Chapter LXII…

Chapter LXII

The next morning Naraváhanadatta got up, and went into the presence of the king of Vatsa his loving father. There he found Sinhavarman, the brother of the queen Padmávatí and the son of the king of Magadha, who had come there from his own house. The day passed in expressions of welcome, and friendly conversation, and after Naraváhanadatta had had dinner, he returned home. There the wise Gomukha told this story at night, in order to console him who was longing for the society of Saktiyasas.

Story of the war between the crows and the owls. [83]

There was in a certain place a great and shady banyan-tree, which seemed, with the voices of its birds, to summon travellers to repose. There a king of the crows, named Meghavarna, had established his home, and he had an enemy named Avamarda, king of the owls. The king of the owls surprised the king of the crows there at night, and after inflicting a defeat on him and killing many crows, departed. The next morning the king of the crows, after the usual compliments, said to his ministers Uddívin, Ádívin, Sandívin, Pradívin, [84] and Chirajívin: "That powerful enemy, who has thus defeated us, may get together a hundred thousand soldiers, and make another descent on us. So let some preventive measure be devised for this case." When Uddívin heard this, he said; "King, with a powerful enemy, one must either retire to another country, or adopt conciliation." When Ádívin heard this, he said, "The danger is not immediate; let us consider the intentions of the adversary and our own power, and do the best we can." Then Sandívin said, "King, death is preferable to submission to the foe, or retiring to another country. We must go and fight with that feeble enemy; a brave and enterprising king, who possesses allies, conquers his foes." Then Pradívin said, "He is too powerful to be conquered in battle, but we must make a truce with him, and kill him when we get an opportunity." Then Chirajívin said, "What truce? Who will be ambassador? There is war between the crows and the owls from time immemorial; who will go to them? This must be accomplished by policy; policy is said to be the very foundation of empires." When the king of the crows heard that, he said to Chirajívin,--"You are old; tell me if you know, what was originally the cause of the war between the crows and the owls. You shall state your policy afterwards." When Chirajívin heard this, he answered, "It is all due to an inconsiderate utterance. Have you never heard the story of the donkey?"

Story of the ass in the panther's skin. [85]

A certain washerman had a thin donkey; so, in order to make it fat, he used to cover it with the skin of a panther and let it loose to feed in his neighbour's corn. While it was eating the corn, people were afraid to drive it away, thinking that it was a panther. One day a cultivator, who had a bow in his hand, saw it. He thought it was a panther, and through fear bending down, and making himself humpbacked, he proceeded to creep away, with his body covered with a rug. When the donkey saw him going away in this style, he thought he was another donkey, and being primed with corn, he uttered aloud his own asinine bray. Then the cultivator came to the conclusion that it was a donkey, and returning, killed with an arrow the foolish animal, which had made an enemy with its own voice. "In the same way our feud with the crows is due to an inconsiderate utterance."

How the crow dissuaded the birds from choosing the owl king. [86]

For once upon a time the birds were without a king. They all assembled together, and bringing an umbrella and a chowrie, were proceeding to anoint the owl king of the birds. In the meanwhile a crow, flying in the air above, saw it, and said; "You fools, are there not other birds, cuckoos and so on, that you must make this cruel-eyed unpleasant-looking wicked bird king? Out on the inauspicious owl! You must elect a heroic king whose name will ensure prosperity. Listen now, I will tell you a tale.

Story of the elephants and the hares. [87]

There is a great lake abounding in water, called Chandrasaras. And on its bank there lived a king of the hares, named Silímukha. Now, once on a time, a leader of a herd of elephants, named Chaturdanta, came there to drink water, because all the other reservoirs of water were dried up in the drought that prevailed. Then many of the hares, who were the subjects of that king, were trampled to death by Chaturdanta's herd, while entering the lake. When that monarch of the herd had departed, the hare-king Silímukha, being grieved, said to a hare named Vijaya in the presence of the others; "Now that that lord of elephants has tasted the water of this lake, he will come here again and again, and utterly destroy us all, so think of some expedient in this case. Go to him, and see if you have any artifice which will suit the purpose or not. For you know business and expedients, and are an ingenious orator. And in all cases in which you have been engaged the result has been fortunate." When despatched with these words, the hare was pleased, and went slowly on his way. And following up the track of the herd, he overtook that elephant-king and saw him, and being determined somehow or other to have an interview with the mighty beast, the wise hare climbed up to the top of a rock, and said to the elephant; "I am the ambassador of the moon, and this is what the god says to you by my mouth; 'I dwell in a cool lake named Chandrasaras; [88] there dwell hares whose king I am, and I love them well, and thence I am known to men as the cool-rayed and the hare-marked; [89] now thou hast defiled that lake and slain those hares of mine. If thou do that again, thou shalt receive thy due recompense from me.'" When the king of elephants heard this speech of the crafty hare's, he said in his terror; "I will never do so again: I must shew respect to the awful moon-god." The hare said,--"So come, my friend, I pray, and we will shew him to you." After saying this, the hare led the king of elephants to the lake, and shewed him the reflection of the moon in the water. When the lord of the herd saw that, he bowed before it timidly at a distance, oppressed with awe, and never came there again. And Silímukha, the king of the hares, was present, and witnessed the whole transaction, and after honouring that hare, who went as an ambassador, he lived there in security.

When the crow had told this story, he went on to say to the birds, "This is the right sort of king, whose name alone ensures none of his subjects being injured. So why does this base owl, who cannot see in the day, deserve a throne? And a base creature is never to be trusted, hear this tale in proof of it."

Story of the bird, the hare, and the cat. [90]

Once on a time I lived in a certain tree, and below me in the same tree a bird, named Kapinjala, had made a nest and lived. One day he went away somewhere, and he did not return for many days. In the meanwhile a hare came and took possession of his nest. After some days Kapinjala returned, and an altercation arose between him and the hare, as both laid claim to the nest, exclaiming; "It is mine, not yours." Then they both set out in search of a qualified arbitrator. And I, out of curiosity, followed them unobserved, to see what would turn up. After they had gone a little way they saw on the bank of a lake a cat, who pretended to have taken a vow of abstinence from injury to all creatures, with his eyes half-closed in meditation. They said to one another; "Why should we not ask this holy cat here to declare what is just?"--Then they approached the cat and said; "Reverend sir, hear our cause, for you are a holy ascetic." When the cat heard that, he said to them in a low voice,--"I am weak from self-mortification, so I cannot hear at a distance, pray, come near me. For a case wrongly decided brings temporal and eternal death." With these words the cat encouraged them to come just in front of him, and then the base creature killed at one spring both the hare and Kapinjala.

"So, you see, one cannot confide in villains whose actions are base. Accordingly you must not make this owl king, for he is a great villain." When the crow said this to the birds, they admitted the force of it, and gave up the idea of anointing the owl king, and dispersed in all directions. And the owl said to the crow; "Remember; from this day forth you and I are enemies. Now I take my leave of you." And he went away in a rage. But the crow, though he thought that he had spoken what was right, was for a moment despondent. Who is not grieved when he has involved himself in a dangerous quarrel by a mere speech?

"So you see that our feud with the owls arose from an inconsiderate utterance." Having said this to the king, Chirajívin continued, "The owls are numerous and strong, and you cannot conquer them. Numbers prevail in this world, hear an instance."

Story of the Bráhman, the goat, and the rogues. [91]

A Bráhman had bought a goat, and was returning from a village with it on his shoulder, when he was seen on the way by many rogues, who wished to deprive him of the goat. And one of them came up to him, and pretending to be in a great state of excitement, said; "Bráhman, how come you to have this dog on your shoulder? Put it down." When the Bráhman heard that, he paid no attention to it, but went on his way. Then two more came up and said the very same thing to him. Then he began to doubt, and went along examining the goat carefully, when three other rascals came up to him and said: "How comes it that you carry a dog and a sacrificial thread at the same time? Surely you must be a hunter, not a Bráhman, and this is the dog with the help of which you kill game." When the Bráhman heard that, he said: "Surely some demon has smitten my sight and bewildered me. Can all these men be under the influence of an optical delusion?" Thereupon the Bráhman flung down the goat, and after bathing, returned home, and the rogues took the goat and made a satisfactory meal off it.

After Chirajívin had told this tale, he said to the king of the crows: "So you see, king, numerous and powerful foes are hard to conquer. So you had better adopt, in this war with powerful foes, the following expedient, which I suggest. Pluck out some of my feathers, [92] and leave me under this tree, and go to that hill there, until I return, having accomplished my object. The king of the crows agreed, and plucked out some of his feathers, as if in anger, and placed him under the tree, and went off to the mountain with his followers: and Chirajívin remained lying flat under the tree which was his home.

Then the king of the owls, Avamarda, came there at night with his followers, and he did not see a single crow on the tree. At that moment Chirajívin uttered a feeble caw below, and the king of the owls, hearing it, came down, and saw him lying there. In his astonishment he asked him who he was, and why he was in that state. And Chirajívin answered, pretending that his voice was weak from pain; "I am Chirajívin, the minister of that king of the crows. And he wished to make an attack on you in accordance with the advice of his ministers. Then I rebuked those other ministers, and said to him, 'If you ask me for advice, and if I am valued by you, in that case you will not make war with the powerful king of the owls. But you will endeavour to propitiate him, if you have any regard for policy.' When the foolish king of the crows heard that, he exclaimed, 'This fellow is a partisan of my enemies,' and in his wrath, he and his followers pecked me, and reduced me to this state. And he flung me down under the tree, and went off somewhere or other with his followers." When Chirajívin had said this, he sighed, and turned his face to the ground. And then the king of the owls asked his ministers what they ought to do with Chirajívin. When his minister Díptanayana heard this, he said, "Good people spare even a thief, though ordinarily he ought not to be spared, if they find that he is a benefactor."

Story of the old merchant and his young wife. [93]

For once on a time there was a certain merchant in a certain town, who, though old, managed to marry by the help of his wealth a young girl of the merchant caste. And she was always averse to him on account of his old age, as the bee turns away from the forest-tree when the time of flowers is past. [94] And one night a thief got into his house, while the husband and wife were in bed; and, when the wife saw him, she was afraid, and turned round and embraced her husband. The merchant thought that a wonderful piece of good fortune, and while looking in all directions for the explanation, he saw the thief in a corner. The merchant said; "You have done me a benefit, so I will not have you killed by my servants." And so he spared his life and sent him away.

"So we ought to spare the life of this Chirajívin, as he is our benefactor." When the minister Díptanayana had said this, he remained silent. Then the king of the owls said to another minister, named Vakranása, "What ought we to do? Give me proper advice." Then Vakranása said, "He should be spared, for he knows the secrets of our foes. This quarrel between the enemies' king and his minister is for our advantage. Listen, and I will tell you a story which will illustrate it."

Story of the Bráhman, the thief, and the Rákshasa. [95]

A certain excellent Bráhman received two cows as a donation. A thief happened to see them, and began plotting how to carry them off. At that very time a Rákshasa was longing to eat that Bráhman. It happened that the thief and the Rákshasa, as they were going to his house at night to accomplish their objects, met, and telling one another their errands, went together. When the thief and the Rákshasa entered the Bráhman's dwelling, they began to wrangle. The thief said; "I will carry off the oxen first, for if you lay hold of the Bráhman first, and he wakes up, how can I get the yoke of oxen?" The Rákshasa said; "By no means! I will first carry off the Bráhman, otherwise he will wake up with the noise of the feet of the oxen, and my labour will all be in vain." While this was going on, the Bráhman woke up. Then he took his sword, and began to recite a charm for destroying Rákshasas, and the thief and the Rákshasa both fled.

"So the quarrel between those two, Chirajívin and the king of the crows, will be to our advantage, as the quarrel between the thief and the Rákshasa was to the advantage of the Bráhman." When Vakranása said this, the king of the owls asked his minister Prákárakarna for his opinion, and he answered him; "This Chirajívin should be treated with compassion, as he is in distress, and has applied to us for protection: in old time Sivi offered his flesh for the sake of one who sought his protection. [96] When the king of the owls heard this from Prákárakarna, he asked the advice of his minister Krúralochana, and he gave him the same answer.

Then the king of the owls asked a minister named Raktáksha, and he, being a discreet minister, said to him; "King, these ministers have done their best to ruin you by impolitic advice. Those, who know policy, place no confidence in the acts of a hereditary enemy. It is only a fool that, though he sees the fault, is satisfied with insincere flattery."

Story of the carpenter and his wife. [97]

For once on a time there was a carpenter, who had a wife whom he loved dearly; and the carpenter heard from his neighbours that she was in love with another man; so, wishing to test the fidelity of his wife, he said to her one day: "My dear, I am by command of the king going a long journey to-day, in order to do a job, so give me barley-meal and other things as provision for the journey." She obeyed and gave him provisions, and he went out of the house; and then secretly came back into it, and with a pupil of his hid himself under the bed. As for the wife, she summoned her paramour. And while she was sitting with him on the bed, the wicked woman happened to touch her husband with her foot, and found out that he was there. And a moment after, her paramour, being puzzled, asked her which she loved the best, himself or her husband. When she heard this, the artful and treacherous woman said to that lover of hers; "I love my husband best, for his sake I would surrender my life. As for this unfaithfulness of mine, it is natural to women; they would even eat dirt, if they had no noses."

When the carpenter heard this hypocritical speech of the adulteress, he came out from under the bed, and said to his pupil; "You have seen, you are my witness to this; though my wife has betaken herself to this lover, she is still so devoted to me; so I will carry her on my head." When the silly fellow had said this, he immediately took them both up, as they sat on the bed, upon his head, with the help of his pupil, and carried them about.

"So an undiscerning blockhead, though he sees a crime committed before his eyes, is satisfied with hypocritical flattery, and makes himself ridiculous. So you must not spare Chirajívin, who is a follower of your enemy, for, if not carefully watched, he might slay your Majesty in a moment, like a disease." When the king of the owls heard Raktáksha say this, he answered; "It was in trying to benefit us that the worthy creature was reduced to this state. So how can we do otherwise than spare his life? Besides, what harm can he do us unaided?" So the king of the owls rejected the advice of Raktáksha, and comforted that crow Chirajívin. Then Chirajívin said to the king of the owls, "What is the use to me of life, now that I am in this state? So have logs of wood brought me, in order that I may enter the fire. And I will ask the fire as a boon, that I may be born again as an owl, in order that I may wreak my vengeance upon this king of the crows." When he said this, Raktáksha laughed and said to him; "By the favour of our master you will be well enough off: what need is there of fire? Moreover you will never become an owl, as long as you have the nature of a crow. Every creature is such as he is made by the Creator."

Story of the mouse that was turned into a maiden. [98]

For once on a time a hermit found a young mouse, which had escaped from the claws of a kite, and pitying it, made it by the might of his asceticism into a young maiden. And he brought her up in his hermitage; and, when he saw that she had grown up, wishing to give her to a powerful husband, he summoned the sun. And he said to the sun; "Marry this maiden, whom I wish to give in marriage to some mighty one." Then the sun answered, "The cloud is more powerful than I, he obscures me in a moment." When the hermit heard that, he dismissed the sun, and summoned the cloud, and made the same proposal to him. He replied, "The wind is more powerful than I: he drives me into any quarter of the heaven he pleases." When the hermit got this answer, he summoned the wind and made the same proposal to him. And the wind replied, "The mountains are stronger than I, for I cannot move them." When the great hermit heard this, he summoned the Himálaya, and made the same proposal to him. That mountain answered him; "The mice are stronger than I am, for they dig holes in me."

Having thus got these answers in succession from those wise divinities, the great rishi summoned a forest mouse, and said to him, "Marry this maiden." Thereupon the mouse said, "Shew me how she is to be got into my hole." Then the hermit said, "It is better that she should return to her condition as a mouse." So he made her a mouse again, and gave her to that male mouse.

"So a creature returns to what it was, at the end of a long peregrination, accordingly you, Chirajívin, will never become an owl." When Raktáksha said this to Chirajívin, the latter reflected; "This king has not acted on the advice of this minister, who is skilled in policy. All these others are fools, so my object is gained." While he was thus reflecting, the king of the owls took Chirajívin with him to his own fortress, confiding in his own strength, disregarding the advice of Raktáksha. And Chirajívin, being about his person, and fed with pieces of meat and other delicacies by him, soon acquired as splendid a plumage as a peacock. [99] One day, Chirajívin said to the king of the owls; "King, I will go and encourage that king of the crows and bring him back to his dwelling, in order that you may attack him this night and slay him, and that I may make [100] some return for this favour of yours. But do you all fortify your door with grass and other things, and remain in the cave where your nests are, that they may not attack you by day." When, by saying this, Chirajívin had made the owls retire into their cave, and barricade the door and the approaches to the cave, with grass and leaves, he went back to his own king. And with him he returned, carrying a brand from a pyre, all ablaze, in his beak, and every one of the crows that followed him had a piece of wood hanging down from his beak. And the moment he arrived, he set on fire the door of the cave, in which were those owls, creatures that are blind by day, which had been barricaded with dry grass and other stuff.

And every crow, in the same way, threw down at the same time his piece of wood, and so kindled a fire and burnt the owls, king and all. [101] And the king of the crows, having destroyed his enemies with the help of Chirajívin, was highly delighted, and returned with his tribe of crows to his own banyan-tree. Then Chirajívin told the story of how he lived among his enemies, to king Meghavarna, the king of the crows, and said to him; "Your enemy, king, had one good minister named Raktáksha; it is because he was infatuated by confidence, and did not act on that minister's advice, that I was allowed to remain uninjured. Because the villain did not act on his advice, thinking it was groundless, I was able to gain the confidence of the impolitic fool, and to deceive him. It was by a feigned semblance of submission that the snake entrapped and killed the frogs."

Story of the snake and the frogs. [102]

A certain old snake, being unable to catch frogs easily on the bank of a lake, which was frequented by men, remained there motionless. And when he was there, the frogs asked him, keeping at a safe distance; "Tell us, worthy sir, why do you no longer eat frogs as of old?" When the snake was asked this question by the frogs, he answered, "While I was pursuing a frog, I one day bit a Bráhman's son in the finger by mistake, and he died. And his father by a curse made me a bearer of frogs. So how can I eat you now? On the contrary I will carry you on my back."

When the king of the frogs heard that, he was desirous of being carried, and putting aside fear, he came out of the water, and joyfully mounted on the back of the snake. Then the snake, having gained his good-will by carrying him about with his ministers, represented himself as exhausted, and said cunningly; "I cannot go a step further without food, so give me something to eat. How can a servant exist without subsistence?" When the frog-king, who was fond of being carried about, heard this, he said to him; "Eat a few of my followers then." So the snake ate all the frogs in succession, as he pleased, and the king of the frogs put up with it, being blinded with pride at being carried about by the snake.

"Thus a fool is deceived by a wise man who worms himself into his confidence. And in the same way I ingratiated myself with your enemies and brought about their ruin. So a king must be skilled in policy and self-restrained; a fool is plundered by his servants and slain by his foes at will. And this goddess of prosperity, O king, is ever treacherous as gambling, fickle as a wave, intoxicating as wine. But she remains as persistently constant to a king, who is self-contained, well-advised, free from vice, and knows differences of character, as if she were tied with a rope. So you must now remain attentive to the words of the wise, and glad at the slaughter of your enemies, rule a realm free from opponents." When the minister Chirajívin said this to the crow-king Meghavarna, the latter loaded him with honours, and ruled as he recommended.

When Gomukha had said this, he went on to say to the son of the king of Vatsa; "So you see, king, that even animals are able to rule prosperously by means of discretion, but the indiscreet are always ruined and become the laughing-stock of the public."

Story of the foolish servant.

For instance a certain rich man had a foolish servant. He, while shampooing him, in his extreme folly gave him a slap on his body, (for he fancied in his conceit that he thoroughly understood the business while he really knew nothing about it,) and so broke his skin. Then he was dismissed by that master and sank into utter despair.

"The fact is a man who, while ignorant, thinks himself wise, and rushes impetuously at any business, is ruined; hear another story in proof of it."

Story of the two brothers who divided all that they had. [103]

In Málava there were two Bráhman brothers, and the wealth they inherited from their father was left jointly between them. And while dividing that wealth, they quarrelled about one having too little and the other having too much, and they made a teacher learned in the Vedas arbitrator, and he said to them; "You must divide every single thing into two halves, in order that you may not quarrel about the inequality of the division." When the two fools heard this, they divided every single thing into two equal parts, house, beds, et cetera; in fact all their wealth, even the cattle. They had only one female slave; her also they cut in two. When the king heard of that, he punished them with the confiscation of all their property.

"So fools, following the advice of other fools, lose this world and the next. Accordingly a wise man should not serve fools: he should serve wise men. Discontent also does harm, for listen to this tale."

The story of the mendicants who became emaciated from discontent.

There were some wandering mendicants, who became fat by being satisfied with what they got by way of alms. Some friends saw this and began to remark to one another; "Well! these mendicants are fat enough, though they do live on what they get by begging." Then one of them said,--"I will shew you a strange sight. I will make these men thin, though they eat the same things as before." When he had said this, he proceeded to invite the mendicants for one day to his house, and gave them to eat the best possible food, containing all the six flavours. [104] And those foolish men, remembering the taste of it, no longer felt any appetite for the food they got as alms; so they became thin. So that man who had entertained them, when he saw these mendicants near, pointed them out to his friends, and said; "Formerly these men were sleek and fat, because they were satisfied with the food which they got as alms, now they have become thin, owing to disgust, being dissatisfied with their alms. Therefore a wise man, who desires happiness, should establish his mind in contentment; for dissatisfaction produces in both worlds intolerable and unceasing grief." When he had given his friends this lesson, they abandoned discontent, the source of crime; to whom is not association with the good improving? "Now king, hear of the fool and the gold."

Story of the fool who saw gold in the water. [105]

A certain young man went to a tank to drink water. There the fool saw in the water the reflection of a golden-crested bird, that was sitting on a tree. [106] This reflection was of a golden hue, and, thinking it was real gold, he entered the tank to get it, but he could not lay hold of it, as it kept appearing and disappearing in the moving water. But as often as he ascended the bank, he again saw it in the water, and again and again he entered the tank to lay hold of it, and still he got nothing. Then his father saw him and questioned him, and drove away the bird, and then, when he no longer saw the reflection in the water, explained to him the whole thing, and took the foolish fellow home.

"Thus foolish people, who do not reflect, are deceived by false suppositions, and become the source of laughter to their enemies, and of sorrow to their friends. Now hear another tale of some great fools."

Story of the servants who kept rain off the trunks. [107]

The camel of a certain merchant gave way under its load on a journey. He said to his servants, "I will go and buy another camel to carry the half of this camel's load. And you must remain here, and take particular care that, if it clouds over, the rain does not wet the leather of these trunks, which are full of clothes." With these words the merchant left the servants by the side of the camel, and went off, and suddenly a cloud came up and began to discharge rain. Then the fools said; "Our master told us to take care that the rain did not touch the leather of the trunks;" and after they had made this sage reflection, they dragged the clothes out of the trunks and wrapped them round the leather. The consequence was, that the rain spoiled the clothes. Then the merchant returned, and in a rage said to his servants; "You rascals! Talk of water! Why the whole stock of clothes is spoiled by the rain." And they answered him; "You told us to keep the rain off the leather of the trunks. What fault have we committed?" He answered; "I told you that, if the leather got wet, the clothes would be spoiled: I told it you in order to save the clothes, not the leather." Then he placed the load on another camel, and when he returned home, imposed a fine on his servants amounting to the whole of their wealth.

"Thus fools, with undiscerning hearts, turn things upside down, and ruin their own interests and those of other people, and give such absurd answers. Now hear in a few words the story of the fool and the cakes."

Story of the fool and the cakes. [108]

A certain traveller bought eight cakes for a pana; and he ate six of them without being satisfied, but his hunger was satisfied by eating the seventh. Then the blockhead exclaimed; "I have been cheated; why did I not eat this cake, which has allayed the pangs of hunger, first of all? Why did I waste those others, why did I not store them up?" In these words he bewailed the fact that his hunger was only gradually satisfied, and the people laughed at him for his ignorance.

Story of the servant who looked after the door. [109]

A certain merchant said to his foolish servant; "Take care of the door of my shop, I am going home for a moment. After the merchant had said this, he went away, and the servant took the shop-door on his shoulder and went off to see an actor perform. And as he was returning, his master met him and gave him a scolding. And he answered, "I have taken care of this door as you told me."

"So a fool, who attends only to the words of an order and does not understand the meaning, causes detriment. Now hear the wonderful story of the buffalo and the simpletons."

Story of the simpletons who ate the buffalo.

Some villagers took a buffalo belonging to a certain man, and killed it in an enclosure outside the village, under a banyan-tree, and, dividing it, ate it up. The proprietor of the buffalo went and complained to the king, and he had the villagers, who had eaten the buffalo, brought before him. And the proprietor of the buffalo said before the king, in their presence; "These foolish men took my buffalo under a banyan-tree near the tank, and killed it and ate it before my eyes." Whereupon an old fool among the villagers said, "There is no tank or banyan-tree in our village. He says what is not true: where did we kill his buffalo or eat it?"

When the proprietor of the buffalo heard this, he said; "What! is there not a banyan-tree and a tank on the east side of the village? Moreover, you ate my buffalo on the eighth day of the lunar month." When the proprietor of the buffalo said this, the old fool replied, "There is no east side or eighth day in our village." When the king heard this, he laughed, and said, to encourage the fool; "You are a truthful person, you never say anything false, so tell me the truth, did you eat that buffalo or did you not?" When the fool heard that, he said, "I was born three years after my father died, and he taught me skill in speaking. So I never say what is untrue, my sovereign; it is true that we ate his buffalo, but all the rest that he alleges is false." When the king heard this, he and his courtiers could not restrain their laughter; so the king restored the price of the buffalo to the plaintiff, and fined those villagers.

"So, fools, in the conceit of their folly, while they deny what need not be denied, reveal what it is their interest to suppress, in order to get themselves believed."

Story of the fool who behaved like a Brahmany drake.

A certain foolish man had an angry wife, who said to him; "To-morrow I shall go to my father's house, I am invited to a feast. So if you do not bring me a garland of blue lotuses from somewhere or other, you will cease to be my husband, and I shall cease to be your wife." Accordingly he went at night to the king's tank to fetch them. And when he entered it, the guards saw him, and cried out; "Who are you?" He said, "I am a Brahmany drake," but they took him prisoner; and in the morning he was brought before the king, and when questioned, he uttered in his presence the cry of that bird. Then the king himself summoned him and questioned him persistently, and when he told his story, being a merciful monarch, he let the wretched man go unpunished.

Story of the physician who tried to cure a hunchback.

And a certain Bráhman said to a foolish physician; "Drive in the hump on the back of my son who is deformed." When the physician heard that, he said; "Give me ten panas, I will give you ten times as many, if I do not succeed in this." Having thus made a bet, and having taken the ten panas from the Bráhman, the physician only tortured the hunchback with sweating and other remedies. But he was not able to remove the hump; so he paid down the hundred panas; for who in this world would be able to make straight a hunchbacked man?

"So the boastful fashion of promising to accomplish impossibilities only makes a man ridiculous. Therefore a discreet person should not walk in these ways of fools." When the wise prince Naraváhanadatta had heard, at night, these tales of fools from his auspicious-mouthed minister, named Gomukha, he was exceedingly pleased with him.

And though he was pining for Saktiyasas, yet, owing to the pleasure he derived from the stories that Gomukha told him, he was enabled to get to sleep, when he went to bed, and slept surrounded by his ministers who had grown up with him.

Chapter LXIII

The next morning Naraváhanadatta woke up, and thinking on his beloved Saktiyasas, became distracted. And thinking that the rest of the month, until he married her, was as long as an age, he could not find pleasure in anything, as his mind was longing for a new wife. When the king, his father, heard that from the mouth of Gomukha, out of love for him, he sent him his ministers, and Vasantaka was among them. Then, out of respect for them, the prince of Vatsa managed to recover his composure. And the discreet minister Gomukha said to Vasantaka; "Noble Vasantaka, tell some new and romantic tale to delight the mind of the crown-prince. Then the wise Vasantaka began to tell this tale.

Story of Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara and the two wives of the water-genius.

There was a famous Bráhman in Málava, named Srídhara. And twin sons, of like feature, were born to him. The eldest was named Yasodhara, and his younger brother was Lakshmídhara. And when they grew up, the two brothers set out together for a foreign country to study, with the approval of their father. And as they were travelling along, they reached a great wilderness, without water, without the shade of trees, full of burning sand; and being fatigued with passing through it, and exhausted with heat and thirst, they reached in the evening a shady tree laden with fruit. And they saw, at a little distance from its foot, a lake with cold and clear water, perfumed with the fragrance of lotuses. They bathed in it, and refreshed themselves with drinking the cold water, and sitting down on a slab of rock, rested for a time. And when the sun set, they said their evening prayers, and through fear of wild beasts they climbed up the tree, to spend the night there. And in the beginning of the night, many men rose out of the water of that tank below them, before their eyes. And one of them swept the ground, another painted it, and another strewed on it flowers of five colours. And another brought a golden couch and placed it there, and another spread on it a mattress with a coverlet. Another brought, and placed in a certain spot, under the tree, delicious food and drink, flowers and unguents. Then there arose from the surface of that lake a man wearing a sword, and adorned with heavenly ornaments, surpassing in beauty the god of Love. [110] When he had sat down on the couch, his attendants threw garlands round his neck, and anointed him with unguents, and then they all plunged again into the lake. Then he brought out of his mouth a lady of noble form and modest appearance, wearing auspicious garlands and ornaments, and a second, rich in celestial beauty, resplendent with magnificent robes and ornaments. [111] These were both his wives, but the second was the favourite. Then the first and good wife placed jewelled plates on the table, and handed food in two plates to her husband and her rival. When they had eaten, she also ate; and then her husband reclined on the couch with the rival wife, and went to sleep. And the first wife shampooed his feet, and the second remained awake on the couch.

When the Bráhman's sons who were in the tree, saw this, they said to one another, "Who can this be? Let us go down and ask the lady who is shampooing his feet, for all these are immortal beings." Then they got down and approached the first wife, and then the second saw Yasodhara: then she rose up from the couch in her inordinate passion, while her husband was asleep, and approaching that handsome youth, said, "Be my lover." He answered, "Wicked woman, you are to me the wife of another, and I am to you a strange man. Then why do you speak thus?" She answered, "I have had a hundred lovers. Why are you afraid? If you do not believe it, look at these hundred rings, [112] for I have taken one ring from each of them." With these words she took the rings out of the corner of her garment, and shewed them to him. Then Yasodhara said, "I do not care whether you have a hundred or a hundred thousand lovers, to me you are as a mother; I am not a person of that sort." When the wicked woman was repelled by him in this way, she woke up her husband in her wrath, and, pointing to Yasodhara, said with tears, "This scoundrel, while you were asleep, used violence to me." When her husband heard this, he rose up and drew his sword. Then the first and virtuous wife embraced his feet, and said, "Do not commit a crime on false evidence. Hear what I have to say. This wicked woman, when she saw him, rose up from your side, and eagerly importuned him, and the virtuous man did not consent to her proposal." When he repelled her, saying, 'You are to me as a mother,' being unable to endure that, in her anger she woke you up, to make you kill him. And she has already before my eyes had a hundred lovers here on various nights, travellers who were reposing in this tree, and taken their rings from them. But I never told you, not wishing to give rise to unpleasantness. However, to-day I am necessarily compelled to reveal this secret, lest you should be guilty of a crime. Just look at the rings in the corner of her garment, if you do not believe it. And my wifely virtue is of such a kind that I cannot tell my husband what is untrue. In order that you may be convinced of my faithfulness, see this proof of my power." After saying this, she reduced that tree to ashes with an angry look, and restored it more magnificent than it was before with a look of kindness. When her husband saw that, he was at last satisfied and embraced her. And he sent that second wife, the adulteress, about her business, after cutting off her nose, and taking the rings from the corner of her garment.

He restrained his anger, when he beheld that student of the scripture, Yasodhara, with his brother, and he said to him despondingly; "Out of jealousy I always keep these wives of mine in my heart. But still I have not been able to keep safe this wicked woman. Who can arrest the lightning? Who can guard a disloyal woman? As for a chaste woman, she is guarded by her own modesty alone, and being guarded by it, she guards [113] her husband in both worlds, as I have to-day been guarded by this woman, whose patience is more admirable even than her power of cursing. By her kindness I have got rid of an unfaithful wife, and avoided the awful crime of killing a virtuous Bráhman." When he had said this, he made Yasodhara sit down, and said to him, "Tell me whence you come and whither you are going." Then Yasodhara told him his history, and having gained his confidence, said to him out of curiosity, "Noble sir, if it is not a secret, tell me now, who you are, and why, though you possess such luxury, you dwell in the water." When the man who lived in the water heard this, he said, "Hear! I will tell you." And he began to tell his history in the following words.

Story of the water-genius in his previous birth.

There is a region in the south of the Himálaya, called Kasmíra; which Providence seems to have created in order to prevent mortals from hankering after Heaven; where Siva and Vishnu, as self-existent deities, inhabit a hundred shrines, forgetting their happy homes in Kailása and Svetadvípa; which is laved by the waters of the Vitastá, and full of heroes and sages, and proof against treacherous crimes and enemies, though powerful. There I was born in my former life, as an ordinary villager of the Bráhman caste, with two wives, and my name was Bhavasarman. There I once struck up a friendship with some Buddhist mendicants, and undertook the vow, called the fast Uposhana, prescribed in their scriptures. And when this vow was almost completed, one of my wives wickedly came and slept in my bed. And in the fourth watch of the night, bewildered with sleep, I broke my vow. But as it fell only a little short of completion, I have been born as a water-genius, and these two wives of mine have been born as my present wives here. That wicked woman was born as that unfaithful wife, the second as this faithful one. So great was the power of my vow, though it was rendered imperfect, that I remember my former birth, and enjoy such luxuries every night. If I had not rendered my vow imperfect, I should never have been born as what I am.

When he had told his story in these words, he honoured those two brothers as guests, with delicious food and heavenly garments. Then his faithful wife, having heard of her former life, knelt on the ground, and looking at the moon, uttered this prayer, "O guardians of the world, if I am in truth virtuous and devoted to my husband, may this husband of mine be at once delivered from the necessity of dwelling in the water and go to heaven." The moment she had said this, a chariot descended from heaven, and the husband and wife ascended it and went to heaven. Nothing in the three worlds is unattainable by really chaste women. And the two Bráhmans, when they saw that, were greatly astonished. And Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara, after spending the rest of the night there, set out in the morning. And in the evening they reached the foot of a tree in a lonely wilderness. And while they were longing to get water, they heard this voice from the tree, "Wait a little, Bráhmans! I will entertain you to-day with a bath and food, for you are come to my house." Then the voice ceased, and there sprang up there a tank of water, and meats and drinks of every kind were provided on its bank. The two Bráhman youths said with astonishment to one another,--"What does this mean?" And after bathing in the tank, they ate and drank. Then they said the evening prayer and remained under the tree, and in the meanwhile a handsome man appeared from it. They saluted him, and he welcomed them, and he sat down. Thereupon the two Bráhman youths asked him who he was. Then the man said--

Story of the Bráhman who became a Yaksha.

Long ago I was a Bráhman in distress, and when I was in this condition, I happened to make friends with some Buddhist ascetics. But while I was performing the vow called Uposhana, which they had taught me, a wicked man made me take food in the evening by force. That made my vow incomplete, so I was born as a Guhyaka; if I had only completed it, I should have been born as a god in heaven.

"So I have told you my story, but now do you two tell me, who you are, and why you have come to this desert." When Yasodhara heard this, he told him their story. Thereupon the Yaksha went on to say; "If this is the case, I will by my own power bestow on you the sciences. Go home with a knowledge of them. What is the use of roaming about in foreign countries?" When he had said this, he bestowed on them the sciences, and by his power they immediately possessed them. Then the Yaksha said to them, "Now I entreat you to give me a fee as your instructor. You must perform, on my behalf, this Uposhana vow, which involves the speaking of the truth, the observing of strict chastity, the circumambulating the images of the gods with the right side turned towards them, the eating only at the time when Buddhist mendicants do, restraint of the mind, and patience. You must perform this for one night, and bestow the fruit of it on me, in order that I may obtain that divinity, which is the proper fruit of my vow, when completely performed." When the Yaksha said this, they bowed before him and granted his request, and he disappeared in that very same tree.

And the two brothers, delighted at having accomplished their object without any toil, after they had passed the night, returned to their own home. There they told their adventures and delighted their parents, and performed that vow of fasting for the benefit of the Yaksha. Then that Yaksha, who taught them, appeared in a sky-chariot, and said to them; "Through your kindness I have ceased to be a Yaksha and have become a god. So now you must perform this vow for your own advantage, in order that at your death you may attain divinity. And in the meanwhile I give you a boon, by which you will have inexhaustible wealth." When the deity, who roamed about at will, had said this, he went to heaven in his chariot. Then the two brothers, Yasodhara and Lakshmídhara, lived happily, having performed that vow, and having obtained wealth and knowledge.

"So you see that, if men are addicted to righteousness, and do not, even in emergencies, desert their principles, even the gods protect them and cause them to attain their objects." Naraváhanadatta, while longing for his beloved Saktiyasas, was much delighted with this marvellous story told by Vasantaka; but having been summoned by his father at the dinner hour, he went to his palace with his ministers. There he took the requisite refreshment, and returned to his palace, with Gomukha and his other ministers. Then Gomukha, in order to amuse him, again said,--"Listen, prince, I will tell you another string of tales."

Story of the monkey and the porpoise. [114]

There lived in a forest of udumbaras, on the shore of the sea, a king of monkeys, named Valímukha, who had strayed from his troop. While he was eating an udumbara fruit, it fell from his hand and was devoured by a porpoise that lived in the water of the sea. The porpoise, delighted at the taste of the fruit, uttered a melodious sound, which pleased the monkey so much, that he threw him many more fruits. And so the monkey went on throwing fruits, [115] and the porpoise went on making a melodious sound, until a friendship sprang up between them. So every day the porpoise spent the day in the water near the monkey, who remained on the bank, and in the evening he went home.

Then the wife of the porpoise came to learn the facts, and as she did not approve of the friendship between the monkey and her husband, which caused the latter to be absent all day, she pretended to be ill. Then the porpoise was afflicted, and asked his wife again and again what was the nature of her sickness, and what would cure it. Though he importuned her persistently, she would give no answer, but at last a female confidante of hers said to him: "Although you will not do it, and she does not wish you to do it, still I must speak. How can a wise person conceal sorrow from friends? A violent disease has seized your wife, of such a kind that it cannot be cured without soup made of the lotus-like heart of a monkey." [116] When the porpoise heard this from his wife's confidante, he reflected;--"Alas! how shall I obtain the lotus-like heart of a monkey? Is it right for me to plot treachery against the monkey, who is my friend? On the other hand how else can I cure my wife, whom I love more than my life?" When the porpoise had thus reflected, he said to his wife; "I will bring you a whole monkey, my dear, do not be unhappy." When he had said this, he went to his friend the monkey, and said to him, after he had got into conversation; "Up to this day you have never seen my home and my wife; so come, let us go and rest there one day. Friendship is but hollow, when friends do not go without ceremony and eat at one another's houses, and introduce their wives to one another." With these words the porpoise beguiled the monkey, and induced him to come down into the water, and took him on his back and set out. And as he was going along, the monkey saw that he was troubled and confused, and said, "My friend, you seem to be altered to-day." And when he went on persistently enquiring the reason, the stupid porpoise, thinking that the ape was in his power, said to him; "The fact is, my wife is ill, and she has been asking me for the heart of a monkey to be used as a remedy; that is why I am in low spirits to-day." When the wise monkey heard this speech of his, he reflected, "Ah! This is why the villain has brought me here! Alas! this fellow is overpowered by infatuation for a female, and is ready to plot treachery against his friend. Will not a person possessed by a demon eat his own flesh with his teeth?" After the monkey had thus reflected, he said to the porpoise; "If this is the case, why did you not inform me of this before, my friend? I will go and get my heart for your wife. For I have at present left it on the udumbara-tree on which I live. [117] When the silly porpoise heard this, he was sorry and he said; "Then bring it, my friend, from the udumbara-tree." And thereupon the porpoise took him back to the shore of the sea. When he got there, he bounded up the bank, as if he had just escaped from the grasp of death, and climbing up to the top of the tree, said to that porpoise, "Off with you, you fool! Does any animal keep his heart outside his body? However, by this artifice I have saved my life, and I will not return to you. Have you not heard, my friend, the story of the ass?"

Story of the sick lion, the jackal, and the ass. [118]

There lived in a certain forest a lion, who had a jackal for a minister. A certain king, who had gone to hunt, once found him, and wounded him so sorely with his weapons, that he with difficulty escaped to his den alive. When the king was gone, the lion still remained in the den, and his minister, the jackal, who lived on his leavings, being exhausted for want of food, said to him; "My lord, why do you not go out and seek for food to the best of your ability, for your own body is being famished as well as your attendants?" When the jackal said this to the lion, he answered; "My friend, I am exhausted with wounds, and I cannot roam about outside my den. If I could get the heart and ears of a donkey to eat, my wounds would heal, and I should recover my former health. So go and bring me a donkey quickly from somewhere or other." The jackal agreed to do so and sallied out. As he was wandering about, he found a washerman's ass in a solitary place, and he went up to him, and said in a friendly way; "Why are you so exhausted?" The donkey answered, "I am reduced by perpetually carrying this washerman's load." The jackal said, "Why do you endure all this toil? Come with me and I will take you to a forest as delightful as Heaven, where you may grow fat in the society of she-asses." When the donkey, who was longing for enjoyment, heard this, he went to the forest, in which that lion ranged, in the company of that jackal. And when the lion saw him, being weak from impaired vitality, he only gave him a blow with his paw behind, and the donkey, being wounded by the blow, was terrified and fled immediately, and did not come near the lion again, and the lion fell down confused and bewildered. And then the lion, not having accomplished his object, hastily returned to his den. Then the jackal, his minister, said to him reproachfully; "My lord, if you could not kill this miserable donkey, what chance is there of your killing deer and other animals?" Then the lion said to him, "If you know how, bring that donkey again. I will be ready and kill him."

When the lion had despatched the jackal with these words, he went to the donkey and said; "Why did you run away, sir? And the donkey answered, "I received a blow from some creature." Then the jackal laughed and said, "You must have experienced a delusion. There is no such creature there, for I, weak as I am, dwell there, in safety. So come along with me to that forest, where pleasure is without restraint." [119] When he said this, the donkey was deluded, and returned to the forest. And as soon as the lion saw him, he came out of his den, and springing on him from behind, tore him with his claws and killed him. And the lion, after he had divided the donkey, placed the jackal to guard it, and being fatigued, went away to bathe. And in the meanwhile the deceitful jackal devoured the heart and ears of that donkey, to gratify his appetite. The lion, after bathing, came back, and perceiving the donkey in this condition, asked the jackal where its ears and heart were. The jackal answered him; "The creature never possessed ears or a heart,--otherwise how could he have returned when he had once escaped?" When the lion heard that, he believed it, and ate his flesh, and the jackal devoured what remained over.

When the ape had told this tale, he said again to the porpoise; "I will not come again, why should I behave like the jackass." When the porpoise heard this from the monkey, he returned home, grieving that he had through his folly failed to execute his wife's commission, while he had lost a friend. But his wife recovered her former tranquillity, on account of the termination of her husband's friendship with the ape. And the ape lived happily on the shore of the sea.

"So a wise person should place no confidence in a wicked person. How can he, who confides in a wicked person or a black cobra, enjoy prosperity?" When Gomukha had told this story, he again said to Naraváhanadatta, to amuse him; "Now hear in succession about the following ridiculous fools. Hear first about the fool who rewarded the minstrel."

Story of the fool who gave a verbal reward to the musician. [120]

A certain musician once gave great pleasure to a rich man, by singing and playing before him. He thereupon called his treasurer, and said in the hearing of the musician, "Give this man two thousand panas." The treasurer said, "I will do so," and went out. Then the minstrel went and asked him for those panas. But the treasurer, who had an understanding with his master, refused to give them.

Then the musician came and asked the rich man for the panas, but he said; "What did you give me, that I should make you a return? You gave a short-lived pleasure to my ears by playing on the lyre, and I gave a short-lived pleasure to your ears by promising you money." When the musician heard that, he despaired of his payment, laughed, and went home.

"Would not that speech of the miser's make even a stone laugh? And now, prince, hear the story of the two foolish pupils."

Story of the teacher and his two jealous pupils. [121]

A certain teacher had two pupils who were jealous of one another. And one of those pupils washed and anointed every day the right foot of his instructor, and the other did the same to the left foot. Now it happened that one day the pupil, whose business it was to anoint the right foot, had been sent to the village, so the teacher said to the second pupil, whose business it was to anoint the left foot,--"To-day you must wash and anoint my right foot also." When the foolish pupil received this order, he coolly said to his teacher; "I cannot anoint this foot that belongs to my rival." When he said this, the teacher insisted. Then that pupil, who was the very opposite of a good pupil, took hold of his teacher's foot in a passion, and exerting great force, broke it. Then the teacher uttered a cry of pain, and the other pupils came in and beat that wicked pupil, but he was rescued from them by that teacher, who felt sorry for him.

The next day, the other pupil came back from the village, and when he saw the injury that had been done to his teacher's foot, he asked the history of it, and then he was inflamed with rage, and he said, "Why should I not break the foot that belongs to that enemy of mine?" So he laid hold of the teacher's second leg, and broke it. Then the others began to beat that wicked pupil, but the teacher, both of whose legs were broken, in compassion begged him off too. Then those two pupils departed, laughed to scorn by the whole country, but their teacher, who deserved so much credit for his patient temper, gradually got well.

Thus foolish attendants, by quarrelling with one another, ruin their master's interests, and do not reap any advantage for themselves. Hear the story of the two-headed serpent.

Story of the snake with two heads. [122]

A certain snake had two heads, one in the usual place and one in his tail. But the head, that he had in his tail, was blind, the head, that was in the usual place, was furnished with eyes. And there was a quarrel between them, each saying that it was the principal head. Now the serpent usually roamed about with his real head foremost. But once on a time the head in the tail caught hold of a piece of wood, and fastening firmly round it, prevented that snake from going on. The consequence was that the snake considered this head very powerful, as it had vanquished the head in front. And so the snake roamed about with his blind head foremost, and in a hole he fell into fire, owing to his not being able to see the way, and so he was burnt. [123]

Story of the fool who was nearly choked with rice.

"So those foolish people, many in number, who are quite at home in a small accomplishment, through their attachment to this unimportant accomplishment, are brought to ruin."

"Hear now about the fool who ate the grains of rice."

A certain foolish person came for the first time to his father-in-law's house, and there he saw some white grains of rice, which his mother-in-law had put down to be cooked, and he put a handful of them into his mouth, meaning to eat them. And his mother-in-law came in that very moment. Then the foolish man was so ashamed, that he could not swallow the grains of rice, nor bring them up. And his mother-in law, seeing that his throat was swollen and distended, and that he was speechless, was afraid that he was ill, and summoned her husband. And he, when he saw his state, quickly brought the physician, and the physician, fearing that there was an internal tumour, seized the head of that fool and opened his jaw. [124] Then the grains of rice came out, and all those present laughed.

"Thus a fool does an unseemly act, and does not know how to conceal it."

Story of the boys that milked the donkey. [125]

Certain foolish boys, having observed the process of milking in the case of cows, got a donkey, and having surrounded it, proceeded to milk it vigorously. One milked and another held the milk-pail, and there was great emulation among them, as to who should first drink the milk. And yet they did not obtain milk, though they laboured hard.

"The fact is, prince, a fool, who spends his labour on a chimera, makes himself ridiculous."

Story of the foolish boy that went to the village for nothing.

There was a certain foolish son of a Bráhman, and his father said to him one evening, "My son, you must go to the village early to-morrow." Having heard this, he set out in the morning, without asking his father what he was to do, and went to the village without any object, and came back in the evening fatigued. He said to his father, "I have been to the village." "Yes, but you have not done any good by it," answered his father.

"So a fool, who acts without an object, becomes the laughing-stock of people generally; he suffers fatigue, but does not do any good." When the son of the king of Vatsa had heard from Gomukha, his chief minister, this series of tales, rich in instruction, and had declared that he was longing to obtain Saktiyasas, and had perceived that the night was far spent, he closed his eyes in sleep, and reposed surrounded by his ministers.

Chapter LXIV

Then, the next evening, as Naraváhanadatta was again in his private apartment, longing for union with his beloved, at his request Gomukha told the following series of tales to amuse him.

Story of the Bráhman and the mungoose. [126]

There was in a certain village a Bráhman, named Devasarman; and he had a wife of equally high birth, named Yajnadattá. And she became pregnant, and in time gave birth to a son, and the Bráhman, though poor, thought he had obtained a treasure in him. And when she had given birth to the child, the Bráhman's wife went to the river to bathe, but Devasarman remained in the house, taking care of his infant son. In the meanwhile a maid came from the womens' apartments of the palace to summon that Bráhman, who lived on presents received for performing inauguratory ceremonies. Then he, eager for a fee, went off to the palace, leaving a mungoose, which he had brought up from its birth, to guard his child. After he had gone, a snake suddenly came near the child, and the mungoose, seeing it, killed it out of love for his master. Then the mungoose saw Devasarman returning at a distance, and delighted, ran out to meet him, all stained with the blood of the snake. And Devasarman, when he saw its appearance, felt certain that it had killed his young child, and, in his agitation killed it with a stone. But when he went into the house, and saw the snake killed by the mungoose, and his boy alive, he repented of what he had done. And when his wife returned and heard what had happened, she reproached him, saying, "Why did you inconsiderately kill the mungoose, which had done you a good turn?"

"Therefore a wise man, prince, should never do anything rashly. For a person who acts rashly is destroyed in both worlds. And one who does anything contrary to the prescribed method, obtains a result which is the opposite of that desired."

Story of the fool that was his own doctor.

For instance, there was a man suffering from flatulence. And once on a time the doctor gave him a medicine, to be used as a clyster, and said to him, "Go to your house, and bruise this, and wait till I come." The physician, after giving this order, delayed a little, and in the meanwhile the fool, having reduced the drug to powder, mixed it with water and drank it. That made him very ill, and when the doctor came, he had to give him an emetic, and with difficulty brought him round, when he was at the point of death. And he scolded his patient, saying to him, "A clyster is not meant to be drunk, but must be administered in the proper way. Why did you not wait for me?"

"So an action, useful in itself, if done contrary to rule, has bad effects. Therefore a wise man should do nothing contrary to rule. And the man, who acts without consideration, does what is wrong, and immediately incurs reproach."

Story of the fool who mistook hermits for monkeys.

For instance, there was in a certain place a foolish man. He was once going to a foreign country, accompanied by his son, and when the caravan encamped in the forest, the boy entered the wood to amuse himself. There he was scratched by monkeys, and with difficulty escaped with life, and when his father asked him what had happened, the silly boy, not knowing what monkeys were, said; "I was scratched in this wood by some hairy creatures that live on fruits." When the father heard it, he drew his sword in a rage, and went to that wood. And seeing some ascetics with long matted hair, picking fruits there, he ran towards them, saying to himself, "Those hairy rascals injured my son." But a certain traveller there prevented him from killing them, by saying; "I saw some monkeys scratch your son; do not kill the hermits." So by good luck he was saved from committing a crime, and returned to the caravan.

"So a wise man should never act without reflection. What is ever likely to go wrong with a man who reflects? But the thoughtless are always ruined and made the objects of public ridicule."

Story of the fool who found a purse.

For instance, a certain poor man, going on a journey, found a bag of gold, that had been dropped by the head of a caravan. The fool, the moment he found it, instead of going away, stood still where he was, and began to count the gold. In the meanwhile the merchant, who was on horseback, discovered his loss, and galloping back, he saw the bag of gold in the poor man's possession, and took it away from him. So he lost his wealth as soon as he got it, and went on his way sorrowful, with his face fixed on the ground.

"Fools lose wealth as soon as they get it."

Story of the fool who looked for the moon.

A certain foolish man, who wished to see the new moon, was told by a man who saw it, to look in the direction of his finger. He averted his eyes from the sky, and stood staring at his friend's finger, and so did not see the new moon, but saw the people laughing at him.

"Wisdom accomplishes the impossible, hear a story in proof of it."

Story of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the cowherd.

A certain woman set out alone to go to another village. And on the way a monkey suddenly came and tried to lay hold of her, but she avoided it by going to a tree and dodging round it. The foolish monkey threw its arms round the tree, and she laid hold of its arms with her hands, and pressed them against the tree.

The monkey, which was held tight, became furious, but at that moment the woman saw a cowherd coming that way, and said to him; "Sir, hold this ape by the arms a moment, until I can arrange my dress and hair, which are disordered." He said, "I will do so, if you promise to grant me your love," and she consented. And he held the monkey. Then she drew his dagger and killed the monkey, and said to the cowherd, "Come to a lonely spot," and so took him a long distance. At last they fell in with some travellers, so she left him and went with them to the village that she wished to reach, having avoided outrage by her wisdom.

"So you see that wisdom is in this world the principal support of men; the man who is poor in wealth lives, but the man who is poor in intellect does not live. Now hear, prince, this romantic wonderful tale."

Story of the two thieves, Ghata and Karpara. [127]

There were in a certain city two thieves, named Ghata and Karpara. One night Karpara left Ghata outside the palace, and breaking through the wall, entered the bedchamber of the princess. And the princess, who could not sleep, saw him there in a corner, and suddenly falling in love with him, called him to her. And she gave him wealth, and said to him; "I will give you much more if you come again." Then Karpara went out, and told Ghata what had happened, and gave him the wealth, and having thus got hold of the king's property, sent him home. But he himself again entered the women's apartments of the palace; who, that is attracted by love and covetousness, thinks of death? There he remained with the princess, and bewildered with love and wine, he fell asleep, and did not observe that the night was at an end. And in the morning the guards of the women's apartments entered, and made him prisoner, and informed the king, and he in his anger ordered him to be put to death. "While he was being led to the place of execution, his friend Ghata came to look for him, as he had not returned in the course of the night. Then Karpara saw Ghata, and made a sign to him that he was to carry off and take care of the princess. And he answered by a sign that he would do so. Then Karpara was led away by the executioners, and being at their mercy, was quickly hanged up upon a tree, and so executed.

Then Ghata went home, sorrowing for his friend, and as soon as night arrived, he dug a mine and entered the apartment of the princess. Seeing her in fetters there alone, he went up to her and said; "I am the friend of Karpara, who was to-day put to death on account of you. And out of love for him I am come here to carry you off, so come along, before your father does you an injury." Thereupon she consented joyfully, and he removed her bonds. Then he went out with her, who at once committed herself to his care, by the underground passage he had made, and returned to his own house.

And next morning the king heard that his own daughter had been carried off by some one, who had dug a secret mine, and that king thought to himself, "Undoubtedly that wicked man whom I punished has some audacious friend, who has carried off my daughter in this way." So he set his servants to watch the body of Karpara, and he said to them, "You must arrest any one who may come here lamenting, to burn the corpse and perform the other rites, and so I shall recover that wicked girl who has disgraced her family." When those guards had received this order from the king, they said, "We will do so," and remained continually watching the corpse of Karpara.

Then Ghata made enquiries, and found out what was going on, and said to the princess; "My dear, my comrade Karpara was a very dear friend to me, and by means of him I gained you and all these valuable jewels; so until I have paid to him the debt of friendship, I cannot rest in peace. So I will go and see his corpse, and by a device of mine manage to lament over it, and I will in due course burn the body, and scatter the bones in a holy place. And do not be afraid, I am not reckless like Karpara." After he had said this to her, he immediately assumed the appearance of a Pásupata ascetic, and taking boiled rice and milk in a pot, he went near the corpse of Karpara, as if he were a person passing that way casually, and when he got near it, he slipped, and let fall from his hand and broke that pot of milk and rice, and began lamenting, "O Karpara full of sweetness," [128] and so on. And the guards thought that he was grieving for his pot full of food, that he had got by begging. And immediately he went home and told that to the princess. And the next day he made a servant, dressed as a bride, go in front of him, and he had another behind him, carrying a vessel full of sweetmeats, in which the juice of the Dhattúra had been infused. And he himself assumed the appearance of a drunken villager, and so in the evening he came reeling along past those guards, who were watching the body of Karpara. They said to him, "Who are you, friend, and who is this lady, and where are you going?" Then the cunning fellow answered them with stuttering accents, "I am a villager; this is my wife; I am going to the house of my father-in-law; and I am taking for him this complimentary present of sweetmeats. But you have now become my friends by speaking to me, so I will take only half of the sweetmeats there; take the other half for yourselves." Saying this, he gave a sweetmeat to each of the guards. And they received them, laughing, and all of them partook of them. Accordingly Ghata, having stupefied the guards with Dhattúra, at night brought fuel [129] and burnt the body of Karpara.

The next morning, after he had departed, the king hearing of it, removed those guards who had been stupefied, and placed others there, and said; "You must guard these bones, and you must arrest whoever attempts to take them away, and you must not accept food from any outsider." When the guards were thus instructed by the king, they remained on the lookout day and night, and Ghata heard of it. Then he, being acquainted with the operation of a bewildering charm granted him by Durgá, made a wandering mendicant his friend, in order to make them repose confidence in him. And he went there with that wandering mendicant, who was muttering spells, and bewildered those guards, and recovered the bones of Karpara. And after throwing them into the Ganges, he came and related what he had done, and lived happily with the princess, accompanied by the mendicant. But the king, hearing that the bones had been carried off, and the men guarding them stupefied, thought that the whole exploit, beginning with the carrying off of his daughter, was the doing of a magician. And he had the following proclamation made in his city; "If that magician, who carried off my daughter, and performed the other exploits connected with that feat, will reveal himself, I will give him half my kingdom." When Ghata heard this, he wished to reveal himself, but the princess dissuaded him, saying, "Do not do so, you cannot repose any confidence in this king, who treacherously puts people to death." [130] Then, for fear that, if he remained there, the truth might come out, he set out for another country with the princess and the mendicant.

And on the way the princess said secretly to the mendicant, "The other one of these thieves seduced me, and this one made me fall from my high rank. The other thief is dead, as for this, Ghata, I do not love him, you are my darling." When she had said this, she united herself to the mendicant, and killed Ghata in the dead of night. Then, as she was journeying along with that mendicant, the wicked woman fell in with a merchant on the way, whose name was Dhanadeva. So she said, "Who is this skull-bearer? You are my darling," and she left that mendicant, while he was asleep, and went off with that merchant. And in the morning the mendicant woke up, and reflected, "There is no love in women, and no courtesy free from fickleness, for, after lulling me into security, the wicked woman has gone off, and robbed me too. However, I ought perhaps to consider myself lucky, that I have not been killed like Ghata." After these reflections, the mendicant returned to his own country.

Story of Dhanadeva's wife.

And the princess, travelling on with the merchant, reached his country. And when Dhanadeva arrived there, he said to himself; "Why should I rashly introduce this unchaste woman into my house? So, as it was evening, he went into the house of an old woman in that place, with the princess. And at night he asked that old woman, who did not recognize him, "Mother, do you know any tidings about the family of Dhanadeva?" When the old woman heard that, she said, "What tidings is there except that his wife is always ready to take a new lover. For a basket, covered with leather, is let down every night from the window here, and whoever enters it, is drawn up into the house, and is dismissed in the same way at the end of the night. And the woman is always stupefied with drink, so that she is absolutely void of discernment. And this state of hers has become well-known in the whole city. And though her husband has been long away, he has not yet returned."

When Dhanadeva heard this speech of the old woman's, he went out that moment on some pretext, and repaired to his own house, being full of inward grief and uncertainty. And seeing a basket let down by the female servants with ropes, he entered it, and they pulled up him into the house. And his wife, who was stupefied with drink, embraced him most affectionately, without knowing who he was. But he was quite cast down at seeing her degradation. And thereupon she fell into a drunken sleep. And at the end of the night, the female servants let him down again quickly from the window, in the basket suspended with ropes. And the merchant reflected in his grief, "Enough of the folly of being a family man, for women in a house are a snare! It is always this story with them, so a life in the forest is much to be preferred." Having formed this resolve, Dhanadeva abandoned the princess into the bargain, and set out for a distant forest. And on the way he met, and struck up a friendship with, a young Bráhman, named Rudrasoma, who had lately returned from a long absence abroad. When he told him his story, the Bráhman became anxious about his own wife; and so he arrived in the company of that merchant at his own village in the evening.

Story of the wife of the Bráhman Rudrasoma.

And when he arrived there, he saw a cowherd, on the bank of the river, near his house, singing with joy, like one beside himself. So he said to him in joke, "Cowherd, is any young woman in love with you, that you sing thus in your rapture, counting the world as stubble?" "When the cowherd heard that, he laughed and said, "I have a great secret. [131] The head of this village, a Bráhman, named Rudrasoma, has been long away, and I visit his wife every night; her maid introduces me into the house dressed as a woman." When Rudrasoma heard this, he restrained his anger, and wishing to find out the truth, he said to the cowherd; "If such kindness is shewn to guests here, give me this dress of yours, and let me go there to-night: I feel great curiosity about it." The cowherd said, "Do so, take this black rug of mine, and this stick, and remain here until her maid comes. And she will take you for me, and will give you a female dress, and invite you to come, so go there boldly at night, and I will take repose this night." When the cowherd said this, the Bráhman Rudrasoma took from him the stick and the rug, and stood there, personating him. And the cowherd stood at a little distance, with that merchant Dhanadeva, and then the maid came. She walked silently up to him in the darkness, and wrapped him up in a woman's dress, and said to him, "Come along," and so took him off to his wife, thinking that he was the cowherd. When his wife saw Rudrasoma, she sprang up and embraced him, supposing that he was the cowherd, and then Rudrasoma thought to himself; "Alas! wicked women fall in love with a base man, if only he is near them, for this vicious wife of mine has fallen in love with a cowherd, merely because be is near at hand." Then he made some excuse with faltering voice, and went, disgusted in mind, to Dhanadeva. And after he had told his adventure in his own house, he said to that merchant; "I too will go with you to the forest; perish my family!" So Rudrasoma and the merchant Dhanadeva set out together for the forest.

Story of the wife of Sasin.

And on the way a friend of Dhanadeva's, named Sasin, joined them. And in the course of conversation they told him their circumstances. And when Sasin heard that, being a jealous man, and having just returned from a long absence in a foreign land, he became anxious about his wife, though he had locked her up in a cellar. And Sasin, travelling along with them, came near his own house in the evening, and was desirous of entertaining them. But he saw there a man singing in an amorous mood, who had an evil smell, and whose hands and feet were eaten away with leprosy. And in his astonishment, he asked him; "Who are you, sir, that you are so cheerful?" And the leper said to him, "I am the god of love." Sasin answered, "There can be no mistake about that. The splendour of your beauty is sufficient evidence for your being the god of love." Thereupon the leper continued, "Listen, I will tell you something. A rogue here, named Sasin, being jealous of his wife, locked her up in a cellar with one servant to attend on her, and went to a foreign land. But that wife of his happened to see me here, and immediately surrendered herself to me, her heart being drawn towards me by love. And I spend every night with her, for the maid takes me on her back and carries me in. So tell me if I am not the god of love. Who, that was the favoured lover of the beautiful wife of Sasin, could care for other women?" When Sasin heard this speech of the leper's, he suppressed his grief, intolerable as a hurricane, and wishing to discover the truth, he said to the leper, "In truth you are the god of love, so I have a boon to crave of your godship. I feel great curiosity about this lady from your description of her, so I will go there this very night disguised as yourself. Be propitious to your suppliant: you will lose but little, as you can attain this object every day." When Sasin made this request, the leper said to him; "So be it! take this dress of mine and give me yours, and remain covering up your hands and feet with your clothes, as you see me do, until her maid comes, which will be as soon as it becomes dark. And she will mistake you for me, and put you on her back, and you must submit to go there in that fashion, for I always have to go in that way, having lost the use of my hands and feet from leprosy." Thereupon Sasin put on the leper's dress and remained there, but the leper and Sasin's two companions remained a little way off.

Then Sasin's wife's maid came, and supposing that he was the leper, as he had his dress on, said, "Come along," and took him up on her back. And so she took him at night into that cellar to his wife, who was expecting her paramour the leper. Then Sasin made out for certain that it was his wife, who was lamenting there in the darkness, by feeling her limbs, and he became an ascetic on the spot. And when she was asleep, he went out unobserved, and made his way to Dhanadeva and Rudrasoma. And he told them his experiences, and said in his grief, "Alas! women are like torrents that flow in a ravine, they are ever tending downwards, capricious, beautiful at a distance, prone to turbidness, and so they are as difficult to guard as such rivers are to drink, and thus my wife, though kept in a cellar, has run after a leper. So for me also the forest is the best thing. Out on family life!" And so he spent the night in the company of the merchant and the Bráhman, whose affliction was the same as his. And next morning they all set out together for the forest, and at evening they reached a tree by the roadside, with a tank at its foot. And after they had eaten and drunk, they ascended the tree to sleep, and while they were there, they saw a traveller come and lie down underneath the tree.

Story of the snake-god and his wife.

And soon they saw another man arise from the tank, and he brought out of his mouth a couch and a lady. Then he lay down on the couch beside that wife of his, and went to sleep, and the moment she saw it, she went and embraced the traveller. And he asked her who they were, and she answered; "This is a snake-god, and I am his wife, a daughter of the snake race. Do not fear, I have had ninety-nine lovers among travellers, and you make the hundredth." But, while she was saying this, it happened that the snake-god woke up, and saw them. And he discharged fire from his mouth, and reduced them both to ashes.

When the snake-god had gone, the three friends said to one another, "If it is impossible to guard one's wife by enclosing her in one's own body, what chance is there of keeping her safe in a house? Out on them all!" So they spent the night in contentment, and next morning went on to the forest. There they became completely chastened in mind, with hearts quieted by practising the four meditations, [132] which were not interfered with by their friendship, and they became gentle to all creatures, and attained perfection in contemplation, which produces unequalled absolute beatification; and all three in due course destroyed the inborn darkness of their souls, and became liberated from the necessity of future births. But their wicked wives fell into a miserable state by the ripening of their own sin, and were soon ruined, losing both this and the next world.

"So attachment to women, the result of infatuation, produces misery to all men. But indifference to them produces in the discerning emancipation from the bonds of existence."

When the prince, who was longing for union with Saktiyasas, had patiently listened to this diverting tale, told by his minister Gomukha, he again went to sleep.

NOTE ON THE STORY OF GHATA AND KARPARA.

The portion of the story of "the Shifty lad," which so nearly resembles the story of Ghata and Karpara, runs as follows: The shifty lad remarks to his master the wright, that he might get plenty from the king's store-house which was near at hand, if only he would break into it. The two eventually rob it together. "But the king's people missed the butter and cheese and the other things that had been taken out of the store-house, and they told the king how it had happened. The king took the advice of the Seanagal about the best way of catching the thieves, and the counsel that he gave them was, that they should set a hogshead of soft pitch under the hole where they were coming in. That was done, and the next day the shifty lad and his master went to break into the king's store-house."

The consequence was that the wright was caught in the pitch. Thereupon the shifty lad cut off his head, which he carried home and buried in the garden. When the king's people came into the store-house, they found a body, without a head and they could not make out whose it was. By the advice of the Seanagal the king had the trunk carried about from town to town by the soldiers on the points of spears. They were directed to observe if any one cried out on seeing it. When they were going past the house of the wright, the wright's wife made a tortured scream, and swift the shifty lad cut himself with an adze, and he kept saying to the wright's wife, "It is not as bad as thou thinkest." He then tells the soldier that she is afraid of blood, and therefore the soldier supposed that he was the wright and she his wife. The king had the body hung up in an open place, and set soldiers to watch if any should attempt to take it away, or show pity or grief for it. The shifty lad drives a horse past with a keg of whisky on each side, and pretends to be hiding it from the soldiers. They pursue him, capture the whisky, get dead drunk, and the shifty lad carries off and buries the wright's body. The king now lets loose a pig to dig up the body. The soldiers follow the pig, but the wright's widow entertains them. Meanwhile the shifty lad kills the pig and buries it. The soldiers are then ordered to live at free quarters among the people, and wherever they get pig's flesh, unless the people could explain how they came by it, to make a report to the king. But the shifty lad kills the soldiers who visit the widow, and persuades the people to kill all the others in their sleep. The Seanagal next advises the king to give a feast to all the people. Whoever dared to dance with the king's daughter would be the culprit. The shifty lad asks her to dance, she makes a black mark on him, but he puts a similar black mark on twenty others. The king now proclaims that, if the author of these clever tricks will reveal himself, he shall marry his daughter. All the men with marks on them contend for the honour. It is agreed that to whomsoever a child shall give an apple, the king is to give his daughter. The shifty lad goes into the room where they are all assembled, with a shaving and a drone, and the child gives him the apple. He marries the princess, but is killed by accident. Köhler (Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 303 and ff.) compares the story of Dolopathos quoted in Loiseleur II, 123, ed. Brunet, p. 183, a story of the Florentine Ser Giovanni, (Pecorone, IX, 1,) an old Netherland story in Haupt's Zeitschrift für Deutsches Alterthum 5, 385-404, called "The thief of Bruges," and a Tyrolese story in Zingerle, Kinder- und Hausmärchen aus Süd-Deutschland, p. 300; also a French Romance of chivalry entitled, "The knight Berinus and his son Aigres of the Magnet mountain." There is also a story in the Seven Wise Masters (Ellis, specimens of early English metrical romances new ed. by Halliwell, London, 1848, p. 423) of a father and his son breaking into the treasure-house of the emperor Octavianus. Köhler also compares the story of Trophonius and his brother or father Agamedes (Scholiast to Aristophanes, Nubes, 508; Pausanias, IX, 37, 3.) This story will also be found in Simrock's Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. XII, p. 148. The story appears in Melusine, 1878 p. 17 under the title of "Le Voleur Avisé, Conte Breton." See also Ralston's Tibetan Tales, Introduction, pp. xlvii and ff.

Chapter LXV

The next evening Gomukha told Naraváhanadatta this story to amuse him as before.

Story of the ungrateful Wife. [133]

In a certain city there lived the son of a rich merchant, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva. His mother died, and his father became attached to another wife, so he sent him away; and the son went forth from his father's house with his wife to live in the forest. His younger brother also was banished by his father, and went with him, but as he was not of a chastened disposition, the elder brother parted company with him, and went in another direction. And as he was going along, he at last came to a great desert wilderness, without water, grass, or tree, scorched by the fierce rays of the sun, and his supplies were exhausted. And he travelled through it for seven days, and kept his wife, who was exhausted with hunger and thirst, alive, by giving her his own flesh and blood, and she drank the blood and ate the flesh. And on the eighth day he reached a mountain forest, resounding with the surging waters of a torrent, abounding in shady trees laden with fruit, and in delightful turf. There he refreshed his wife with water and fruits, and went down into the mountain-stream that was wreathed with waves, to take a bath. And there he saw a man with his two feet and his two hands cut off, being carried along by the current, in need of assistance. Though exhausted with his long fast, the brave man entered the river, and rescued this mutilated person. And the compassionate man landed him on the bank, and said; "Who did this to you, my brother?" Then the maimed man answered, "My enemies cut off my hands and feet, and threw me into the river, desiring to inflict on me a painful death. But you have saved me from the water." When the maimed man told him this, he bandaged his wounds, and gave him food, and then the noble fellow bathed and took food himself. Then this merchant's son, who was an incarnation of a Bodhisattva, remained in that wood with his wife, living on roots and fruits, and engaged in austerities.

One day, when he was away in search of fruits and roots, his wife fell in love with that maimed man, whose wounds were healed. And determining to kill her husband, the wicked woman devised a plot for doing so in concert with that mutilated man, and she pretended to be ill. And she pointed out a plant growing in the ravine, where it was difficult to descend, and the river hard to cross, and said to her husband; "I may live if you bring me that sovereign plant, for I am sure that the god indicated to me its position in a dream." He consented, and descended into the ravine to get the plant, by the help of a rope plaited of grass and fastened to a tree. But when he had got down, she unfastened the rope; so he fell into the river, and was swept away by it, as its current was strong. And he was carried an enormous distance by the river, and flung up on the bank near a certain city, for his merits preserved his life. Then he climbed up on to the firm ground, and rested under a tree, as he was fatigued by his immersion in the water, and thought over the wicked behaviour of his wife. Now it happened that at that time the king of that city had just died, and in that country there was an immemorial custom, that an auspicious elephant was driven about by the citizens, and any man, that he took up with his trunk and placed on his back, was anointed king. [134] The elephant, wandering about, came near the merchant's son, and, as if he were Providence pleased with his self-control, took him up, and put him on his back. Then the merchant's son, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva, was immediately taken to the city and anointed king by the people. When he had obtained the crown, he did not associate with charming women of coquettish behaviour, but held converse with the virtues of compassion, cheerfulness and patience.

And his wife wandered about hither and thither, carrying that maimed man, who was her paramour, on her back, [135] without fear of her husband, whom she supposed to have been swept away by the river. And she begged from village to village, and city to city, saying, "This husband of mine has had his hands and feet cut off by his enemies; I am a devoted wife and support him by begging, so give me alms. At last she reached the town in which that husband of hers was king. She begged there in the same way, and, as she was honoured by the citizens as a devoted wife the fame of her virtue reached the ears of the king. And the king had her summoned, with the maimed man on her back, and, when she came near, he recognized her and said; "Are you that devoted wife?" And the wicked woman, not recognizing her husband, when surrounded by the splendour of the kingly office, said, "I am that devoted wife, your Majesty." Then that incarnation of a Bodhisattva laughed, and said; "I too have had practical experience of your wifely devotion. How comes it that, though I your own husband, who possess hands and feet, could not tame you, even by giving you my own flesh and blood, which you kept feeding on like an ogress in human form, this maimed fellow, though defective in his limbs, has been able to tame you and make you his beast of burden? Did you carry on your back your innocent husband, whom you threw into the river? It is owing to that deed that you have to carry and support this maimed man." When her husband in these words revealed her past conduct, she recognized him, and fainting from fear, became like a painted or dead woman. The ministers in their curiosity said, "Tell us, king, what this means." Then the king told them the whole story. And the ministers, when they heard that she had conspired against her husband's life, cut off her nose and ears, and branded her, and banished her from the country with the maimed man. And in this matter Fate shewed a becoming combination, for it united a woman without nose and ears with a man without hands and feet, and a man who was an incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva, with the splendour of royalty.

"Thus the way of woman's heart, which is a thing full of hate, indiscriminating, prone to the base, is difficult to fathom. And thus good fortune comes spontaneous and unexpected, as if pleased with them, to those of noble soul, who do not swerve from virtue and who conquer anger." When the minister Gomukha had told this tale, he proceeded to relate the following story.

Story of the grateful animals and the ungrateful woman. [136]

There was a certain man of noble soul, who was an incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva, whose heart was melted by compassion only, who had built a hut in a forest and lived there, performing austerities. He, while living there, by his power rescued living beings in distress and Pisáehas, and others he gratified by presents of water and jewels. One day, as he was roaming about in the wood to assist others, he saw a great well and looked into it. And a woman, who was in it, said to him in a loud voice; "Noble sir, here are four of us; myself a woman, a lion, and a golden-crested bird, and a snake, fallen into this well in the night; so take us out; have mercy upon us." When he heard this, he said, "Granted that you three fell in because the darkness made it impossible for you to see your way, but how did the bird fall in?" The woman answered him, "It fell in by being caught in a fowler's net." Then the ascetic tried to lift them out by the supernatural power of his asceticism, but he could not; on the contrary, his power was gone. He reflected, "Surely this woman is a sinner, and owing to my having conversed with her, my power is gone from me. So I will use other means in this case." Then he plaited a rope of grass, and so drew them all four up out of the well, and they praised him. And in his astonishment he said to the lion, the bird, and the snake; "Tell me, how come you to have articulate voice, and what is your history?" Then the lion said, "We have articulate speech and we remember our former births, and we are mutual enemies; hear our stories in turns." So the lion began to tell his own story as follows:

The lion's story.

There is a splendid city on the Himálayas, called Vaidúryasringa; and in it there is a prince of the Vidyádharas named Padmavesa, and to him a son was born named Vajravega. That Vajravega, while he dwelt in the world of the Vidyádharas, being a vain-glorious person, quarrelled with any body and every body, confiding in his courage. His father ordered him to desist, but he paid no attention to his command. Then his father cursed him, saying, "Fall into the world of mortals." Then his arrogance was extinguished, and his knowledge left him, and smitten with the curse he wept, and asked his father to name a time when it should end. Then his father Padmavega thought a little, and said immediately; "You shall become a Bráhman's son on the earth, and display this arrogance once more, and by your father's curse you shall become a lion and fall into a well. And a man of noble character, out of compassion, shall draw you out, and when you have recompensed him in his calamity, you shall be delivered from this curse." This was the termination of the curse which his father appointed for him.

Then Vajravega was born in Málava as Devaghosha, the son of Harighosha a Bráhman. And in that birth also he fought with many, confiding in his heroism, and his father said to him, "Do not go on in this way quarrelling with every body." But he would not obey his father's orders, so his father cursed him--"Become immediately a foolish lion, over-confident in its strength." In consequence of this speech of his father's, Devaghosha, that incarnation of a Vidyádhara, was again born as a lion in this forest.

"Know that I am that lion. I was wandering about here at night, and as chance would have it, I fell into this well; and you, noble sir, have drawn me up out of it. So now I will depart, and, if you should fall into any difficulty, remember me; I will do you a good turn and so get released from my curse." After the lion had said this be went away, and the golden-crested bird, being questioned by that Bodhisattva, told his tale.

The golden-crested bird's story.

There is on the Himálayas a king of the Vidyádharas, named Vajradanshtra. His queen gave birth to five daughters in succession. And then the king propitiated Siva with austerities and obtained a son, named Rajatadanshtra, whom he valued more than life. His father, out of affection, bestowed the knowledge of the sciences upon him when he was still a child, and he grew up, a feast to the eyes of his relations.

One day he saw his eldest sister, by name Somaprabhá, playing upon a pinjara. In his childishness he kept begging for the pinjara, saying, "Give it me, I too want to play on it." And when she would not give it him, in his flightiness he seized the pinjara, and flew up to heaven with it in the form of a bird. Then his sister cursed him, saying;--"Since you have taken my pinjara from me by force, and flown away with it, you shall become a bird with a golden crest." When Rajatadanshtra heard this, he fell at his sister's feet, and entreated her to fix a time for his curse to end, and she said, "When, foolish boy, you fall, in your bird-form, into a blind well, and a certain merciful person draws you out, and you do him a service in return, then you shall be released from this curse." When she had said this to her brother, he was born as a bird with a golden crest.

"I am that same golden-crested bird, that fell into this pit in the night, and have now been drawn out by you, so now I will depart. Remember me when you fall into calamity, for by doing you a service in return I shall be released from my curse." When the bird had said this, he departed. Then the snake, being questioned by that Bodhisattva, told his story to that great-souled one.

The snake's story.

Formerly I was the son of a hermit in the hermitage of Kasyapa. And I had a companion there who was also the son of a hermit. And one day my friend went down into the lake to bathe, and I remained on the bank. And while I was there, I saw a serpent come with three heads. And, in order to terrify that friend of mine in fun, I fixed the serpent immoveable on the bank, opposite to where he was, by the power of a spell. My friend got through his bathing in a moment, and came to the bank, and unexpectedly seeing that great serpent there, he was terrified and fainted. After some time I brought my friend round again, but he, finding out by meditation that I had terrified him in this way, became angry, and cursed me, saying, "Go and become a similar great snake with three crests." Then I entreated him to fix an end to my curse, and he said,--"When, in your serpent condition, you fall into a well, and at a critical moment do a service to the man who pulls you out, then you shall be freed from your curse."

"After he had said this, he departed, and I became a serpent, and now you have drawn me out of the well; so now I will depart. And when you think of me I will come; and by doing you a service I shall be released from my curse."

When the snake had said this, he departed, and the woman told her story.

The woman's story.

I am the wife of a young Kshatriya in the king's employ, a man in the bloom of youth, brave, generous, handsome, and high-minded. Nevertheless I was wicked enough to enter into an intrigue with another man. When my husband found it out, he determined to punish me. And I heard of this from my confidante, and that moment I fled, and entered this wood at night, and fell into this well, and was dragged out by you.

"And thanks to your kindness I will now go and maintain myself somewhere. May a day come when I shall be able to requite your goodness."

When the sinful woman had said this to the Bodhisattva, she went to the town of a king named Gotravardhana. She obtained an interview, with him, and remained among his attendants, in the capacity of maid to the king's principal queen. But because that Bodhisattva talked with that woman, he lost his power, and could not procure fruits and roots and things of that kind. Then, being exhausted with hunger and thirst, he first thought of the lion. And, when he thought of him, he came and fed him with the flesh of deer, [137] and in a short time he restored him to his former health with their flesh; and then the lion said, "My curse is at an end, I will depart." When he had said this, the Bodhisattva gave him leave to depart, and the lion became a Vidyádhara and went to his own place.

Then that incarnation of a portion of a Bodhisattva, being again exhausted by want of food, thought upon that golden-crested bird, and he came, when thought of by him. And when he told the bird of his sufferings, the bird went and brought a casket full of jewels [138] and gave it him, and said, "This wealth will support you for ever, and so my curse has come to an end, now I depart; may you enjoy happiness!" When he had said this, he became a young Vidyádhara prince, and went through the air to his own world, and received the kingdom from his father. And the Bodhisattva, as he was wandering about to sell the jewels, reached that city, where the woman was living whom he had rescued from the well. And he deposited those jewels in an out-of-the-way house belonging to an old Bráhman woman, and went to the market, and on the way he saw coming towards him the very woman whom he had saved from the well, and the woman saw him. And the two fell into a conversation, and in the course of it the woman told him of her position about the person of the queen. And she asked him about his own adventures: so the confiding man told her how the golden-crested bird had given him the jewels. And he took her and shewed her the jewels in the house of the old woman, and the wicked woman went and told her mistress the queen of it. Now it happened that the golden-crested bird had managed artfully to steal this casket of jewels from the interior of the queen's palace, before her eyes. And when the queen heard from the mouth of that woman, who knew the facts, that the casket had arrived in the city, she informed the king. And the king had the Bodhisattva pointed out by that wicked woman, and brought by his servants as a prisoner from that house with the ornaments. And after he had asked him the circumstances, though he believed his account, he not only took the ornaments from him, but he put him in prison.

Then the Bodhisattva, terrified at being put in prison, thought upon the snake, who was an incarnation of the hermit's son, and the snake came to him. And when the snake had seen him, and enquired what his need was, he said to the good man, "I will go and coil round the king from his head to his feet. [139] And I will not let him go until I am told to do so by you. And you must say here, in the prison, 'I will deliver the king from the serpent.' And when you come and give me the order, I will let the king go. And when I let him go, he will give you half his kingdom." After he had said this, the snake went and coiled round the king, and placed his three hoods on his head. And the people began to cry out, "Alas! the king is bitten by a snake." Then the Bodhisattva said, "I will deliver the king from this snake." And the king's servants, having heard this, informed him. Thereupon the king, who was in the grasp of the snake, had the Bodhisattva summoned, and said to him, "If you deliver me from this snake, I will give you half my kingdom, and these my ministers are your guarantees that I will keep my promise." When his ministers heard this, they said,--"Certainly," and then the Bodhisattva said to that snake, "Let the king go at once." Then the snake let the king go, and the king gave half his kingdom to that Bodhisattva, and thus he became prosperous in a moment. And the serpent, as its curse was at an end, became a young hermit, and he told his story in the presence of the court and went back to his hermitage.

"Thus you see that good fortune certainly befalls those of good dispositions. And transgression brings suffering even upon the great. And the mind of women cannot be relied upon, it is not touched even by such a service as rescue from death; so what other benefit can move them?" When Gomukha had told this tale, he said to the king of Vatsa, "Listen, I will tell you some more stories of fools."

Story of the Buddhist monk who was bitten by a dog.

There was in a certain Buddhist monastery a Buddhist monk of dull intellect. One day, as he was walking in the high road, he was bitten by a dog on the knee. And when he had been thus bitten, he returned to his monastery, and thus reflected,--"Every body, one after another, will ask me, 'What has happened to your knee?' And what a time it will take me to inform them all one by one! So I will make use of an artifice to let them all know at once." Having thus reflected, he quickly went to the top of the monastery, and taking the stick with which the gong was struck, he sounded the gong. And the mendicant monks, hearing it, came together in astonishment, and said to him, "Why do you without cause sound the gong at the wrong time?" He answered the mendicants, at the same time shewing them his knee, "The fact is, a dog has bitten my knee, so I called you together, thinking that it would take a long time for me to tell each of you separately such a long story: so hear it all of you now, and look at my knee." Then all the mendicants laughed till their sides ached, and said, "What a great fuss he has made about a very small matter!"

"You have heard of the foolish Buddhist monk, now hear of the foolish Takka."

Story of the man who submitted to be burnt alive sooner than share his food with a guest.

There lived somewhere a rich but foolish Takka, [140] who was a miser. And he and his wife were always eating barley-meal without salt. And he never learned to know the taste of any other food. Once Providence instigated him to say to his wife, "I have conceived a desire for a milk-pudding: cook me one to-day." His wife said, "I will," and set about cooking the pudding, and the Takka remained in doors concealed, taking to his bed, for fear some one should see him and drop in on him as a guest.

In the meanwhile a friend of his, a Takka who was fond of mischief, came there, and asked his wife where her husband was. And she, without giving an answer, went in to her husband, and told him of the arrival of his friend. And he, lying on the bed, said to her; "Sit down here, and remain weeping and clinging to my feet, and say to my friend, 'My husband is dead.' [141] When he is gone, we will eat this pudding happily together." When he gave her this order, she began to weep, and the friend came in, and said to her, "What is the matter?" She said to him "Look, my husband is dead." But he reflected, "I saw her a moment ago happy enough cooking a pudding. How comes it that her husband is now dead, though he has had no illness? The two things are incompatible. No doubt the two have invented this fiction because they saw I had come as a guest. So I will not go." Thereupon the mischievous fellow sat down, and began crying out, "Alas my friend! Alas, my friend!" Then his relations, hearing the lamentation, came in and prepared to take that silly Takka to the burning-place, for he still continued to counterfeit death. But his wife came to him and whispered in his ear, "Jump up, before these relations take you off to the pyre and burn you." But the foolish man answered his wife in a whisper, "No! that will never do, for this cunning Takka wishes to eat my pudding. I cannot get up, for it was on his arrival that I died. For to people like me the contemplation of one's possessions is dearer than life." Then that wicked friend and his relations carried him out, but he remained immoveable, even while he was being burned, and kept silence till he died. So the foolish man sacrificed his life but saved his pudding, and others enjoyed at ease the wealth he had acquired with much toil.

"You have heard the story of the miser, now hear the story of the foolish pupils and the cat."

Story of the foolish teacher, the foolish pupils, and the cat.

In Ujjayiní there lived in a convent a foolish teacher. And he could not sleep, because mice troubled him at night. And wearied with this infliction, he told the whole story to a friend. The friend, who was a Bráhman, said to that teacher, "You must set up a cat, it will eat the mice." The teacher said, "What sort of creature is a cat? Where can one be found? I never came across one." When the teacher said this, the friend replied, "Its eyes are like glass, its colour is a brownish grey, it has a hairy skin on its back, and it wanders about in roads. So, my friend, you must quickly discover a cat by these signs and have one brought." After his friend had said this, he went home. Then that foolish teacher said to his pupils, "You have been present and heard all the distinguishing marks of a cat. So look about for a cat, such as you have heard described, in the roads here." Accordingly the pupils went and searched hither and thither, but they did not find a cat anywhere.

Then at last they saw a Bráhman boy coming from the opening of a road, his eyes were like glass, his colour brownish grey, and he wore on his back a hairy antelope-skin. And when they saw him they said, "Here we have got the cat according to the description." So they seized him, and took him to their teacher. Their teacher also observed that he had got the characteristics mentioned by his friend; so he placed him in the convent at night. And the silly boy himself believed that he was a cat, when he heard the description that those fools gave of the animal. Now it happened that the silly boy was a pupil of that Bráhman, who out of friendship gave that teacher the description of the cat. And that Bráhman came in the morning, and, seeing the boy in the convent, said to those fools, "Who brought this fellow here?" The teacher and his foolish pupils answered, "We brought him here as a cat, according to the description which we heard from you." Then the Bráhman laughed and said, "There is considerable difference between a stupid human being, and a cat, which is an animal with four feet and a tail." When the foolish fellows heard this, they let the boy go and said, "So let us go and search again for a cat such as has been now described to us." And the people laughed at those fools.

"Ignorance makes every one ridiculous. You have heard of the fools and their cat, now hear the story of another set of fools."

Story of the fools and the bull of Siva.

There was in a certain convent, full of fools, a man who was the greatest fool of the lot. He once heard in a treatise on law, which was being read out, that a man, who has a tank made, gains a great reward in the next world. Then, as he had a large fortune, he had made a large tank full of water, at no great distance from his own convent. One day this prince of fools went to take a look at that tank of his, and perceived that the sand had been scratched up by some creature. The next day too he came, and saw that the bank had been torn up in another part of that tank, and being quite astonished, he said to himself, "I will watch here to-morrow the whole day, beginning in the early morning, and I will find out what creature it is that does this." After he had formed this resolution, he came there early next morning, and watched, until at last he saw a bull descend from heaven and plough up the bank with its horns. He thought, "This is a heavenly bull, so why should I not go to heaven with it?" And he went up to the bull, and with both his hands laid hold of the tail behind. Then the holy bull lifted up with the utmost force the foolish man, who was clinging to its tail, and carried him in a moment to its home in Kailása. There the foolish man lived for some time in great comfort, feasting on heavenly dainties, sweetmeats, and other things which he obtained. And seeing that the bull kept going and returning, that king of fools, bewildered by destiny, thought, "I will go down clinging to the tail of the bull and see my friends, and after I have told them this wonderful tale, I will return in the same way." Having formed this resolution, the fool went and clung to the tail of the bull one day when it was setting out, and so returned to the surface of the earth.

When he returned to the convent, the other blockheads, who were there, embraced him, and asked him where he had been, and he told them. Then all those foolish men, having heard the tale of his adventures, made this petition to him; "Be kind and take us also there, enable us also to feast on sweetmeats." He consented, and told them his plan for doing it, and the next day he led them to the border of the tank and the bull came there. And the principal fool seized the tail of the bull with his two hands, and another took hold of his feet, and a third in turn took hold of his. So, when they had formed a chain by clinging on to one another's feet, the bull flew rapidly up into the air. And while the bull was going along, with all the fools clinging to his tail, it happened that one of the fools said to the principal fool; "Tell us now, to satisfy our curiosity; how large were those sweetmeats which you ate, of which a never-failing supply can be obtained in heaven?" Then the leader had his attention diverted from the business in hand, and quickly joined his hands together like the cup of a lotus, and exclaimed in answer, "So big." But in so doing he let go the tail of the bull. And accordingly he and all those others fell from heaven, and were killed, and the bull returned to Kailása; but the people, who saw it, were much amused. [142]

"Fools do themselves an injury by asking questions and giving answers without reflection. You have heard about the fools who flew through the air; hear about this other fool."

Story of the fool who asked his way to the village.

A certain fool, while going to another village, forgot the way. And when he asked his way, the people said to him; "Take the path that goes up by the tree on the bank of the river."

Then the fool went and got on the trunk of that tree, and said to himself, "The men told me that my way lay up the trunk of this tree." And as he went on climbing up it, the bough at the end bent with his weight, and it was all he could do to avoid falling by clinging to it.

While he was clinging to it, there came that way an elephant, that had been drinking water, with his driver on his back. When the fool, who was clinging to the tree, saw him, he said with humble voice to that elephant-driver, "Great Sir, take me down." And the elephant-driver let go the elephant-hook, and laid hold of the man by the feet with both his hands, to take him down from the tree. In the meanwhile the elephant went on, and the elephant-driver found himself clinging to the feet of that fool, who was clinging to the end of the tree. Then the fool said urgently to the elephant-driver, "Sing something quickly, if you know anything, in order that the people may hear, and come here at once to take us down. Otherwise we shall fall, and the river will carry us away." When the elephant-driver had been thus appealed to by him, he sang so sweetly that the fool was much pleased. And in his desire to applaud him properly, he forgot what he was about, and let go his hold of the tree, and prepared to clap him with both his hands. Immediately he and the elephant-driver fell into the river and were drowned, for association with fools brings prosperity to no man.

After Gomukha had told this story, he went on to tell that of Hiranyáksha.

Story of Hiranyáksha and Mrigánkalekhá.

There is in the lap of the Himálayas a country called Kasmíra, which is the very crest-jewel of the earth, the home of sciences and virtue. In it there was a town, named Hiranyapura, and there reigned in it a king, named Kanakáksha. And there was born to that king, owing to his having propitiated Siva, a son, named Hiranyáksha, by his wife Ratnaprabhá. The prince was one day playing at ball, and he purposely managed to strike with the ball a female ascetic who came that way. That female ascetic possessing supernatural powers, who had overcome the passion of anger, laughed and said to Hiranyáksha, without altering the expression of her face, [143] "If your youth and other qualities make you so insolent, what will you become if you obtain Mrigánkalekhá for a wife." [144] When the prince heard that, he propitiated the female ascetic and said to her; "Who is this Mrigánkalekhá? tell me, reverend madam." Then she said to him, "There is a glorious king of the Vidyádharas on the Himálayas, named Sasitejas. He has a beautiful daughter, named Mrigánkalekhá, whose loveliness keeps the princes of the Vidyádharas awake at night. And she will be a fitting wife for you, and you will be a suitable husband for her." When the female ascetic, who possessed supernatural power, said this to Hiranyáksha, he replied, "Tell me, reverend mother, how she is to be obtained." Thereupon she said, "I will go and find out how she is affected towards you, by talking about you. And then I will come and take you there. And you will find me to-morrow in the temple of the god here, named Amaresa, for I come here every day to worship him." After the female ascetic had said this, she went through the air by her supernatural power to the Himálayas, to visit that Mrigánkalekhá. Then she praised to her so artfully the good qualities of Hiranyáksha, that the celestial maiden became very much in love with him, and said to her, "If, reverend mother, I cannot manage to obtain a husband of this kind, of what use to me is this my purposeless life?" So the emotion of love was produced in Mrigánkalekhá, and she spent the day in talking about him, and passed the night with that female ascetic. In the meanwhile Hiranyáksha spent the day in thinking of her, and with difficulty slept at night, but towards the end of the night Párvatí said to him in a dream, "Thou art a Vidyádhara, become a mortal by the curse of a hermit, and thou shalt be delivered from it by the touch of the hand of this female ascetic, and then thou shalt quickly marry this Mrigánkalekhá. Do not be anxious about it, for she was thy wife in a former state." Having said this, the goddess disappeared from his sight. And in the morning the prince woke and rose up, and performed the auspicious ceremonies of bathing and so on. Then he went and adored Amaresa and stood in his presence, since it was there that the female ascetic had appointed him a rendezvous.

In the meanwhile Mrigánkalekhá fell asleep with difficulty in her own palace, and Párvatí said to her in a dream, "Do not grieve, the curse of Hiranyáksha is at an end, and he will again become a Vidyádhara by the touch of the hand of the female ascetic, and thou shalt have him once more for a husband." When the goddess had said this, she disappeared, and in the morning Mrigánkalekhá woke up and told the female ascetic her dream. And the holy ascetic returned to the earth, and said to Hiranyáksha, who was in the temenos of Amaresa, "Come to the world of Vidyádharas." When she said this, he bent before her, and she took him up in her arms, and flew up with him to heaven. Then Hiranyáksha's curse came to an end, and he became a prince of the Vidyádharas, and he remembered his former birth, and said to the female ascetic, "Know that I was a king of the Vidyádharas named Amritatejas in a city named Vajrakúta. And long ago I was cursed by a hermit, angry because I had treated him with neglect, and I was doomed to live in the world of mortals until touched by your hand. And my wife, who then abandoned the body because I had been cursed, has now been born again as Mrigánkalekhá, and so has before been loved by me. And now I will go with you and obtain her once more, for I have been purified by the touch of your hand, and my curse is at an end." So said Amritatejas, the Vidyádhara prince, as he travelled through the air with that female ascetic to the Himálayas. There he saw Mrigánkalekhá in a garden, and she saw him coming, as he had been described by the female ascetic. Wonderful to say, these lovers first entered one another's minds by the ears, and now they entered them by the eyes, without ever having gone out again.

Then that outspoken female ascetic said to Mrigánkalekhá, "Tell this to your father with a view to your marriage." She instantly went, with a face downcast from modesty, and informed her father of all through her confidante. And it happened that her father also had been told how to act by Párvatí in a dream, so he received Amritatejas into his palace with all due honour. And he bestowed Mrigánkalekhá on him with the prescribed ceremonies, and after he was married, he went to the city of Vajrakúta. There he got back his kingdom as well as his wife, and he had his father Kanakáksha brought there, by means of the holy female ascetic, as he was a mortal, and he gratified him with heavenly enjoyments and sent him back again to earth, and long enjoyed his prosperity with Mrigánkalekhá.

"So you see that the destiny fixed for any creature in this world, by works in a former birth, falls as it were before his feet, and he attains it with ease, though apparently unattainable." When Naraváhanadatta heard this tale of Gomukha's, he was enabled to sleep that night, though pining for Saktiyasas.

Chapter LXVI

The next night Gomukha told the following story to Naraváhanadatta to amuse him.

In the holy place of Siva, called Dhanesvara, there lived long ago a great hermit, who was waited upon by many pupils. He once said to his pupils, "If any one of you has seen or heard in his life a strange occurrence of any kind, let him relate it." When the hermit said this, a pupil said to him, "Listen, I will tell a strange story which I once heard."

Story of the mendicant who travelled from Kasmíra to Pátaliputra.

There is in Kasmíra a famous holy place, sacred to Siva, called Vijaya. In it there lived a certain mendicant, who was proud of his knowledge. He worshipped Siva, and prayed--"May I be always victorious in controversy,"--and thereupon he set out for Pátaliputra to exhibit his skill in dispute. And on the way he passed forests, rivers, and mountains, and having reached a certain forest, he became tired, and rested under a tree. And immediately he saw, as he was refreshing himself in the cool breeze of the tank, a student of religion, who had come there dusty with a long journey, with his staff and water-pot in his hand. When he sat down, the wandering mendicant asked him whence he came and whither he was going. The student of religion answered, "I come from that seat of learning Pátaliputra, and I am going to Kasmíra to conquer the Pandits there in discussion. When the mendicant heard this speech of the religious student's, he thought, "If I cannot conquer this one man who has left Pátaliputra, how shall I manage to go and overcome the many who remain there?"

So reflecting, he began to reproach that religious student, "Tell me, religious student, what is the meaning of this inconsistent conduct on your part? How comes it that you are at the same time a religious student, eager for liberation, and a man afflicted with the madness of disputatiousness? Do you seek to be delivered from the world by binding yourself with the conceit of controversy? You are quenching heat with fire, and removing the feeling of cold with snow; you are trying to cross the sea on a boat of stone; you are striving to put out a fire by fanning it. The virtue of Bráhmans is patience, that of Kshatriyas is the rescue of the distressed; the characteristic quality of one who desires liberation is quietism; disputatiousness is said to be the characteristic of Rákshasas. Therefore a man who desires liberation must be of a quiet temperament, putting away the pain arising from alternations of opposites, fearing the hindrances of the world. So cut down with the axe of quietism this tree of mundane existence, and do not water it with the water of controversial conceit." When he said this to the religious student, he was pleased, and bowed humbly before him, and saying, "Be you my spiritual guide,"--he departed by the way that he came. And the mendicant remained, laughing, where he was, at the foot of the tree, and then he heard from within it the conversation of a Yaksha, who was joking with his wife. [145] And while the mendicant was listening, the Yaksha in sport struck his wife with a garland of flowers, and she, like a cunning female, pretended that she was dead, and immediately her attendants raised a cry of grief. And after a long time she opened her eyes, as if her life had returned to her. Then the Yaksha her husband said to her; "What have you seen?" Then she told the following invented story; "When you struck me with the garland, I saw a black man come, with a noose in his hand, with flaming eyes, tall, with upstanding hair, terrible, darkening the whole horizon with his shadow. The ruffian took me to the abode of Yama, but his officers there turned him back, and made him let me go." When the Yakshiní said this, the Yaksha laughed, and said to her, "O dear! women cannot be free from deception in any thing that they do. Who ever died from being struck with flowers? Who ever returned from the house of Yama? You silly woman, you have imitated the tricks of the women of Pátaliputra."

Story of the wife of king Sinháksha, and the wives of his principal courtiers.

For in that city there is a king named Sinháksha: and his wife, taking with her the wives of his minister, commander-in-chief, chaplain, and physician, went once on the thirteenth day of the white fortnight to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Sarasvatí, the protecting deity of that land. There they, queen and all, met on the way sick persons, humpbacked, blind, and lame, and were thus implored by them, "Give medicine to us wretched diseased men, in order that we may be delivered from our infirmity; have mercy upon the distressed. For this world is wavering as a wave of the sea, transient as a flash of lightning, and its beauty is short-lived like that of a religious festival. So in this unreal world the only real thing is mercy to the wretched, and charity to the poor; it is only the virtuous person that can be said truly to live. What is the use of giving to the rich or the comfortable? [146] What does the cold moon profit a shivering man, or what is the use of a cloud when winter has arrived? So rescue us miserable creatures from the affliction of sickness."

When the queen and the other ladies had been thus supplicated by these diseased persons, they said to one another; "These poor afflicted men say what is true, and to the point, so we must endeavour to restore them to health even at the cost of all our substance." Then they worshipped the goddess, and each took one of those sick people to her own house, and, urging on their husbands, they had them treated with the potent drugs of Mahádeví, and they never left off watching them. And from being always with them, they fell in love with them, and became so attached to them that they thought of nothing else in the world. And their minds, bewildered with love, never reflected what a difference there was between these wretched sick men and their own husbands, the king and his chief courtiers.

Then their husbands remarked that they had on them the marks of scratches and bites, due to their surprising intimacy with these invalids. And the king, the commander-in-chief, the minister, the chaplain, and the physician talked of this to one another without reserve, but not without anxiety. Then the king said to the others, "You keep quiet at present; I will question my wife dexterously." So he dismissed them, and went to his private apartments, and assuming an expression of affectionate anxiety, he said to his wife, "Who bit you on the lower lip? Who scratched you on the breast? If you tell me the truth, it will be well with you, but not otherwise." When the queen was thus questioned by the king, she told him a fictitious tale, saying, "Ill-fated that I am, I must tell this wonder, though it ought not to be revealed. Every night a man, with a discus and club, comes out of the painted wall, and does this to me, and disappears into it in the morning. And though you, my husband, are alive, he reduces to this state my body, which not even the sun or moon has ever beheld." When the foolish king heard this story of hers, told with much semblance of grief, he believed it, and thought that it was all a trick played by Vishnu. And he told it to the minister and his other servants, and they, like blockheads, also believed that their wives had been visited by Vishnu, and held their tongues.

"In this way wicked and cunning females, of bad character, by concurring in one impossible story, deceive silly people, but I am not such a fool as to be taken in." The Yaksha by saying this covered his wife with confusion. And the mendicant at the foot of the tree heard it all. Then the mendicant folded his hands, and said to that Yaksha, "Reverend sir, I have arrived at your hermitage, and now I throw myself on your protection. So pardon my sin in overhearing what you have been saying." By thus speaking the truth he gained the good will of the Yaksha. And the Yaksha said to him, "I am a Yaksha, Sarvasthánagaváta by name, and I am pleased with you. So choose a boon." Then the mendicant said to the Yaksha; "Let this be my boon that you will not be angry with this wife of yours." Then the Yaksha said, "I am exceedingly pleased with you. This boon is already granted, so choose another." Then the mendicant said, "Then this is my second petition, that from this day forward you and your wife will look upon me as a son." When the Yaksha heard this, he immediately became visible to him with his wife, and said, "I consent, my son, we regard you as our own child. And owing to our favour you shall never suffer calamity. And you shall be invincible in disputation, altercation, and gambling." When the Yaksha had said this, he disappeared, and the mendicant worshipped him, and after spending the night there, he went on to Pátaliputra. Then he announced to king Sinháksha, by the mouth of the doorkeeper, that he was a disputant come from Kasmíra. And the king permitted him to enter the hall of assembly, and there he tauntingly challenged the learned men to dispute with him. And after he had conquered them all by virtue of the boon of the Yaksha, he again taunted them in the presence of the king in these words: "I ask you to explain this. What is the meaning of this statement, 'A man with a discus and mace comes out of the painted wall, and bites my lower lip, and scratches my chest, and then disappears in the wall again.' Give me an answer." [147] When the learned men heard his riddle, as they did not know the real reference, they gave no answer, but looked at one another's faces. Then the king Sinháksha himself said to him, "Explain to us yourself the meaning of what you said." Thereupon the mendicant told the king of the deceitful behaviour of his wife, which he had heard about from the Yaksha. And he said to the king, "So a man should never become attached to women, which will only result in his knowing wickedness." The king was delighted with the mendicant, and wished to give him his kingdom. But the mendicant, who was ardently attached to his own native land, would not take it. Then the king honoured him with a rich present of jewels. The mendicant took the jewels and returned to his native land of Kasmíra, and there by the favour of the Yaksha he lived in great comfort.

When Gomukha had said this, he remarked, "So strange are these actions of bad women, and the dispensations of Providence, and the conduct of mankind. Now hear this story of another woman who killed eleven. [148]

Story of the woman who had eleven husbands.

There was in Málava a certain householder, who lived in a village. He had born to him a daughter, who had two or three elder brothers. Now, as soon as she was born her mother died, and a few days after one of the man's sons died. And then his brother was gored by an ox and died of it. So the householder named his daughter, "Three-slayer," because owing to the birth of this ill-omened girl three had met their death.

In course of time she grew up, and then the son of a rich man, who lived in that village, asked her in marriage, and her father gave her to him with the usual rejoicings. She lived for some time with that husband, but he soon died. In a few days the fickle woman took another husband. And the second husband met his death in a short time. Then, led astray by her youthful feelings, she took a third husband. And the third husband of this husband-slayer died like the others. In this way she lost ten husbands in succession. So she got affixed to her by way of ridicule the name of "Ten-slayer." Then her father was ashamed and would not let her take another husband, and she remained in her father's house avoided by people. But one day a handsome young traveller entered it, and was allowed by her father to stop as his guest for a night. When Ten-slayer saw him, she fell in love with him, and when he looked at that charming young woman, he too was captivated. Then Love robbed her of her modesty, and she said to her father, "I choose this traveller as one husband more; if he dies I will then take a vow." She said this in the hearing of the traveller, but her father answered her, "Do not think of such a thing, it is too disgraceful; you have lost ten husbands, and if this one dies too, people will laugh consumedly. When the traveller heard this, he abandoned all reserve, and said, "No chance of my dying, I have lost ten wives one after another. So we are on a par; I swear that it is so by the touch of the feet of Siva." When the traveller said this, every body was astonished. And the villagers assembled, and with one consent gave permission to Ten-slayer to marry the traveller, and she took him for her husband. And she lived some time with him, but at last he was seized with an ague and died. Then she was called "Eleven-slayer," and even the stones could not help laughing at her: so she betook herself in despondency to the bank of the Ganges and lived the life of an ascetic.

The story of the man, who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox.

When Gomukha had told this amusing story, he went on to say--"Hear also the story of the man who subsisted on one ox."

There was a certain poor householder in a certain village; and the only wealth he had in his house was one ox. He was so mean-spirited that, though his family was on the point of perishing for want of food, and he himself had to fast, he could not make up his mind to part with that ox. But he went to the shrine of Durgá in the Vindhya hills, and throwing himself down on a bed of darbha-grass, he performed asceticism without taking food, in order that he might obtain wealth. The goddess said to him in a dream, "Rise up; your wealth shall always consist of one ox, and by selling it you shall live in perpetual comfort." So the next morning he woke, and got up, took some food, and returned to his house. But even then he had not strength of mind to sell that ox, for he thought that, if he sold it, he would have nothing left in the world, and be unable to live. Then, as, thin with fasting, he told his dream with reference to the command of the goddess, a certain intelligent friend said to him, "The goddess told you that you should always have one ox, and that you should live by selling it, so why did you not, foolish man, obey the command of the goddess? So, sell this ox, and support your family. When you have sold this one, you will get another, and then another." The villager, on receiving this suggestion from his friend, did so. And he received ox after ox, and lived in perpetual comfort by selling them.

"So you see, Destiny produces fruit for every man according to his resolution. So a man should be resolute; good fortune does not select for favour a man wanting in resolution. Hear now this story of the cunning rogue who passed himself off as a minister."

Story of the rogue who managed to acquire wealth by speaking to the king. [149]

There was a certain king in a city in the Dekkan. In that city there was a rogue who lived by imposing upon others. And one day he said to himself, being too ambitious to be satisfied with small gains; "Of what use to me is this petty rascality, which only provides me with subsistence? Why should I not do a stroke of business which would bring me great prosperity?" Having thus reflected, he dressed himself splendidly as a merchant, and went to the palace-gate and accosted the warder. And he introduced him into the king's presence, and he offered a complimentary gift, and said to the king, "I wish to speak with your Majesty in private." The king was imposed upon by his dress, and much influenced in his favour by the present, so he granted him a private interview, and then the rogue said to him, "Will your Majesty have the goodness every day, in the hall of assembly, to take me aside for a moment in the sight of all, and speak to me in private? And as an acknowledgment of that favour I will give your Majesty every day five hundred dínárs, and I do not ask for any gift in return." When the king heard that, he thought to himself, "What harm can it do? What does he take away from me? On the contrary he is to give me dínárs every day. What disgrace is there in carrying on a conversation with a great merchant?" So the king consented, and did as he requested, and the rogue gave the king the dínárs as he had promised, and the people thought that he had obtained the position of a Cabinet Minister.

Now one day the rogue, while he was talking with the king, kept looking again and again at the face of one official with a significant expression. And after he came out, that official asked him why he had looked at his face so, and the rogue was ready with this fiction; "The king is angry because he supposes that you have been plundering his realm. This is why I looked at your face, but I will appease his anger." When the sham minister said this, the official went home in a state of anxiety, and sent him a thousand gold pieces. And the next day the rogue talked in the same way with the king, and then he came out and said to the official, who came towards him; "I appeased the king's anger against you with some judicious words. Cheer up; I will now stand by you in all emergencies." Thus he artfully made him his friend, and then dismissed him, and then the official waited upon him with all kinds of presents.

Thus gradually this dexterous rogue, by means of his continual conversations with the king, and by many artifices, extracted from the officials, the subordinate monarchs, the Rájpúts, and the servants, so much wealth, that he amassed altogether fifty millions of gold pieces. Then the scoundrelly sham minister said in secret to the king, "Though I have given you every day five hundred dínárs, nevertheless, by the favour of your Highness, I have amassed fifty millions of gold pieces. So have the goodness to accept of this gold. What have I to do with it?" Then he told the king his whole stratagem. But it was with difficulty that the king could be induced to take half the money. Then he gave him the post of a Cabinet Minister, and the rogue, having obtained riches and position, kept complimenting the people with entertainments.

"Thus a wise man obtains great wealth without committing a very great crime, and when he has gained the advantage, he atones for his fault in the same way as a man who digs a well." Then Gomukha went on to say to the prince; "Listen now to this one story, though you are excited about your approaching marriage."

Story of Ratnarekhá and Lakshmísena.

There lived in a city, named Ratnákara, a king, named Buddhiprabha, who was a very lion to the infuriated elephant-herd of his enemies, and there was born to him by his queen, named Ratnarekhá, a daughter, named Hemaprabhá, the most beautiful woman in the whole world. And since she was a Vidyádharí, that had fallen to earth by a curse, she was fond of amusing herself by swinging, on account of the pleasure that she felt in recalling the impressions of her roaming through the air in her former existence. Her father forbade her, being afraid that she would fall, but she did not desist, so her father was angry and gave her a slap. The princess was angry at receiving so great an indignity, and wishing to retire to the forest, she went to a garden outside the city, on the pretence of amusing herself. She made her servants drunk with wine, and roaming on, she entered a dense tree-jungle, and got out of their sight. And she went alone to a distant forest, and there she built herself a hut, and remained feeding on roots and fruits, engaged in the adoration of Siva. As for her father, he found out that she had fled to some place or other, and made search for her, but did not find her. Then he fell into great grief. And after some time the king's grief abated a little, so he went out hunting to distract his mind. And, as it happened, that king Buddhiprabha went to that distant forest, in which his daughter Hemaprabhá was engaged in ascetic practices. There the king saw her hut, and he went into it, and unexpectedly beheld there his own daughter emaciated with ascetic practices. And she, when she saw him, rose up at once and embraced his feet, and her father embraced her with tears and seated her on his lap. And seeing one another again after so long a separation, they wept so that even the eyes of the deer in the forest gushed with tears. Then the king at last comforted his daughter, and said to her, "Why did you abandon, my daughter, the happiness of a palace, and act thus? So come back to your mother, and give up this forest." When her father said this to her, Hemaprabhá answered him, "I have been commanded by the god to act thus. What choice have I in the matter? So I will not return to the palace to indulge in pleasure, and I will not abandon the joys of asceticism." When the king discovered from this speech of hers that she would not abandon her intention, he had a palace made for her in that very forest. And when he returned to his capital, he sent her every day cooked food and wealth, for the entertainment of her guests. And Hemaprabhá remained in the forest, honouring her guests with wealth and jewels, while she lived herself on roots and fruits.

Now one day there came to the hermitage of that princess a female mendicant, who was roaming about, having observed a vow of chastity from her earliest youth. This lady, who had been a mendicant from her childhood, was honoured by Hemaprabhá, and when asked by her the reason why she took the vow, she answered, "Once, when I was a girl, I was shampooing my father's feet, and my eyes closed in sleep, and I let my hands drop. Then my father gave me a kick, and said, 'Why do you go to sleep?' And I was so angry at that that I left his house and became a mendicant." Then Hemaprabhá was so delighted with the female mendicant, on account of the resemblance of her character to her own, that she made her share her forest life. And one morning she said to that friend; "My friend, I remember that I crossed in my dreams a broad river, then I mounted a white elephant, after that I ascended a mountain, and there I saw in a hermitage the holy god Siva. And having obtained a lyre, I sang and played on it before him, and then I saw a man of celestial appearance approach. When I saw him, I flew up into the sky with you, and when I had seen so much, I awoke, and lo! the night was at an end." When the friend heard this, she said to Hemaprabhá, "Undoubtedly, auspicious girl, you must be some heavenly being born on earth in consequence of a curse; and this dream means that your curse is nearly at an end." When the princess heard this speech of her friend's, she received it with joy.

And when the sun, the lamp of the world, had mounted high in the heaven, there came there a certain prince on horseback. When he saw Hemaprabhá dressed as an ascetic, he dismounted from his horse, and conceiving admiration for her, he went and saluted her respectfully. She, for her part, entertained him, and made him take a seat, and feeling love for him, said, "Who are you, noble sir?" Then the prince said, "Noble lady, there is a king of auspicious name, called Pratápasena. He was once going through a course of asceticism to propitiate Siva, with the view of obtaining a son. And that merciful god appeared to him, and said, 'Thou shalt obtain one son, who shall be an incarnation of a Vidyádhara, and he, when his curse is at an end, shall return to his own world. And thou shalt have a second son, who shall continue thy race and uphold thy realm.' When Siva said this to him, he rose up in high spirits, and took food. Then he had one son born to him, named Lakshmísena, and in course of time a second, named Súrasena. Know, lovely one, that I am that same Lakshmísena, and that to-day when I went out to hunt, my horse, swift as the wind, ran away with me and brought me here." Then he asked her history, and she told it him, and thereupon she remembered her former birth, and was very much elated, and said to him, "Now that I have seen you, I have remembered my birth and the sciences which I knew as a Vidyádharí, [150] for I and this friend of mine here are both Vidyádharís, that have been sent down to earth by a curse. And you were my husband, and your minister was the husband of this friend of mine. And now that curse of me and of my friend has lost its power. We shall all meet again in the world of Vidyádharas." Then she and her friend assumed divine forms and flew up to heaven, and went to their own world. But Lakshmísena stood for a moment lost in wonder, and then his minister arrived tracking his course. While the prince was telling the whole story to him, king Buddhiprabha arrived, anxious to see his daughter. When he could not see his daughter, but found Lakshmísena there, he asked for news of her, and Lakshmísena told him what had happened. Then Buddhiprabha was cast down, but Lakshmísena and his minister remembered their former existence, their curse having spent its force, and they went to their own world through the air. He recovered his wife Hemaprabhá and returned with her, and then taking leave of Buddhiprabha, he went to his own town. And he went with his minister, who had recovered his wife, and told their adventures to his father Pratápasena, who bestowed on him his kingdom as his successor by right of birth. But he gave it to his younger brother Súrasena, and returned to his own city in the country of the Vidyádharas. There Lakshmísena, united with his consort Hemaprabhá, and assisted by his minister, long enjoyed the delights of sovereignty over the Vidyádharas.

By hearing these stories told one after another by Gomukha, Naraváhanadatta, though he was excited about his approaching marriage with his new wife Saktiyasas, spent that night as if it were a moment. In this way the prince whiled away the days, until the day of his marriage arrived, when, as he was in the presence of his father the king of Vatsa, he suddenly saw the army of the Vidyádharas descend from heaven, gleaming like gold. And he saw, in the midst of them, Sphatikayasas the king of the Vidyádharas, who had come out of love, holding the hand of his dear daughter, whom he wished to bestow on the prince, and he joyfully went towards him, and saluted him by the title of father-in-law, after his father had first entertained him with the arghya and other usual ceremonies. And the king of the Vidyádharas stated the object of his coming, and immediately created a display of heavenly magnificence becoming his high position, and by the might of his supernatural power loaded the prince with jewels, and then bestowed on him in due form his daughter previously promised to him. And Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that Saktiyasas, the daughter of the king of the Vidyádharas, was resplendent as the lotus after collecting the rays of the sun. Then Sphatikayasas departed, and the son of the king of Vatsa remained in the city of Kausámbí, with his eyes fixed on the face of Saktiyasas, as the bee clings to the lotus.

Chapter LXVII

Honour to the elephant-headed god who averts all hindrances, who is the cause of every success, who ferries us over the sea of difficulties.

Thus Naraváhanadatta obtained Saktiyasas, and besides he had those wives he married before, Ratnaprabhá and others, and his consort the head wife Madanamanchuká, and with them and his friends he led a happy life at the court of his father in Kausámbí.

Story of the race between the elephant and the horses.

And one day, when he was in the garden, two brothers, who were princes, and who had come from a foreign land, suddenly paid him a visit. He received them cordially, and they bowed before him, and one of them said to him; "We are the sons by different mothers of a king in the city of Vaisákha. My name is Ruchiradeva and the name of this brother of mine is Potraka. I have a swift female elephant, and he has two horses. And a dispute has arisen between us about them; I say that the elephant is the fleetest, he maintains that his horses are both fleeter. I have agreed that if I lose the race, I am to surrender the elephant, but if he loses, he is to give me both his horses. Now no one but you is fit to be a judge of their relative speed, so come to my house, my lord, and preside over this trial. Accede to our request. For you are the wishing-tree that grants all petitions, and we have come from afar to petition you about this matter."

When the prince received this invitation from Ruchiradeva, he consented out of good nature, and out of the interest he took in the elephant and the horses. He set out in a chariot drawn by swift horses, which the brothers had brought, and he reached with them that city of Vaisákha. When he entered that splendid city, the ladies, bewildered and excited, beheld him with eyes the lashes of which were turned up, and made these comments on him; "Who can this be! Can it be the god of Love new-created from his ashes without Rati? Or a second moon roaming through the heaven without a spot on its surface? Or an arrow of desire made by the Creator, in the form of a man, for the sudden complete overthrow of the female heart." Then the king beheld the all-lovely temple of the god of Love, whose worship had been established there by men of old time. He entered and worshipped that god, the source of supreme felicity, and rested for a moment, and shook off the fatigue of the journey. Then he entered as a friend the house of Ruchiradeva, which was near that temple, and was honoured by being made to walk in front of him. He was delighted at the sight of that magnificent palace, full of splendid horses and elephants, which was in a state of rejoicing on account of his visit. There he was entertained with various hospitalities by Ruchiradeva, and there he beheld his sister of splendid beauty. His mind and his eyes were so captivated by her glorious beauty, that he forgot all about his absence from home and his separation from his family. She too threw lovingly upon him her expanded eye, which resembled a garland of full blown blue lotuses, and so chose him as her husband. [151] Her name was Jayendrasená, and he thought so much upon her that the goddess of sleep did not take possession of him at night, much less did other females. [152]

The next day Potraka brought that pair of horses equal to the wind in swiftness; but Ruchiradeva, who was skilled in all the secrets of the art of driving, himself mounted the female elephant, and partly by the animal's natural speed, partly by his dexterity in urging it on, beat them in the race. When Ruchiradeva had beaten those two splendid horses, the son of the king of Vatsa entered the palace, and at that very moment arrived a messenger from his father. The messenger, when he saw the prince, fell at his feet, and said; "The king, hearing from your retinue that you have come here, has sent me to you with this message. 'How comes it that you have gone so far from the garden without letting me know? I am impatient for your return, so abandon the diversion that occupies your attention, and return quickly.'" When he heard this message from his father's messenger, Naraváhanadatta, who was also intent on obtaining the object of his flame, was in a state of perplexity.

And at that very moment a merchant, in a great state of delight, came, bowing at a distance, and praised that prince, saying, "Victory to thee, O thou god of love without the flowery bow! Victory to thee, O Lord, the future emperor of the Vidyádharas! Wast thou not seen to be charming as a boy, and when growing up, the terror of thy foes? So surely the gods shall behold thee like Vishnu, striding victorious over the heaven, conquering Bali." With these and other praises the great merchant magnified the prince; then having been honoured by him, he proceeded at his request to tell the story of his life.

Story of the merchant and his wife Velá.

There is a city called Lampá, the crown of the earth; in it there was a rich merchant named Kusumasára. I, prince of Vatsa, am the son of that merchant, who lives and moves in religion, and I was gained by the propitiation of Siva. Once on a time I went with my friends to witness a procession of idols, and I saw other rich men giving to beggars. Then I formed the design of acquiring wealth to give away, as I was not satisfied with the vast fortune accumulated by my father. So I embarked in a ship, laden with many jewels, to go across the sea to another country. And my ship, impelled by a favorable wind, as if by fate, reached that island in a few days. There the king found out that I was an unknown man dealing in valuable jewels, and out of avarice he threw me into prison. While I was remaining in that prison, which resembled hell, on account of its being full of howling criminals, suffering from hunger and thirst, like wicked ghosts, a merchant, named Mahídhara, a resident in that town, who knew my family, went and interceded with the king on my behalf, and said; "King, this is the son of a great merchant, who lives in the city of Lampá, and, as he is innocent, it is not creditable to your majesty to keep him in prison." On his making representations of this kind, the king ordered me to be released from prison, and summoned me into his presence, and honoured me with a courteous reception. So, by the favour of the king and the support of that merchant, I remained there doing a splendid business.

One day I saw, at a spring festival in a garden, a handsome girl, the daughter of a merchant named Sikhara. I was quite carried off my feet by her, who was like a wave of the sea of Love's insolence, and when I found out who she was, I demanded her in marriage from her father. Her father reflected for a moment, and at last said to me; "I cannot give her to you myself, there is a reason for my not doing so. But I will send her to her grandfather by the mother's side, in the island of Ceylon; go there and ask for her again, and marry her. And I will send her there with such instructions that your suit will certainly be accepted." When Sikhara had said this, and had paid me the usual courtesies, he dismissed me to my own house. And the next day he put the maiden on board ship, with her attendants, and sent her to the island of Ceylon, across the sea.

I was preparing with the utmost eagerness to go there, when this rumour, which was terrible as a lightning-stroke, was spread abroad where I was; "The ship, in which the daughter of Sikhara started, has gone to pieces in the open sea, and not a soul has been saved out of it." That report altogether broke down my self-command, and being anxious about the ship, I suddenly fell into a hopeless sea of despondency. So I, though comforted by my elders, made up my mind to throw away my property and prospects, and I determined to go to that island to ascertain the truth. Then, though patronized by the king and loaded with all manner of wealth, I embarked in a ship on the sea and set out. Then a terrible pirate, in the form of a cloud, suddenly arose against me as I was pursuing my course, and discharged at me pattering drops of rain, like showers of arrows. The contrary wind, which it brought with it, tossed my ship to and fro like powerful destiny, and at last broke it up. My attendants and my wealth were whelmed in the sea, but I myself, when I fell into the water, laid hold of a large spar. [153] By the help of this, which seemed like an arm suddenly extended to me by the Creator, I managed to reach the shore of the sea, being slowly drifted there by the wind. I climbed up upon it in great affliction, exclaiming against destiny, and suddenly I found a little gold which had been left by accident in an out-of-the-way part of the shore. I sold it in a neighbouring village, and bought with it food and other necessaries, and after purchasing a couple of garments, I gradually began to get over to a certain extent the fatigue produced by my immersion in the sea.

Then I wandered about, not knowing my way, separated from my beloved, and I saw the ground full of lingas of Siva formed of sand. And daughters of hermits were wandering about among them. And in one place I saw a maiden engaged in worshipping a linga, who was beautiful, although dressed in the garb of a dweller in the forest. I began to think, "This girl is wonderfully like my beloved. Can she be my beloved herself? But how comes it, that I am so lucky as to find her here?" And while these thoughts were passing in my mind, my right eye throbbed frequently, as if with joy, [154] and told me that it was no other than she. And I said to her, "Fair one, you are fitted to dwell in a palace, how comes it that you are here in the forest?" But she gave me no answer. Then, through fear of being cursed by a hermit, I stood concealed by a bower of creepers, looking at her with an eye that could not have enough. And after she had performed her worship, she went slowly away from the spot, as if thinking over something, and frequently turned round to look at me with loving eye. When she had gone out of sight, the whole horizon seemed to be obscured with darkness as I looked at it, and I was in a strange state of perturbation like the Brahmany drake at night.

And immediately I beheld the daughter of the hermit Mátanga, who appeared unexpectedly. She was in brightness like the sun, subject to a vow of chastity from her earliest youth, with body emaciated by penance, she possessed divine insight, and was of auspicious countenance like Resignation incarnate. She said to me, "Chandrasára, call up all your patience and listen. There is a great merchant in another island named Sikhara. When a lovely girl was born to him, he was told by a mendicant, his friend, who possessed supernatural insight, and whose name was Jinarakshita, [155] 'You must not give away this maiden yourself, for she has another mother. You would commit a crime in giving her away yourself, such is the righteous prescription of the law.' Since the mendicant had told him this, the merchant wished to give his daughter, when she was of marriageable age, and you asked her hand, to you, by the agency of her maternal grandfather. Then she was sent off on a voyage to her maternal grandfather in the island of Ceylon, but the vessel was wrecked, and she fell into the sea. And as she was fated not to die, a great wave brought her here like destiny, and flung her up upon the shore. Just at that time my father, the hermit Mátanga, came to the sea to bathe with his disciples, and saw her almost dead. He, being of compassionate nature, brought her round, and took her to his hermitage, and entrusted her to me saying--'Yamuná, you must cherish this girl.' And because he found her on the shore (velá) of the sea, he called the girl, who was beloved by all the hermits, Velá. And though I have renounced the world by a vow of perpetual chastity, it still impedes my soul, on account of my affection for her, in the form of love and tenderness for offspring. And my mind is grieved, Chandrasára, as often as I look upon her, unmarried, though in the bloom of youth and beauty. Moreover she was your wife in a former life. So knowing, my son, by the power of my meditation that you had come here, I have come to meet you. Now follow me and marry that Velá, whom I will bestow on you. Let the sufferings, which you have both endured, produce fruits of happiness."

Speaking thus, the saintly woman refreshed me with her voice as with cloudless rain, and then she took me to the hermitage of her father, the great hermit Mátanga. And at her request the hermit bestowed on me that Velá, like the happiness of the kingdom of the imagination incarnate in bodily form. But one day, as I was living happily with Velá, I commenced a splashing match with her in the water of a tank. And I and Velá, not seeing the hermit Mátanga, who had come there to bathe, sprinkled him inopportunely with some of the water which we threw. That annoyed him, and he denounced a curse on me and my wife, saying, "You shall be separated, you wicked couple." Then Velá clung to his knees, and asked him with plaintive voice to appoint a period for the duration of our curse, and he, after thinking, fixed its end as follows, "When thou shalt behold at a distance Naraváhanadatta the future mighty emperor of the Vidyádharas, who shall beat with a swift elephant a pair of fleet horses, then thy curse shall be at an end, and thou shalt be re-united with thy wife." When the rishi Mátanga had said this, he performed the ceremony of bathing and other ceremonies, and went to Svetadvípa through the air, to visit the shrine of Vishnu. And Yamuná said to me and my wife--"I give you now that shoe covered with valuable jewels, which a Vidyádhara long ago obtained, when it had slipped off from Siva's foot, and which I seized in childish sport." Thereupon Yamuná also went to Svetadvípa. Then I having obtained my beloved, and being disgusted with dwelling in the forest, through fear of being separated from my wife, felt a desire to return to my own country. And setting out for my native land, I reached the shore of the sea; and finding a trading vessel, I put my wife on board, and was preparing to go on board myself, when the wind, conspiring with the hermit's curse, carried off that ship to a distance. When the ship carried off my wife before my eyes, my whole nature was stunned by the shock, and distraction seemed to have found an opening in me, and broke into me and robbed me of consciousness. Then an ascetic came that way, and seeing me insensible, he compassionately brought me round and took me to his hermitage. There he asked me the whole story, and when he found out that it was the consequence of a curse, and that the curse was to end, he animated me with resolution to bear up. Then I found an excellent friend, a merchant, who had escaped from his ship that had foundered in the sea, and I set out with him in search of my beloved. And supported by the hope of the termination of the curse, I wandered through many lands and lasted out many days, until I finally reached this city of Vaisákha, and heard that you, the jewel of the noble family of the king of Vatsa, had come here. Then I saw you from a distance beat that pair of swift horses with the female elephant, and the weight of the curse fell from me, and I felt my heart lightened. [156] And immediately I saw that dear Velá coming to meet me, whom the good merchants had brought in their ship. Then I was re-united with my wife, who had with her the jewels bestowed by Yamuná, and having by your favour crossed the ocean of separation, I came here, prince of Vatsa, to pay you my respects, and I will now set out cheerfully for my native land with my wife.

When that excellent merchant Chandrasára, who had accomplished his object, had gone, after prostrating himself before the prince, and telling his story, Ruchiradeva, pleased at beholding the greatness of his guest, was still more obsequious to him. And in addition to the elephant and the pair of horses, he gave his sister, making the duty of hospitality an excuse for doing so, to the prince who was captivated by her beauty. She was a good match for the prince, and her brother had long desired to bestow her upon him in marriage. Naraváhanadatta then took leave of Ruchiradeva, and with his new wife, the elephant, and the two horses, returned to the city of Kausámbí. And he remained there, gladdening his father with his presence, living happily with her and his other wives, of whom Madanamanchuká was the chief.

Chapter LXVIII

May Ganesa protect you, who, when he sports, throws up his trunk, round which plays a continual swarm of bees, like a triumphal pillar covered with letters, erected on account of the overthrow of obstacles!

We worship Siva, who, though free from the hue of passion, abounds in colours, the skilful painter who is ever producing new and wonderful creations. Victorious are the arrows of the god of love, for, when they descend, though they are made of flowers, the thunderbolt and other weapons are blunted in the hands of those who bear them.

So the son of the king of Vatsa remained in Kausámbí, having obtained wife after wife. But though he had so many wives, he ever cherished the head queen Madanamanchuká more than his own life, as Krishna cherishes Rukminí. But one night he saw in a dream that a heavenly maiden came and carried him off. And when he awoke, he found himself on a slab of the tárkshya gem, on the plateau of a great hill, a place full of shady trees. And he saw that maiden near him, illuminating the wood, though it was night, [157] like a herb used by the god of love for bewildering the world. He thought that she had brought him there, and he perceived that modesty made her conceal her real feelings; so the cunning prince pretended to be asleep, and in order to test her, he said, as if talking in his sleep, "Where are you, my dear Madanamanchuká? Come and embrace me." When she heard it, she profited by his suggestion, and assumed the form of his wife, and embraced him without the restraint of modesty. Then he opened his eyes, and beholding her in the form of his wife, he said, "O how intelligent you are!" and smiling threw his arms round her neck. Then she dismissed all shame, and exhibiting herself in her real shape, she said--"Receive, my husband, this maiden, who chooses you for her own." And when she said that, he married her by the Gándharva form of marriage.

But next morning he said to her, by way of an artifice to discover her lineage, about which he felt curious; "Listen, my dear, I will tell you a wonderful story."

Story of the jackal that was turned into an elephant.

There lived in a certain wood of ascetics a hermit, named Brahmasiddhi, who possessed by meditation supernatural power, and near his hermitage there was an old female jackal dwelling in a cave. One day it was going out to find food, having been unable to find any for some time on account of bad weather, when a male elephant, furious on account of its separation from its female, rushed towards it to kill it. When the hermit saw that, being compassionate as well as endowed with magical power, he turned the female jackal into a female elephant, by way of a kindness, to please both. Then the male elephant, beholding a female, ceased to be furious, and became attached to her, and so she escaped death. Then, as he was roaming about with the jackal transformed into a female elephant, he entered a tank full of the mud produced by the autumn rains, to crop a lotus. He sank in the mud there, and could not move, but remained motionless, like a mountain that has fallen owing to its wings having been cut off by the thunderbolt. When the female elephant, that was before a jackal, saw the male in this distress, she went off that moment and followed another male elephant. Then it happened that the elephant's own mate, that he had lost, came that way in search of her spouse. The noble creature, seeing her husband sinking in the mud, entered the mud of the tank in order to join him. At that moment the hermit Brahmasiddhi came that way with his disciples, and was moved with pity when he saw that pair. And he bestowed by his power great strength on his disciples, and made them extricate the male and female from the mud. Then the hermit went away, and that couple of elephants, having been delivered both from separation and death, roamed where they would.

"So you see, my dear, that even animals, if they are of a noble strain, do not desert a lord or friend in calamity, but rescue him from it. But as for those which are of low origin, they are of fickle nature, and their hearts are never moved by noble feelings or affection." When the prince of Vatsa said this, the heavenly maiden said to him--"It is so, there can be no doubt about this. But I know what your real object is in telling me this tale; so in return, my husband, hear this tale from me."

Story of Vámadatta and his wicked wife.

There was an excellent Bráhman in Kányakubja, named Súradatta, possessor of a hundred villages, respected by the king Báhusakti. And he had a devoted wife, named Vasumatí, and by her he begot a handsome son, named Vámadatta. Vámadatta, the darling of his father, was instructed in all the sciences, and soon married a wife, of the name of Sasiprabhá. In course of time his father went to heaven, and his wife followed him, [158] and the son undertook with his wife the duties of a householder. But without his knowledge his wife was addicted to following her lusts, and by some chance or other she became a witch possessed of magical powers. [159]

One day, when the Bráhman was in the king's camp, engaged in his service, his paternal uncle came and said to him in secret, "Nephew, our family is disgraced, for I have seen your wife in the company of your cowherd." When Vámadatta heard this, he left his uncle in the camp in his stead, and went, with his sword for his only companion, back to his own house. He went into the flower-garden and remained there in concealment, and in the night the cowherd came there. And immediately his wife came eagerly to meet her paramour, with all kinds of food in her hand. After he had eaten, she went off to bed with him, and then Vámadatta rushed upon them with uplifted sword, exclaiming, "Wretches, where are you going?" When he said that, his wife rose up and said, "Away fool," and threw some dust in his face. Then Vámadatta was immediately changed from a man into a buffalo, but in his new condition he still retained his memory. Then his wicked wife put him among the buffaloes, and made the herdsman beat him with sticks. [160]

And the cruel woman immediately sold him in his helpless bestial condition to a trader, who required a buffalo. The trader put a load upon the man, who found his transformation to a buffalo a sore trial, and took him to a village near the Ganges. He reflected, "A wife of very bad character that enters unsuspected the house of a confiding man, is never likely to bring him prosperity, any more than a snake which gets into the female apartments." While full of these thoughts, he was sorrowful, with tears gushing from his eyes, moreover he was reduced to skin and bone by the fatigue of carrying burdens, and in this state he was beheld by a certain white witch. She knew by her magic power the whole transaction, and sprinkling him with some charmed water, she released him from his buffalo condition. And when he had returned to human form, she took him to her own house, and gave him her virgin daughter named Kántimatí. And she gave him some charmed mustard-seeds, and said to him; "Sprinkle your wicked former wife with these, and turn her into a mare." Then Vámadatta, taking with him his new wife, went with the charmed mustard-seeds to his own house. Then he killed the herdsman, and with the mustard-seeds he turned [161] his former wife into a mare, and tied her up in the stable. And in order to revenge himself, he made it a rule to give her every day seven blows with a stick, before he took any food. [162]

One day, while he was living there in this way with Kántimatí, a guest came to his house. The guest had just sat down to his meal, when suddenly Vámadatta got up and rushed quickly out of the room without eating anything, because he recollected that he had not beaten his wicked wife with a stick that day. And after he had given his wife, in the form of a mare, the appointed number of blows, he came in with his mind easy, and took his food. Then the guest, being astonished, asked him, out of curiosity, where he had gone in such a hurry, leaving his food. Thereupon Vámadatta told him his whole story from the beginning, and his guest said to him, "What is the use of this persistent revenge? Petition that mother-in-law of yours, who first released you from your animal condition, and gain some advantage for yourself." When the guest gave this advice to Vámadatta, he approved it, and the next morning dismissed him with the usual attentions.

Then that witch, his mother-in-law, suddenly paid him a visit, and he supplicated her persistently to grant him a boon. The powerful witch instructed him and his wife in the method of gaining the life-prolonging charm, with the proper initiatory rites. [163] So he went to the mountain of Srí and set about obtaining that charm, and the charm, when obtained, appeared to him in visible shape, and gave him a splendid sword. And when the successful Vámadatta had obtained the sword, he and his wife Kántimatí became glorious Vidyádharas. Then he built by his magic power a splendid city on a peak of the Malaya mountain, named Rajatakúta. There, in time, that prince among the Vidyádharas had born to him by his queen an auspicious daughter, named Lalitalochaná. And the moment she was born, she was declared by a voice, that came from heaven, to be destined to be the wife of the future emperor of the Vidyádharas.

"Know, my husband, that I am that very Lalitalochaná, and that knowing the facts by my science and being in love with you, I have brought you to this very Malaya mountain, which is my own home." When she had in these words told him her story, Naraváhanadatta was much pleased, and entertained great respect for his new wife. And he remained there with her, and immediately the king of Vatsa and his entourage learnt the truth, by means of the supernatural knowledge of Ratnaprabhá, and the other wives of Naraváhanadatta that possessed the same powers.

Chapter LXIX

Then Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that new bride Lalitalochaná, sported with her on that very Malaya mountain, delightful on account of the first burst of spring, in various forest purlieus adorned with flowering trees.

And in one grove his beloved, in the course of gathering flowers, disappeared out of his sight into a dense thicket, and while he was wandering on, he saw a great tank with clear water, that, on account of the flowers fallen from the trees on its bank, resembled the heaven studded with stars. [164]

And he thought--"I will wait until my beloved, who is gathering flowers, returns to me; and in the meanwhile I will bathe in this lake and rest for a little upon its bank." So he bathed and worshipped the gods, and then he sat down on a slab of rock in the shade of a sandal-wood tree. While sitting there he thought of his beloved Madanamanchuká, who was so far off, beholding the gait of the female swans that rivalled hers, and hearing the singing of the female cuckoos in the mango-creepers that equalled hers, and seeing the eyes of the does that recalled hers to his mind. And as soon as he recollected her, the fire of love sprang up in his breast, and tortured him so that he fainted; and at that moment a glorious hermit came there to bathe, whose name was Pisangajata. He, seeing the prince in such a state, sprinkled him with sandal-water, refreshing as the touch of his beloved. Then he recovered consciousness and bowed before the hermit. But the hermit said to him, "My son, in order that you may obtain your wish, acquire endurance. For by means of that quality every thing is acquired, and in order that you may understand this, come to my hermitage and hear the story of Mrigánkadatta, if you have not already heard it. When the hermit had said this, he bathed and took the prince to his hermitage, and quickly performed his daily prayers. And Pisangajata entertained him there with fruits, and ate fruits himself, and then he began to tell him this tale of Mrigánkadatta.

Story of Mrigánkadatta. [165]

There is a city of the name of Ayodhyá famous in the three worlds. In it there lived in old time a king named Amaradatta. He was of resplendent brightness, and he had a wife named Surataprabhá, who was as closely knit to him as the oblation to the fire. [166] By her there was born to him a son named Mrigánkadatta, who was adored for his ten million virtues, as his bow was bent by the string reaching the notches. [167]

And that young prince had ten ministers of his own, Prachandasakti and Sthúlabáhu, and Vikramakesarin, Dridhamushti, and Meghabala and Bhímaparákrama, and Vimalabuddhi, and Vyághrasena and Gunákara, and the tenth Vichitrakatha. They were all of good birth, young, brave, and wise, and devoted to their master's interests. And Mrigánkadatta led a happy life with them in his father's house, but he did not obtain a suitable wife.

And one day his minister Bhímaparákrama said to him in secret,--"Hear, prince, what happened to me in the night. I went to sleep last night on the roof of the palace, and I saw in a dream a lion, with claws terrible as the thunderbolt, rushing upon me. I rose up, sword in hand, and then the lion began to flee, and I pursued him at my utmost speed. He crossed a river, and stuck out his long tongue [168] at me, and I cut it off with my sword. And I made use of it to cross that river, for it was as broad as a bridge. And thereupon the lion became a deformed giant. I asked him who he was and the giant said, 'I am a Vetála, and I am delighted with your courage, my brave fellow.' Then I said to him, 'If this is the case, then tell me who is to be the wife of my master Mrigánkadatta.' When I said this to the Vetála, he answered,--'There is in Ujjayiní a king named Karmasena. He has a daughter, who in beauty surpasses the Apsarases, being, as it were, the receptacle of the Creator's handiwork in the form of loveliness. Her name is Sasánkavatí, and she shall be his wife, and by gaining her, he shall become king of the whole earth.' When the Vetála had said this, he disappeared, and I came home; this is what happened to me in the night, my sovereign."

When Mrigánkadatta heard this from Bhímaparákrama, he summoned all his ministers, and had it told to them, and then he said, "Hear, what I too saw in a dream; I thought we all entered a certain wood; and in it, being thirsty with travelling, we reached with difficulty some water; and when we wished to drink it, five armed men rose up and tried to prevent us. We killed them, and then in the torments of our thirst we again turned to drink the water, but lo! neither the men nor the water were to be seen. Then we were in a miserable state; but on a sudden we saw the god Siva come there, mounted on his bull, resplendent with the moon on his forehead; we bent before him in prayer and he dropped from his right eye a tear-drop on the ground. That became a sea, and I drew from it a splendid pearl-necklace and fastened it round my neck. And I drank up that sea in a human skull stained with blood. And immediately I awoke, and lo! the night was at an end."

When Mrigánkadatta had described this wonderful sight that he had seen in his dream, the other ministers rejoiced, but Vimalabuddhi said; "You are fortunate, prince, in that Siva has shewn you this favour. As you obtained the necklace and drank up the sea, you shall without fail obtain Sasánkavatí and rule the whole earth. But the rest of the dream indicates some slight amount of misfortune." When Vimalabuddhi had said this, Mrigánkadatta again said to his ministers, "Although the fulfilment of my dream will no doubt come to pass in the way which my friend Bhímaparákrama heard predicted by the Vetála, still I must win from that Karmasena, who confides in his army and his forts, his daughter Sasánkavatí by force of policy. And the force of policy is the best instrument in all undertakings. Now listen, I will tell you a story to prove this."

Story of king Bhadrabáhu and his clever minister.

There was a king in Magadha, named Bhadrabáhu. He had a minister named Mantragupta, most sagacious of men. That king once said of his own accord to that minister; "The king of Váránasí, named Dharmagopa, has a daughter named Anangalílá, the chief beauty of the three worlds. I have often asked for her in marriage, but out of hostility that king will not give her to me. And he is a formidable foe, on account of his possessing an elephant named Bhadradanta. Still I cannot bear to live any longer without that daughter of his. So I have no measure which I can adopt in this business. Tell me, my friend, what I am to do." When the king said this, his minister answered him; "Why, king, do you suppose that courage and not policy ensures success? Dismiss your anxiety; I will manage the matter for you by my own ingenuity."

So, the next day, the minister set out for Váránasí, disguised as a Pásupata ascetic, and he took six or seven companions with him, who were disguised as his pupils, and they told all the people, who came together from all quarters to adore him, that he possessed supernatural powers. Then, as he was roaming about one night to find out some means of accomplishing his object, he saw in the distance the wife of the keeper of the elephants leave her house, going along quickly through fear, escorted in some direction or other by three or four armed men. He at once said to himself, "Surely this lady is eloping somewhere, so I will see where she is going." So he followed her with his attendants. And he observed from a distance the house into which she went, and then he returned to his own lodging. And the next day, as the elephant-keeper was wandering about in search of his wife, who had gone off with his wealth, the minister contrived to send his own followers to meet him. They found that he had just swallowed poison because he could not find his wife, and they counteracted by their knowledge the effect of the poison, pretending that they did it out of pure compassion. And they said to him; "Come to our teacher, for he is a seer and knows every thing:" and so they brought him to the minister. And the elephant-keeper fell at the feet of the minister, who was rendered more majestic by the insignia of his vow, and asked him for news of his wife. The minister pretended to meditate, and after a time told him the place where she was taken by the strange men at night, with all the signs by which he might recognise it. Then the elephant-keeper bowed again before him, and went with a host of policemen and surrounded that place. And he killed those wicked men who had carried off his wife, and recovered her, together with her ornaments and his wealth.

And the next day he went and bowed before, and praised that supposed seer, and invited him to an entertainment. And as the minister did not wish to enter a house, and said that he must eat at night, he made an entertainment for him at nightfall in the elephant-stables. So the minister went there and feasted with his followers, taking with him a concealed serpent, that he had by means of a charm got to enter the hollow of a bamboo. Then the elephant-keeper went away, and while the others were asleep, the minister introduced, by means of the bamboo, the serpent into the ear of the elephant Bhadradanta, while it was asleep, and he spent the night there, and in the morning went back to Magadha his native land; but the elephant died from the bite of the snake.

When the clever minister returned, having smitten down the elephant as if it were the pride of that king Dharmagopa, the king Bhadrabáhu was in ecstasies. Then he sent off an ambassador to Váránasí to ask for the hand of Anangalílá. The king, who was helpless from the loss of his elephant, gave her to him; for kings, who know times and seasons, bend like canes, if it is expedient to do so.

"So, by the sagacity of that minister Mantragupta, the king Bhadrabáhu obtained Anangalílá. And in the same way I must obtain that wife by wisdom." When Mrigánkadatta said this, his minister Vichitrakatha said to him--"You will succeed in all by the favour of Siva which was promised you in a dream. What will not the effective favour of the gods accomplish? Hear in proof of it the story I am now going to tell."

Story of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí.

There was in the city of Takshasilá a king of the name of Bhadráksha. He, desiring a son, was worshipping Lakshmí every day with one hundred and eight white lotuses upon a sword. One day, as the king was worshipping her without breaking silence, he happened to count the lotuses mentally, and found that there was one missing. He then gave the goddess the lotus of his heart spitted on the sword, and she was pleased and granted him a boon that would ensure his having a son that would rule the whole earth. And she healed the wound of the king and disappeared. Then there was born a son to the king by his queen, and he possessed all the auspicious marks. And the king called him Pushkaráksha, because he obtained him by the gift of the lotus of his heart. And when the son, in course of time, grew up to manhood, Bhadráksha anointed him king, as he possessed great virtues, and himself repaired to the forest.

Pushkaráksha, for his part, having obtained the kingdom, kept worshipping Siva every day, and one day at the end of his worship, he asked him to bestow on him a wife. Then he heard a voice come from heaven, saying, "My son, thou shalt obtain all thy desire." Then he remained in a happy state, as he had now a good hope of success. And it happened that one day he went to a wood inhabited by wild beasts, to amuse himself with hunting. There he saw a camel about to eat two snakes entwined together, and in his grief he killed the camel. The camel immediately became a Vidyádhara, abandoning its camel body, and being pleased said to Pushkaráksha "You have done me a benefit. So hear what I have to tell you."

Story of the birth of Vinayavatí.

There is, king, a mighty Vidyádhara named Rankumálin. And a beautiful maiden of the Vidyádhara race, named Tárávalí, who admired good looks, saw him and fell in love with him, and chose him for her husband. And then her father, angry because they had married without consulting anything but their own inclination, laid on them a curse that would separate them for some time. Then the couple, Tárávalí and Rankumálin, sported, with ever-growing love, in various regions belonging to them.

But one day, in consequence of that curse, they lost sight of one another in a wood, and were separated. Then Tárávalí, in her search for her husband, at last reached a forest on the other side of the western sea, inhabited by a hermit of supernatural powers. There she saw a large jambu-tree in flower, which seemed compassionately to console her with the sweet buzzing of its bees. And she took the form of a bee, and sat down on it to rest, and began to drink the honey of a flower. And immediately she saw her husband, from whom she had been so long separated, come there, and she bedewed that flower with a tear of joy. And she abandoned the body of a bee, and went and united herself to her husband Rankumálin, who had come there in search of her, as the moonlight is united to the moon.

Then she went with him to his home: but from the jambu-flower bedewed with her tear a fruit was produced. [169] And in course of time a maiden was produced inside the fruit. Now once on a time the hermit, who was named Vijitásu, was wandering about in search of fruits and roots, and came there, and that fruit, being ripe, fell from the jambu-tree and broke, and a heavenly maiden came out of it, and respectfully bowing, saluted the feet of that hermit. That hermit, who possessed divine insight, when he beheld her, at once knew her true history, and being astonished, took her to his hermitage, and gave her the name of Vinayavatí. Then in course of time she grew up to womanhood in his hermitage, and I, as I was roaming in the air, saw her, and being infatuated by pride in my own good looks and by love, I went to her, and tried to carry her off by force against her will. At that moment the hermit Vijitásu, who heard her cries, came in, and denounced this curse upon me, "O thou whose whole body is full of pride in thy beauty, become an ugly camel. But when thou shalt be slain by king Pushkaráksha, thou shalt be released from thy curse. And he shall be the husband of this Vinayavatí."

"When cursed in these words by the hermit I became a camel on this earth, and now, thanks to you, my curse is at an end; so go to that forest on the other side of the western sea, named Surabhimáruta, and obtain for a wife that heavenly creature, who would make Srí herself lose all pride in her own beauty." When the heavenly Vidyádhara had said this to Pushkaráksha, he flew up to the sky. Then Pushkaráksha returned to his city, and entrusted his kingdom to his ministers, and mounting his horse, went off alone at night. And at last he reached the shore of the western sea, and there he reflected, "How shall I cross over this sea?" Then he saw there an empty temple of Durgá, and he entered it, and bathed, and worshipped the goddess. And he found there a lyre, which had been deposited there by some one, and he devoutly sang to it in honour of the goddess songs composed by himself. And then he lay down to sleep there. And the goddess was so pleased with his lyric worship, that in the night she had him conveyed across the sea by her attendant demons, while he was asleep.

Then he woke up in the morning on the other side of the sea, and saw himself no longer in the temple of Durgá, but in a wood. And he rose up in astonishment, and wandered about, and beheld a hermitage, which seemed to bow before him hospitably by means of its trees weighed down with fruit, and to utter a welcome with the music of its birds. So he entered it, and saw a hermit surrounded by his pupils. And the king approached the hermit, and bowed at his feet. The hermit, who possessed supernatural insight, received him hospitably and said to him; "King Pushkaráksha, Vinayavatí, for whom you have come, has gone out for a moment to fetch firewood, so wait a little: you shall to-day marry her who was your wife in a former life." Then Pushkaráksha said to himself--"Bravo! this is that very hermit Vijitásu, and this is that very wood, no doubt the goddess has had me carried across the ocean. But this that the hermit tells me is strange, that she was my wife in a previous state of existence." Then he asked the hermit in his joy the following question, "Tell me, reverend sir, how was she my wife before?" Then the hermit said, "Listen, if you feel curious on the point."

The adventures of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí in a former life.

There was in old time a merchant in Támraliptí, named Dharmasena, and he had a beautiful wife named Vidyullekhá. As it happened, he was robbed by bandits and wounded with weapons by them, and longing for death, he went out with his wife to enter the fire. And the two saw suddenly a beautiful couple of swans coming through the air. Then they entered the fire, and died with their minds fixed on those swans, and so the husband and wife were born in the next birth as swans.

Now, one day in the rains, as they were in their nest in a date-palm-tree, a storm uprooted the tree and separated them. The next day the storm was at an end, and the male swan went to look for his female, but he could not find her in the lakes or in any quarter of the sky. At last he went, distracted with love, to the Mánasa lake, the proper place for swans at that season of the year, and another female swan, that he met on the way, gave him hopes that he would find her there. There he found his female, and he spent the rainy season there, and then he went to a mountain-peak to enjoy himself with her. There his female was shot by a fowler; when he saw that, he flew away distracted with fear and grief. The fowler went off, taking with him the dead female swan, and on the way he saw many armed men at a distance, coming towards him, and he thought that they would perhaps take the bird from him, so he cut some grass with his knife, and covering up the bird with that, left her on the ground. After the men had gone, the fowler returned to take the female swan. But it happened that among the grass which he had cut was a herb, which possessed the power of raising the dead to life. By means of the juice of this herb the female swan was restored to life, [170] and before his eyes she flung off the grass, and flew up into the sky, and disappeared.

But in the meanwhile the male swan went and settled on the shore of a lake among a flock of swans, distracted with grief at seeing his mate in this state. [171] Immediately a certain fisherman threw a net, and caught all those birds, and thereupon sat down to take his food. Then the female swan came there in search of her husband, and found him caught in the net, and in her grief she cast her eyes in every direction. Then she saw on the bank of the lake a necklace of gems, which a certain person, who had gone into the water to bathe, had laid on top of his clothes. She went and carried off the necklace without that person seeing her do it, and she flew gently through the air past the fisherman, to shew him the necklace. The fisherman, when he saw the female swan with the necklace in her beak, left the net full of birds, and ran after her, stick in hand. But the female swan deposited the necklace upon the top of a distant rock, and the fisherman proceeded to climb up the rock to get the necklace. When the female swan saw that, she went and struck in the eye with her beak a monkey that was asleep on a tree, near where her husband lay caught in the net. The monkey, being terrified by the blow, fell on the net and tore it, and so all the swans escaped from it. Then the couple of swans were re-united, and they told one another their adventures, and in their joy amused themselves as they would. The fisherman, after getting the necklace, came back to fetch the birds, and the man whose necklace had been taken away, met him as he was looking for it, and as the fact of the fisherman's being in possession of the necklace was revealed by his fear, he recovered it from him and cut off his right hand with his sword. And the two swans, sheltering themselves under one lotus by way of umbrella, rose up in the middle of the day from the lake and roamed in the sky.

And soon the two birds reached the bank of a river haunted by a certain hermit, who was employed in worshipping Siva. Then the couple of swans were shot through with one arrow by a fowler, as they were flying along, and fell together to the earth. And the lotus, which they had used as an umbrella, fell on the top of a linga of Siva, while the hermit was engaged in worship. Then the fowler, seeing them, took the male swan for himself, and gave the female swan to the hermit, who offered it to Siva. [172]

"Now you, Pushkaráksha, were that very male swan; and by the virtue of that lotus, which fell on the top of the linga, you have been now born in a royal family. And that female swan has been born in a family of Vidyádharas as Vinayavatí, for Siva was abundantly worshipped with her flesh. Thus Vinayavatí was your wife in a former birth." When the hermit Vijitásu said this to Pushkaráksha, the king asked him another question; How comes it, hermit, that the entering the fire, which atones for a multitude of sins, produced in our case the fruit of birth in the nature of a bird? Thereupon the hermit replied, "A creature receives the form of that which it was contemplating at the moment of death."

Story of Lávanyamanjarí.

For there was in the city of Ujjayiní a holy Bráhman virgin of the name of Lávanyamanjarí, who observed a vow of perpetual chastity; she once saw a Bráhman youth of the name of Kamalodaya, and her mind was suddenly attracted to him, and she was consumed with the fire of love but she did not abandon her vow. She went to the shore of the Gandhavatí, and abandoned her life in a holy place, with her thoughts intently fixed on his love.

But on account of that intent meditation she was born in the next birth as a hetæra, of the name of Rúpavatí, in a town named Ekalavyá. However, owing to the virtue of her vow and of the holy bathing-place, she remembered her former birth, and in conversation she related that secret of her former birth to a Bráhman named Chodakarna, who was always engaged in muttering prayers, in order to cure him of his exclusive devotion to muttering, and at last, though she was a hetæra, as her will was purified she attained blessedness.

"So, king, you see that a person attains similarity to that which he thinks of. Having said this to the king, the hermit dismissed him to bathe, and he himself performed his midday ablutions."

But the king Pushkaráksha went to the bank of the river, that flowed through the forest, and saw Vinayavatí there gathering flowers. Her body gleamed as if she were the light of the sun, come to visit the wood out of curiosity, as it had never been able to penetrate its thickets. He thought to himself, "Who can this be?" And she, as she was sitting in conversation with her maid, said to her; "My friend, the Vidyádhara, who wished long ago to carry me off, came here to-day released from his curse, and announced the arrival of my husband." When the friend heard that, she answered the hermit-maiden; "It is true, for this morning the hermit Vijitásu said to his pupil Munjakesa; 'Go and bring here quickly Tárávalí and Rankumálin, for to-day will certainly take place the marriage of their daughter Vinayavatí to king Pushkaráksha.' When Munjakesa received this order from his teacher, he said, 'I obey,' and started on his journey. So come, my friend, let us now go to the hermitage."

When she said this, Vinayavatí departed, and Pushkaráksha heard the whole conversation from a distance without being seen. And the king returned quickly to the hermitage of Vijitásu, after he had plunged in the river, as if to cool the burning heat of love. There Tárávalí and Rankumálin, who had arrived, honoured him when he bent before them, and the hermits gathered round him. Then, on an altar-platform illuminated by the great hermit Vijitásu with his austerities, as if by a second fire in human form, Rankumálin gave that Vinayavatí to the king, and he bestowed on him at the same time a heavenly chariot, that would travel in the sky. And the great hermit Vijitásu conferred on him this boon; "Rule, together with her, the earth with its four seas."

Then, with the permission of the hermit, the king Pushkaráksha took his new wife with him, and mounted that heavenly chariot that travelled through the air, and, crossing the sea, went quickly to his own city, being like the rising of the moon to the eyes of his subjects.

And then he conquered the earth and became emperor of it by virtue of his chariot, and lived a long time in enjoyment with Vinayavatí in his own capital.

"So a task, which is very difficult in itself, succeeds in this world, if the gods are propitious, and so, king, you may be certain that your enterprise also will succeed soon by the favour of the god Siva, promised you in a dream."

When Mrigánkadatta had heard this romantic story from his minister, being very eager to obtain Sasánkavatí, he made up his mind to go to Ujjayiní with his ministers.

Chapter LXX

Accordingly Mrigánkadatta, being desirous to obtain Sasánkavatí the daughter of king Karmasena, who had been described by the Vetála, planned with his ministers to leave his city secretly, disguised as a Pásupata ascetic, in order to travel to Ujjayiní. And the prince himself directed his minister Bhímaparákrama to bring the necessary staves like bed-posts, the skulls, and so on. And the head minister of the king his father found out, by means of a spy, that Bhímaparákrama had collected all these things in his house. And at that time it happened that Mrigánkadatta, while walking about on the top of his palace, spit down some betel-juice. And as ill-luck would have it, it fell on the head of his father's minister, who happened to be walking below, unseen by the prince. [173] But the minister, knowing that Mrigánkadatta had spit down that betel-juice, bathed, and laid up in his heart a grudge against Mrigánkadatta on account of the insult.

Now it happened that the next day king Amaradatta, the father of Mrigánkadatta, had an attack of cholera, and then the minister saw his chance, and, after imploring an assurance of safety, he said in secret to the king, who was tortured with his sudden attack of disease, "The fact is, my sovereign, your son Mrigánkadatta has begun incantations against you in the house of Bhímaparákrama, that is why you are suffering. I found it out by means of a spy, and the thing is obvious for all to see, so banish your son from your realm and your disease from your body at the same time." When the king heard that, he was terrified, and sent his own general to the house of Bhímaparákrama, to investigate the matter. And he found the hair, and the skulls, and other articles, [174] and immediately brought those very things and shewed them to the king. And the king in his anger said to the general, "That son of mine is conspiring against me, because he wishes to reign himself, so expel him from the kingdom this very moment without delay, together with his ministers." For a confiding [175] king never sees through the wicked practices of his ministers. So the general went and communicated that order of the king's, and expelled Mrigánkadatta from the city, together with his ministers. [176]

Then Mrigánkadatta was delighted at having obtained his object, and he worshipped Ganesa, and mentally took a humble leave of his parents, and started off. And after they had gone a great distance from the town of Ayodhyá, the prince said to Prachandasakti and the other nine ministers who were travelling with him, "There is here a great king of the Kirátas, named Saktirakshita; he is a student in the sciences, observing a vow of chastity, and he is a friend of mine from childhood. For, when his father was long ago captured in battle, he sent him here to be imprisoned as a substitute for himself, in order to obtain his own release. And when his father died, his relations by the father's side rose against him, and at my instigation my father established him on the throne of his father with a military force. So let us go to him, my friends, and then we will travel on to Ujjayiní, to find that Sasánkavatí."

When he said this, all the ministers exclaimed, "So be it," and he set out with them and reached in the evening a great wilderness. It was devoid of trees and water, and it was with difficulty that at last he found a tank, with one withered tree growing upon its banks. There he performed the evening ceremonies, and drank water, and being fatigued, he went to sleep with his ministers under that dry tree. And in the night, which was illuminated by the moon, he woke up, and saw that the tree first put forth abundance of leaves, then of flowers, then of fruit. And when he saw its ripe fruit falling, he immediately woke up his ministers, and pointed out that marvel to them. Then they were astonished, and as they were hungry, he and they ate the delicious fruits of that tree together, and after they had eaten them, the dry tree suddenly became a young Bráhman, before the eyes of them all. And when Mrigánkadatta questioned him, he told his tale in the following words.

Story of Srutadhi.

There was an excellent Bráhman in Ayodhyá named Dámadhi. I am his son, and my name is Srutadhi. And once in a time of famine he was wandering about with me, and he reached this place almost dead. Here he got five fruits which some one gave him, and though he was exhausted with hunger, he gave three to me, and set aside two for himself. Then he went into the water of the lake to bathe, and in the meanwhile I ate all the five fruits, and pretended to be asleep. He returned after bathing, and beholding me cunningly lying here as motionless as a log, he cursed me, saving, "Become a dry tree here on the bank of the lake. And on moonlight nights flowers and fruit shall spring from you, and when once on a time you shall have refreshed guests with fruits, you shall be delivered from your curse." [177] As soon as my father had pronounced this curse on me, I became a dry tree, but now that you have tasted my fruit, I have been delivered from the curse, after enduring it for a long time.

After Srutadhi had related his own history, he asked Mrigánkadatta for his, and he told it him. Then Srutadhi, who had no relations, and was well-read in policy, asked Mrigánkadatta to permit him, as a favour, to attach himself to his service. So, after he had spent the night in this way, Mrigánkadatta set out next morning with his ministers. And in the course of his journey he came to a forest named Karimandita. There he saw five wild looking men with long hair, who aroused his wonder. Then the five men came and respectfully addressed him as follows:

"We were born in the city of Kásí as Bráhmans who lived by keeping cows. And during a famine we came from that country, where the grass was scorched by drought, with our cows, to this wood which abounds in grass. And here we found an elixir in the form of the water of a tank, continually flavoured with the three kinds of fruits [178] that drop from the trees growing on its bank. And five hundred years have passed over our heads in this uninhabited wood, while we have been drinking this water and the milk of cows. It is thus, prince, that we have become such as you see, and now destiny has sent you to us as guests, so come to our hermitage."

When thus invited by them, Mrigánkadatta went with them to their hermitage, taking his companions with him, and spent the day there living on milk. And he set out from it in the morning, and in course of time he reached the country of the Kirátas, seeing other wonderful sights on the way. And he sent on Srutadhi to inform his friend Saktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas, of his arrival. When the sovereign of the Kirátas heard of it, he went to meet Mrigánkadatta with great courtesy, and conducted him with his ministers into his city. Mrigánkadatta told him the cause of his arrival, and remained there for some days, being entertained by him. And the prince arranged that Saktirakshita should be ready to assist him in his undertaking when the proper time came, and then he set out, on an auspicious day, for Ujjayiní, with his eleven companions, having been captivated by Sasánkavatí.

And as he went along, he reached an uninhabited forest and saw standing under a tree an ascetic, with ashes on his body, a deer-skin, and matted hair. So he went up to him, with his followers, and said to him; "Reverend sir, why do you live alone in this forest in which there is no hermitage?" Then the hermit answered him, "I am a pupil of the great sage named Suddhakírti and I know innumerable spells. Once on a time I got hold of a certain Kshatriya boy with auspicious marks, and I exerted all my diligence to cause him to be possessed, while alive, by a spirit, and, when the boy was possessed, I questioned him, and he told me of many places for potent drugs and liquors, and then said this; 'There is in this Vindhya forest in the northern quarter a solitary asoka-tree, and under it there is a great palace of a snake-king. [179] In the middle of the day its water is concealed with moistened dust, but it can be discovered by the couples of swans sporting there together with the water-cranes. [180] There dwells a mighty chief of the snakes, named Párávatáksha, and he obtained a matchless sword from the war of the gods and Asuras, named Vaidúryakánti; whatever man obtains that sword will become a chief of the Siddhas and roam about unconquered, and that sword can only be obtained by the aid of heroes.' When the possessed boy had said this, I dismissed him. So I have wandered about over the earth desirous to obtain that sword, and caring for nothing else, but, as I have not been able to find men to help me, in disgust I have come here to die." When Mrigánkadatta heard the ascetic say this, he said to him, "I and my ministers will help you." The ascetic gladly accepted his offer, and went with him and his followers, by the help of an ointment rubbed on the feet, to the dwelling-place of that snake. There he found the sign by which it could be recognised, and he placed there at night Mrigánkadatta and his companions, duly initiated, fixed with spells; and throwing enchanted mustard-seed he cleared the water from dust, and began to offer an oblation with snake-subduing spells. And he conquered by the power of his spells the impediments, such as earthquakes, clouds, and so on. Then there came out from that asoka-tree a heavenly nymph, as it were, murmuring spells with the tinkling of her jewelled ornaments, and approaching the ascetic she pierced his soul with a sidelong glance of love. And then the ascetic lost his self-command and forgot his spells; and the shapely fair one, embracing him, flung from his hand the vessel of oblation. And then the snake Párávatáksha had gained his opportunity, and he came out from that palace like the dense cloud of the day of doom. Then the heavenly nymph vanished, and the ascetic beholding the snake terrible with flaming eyes, roaring horribly, died of a broken heart.

When he was destroyed, the snake laid aside his awful form, and cursed Mrigánkadatta and his followers, for helping the ascetic, in the following words, "Since you did what was quite unnecessary after all coming here with this man, you shall be for a certain time separated from one another." Then the snake disappeared, and all of them at the same time had their eyes dimmed with darkness, and were deprived of the power of hearing sounds. And they immediately went in different directions, separated from one another by the power of the curse, though they kept looking for one another and calling to one another. And when the delusion of the night was at an end, Mrigánkadatta found himself roaming about in the wood without his ministers.

And, after two or three months had passed, the Bráhman Srutadhi, who was looking for him, suddenly fell in with him. Mrigánkadatta received him kindly, and asked for news of his ministers, whereupon Srutadhi fell at his feet weeping, and consoled him, and said to him, "I have not seen them, prince, but I know they will go to Ujjayiní, for that is the place we all have to go to." With these and similar speeches he urged the prince to go there, so Mrigánkadatta set out with him slowly for Ujjayiní.

And after he had journeyed a few days, he found his own minister Vimalabuddhi who suddenly came that way. When the minister saw him, he bowed before him with eyes filled with tears at seeing him, and the prince embraced him, and making him sit down, he asked him for tidings of the other ministers. Then Vimalabuddhi said to that prince, who was so beloved by his servants, "I do not know, king, where each of them has gone in consequence of the curse of the snake. But hear how I know that you will find them again."

The adventures of Vimalabuddhi after he was separated from the prince.

When the snake cursed me, I was carried far away by the curse, and wandered in the eastern part of the forest. And being fatigued, I was taken by a certain kind person to the hermitage of a certain hermit, named Brahmadandin. There my fatigue was removed by the fruits and water which the sage gave me, and, roaming away far from the hermitage, I saw a vast cave. I entered it out of curiosity, and I saw inside it a palace made of jewels, and I began to look into the palace through the lattice-windows. And lo! there was in it a woman causing to revolve a wheel with bees, and those bees made some of them for a bull, and others for a donkey, both which creatures were standing there. And some drank the foam of milk sent forth by the bull, and others the foam of blood sent forth by the donkey, and became white and black, according to the colour of the two objects on which they settled; and then they all turned into spiders. And the spiders, which were of two different colours, made two different-coloured webs with their excrements. And one set of webs was hung on wholesome flowers, and the other on poisonous flowers. And the spiders, that were clinging to those webs as they pleased, were bitten by a great snake which came there, having two mouths, one white, and the other black. Then the woman put them in various pitchers, but they got out again, and began to occupy the same webs again respectively. Then those, that were on the webs attached to the poisonous flowers, began to cry out, owing to the violence of the poison. And thereupon the others, that were on the other webs, began to cry out also. But the noise interrupted the meditation of a certain merciful ascetic who was there, who discharged fire at the webs. Then the webs, in which the spiders were entangled, were burnt up, and the spiders entered a hollow coral rod, and disappeared in a gleaming light at the top of it. In the meanwhile the woman disappeared with her wheel, her bull, and her donkey.

When I had seen this, I continued to roam about there in a state of astonishment; and then I saw a charming lake, which seemed by means of its lotuses, round which bees hummed, to summon me thither to look at it. And while I sat on the bank and looked at it, I beheld a great wood inside the water, and in the wood was a hunter, and the hunter had got hold of a lion's cub with ten arms which he brought up, and then banished from the wood in anger, on the ground that it was disobedient. [181] The lion then heard the voice of a lioness in a neighbouring wood, and was going in the direction of the sound, when his ten arms were scattered by a whirlwind. Then a man with a protuberant belly came and restored his arms as they were before, and he went to that forest in search of the lioness. He endured for her sake much hardship in that other forest, and at last obtained her whom he had had for a wife in a former state, and with her returned to his own forest. And when the hunter saw that lion return with his mate to the forest, which was his hereditary abode, [182] he resigned it to him and departed.

When I had seen this, I returned to the hermitage and described both those very wonderful spectacles to Brahmadandin. And that hermit, who knows the past, present, and future, kindly said to me, "You are fortunate; Siva has shewn you all this by way of favour. That woman, whom you saw, is Illusion, and the wheel which she caused to revolve, is the wheel of mundane existence, and the bees are living creatures. And the bull and the donkey are respectively symbols of Righteousness and Unrighteousness, and the foam of milk and the foam of blood discharged by them, to which the bees repaired, are typical of good and evil actions. And they acquired properties arising from the things on which they respectively settled, and became spiders of two kinds, white and foul respectively; and then with their energy, which was symbolized by excrement, they produced entangling nets of two kinds, such as offspring and so on, which were attached to wholesome and poisonous flowers, which signify happiness and misery. And while clinging each to its own web, they were bitten by a snake, typical of Death, with its two mouths, the white set with the white mouth symbolical of good fortune, the other with the black mouth symbolical of evil fortune.

Then that female, typifying Illusion [183] plunged them into various wombs typified by the jars, and they again emerged from them, and assuming forms white and black, corresponding to what they had before, they fell into entangling webs, which are symbolical of sons and other worldly connexions, resulting in happiness and misery. Then the black spiders, entangled in their webs, being tortured by the poison, symbolical of pain, began in their affliction to invoke the supreme lord as their help. When the white spiders, who were in their own webs, perceived that, they also became averse to their state, and began to invoke that same lord. Then the god, who was present in the form of an ascetic, awoke from his trance, and consumed all their entangling webs with the fire of knowledge. Accordingly they ascended into the bright coral tube, typical of the orb of the sun, and reached the highest home, which lies above it. And then Illusion vanished, with the revolving wheel of births, and with her ox, and her ass, typical of Righteousness and Unrighteousness.

Even thus in the circle of existence revolve creatures, fair and foul according to their actions, and they are liberated by propitiating Siva; and this spectacle has been shown to you by Siva to teach you this lesson, and to put an end to your delusion. As for that sight which you saw in the water of the tank, this is the explanation of it. The holy god produced this apparent reflection in the water, in order to teach you what was destined to befall Mrigánkadatta. For he may be compared to a young lion-whelp, and he was brought up with ten ministers round him resembling ten arms, and he was banished in anger by his father, (typified by the hunter) from his native land, typified by the forest: and on hearing the report of Sasánkavatí, (who may be compared to a lioness,) coming from the land of Avanti, (symbolized by the other wood, [184]) he made towards her, and the wind which stripped him of his arms is the curse of the snake, which separated him from his ministers. Then Vináyaka [185] appeared as a man with a pendulous belly, and restored to him his arms, (that is to say, his ministers,) and so he recovered his former condition. Then he went and after enduring great hardship, obtained from another place the lioness, (that is Sasánkavatí,) and returned. And when the hunter, (that is his father,) saw him coming near with his wife, having swept away the obstacles which his foes put in his way, [186] he resigned to him the whole of his forest, (that is his kingdom,) and retired to a grove of ascetics. Thus has Siva shewn you the future as if it had already taken place. So you may be sure, your master will recover you, his ministers, and obtain his wife and his kingdom." When the excellent hermit had thus instructed me, I recovered hope and left that hermitage, and travelling along slowly I have met you here, prince, to-day. So you may rest assured, prince, that you will recover Prachandasakti, and your other ministers, and gain your object; you certainly gained the favour of Ganesa by worshipping him before you set out.

When Mrigánkadatta had listened for a while to this strange story of Vimalabuddhi's, he was much pleased, and after he had again deliberated with him, he set out for the city of Avanti, with the double object of accomplishing his enterprise and recovering his other ministers.