, but Yajnasoma exhausted his by enjoying and giving. Then, being reduced to poverty, he said to his wife; "My dear, how can I, who am reduced from riches to poverty, live among my relations? Let us go to some foreign country." She said,--"How can we go without money for the journey." Still her husband insisted, so she said to him: "If you really must go, then first go and ask your younger brother Kírtisoma for some money for the journey." So he went and asked his younger brother for his travelling expenses, but his younger brother's wife said to him: "How can we give even the smallest sum to this man who has wasted his substance. For every one who falls into poverty will sponge on us." When Kírtisoma heard this, he no longer felt inclined to give anything to his elder brother, though he loved him. Subjection to bad women is pernicious!

Then Yajnasoma went away silent, and told that to his wife, and set out with her, relying upon the help of Heaven only. When they reached the wood, it happened that, as he was going along, he was swallowed by a monstrous serpent. And when his wife saw it, she fell on the ground and lamented. And the serpent said with a human voice to the lady: "Why do you lament, my good woman?" The Bráhman lady answered the snake: "How can I help lamenting, mighty sir, when you have deprived me in this remote spot of my only means of obtaining alms?" When the serpent heard that, he brought out of his mouth a great vessel of gold and gave it her, saying, "Take this as a vessel in which to receive alms." [82] The good Bráhman lady said, "Who will give me alms in this vessel, for I am a woman?" The serpent said: "If any one refuses to give you alms in it, his head shall that moment burst into a hundred pieces. What I say is true." When the virtuous Bráhman lady heard that, she said to the serpent, "If this is so, then give me my husband in it by way of alms." The moment the good lady said this, the serpent brought her husband out of his mouth alive and unharmed. As soon as the serpent had done this, he became a man of heavenly appearance, and being pleased, he said to the joyful couple: "I am a king of the Vidyádharas, named Kánchanavega, and by the curse of Gautama I was reduced to the condition of a serpent. And it was appointed that my curse should end when I conversed with a good woman." When the king of the Vidyádharas had said this, he immediately filled the vessel with jewels, and delighted flew up into the sky. And the couple returned home with abundance of jewels. And there Yajnasoma lived in happiness having obtained inexhaustible wealth.

"Providence gives to every one in accordance with his or her character. Hear the story of the foolish man who asked for the barber."

Story of the fool who wanted a barber.

A certain inhabitant of Karnáta pleased his king by his daring behaviour in battle. His sovereign was pleased, and promised to give him whatever he asked for, but the spiritless warrior chose the king's barber.

"Every man chooses what is good or bad according to the measure of his own intellect: now hear the story of the foolish man who asked for nothing at all."

Story of the man who asked for nothing at all.

A certain foolish man, as he was going along the road, was asked by a carter to do something to make his cart balance evenly. He said, "If I make it right, what will you give me?" The carter answered; "I will give you nothing at all." Then the fool put the cart even, and said, "Give me the nothing-at-all you promised." But the carter laughed at him. "So you see, king, fools are for ever becoming the object of the scorn and contempt and reproach of men, and fall into misfortune, while the good on the other hand are thought worthy of honour."

When the prince surrounded by his ministers, had heard at night these amusing stories from Gomukha, he was enabled to enjoy sleep, which refreshes the whole of the three worlds.