Book IV.
Chapter XXI.
Victory to
the conqueror of obstacles, who marks with a line like the parting of the hair,
the principal mountains by the mighty fanning of his ear-flaps, pointing out,
as it were, a path of success!
Then
Udayana, the king of Vatsa, remaining in Kauśámbí, enjoyed the conquered earth
which was under one umbrella; and the happy monarch devolved the care of his
empire upon Yaugandharáyaṇa and Rumaṇvat, and addicted himself to pleasure only
in the society of Vasantaka. Himself playing on the lute, in the company of the
queen Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, he was engaged in a perpetual concert. While
the notes of his lyre were married to the soft sweet song of the queens, the
rapid movement of his executing finger alone indicated the difference of the
sounds. And while the roof of the palace was white with moonlight as with his
own glory, he drank wine in plenteous streams as he had swallowed the pride of
his enemies; beautiful women brought him, as he sat retired, in vessels of gold,
wine flaming with rosy glow, as it were the water of his appointment as ruler
in the empire of love; he divided between the two queens the cordial liquor
red, delicious, and pellucid, in which danced the reflection of their faces; as
he did his own heart, impassioned, enraptured and transparent, in which the
same image was found; his eyes were never sated with resting on the faces of those
queens, which had the eyebrows arched, and blushed with the rosy hue of love,
though envy and anger were far from them; the scene of his banquet, filled with
many crystal goblets of wine, gleamed like a lake of white lotuses tinged red
with the rising sun. And occasionally, accompanied by huntsmen, clad in a vest
dark green as the paláśa tree, he ranged, bow and arrows in hand, the forest
full of wild beasts, which was of the same colour as himself. He slew with
arrows herds of wild boars besmeared with mud, as the sun disperses with its
dense rays the masses of darkness; when he ran towards them, the antelopes
fleeing in terror, seemed like the sidelong glances of the quarters previously
conquered5 by him.
And when he
slew the buffaloes, the ground, red with blood, looked like a bed of red
lotuses, come to thank him humbly for delivering it from the goring of their
horns. When the lions too were transfixed by his javelins falling in their open
mouths, and their lives issued from them with a suppressed roar, he was
delighted. In that wood he employed dogs in the ravines, and nets in the
glades; this was the method of his pursuit of the chase in which he relied only
upon his own resources. While he was thus engaged in his pleasant enjoyments,
one day the hermit Nárada came to him as he was in the hall of audience,
diffusing a halo with the radiance of his body, like the sun, the orb of
heaven, descending therefrom out of love for the Solar dynasty. The king
welcomed him, inclining before him again and again, and the sage stood a moment
as if pleased, and said to that king, “Listen, O king, I will tell you a story
in few words; you had an ancestor once, a king of the name of Páṇḍu; he like
you had two noble wives; one wife of the mighty prince was named Kuntí and the
other Mádrí. That Páṇḍu conquered this sea-engirdled earth, and was very
prosperous, and being addicted to the vice of hunting he went one day to the
forest. There he let fly an arrow and slew a hermit of the name of Arindama,
who was sporting with his wife in the form of a deer. That hermit abandoned
that deer-form, and with his breath struggling in his throat cursed that Páṇḍu,
who in his despair had flung away his bow; ‘Since I have been slain while
sporting at will by thee, inconsiderate one, thou also shalt die in the
embraces of thy wife.’ Having been thus cursed, Páṇḍu, through fear of its
effect, abandoned the desire of enjoyment, and accompanied by his wives lived
in a tranquil grove of ascetic quietism. While he was there, one day impelled
by that curse, he suddenly approached his beloved Mádrí, and died. So you may
rest assured that the occupation called hunting is a madness of kings, for
other kings have been done to death by it, even as the various deer they have
slain. For how can hunting produce benign results, since the genius of
hunting is like a female Rákshasa, roaring horribly, intent on raw flesh,
defiled with dust, with upstanding hair and lances for teeth. Therefore give up
that useless exertion, the sport of hunting; wild elephants and their slayers
are exposed to the same risk of losing their lives. And you, who are ordained
for prosperity, are dear to me on account of my friendship with your ancestors,
so hear how you are to have a son who is to be a portion of the god of love.
Long ago, when Rati worshipped Śiva with praises in order to effect the
restoration of Káma’s body, Śiva being pleased told her this secret in few
words; ‘This Gaurí,7 desiring a son, shall descend to earth with a part of
herself, and after propitiating me, shall give birth to an incarnation of
Káma.’ Accordingly, king, the goddess has been born in the form of this
Vásavadattá, daughter of Chaṇḍamahásena, and she has become your queen. So she,
having propitiated Śiva, shall give birth to a son who shall be a portion of
Káma, and shall become the emperor of all the Vidyádharas.” By this speech the Ṛishi
Nárada, whose words command respect, gave back to the king the earth which he
had offered him as a present, and then disappeared. When he had departed, the
king of Vatsa in company with Vásavadattá, in whom had arisen the desire of
obtaining a son, spent the day in thinking about it.
The next
day the chief warder called Nityodita, came to the lord of Vatsa while he was
in the hall of assembly, and said to him; “A certain distressed Bráhman woman,
accompanied by two children, is standing at the door, O king, desiring to see
your Highness.” When the king heard this, he permitted her to enter, and so
that Bráhman woman entered, thin, pale, and begrimed, distressed by the tearing
of her clothes and wounding of her self-respect, carrying in her bosom two
children looking like Misery and Poverty. After she had made the proper
obeisance, she said to the king, “I am a Bráhman woman of good caste, reduced to
such poverty; as fate would have it, I gave birth to these two boys at the same
time, and I have no milk for them, O king, without food. Therefore I have come
in my misery and helplessness for protection to the king, who is kind to all
who fly to him for protection; now, my lord the king must determine what my lot
is to be.” When the king heard that, he was filled with pity, and said to the
warder, “Take this woman and commend her to the queen Vásavadattá.” Then that
woman was conducted into the presence of the queen by that warder, as it were
by her own good actions marching in front of her. The queen, when she heard
from that warder that the Bráhman woman who had come had been sent by the king,
felt all the more confidence in her. And when she saw that the woman, though
poor, had two children, she thought, “This is exceedingly unfair dealing on the
part of the Creator! Alas! he grudges a son to me who am rich, and shews
affection to one who is poor! I have not yet one son, but this woman has these
twins.” Thus reflecting, the queen, who was herself desiring a bath, gave
orders to her servants to provide the Bráhman woman with a bath and other
restoratives. After she had been provided with a bath, and had had clothes
given her, and had been supplied by them with agreeable food, that Bráhman
woman was refreshed like the heated earth bedewed with rain. And as soon as she
had been refreshed, the queen Vásavadattá, in order to test her by
conversation, artfully said to her, “O Bráhman lady, tell us some tale,” when
she heard that, she agreed and began to tell this story.
Story of Devadatta
In old time
there was a certain petty monarch of the name of Jayadatta and there was born
to him a son, named Devadatta. And that wise king wishing to marry his son who
was grown up, thus reflected—“The prosperity of kings is very unstable, being
like a hetæra to be enjoyed by force, but the prosperity of merchants is like a
woman of good family, it is steady and does not fly to another man. Therefore I
will take a wife to my son from a merchant’s family, in order that misfortune
may not overtake his throne, though it is surrounded with many relations.”
Having formed this resolve, that king sought for his son the daughter of a
merchant in Páṭaliputra named Vasudatta. Vasudatta, for his part, eager for
such a distinguished alliance, gave that daughter of his to the prince, though
he dwelt in a remote foreign land.
And he
loaded his son-in-law with wealth to such an extent that he no longer felt much
respect for his father’s magnificence. Then king Jayadatta dwelt happily with
that son of his who had obtained the daughter of that rich merchant. Now one
day the merchant Vasudatta came, full of desire to see his daughter, to the
palace of his connexion by marriage, and took away his daughter to his own
home. Shortly after the king Jayadatta suddenly went to heaven, and that
kingdom was seized by his relations who rose in rebellion; through fear of them
his son Devadatta was secretly taken away by his mother during the night to
another country. Then that mother distressed in soul said to the prince—“Our
feudal lord is the emperor who rules the eastern region, repair to him, my son,
he will procure you the kingdom.” When his mother said this to him, the prince
answered her; “Who will respect me if I go there without attendants?” When she
heard that, his mother went on to say, “Go to the house of your father-in-law,
and get money there and so procure followers, and then repair to the emperor.”
Being urged in these words by his mother, the prince, though full of shame,
slowly plodded on and reached his father-in-law’s house in the evening, but he
could not bear to enter at such an unseasonable hour, for he was afraid of
shedding tears, being bereaved of his father, [169]and having lost his worldly
splendour, besides shame withheld him. So he remained in the verandah of an
alms house near, and at night he suddenly beheld a woman descending with a rope
from his father-in-law’s house, and immediately he recognized her as his wife,
for she was so resplendent with jewels that she looked like a meteor fallen
from the clouds, and he was much grieved thereat, but she, though she saw him,
did not recognise him, as he was emaciated and begrimed, and asked him who he
was; when he heard that, he answered, “I am a traveller;” then the merchant’s
daughter entered the alms-house, and the prince followed her secretly to watch
her. There she advanced towards a certain man, and he towards her, and asking
her why she had come so late, he bestowed several kicks on her.8 Then the
passion of the wicked woman was doubled, and she appeased him and remained with
him on the most affectionate terms. When he saw that, the discreet prince
reflected; “This is not the time for me to shew anger, for I have other affairs
in hand, and how could I employ against these two contemptible creatures, this
wife of mine and the man who has done me this wrong, this sword which is to be
used against my foes? Or what quarrel have I with this adulteress, for this is
the work of malignant destiny, that showers calamities upon me, shewing skill
in the game of testing my firmness? It is my marriage with a woman below me in
rank that is in fault, not the woman herself; how can a female crow leave the
male crow to take pleasure in a cuckoo?” Thus reflecting, he allowed that wife
of his to remain in the society of her paramour; for in the minds of heroes
possessed with an ardent desire of victory, of what importance is woman,
valueless as a straw? But at the moment when his wife ardently embraced her
paramour, there fell from her ear an ornament thickly studded with valuable
jewels. And she did not observe this, but at the end of her interview taking
leave of her paramour, returned hurriedly to her house as she came. And that
unlawful lover also departed somewhere or other. Then the prince saw that
jewelled ornament and took it up; it flashed with many jewel-gleams, dispelling
the gathering darkness of despondency, and seemed like a hand-lamp obtained by
him to assist him in searching for his lost prosperity. The prince immediately
perceived that it was very valuable, and went off, having obtained all he
required, to Kányakubja; there be pledged that ornament for a hundred thousand
gold pieces, and after buying horses and elephants went into the presence of
the emperor. And with the troops, which he gave him, he marched and slew his
enemies in fight, and recovered his father’s kingdom, and his mother applauded
his success. Then he redeemed from pawn that ornament, and sent it to his father-in-law
to reveal that unsuspected secret; his father-in-law, when he saw that ear-ring
of his daughter’s, which had come to him in such a way, was confounded and
shewed it to her: she looked upon it, lost long ago like her own virtue, and
when she heard that it had been sent by her husband, she was distracted and
called to mind the whole circumstance: “This is the very ornament which I let
fall in the alms-house the night I saw that unknown traveller standing there;
so that must undoubtedly have been my husband come to test my virtue, but I did
not recognize him, and he picked up this ornament.” While the merchant’s
daughter was going through this train of reflection, her heart, afflicted by
the misfortune of her unchastity having been discovered, in its agony, broke.
Then her father artfully questioned a maid of hers who knew all her secrets,
and found out the truth, and so ceased to mourn for his daughter; as for the
prince, after he recovered the kingdom, he obtained as wife the daughter of the
emperor won by his virtues, and enjoyed the highest prosperity.
So you see
that the hearts of women are hard as adamant in daring sin, but are soft as a
flower when the tremor of fear falls upon them. But there are some few women
born in good families, that, having hearts virtuous9 and of transparent purity,
become like pearls the ornaments of the earth. And the fortune of kings is ever
bounding away like a doe, but the wise know how to bind it by the tether of
firmness, as you see in my story; therefore those who desire good fortune must
not abandon their virtue even in calamity, and of this principle my present
circumstances are an illustration, for I preserved my character, O queen, even
in this calamity, and that has borne me fruit in the shape of the good fortune
of beholding you.
Having
heard this tale from the mouth of that Bráhman woman, the queen Vásavadattá,
feeling respect for her, immediately thought,—“Surely this Bráhman woman must
be of good family, for the indirect way in which she alluded to her own virtue
and her boldness in speech prove that she is of gentle birth, and this is the
reason why she shewed such tact in entering the king’s court of
justice,”—having gone through these reflections, the queen again said to the
Bráhman woman: “Whose wife are you, or what is the history of your life? Tell
me.” When she heard that, the Bráhman woman again began to speak—
Story of Pingaliká.
Queen,
there was a certain Bráhman in the country or Málava, named Agnidatta, the home
of Fortune and of Learning, who willingly impoverished himself to help
suppliants, and in course of time there were born to him two sons like himself;
the eldest was called Śankaradatta and the other Śántikara; of these two, oh
glorious one, Śántikara suddenly left his father’s house in quest of learning,
while he was still a boy, and went, I know not whither, and the other son his
elder brother married me, who am the daughter of Yajnadatta who collected
wealth for the sake of sacrifice only. In course of time the father of my
husband, who was named Agnidatta, being old, went to the next world and his
wife followed him,10 and my husband left me, when I was pregnant, to go to holy
places, and through sorrow for his loss abandoned the body in fire purified by
the goddess Sarasvatí; and when that fact was told us by those who accompanied
him in his pilgrimage, I was not permitted to follow him by my relations, as I
was pregnant. Then, while my grief was fresh, brigands suddenly swooped down on
us and plundered my house and all the royal grant; immediately I fled with
three Bráhman women from that place, for fear that I might be outraged, taking
with me very few garments. And, as the whole kingdom was ravaged, I went to a
distant land accompanied by them, and remained there a month only supporting
myself by menial drudgery. And then hearing from people that the king of Vatsa
was the refuge of the helpless, I came here with the three Bráhman women, with
no other travelling provision than my virtue; and as soon as I arrived I gave
birth at the same time to two boys. Thus, though I have the friendly assistance
of these three Bráhman women, I have suffered bereavement, banishment, poverty,
and now comes this birth of twins; Alas! Providence has opened to me the door
of calamity. Accordingly, reflecting that I had no other means of maintaining
these children, I laid aside shame, the ornament of women, and entering into
the king’s court I made a petition to him. Who is able to endure the sight of
the misery of youthful offspring? And in consequence of his order, I have come
into your august presence, and my calamities have turned back, as if ordered
away from your door. This is my history: as for my name, it is Pingaliká,
because from my childhood my eyes have been reddened by the smoke of the
burnt-offerings. And that brother-in-law of mine Śántikara dwells in a foreign
land, but in what land he is now living, I have not as yet discovered.
When the
Bráhman woman had told her history in these words, the queen came to the
conclusion that she was a lady of high birth, and after reflecting, said this
to her with an affectionate manner: “There is dwelling here a foreign Bráhman
of the name of Śántikara, and he is our domestic chaplain; I am certain he will
turn out to be your brother-in-law.” After saying this to the eager Bráhman
lady, the queen allowed that night to pass, and the next morning sent for
Śántikara and asked him about his descent. And when he had told her his
descent, she, ascertaining that the two accounts tallied completely, shewed him
that Bráhman lady, and said to him—“Here is your brother’s wife.” And when they
recognised one another, and he had heard of the death of his relations, he took
the Bráhman lady the wife of his brother to his own house. There he mourned
exceedingly, as was natural, for the death of his parents and his brother, and
comforted the lady who was accompanied by her two children; and the queen
Vásavadattá settled that the Bráhman lady’s two young sons should be the
domestic chaplains of her future son, and the queen also gave the eldest the
name of Śántisoma, and the next of Vaiśvánara, and she bestowed on them much
wealth. The people of this world are like a blind man, being led to the place
of recompense by their own actions, going before them,11 and their courage is
merely an instrument. Then those two children, and their mother and Śántikara
remained united there, having obtained wealth.
Then once
upon a time, as days went on, the queen Vásavadattá beheld from her palace a
certain woman of the caste of potters coming with five sons, bringing plates,
and she said to the Bráhman lady Pingaliká, who was at her side; “Observe, my
friend: this woman has five sons, and I have not even one as yet, to such an
extent is such a one the possessor of merit, while such a one as myself is
not.”
Then
Pingaliká said, “Queen, these numerous sons are people who have committed many
sins in a previous existence, and are born to poor people in order that they
may suffer for them, but the son that shall be born to such a one as you, must
have been in a former life a very virtuous person. Therefore do not be
impatient, you will soon obtain a son such as you deserve.” Though Pingaliká
said this to her, Vásavadattá, being eager for the birth of a son, remained
with her mind overpowered by anxiety about it. At that moment the king of Vatsa
came and perceiving what was in her heart said—“Queen, Nárada said that you should
obtain a son by propitiating Śiva, therefore we must continually propitiate
Śiva, that granter of boons.” Upon that, the queen quickly determined upon
performing a vow, and when she had taken a vow, the king and his ministers and
the whole kingdom also took a vow to propitiate Śiva; and after the royal
couple had fasted for three nights, that Lord was so pleased that he himself
appeared to them and commanded them in a dream,—“Rise up; from you shall spring
a son who shall be a portion of the god of love, and owing to my favour shall
be king of all the Vidyádharas.” When the god, whose crest is the moon, had
said this and disappeared, that couple woke up, and immediately felt unfeigned
joy at having obtained their boon, and considered that they had gained their
object. And in the morning the king and queen rose up, and after delighting the
subjects with the taste of the nectarous story of their dream, kept high
festival with their relations and servants, and broke in this manner the fast
of their vow. After some days had past, a certain man with matted locks came
and gave the queen Vásavadattá a fruit in her dream. Then the king of Vatsa
rejoiced with the queen, who informed him of that clear dream, and he was
congratulated by his ministers, and supposing that the god of the moon-crest
had given her a son under the form of a fruit, he considered the fulfilment of
his wish to be not far off.
0 Comments
If you have any Misunderstanding Please let me know