Chapter XXIX
Then in the morning Somaprabhá took with her a basket, in
which she had placed many excellent mechanical dolls of wood with magic
properties in order to amuse her friend, and travelling through the air she
came again to Kalingasená. And when Kalingasená saw her, she was full of tears
of joy, and rising up she threw her arms round her neck, and said to her, as
she sat by her side—“The dark night of three watches has this time seemed to me
to be of a hundred watches without the sight of the full moon of your
countenance. So, if you know, my friend, tell me of what kind may have been my
union with you in a former birth, of which this present friendship is the
result.” When Somaprabhá heard this, she said to that princess: “Such knowledge
I do not possess, for I do not remember my former birth; and hermits are not
acquainted with this, but if any know, they are perfectly acquainted with the
highest truth, and they are the original founders of the science by which it is
attained.” When she had spoken thus, Kalingasená, being full of curiosity,
again asked her in private in a voice tender from love and confidence, “Tell
me, friend, of what divine father you have adorned the race by your birth,
since you are completely virtuous like a beautifully-rounded pearl. And what,
auspicious one, is your name, that is nectar to the ears of the world. What is
the object of this basket? And what thing is there in it?” On hearing this
affectionate speech from Kalingasená, Somaprabhá began to tell the whole story
in due course.
“There is a mighty Asura of the name of Maya, famous in
the three worlds. And he, abandoning the condition of an Asura, fled to Śiva as
his protector. And Śiva having promised him security, he built the palace of
Indra. But the Daityas were angry with him, affirming that he had become a
partizan of the gods. Through fear of them he made in the Vindhya mountains a
very wonderful magic subterranean palace, which the Asuras could not reach. My
sister and I are the two daughters of that Maya. My elder sister named
Svayamprabhá follows a vow of virginity, and lives as a maiden in my father’s
house. But I, the younger daughter, named Somaprabhá, have been bestowed in
marriage on a son of Kuvera named Naḍakúvara, and my father has taught me
innumerable magic artifices, and as for this basket, I have brought it here to
please you.” Having said this, Somaprabhá opened the basket and shewed to her
some very interesting mechanical dolls constructed by her magic, made of wood.
One of them, on a pin in it being touched, went through the air at her orders
and fetched a garland of flowers and quickly returned. Another in the same way
brought water at will; another danced, and another then conversed. With such
very wonderful contrivances Somaprabhá amused Kalingasená for some time, and
then she put that magic basket in a place of security, and taking leave of her
regretful friend, she went, being obedient to her husband, through the air to
her own palace. But Kalingasená was so delighted that the sight of these
wonders took away her appetite, and she remained averse to all food. And when
her mother perceived that, she feared she was ill; however a physician named
Ánanda having examined the child, told her mother that there was nothing the
matter with her. He said, “She has lost her appetite through delight at
something, not from disease; for her countenance, which appears to be laughing,
with eyes wide open, indicates this.” When she heard this report from the
physician, the girl’s mother asked her the real cause of her joy; and the girl
told her. Then her mother believed that she was delighted with the society of
an eligible friend, and congratulated her, and made her take her proper food.
Then the next day Somaprabhá arrived, and having found
out what had taken place, she proceeded to say to Kalingasená in secret, “I
told my husband, who possesses supernatural knowledge, that I had formed a
friendship with you, and obtained from him, when he knew the facts, permission
to visit you every day. So you must now obtain permission from your parents, in
order that you may amuse yourself with me at will without fear.” When she had
said this, Kalingasená took her by the hand, and immediately went to her father
and mother, and there introduced her friend to her father, king Kalingadatta,
proclaiming her descent and name, and in the same way she introduced her to her
mother Tárádattá, and they, on beholding her, received her politely in
accordance with their daughter’s account of her. And both those two, pleased
with her appearance, hospitably received that beautiful wife of the
distinguished Asura out of love for their daughter, and said to her—“Dear girl,
we entrust this Kalingasená to your care, so amuse yourselves together as much
as you please.” And Kalingasená and Somaprabhá having gladly welcomed this
speech of theirs, went out together. And they went, in order to amuse
themselves, to a temple of Buddha built by the king. And they took there that
basket of magic toys. Then Somaprabhá took a magic Yaksha, and sent it on a
commission from herself to bring the requisites for the worship of Buddha. That
Yaksha went a long distance through the sky, and brought a multitude of pearls,
beautiful gems, and golden lotuses. Having performed worship with these,
Somaprabhá exhibiting all kinds of wonders, displayed the various Buddhas with
their abodes. When the king Kalingadatta heard of that, he came with the queen
and beheld it, and then asked Somaprabhá about the magic performance. Then
Somaprabhá said, “King, these contrivances of magic machines, and so on, were
created in various ways by my father in old time. And even as this vast
machine, called the world, consists of five elements, so do all these machines:
I will describe them one by one. That machine, in which earth predominates,
shuts doors and things of the kind. Not even Indra would be able to open what
had been shut with it. The shapes produced by the water-machine appear to be
alive. But the machine in which fire predominates, pours forth flames. And the
wind-machine performs actions, such as going and coming. And the machine
produced from ether utters distinct language. All these I obtained from my
father, but the wheel-machine, which guards the water of immortality, my father
knows and no one else.” While she was saying this, there arose the sound of
conchs being blown in the middle of the day, that seemed to confirm her words.
Then she entreated the king to give her the food that suited her, and taking
Kalingasená as a companion, by permission of the king she set out through the
air for her father’s house in a magic chariot, to return to her elder sister.
And quickly reaching that palace, which was situated in the Vindhya mountains,
she conducted her to her sister Svayamprabhá. There Kalingasená saw that
Svayamprabhá with her head encircled with matted locks, with a long rosary, a
nun clothed in a white garment, smiling like Párvatí, in whom love, the highest
joy of earth, had undertaken a severe vow of mortification. And Svayamprabhá,
when the princess, introduced by Somaprabhá, kneeled before her, received her
hospitably and entertained her with a meal of fruits. And Somaprabhá said to
the princess: ‘My friend, by eating these fruits, you will escape old age which
otherwise would destroy this beauty, as the nipping cold does the lotus: and it
was with this object that I brought you here out of affection.’ Then that
Kalingasená ate those fruits, and immediately her limbs seemed to be bathed in
the water of life. And roaming about there to amuse herself, she saw the garden
of the city, with tanks filled with golden lotuses, and trees bearing fruit as
sweet as nectar: the garden was full of birds of golden and variegated plumage,
and seemed to have pillars of bright gems; it conveyed the idea of walls where
there was no partition, and where there were partitions, of unobstructed space.
Where there was water, it presented the appearance of dry land, and where there
was dry land, it bore the semblance of water. It resembled another and a
wonderful world, created by the delusive power of the Asura Maya. It had been
entered formerly by the monkeys searching for Sítá, which, after a long time,
were allowed to come out by the favour of Svayamprabhá. So Svayamprabhá bade
her adieu, after she had been astonished with a full sight of her wonderful city,
and had obtained immunity from old age; and Somaprabhá making Kalingasená
ascend the chariot again, took her through the air to her own palace in
Takshaśilá. There Kalingasená told the whole story faithfully to her parents,
and they were exceedingly pleased.
And while those two friends spent their days in this way,
Somaprabhá once upon a time said to Kalingasená: “As long as you are not
married, I can continue to be your friend, but after your marriage, how could I
enter the house of your husband? For a friend’s husband ought never to be seen
or recognised; As for a mother-in-law she eats the flesh of a daughter-in-law
as a she-wolf does of a sheep. And à propos of this, hear the story of
Kírtisená which I am about to tell you.”
Story of Kírtisená
and her cruel mother-in-law.
Long ago there lived in the city of Páṭaliputra a
merchant named, not without cause, Dhanapálita, for he was the richest of the
rich. And there was born to him a daughter, named Kírtisená, who was
incomparably beautiful, and dearer to him than life. And he took his daughter
to Magadha and married her to a rich merchant, named Devasena. And though
Devasena was himself very virtuous, he had a wicked mother as mistress in his house,
for his father was dead. She, when she saw that her daughter-in-law Kírtisená
was beloved by her husband, being inflamed with anger, ill-treated her in her
husband’s absence. But Kírtisená was afraid to let her husband know it, for the
position of a bride in the power of a treacherous mother-in-law is a difficult
one.
Once upon a time her husband Devasena, instigated by his
relations, was preparing to go to the city of Vallabhí for the sake of trade.
Then that Kírtisená said to her husband,—“I have not told you for this long
time what I am now going to say: your mother ill-treats me though you are here,
but I do not know what she will do to me when you are in a foreign country.”
When Devasena heard that, he was perplexed, and being alarmed on account of his
affection for his wife, he went and humbly said to his mother—“Kírtisená is
committed to your care, mother, now that I am going to a foreign land; you must
not treat her unkindly, for she is the daughter of a man of good family.” When
Devasena’s mother heard that, she summoned Kírtisená, and elevating her eyes,
said to him then and there,—“What have I done? ask her. This is the way in
which she eggs you on, my son, trying to make mischief in the house, but both
of you are the same in my eyes.” When the good merchant heard that, he departed
with his mind easy on her account. For who is not deceived by the
hypocritically affectionate speeches of a mother? But Kírtisená stood there
silent, smiling in bewilderment, and the next day the merchant set out for
Vallabhí. Then, when Kírtisená began to suffer torture at being separated from
her husband, the merchant’s mother gradually forbade the female slaves to
attend on her. And making an agreement with a handmaid of her own, that worked
in the house, she took Kírtisená inside and secretly stripped her. And saying
to her, “Wicked woman, you rob me of my son,” she pulled her hair, and with the
help of her servant, mangled her with kicks, bites, and scratches. And she
threw her into a cellar that was closed with a trap-door and strongly fastened,
after first taking out all the things that were in it previously. And the
wretch put in it every day half a plate of rice, in the evening, for the girl
who was in such a state. And she thought, “I will say in a few days ‘she died
of herself during her husband’s absence in a distant land, take her corpse
away.’” Thus Kírtisená, who deserved all happiness, was thrown into a cellar by
that cruel mother-in-law, and while there she reflected with tears, “My husband
is rich, I was born in a good family, I am fortunately endowed and virtuous,
nevertheless I suffer such calamity, thanks to my mother-in-law. And this is
why relations lament the birth of a daughter, exposed to the terrors of
mother-in-law, and sister-in-law, marred with inauspiciousness of every kind.”
While thus lamenting, Kírtisená suddenly found a small shovel in that cellar,
like a thorn extracted from her heart by the Creator. So she dug a passage
underground with that iron instrument, until by good luck she rose up in her
own private apartment. And she was able to see that room by the light of a lamp
that had been left there before, as if she were lighted by her own undiminished
virtue. And she took out of it her clothes and her gold, and leaving it secretly
at the close of the night, she went out of the city. She reflected—“It is not
fitting that I should go to my father’s house after acting thus; what should I
say there, and how would people believe me? So I must manage to repair to my
husband by means of my own ingenuity; for a husband is the only refuge of
virtuous women in this world and the next.” Reflecting thus, she bathed in the
water of a tank, and put on the splendid dress of a prince. Then she went into
the bazar and after exchanging some gold for money, she sojourned that day in
the house of a certain merchant.
The next day she struck up a friendship with a merchant
named Samudrasena who wished to go to Vallabhí. And wearing the splendid dress
of a prince, she set out for Vallabhí with the merchant and his servants in
order to catch up her husband who had set out beforehand. And she said to that
merchant, “I am oppressed by my clansmen, so I will go with you to my friends
in Vallabhí.”
Having heard that, the merchant’s son waited upon her on
the journey, out of respect, thinking to himself that she was some
distinguished prince or other; and that caravan preferred for its march the
forest road, which was much frequented by travellers, who avoided the other
routes because of the heavy duties they had to pay. In a few days they reached
the entrance of the forest, and while the caravan was encamped in the evening,
a female jackal, like a messenger of death, uttered a terrific howl. Thereupon
the merchants, who understood what that meant, became apprehensive of an attack
by bandits, and the guards on every side took their arms in hand; and the
darkness began to advance like the vanguard of the bandits; then Kírtisená, in
man’s dress, beholding that, reflected, “Alas! the deeds of those who have sinned
in a former life seem to propagate themselves with a brood of evils! Lo! the
calamity which my mother-in-law brought upon me has borne fruit here also!
First I was engulphed by the wrath of my mother-in-law as if by the mouth of
death, then I entered the cellar like a second prison of the womb. By good
fortune, I escaped thence, being, as it were, born a second time, and having
come here, I have again run a risk of my life. If I am slain here by bandits,
my mother-in-law, who hates me, will surely say to my husband, ‘She ran off
somewhere being attached to another man.’ But if someone tears off my clothes
and recognises me for a woman, then again I run a risk of outrage, and death is
better than that. So I must deliver myself, and disregard this merchant my
friend. For good women must regard the duty of virtuous wives, not friends and
things of that kind.” Thus she determined, and searching about, found a hollow
like a house in the middle of a tree, as it were, an opening made for her by
the earth out of pity. There she entered and covered her body with leaves and
such like things; and remained supported by the hope of reunion with her
husband. Then, in the dead of night, a large force of bandits suddenly fell
upon the caravan with uplifted weapons, and surrounded it on all sides. And
there followed a storm of fight, with howling bandits for thunder-clouds, and
the gleam of weapons for long-continued lightning-flashes, and a rain of blood.
At last the bandits, being more powerful, slew the merchant-prince Samudrasena
and his followers, and went off with all his wealth.
In the meanwhile Kírtisená was listening to the tumult,
and that she was not forcibly robbed of breath is to be ascribed to fate only.
Then the night departed, and the keen-rayed sun arose, and she went out from
that hollow in the middle of the tree. Surely the gods themselves preserve in
misfortune good women exclusively devoted to their husbands, and of unfailing
virtue; for not only did a lion beholding her in the lonely wood spare her, but
a hermit that had come from somewhere or other, when she asked him for
information, comforted her and gave her a drink of water from his vessel, and
then disappeared in some direction or other, after telling her the road to
take. Then satisfied as if with nectar, free from hunger and thirst, that
woman, devoted to her husband, set out by the road indicated by the hermit.
Then she saw the sun mounted on the western mountain, stretching forth his rays
like fingers, as if saying—“Wait patiently one night”—and so she entered an
opening in the root of a forest tree which looked like a house, and closed its
mouth with another tree. And in the evening she saw through the opening of a
chink in the door of her retreat a terrible Rákshasí approaching, accompanied
by her young sons. She was terrified, thinking to herself—“Lo! I shall be
devoured by this Rákshasí after escaping all my other misfortunes”—and in the
meanwhile the Rákshasí ascended that tree. And her sons ascended after her, and
immediately said to that Rákshasí,—“Mother, give us something to eat.” Then the
Rákshasí said to her children,—“To-day, my children, I went to a great
cemetery, but I did not obtain any food, and though I entreated the congregation
of witches, they gave me no portion; then grieved thereat I appealed to Śiva in
his terrific form and asked him for food. And the god asked me my name and
lineage, and then said to me—‘Terrible one, thou art of high birth as belonging
to the race of Khara and Dúshaṇa; so go to the city of Vasudatta, not far from
here. In that city there lives a great king named Vasudatta addicted to virtue;
he defends this whole forest, dwelling on its border, and himself takes duties
and chastises robbers. Now, one day, while the king was sleeping in the forest,
fatigued with hunting, a centipede quickly entered his ear unobserved. And in
course of time it gave birth to many others inside his head. That produced an
illness which now dries up all his sinews. And the physicians do not know what
is the cause of his disease, but if some one does not find out, he will die in
a few days. When he is dead, eat his flesh; for by eating it, you will, thanks
to your magic power, remain satiated for six months!’ In these words Śiva
promised me a meal, that is attended with uncertainty, and cannot be obtained
for a long time, so what must I do, my children?” When the Rákshasí said this
to her children, they asked her, “If the disease is discovered and removed,
will that king live, mother? And tell us how such a disease can be cured in
him?” When the children said this, the Rákshasí solemnly said to them, “If the
disease is discovered and removed, the king will certainly live. And hear how
his great disease may be taken away. First his head must be anointed by rubbing
warm butter on it, and then it must be placed for a long time in the heat of the
sun intensified by noonday. And a hollow cane-tube must be inserted into the
aperture of his ear, which must communicate with a hole in a plate, and this
plate must be placed above a pitcher of cool water. Accordingly the centipedes
will be annoyed by heat and perspiration, and will come out of his head, and
will enter that cane-tube from the aperture of the ear, and desiring coolness
will fall into the pitcher. In this way the king may be freed from that great
disease.” Thus spake the Rákshasí to her sons on the tree, and then ceased; and
Kírtisená, who was in the trunk of the tree, heard it. And hearing it, she said
to herself, “If ever I get safe away from here, I will go and employ this
artifice to save the life of that king. For he takes but small duties, and
dwells on the outskirts of this forest; and so all the merchants come this way
because it is more convenient. This is what the merchant, Samudrasena, who is
gone to heaven, told me; accordingly that husband of mine will be sure to
return by this very path. So I will go to the city of Vasudatta, which is on
the borders of the forest, and I will deliver the king from his sickness, and
there await the arrival of my husband.” Thus reflecting, she managed, though
with difficulty, to get through the night: in the morning, the Rákshasas having
disappeared, she went out from the trunk of the tree.
Then she travelled along slowly in the dress of a man,
and in the afternoon she saw a good cowherd. He was moved to compassion by
seeing her delicate beauty, and that she had accomplished a long journey, and
then she approached him, and said—“What country is this, please tell me?” The
cowherd said—“This city in front of you is the city of Vasudatta, belonging to
the king Vasudatta: as for the king, he lies there at the point of death with
illness.” When Kírtisená heard that, she said to the cowherd, “If any one will
conduct me into the presence of that king, I know how to remove his disease.”
When the cowherd heard that, he said, “I am going to that very city, so come
with me, that I may point it out to you.” Kírtisená answered—“So be it,” and
immediately that herdsman conducted her to the city of Vasudatta, wearing her
male dress. And telling the circumstances exactly as they were, he immediately
commended that lady with auspicious marks to the afflicted warder. And the
warder, having informed the king, by his orders introduced the blameless lady
into his presence. The king Vasudatta, though tortured with his disease, was
comforted the moment he beheld that lady of wonderful beauty; the soul is able
to distinguish friends from enemies. And he said to the lady who was disguised
as a man, “Auspicious sir, if you remove this disease, I will give you half my
kingdom; I remember a lady stripped off from me in my dream a black blanket, so
you will certainly remove this my disease.” When Kírtisená heard that, she
said—“This day is at an end, O king; to-morrow I will take away your disease;
do not be impatient.” Having said this, she rubbed cow’s butter on the king’s head;
that made sleep come to him, and the excessive pain disappeared. And then all
there praised Kírtisená, saying—“This is some god come to us in the disguise of
a physician, thanks to our merits in a previous state of existence.” And the
queen waited on her with various attentions, and appointed for her a house in
which to rest at night, with female attendants. Then on the next day, at noon,
before the eyes of the ministers and ladies of the harem, Kírtisená extracted
from the head of that king, through the aperture of the ear, one hundred and
fifty centipedes, by employing the wonderful artifice previously described by
the Rákshasí. And after getting the centipedes into the pitcher, she comforted
the king by fomenting him with milk and melted butter. The king having
gradually recovered, and being free from disease, everybody there was
astonished at beholding those creatures in the pitcher. And the king, on
beholding these harmful insects that had been extracted from his head, was
terrified, puzzled and delighted, and considered himself born again. And he
made high feast, and honoured Kírtisená, who did not care for half the kingdom,
with villages, elephants, horses, and gold. And the queens and the ministers
loaded her with gold and garments, saying that they ought to honour the
physician who had saved the life of their sovereign. But she deposited for the
present that wealth in the hand of the king, waiting for her husband, and
saying—“I am under a vow for a certain time.”
So Kírtisená remained there some days in man’s clothes,
honoured by all men, and in the meanwhile she heard from the people that her
own husband, the great merchant Devasena, had come that way from Vallabhí.
Then, as soon as she knew that that caravan had arrived in the city, she went to
it, and saw that husband of hers as a peahen beholds the new cloud. And she
fell at his feet, and her heart, weeping from the pain of long separation, made
her bestow on him the argha with her tears of joy. Her husband, for his part,
after he had examined her, who was concealed by her disguise, like the form of
the moon invisible in the day on account of the rays of the sun, recognised
her. It was wonderful that the heart of Devasena, who was handsome as the moon,
did not dissolve like the moonstone, on beholding the moon of her countenance.
Then, Kírtisená having thus revealed herself, and her
husband remaining in a state of wonder, marvelling what it could mean, and the
company of merchants being astonished, the king Vasudatta, hearing of it, came there
full of amazement. And Kírtisená, being questioned by him, told in the presence
of her husband her whole adventure, that was due to the wickedness of her
mother-in-law. And her husband Devasena, hearing it, conceived an aversion to
his mother, and was affected at the same time by anger, forbearance,
astonishment, and joy. And all the people present there, having heard that
wonderful adventure of Kírtisená, exclaimed joyfully—“Chaste women, mounted on
the chariot of conjugal affection, protected by the armour of modesty, and
armed with the weapon of intellect, are victorious in the struggle.” The king
too said—“This lady, who has endured affliction for the sake of her husband,
has surpassed even queen Sítá, who shared the hardships of Ráma. So she is henceforth
my sister in the faith, as well as the saviour of my life.” When the king said
that, Kírtisená answered him—“O king, let your gift of affection which I
deposited in your care, consisting of villages, elephants, and horses, be made
over to my husband.” When she said this to the king, he bestowed on her husband
Devasena the villages and other presents, and being pleased gave him a turban
of honour. Then Devasena, having his purse suddenly filled with stores of
wealth, part of which was given by the king, and part acquired by his own
trading, avoiding his mother, and praising Kírtisená, remained dwelling in that
town. And Kírtisená having found a happy lot, from which her wicked
mother-in-law was removed, and having obtained glory by her unparalleled
adventures, dwelt there in the enjoyment of all luxury and power, like all the
rich fruit of her husband’s good deeds incarnate in a body.
“Thus chaste women, enduring the dispensations of hostile
fate, but preserving in misfortunes the treasure of their virtue, and protected
by the great power of their goodness, procure good fortune for their husbands
and themselves. And thus, O daughter of a king, many misfortunes befall wives,
inflicted by mothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, therefore I desire for you a
husband’s house of such a kind, that in it there shall be no mother-in-law and
no cruel sister-in-law.”
Hearing this delightful and marvellous story from the
mouth of the Asura princess Somaprabhá, the mortal princess Kalingasená was
highly delighted. Then the sun, seeing that these tales, the matter of which
was so various, had come to an end, proceeded to set, and Somaprabhá, having
embraced the regretful Kalingasená, went to her own palace.
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