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Thursday, May 14, 2020

The Kathá Sarit Ságara Or Ocean of the Streams of Story Translated from the original Sanskrit By C. H. Tawney, M. A.

Contents of Volume I.

Book I.


Chapter I.
Introduction, 1–5
Curse of Pushpadanta and Mályaván, 4–5

Chapter II.
Story of Pushpadanta when living on the earth as Vararuchi, 5–10
How Káṇabhúti became a Piśácha, 6–7
Story of Vararuchi’s teacher Varsha, and his fellow-pupils Vyáḍi and Indradatta, 7–10

Chapter III.
Continuation of the story of Vararuchi, 11–16
Story of the founding of the city of Páṭaliputra, 11–16
Story of king Brahmadatta, 12–13

Chapter IV.
Continuation of the story of Vararuchi, 16–23
Story of Upakośá and her four lovers, 17–20

Chapter V.
Conclusion of the story of Vararuchi, 23–31
Story of Śivaśarman, 27–28

Chapter VI.
Story of Mályaván when living on the earth as Guṇáḍhya, 32–40
Story of the Mouse-merchant, 33–34
Story of the chanter of the Sáma Veda, 34–35
Story of Sátaváhana, 36–37

Chapter VII.
Continuation of the story of Guṇáḍhya, 41–47
How Pushpadanta got his name, 43–46
Story of king Śivi, 45–46


Chapter VIII.
Continuation of the story of Guṇáḍhya, 47–49
Śiva’s tales, originally composed by Guṇáḍhya in the Paiśácha language, are made known in Sanskrit under the title of Vṛihat Kathá, 49

Book II.

Chapter IX.
Story of the ancestors and parents of Udayana, king of Vatsa, 52–56

Chapter X.
Continuation of the story of Udayana’s parents, 56–67
Story of Śrídatta and Mṛigánkavatí, 56–66
Udayana succeeds to the kingdom of Vatsa, 67

Chapter XI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 67–71
Story of king Chaṇḍamahásena, 69–71

Chapter XII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 72–82
Story of Rúpiṇiká, 76–82

Chapter XIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 82–93
Story of Devasmitá, 85–92
Story of the cunning Siddhikarí, 87–88
Story of Śaktimatí, 91–92

Chapter XIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 94–98
Story of the clever deformed child, 96
Story of Ruru, 97–98

Book III.

Chapter XV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 101–109
Story of the clever physician, 101–102
Story of the hypocritical ascetic, 102–104
Story of Unmádiní, 104–105
Story of the loving couple who died of separation, 105–106
Story of Puṇyasena, 106
Story of Sunda and Upasunda, 108


Chapter XVI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 109–115
Story of Kuntí, 110–111

Chapter XVII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 115–124
Story of Urvaśí, 115–117
Story of Vihitasena, 117
Story of Somaprabhá, 118–122
Story of Ahalyá, 122–123

Chapter XVIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 124–145
Story of Vidúshaka, 128–144

Chapter XIX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 145–152
Story of Devadása, 146–147

Chapter XX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 152–164
Story of Phalabhúti, 152–163
Story of Kuvalayávalí and the witch Kálarátri, 155–158
Story of the birth of Kártikeya, 155–157
Story of Sundaraka and Kálarátri, 158–161

Book IV.

Chapter XXI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 165–173
Story of Páṇḍu, 166
Story of Devadatta, 168–170
Story of Pingaliká, 170–171

Chapter XXII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 173–186
Story of Jímútaváhana, 174–186
Story of Jímútaváhana’s adventures in a former life, 176–181
Story of Kadrú and Vinatá, 182–183

Chapter XXIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana, 186–191
Story of Sinhaparákrama, 188
Birth of Udayana’s son Naraváhanadatta, 189


Book V.

Chapter XXIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 193–204
Story of Śaktivega, king of the Vidyádharas, 194–204
Story of Śiva and Mádhava, 197–202
Story of Harasvámin, 203–204

Chapter XXV.
Continuation of the story of Śaktivega, 205–219
Story of Aśokadatta and Vijayadatta, 208–219

Chapter XXVI.
Conclusion of the story of Śaktivega, 220–233
Story of Devadatta, 229–231
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 233

Book VI.

Chapter XXVII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 235–246
Story of Kalingadatta, king of Takshaśilá, 235–246
Story of the merchant’s son in Takshaśilá, 236–238
Story of the Apsaras Surabhidattá, 238–239
Story of king Dharmadatta and his wife Nágaśrí, 239–240
Story of the seven Bráhmans who devoured a cow in time of famine, 241
Story of the two ascetics, the one a Bráhman, the other a Chaṇḍála, 241–242
Story of king Vikramasinha and the two Bráhmans, 242–246

Chapter XXVIII.
Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta, 246–257
Birth of his daughter Kalingasená, 246
Story of the seven princesses, 247–249
Story of the prince who tore out his own eye, 247–248
Story of the ascetic who conquered anger, 248–249
Story of Sulochaná and Sushena, 249–252
Story of the prince and the merchant’s son who saved his life, 253–255
Story of the Bráhman and the Piśácha, 255–256

Chapter XXIX.
Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta, 257–267
Story of Kírtisená and her cruel mother-in-law, 260–267

Chapter XXX.
Continuation of the story of Kalingadatta, 267–274
Story of Tejasvatí, 270–271
Story of the Bráhman Hariśarman, 272–274


Chapter XXXI.
Conclusion of the story of Kalingadatta, 276–278
Story of Ushá and Aniruddha, 276–277
Kalingasená, daughter of Kalingadatta, escapes to Vatsa, 278
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 278–280

Chapter XXXII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 281–291
Story of the Bráhman’s son Vishṇudatta and his seven foolish companions, 283–285
Story of Kadalígarbhá, 286–290
Story of the king and the barber’s wife, 288–289

Chapter XXXIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 291–302
Story of Śrutasena, 292–295
Story of the three Bráhman brothers, 293
Story of Devasena and Unmádiní, 294
Story of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat and the mouse, 296–298
Story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his treasure, 298–299

Chapter XXXIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 302–317
Story of king Indradatta, 303
Story of the Yaksha Virúpáksha, 306–307
Story of Śatrughna and his wicked wife, 312
Story of king Śúrasena and his ministers, 313–314
Story of king Harisinha, 314

Book VII.

Chapter XXXV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 319–327
Story of Ratnaprabhá, 320–326
Story of Sattvaśíla and the two treasures, 321–322
Story of the brave king Vikramatunga, 322–323

Chapter XXXVI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 328–334
Story of king Ratnádhipati and the white elephant Śvetaraśmi, 328–334
Story of Yavanasena, 331–332

Chapter XXXVII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 334–346
Story of Niśchayadatta, 334–346
Story of Somasvámin, 339–341
Story of Bhavaśarman, 342–343


Chapter XXXVIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 346–354
Story of king Vikramáditya and the hetæra, 347–354
Story of king Vikramáditya and the treacherous mendicant, 349–350

Chapter XXXIX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 355–367
Story of Śṛingabhuja and the daughter of the Rákshasa, 355–367

Chapter XL.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 369–375
Story of Tapodatta, 370
Story of Virúpaśarman, 371
Story of king Vilásaśíla and the physician Taruṇachandra, 372–375

Chapter XLI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 376–379
Story of king Chiráyus and his minister Nágárjuna, 376–378

Chapter XLII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 379–390
Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife, and his two sons, 381–389

Chapter XLIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 390–403
Story of the two brothers Práṇadhara and Rájyadhara, 391–393
Story of Arthalobha and his beautiful wife, 393–396
Story of the princess Karpúriká in her birth as a swan, 397–398

Book VIII.

Chapter XLIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 405–406
Story of Súryaprabha, 406–414

Chapter XLV.
Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha, 414–434
Story of the Bráhman Kála, 418–419

Chapter XLVI.
Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha, 434–446
Story of the generous Dánava Namuchi, 444–446

Chapter XLVII.
Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha, 446–452

Chapter XLVIII.
Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha, 452–459
Adventure of the witch Śarabhánaná, 458


Chapter XLIX.
Continuation of the story of Súryaprabha, 459–471
Story of king Mahásena and his virtuous minister Guṇaśarman, 459–471

Chapter L.
Conclusion of the story of Súryaprabha, 472–481
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 481

Book IX.

Chapter LI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 483–494
Story of Alankáravatí, 484–485
Story of Ráma and Sítá, 486–488
Story of the handsome king Pṛithvírúpa, 489–492

Chapter LII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 494–515
Story of Aśokamálá, 496–498
Story of Sthúlabhuja, 497–498
Story of Anangarati and her four suitors, 498–514
Story of Anangarati in a former birth, 502–503

Chapter LIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 515–524
Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta, 515–518
Story of the Bráhman Víravara, 519–524
Story of Suprabha, 520–521

Chapter LIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 524–537
Story of the merchant Samudraśúra, 529–531
Story of king Chamarabála, 532–536
Story of Yaśovarman and the two fortunes, 532–535

Chapter LV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 537–549
Story of Chiradátṛi, 537–538
Story of king Kanakavarsha and Madanasundarí, 538–549


Chapter LVI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son, 549–569
Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála, and his daughter Chandravatí, 549–569
Story of Chakra, 554–556
Story of the hermit and the faithful wife, 556–557
Story of Dharmavyádha, the righteous seller of flesh, 557
Story of the treacherous Páśupata ascetic, 558–559
Story of king Tribhuvana, 558–559
Story of Nala and Damayantí, 559–568


Contents of Vol. II.

Book X.

Chapter LVII.

Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 1–10
Story of the porter who found a bracelet 1–2
Story of the inexhaustible pitcher 2–4
Story of the merchant’s son, the hetæra and the wonderful ape Ála 4–10

Chapter LVIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 10–17
Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra and the young Bráhman 11–13
Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her husband’s body 13–14
Story of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered 14
Story of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears 14–16
Story of king Sinhabala and his faithless wife 16–17

Chapter LIX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 17–26
Story of king Sumanas, the Nisháda maiden, and the learned parrot 18–26
The parrot’s account of his own life as a parrot 19–21
The hermit’s story of Somaprabha, Manorathaprabhá, and Makarandiká 21–25
Episode of Manorathaprabhá and Raśmimat 22–23

Chapter LX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 27–43
Story of Śúravarman who spared his guilty wife 27
Story of the ox abandoned in the forest, and the lion, and the two jackals 27–43
Story of the monkey that pulled out the wedge 28
Story of the jackal and the drum 30
Story of the crane and the Makara 31–32
Story of the lion and the hare 32–33
Story of the louse and the flea 34
Story of the lion, the panther, the crow and the jackal 35–36
Story of the pair of ṭiṭṭhibhas 36–38
Story of the tortoise and the two swans 37
Story of the three fish 37–38
Story of the monkeys, the firefly and the bird 39
Story of Dharmabuddhi and Dushṭabuddhi 40–41
Story of the crane, the snake, and the mungoose 41
Story of the mice that ate an iron balance 41–42


Chapter LXI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 41–63
Story of the foolish merchant who made aloes-wood into charcoal 44
Story of the man who sowed roasted seed 44
Story of the man who mixed fire and water 44
Story of the man who tried to improve his wife’s nose 45
Story of the foolish herdsman 45
Story of the fool and the ornaments 45
Story of the fool and the cotton 45
Story of the foolish villagers who cut down the palm-trees 46
Story of the treasure-finder who was blinded 46
Story of the fool and the salt 46–47
Story of the fool and his milch-cow 47
Story of the foolish bald man and the fool who pelted him 47
Story of the crow, and the king of the pigeons, the tortoise and the deer 48–52
Story of the mouse and the hermit 49–51
Story of the Bráhman’s wife and the sesame-seeds 50–51
Story of the greedy jackal 50
Story of the wife who falsely accused her husband of murdering a Bhilla 53–54
Story of the snake who told his secret to a woman 54–55
Story of the bald man and the hair-restorer 55
Story of a foolish servant 55
Story of the faithless wife who was present at her own Śráddha 55–56
Story of the ambitious Chaṇḍála maiden 56
Story of the miserly king 57
Story of Dhavalamukha, his trading friend, and his fighting friend 57–58
Story of the thirsty fool that did not drink 58
Story of the fool who killed his son 58
Story of the fool and his brother 58
Story of the Brahmachárin’s son 59
Story of the astrologer who killed his son 59
Story of the violent man who justified his character 59–60
Story of the foolish king who made his daughter grow 60
Story of the man who recovered half a paṇa from his servant 60
Story of the fool who took notes of a certain spot in the sea 60–61
Story of the king who replaced the flesh 61
Story of the woman who wanted another son 61
Story of the servant who tasted the fruit 62
Story of the two brothers Yajnasoma and Kírtisoma 62–63
Story of the fool who wanted a barber 63
Story of the man who asked for nothing at all 63

Chapter LXII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 64–79
Story of the war between the crows and the owls 64–75
Story of the ass in the panther’s skin 65
How the crow dissuaded the birds from choosing the owl king 65–68[v]
Story of the elephant and the hares 66–67
Story of the bird, the hare, and the cat 67–68
Story of the Bráhman, the goat, and the rogues 68–69
Story of the old merchant and his young wife 69–70
Story of the Bráhman, the thief, and the Rákshasa 70
Story of the carpenter and his wife 71–72
Story of the mouse that was turned into a maiden 72–73
Story of the snake and the frogs 74
Story of the foolish servant 75
Story of the two brothers who divided all that they had 75
Story of the mendicant who became emaciated from discontent 75–76
Story of the fool who saw gold in the water 76
Story of the servants who kept rain off the trunks 76–77
Story of the fool and the cakes 77
Story of the servant who looked after the door 77
Story of the simpletons who ate the buffalo 77–78
Story of the fool who behaved like a Brahmany drake 78
Story of the physician who tried to cure a hunchback 78–79

Chapter LXIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 79–90
Story of Yaśodhara and Lakshmídhara and the two wives of the water-genius 79–83
Story of the water-genius in his previous birth 82
Story of the Bráhman who became a Yaksha 83
Story of the monkey and the porpoise 84–87
Story of the sick lion, the jackal, and the ass 85–87
Story of the fool who gave a verbal reward to the musician 87
Story of the teacher and his two jealous pupils 88
Story of the snake with two heads 88–89
Story of the fool who was nearly choked with rice 89
Story of the boys that milked the donkey 89–90
Story of the foolish boy that went to the village for nothing 90

Chapter LXIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 90–100
Story of the Bráhman and the mungoose 90–91
Story of the fool that was his own doctor 91
Story of the fool who mistook hermits for monkeys 91–92
Story of the fool who found a purse 92
Story of the fool who looked for the moon 92
Story of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the cowherd 92–93
Story of the two thieves Ghaṭa and Karpara 93–96
Story of Devadatta’s wife 96
Story of the wife of the Bráhman Rudrasoma 96–97
Story of the wife of Śuśin 97–98
Story of the snake-god and his wife 98–99


Chapter LXV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 101–115
Story of the ungrateful wife 101–103
Story of the grateful animals and the ungrateful woman 103–108
The lion’s story 104–105
The golden-crested bird’s story 105–106
The snake’s story 106
The woman’s story 106
Story of the Buddhist monk who was bitten by a dog 108–109
Story of the man who submitted to be burnt alive sooner than share his food with a guest 109–110
Story of the foolish teacher, the foolish pupils, and the cat 110–111
Story of the fools and the bull of Śiva 111–112
Story of the fool who asked his way to the village 112
Story of Hiraṇyáksha and Mṛigánkalekhá 113–115

Chapter LXVI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 115–124
Story of the mendicant who travelled from Kaśmíra to Páṭaliputra 115–118
Story of the wife of king Sinháksha, and the wives of his principal courtiers 116–118
Story of the woman who had eleven husbands 119
Story of the man who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox 119–120
Story of the man who managed to acquire wealth by speaking to the king 120–121
Story of Ratnarekhá and Lakshmísena 121–124
Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Śaktiyaśas 124

Book XI.

Chapter LXVII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 125–131
Story of the race between the elephant and the horses 125–126
Story of the merchant and his wife Velá 127–131
Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Jayendrasená 131

Book XII.

Chapter LXVIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 133–137
Marriage of Naraváhanadatta and Lalitalochaná 134
Story of the jackal that was turned into an elephant 134
Story of Vámadatta and his wicked wife 134–137

Chapter LXIX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 137–138
Story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 138–146
Story of king Bhadrabáhu and his clever minister 139–141[vii]
Story of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí 141–146
Story of the birth of Vinayavatí 141–142
The adventures of Pushkaráksha and Vinayavatí in a former life 143–145
Story of Lávaṇyamanjarí 145

Chapter LXX.
Continuation of the Story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 146–154
Story of Śrutadhi 148

Chapter LXXI.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 154–169
Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí 157–167

Chapter LXXII.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 170–191
Story of king Vinítamati who became a holy man 171–191
Story of the holy boar 176–178
Story of Devabhúti 180–181
Story of the generous Induprabha 181–182
Story of the parrot who was taught virtue by the king of the parrots 182–183
Story of the patient hermit Śubhanaya 183–184
Story of the persevering young Bráhman 184
Story of Malayamálin 184–186
Story of the robber who won over Yama’s secretary 186–189

Chapter LXXIII.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 191–214
Story of Śrídarśana 192–214
Story of Saudáminí 193–194
Story of Bhúnandana 196–201

Chapter LXXIV.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 214–231
Story of Bhímabhaṭa 215–230
Story of Akshakshapaṇaka 222–223

Chapter LXXV.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 231–232
Story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 232–241
Story of the prince who was helped to a wife by the son of his father’s minister 234–241

Chapter LXXVI.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 242–244
Story of the three young Bráhmans who restored a dead lady to life 242–244


Chapter LXXVII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 245–250
Story of the king and the two wise birds 245–250
The maina’s story 246–247
The parrot’s story 247–250

Chapter LXXVIII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 251–257
Story of Víravara 251–256

Chapter LXXIX.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 257–260
Story of Somaprabhá and her three sisters 258–260

Chapter LXXX.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 261–264
Story of the lady who caused her brother and husband to change heads 261–264

Chapter LXXXI.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 265–271
Story of the king who married his dependent to the Nereid 265–271

Chapter LXXXII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 271–274
Story of the three fastidious men 271–273

Chapter LXXXIII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 275–277
Story of Anangarati and her four suitors 275–277

Chapter LXXXIV.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 281–283
Story of Madanasená and her rash promise 278–280

Chapter LXXXV.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 281–283
Story of king Dharmadhvaja and his three very sensitive wives 281–283

Chapter LXXXVI.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 284–293
Story of king Yaśaḥketu, his Vidyádharí wife and his faithful minister 284–292

Chapter LXXXVII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 293–297
Story of Harisvámin who first lost his wife and then his life 293–296


Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 297–300
Story of the merchant’s daughter who fell in love with a thief 297–300

Chapter LXXXIX.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 301–307
Story of the magic globule 301–306

Chapter XC.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 307–318
Story of Jímútaváhana 307–317

Chapter XCI.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 318–322
Story of Unmádiní 318–321

Chapter XCII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 322–327
Story of the Bráhman’s son who failed to acquire the magic power 323–327

Chapter XCIII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 328–334
Story of the thief’s son 328–334

Chapter XCIV.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 334–342
Story of the Bráhman boy who offered himself up to save the life of the king 335–341

Chapter XCV.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 342–347
Story of Anangamanjarí, her husband Maṇivarman, and the Bráhman Kamalákara 342–347

Chapter XCVI.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 348–350
Story of the four Bráhman brothers who resuscitated the tiger 348–350

Chapter XCVII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 351–351
Story of the Hermit who first wept and then danced 351–353


Chapter XCVIII.
Continuation of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 354–358
Story of the father that married the daughter and the son that married the mother 354–357

Chapter XCIX.
Conclusion of the story of king Trivikramasena and the Vampire 358–360
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 360–362

Chapter C.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 362–365

Chapter CI.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 366–386
Story of Sundarasena and Mandáravatí 368–385

Chapter CII.
Continuation of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 387–396

Chapter CIII.
Conclusion of the story of Mṛigánkadatta and Śaśánkavatí 396–409
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 409

Book XIII.

Chapter CIV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 411–423
Story of the two Bráhman friends 412–423

Book XIV.

Chapter CV.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 425–430
Story of Sávitrí and Angiras 426–427

Chapter CVI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 430–441
Story of the child that died of a broken heart 435–436

Chapter CVII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 441–448
Story of Ráma 442


Chapter CVIII.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 448–460
Story of Nágasvámin and the witches 449–452
Story of Marubhúti and the mermaids and the gold-producing grains 452–454

Book XV.

Chapter CIX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 461–469
History of the cave of Triśírsha 464–465

Chapter CX.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 469–478
Naraváhanadatta crowned emperor of the Vidyádharas 473–474

Book XVI.

Chapter CXI.
Continuation of the story of Udayana and his son 479–483
Story of the devoted couple Śúrasena and Susheṇá 480–481
Death of Chaṇḍamahásena and Angáravatí 482
Death of Udayana king of Vatsa 483
Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 484–485

Chapter CXII.
Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 485–497
Story of king Chaṇḍamahásena and the Asura’s daughter 486–488
Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of the Mátanga 488–496
Story of the young Chaṇḍála who married the daughter of king Prasenajit 490–491
Story of the young fisherman who married a princess 491–493
Story of the Merchant’s daughter who fell in love with a thief 493–495

Chapter CXIII.
Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 497–503
Story of Tárávaloka 498–503

Book XVII.

Chapter CXIV.
Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 505–513
Story of king Brahmadatta and the swans 506–513[xii]
How Párvatí condemned her five attendants to be reborn on earth 508–510
Story of the metamorphoses of Pingeśvara and Guheśvara 510–513

Chapter CXV.
Continuation of The story of Brahmadatta and the swans 513–514
Story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí 514–522

Chapter CXVI.
Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí 522–528

Chapter CXVII.
Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí 528–538

Chapter CXVIII.
Continuation of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí 538–549

Chapter CXIX.
Conclusion of the story of Muktáphalaketu and Padmávatí 549–561
Conclusion of the story of Brahmadatta and the swans 561
Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 561


Chapter CXX.
Continuation of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 563
Story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní 563–570

Chapter CXXI.
Continuation of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní 571–586
Story of Madanamanjarí 571–583
Story of the gambler Dágineya 572–574
Story of Ṭhiṇṭhákarála the bold gambler 574–582
Story of the gambler who cheated Yama 581
Story of Ghaṇṭa and Nighaṇṭa and the two maidens 583
Story of the golden deer 584

Chapter CXXII.
Continuation of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní 586–593
Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden 587–593

Chapter CXXIII.
Continuation of the Story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní 593
Story of Kalingasená’s marriage 593–611[xiii]
How Devasena obtained the magic ointment 594
Story of the grateful monkey 596–597
Story of the two princesses 598–599
Story of Dhanadatta 600–601
Story of Keśaṭa and Kandarpa 601–610
Story of Kusumáyudha and Kamalalochaná 606–607

Chapter CXXIV.
Conclusion of the story of Kalingasená’s marriage 611–614
Story of Chandrasvámin 611–612
Conclusion of the story of Vikramáditya king of Ujjayiní 614–624
Story of Devasvámin 616–617
Story of Agniśarman 617–618
Story of Múladeva 618–624
Conclusion of the story of Naraváhanadatta son of Udayana 624
Conclusion of the Kathá Sarit Ságara 625


Of the
Kathá Sarit Ságara
Ocean of the Streams of Story.
Book I.
Called Kathápíṭha

Chapter I.

May the dark neck of Śiva, which the god of love has, so to speak, surrounded with nooses in the form of the alluring looks of Párvatí reclining on his bosom, assign to you prosperity.

May that victor of obstacles,1 who after sweeping away the stars with his trunk in the delirious joy of the evening dance, seems to create others with the spray issuing from his hissing2 mouth, protect you.

After worshipping the goddess of Speech, the lamp that illuminates countless objects,3 I compose this collection which contains the pith of the Vṛíhat-Kathá.

The first book in my collection is called Kathápíṭha, then comes Kathámukha, then the third book named Lávánaka, then follows Naraváhanadattajanana, and then the book called Chaturdáriká, and then Madanamanchuká, then the seventh book named Ratnaprabhá, and then the eighth book named Súryaprabhá, then Alankáravatí, then Śaktiyaśas, and then the eleventh book called Velá, then comes Śaśánkavatí, and then Madirávatí, then comes the book called Pancha followed by Mahábhisheka, and then Suratamanjarí, then Padmávatí, and then will follow the eighteenth book Vishamaśíla.[2]

This book is precisely on the model of that from which it is taken, there is not even the slightest deviation, only such language is selected as tends to abridge the prolixity of the work; the observance of propriety and natural connexion, and the joining together of the portions of the poem so as not to interfere with the spirit of the stories, are as far as possible kept in view: I have not made this attempt through desire of a reputation for ingenuity, but in order to facilitate the recollection of a multitude of various tales.

There is a mountain celebrated under the name of Himavat, haunted by Kinnaras, Gandharvas, and Vidyádharas, a very monarch of mighty hills, whose glory has attained such an eminence among mountains that Bhavání the mother of the three worlds deigned to become his daughter; the northernmost summit thereof is a great peak named Kailása, which towers many thousand yojanas in the air,4 and as it were, laughs forth with its snowy gleams this boast—“Mount Mandara5 did not become white as mortar even when the ocean was churned with it, but I have become such without an effort.” There dwells Maheśvara the beloved of Párvatí, the chief of things animate and inanimate, attended upon by Gaṇas, Vidyádharas and Siddhas. In the upstanding yellow tufts of his matted hair, the new moon enjoys the delight of touching the eastern mountain yellow in the evening twilight. When he drove his trident into the heart of Andhaka, the king of the Asuras, though he was only one, the dart which that monarch had infixed in the heart of the three worlds was, strange to say, extracted. The image of his toe-nails being reflected in the crest-jewels of the gods and Asuras made them seem as if they had been presented with half moons by his favour.6 Once on a time that lord, the husband of Párvatí, was gratified with praises by his wife, having gained confidence as she sat in secret with him; the moon-crested one attentive to her praise and delighted, placed her on his lap, and said, “What can I do to please thee?” Then the daughter of the mountain spake—“My lord, if thou art satisfied with me, then tell me some delightful story that is quite new.” And Śiva said to her, “What can there be in the world, my beloved, present, past, or future that thou dost not know?” Then that goddess, beloved of Śiva, importuned him eagerly because she was proud in soul on account of his affection.

Then Śiva wishing to flatter her, began by telling her a very short story, referring to her own divine power.[3]

“Once on a time7 Brahmá and Náráyaṇa roaming through the world in order to behold me, came to the foot of Himavat. Then they beheld there in front of them a great flame-linga;8 in order to discover the end of it, one of them went up, and the other down; and when they could not find the end of it, they proceeded to propitiate me by means of austerities: and I appeared to them and bade them ask for some boon: hearing that Brahmá asked me to become his son; on that account he has ceased to be worthy of worship, disgraced by his overweening presumption.

“Then that god Náráyaṇa craved a boon of me, saying—Oh revered one, may I become devoted to thy service! Then he became incarnate, and was born as mine in thy form; for thou art the same as Náráyaṇa, the power of me all-powerful.

“Moreover thou wast my wife in a former birth.” When Śiva had thus spoken, Párvatí asked, “How can I have been thy wife in a former birth?” Then Śiva answered her. “Long ago to the Prajápati Daksha were born many daughters, and amongst them thou, O goddess! He gave thee in marriage to me, and the others to Dharma and the rest of the gods. Once on a time he invited all his sons-in-law to a sacrifice. But I alone was not included in the invitation; thereupon thou didst ask him to tell thee why thy husband was not invited. Then he uttered a speech which pierced thy ears like a poisoned needle; ‘Thy husband wears a necklace of skulls; how can he be invited to a sacrifice?’

“And then thou, my beloved, didst in anger abandon thy body, exclaiming,—‘This father of mine is a villain; what profit have I then in this carcase sprung from him?’

“And thereupon in wrath I destroyed that sacrifice of Daksha. Then thou wast born as the daughter of the mount of snow, as the moon’s digit springs from the sea. Then recall how I came to the Himálaya in order to perform austerities; and thy father ordered thee to do me service as his guest: and there the god of love who had been sent by the gods in order that they might obtain from me a son to oppose Táraka, was consumed,9 when endeavouring to pierce me, having obtained a favourable opportunity. Then I was purchased by thee,10 the enduring one, with severe austerities, and I accepted this proposal of thine, my beloved, in order that I might add this merit to my stock.11 Thus it is clear that thou wast my wife in [4]a former birth. What else shall I tell thee?” Thus Śiva spake, and when he had ceased, the goddess transported with wrath, exclaimed,—“Thou art a deceiver; thou wilt not tell me a pleasing tale even though I ask thee: Do I not know that thou worshippest Sandhyá, and bearest Gangá on thy head?” Hearing that, Śiva proceeded to conciliate her and promised to tell her a wonderful tale: then she dismissed her anger. She herself gave the order that no one was to enter where they were; Nandin12 thereupon kept the door, and Śiva began to speak.

“The gods are supremely blessed, men are ever miserable, the actions of demigods are exceedingly charming, therefore I now proceed to relate to thee the history of the Vidyádharas.” While Śiva was thus speaking to his consort, there arrived a favourite dependant of Śiva’s, Pushpadanta, best of Gaṇas,13 and his entrance was forbidden by Nandin who was guarding the door. Curious to know why even he had been forbidden to enter at that time without any apparent reason, Pushpadanta immediately entered, making use of his magic power attained by devotion to prevent his being seen, and when he had thus entered, he heard all the extraordinary and wonderful adventures of the seven Vidyádharas being narrated by the trident-bearing god, and having heard them he in turn went and narrated them to his wife Jayá; for who can hide wealth or a secret from women? Jayá the doorkeeper being filled with wonder went and recited it in the presence of Párvatí. How can women be expected to restrain their speech? And then the daughter of the mountain flew into a passion, and said to her husband, “Thou didst not tell me any extraordinary tale, for Jayá knows it also.” Then the lord of Umá, perceiving the truth by profound meditation, thus spake: “Pushpadanta employing the magic power of devotion entered in where we were, and thus managed to hear it. He narrated it to Jayá; no one else knows it, my beloved.”

Having heard this, the goddess exceedingly enraged caused Pushpadanta to be summoned, and cursed him, as he stood trembling before her, saying, “Become a mortal thou disobedient servant.”14 She cursed also the Gaṇa Mályaván who presumed to intercede on his behalf. Then the two fell at her feet together with Jayá and entreated her to say when the curse would end, and the wife of Śiva slowly uttered this speech—“A Yaksha named Supratíka who has been made a Piśácha by the curse of Kuvera is residing in the Vindhya forest under the name of Káṇabhúti. When thou shalt see him and, calling to mind thy origin, tell him this tale, then, Pushpadanta, thou shalt be released from this curse. And [5]when Mályaván shall hear this tale from Káṇabhúti, then Káṇabhúti shall be released, and thou, Mályaván, when thou hast published it abroad, shalt be free also.” Having thus spoken the daughter of the mountain ceased, and immediately those Gaṇas disappeared instantaneously like flashes of lightning. Then it came to pass in the course of time that Gaurí full of pity asked Śiva, “My lord, where on the earth have those excellent Pramathas15 whom I cursed, been born?” And the moon-diademed god answered: “My beloved, Pushpadanta has been born under the name of Vararuchi in that great city which is called Kauśámbí.16 Moreover Mályaván also has been born in the splendid city called Supratishṭhita under the name of Guṇáḍhya. This, O goddess, is what has befallen them.” Having given her this information with grief caused by recalling to mind the degradation of the servants that had always been obedient to him, that lord continued to dwell with his beloved in pleasure-arbours on the slopes of mount Kailása, which were made of the branches of the Kalpa tree.17

1Dr. Brockhaus explains this of Gaṇeśa, he is probably associated with Śiva in the dance. So the poet invokes two gods, Śiva and Gaṇeśa, and one goddess Sarasvatí, the goddess of speech and learning.

2Śítkára a sound made by drawing in the breath, expressive of pleasure.

3There is a double meaning: padártha also means words and their meanings.

4Possibly the meaning is that the mountain covers many thousand yojanas.

5This mountain served the gods and Asuras as a churning stick at the churning of the ocean for the recovery of the Amṛita and fourteen other precious things lost during the deluge.

6Śiva himself wears a moon’s crescent.

7The Sanskrit word Asti meaning “thus it is” is a common introduction to a tale.

8The linga or phallus is a favourite emblem of Śiva. Flame is one of his eight tanus or forms.

9He was burnt up by the fire of Śiva’s eye.

10Compare Kumára Sambhava Sarga V, line 86.

11Reading tatsanchayáya as one word. Dr. Brockhaus omits the line. Professor E. B. Cowell would read priyam for priye.

12One of Śiva’s favourite attendants.

13Attendants of Śiva, presided over by Gaṇeśa.

14For the ativiníta of Dr. Brockhaus’s text I read aviníta.

15Pramatha, an attendant on Śiva.

16Kauśámbí succeeded Hastinápur as the capital of the emperors of India. Its precise site has not been ascertained, but it was probably somewhere in the Doabá, or at any rate not far from the west bank of the Yamuná, as it bordered upon Magadha and was not far from the Vindhya hills. It is said that there are ruins at Karáli or Karári about 14 miles from Allahábád on the western road, which may indicate the site of Kauśámbí. It is possible also that the mounds of rubbish about Karrah may conceal some vestiges of the ancient capital—a circumstance rendered more probable by the inscription found there, which specifies Kaṭa as comprised within Kauśámba maṇḍala or the district of Kauśámbí. [Note in Wilson’s Essays, p. 163.] See note on page 281.

17A tree of Indra’s Paradise that grants all desires.

Chapter II.

Then Pushpadanta wandering on the earth in the form of a man, was known by the name of Vararuchi and Kátyáyana. Having attained perfection in the sciences, and having served Nanda as minister, being wearied out he went once on a time to visit the shrine of Durgá.1 And that goddess, being pleased with his austerities, ordered him in a dream to repair to the wilds of the Vindhya to behold Káṇabhúti. And as he wandered about there in a waterless and savage wood,2 full of tigers and apes, he beheld a lofty Nyagrodha tree.3 And near it he saw, surrounded by hundreds of Piśáchas, that Piśácha Káṇabhúti, in stature like a Śála tree. [6]When Káṇabhúti had seen him and respectfully clasped his feet, Kátyáyana sitting down immediately spake to him. “Thou art an observer of the good custom; how hast thou come into this state?” Having heard this Káṇabhúti said to Kátyáyana, who had shewn affection towards him, “I know not of myself, but listen to what I heard from Śiva at Ujjayiní in the place where corpses are burnt; I proceed to tell it thee.” The adorable god was asked by Durgá—“Whence, my lord, comes thy delight in skulls and burning-places?” He thereupon gave this answer.

“Long ago when all things had been destroyed at the end of a Kalpa, the universe became water: I then cleft my thigh and let fall a drop of blood; that drop falling into the water turned into an egg, from that sprang the Supreme Soul,4 the Disposer; from him proceeded Nature,5 created by me for the purpose of further creation, and they created the other lords of created beings,6 and those in turn the created beings, for which reason, my beloved, the Supreme Soul is called in the world the grandfather. Having thus created the world, animate and inanimate, that Spirit became arrogant:7 thereupon I cut off his head: then through regret for what I had done, I undertook a difficult vow. So thus it comes to pass that I carry skulls in my hand, and love the places where corpses are burned. Moreover this world resembling a skull, rests in my hand; for the two skull-shaped halves of the egg before mentioned are called heaven and earth.” When Śiva had thus spoken, I, being full of curiosity, determined to listen; and Párvatí again said to her husband, “After how long a time will that Pushpadanta return to us?” Hearing that, Maheśvara spoke to the goddess, pointing me out to her; “That Piśácha whom thou beholdest there, was once a Yaksha, a servant of Kuvera, the god of wealth, and he had for a friend a Rákshasa named Sthúlaśiras; and the lord of wealth perceiving that he associated with that evil one, banished him to the wilds of the Vindhya mountains. But his brother Dírghajangha fell at the feet of the god, and humbly asked when the curse would end. Then the god of wealth said—“After thy brother has heard the great tale from Pushpadanta, who has been born into this world in consequence of a curse, and after he has in turn told it to Mályaván, who owing to a curse has become a human being, he together with those two Gaṇas shall be released from the effects of the curse.” Such were the terms on which the god of wealth then ordained that Mályaván should obtain remission from his curse here below, and thou didst fix the same in the case of Pushpadanta; [7]recall it to mind, my beloved.” When I heard that speech of Śiva, I came here overjoyed, knowing that the calamity of my curse would be terminated by the arrival of Pushpadanta. When Káṇabhúti ceased after telling this story, that moment Vararuchi remembered his origin, and exclaimed like one aroused from sleep, “I am that very Pushpadanta, hear that tale from me.” Thereupon Kátyáyana related to him the seven great tales in seven hundred thousand verses, and then Káṇabhúti said to him—“My lord, thou art an incarnation of Śiva, who else knows this story? Through thy favour that curse has almost left my body. Therefore tell me thy own history from thy birth, thou mighty one, sanctify me yet further, if the narrative may be revealed to such a one as I am.” Then Vararuchi, to gratify Káṇabhúti, who remained prostrate before him, told all his history from his birth at full length, in the following words:

Story of Vararuchi, his teacher Varsha, and his fellow-pupils Vyáḍi and Indradatta.

In the city of Kauśámbí there lived a Bráhman called Somadatta, who also had the title of Agniśikha, and his wife was called Vasudattá. She was the daughter of a hermit, and was born into the world in this position in consequence of a curse; and I was born by her to this excellent Bráhman, also in consequence of a curse. Now while I was still quite a child my father died, but my mother continued to support me, as I grew up, by severe drudgery; then one day two Bráhmans came to our house to stop a night, exceedingly dusty with a long journey; and while they were staying in our house there arose the noise of a tabor, thereupon my mother said to me, sobbing, as she called to mind her husband—“there, my son, is your father’s friend Bhavananda, giving a dramatic entertainment.” I answered, “I will go and see it, and will exhibit the whole of it to you, with a recitation of all the speeches.” On hearing that speech of mine, those Bráhmans were astonished, but my mother said to them—“Come, my children, there is no doubt about the truth of what he says; this boy will remember by heart everything that he has heard once.”8 Then they, in order to test me, recited to me a Prátiśákhya9; immediately I repeated the whole in their presence, then I went with the two Bráhmans and saw that play, and when I came home, I went through the whole of it in front of my mother: then one of the Bráhmans, named Vyáḍi, having ascertained that I was able to recollect a thing on hearing it once, told with submissive reverence this tale to my mother.

Mother, in the city of Vetasa there were two Bráhman brothers, Deva-Swámin and Karambaka, who loved one another very dearly; this Indradatta here is the son of one of them, and I am the son of the other, and my name [8]is Vyáḍi. It came to pass that my father died. Owing to grief for his loss, the father of Indradatta went on the long journey,10 and then the hearts of our two mothers broke with grief; thereupon being orphans though we had wealth,11 and, desiring to acquire learning, we went to the southern region to supplicate the lord Kártikeya. And while we were engaged in austerities there, the god gave us the following revelation in a dream. “There is a city called Páṭaliputra, the capital of king Nanda, and in it there is a Bráhman, named Varsha, from him ye shall learn all knowledge, therefore go there.” Then we went to that city, and when we made enquiries there, people said to us: “There is a blockhead of a Bráhman in this town, of the name of Varsha.” Immediately we went on with minds in a state of suspense, and saw the house of Varsha in a miserable condition, made a very ant-hill by mice, dilapidated by the cracking of the walls, untidy,12 deprived of eaves, looking like the very birth-place of misery.

Then, seeing Varsha plunged in meditation within the house, we approached his wife, who shewed us all proper hospitality; her body was emaciated and begrimed, her dress tattered and dirty; she looked like the incarnation of poverty, attracted thither by admiration for the Bráhman’s virtues. Bending humbly before her, we then told her our circumstances, and the report of her husband’s imbecility, which we heard in the city. She exclaimed—“My children, I am not ashamed to tell you the truth; listen! I will relate the whole story,” and then she, chaste lady, proceeded to tell us the tale which follows:

There lived in this city an excellent Bráhman, named Śankara Svámin, and he had two sons, my husband Varsha, and Upavarsha; my husband was stupid and poor, and his younger brother was just the opposite: and Upavarsha appointed his own wife to manage his elder brother’s house.13 Then in the course of time, the rainy season came on, and at this time the women are in the habit of making a cake of flour mixed with molasses, of an unbecoming and disgusting shape,14 and giving it to any Bráhman who is thought to be a blockhead, and if they act thus, this cake is said to remove their discomfort caused by bathing in the cold season, and their exhaustion15 [9]caused by bathing in the hot weather; but when it is given, Bráhmans refuse to receive it, on the ground that the custom is a disgusting one. This cake was presented by my sister-in-law to my husband, together with a sacrificial fee; he received it, and brought it home with him, and got a severe scolding from me; then he began to be inwardly consumed with grief at his own stupidity, and went to worship the sole of the foot of the god Kártikeya: the god, pleased with his austerities, bestowed on him the knowledge of all the sciences; and gave him this order—“When thou findest a Bráhman who can recollect what he has heard only once, then thou mayest reveal these”—thereupon my husband returned home delighted, and when he had reached home, told the whole story to me. From that time forth, he has remained continually muttering prayers and meditating: so find you some one who can remember anything after hearing it once, and bring him here: if you do that, you will both of you undoubtedly obtain all that you desire.

Having heard this from the wife of Varsha, and having immediately given her a hundred gold pieces to relieve her poverty, we went out of that city; then we wandered through the earth, and could not find anywhere a person who could remember what he had only heard once: at last we arrived tired out at your house to-day, and have found here this boy, your son, who can recollect anything after once hearing it: therefore give him us and let us go forth to acquire the commodity knowledge.

Having heard this speech of Vyáḍi, my mother said with respect, “All this tallies completely; I repose confidence in your tale: for long ago at the birth of this my only son, a distinct spiritual16 voice was heard from [10]heaven. “A boy has been born who shall be able to remember what he has heard once; he shall acquire knowledge from Varsha, and shall make the science of grammar famous in the world, and he shall be called Vararuchi by name, because whatever is excellent,17 shall please him.” Having uttered this, the voice ceased. Consequently, ever since this boy has grown big, I have been thinking, day and night, where that teacher Varsha can be, and to-day I have been exceedingly gratified at hearing it from your mouth. Therefore take him with you: what harm can there be in it, he is your brother?” When they heard this speech of my mother’s, those two, Vyáḍi and Indradatta, overflowing with joy, thought that night but a moment in length. Then Vyáḍi quickly gave his own wealth to my mother to provide a feast, and desiring that I should be qualified to read the Vedas, invested me with the Bráhmanical thread. Then Vyáḍi and Indradatta took me, who managed by my own fortitude to control the excessive grief I felt at parting, while my mother in taking leave of me could with difficulty suppress her tears, and considering that the favour of Kártikeya towards them had now put forth blossom, set out rapidly from that city; then in course of time we arrived at the house of the teacher Varsha: he too considered that I was the favour of Kártikeya arrived in bodily form. The next day he placed us in front of him, and sitting down in a consecrated spot, he began to recite the syllable Om with heavenly voice. Immediately the Vedas with the six supplementary sciences rushed into his mind, and then he began to teach them to us; then I retained what the teacher told us after hearing it once, Vyáḍi after hearing it twice, and Indradatta after hearing it three times: then the Bráhmans of the city hearing of a sudden that divine sound, came at once from all quarters with wonder stirring in their breasts to see what this new thing might be; and with their reverend mouths loud in his praises honoured Varsha with low bows. Then beholding that wonderful miracle, not only Upavarsha, but all the citizens of Páṭaliputra18 kept high festival. Moreover the king Nanda of exalted fortune, seeing the power of the boon of the son of Śiva, was delighted, and immediately filled the house of Varsha with wealth, shewing him every mark of respect.19[11]

1More literally, the goddess that dwells in the Vindhya hills. Her shrine is near Mirzápúr.

2Dr. Brockhaus makes parusha a proper name.

3Ficus Indica.

4Pumán = Purusha, the spirit.

5Prakṛiti, the original source or rather passive power of creating the material world.


7The spirit was of course Brahmá whose head Śiva cut off.

8It appears from an article in Mélusine by A Bart, entitled An Ancient Manual of Sorcery, and consisting mainly of passages translated from Burnell’s Sámavidhána Bráhmaṇa, that this power can be acquired in the following way, “After a fast of three nights, take a plant of soma (Asclepias acida;) recite a certain formula and eat of the plant a thousand times, you will be able to repeat anything after hearing it once. Or bruise the flowers in water, and drink the mixture for a year. Or drink soma, that is to say the fermented juice of the plant for a month. Or do it always.” (Mélusine, 1878, p. 107; II, 7, 4–7.)

In the Milinda Pañho, (Pali Miscellany by V. Trenckner, Part. I, p. 14,) the child Nágasena learns the whole of the three Vedas by hearing them repeated once.

9A grammatical treatise on the rules regulating the euphonic combination of letters and their pronunciation peculiar to one of the different Śákhás or branches of the Vedas.—M. W. s. v.

10i. e., died.

11Here we have a pun which it is impossible to render in English. Anátha means without natural protectors and also poor.

12Taking chháyá in the sense of śobhá. It might mean “affording no shelter to the inmates.”

13Dr. Brockhaus translates the line—Von diesem wurde ich meinem Manne vermählt, um seinem Hauswesen vorzustehen.

14Like the Roman fascinum. guhya = phallus.

15I read tat for táh according to a conjecture of Professor E. B. Cowell’s. He informs me on the authority of Dr. Rost that the only variants are sá for táḥ and yoshitá for yoshitaḥ. Dr. Rost would take evamkrite as the dative of evamkrit. If táh be retained it may be taken as a repetition “having thus prepared it, I say, the women give it.” Professor Cowell would translate (if táḥ be retained) “the women then do not need to receive anything to relieve their fatigue during the cold and hot weather.”

Professor E. B. Cowell has referred me to an article by Dr. Liebrecht in the Zeitschrift der Morgenländischen Gesellschaft.

He connects the custom with that of the Jewish women mentioned in Jeremiah VII. 18, “The women knead their dough to make cakes to the queen of heaven,” and he quotes a curious custom practised on Palm Sunday in the town of Saintes. Dulaure states that in his time the festival was called there La fête des Pinnes; the women and children carried in the procession a phallus made of bread, which they called a pinne, at the end of their palm branches; those pinnes were subsequently blessed by the priest, and carefully preserved by the women during the year. This article has been republished by the learned author in his “Zur Volkskunde” (Heilbronn, 1879) p. 436 and f f. under the title of “der aufgegessene Gott.” It contains many interesting parallels to the custom described in the text.

16Literally bodiless—she heard the voice, but saw no man.

17Vara = excellent ruch = to please.

18I. e. Palibothra.

19Wilson remarks (Essays on Sanskrit Literature, Vol. I, p. 165). “The contemporary existence of Nanda with Vararuchi and Vyáḍi is a circumstance of considerable interest in the literary history of the Hindus, as the two latter are writers of note on philological topics. Vararuchi is also called in this work Kátyáyana, who is one of the earliest commentators on Páṇini. Nanda is the predecessor or one of the predecessors of Chandragupta or Sandrakottos; and consequently the chief institutes of Sanskrit grammar are thus dated from the fourth century before the Christian era. We need not suppose that Somadeva took the pains to be exact here; but it is satisfactory to be made acquainted with the general impressions of a writer who has not been biassed in any of his views by Pauránik legends and preposterous chronology.”

Chapter III.

Having thus spoken while Káṇabhúti was listening with intent mind, Vararuchi went on to tell his tale in the wood.

It came to pass in the course of time, that one day, when the reading of the Vedas was finished, the teacher Varsha, who had performed his daily ceremonies, was asked by us, “How comes it that such a city as this has become the home of Sarasvatí and Lakshmí,1 tell us that, O teacher.” Hearing this, he bade us listen, for that he was about to tell the history of the city.

Story of the founding of the city of Páṭaliputra.

There is a sanctifying place of pilgrimage, named Kanakhala, at the point where the Ganges issues from the hills,2 where the sacred stream was brought down from the table-land of mount Uśínara, by Kánchanapáta the elephant of the gods, having cleft it asunder.3 In that place lived a certain Bráhman from the Deccan, performing austerities in the company of his wife, and to him were born there three sons. In the course of time he and his wife went to heaven, and those sons of his went to a place named Rájagṛiha, for the sake of acquiring learning. And having studied the sciences there, the three, grieved at their unprotected condition, went to the Deccan in order to visit the shrine of the god Kártikeya. Then they reached a city named Chinchiní on the shore of the sea, and dwelt in the house of a Bráhman named Bhojika, and he gave them his three daughters in marriage, and bestowed on them all his wealth, and having no other children, went to the Ganges to perform austerities. And while they were living there in the house of their father-in-law, a terrible famine arose produced by drought, thereupon the three Bráhmans fled, abandoning their virtuous wives, (since no care for their families touches the hearts of cruel men,) then the middle one of the three sisters was found to be pregnant; and those ladies repaired to the house of Yajnadatta a friend of their father’s: there they remained in a miserable condition, thinking each on her own husband, (for even in calamity women of good family do not forget the [12]duties of virtuous wives). Now in course of time the middle one of the three sisters gave birth to a son, and they all three vied with one another in love towards him. So it happened once upon a time that, as Śiva was roaming through the air, the mother of Skanda4 who was reposing on Śiva’s breast, moved with compassion at seeing their love for their child, said to her husband, “My lord, observe, these three women feel great affection for this boy, and place hope in him, trusting that he may some day support them; therefore bring it about that he may be able to maintain them, even in his infancy.” Having been thus entreated by his beloved, Śiva, the giver of boons, thus answered her: I adopt him as my protégé, for in a previous birth he and his wife propitiated me, therefore he has been born on the earth to reap the fruit of his former austerities; and his former wife has been born again as Páṭalí the daughter of the king Mahendravarman, and she shall be his wife in this birth also. Having said this, that mighty god told those three virtuous women in a dream,—“This young son of yours shall be called Putraka; and every day when he awakes from sleep, a hundred thousand gold pieces shall be found under his pillow,5 and at last he shall become a king.” Accordingly, when he woke up from sleep, those virtuous daughters of Yajnadatta found the gold and rejoiced that their vows and prayers had brought forth fruit. Then by means of that gold Putraka having in a short time accumulated great treasure, became a king, for good fortune is the result of austerities.6 Once upon a time Yajnadatta said in private to Putraka,—“King, your father and uncles have gone away into the wide world on account of a famine, therefore give continually to Bráhmans, in order that they may hear of it and return: and now listen, I will tell you the story of Brahmadatta.”

Story of king Brahmadatta.7

“There lived formerly in Benares a king named Brahmadatta. He saw a pair of swans flying in the air at night. They shone with the lustre of gleaming gold, and were begirt with hundreds of white swans, and so looked like a sudden flash of lightning, surrounded by white clouds. And his desire to behold them again kept increasing so mightily that he took no pleasure in the delights of royalty. And then having taken counsel with his ministers he caused a fair tank to be made according to a design of his own, and gave to all living creatures security from injury. In a short time he perceived that those two swans had settled in that lake, and when they had become tame he asked them the reason of their golden plumage. And then those swans addressed the king with an articulate voice. ‘In a former [13]birth, O king, we were born as crows; and when we were fighting for the remains of the daily offering8 in a holy empty temple of Śiva, we fell down and died within a sacred vessel belonging to that sanctuary, and consequently we have been born as golden swans with a remembrance of our former birth’;—having heard this the king gazed on them to his heart’s content, and derived great pleasure from watching them.

“Therefore you will gain back your father and uncles by an unparalleled gift.” When Yajnadatta had given him this advice, Putraka did as he recommended; when they heard the tidings of the distribution those Bráhmans arrived: and when they were recognized they had great wealth bestowed on them, and were reunited to their wives. Strange to say, even after they have gone through calamities, wicked men having their minds blinded by want of discernment, are unable to put off their evil nature. After a time they hankered after royal power, and being desirous of murdering Putraka they enticed him under pretext of a pilgrimage to the temple of Durgá: and having stationed assassins in the inner sanctuary of the temple, they said to him, “First go and visit the goddess alone, step inside.” Thereupon he entered boldly, but when he saw those assassins preparing to slay him, he asked them why they wished to kill him. They replied, “We were hired for gold to do it by your father and uncles.” Then the discreet Putraka said to the assassins, whose senses were bewildered by the goddess, “I will give you this priceless jewelled ornament of mine. Spare me, I will not reveal your secret; I will go to a distant land.” The assassins said, “So be it,” and taking the ornament they departed, and falsely informed the father and uncles of Putraka that he was slain. Then those Bráhmans returned and endeavoured to get possession of the throne, but they were put to death by the ministers as traitors. How can the ungrateful prosper?

In the meanwhile that king Putraka, faithful to his promise, entered the impassable wilds of the Vindhya, disgusted with his relations: as he wandered about he saw two heroes engaged heart and soul in a wrestling-match, and he asked them who they were. They replied, “We are the two sons of the Asura Maya, and his wealth belongs to us, this vessel, and this stick, and these shoes; it is for these that we are fighting, and whichever of us proves the mightier is to take them.” When he heard this speech of theirs, Putraka said with a smile—“That is a fine inheritance for a man.” Then they said—“By putting on these shoes one gains the power of flying through the air; whatever is written with this staff turns out true; and whatever food a man wishes to have in the vessel is found there immediately.” [14]When he heard this, Putraka said—“What is the use of fighting? Make this agreement, that whoever proves the best man in running shall possess this wealth.”9 Those simpletons said—“Agreed”—and set off to run, while the prince put on the shoes and flew up into the air, taking with him the [15]staff and the vessel; then he went a great distance in a short time and saw beneath him a beautiful city named Ákarshiká and descended into it from the sky. He reflected with himself; “hetæræ are prone to deceive, Bráhmans are like my father and uncles, and merchants are greedy of wealth; in whose house shall I dwell?” Just at that moment he reached a lonely dilapidated house, and saw a single old woman in it; so he gratified that old woman with a present, and lived unobserved in that broken down old house, waited upon respectfully by the old woman.

Once upon a time the old woman in an affectionate mood said to Putraka—“I am grieved, my son, that you have not a wife meet for you. But here there is a maiden named Páṭalí, the daughter of the king, and she is preserved like a jewel in the upper story of a seraglio.” While he was listening to this speech of hers with open ear, the god of love found an unguarded point, and entered by that very path into his heart. He made up his mind that he must see that damsel that very day, and in the night flew up through the air to where she was, by the help of his magic shoes. He then entered by a window, which was as high above the ground as the peak of a mountain, and beheld that Páṭalí, asleep in a secret place in the seraglio, continually bathed in the moonlight that seemed to cling to her limbs: as it were the might of love in fleshly form reposing after the conquest of this world. While he was thinking how he should awake her, suddenly outside a watchman began to chant: “Young men obtain the fruit of their birth, when they awake the sleeping fair one, embracing her as she sweetly scolds, with her eyes languidly opening.” On hearing this encouraging prelude, he embraced that fair one with limbs trembling with excitement, and then she awoke. When she beheld that prince, there was a contest between shame and love in her eye, which was alternately fixed on his face and averted. When they had conversed together, and gone through the ceremony of the Gándharva marriage, that couple found their love continually increasing, as the night waned away. Then Putraka took leave of his sorrowing wife, and with his mind dwelling only on her went in the last watch of the night to the old woman’s house. So every night the prince kept going backwards and forwards, and at last the intrigue was discovered by the guards of the seraglio, accordingly they revealed the matter to the lady’s father, and he appointed a woman to watch secretly in the seraglio at night. She, finding the prince asleep, made a mark with red lac upon his garment to facilitate his recognition. In the morning she informed the king of what she had done, and he sent out spies in all directions, and Putraka was discovered by the mark and dragged out from the dilapidated house into the presence of the king. Seeing that the king was enraged, he flew up into the air with the help of the shoes, and entered the palace of Páṭalí. He said to her,—“We are discovered, therefore rise [16]up, let us escape with the help of the shoes, and so taking Páṭalí in his arms he flew away from that place through the air.10 Then descending from heaven near the bank of the Ganges, he refreshed his weary beloved with cakes provided by means of the magic vessel. When Páṭalí saw the power of Putraka she made a request to him, in accordance with which he sketched out with the staff a city furnished with a force of all four arms.11 In that city he established himself as king, and his great power having attained full development, he subdued that father-in-law of his, and became ruler of the sea-engirdled earth. This is that same divine city, produced by magic, together with its citizens; hence it bears the name of Páṭaliputra, and is the home of wealth and learning.

When we heard from the mouth of Varsha the above strange and extraordinarily marvellous story, our minds, O Káṇabhúti, were for a long time delighted with thrilling wonder.

1I. e., of learning and material prosperity.

2Literally the gate of the Ganges: it is now well known under the name of Haridvár (Hurdwar).

3Dr. Brockhaus renders the passage “wo Śiva die Jahnaví im goldenen Falle von den Gipfeln des Berges Uśínara herabsandte.”

4Skanda is Kártikeya and his mother is of course Durgá or Párvatí the consort of Śiva.

5This may be compared with Grimm’s No. 60, “Die zwei Brüder.” Each of the brothers finds every day a gold piece under his pillow. In one of Waldau’s Böhmische Märchen, Vogelkopf und Vogelherz (p. 90) a boy named Fortunat eats the heart of the Glücksvogel and under his pillow every day are found three ducats. See also Der Vogel Goldschweif, in Gaal’s Märchen der Magyaren, p. 195.

6In this case the austerities which he had performed in a former birth to propitiate Śiva.

7This story is, according to Dr. Rajendra Lál Mitra, found in a MS. called the Bodhisattva Avadána. (Account of the Buddhist Literature of Nepal, p. 53).

8I. e., bali, a portion of the daily meal offered to creatures of every description, especially the household spirits. Practically the bali generally falls to some crow, hence that bird is called balibhuj.

9A similar incident is found in Grimm’s Fairy Tales translated by Mrs. Paull, p. 370. The hero of the tale called the Crystal Ball finds two giants fighting for a little hat. On his expressing his wonder, “Ah”, they replied, “you call it old, you do not know its value. It is what is called a wishing-hat, and whoever puts it on can wish himself where he will, and immediately he is there.” “Give me the hat,” replied the young man, “I will go on a little way and when I call you must both run a race to overtake me, and whoever reaches me first, to him the hat shall belong.” The giants agreed and the youth taking the hat put it on and went away; but he was thinking so much of the princess that he forgot the giants and the hat, and continued to go further and further without calling them. Presently he sighed deeply and said, “Ah, if I were only at the Castle of the golden sun.”

Wilson (Collected Works, Vol. III, p. 169, note,) observes that “the story is told almost in the same words in the Bahár Dánish, a purse being substituted for the rod; Jahándár obtains possession of it, as well as the cup, and slippers in a similar manner. Weber [Eastern Romances, Introduction, p. 39] has noticed the analogy which the slippers bear to the cap of Fortunatus. The inexhaustible purse, although not mentioned here, is of Hindu origin also, and a fraudulent representative of it makes a great figure in one of the stories of the Daśa Kumára Charita” [ch. 2, see also L. Deslongchamps Essai sur les Fables Indiennes, Paris, 1838, p. 35 f. and Grässe, Sagen des Mittelalters, Leipzig, 1842, p. 19 f.] The additions between brackets are due to Dr. Reinholdt Rost the editor of Wilson’s Essays.

The Mongolian form of the story may be found in Sagas from the Far East, p. 24. A similar incident is also found in the Swedish story in Thorpe’s Scandinavian Tales, entitled “the Beautiful Palace East of the Sun and North of the Earth.” A youth acquires boots by means of which he can go a hundred miles at every step, and a cloak, that renders him invisible, in a very similar way.

I find that in the notes in Grimm’s 3rd Volume, page 168, (edition of 1856) the passage in Somadeva is referred to, and other parallels given. The author of these notes compares a Swedish story in Cavallius, p. 182, and Pröhle, Kindermärchen, No. 22. He also quotes from the Sidi Kür, the story to which I have referred in Sagas from the Far East, and compares a Norwegian story in Ashbjörnsen, pp. 53, 171, a Hungarian story in Mailath and Gaal, N. 7, and an Arabian tale in the continuation of the 1001 Nights. See also Sicilianische Märchen by Laura Gonzenbach, Part I, Story 31. Here we have a table-cloth, a purse, and a pipe. When the table-cloth is spread out one has only to say—Dear little table-cloth, give macaroni or roast-meat or whatever may be required, and it is immediately present. The purse will supply as much money as one asks it for, and the pipe is something like that of the pied piper of Hamelin,—every one who hears it must dance. Dr. Köhler in his notes, at the end of Laura Gonzenbach’s collection, compares (besides the story of Fortunatus, and Grimm III. 202,) Zingerle, Kinder- und Hausmärchen, II. 73 and 193. Curze, Popular Traditions from Waldock, p. 34. Gesta Romanorum, Chap. 120. Campbell’s Highland Tales, No. 10, and many others. The shoes in our present story may also be compared with the bed in the IXth Novel of the Xth day of the Decameron.

See also Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, p. 230 and Veckenstedt’s Wendische Sagen, p. 152.

See also the story of “Die Kaiserin Trebisonda” in a collection of South Italian tales by Woldemar Kaden, entitled “Unter den Olivenbäumen” and published in 1880. The hero of this story plays the same trick as Putraka, and gains thereby an inexhaustible purse, a pair of boots which enable the wearer to run like the wind, and a mantle of invisibility. See also “Beutel, Mäntelchen und Wunderhorn” in the same collection, and No. XXII in Miss Stokes’s Indian Fairy Tales. The story is found in the Avadánas translated by Stanislas Julien: (Lévêque, Mythes et Légendes de L’Inde et de la Perse, p. 570, Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 117.) M. Lévêque thinks that La Fontaine was indebted to it for his Fable of L’ Huître et les Plaideurs. See also De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, pp. 126–127, and 162.

We find a magic ring, brooch and cloth in No. XLIV of the English Gesta. See also Syrische Sagen und Märchen, von Eugen Prym und Albert Socin, p. 79, where there is a flying carpet. There is a magic table-cloth in the Bohemian Story of Büsmanda, (Waldau, p. 44) and a magic pot on p. 436 of the same collection; and a food-providing mesa in the Portuguese story of A Cacheirinha (Coelho, Contos Portuguezes, p. 58). In the Pentamerone No. 42 there is a magic chest. Kuhn has some remarks on the “Tischchen deck dich” of German tales in his Westfälische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 369.

For a similar artifice to Putraka’s, see the story entitled Fischer-Märchen in Gaal, Märchen der Magyaren, p. 168, Waldau, Böhmische Märchen, pp. 260 and 564, and Dasent’s Norse Tales, pp. 213 and 214.

10Compare the way in which Zauberer Vergilius carries off the daughter of the Sulṭán of Babylon, and founds the town of Naples, which he makes over to her and her children: (Simrock’s Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. VI, pp. 354, 355.) Dunlop is of opinion that the mediæval traditions about Vergil are largely derived from Oriental sources.

11I. e., infantry, cavalry, elephants, and archers.

Chapter IV.

Having related this episode to Káṇabhúti in the Vindhya forest, Vararuchi again resumed the main thread of his narrative.

While thus dwelling there with Vyáḍi and Indradatta, I gradually attained perfection in all sciences, and emerged from the condition of childhood. Once on a time when we went out to witness the festival of Indra, we saw a maiden looking like some weapon of Cupid, not of the nature of an arrow. Then, Indradatta, on my asking him who that lady might be, replied,—“She is the daughter of Upavarsha, and her name is Upakośá,” and she found out by means of her handmaids who I was, and drawing my soul after her with a glance made tender by love, she with difficulty managed to return to her own house. She had a face like a full moon, and eyes like a blue lotus, she had arms graceful like the stalk of a lotus, and a lovely full1 bosom; she had a neck marked with three lines like a shell,2 and magnificent coral lips; in short she was a second Lakshmí, so to speak, the store-house of the beauty of king Cupid. Then my heart was cleft by the stroke of love’s arrow, and I could not sleep that night through my desire to kiss her bimba3 lip. Having at last with difficulty gone off to [17]sleep, I saw, at the close of night, a celestial woman in white garments; she said to me—“Upakośá was thy wife in a former birth; as she appreciates merit, she desires no one but thee, therefore, my son, thou oughtest not to feel anxious about this matter. I am Sarasvatí4 that dwell continually in thy frame, I cannot bear to behold thy grief.” When she had said this, she disappeared. Then I woke up and somewhat encouraged I went slowly and stood under a young mango tree near the house of my beloved; then her confidante came and told me of the ardent attachment of Upakośá to me, the result of sudden passion: then I with my pain doubled, said to her, “How can I obtain Upakośá, unless her natural protectors willingly bestow her upon me? For death is better than dishonour; so if by any means your friend’s heart became known to her parents, perhaps the end might be prosperous.

“Therefore bring this about, my good woman, save the life of me and of thy friend.” When she heard this, she went and told all to her friend’s mother, she immediately told it to her husband Upavarsha, he to Varsha his brother, and Varsha approved of the match. Then, my marriage having been determined upon, Vyáḍi by the order of my tutor went and brought my mother from Kauśámbí; so Upakośá was bestowed upon me by her father with all due ceremonies, and I lived happily in Páṭaliputra with my mother and my wife.

Now in course of time Varsha got a great number of pupils, and among them there was one rather stupid pupil of the name of Páṇini; he, being wearied out with service, was sent away by the preceptor’s wife, and being disgusted at it and longing for learning, he went to the Himálaya to perform austerities: then he obtained from the god, who wears the moon as a crest, propitiated by his severe austerities, a new grammar, the source of all learning. Thereupon he came and challenged me to a disputation, and seven days passed away in the course of our disputation; on the eighth day he had been fairly conquered by me, but immediately afterwards a terrible menacing sound was uttered by Śiva in the firmament; owing to that our Aindra grammar was exploded in the world,5 and all of us, being conquered by Páṇini, became accounted fools. Accordingly full of despondency I deposited in the hand of the merchant Hiraṇyadatta my wealth for the maintenance of my house, and after informing Upakośá of it, I went fasting to mount Himálaya to propitiate Śiva with austerities.

Story of Upakośá and her four lovers.

Upakośá on her part anxious for my success, remained in her own house, bathing every day in the Ganges, strictly observing her vow. One [18]day, when spring had come, she being still beautiful, though thin and slightly pale, and charming to the eyes of men, like the streak of the new moon, was seen by the king’s domestic chaplain while going to bathe in the Ganges, and also by the head magistrate, and by the prince’s minister; and immediately they all of them became a target for the arrows of love. It happened too somehow or other that she took a long time bathing that day, and as she was returning in the evening, the prince’s minister laid violent hands on her, but she with great presence of mind said to him, “Dear Sir, I desire this as much as you, but I am of respectable family, and my husband is away from home. How can I act thus? Some one might perhaps see us, and then misfortune would befall you as well as me. Therefore you must come without fail to my house in the first watch of the night of the spring-festival when the citizens are all excited.”6 When she had said this, and pledged herself, he let her go, but, as chance would have it, she had not gone many steps further, before she was stopped by the king’s domestic chaplain. She made a similar assignation with him also for the second watch of the same night; and so he too was, though with difficulty, induced to let her go; but, after she had gone a little further, up comes a third person, the head magistrate, and detains the trembling lady. Then she made a similar assignation with him too for the third watch of the same night, and having by great good fortune got him to release her, she went home all trembling, and of her own accord told her handmaids the arrangements she had made, reflecting, “Death is better for a woman of good family when her husband is away, than to meet the eyes of people who lust after beauty.” Full of these thoughts and regretting me, the virtuous lady spent that night in fasting, lamenting her own beauty. Early the next morning she sent a maid-servant to the merchant Hiraṇyagupta to ask for some money in order that she might honour the Bráhmans: then that merchant also came and said to her in private, “Shew me love, and then I will give you what your husband deposited.” When she heard that, she reflected that she had no witness to prove the deposit of her husband’s wealth, and perceived that the merchant was a villain, and so tortured with sorrow and grief, she made a fourth and last assignation with him for the last watch of the same night; so he went away. In the meanwhile she had prepared by her handmaids in a large vat lamp-black mixed with oil and scented with musk and other perfumes, and she made ready four pieces of rag anointed with it, and she caused to be made a large trunk with a fastening outside. So on that day of the spring-festival the prince’s minister came in the first watch of the night in gorgeous array. When he had entered without being observed Upakośá said to him, “I will not receive you until you have bathed, so go in and bathe.” The simpleton agreed to [19]that, and was taken by the handmaids into a secret dark inner apartment. There they took off his under-garments and his jewels, and gave him by way of an under-garment a single piece of rag, and they smeared the rascal from head to foot with a thick coating of that lamp-black and oil, pretending it was an unguent, without his detecting it. While they continued rubbing it into every limb, the second watch of the night came and the chaplain arrived, the handmaids thereupon said to the minister,—“here is the king’s chaplain come, a great friend of Vararuchi’s, so creep into this box”—and they bundled him into the trunk, just as he was, all naked, with the utmost precipitation: and then they fastened it outside with a bolt. The priest too was brought inside into the dark room on the pretence of a bath, and was in the same way stripped of his garments and ornaments, and made a fool of by the handmaids by being rubbed with lamp-black and oil, with nothing but the piece of rag on him, until in the third watch the chief magistrate arrived. The handmaids immediately terrified the priest with the news of his arrival, and pushed him into the trunk like his predecessor. After they had bolted him in, they brought in the magistrate on the pretext of giving him a bath, and so he, like his fellows, with the piece of rag for his only garment, was bamboozled by being continually anointed with lamp-black, until in the last watch of the night the merchant arrived. The handmaids made use of his arrival to alarm the magistrate and bundled him also into the trunk, and fastened it on the outside. So those three being shut up inside the box, as if they were bent on accustoming themselves to live in the hell of blind darkness, did not dare to speak on account of fear, though they touched one another. Then Upakośá brought a lamp into the room, and making the merchant enter it, said to him, “give me that money which my husband deposited with you.” When he heard that, the rascal said, observing that the room was empty, “I told you that I would give you the money your husband deposited with me.” Upakośá calling the attention of the people in the trunk, said—“Hear, O ye gods this speech of Hiraṇyagupta.” When she had said this, she blew out the light, and the merchant, like the others, on the pretext of a bath was anointed by the handmaids for a long time with lamp-black. Then they told him to go, for the darkness was over, and at the close of the night they took him by the neck and pushed him out of the door sorely against his will. Then he made the best of his way home, with only the piece of rag to cover his nakedness, and smeared with the black dye, with the dogs biting him at every step, thoroughly ashamed of himself, and at last reached his own house; and when he got there he did not dare to look his slaves in the face while they were washing off that black dye. The path of vice is indeed a painful one. In the early morning Upakośá accompanied by her handmaids went, without informing her parents, to the palace of king [20]Nanda, and there she herself stated to the king that the merchant Hiraṇyagupta was endeavouring to deprive her of money deposited with him by her husband. The king in order to enquire into the matter immediately had the merchant summoned, who said—“I have nothing in my keeping belonging to this lady.” Upakośá then said, “I have witnesses, my lord; before he went, my husband put the household gods into a box, and this merchant with his own lips admitted the deposit in their presence. Let the box be brought here and ask the gods yourself.” Having heard this the king in astonishment ordered the box to be brought.

Thereupon in a moment that trunk was carried in by many men. Then Upakośá said—“Relate truly, O gods, what that merchant said and then go to your own houses; if you do not, I will burn you or open the box in court.” Hearing that, the men in the box, beside themselves with fear, said—“It is true, the merchant admitted the deposit in our presence.” Then the merchant being utterly confounded confessed all his guilt; but the king, being unable to restrain his curiosity, after asking permission of Upakośá, opened the chest there in court by breaking the fastening, and those three men were dragged out, looking like three lumps of solid darkness, and were with difficulty recognised by the king and his ministers. The whole assembly then burst out laughing, and the king in his curiosity asked Upakośá, what was the meaning of all this; so the virtuous lady told the whole story. All present in court expressed their approbation of Upakośá’s conduct, observing: “The virtuous behaviour of women of good family who are protected by their own excellent disposition7 only, is incredible.”

Then all those coveters of their neighbour’s wife were deprived of all their living, and banished from the country. Who prospers by immorality? Upakośá was dismissed by the king, who shewed his great regard for her by a present of much wealth, and said to her: “Henceforth thou art my sister,”—and so she returned home. Varsha and Upavarsha when they heard it, congratulated that chaste lady, and there was a smile of admiration on the face of every single person in that city.8[21]

In the meanwhile, by performing a very severe penance on the snowy mountain, I propitiated the god, the husband of Párvatí, the great giver of all good things; he revealed to me that same treatise of Páṇini; and in accordance with his wish I completed it: then I returned home without feeling the fatigue of the journey, full of the nectar of the favour of that god who wears on his crest a digit of the moon; then I worshipped the feet of my mother and of my spiritual teachers, and heard from them the wonderful achievement of Upakośá, thereupon joy and astonishment swelled to the upmost height in my breast, together with natural affection and great respect for my wife.

Now Varsha expressed a desire to hear from my lips the new grammar, and thereupon the god Kártikeya himself revealed it to him. And it came to pass that Vyáḍi and Indradatta asked their preceptor Varsha what fee they should give him? He replied, “Give me ten millions of gold pieces.” So they, consenting to the preceptor’s demand, said to me; “Come with us, friend, to ask the king Nanda to give us the sum required for our teacher’s fee; we cannot obtain so much gold from any other quarter: for he possesses nine hundred and ninety millions, and long ago he declared your wife Upakośá, his sister in the faith, therefore you are his brother-in-law; we shall obtain something for the sake of your virtues.” Having formed this resolution, we three fellow-students9 went to the camp of king Nanda in Ayodhyá, and the very moment we arrived, the king died; accordingly an outburst of lamentation arose in the kingdom, and we were reduced to despair. Immediately Indradatta, who was an adept in magic, said, “I will enter the body of this dead king10; let Vararuchi prefer the petition to me, and I will give him the gold, and let Vyáḍi guard my body until I return.” Saying this, Indradatta entered into the body of king Nanda, and when the king came to life again, there was great rejoicing in the kingdom. While Vyáḍi remained in an empty temple to guard the body of Indradatta, I went to the king’s palace. I entered, and after making the usual salutation, I asked the supposed Nanda for ten million gold pieces as my instructor’s fee. Then he ordered a man named Śakatála, the minister of the real Nanda, to give me ten million of gold pieces. That minister, when he saw that the dead king had come to life, and that the petitioner immediately got what he asked, guessed the real state of the case. What is there that the wise cannot understand? That minister said—“It shall be given, your Highness,” and reflected with himself; “Nanda’s son is but a child, and our realm is menaced by many enemies, so I will do my best for the present to [22]keep his body on the throne even in its present state.” Having resolved on this, he immediately took steps to have all dead bodies burnt, employing spies to discover them, and among them was found the body of Indradatta, which was burned after Vyáḍi had been hustled out of the temple. In the meanwhile the king was pressing for the payment of the money, but Śakatála, who was still in doubt, said to him, “All the servants have got their heads turned by the public rejoicing, let the Bráhman wait a moment until I can give it.” Then Vyáḍi came and complained aloud in the presence of the supposed Nanda, “Help, help, a Bráhman engaged in magic, whose life had not yet come to an end in a natural way, has been burnt by force on the pretext that his body was untenanted, and this in the very moment of your good fortune.”11 On hearing this the supposed Nanda was in an indescribable state of distraction from grief: but as soon as Indradatta was imprisoned in the body of Nanda, beyond the possibility of escape, by the burning of his body, the discreet Śakatála went out and gave me that ten millions.

Then the supposed Nanda,12 full of grief, said in secret to Vyáḍi,—“Though a Bráhman by birth I have become a Śúdra, what is the use of my royal fortune to me though it be firmly established?” When he heard that, Vyáḍi comforted him,13 and gave him seasonable advice, “You have been discovered by Śakatála, so you must henceforth be on your guard against him, for he is a great minister, and in a short time he will, when it suits his purpose, destroy you, and will make Chandragupta, the son of the previous Nanda, king. Therefore immediately appoint Vararuchi your minister, in order that your rule may be firmly established by the help of his intellect, which is of god-like acuteness.” When he had said this, Vyáḍi departed to give that fee to his preceptor, and immediately Yogananda sent for me and made me his minister. Then I said to the king, “Though your caste as a Bráhman has been taken from you, I do not consider your throne secure as long as Śakatála remains in office, therefore destroy him by some stratagem.” When I had given him this advice, Yogananda threw Śakatála into a dark dungeon, and his hundred sons with him,14 proclaiming as [23]his crime that he had burnt a Bráhman alive. One porringer of barley-meal and one of water was placed inside the dungeon every day for Śakatála and his sons, and thereupon he said to them;—“My sons, even one man alone would with difficulty subsist on this barley-meal, much less can a number of people do so. Therefore let that one of us, who is able to take vengeance on Yogananda, consume every day the barley-meal and the water.” His sons answered him, “You alone are able to punish him, therefore do you consume them.” For vengeance is dearer to the resolute than life itself. So Śakatála alone subsisted on that meal and water every day. Alas! those whose souls are set on victory are cruel. Śakatála in the dark dungeon, beholding the death agonies of his starving sons, thought to himself, “A man who desires his own welfare should not act in an arbitrary manner towards the powerful, without fathoming their character and acquiring their confidence.” Accordingly his hundred sons perished before his eyes, and he alone remained alive surrounded by their skeletons. Then Yogananda took firm root in his kingdom. And Vyáḍi approached him after giving the present to his teacher, and after coming near to him said, “May thy rule, my friend, last long! I take my leave of thee, I go to perform austerities somewhere.” Hearing that, Yogananda, with his voice choked with tears, said to him, “Stop thou, and enjoy pleasures in my kingdom, do not go and desert me.” Vyáḍi answered—“King! Life comes to an end in a moment. What wise man, I pray you, drowns himself in these hollow and fleeting enjoyments? Prosperity, a desert mirage, does not turn the head of the wise man.” Saying this he went away that moment resolved to mortify his flesh with austerities. Then that Yogananda went to his metropolis Páṭaliputra, for the purpose of enjoyment, accompanied by me, and surrounded with his whole army. So I, having attained prosperity, lived for a long time in that state, waited upon by Upakośá, and bearing the burden of the office of prime-minister to that king, accompanied by my mother and my preceptors. There the Ganges, propitiated by my austerities, gave me every day much wealth, and Sarasvatí present in bodily form told me continually what measures to adopt.

1Literally she was splendid with a full bosom, ... glorious with coral lips. For uttama in the 1st half of śloka 6 I read upama.

2Considered to be indicative of exalted fortune.—Monier Williams.

3The bimba being an Indian fruit, this expression may he paralleled by “currant lip” in the Two Noble Kinsmen I. I. 216 or “cherry lip” Rich. III. I. I. 94.

4Goddess of eloquence and learning.

5See Dr. Burnett’s “Aindra grammar” for the bearing of this passage on the history of Sanskrit literature.

6And will not observe you.

7Instead of the walls of a seraglio.

8This story occurs in Scott’s Additional Arabian Nights as the Lady of Cairo and her four Gallants, [and in his Tales and Anecdotes, Shrewsbury, 1800, p. 136, as the story of the Merchant’s wife and her suitors]. It is also one of the Persian tales of Arouya [day 146 ff.]. It is a story of ancient celebrity in Europe as Constant du Hamel or la Dame qui attrapa un Prêtre, un Prévôt et un Forestier [Le Grand d’Aussy, Fabliaux et Contes. Paris, 1829, Vol. IV, pp. 246–56]. It is curious that the Fabliau alone agrees with the Hindu original in putting the lovers out of the way and disrobing them by the plea of the bath. (Note in Wilson’s Essays on Sanskrit Literature, edited by Dr. Rost, Vol. I, p. 173.) See also a story contributed by the late Mr. Damant to the Indian Antiquary, Vol. IX, pp. 2 and 3, and the XXVIIIth story in Indian Fairy Tales collected and translated by Miss Stokes, with the note at the end of the volume. General Cunningham is of opinion that the dénouement of this story is represented in one of the Bharhut Sculptures; see his Stúpa of Bharhut, p. 53. A faint echo of this story is found in Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen, No. 55, pp. 359–362. Cp. also No. 72(b) in the Novellæ Morlini. (Liebrecht’s Dunlop, p. 497.)

Cp. the 67th Story in Coelho’s Contos Populares Portuguezes, and the 29th in the Pentamerone of Basile. There is a somewhat similar story in the English Gesta (Herrtage, No. XXV) in which three knights are killed.

A very similar story is quoted in Mélusine, p. 178, from Thorburn’s Bannu or our Afghan Frontier.

9Dr. Brockhaus translates “alle drei mit unsern Schülern.”

10This forms the leading event of the story of Fadlallah in the Persian tales. The dervish there avows his having acquired the faculty of animating a dead body from an aged Bráhman in the Indies. (Wilson.)

11Compare the story in the Panchatantra, Benfey’s Translation, p. 124, of the king who lost his body but eventually recovered it. Benfey in Vol. I, page 128, refers to some European parallels. Liebrecht in his Zur Volkskunde, p. 206, mentions a story found in Apollonius (Historia Mirabilium) which forms a striking parallel to this. According to Apollonius, the soul of Hermotimos of Klazomenæ left his body frequently, resided in different places, and uttered all kinds of predictions, returning to his body which remained in his house. At last some spiteful persons burnt his body in the absence of his soul. There is a slight resemblance to this story in Sagas from the Far East, p. 222. By this it may be connected with a cycle of European tales about princes with ferine skin &c. Apparently a treatise has been written on this story by Herr Varnhagen. It is mentioned in the Saturday Review of 22nd July, 1882 as, “Ein Indisches Märchen auf seiner Wanderung durch die Asiatischen und Europäischen Litteraturen.”

12Or Yogananda. So called as being Nanda by yoga or magic.

13I read áśvásya.

14Compare this with the story of Ugolino in Dante’s Inferno.

Chapter V.

Having said this, Vararuchi continued his tale as follows:—

In course of time Yogananda became enslaved by his passions, and like a mad elephant he disregarded every restraint. Whom will not a sudden access of prosperity intoxicate? Then I reflected with myself, “The king [24]has burst all bonds, and my own religious duties are neglected being interfered with by my care for his affairs, therefore it is better for me to draw out that Śakatála from his dungeon and make him my colleague in the ministry; even if he tries to oppose me, what harm can he do as long as I am in office?” Having resolved on this I asked permission of the king, and drew Śakatála out of the deep dungeon. Bráhmans are always soft-hearted. Now the discreet Śakatála made up his mind, that it would be difficult to overthrow Yogananda as long as I was in office, and that he had accordingly better imitate the cane which bends with the current, and watch a favourable moment for vengeance, so at my request he resumed the office of minister and managed the king’s affairs.

Once on a time Yogananda went outside the city, and beheld in the middle of the Ganges a hand, the five fingers of which were closely pressed together. That moment he summoned me and said, “What does this mean?” But I displayed two of my fingers in the direction of the hand. Thereupon that hand disappeared, and the king, exceedingly astonished, again asked me what this meant, and I answered him, “That hand meant to say, by shewing its five fingers, ‘What cannot five men united effect in this world?’ Then I, king, shewed it these two fingers, wishing to indicate that nothing is impossible when even two men are of one mind.” When I uttered this solution of the riddle the king was delighted, and Śakatála was despondent seeing that my intellect would be difficult to circumvent.

One day Yogananda saw his queen leaning out of the window and asking questions of a Bráhman guest that was looking up. That trivial circumstance threw the king into a passion, and he gave orders that the Bráhman should be put to death; for jealousy interferes with discernment. Then as that Bráhman was being led off to the place of execution in order that he might be put to death, a fish in the market laughed aloud, though it was dead.1 The king hearing it immediately prohibited for the present the execution of that Bráhman, and asked me the reason why the fish laughed. I replied that I would tell him after I had thought over the matter; and after I had gone out Sarasvatí came to me secretly on my thinking of her and gave me this advice; “Take up a position on the top [25]of this palm tree at night so as not to be observed, and thou shalt without doubt hear the reason why the fish laughed.” Hearing this I went at night to that very place, and ensconced myself on the top of the palm tree, and saw a terrible female Rákshasa coming past with her children; when they asked her for food, she said, “Wait, and I will give you to-morrow morning the flesh of a Bráhman, he was not killed to-day.”2 They said to their mother, “Why was he not killed to-day?” Then she replied, “He was not executed because a fish in the town, though dead, laughed when it saw him.” The sons said, “Why did the fish laugh?” She continued, “The fish of course said to himself—all the king’s wives are dissolute, for in every part of this harem there are men dressed up as women, and nevertheless while these escape, an innocent Bráhman is to be put to death—and this tickled the fish so that he laughed. For demons assume these disguises, insinuating themselves into everything, and laughing at the exceeding want of discernment of kings.” After I had heard that speech of the female Rákshasa I went away from thence, and in the morning I informed the king why the fish laughed. The king after detecting in the harem those men clothed as women, looked upon me with great respect, and released that Bráhman from the sentence of death.

I was disgusted by seeing this and other lawless proceedings on the part of the king, and, while I was in this frame of mind, there came to court a new painter. He painted on a sheet of canvas the principal queen and Yogananda, and that picture of his looked as if it were alive, it only lacked speech and motion. And the king being delighted loaded that painter with wealth, and had the painting set up on a wall in his private apartments. Now one day when I entered into the king’s private apartments, it occurred to me that the painting of the queen did not represent all her auspicious marks; from the arrangement of the other marks I conjectured by means of my acuteness that there ought to be a spot where the girdle comes, and I painted one there. Then I departed after thus giving the [26]queen all her lucky marks. Then Yogananda entered and saw that spot, and asked his chamberlains who had painted it. And they indicated me to him as the person who had painted it. Yogananda thus reflected while burning with anger; “No one except myself knows of that spot, which is in a part of the queen’s body usually concealed, then how can this Vararuchi have come thus to know it?3 No doubt he has secretly corrupted my harem, and this is how he came to see there those men disguised as women.” Foolish men often find such coincidences. Then of his own motion he summoned Śakatála, and gave him the following order: “You must put Vararuchi to death for seducing the queen.” Śakatála said, “Your Majesty’s orders shall be executed,” and went out of the palace, reflecting, “I should not have power to put Vararuchi to death, for he possesses godlike force of intellect; and he delivered me from calamity; moreover he is a Bráhman, therefore I had better hide him and win him over to my side.” Having formed this resolution, he came and told me of the king’s causeless wrath which had ended in his ordering my execution, and thus concluded, “I will have some one else put to death in order that the news may get abroad, and do you remain hidden in my house to protect me from this passionate king.” In accordance with this proposal of his, I remained concealed in his house, and he had some one else put to death at night in order that the report of my death might be spread.4 When he had in this way displayed his statecraft, I said to him out of affection, “You have shewn yourself an unrivalled minister in that you did not attempt to put me to death; for I cannot be slain, since I have a Rákshasa to friend, and he will come, on being only thought of, and at my request will devour the whole world. As for this king he is a friend of mine, being a Bráhman named Indradatta, and he ought not to be slain.” Hearing this, that minister said—“Shew me the Rákshasa.” Then I shewed him that Rákshasa who came with a thought; and on beholding him, Śakatála was astonished and terrified. And when the Rákshasa had disappeared, Śakatála again asked me—“How did the Rákshasa become your friend?” Then I said—“Long ago the heads of the police as they went through the city night after night on inspecting duty, perished one by one. On hearing that, Yogananda made me head of the police, and as I was on my rounds at night, I saw a Rákshasa roaming about, and he said to me, “Tell me, who is considered the best-looking woman in this city?” When I heard that, I burst out laughing and said—“You fool, any woman is good-looking to the man who admires her.” Hearing my answer, he said—“You are the only man that has beaten me.” And now that I had escaped death by solving his riddle,5 [27]he again said to me, “I am pleased with you, henceforth you are my friend, and I will appear to you when you call me to mind.” Thus he spoke and disappeared, and I returned by the way that I came. Thus the Rákshasa has become my friend, and my ally in trouble. When I had said this, Śakatála made a second request to me, and I shewed him the goddess of the Ganges in human form who came when I thought of her. And that goddess disappeared when she had been gratified by me with hymns of praise. But Śakatála became from thenceforth my obedient ally.

Now once on a time that minister said to me when my state of concealment weighed upon my spirits; “why do you, although you know all things, abandon yourself to despondency? Do you not know that the minds of kings are most undiscerning, and in a short time you will be cleared from all imputations;6 in proof of which listen to the following tale:—

The story of Śivavarman.

There reigned here long ago a king named Ádityavarman, and he had a very wise minister, named Śivavarman. Now it came to pass that one of that king’s queens became pregnant, and when he found it out, the king said to the guards of the harem, “It is now two years since I entered this place, then how has this queen become pregnant? Tell me.” Then they said, “No man except your minister Śivavarman is allowed to enter here, but he enters without any restriction.” When he heard that, the king thought,—“Surely he is guilty of treason against me, and yet if I put him to death publicly, I shall incur reproach,”—thus reflecting, that king sent that Śivavarman on some pretext to Bhogavarman a neighbouring chief,7 who was an ally of his, and immediately afterwards the king secretly sent off a messenger to the same chief, bearing a letter by which he was ordered to put the minister to death. When a week had elapsed after the minister’s departure, that queen tried to escape out of fear, and was taken by the guards with a man in woman’s attire, then Ádityavarman when he heard of it was filled with remorse, and asked himself why he had causelessly brought about the death of so excellent a minister. In the meanwhile Śivavarman reached the Court of Bhogavarman, and that messenger came bringing the letter; and fate would have it so that after Bhogavarman had read the letter he told to Śivavarman in secret the order he had received to put him to death.

The excellent minister Śivavarman in his turn said to that chief,—[28]“put me to death; if you do not, I will slay myself with my own hand.” When he heard that, Bhogavarman was filled with wonder, and said to him, “What does all this mean? Tell me Bráhman, if you do not, you will lie under my curse.” Then the minister said to him, “King, in whatever land I am slain, on that land God will not send rain for twelve years.” When he heard that, Bhogavarman debated with his minister,—“that wicked king desires the destruction of our land, for could he not have employed secret assassins to kill his minister? So we must not put this minister to death, moreover we must prevent him from laying violent hands on himself.” Having thus deliberated and appointed him guards, Bhogavarman sent Śivavarman out of his country that moment; so that minister by means of his wisdom returned alive, and his innocence was established from another quarter, for righteousness cannot be undone.

In the same way your innocence will be made clear, Kátyáyana; remain for a while in my house; this king too will repent of what he has done. When Śakatála said this to me, I spent those days concealed in his house, waiting my opportunity.

Then it came to pass that one day, O Káṇabhúti, a son of that Yogananda named Hiraṇyagupta went out hunting, and when he had somehow or other been carried to a great distance by the speed of his horse, while he was alone in the wood the day came to an end; and then he ascended a tree to pass the night. Immediately afterwards a bear, which had been terrified by a lion, ascended the same tree; he seeing the prince frightened, said to him with a human voice, “Fear not, thou art my friend,” and thus promised him immunity from harm. Then the prince confiding in the bear’s promise went to sleep, while the bear remained awake. Then the lion below said to the bear, “Bear, throw me down this man, and I will go away.” Then the bear said, “Villain, I will not cause the death of a friend.” When in course of time the bear went to sleep while the prince was awake, the lion said again, “Man, throw me down the bear.” When he heard that, the prince, who through fear for his own safety wished to propitiate the lion, tried to throw down the bear, but wonderful to say, it did not fall, since Fate caused it to awake. And then that bear said to the prince, “become insane, thou betrayer of thy friend,”8 laying upon him a curse destined not to end until a third person guessed the whole transaction. Accordingly the prince, when he reached his palace in the morning went out of his mind, and Yogananda seeing it, was immediately plunged in despondency; and said, “If Vararuchi were alive at this moment, all this matter would be known; curse on my readiness to have him put to death!” [29]Śakatála, when he heard this exclamation of the king’s, thought to himself, “Ha! here is an opportunity obtained for bringing Kátyáyana out of concealment, and he being a proud man will not remain here, and the king will repose confidence in me.” After reflecting thus, he implored pardon, and said to the king, “O King, cease from despondency, Vararuchi remains alive.” Then Yogananda said, “Let him be brought quickly.” Then I was suddenly brought by Śakatála into the presence of Yogananda and beheld the prince in that state; and by the favour of Sarasvatí I was enabled to reveal the whole occurrence; and I said, “King, he has proved a traitor to his friend”; then I was praised by that prince who was delivered from his curse; and the king asked me how I had managed to find out what had taken place. Then I said, “King, the minds of the wise see everything by inference from signs, and by acuteness of intellect. So I found out all this in the same way as I found out that mole.” When I had said this, that king was afflicted with shame. Then without accepting his munificence, considering myself to have gained all I desired by the clearing of my reputation, I went home: for to the wise character is wealth. And the moment I arrived, the servants of my house wept before me, and when I was distressed at it Upavarsha came to me and said, “Upakośá, when she heard that the king had put you to death, committed her body to the flames, and then your mother’s heart broke with grief.” Hearing that, senseless with the distraction produced by recently aroused grief, I suddenly fell on the ground like a tree broken by the wind: and in a moment I tasted the relief of loud lamentations; whom will not the fire of grief, produced by the loss of dear relations, scorch? Varsha came and gave me sound advice in such words as these, “The only thing that is stable in this ever-changeful world is instability, then why are you distracted though you know this delusion of the Creator”? By the help of these and similar exhortations I at length, though with difficulty, regained my equanimity; then with heart disgusted with the world, I flung aside all earthly lords, and choosing self-restraint for my only companion, I went to a grove where asceticism was practised.

Then, as days went by, once on a time a Bráhman from Ayodhyá came to that ascetic-grove while I was there: I asked him for tidings about Yogananda’s government, and he recognizing me told me in sorrowful accents the following story:

“Hear what happened to Nanda after you had left him. Śakatála after waiting for it a long time, found that he had now obtained an opportunity of injuring him. While thinking how he might by some device get Yogananda killed, he happened to see a Bráhman named Cháṇakya digging up the earth in his path; he said to him, “Why are you digging up the earth?” The Bráhman, whom he had asked, said, I am rooting up a plant [30]of darbha grass here, because it has pricked my foot.9 When he heard that, the minister thought that Bráhman who formed such stern resolves out of anger, would be the best instrument to destroy Nanda with. After asking his name he said to him, “Bráhman, I assign to you the duty of presiding at a śráddha on the thirteenth day of the lunar fortnight, in the house of king Nanda; you shall have one hundred thousand gold pieces by way of fee, and you shall sit at the board above all others; in the meanwhile come to my house.” Saying this, Śakatála took that Bráhman to his house, and on the day of the śráddha he showed the Bráhman to the king, and he approved of him. Then Cháṇakya went and sat at the head of the table during the śráddha, but a Bráhman named Subandhu desired that post of honour for himself. Then Śakatála went and referred the matter to king Nanda, who answered, “Let Subandhu sit at the head of the table, no one else deserves the place.” Then Śakatála went, and, humbly bowing through fear, communicated that order of the king’s to Cháṇakya, adding, “it is not my fault.” Then that Cháṇakya, being, as it were, inflamed all over with wrath, undoing the lock of hair on the crown of his head, made this solemn vow, “Surely this Nanda must be destroyed by me within seven days, and then my anger being appeased I will bind up my lock.” When he had said this, Yogananda was enraged; so Cháṇakya escaped unobserved, and Śakatála gave him refuge in his house. Then being supplied by Śakatála with the necessary instruments, that Bráhman Cháṇakya went somewhere and performed a magic rite; in consequence of this rite Yogananda caught a burning fever, and died when the seventh day arrived; and Śakatála, having slain Nanda’s son Hiraṇyagupta, bestowed the royal dignity upon Chandragupta a son of the previous Nanda. And after he had requested Cháṇakya, equal in ability to Bṛihaspati,10 to be Chandragupta’s prime-minister, and established him in the office, that minister, considering that all his objects had been accomplished, as he had wreaked his vengeance on Yogananda, despondent through sorrow for the death of his sons, retired to the forest.”11

After I had heard this, O Káṇabhúti, from the mouth of that Bráhman, I became exceedingly afflicted, seeing that all things are unstable; and on account of my affliction I came to visit this shrine of Durgá, and through her favour having beheld you, O my friend, I have remembered my former birth.[31]

And having obtained divine discernment I have told you the great tale: now as my curse has spent its strength, I will strive to leave the body; and do you remain here for the present, until there comes to you a Bráhman named Guṇáḍhya, who has forsaken the use of three languages,12 surrounded with his pupils, for he like myself was cursed by the goddess in anger, being an excellent Gaṇa Mályaván by name, who for taking my part has become a mortal. To him you must tell this tale originally told by Siva, then you shall be delivered from your curse, and so shall he.

Having said all this to Káṇabhúti, that Vararuchi set forth for the holy hermitage of Badariká in order to put off his body. As he was going along he beheld on the banks of the Ganges a vegetable-eating13 hermit, and while he was looking on, that hermit’s hand was pricked with kuśa grass. Then Vararuchi turned his blood, as it flowed out, into sap14 through his magic power, out of curiosity, in order to test his egotism; on beholding that, the hermit exclaimed, “Ha! I have attained perfection;” and so he became puffed up with pride. Then Vararuchi laughed a little and said to him, “I turned your blood into sap in order to test you, because even now, O hermit, you have not abandoned egotism. Egotism is in truth an obstacle in the road to knowledge hard to overcome, and without knowledge liberation cannot be attained even by a hundred vows. But the perishable joys of Svarga cannot attract the hearts of those who long for liberation, therefore, O hermit, endeavour to acquire knowledge by forsaking egotism.” Having thus read that hermit a lesson, and having been praised by him prostrate in adoration, Vararuchi went to the tranquil site of the hermitage of Badarí.15 There he, desirous of putting off his mortal condition, resorted for protection with intense devotion to that goddess who only can protect, and she manifesting her real form to him told him the secret of that meditation which arises from fire, to help him to put off the body. Then Vararuchi having consumed his body by that form of meditation, reached his own heavenly home; and henceforth that Káṇabhúti remained in the Vindhya forest eager for his desired meeting with Guṇáḍhya.[32]

1Dr. Liebrecht in Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 341 compares with this story one in the old French romance of Merlin. There Merlin laughs because the wife of the emperor Julius Cæsar had twelve young men disguised as ladies-in-waiting. Benfey, in a note on Dr. Liebrecht’s article, compares with the story of Merlin one by the Countess D’Aulnoy, No. 36 of the Pentamerone of Basile, Straparola IV. I, and a story in the Śuka Saptati. This he quotes from the translation of Demetrios Galanos. In this some cooked fish laugh so that the whole town hears them. The reason is the same as in the story of Merlin and in our text.

2Cp. the following passage in a Danish story called Svend’s exploits, in Thorpe’s Yuletide Stories, page 341. Just as he was going to sleep, twelve crows came flying and perched in the elder trees over Svend’s head. They began to converse together, and the one told the other what had happened to him that day. When they were about to fly away, one crow said, “I am so hungry; where shall I get something to eat?” “We shall have food enough to-morrow when father has killed Svend,” answered the crow’s brother. “Dost thou think then that such a miserable fellow dares fight with our father?” said another. “Yes, it is probable enough that he will, but it will not profit him much as our father cannot be overcome but with the Man of the Mount’s sword, and that hangs in the mound, within seven locked doors, before each of which are two fierce dogs that never sleep.” Svend thus learned that he should only be sacrificing his strength and life in attempting a combat with the dragon, before he had made himself master of the Man of the Mount’s sword. So Sigfrid hears two birds talking above his head in Hagen’s Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 345. In the story of Lalitánga extracted by Professor Nilmani Mukerjea from a collection of Jaina tales called the Kathá Kosha, and printed in his Sáhitya Parichaya, Part II, we have a similar incident.

3Compare the “mole cinque-spotted” in Cymbeline.

4Compare Measure for Measure.

5Cp. the story of Œdipus and the Mahábhárata, Vanaparvan, C. 312. where Yudhishṭhira is questioned by a Yaksha. Benfey compares Mahábhárata XIII (IV, 206) 5883–5918 where a Bráhman seized by a Rákshasa escaped in the same way. The reader will find similar questioning demons described in Veckenstedt’s Wendische Sagen, pp. 54–56, and 109.

6Reading chuddhis for the chudis of Dr. Brockhaus’ text.

7Sâmanta seems to mean a feudatory or dependent prince.

8Benfey considers that this story was originally Buddhistic. A very similar story is quoted by him from the Karmaśataka. (Panchatantra I, p. 209) cp. also c. 65 of this work.

9Probably his foot bled, and so he contracted defilement.

10The preceptor of the gods.

11See the Mudrá Rákshasa for another version of this story. (Wilson, Hindu Theatre, Vol. II.) Wilson remarks that the story is also told differently in the Puráṇas.

12Sanskrit, Prákrit and his own native dialect.

13I change Dr. Brockhaus’s Śákásana into Śákáśana.

14As, according to my reading, he ate vegetables, his blood was turned into the juice of vegetables. Dr. Brockhaus translates machte dass das herausströmende Blut zu Krystallen sich bildete.

15A celebrated place of pilgrimage near the source of the Ganges, the Bhadrinath of modern travellers. (Monier Williams, s. v.)

Chapter VI.

Then that Mályaván wandering about in the wood in human form, passing under the name of Guṇáḍhya, having served the king Sátaváhana, and having, in accordance with a vow, abandoned in his presence the use of Sanskrit and two other languages, with sorrowful mind came to pay a visit to Durgá, the dweller in the Vindhya hills; and by her orders he went and beheld Káṇabhúti. Then he remembered his origin and suddenly, as it were, awoke from sleep; and making use of the Paiśácha language, which was different from the three languages he had sworn to forsake, he said to Káṇabhúti, after telling him his own name; “Quickly tell me that tale which you heard from Pushpadanta, in order that you and I together, my friend, may escape from our curse.” Hearing that, Káṇabhúti bowed before him, and said to him in joyful mood, “I will tell you the story, but great curiosity possesses me, my lord, first tell me all your adventures from your birth, do me this favour.” Thus being entreated by him, Guṇáḍhya proceeded to relate as follows:

In Pratishṭhána1 there is a city named Supratishṭhita; in it there dwelt once upon a time an excellent Bráhman named Somaśarman, and he, my friend, had two sons Vatsa and Gulmaka, and he had also born to him a third child, a daughter named Śrutárthá. Now in course of time, that Bráhman and his wife died, and those two sons of his remained taking care of their sister. And she suddenly became pregnant. Then Vatsa and Gulma began to suspect one another, because no other man came in their sister’s way: thereupon Śrutárthá, who saw what was in their minds, said to those brothers,—“Do not entertain evil suspicions, listen, I will tell you the truth; there is a prince of the name of Kírtisena, brother’s son to Vásuki, the king of the Nágas;2 he saw me when I was going to bathe, thereupon he was overcome with love, and after telling me his lineage and his name, made me his wife by the Gándharva marriage; he belongs to the Bráhman race, and it is by him that I am pregnant.” When they heard this speech of their sister’s, Vatsa and Gulma said, “What confidence can we repose in all this?” Then she silently called to mind that Nága prince, [33]and immediately he was thought upon, he came and said to Vatsa and Gulma, “In truth I have made your sister my wife, she is a glorious heavenly nymph fallen down to earth in consequence of a curse, and you too have descended to earth for the same reason, but a son shall without fail be born to your sister here, and then you and she together shall be freed from your curse.” Having said this he disappeared, and in a few days from that time, a son was born to Śrutárthá; know me my friend as that son.3 At that very time a divine voice was heard from heaven, “This child that is born is an incarnation of virtue, and he shall be called Guṇáḍhya,4 and is of the Bráhman caste.” Thereupon my mother and uncles, as their curse had spent its force, died, and I for my part became inconsolable. Then I flung aside my grief, and though a child I went in the strength of my self-reliance to the Deccan to acquire knowledge. Then, having in course of time learned all sciences, and become famous, I returned to my native land to exhibit my accomplishments; and when I entered after a long absence into the city of Supratishṭhita, surrounded by my disciples, I saw a wonderfully splendid scene. In one place chanters were intoning according to prescribed custom the hymns of the Sáma Veda, in another place Bráhmans were disputing about the interpretation of the sacred books, in another place gamblers were praising gambling in these deceitful words, “Whoever knows the art of gambling, has a treasure in his grasp,” and in another place, in the midst of a knot of merchants, who were talking to one another about their skill in the art of making money, a certain merchant spoke as follows:

Story of the Mouse-merchant.

It is not very wonderful that a thrifty man should acquire wealth by wealth; but I long ago achieved prosperity without any wealth to start with. My father died before I was born, and then my mother was deprived by wicked relations of all she possessed. Then she fled through fear of them, watching over the safety of her unborn child, and dwelt in the house of Kumáradatta a friend of my father’s, and there the virtuous woman gave birth to me, who was destined to be the means of her future maintenance; and so she reared me up by performing menial drudgery. And as she was so poor, she persuaded a teacher by way of charity to give me some instruction in writing and ciphering. Then she said to me, “You are the son of a merchant, so you must now engage in trade, and there is a very rich merchant in this country called Viśákhila; he is in the habit of lending capital to poor men of good family, go and entreat him to give you something to start with.” Then I went to his house, and he at the very moment I entered, said in a rage to some merchant’s son; “you see this [34]dead mouse here upon the floor, even that is a commodity by which a capable man would acquire wealth, but I gave you, you good-for-nothing fellow, many dínárs,5 and so far from increasing them, you have not even been able to preserve what you got.” When I heard that, I suddenly said to that Viśákhila, “I hereby take from you that mouse as capital advanced;” saying this I took the mouse up in my hand, and wrote him a receipt for it, which he put in his strong box, and off I went. The merchant for his part burst out laughing. Well, I sold that mouse to a certain merchant as cat’s-meat for two handfuls of gram, then I ground up that gram, and taking a pitcher of water, I went and stood on the cross-road in a shady place, outside the city; there I offered with the utmost civility the water and gram to a band of wood-cutters;6 every wood-cutter gave me as a token of gratitude two pieces of wood; and I took those pieces of wood and sold them in the market; then for a small part of the price which I got for them, I bought a second supply of gram, and in the same way on a second day I obtained wood from the wood-cutters. Doing this every day I gradually acquired capital, and I bought from those wood-cutters all their wood for three days. Then suddenly there befell a dearth of wood on account of heavy rains, and I sold that wood for many hundred paṇas, with that wealth I set up a shop, and engaging in traffic, I have become a very wealthy man by my own ability. Then I made a mouse of gold, and gave it to that Viśákhila, then he gave me his daughter; and in consequence of my history I am known in the world by the name of Mouse. So without a coin in the world I acquired this prosperity. All the other merchants then, when they heard this story, were astonished. How can the mind help being amazed at pictures without walls?7

Story of the chanter of the Sáma Veda.

In another place a Bráhman who had got eight gold máshas as a present, a chanter of the Sáma Veda, received the following piece of advice from a man who was a bit of a roué, “You get enough to live upon by your position as a Bráhman, so you ought now to employ this gold for the purpose of learning the way of the world in order that you may become a knowing fellow.” The fool said “Who will teach me?” Thereupon the roué said to him, “This lady8 named Chaturiká, go to her house.” The [35]Bráhman said, “What am I to do there”? The roué replied—“Give her gold, and in order to please her make use of some sáma.”9 When he heard this, the chanter went quickly to the house of Chaturiká; when he entered, the lady advanced to meet him and he took a seat. Then that Bráhman gave her the gold and faltered out the request, “Teach me now for this fee the way of the world.” Thereupon the people who were there began to titter, and he, after reflecting a little, putting his hands together in the shape of a cow’s ear, so that they formed a kind of pipe, began, like a stupid idiot, to chant with a shrill sound the Sáma Veda, so that all the roués in the house came together to see the fun; and they said “Whence has this jackal blundered in here? Come, let us quickly give him the half-moon10 on his throat.” Thereupon the Bráhman supposing that the half-moon meant an arrow with a head of that shape, and afraid of having his head cut off, rushed out of the house, bellowing out, “I have learnt the way of the world;” then he went to the man who had sent him, and told him the whole story. He replied “when I told you to use sáma, I meant coaxing and wheedling; what is the propriety of introducing the Veda in a matter of this kind? The fact is, I suppose, that stupidity is engrained in a man who muddles his head with the Vedas?” So he spoke, bursting with laughter all the while, and went off to the lady’s house, and said to her, “Give back to that two-legged cow his gold-fodder.” So she laughing gave back the money, and when the Bráhman got it, he went back to his house as happy as if he had been born again.

Witnessing strange scenes of this kind at every step, I reached the palace of the king which was like the court of Indra. And then I entered it, with my pupils going before to herald my arrival, and saw the king Sátaváhana sitting in his hall of audience upon a jewelled throne, surrounded by his ministers, Śarvavarman and his colleagues, as Indra is by the gods. After I had blessed him and had taken a seat, and had been honoured by the king, Śarvavarman and the other ministers praised me in the following words, “This man, O king, is famous upon the earth as skilled in all lore, and therefore his name Guṇáḍhya11 is a true index of his nature.” Sátaváhana hearing me praised in this style by his ministers, was pleased with me and immediately entertained me honourably, and appointed me to the office of Minister. Then I married a wife, and lived there comfortably, looking after the king’s affairs and instructing my pupils.[36]

Once, as I was roaming about at leisure on the banks of the Godávarí out of curiosity, I beheld a garden called Devíkṛiti, and seeing that it was an exceedingly pleasant garden, like an earthly Nandana,12 I asked the gardener how it came there, and he said to me, “My lord, according to the story which we hear from old people, long ago there came here a certain Bráhman who observed a vow of silence and abstained from food, he made this heavenly garden with a temple; then all the Bráhmans assembled here out of curiosity, and that Bráhman being persistently asked by them told his history. There is in this land a province called Vakakachchha on the banks of the Narmadá, in that district I was born as a Bráhman, and in former times no one gave me alms, as I was lazy as well as poor; then in a fit of annoyance I quitted my house being disgusted with life, and wandering round the holy places, I came to visit the shrine of Durgá the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having beheld that goddess, I reflected, ‘People propitiate with animal offerings this giver of boons, but I will slay myself here, stupid beast that I am.’ Having formed this resolve, I took in hand a sword to cut off my head. Immediately that goddess being propitious, herself said to me, ‘Son, thou art perfected, do not slay thyself, remain near me;’ thus I obtained a boon from the goddess and attained divine nature; from that day forth my hunger and thirst disappeared; then once on a time, as I was remaining there, that goddess herself said to me, ‘Go, my son, and plant in Pratishṭhána a glorious garden;’ thus speaking, she gave me, with her own hands, heavenly seed; thereupon I came here and made this beautiful garden by means of her power; and this garden you must keep in good order. Having said this, he disappeared. In this way this garden was made by the goddess long ago, my lord.” When I had heard from the gardener this signal manifestation of the favour of the goddess, I went home penetrated with wonder.

The story of Sátaváhana.

When Guṇáḍhya had said this, Káṇabhúti asked, “Why, my lord, was the king called Sátaváhana?” Then Guṇáḍhya said, Listen, I will tell you the reason. There was a king of great power named Dvípikarṇi. He had a wife named Śaktimatí, whom he valued more than life, and once upon a time a snake bit her as she was sleeping in the garden. Thereupon she died, and that king thinking only of her, though he had no son, took a vow of perpetual chastity. Then once upon a time the god of the moony crest said to him in a dream—“While wandering in the forest thou shalt behold a boy mounted on a lion, take him and go home, he shall be thy son.” Then the king woke up, and rejoiced remembering that dream, and one day in his passion for the chase he went to a distant wood; there in the middle of the day that king beheld on the bank of a lotus-lake a boy [37]splendid as the sun, riding on a lion; the lion desiring to drink water set down the boy, and then the king remembering his dream slew it with one arrow. The creature thereupon abandoned the form of a lion, and suddenly assumed the shape of a man; the king exclaimed, “Alas! what means this? tell me!” and then the man answered him—“O king, I am a Yaksha of the name of Sáta, an attendant upon the god of wealth; long ago I beheld the daughter of a Ṛishi bathing in the Ganges; she too, when she beheld me, felt love arise in her breast, like myself: then I made her my wife by the Gándharva form of marriage; and her relatives, finding it out, in their anger cursed me and her, saying, “You two wicked ones, doing what is right in your own eyes, shall become lions.” The hermit-folk appointed that her curse should end when she gave birth to offspring, and that mine should continue longer, until I was slain by thee with an arrow. So we became a pair of lions; she in course of time became pregnant, and then died after this boy was born, but I brought him up on the milk of other lionesses, and lo! to-day I am released from my curse having been smitten by thee with an arrow. Therefore receive this noble son which I give thee, for this thing was foretold long ago by those hermit-folk.” Having said this that Guhyaka named Sáta disappeared,13 and the king taking the boy went home; and because he had ridden upon Sáta he gave the boy the name of Sátaváhana, and in course of time he established him in his kingdom. Then, when that king Dvípikarṇi went to the forest, this Sátaváhana became sovereign of the whole earth.

Having said this in the middle of his tale in answer to Káṇabhúti’s question, the wise Guṇáḍhya again called to mind and went on with the main thread of his narrative. Then once upon a time, in the spring festival that king Sátaváhana went to visit the garden made by the goddess, of which I spake before. He roamed there for a long time like Indra in the garden of Nandana, and descended into the water of the lake to amuse himself in company with his wives. There he sprinkled his beloved ones sportively with water flung by his hands, and was sprinkled by them in return like an elephant by its females. His wives with faces, the eyes of which were slightly reddened by the collyrium washed into them, and which were streaming with water, and with bodies the proportions of which were revealed by their clinging garments, pelted him vigorously; and as the wind strips the creepers in the forest of leaves and flowers, so he made his fair ones who fled into the adjoining shrubbery lose the marks on their foreheads14 and their ornaments. Then one of his queens tardy [38]with the weight of her breasts, with body tender as a śirísha flower, became exhausted with the amusement; she not being able to endure more, said to the king who was sprinkling her with water,—“do not pelt me with water-drops;” on hearing that, the king quickly had some sweetmeats15 brought; then the queen burst out laughing and said again—“king, what do we want with sweetmeats in the water? For I said to you, do not sprinkle me with water-drops. Do you not even understand the coalescence of the words má and udaka, and do you not know that chapter of the grammar,—how can you be such a blockhead?” When the queen, who knew grammatical treatises, said this to him, and the attendants laughed, the king was at once overpowered with secret shame; he left off romping in the water and immediately entered his own palace unperceived, crest-fallen, and full of self-contempt. Then he remained lost in thought, bewildered, averse to food and other enjoyments, and, like a picture, even when asked a question, he answered nothing. Thinking that his only resource was to acquire learning or die, he flung himself down on a couch, and remained in an agony of grief. Then all the king’s attendants, seeing that he had suddenly fallen into such a state, were utterly beside themselves to think what it could mean. Then I and Śarvavarman came at last to hear of the king’s condition, and by that time the day was almost at an end. So perceiving that the king was still in an unsatisfactory condition, we immediately summoned a servant of the king named Rájahansa. And he, when asked by us about the state of the king’s health, said this—“I never before in my life saw the king in such a state of depression: and the other queens told me with much indignation that he had been humiliated to-day by that superficial blue-stocking, the daughter of Vishṇuśakti.” When Śarvavarman and I had heard this from the mouth of the king’s servant, we fell into a state of despondency, and thus reflected in our dilemma; “If the king were afflicted with bodily disease, we might introduce the physicians, but if his disease is mental it is impossible to find the cause of it. For there is no enemy in his country the thorns of which are destroyed, and these subjects are attached to him; no dearth of any kind is to be seen; so how can this sudden melancholy of the king’s have arisen?” After we had debated to this effect, the wise Śarvavarman said as follows—“I know the cause, this king is distressed by sorrow for his own ignorance, for he is always expressing a desire for culture, saying ‘I am a blockhead;’ I long ago detected this desire of his, and we have heard that the occasion of the present fit is his having been humiliated by the queen.” Thus we debated with one another and after [39]we had passed that night, in the morning we went to the private apartments of the sovereign. There, though strict orders had been given that no one was to enter, I managed to get in with difficulty, and after me Śarvavarman slipped in quickly. I then sat down near the king and asked him this question—“Why, O king, art thou without cause thus despondent?” Though he heard this, Sátaváhana nevertheless remained silent, and then Śarvavarman uttered this extraordinary speech, “King, thou didst long ago say to me, ‘Make me a learned man.’ Thinking upon that I employed last night a charm to produce a dream.16 Then I saw in my dream a lotus fallen from heaven, and it was opened by some heavenly youth, and out of it came a divine woman in white garments, and immediately, O king, she entered thy mouth. When I had seen so much I woke up, and I think without doubt that the woman who visibly entered thy mouth was Sarasvatí.” As soon as Śarvavarman had in these terms described his dream, the king broke his silence and said to me with the utmost earnestness,—“In how short a time can a man, who is diligently taught, acquire learning? Tell me this. For without learning all this regal splendour has no charms for me. What is the use of rank and power to a blockhead? They are like ornaments on a log of wood.” Then I said, “King, it is invariably the case that it takes men twelve years to learn grammar, the gate to all knowledge. But I, my sovereign, will teach it you in six years.” When he heard that, Śarvavarman suddenly exclaimed in a fit of jealousy—“How can a man accustomed to enjoyment endure hardship for so long? So I will teach you grammar, my prince, in six months.” When I heard this promise which it seemed impossible to make good, I said to him in a rage, “If you teach the king in six months, I renounce at once and for ever Sanskrit, Prakṛit, and the vernacular dialect, these three languages which pass current among men;”17 then Śarvavarman said—“And if I do not do this, I Śarvavarman, will carry your shoes on my head for twelve years.” Having said this he went out; I too went home; and the king for his part was comforted, expecting that he would attain his object by means of one of us two. Now Śarvavarman being in a dilemma, seeing that his promise was one very difficult to perform, and regretting what he had done, told the whole story to his wife, and she grieved to hear it said to him, “My lord, in this difficulty there is no way of escape for you except the favour of the Lord Kártikeya.”18 “It is so,” said Śarvavarman and determined to implore it. Accordingly [40]in the last watch of the night, Śarvavarman set out fasting for the shrine of the god. Now I came to hear of it by means of my secret emissaries, and in the morning I told the king of it; and he, when he heard it, wondered what would happen. Then a trusty Rájpút called Sinhagupta said to him, “When I heard, O king, that thou wast afflicted I was seized with great despondency. Then I went out of this city, and was preparing to cut off my own head before the goddess Durgá in order to ensure thy happiness. Then a voice from heaven forbade me, saying, ‘Do not so, the king’s wish shall be fulfilled.’ Therefore, I believe, thou art sure of success.” When he had said this, that Sinhagupta took leave of the king, and rapidly despatched two emissaries after Śarvavarman; who feeding only on air, observing a vow of silence, steadfast in resolution, reached at last the shrine of the Lord Kártikeya. There, pleased with his penance that spared not the body, Kártikeya favoured him according to his desire; then the two spies sent by Sinhagupta came into the king’s presence and reported the minister’s success. On hearing that news the king was delighted and I was despondent, as the cháṭaka joys, and the swan grieves, on seeing the cloud.19 Then Śarvavarman arrived successful by the favour of Kártikeya, and communicated to the king all the sciences, which presented themselves to him on his thinking of them. And immediately they were revealed to the king Sátaváhana. For what cannot the grace of the Supreme Lord accomplish? Then the kingdom rejoiced on hearing that the king had thus obtained all knowledge, and there was high festival kept throughout it; and that moment banners were flaunted from every house, and being fanned by the wind, seemed to dance. Then Śarvavarman was honoured with abundance of jewels fit for a king by the sovereign, who bowed humbly before him, calling him his spiritual preceptor, and he was made governor of the territory called Vakakachchha, which lies along the bank of the Narmadá. The king being highly pleased with that Rájpút Sinhagupta, who first heard by the mouth of his spies, that the boon had been obtained from the six-faced god,20 made him equal to himself in splendour and power. And that queen too, the daughter of Vishṇuśakti, who was the cause of his acquiring learning, he exalted at one bound above all the queens, through affection anointing21 her with his own hand.[41]

1Pratishṭhána according to Wilson is celebrated as the capital of Śaliváhana. It is identifiable with Peytan on the Godávarí, the Bathana or Paithana of Ptolemy,—the capital of Siripolemaios. Wilson identifies this name with Śaliváhana, but Dr. Rost remarks that Lassen more correctly identifies it with that of Śrí Pulimán of the Andhra dynasty who reigned at Pratishṭhána after the overthrow of the house of Śaliváhana about 130 A. D.

2Fabulous serpent-demons having the head of a man with the tail of a serpent.—(Monier Williams, s. v.)

3It seems to me that tvam in Dr. Brockhaus’ text must be a misprint for tam.

4I. e., rich in virtues, and good qualities.

5From the Greek δηνάριον = denarius. (Monier Williams s. v.) Dramma = Gr. δραχμὴ is used in the Panchatantra; see Dr. Bühler’s Notes to Panchatantra, IV and V, Note on p. 40, l. 3.

6Literally wood-carriers.

7He had made money without capital, so his achievements are compared to pictures suspended in the air?


9The vita or roué meant “conciliation” but the chanter of the Sáma Veda took it to mean “hymn.”

10I. e., seize him with curved hand, and fling him out neck and crop. The Precentor supposed them to mean a crescent-headed arrow.

11I.e., rich in accomplishments.

12Indra’s pleasure-ground or Elysium. For a similar Zaubergarten see Liebrecht’s translation of Dunlop’s History of Fiction, p. 251, and note 325; and Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. I, p. 224. To this latter story there is a very close parallel in Játaka No. 220, (Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 188) where Sakko makes a garden for the Bodhisattva, who is threatened with death by the king, if it is not done.

13Guhyaka here synonymous with Yaksha. The Guhyakas like the Yakshas are attendants upon Kuvera the god of wealth.

14The tilaka a mark made upon the forehead or between the eyebrows with coloured earths, sandal-wood, &c., serving as an ornament or a sectarial distinction. Monier Williams s. v.

15The negative particle má coalesces with udakaih (the plural instrumental case of udaka) into modakaih, and modakaih (the single word) means “with sweetmeats.” The incident is related in Táránátha’s Geschichte des Buddhismus in Indien, uebersetzt von Schiefner, p. 74.

16So explained by Böhtlingk and Roth s. v. cp. Taranga 72 śl. 103.

17He afterwards learns to speak in the language of the Piśáchas, goblins, or ogres.

18Called also Kumára. This was no doubt indicated by the Kumára or boy, who opened the lotus.

19The cháṭaka lives on rain-drops, but the poor swan has to take a long journey to the Mánasa lake beyond the snowy hills, at the approach of the rainy season.


21More literally sprinkling her with water. See also the 60th Tale in Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen, Vol. II, p. 17.

Chapter VII.

Then, having taken a vow of silence, I came into the presence of the sovereign, and there a certain Bráhman recited a śloka he had composed, and the king himself addressed him correctly in the Sanskrit language; and the people who were present in court were delighted when they witnessed that. Then the king said deferentially to Śarvavarman—“Tell me thyself after what fashion the god shewed thee favour.” Hearing that, Śarvavarman proceeded to relate to the king the whole story of Kártikeya’s favourable acceptance of him.

“I went, O king, on that occasion fasting and silent from this place, so when the journey came to an end, being very despondent, and emaciated with my severe austerities, worn out I fell senseless on the ground. Then, I remember, a man with a spear in his hand came and said to me in distinct accents, ‘Rise up, my son, everything shall turn out favourably for thee.’ By that speech I was, as it were, immediately bedewed with a shower of nectar, and I woke up, and seemed free from hunger and thirst and in good ease. Then I approached the neighbourhood of the god’s temple, overpowered with the weight of my devotion, and after bathing I entered the inner shrine of the god in a state of agitated suspense. Then that Lord Skanda1 gave me a sight of himself within, and thereupon Sarasvatí in visible shape entered my mouth. So that holy god, manifested before me, recited the sútra beginning ‘the traditional doctrine of letters.’ On hearing that, I, with the levity which is so natural to mankind, guessed the next sútra and uttered it myself. Then that god said to me, ‘if thou hadst not uttered it thyself, this grammatical treatise would have supplanted that of Páṇini. As it is, on account of its conciseness, it shall be called Kátantra, and Kálápaka, from the tail (kalápa) of the peacock on which I ride.’ Having said this, that god himself in visible form revealed to me that new and short grammar,2 and then added this besides; ‘That king of thine in a former birth was himself a holy sage, a pupil of the hermit Bharadvája, named Kṛishṇa, great in austerity: and he, having beheld a [42]hermit’s daughter who loved him in return, suddenly felt the smart of the wound which the shaft of the flowery-arrowed god inflicts. So, having been cursed by the hermits, he has now become incarnate here, and that hermit’s daughter has become incarnate as his queen.

So this king Sátaváhana, being an incarnation of a holy sage,3 when he beholds thee, will attain a knowledge of all the sciences according to thy wish. For the highest matters are easily acquired by great-souled ones, having been learnt in a former birth, the real truth of them being recalled by their powerful memories.’4 When the god had said this, he disappeared, and I went out, and there grains of rice were presented me by the god’s servants. Then I proceeded to return, O king, and wonderful to say, though I consumed those grains on my journey day after day, they remained as numerous as ever.” When he had related his adventure, Śarvavarman ceased speaking, and king Sátaváhana in cheerful mood rose up and went to bathe.

Then I, being excluded from business by my vow of silence, took leave, with a low bow only, of that king who was very averse to part with me, and went out of that town, accompanied by only two disciples, and, with my mind bent on the performance of austerities, came to visit the shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having been directed by the goddess in a dream to visit thee, I entered for that purpose this terrible Vindhya forest. A hint given by a Pulinda enabled me to find a caravan, and so somehow or other, by the special favour of destiny, I managed to arrive here, and beheld this host of Piśáchas, and by hearing from a distance their conversation with one another, I have contrived to learn this Paiśácha language, which has enabled me to break my vow of silence; I then made use of it to ask after you, and, hearing that you had gone to Ujjayiní, I waited here until your return; on beholding you I welcomed you in the fourth language, (the speech of the Piśáchas), and then I called to mind my origin; this is the story of my adventures in this birth.

When Guṇáḍhya had said this, Káṇabhúti said to him,—“hear, how your arrival was made known to me last night. I have a friend, a Rákshasa of the name of Bhútivarman, who possesses heavenly insight; and I went to a garden in Ujjayiní, where he resides. On my asking him when my own curse would come to an end, he said, we have no power in the day, wait, and I will tell you at night. I consented and when night came on, I asked him earnestly the reason why goblins5 delighted in disporting [43]themselves then, as they were doing. Then Bhútivarman said to me, ‘Listen, I will relate what I heard Śiva say in a conversation with Brahmá. Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Piśáchas have no power in the day, being dazed with the brightness of the sun, therefore they delight in the night. And where the gods are not worshipped, and the Bráhmans, in due form, and where men eat contrary to the holy law, there also they have power. Where there is a man who abstains from flesh, or a virtuous woman, there they do not go. They never attack chaste men, heroes, and men awake.’6 When he said this on that occasion Bhútivarman continued, ‘Go, for Guṇáḍhya has arrived, the destined means of thy release from the curse.’ So hearing this, I have come, and I have seen thee, my lord; now I will relate to thee that tale which Pushpadanta told; but I feel curiosity on one point; tell me why he was called Pushpadanta and thou Mályaván.”

Story of Pushpadanta.

Hearing this question from Káṇabhúti, Guṇáḍhya said to him. On the bank of the Ganges there is a district granted to Bráhmans by royal charter, named Bahusuvarṇaka, and there lived there a very learned Bráhman named Govindadatta, and he had a wife Agnidattá who was devoted to her husband. In course of time that Bráhman had five sons by her. And they, being handsome but stupid, grew up insolent fellows. Then a guest came to the house of Govindadatta, a Bráhman Vaiśvánara by name, like a second god of fire.7 As Govindadatta was away from home when he arrived, he came and saluted his sons, and they only responded to his salute with a laugh; then that Bráhman in a rage prepared to depart from his house. While he was in this state of wrath Govindadatta came, and asked the cause, and did his best to appease him, but the excellent Bráhman nevertheless spoke as follows—“Your sons have become outcasts, as being blockheads, and you have lost caste by associating with them, therefore I will not eat in your house; if I did so, I should not be able to purify myself by any expiatory ceremony.” Then Govindadatta said to him with an oath, “I will never even touch these wicked sons of mine.” His hospitable wife also came and said the same to her guest; then Vaiśvánara was with difficulty induced to accept their hospitality. One of Govindadatta’s sons, named Devadatta, when he saw that, was grieved at his father’s sternness, and thinking a life of no value which was thus branded by his parents, went in a state of despondency to the hermitage of Badariká to perform penance; there he first ate leaves, and afterwards he fed only on smoke, persevering in a long course of austerities in order to propitiate the husband of Umá8. So Śambhu,8 won over by his severe austerities, manifested [44]himself to him, and he craved a boon from the god, that he might ever attend upon him. Śambhu thus commanded him—“Acquire learning, and enjoy pleasures on the earth, and after that thou shalt attain all thy desire.” Then he, eager for learning, went to the city of Páṭaliputra, and according to custom waited on an instructor named Vedakumbha. When he was there, the wife of his preceptor distracted by passion, which had arisen in her heart, made violent love to him; alas! the fancies of women are ever inconstant! Accordingly Devadatta left that place, as his studies had been thus interfered with by the god of love, and went to Pratishṭhána with unwearied zeal. There he repaired to an old preceptor named Mantrasvámin, with an old wife, and acquired a perfect knowledge of the sciences. And after he had acquired learning, the daughter of the king Suśarman, Śrí by name, cast eyes upon the handsome youth, as the goddess Śrí upon Vishṇu. He also beheld that maiden at a window, looking like the presiding goddess of the moon, roaming through the air in a magic chariot. Those two were, as it were, fastened together by that look which was the chain of love, and were unable to separate. The king’s daughter made him a sign to come near with one finger, looking like Love’s command in fleshly form. Then he came near her, and she came out of the women’s apartments, and took with her teeth a flower and threw it down to him. He, not understanding this mysterious sign made by the princess, puzzled as to what he ought to do, went home to his preceptor. There he rolled on the ground unable to utter a word, being consumed within with burning pain, like one dumb and distracted; his wise preceptor guessing what was the matter by these love-symptoms, artfully questioned him, and at last he was with difficulty persuaded to tell the whole story. Then the clever preceptor guessed the riddle, and said to him,9 “By letting drop a flower with her tooth she made a sign to you, that you were to go to this temple rich in flowers called Pushpadanta, and wait there: so you had better go now.” When he heard this and knew the meaning of the sign, the youth forgot his grief. Then he went into that temple and remained there. The princess on her part also went there, giving as an excuse that it was the eighth day of the month, and then entered the inner shrine in order to present herself alone before the god; then she touched her lover who was behind the panel of the door, and he suddenly springing up threw his arms round her neck. She exclaimed, “this is strange; how did you guess the meaning of that sign of mine?” He replied, “it was my preceptor that found it out, not I.” Then the princess flew into a passion and said, “Let me go, you are a dolt,” and immediately rushed out of the temple, fearing that her secret would be discovered. Devadatta on his part went away, and thinking in solitude on his beloved, who was no sooner seen [45]than lost to his eyes, was in such a state that the taper of his life was well nigh melted away in the fire of bereavement. Śiva, who had been before propitiated by him, commanded an attendant of his, of the name of Panchaśikha, to procure for him the desire of his heart. That excellent Gaṇa thereupon came, and consoled him, and caused him to assume the dress of a woman, and he himself wore the semblance of an aged Bráhman. Then that worthy Gaṇa went with him to king Suśarman the father of that bright-eyed one, and said to him; “My son has been sent away somewhere, I go to seek him: accordingly I deposit with thee this daughter-in-law of mine, keep her safely, O king.” Hearing that, king Suśarman afraid of a Bráhman’s curse, took the young man and placed him in his daughter’s guarded seraglio, supposing him to be a woman. Then after the departure of Panchaśikha, the Bráhman dwelt in woman’s clothes in the seraglio of his beloved, and became her trusted confidante. Once on a time the princess was full of regretful longing at night, so he discovered himself to her and secretly married her by the Gándharva form of marriage. And when she became pregnant, that excellent Gaṇa came on his thinking of him only, and carried him away at night without its being perceived. Then he quickly rent off from the young man his woman’s dress, and in the morning Panchaśikha resumed the semblance of a Bráhman; and going with the young man to the king Suśarman he said; “O king, I have this day found my son: so give me back my daughter-in-law.” Then the king, supposing that she had fled somewhere at night, alarmed at the prospect of being cursed by the Bráhman, said this to his ministers. “This is no Bráhman, this is some god come to deceive me, for such things often happen in this world.

Story of king Śivi.

So in former times there was a king named Śivi, self-denying, compassionate, generous, resolute, the protector of all creatures; and in order to beguile him Indra assumed the shape of a hawk, and swiftly pursued Dharma,10 who by magic had transformed himself into a dove. The dove in terror went and took refuge in the bosom of Śivi. Then the hawk addressed the king with a human voice; ‘O king, this is my natural food, surrender the dove to me, for I am hungry. Know that my death will immediately follow if you refuse my prayer; in that case where will be your righteousness?’ Then Śivi said to the god,—‘this creature has fled to me for protection, and I cannot abandon it, therefore I will give you an equal weight of some other kind of flesh.’ The hawk said, ‘if this be so, then give me your own flesh.’ The king, delighted, consented to do so. But as fast as he cut off his flesh and threw it on the scale, the dove seemed to weigh more and more in the balance. Then the king threw his whole body on to the scale, and thereupon a celestial voice was heard, ‘Well done! this [46]is equal in weight to the dove.’ Then Indra and Dharma abandoned the form of hawk and dove, and being highly pleased restored the body of king Śivi whole as before, and, after bestowing on him many other blessings, they both disappeared. In the same way this Bráhman is some god that has come to prove me.”11

Having said this to his ministers, that king Suśarman of his own motion said to that excellent Gaṇa that had assumed the form of a Bráhman, prostrating himself before him in fear, “Spare me; that daughter-in-law of thine was carried off last night. She has been taken somewhere or other by magic arts, though guarded night and day.” Then the Gaṇa, who had assumed the Bráhman’s semblance, pretending to be with difficulty won over to pity him, said, “If this be so, king, give thy daughter in marriage to my son.” When he heard this, the king afraid of being cursed, gave his own daughter to Devadatta: then Panchaśikha departed. Then Devadatta having recovered his beloved, and that in an open manner, flourished in the power and splendour of his father-in-law who had no son but him. And in course of time Suśarman anointed the son of his daughter by Devadatta, Mahídhara by name, as successor in his room, and retired to the forest. Then having seen the prosperity of his son, Devadatta considered that he had attained all his objects, and he too with the princess retired to the forest. There he again propitiated Śiva, and having laid aside his mortal body, by the special favour of the god he attained the position of a Gaṇa. Because he did not understand the sign given by the flower dropped from the tooth of his beloved, therefore he became known by the name of Pushpadanta in the assembly of the Gaṇas. And his wife became a door-keeper in the house of the goddess, under the name of Jayá: this is how he came to be called Pushpadanta: now hear the origin of my name.

Long ago I was a son of that same Bráhman called Govindadatta the father of Devadatta, and my name was Somadatta. I left my home indignant for the same reason as Devadatta, and I performed austerities on the Himálaya continually striving to propitiate Śiva with offerings of many garlands. The god of the moony crest, being pleased, revealed himself to me in the same way as he did to my brother, and I chose the privilege of attending upon him as a Gaṇa, not being desirous of lower pleasures. The husband of the daughter of the mountain, that mighty god, thus addressed [47]me; “Because I have been worshipped by thee with garlands of flowers growing in trackless forest-regions, brought with thy own hand, therefore thou shalt be one of my Gaṇas, and shalt bear the name of Mályaván.” Then I cast off my mortal frame, and immediately attained the holy state of an attendant on the god. And so my name of Mályaván was bestowed upon me by him who wears the burden of the matted locks,12 as a mark of his special favour. And I, that very Mályaván, have once more, O Káṇabhúti, been degraded to the state of a mortal, as thou seest, owing to the curse of the daughter of the mountain, therefore do thou now tell me the tale told by Śiva, in order that the state of curse of both of us may cease.

Note to Chapter VII.

“Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Piśáchas have no power in the day, being dazed with the brightness of the sun therefore they delight in the night.”

Farmer commenting on Hamlet, Act I, Sc. I, 150, quotes the following lines of Prudentius Ad Gallicinium. Ferunt vagantes dæmonas, Lætos tenebris noctium, Gallo canente exterritos, Sparsim timere et cedere. Hoc esse signum præscii Norunt repromissæ spei, Qua nos soporis liberi Speramus adventum Dei. Douce quotes from another hymn said to have been composed by Saint Ambrose and formerly used in the Salisbury service. Præco dici jam sonat, Noctis profundæ pervigil; Nocturna lux viantibus, A nocte noctem segregans. Hoc excitatus Lucifer Solvit polum caligine; Hoc omnis errorum cohors Viam nocendi deserit. Gallo canente spes redit &c.

See also Grössler’s Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 58 and 59; the Pentamerone of Basile, translated by Liebrecht, Vol. I, p. 251; Dasent’s Norse Tales, p. 347, “The Troll turned round, and, of course, as soon as he saw the sun, he burst;” Grimm’s Irische Märchen, p. x; Kuhn’s Westfälische Märchen, p. 63; Schöppner’s Sagenbuch der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, pp. 123, and 228; and Bernhard Schmidt’s Griechische Märchen, p. 138. He quotes the following interesting passage from the Philopseudes of Lucian, Συνῆν ἄχρι δὴ ἀλεκτρυόνων ἠκούσαμεν ᾳδόντων τότε δὴ ἥ τε Σελήνη ἀνέπτατο εἰς τὸν οὐρανὸν καὶ ἡ Ἑκάτη ἔδυ κατὰ τῆς γῆς, καὶ τὰ ἄλλα φάσματα ἠφανίσθη, &c.

1Skanda is another name of Kártikeya.

2This grammar is extensively in use in the eastern parts of Bengal. The rules are attributed to Śarvavarman, by the inspiration of Kártikeya, as narrated in the text. The vṛitti or gloss is the work of Durgá Singh and that again is commented on by Trilochana Dása and Kavirája. Vararuchi is the supposed author of an illustration of the Conjugations and Srípati Varmá of a Supplement. Other Commentaries are attributed to Gopí Nátha, Kula Chandra and Viśveśvara. (Note in Wilson’s Essays, Vol. I. p. 183.)


4Sanskára means tendency produced by some past influence, often works in a former birth. This belief seems to be very general in Wales, see Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, p. 113. See also Kuhn’s Herabkunft des Feuers, p. 93, De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, p. 285.

5For the idea cp. Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 1. (towards the end) and numerous other passages in the same author.

6Brockhaus renders it Fromme, Helden und Weise.

7Vaiśvánara is an epithet of Agni or Fire.


9Cp. the 1st story in the Vetála Panchavinśati, Chapter 75 of this work. See also Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, p. 241, where Prince Ivan by the help of his tutor Katoma propounds to the Princess Anna the fair, a riddle which enables him to win her as his wife.

10The god of justice.

11Benfey considers this story as Buddhistic in its origin. In the “Memoires Sur les Contrées Occidentales traduits du Sanscrit par Hiouen Thsang et du Chinois par Stanislas Julien” we are expressly told that Gautama Buddha gave his flesh to the hawk as Śivi in a former state of existence. It is told of many other persons, see Benfey’s Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 388, cp. also Campbell’s West Highland Tales, p. 239, Vol. I, Tale XVI. M. Lévêque (Les Mythes et Légendes de L’Inde p. 327) connects this story with that of Philemon and Baucis. He lays particular stress upon the following lines of Ovid:[572]

Unicus anser erat, minimæ custodia villæ

Quem Dîs hospitibus domini mactare parabant:

Ille celer penna tardos ætate fatigat,

Eluditque diu, tandemquo est visus ad ipsos

Confugisse deos. Superi vetuere necari.

See also Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, Vol. II, pp. 187, 297 and 414.

12I. e., Śiva.

Chapter VIII.

In accordance with this request of Guṇáḍhya that heavenly tale consisting of seven stories was told by Káṇabhúti in his own language, and Guṇáḍhya for his part using the same Paiśácha language threw them into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition, wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And so the Vidyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it, and the heaven above where Káṇabhúti was reciting, was, as it were, continually covered with a canopy. And Káṇabhúti, when he had seen that great tale composed by Guṇáḍhya, was released from his curse and went to his own place. There were also other Piśáchas that accompanied him in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard that heavenly tale. Then that great poet [48]Guṇáḍhya began to reflect, “I must make this Great Tale1 of mine current on the earth, for that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom shall I give it?” Then his two disciples that had followed him, one of whom was called Guṇadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him, “The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to, for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the wind diffuses the perfume of the flower.” “So be it,” said Guṇáḍhya, and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishṭhána, but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess, where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same time that it was the work of Guṇáḍhya. When he heard that Paiśácha language and saw that they had the appearance of Piśáchas, that king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, “The seven hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paiśácha language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away with this Paiśácha tale.” Then the two pupils took the book, and returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance to Guṇáḍhya. Guṇáḍhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars, buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage, and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes, unable to quit the spot.2

In the meanwhile king Sátaváhana fell sick. And the physicians said that his illness was due to eating meat wanting in nutritive qualities. And when the cooks were scolded for it, they said—“The hunters bring in to us flesh of this kind.” And when the hunters were taken to task, they said,—“On a hill not very far from here there is a Bráhman reading, who throws into the fire every leaf as soon as he has read it; so all the animals go there and listen without ever grazing, they never wander anywhere else, consequently this flesh of theirs is wanting in nutritive properties on account [49]of their going without food.” When he heard this speech of the hunters he made them shew him the way, and out of curiosity went in person to see Guṇáḍhya, and he beheld him owing to his forest life overspread with matted locks, that looked like the smoke of the fire of his curse, that was almost extinguished.

Then the king recognized him as he stood in the midst of the weeping animals, and after he had respectfully saluted him, he asked him for an explanation of all the circumstances. That wise Bráhman then related to the king in the language of the demons his own history as Pushpadanta, giving an account of the curse and all the circumstances which originated the descent of the tale to earth. Then the king, discovering that he was an incarnation of a Gaṇa, bowed at his feet, and asked him for that celestial tale that had issued from the mouth of Śiva. Then Guṇáḍhya said to that king Sátaváhana; “O king I have burnt six tales containing six hundred thousand couplets; but here is one tale consisting of a hundred thousand couplets, take that:3 and these two pupils of mine shall explain it to you.” So spake Guṇáḍhya and took leave of the king, and then by strength of devotion laid aside his earthly body, and released from the curse ascended to his own heavenly home. Then the king took that tale which Guṇáḍhya had given, called Vṛihat Kathá, containing the adventures of Naraváhanadatta, and went to his own city. And there he bestowed on Guṇadeva and Nandideva, the pupils of the poet who composed that tale, lands, gold, garments, beasts of burden, palaces, and treasures. And having recovered the sense of that tale with their help, Sátaváhana composed the book named Kathápíṭha, in order to shew how the tale came to be first made known in the Paiśácha language. Now that tale was so full of various interest, that men were so taken up with it as to forget the tales of the gods, and after producing that effect in the city it attained uninterrupted renown in the three worlds.[51]

1Vṛihat Kathá.

2Compare the story of Orpheus.

3It is unnecessary to remind the reader of the story of the Sibyl.

Book II.
Called Kathámukha.

This nectarous tale sprang in old time from the mouth of Śiva, set in motion by his love for the daughter of the Himálaya, as the nectar of immortality sprang from the sea, when churned by the mountain Mandara. Those who drink eagerly the nectar of this tale, have all impediments removed and gain prosperity, and by the favour of Śiva attain, while living upon earth, the high rank of gods.

Chapter IX.

May the water of Śiva’s sweat, fresh from the embrace of Gaurí,1 which the god of love when afraid of the fire of Śiva’s eye, employs as his aqueous weapon, protect you.

Listen to the following tale of the Vidyádharas, which the excellent Gaṇa Pushpadanta heard on mount Kailása from the god of the matted locks, and which Káṇabhúti heard on the earth from the same Pushpadanta after he had become Vararuchi, and which Guṇáḍhya heard from Káṇabhúti, and Sátaváhana heard from Guṇáḍhya.

Story of Udayana king of Vatsa.

There is a land famous under the name of Vatsa, that appears as if it had been made by the Creator as an earthly rival to dash the pride of heaven. In the centre of it is a great city named Kauśámbí, the favourite dwelling-place of the goddess of prosperity; the ear-ornament, so to speak, of the earth. In it dwelt a king named Śatáníka, sprung from the Páṇḍava family, he was the son of Janamejaya, and the grandson of king Paríkshit, who was the great-grandson of Abhimanyu. The first progenitor of his race was Arjuna, the might of whose strong arms was tested in a struggle with the mighty arms of Śiva;2 his wife was the earth, and also Vishṇumatí [52]his queen; the first produced jewels, but the second did not produce a son. Once on a time, as that king was roaming about in his passion for the chase, he made acquaintance in the forest with the hermit Śándilya. That worthy sage finding out that the king desired a son, came to Kauśámbí and administered to his queen an artfully prepared oblation3 consecrated with mystic verses. Then he had a son born to him called Sahasráníka. And his father was adorned by him as excellence is by modesty. Then in course of time Śatáníka made that son crown-prince and though he still enjoyed kingly pleasures, ceased to trouble himself about the cares of government. Then a war arose between the gods and Asuras, and Indra sent Mátali as a messenger to that king begging for aid. Then he committed his son and his kingdom to the care of his principal minister, who was called Yogandhara, and his Commander-in-chief, whose name was Supratíka, and went to Indra with Mátali to slay the Asuras in fight. That king, having slain many Asuras, of whom Yamadanshṭra was the chief, under the eyes of Indra, met death in that very battle. The king’s body was brought back by Mátali, and the queen burnt herself with it, and the royal dignity descended to his son Sahasráníka. Wonderful to say, when that king ascended his father’s throne, the heads of the kings on every side of his dominions were bent down with the weight. Then Indra sent Mátali, and brought to heaven that Sahasráníka, as being the son of his friend, that he might be present at the great feast which he was holding to celebrate his victory over his foes. There the king saw the gods, attended by their fair ones, sporting in the garden of Nandana, and desiring for himself a suitable wife, fell into low spirits. Then Indra, perceiving this desire of his, said to him; “King, away with despondency, this desire of thine shall be accomplished. For there has been born upon the earth one, who was long ago ordained a suitable match for thee. For listen to the following history, which I now proceed to relate to thee.

“Long ago I went to the court of Brahmá in order to visit him, and a certain Vasu named Vidhúma followed me. While we were there, an Apsaras4 named Alambushá came to see Brahmá, and her robe was blown aside by the wind. And the Vasu, when he beheld her, was overpowered by love, and the Apsaras too had her eyes immediately attracted by his form. The lotus-sprung god,5 when he beheld that, looked me full in the face, and I, knowing his meaning, in wrath cursed those two, ‘Be born, you two, shameless creatures, into the world of mortals, and there become man and [53]wife.’ That Vasu has been born as thou, Sahasráníka, the son of Śatáníka, an ornament to the race of the moon. And that Apsaras too has been born in Ayodhyá as the daughter of king Kṛitavarman, Mṛigávatí by name, she shall be thy wife.” By these words of Indra the flame of love was fanned in the passionate6 heart of the king and burst out into full blaze; as a fire when fanned by the wind. Indra then dismissed the king from heaven with all due honour in his own chariot, and he set out with Mátali7 for his capital. But as he was starting, the Apsaras Tilottamá said to him out of affection, “King I have somewhat to say to thee, wait a moment.” But he, thinking on Mṛigávatí, went off without hearing what she said, then Tilottamá in her rage cursed him; “King, thou shalt be separated for fourteen years from her who has so engrossed thy mind that thou dost not hear my speech.” Now Mátali heard that curse, but the king, yearning for his beloved, did not. In the chariot he went to Kauśámbí but in spirit he went to Ayodhyá. Then the king told with longing heart, all that he had heard from Indra with reference to Mṛigávatí, to his ministers, Yogandhara and the others: and not being able to endure delay, he sent an ambassador to Ayodhyá to ask her father Kṛitavarman for the hand of that maiden. And Kṛitavarman having heard from the ambassador his commission, told in his joy the queen Kalávatí, and then she said to him—“King we ought certainly to give Mṛigávatí to Sahasráníka, and, I remember, a certain Bráhman told me this very thing in a dream”; then in his delight the king showed to the ambassador Mṛigávatí’s wonderful skill in dancing, singing, and other accomplishments, and her matchless beauty; so the king Kṛitavarman gave to Sahasráníka that daughter of his who was unequalled as a mine of graceful arts, and who shone like an incarnation of the moon; that marriage of Sahasráníka and Mṛigávatí was one in which the good qualities of either party supplemented those of the other, and might be compared to the union of learning and intelligence.

Not long after sons were born to the king’s ministers; Yogandhara had a son born to him named Yaugandharáyaṇa; and Supratíka had a son born to him named Rumaṇvat. And to the king’s master of the revels was born a son named Vasantaka. Then in a few days Mṛigávatí became slightly pale and promised to bear a child to king Sahasráníka. And then she asked the king, who was never tired of looking at her, to gratify her longing by filling a tank full of blood for her to bathe in. Accordingly the king, who was a righteous man, in order to gratify her desire, had a tank filled with the juice of lac and other red extracts, so that it seemed to be full of blood.8 And while she was bathing in that lake, and covered [54]with red dye, a bird of the race of Garuḍa9 suddenly pounced upon her and carried her off thinking she was raw flesh. As soon as she was carried away in some unknown direction by the bird, the king became distracted, and his self-command forsook him as if in order to go in search of her. His heart was so attached to his beloved that it was in very truth carried off by that bird, and thus he fell senseless upon the earth. As soon as he had recovered his senses, Mátali, who had discovered all by his divine power, descended through the air and came where the king was. He consoled the king, and told him the curse of Tilottamá with its destined end, as he had heard it long ago, and then he took his departure. Then the king tormented with grief lamented on this wise; “Alas my beloved, that wicked Tilottamá has accomplished her desire.” But having learned the facts about the curse, and having received advice from his ministers, he managed, though with difficulty, to retain his life through hope of a future reunion.

But that bird, which had carried off Mṛigávatí, as soon as it found out that she was alive, abandoned her, and as fate would have it, left her on the mountain where the sun rises. And when the bird let her drop and departed, the queen, distracted with grief and fear, saw that she was left unprotected on the slope of a trackless mountain. While she was weeping in the forest, alone, with one garment only to cover her, an enormous serpent rose up and prepared to swallow her. Then she, for whom prosperity was reserved in the future, was delivered by some heavenly hero that came down and slew the serpent, and disappeared almost as soon as he was seen. Thereupon she, longing for death, flung herself down in front of a wild elephant, but even he spared her as if out of compassion. Wonderful was it that even a wild beast did not slay her when she fell in his way! Or rather it was not to be wondered at. What cannot the will of Śiva effect?

Then the girl tardy with the weight of her womb, desiring to hurl herself down from a precipice, and thinking upon that lord of hers, wept aloud; and a hermit’s son, who had wandered there in search of roots and fruits, hearing that, came up, and found her looking like the incarnation [55]of sorrow. And he, after questioning the queen about her adventures, and comforting her as well as he could, with a heart melted with compassion led her off to the hermitage of Jamadagni. There she beheld Jamadagni, looking like the incarnation of comfort, whose brightness so illumined the eastern mountain that it seemed as if the rising sun ever rested on it. When she fell at his feet, that hermit who was kind to all that came to him for help, and possessed heavenly insight, said to her who was tortured with the pain of separation; “Here there shall be born to thee, my daughter, a son that shall uphold the family of his father, and thou shalt be reunited to thy husband, therefore weep not.” When that virtuous woman heard that speech of the hermit’s, she took up her abode in that hermitage, and entertained hope of a reunion with her beloved. And some days after, the blameless one gave birth to a charmingly beautiful son, as association with the good produces good manners. At that moment a voice was heard from heaven; “an august king of great renown has been born, Udayana by name, and his son shall be monarch of all the Vidyádharas.” That voice restored to the heart of Mṛigávatí joy which she had long forgotten. Gradually that boy grew up to size and strength in that grove of asceticism, accompanied by his own excellent qualities as playmates. And the heroic child had the sacraments appropriate to a member of the warrior-caste performed for him by Jamadagni, and was instructed by him in the sciences, and the practice of archery. And out of love for him Mṛigávatí drew off from her own wrist, and placed on his, a bracelet marked with the name of Sahasráníka. Then that Udayana roaming about once upon a time in pursuit of deer, beheld in the forest a snake that had been forcibly captured by a Śavara.10 And he, feeling pity for the beautiful snake, said to that Śavara, “Let go this snake to please me.” Then that Śavara said, “My lord, this is my livelihood, for I am a poor man, and I always maintain myself by exhibiting dancing snakes. The snake I previously had having died, I searched through this great wood, and, finding this one, overpowered him by charms and captured him.” When he heard this, the generous Udayana gave that Śavara the bracelet which his mother had bestowed on him, and persuaded him to set the snake at liberty. The Śavara took the bracelet and departed, and then the snake being pleased with Udayana bowed before him and said as follows, “I am the eldest brother of Vásuki,11 called Vasunemi: receive from me, whom thou hast preserved, this lute, sweet in the sounding of its strings, divided according to the division of the quarter-tones; [56]and betel leaf, together with the art of weaving unfading garlands, and adorning the forehead with marks that never become indistinct.” Then Udayana furnished with all these, and dismissed by the snake, returned to the hermitage of Jamadagni, raining nectar, so to speak, into the eyes of his mother.

In the meanwhile that Śavara who had lighted on this forest, and while roaming about in it had obtained the bracelet from Udayana by the will of fate, was caught attempting to sell this ornament marked with the king’s name in the market, and was arrested by the police, and brought up in court before the king. Then king Sahasráníka himself asked him in sorrow whence he had obtained the bracelet. Then that Śavara told him the whole story of his obtaining possession of the bracelet, beginning with his capture of the snake upon the eastern mountain. Hearing that from the Śavara, and beholding that bracelet of his beloved, king Sahasráníka ascended the swing of doubt.

Then a divine voice from heaven delighted the king who was tortured with the fire of separation, as the rain-drops delight the peacock when afflicted with the heat, uttering these words—“Thy curse is at an end, O king, and that wife of thine Mṛigávatí is residing in the hermitage of Jamadagni together with thy son.” Then that day at last came to an end, though made long by anxious expectation, and on the morrow that king Sahasráníka, making the Śavara show him the way, set out with his army for that hermitage on the eastern mountain, in order quickly to recover his beloved wife.


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