Chapter
LXIV
Then, the
next evening, as Naraváhanadatta was again in his private apartment, longing
for union with his beloved, at his request Gomukha told the following series of
tales to amuse him.
Story
of the Bráhman and the mungoose.
There was
in a certain village a Bráhman, named Devaśarman; and he had a wife of equally
high birth, named Yajnadattá. And she became pregnant, and in time gave birth
to a son, and the Bráhman, though poor, thought he had obtained a treasure in
him. And when she had given birth to the child, the Bráhman’s wife went to the
river to bathe, but Devaśarman remained in the house, taking care of his infant
son. In the meanwhile a maid came from the womens’ apartments of the palace to
summon that Bráhman, who lived on presents received for performing inauguratory
ceremonies. Then he, eager for a fee, went off to the palace, leaving a
mungoose, which he had brought up from its birth, to guard his child. After he
had gone, a snake suddenly came near the child, and the mungoose, seeing it,
killed it out of love for his master. Then the mungoose saw Devaśarman returning
at a distance, and delighted, ran out to meet him, all stained with the blood
of the snake. And Devaśarman, when he saw its appearance, felt certain that it
had killed his young child, and, in his agitation killed it with a stone. But
when he went into the house, and saw the snake killed by the mungoose, and his
boy alive, he repented of what he had done. And when his wife returned and
heard what had happened, she reproached him, saying, “Why did you
inconsiderately kill the mungoose, which had done you a good turn?”
“Therefore
a wise man, prince, should never do anything rashly. For a person who acts
rashly is destroyed in both worlds. And one who does anything contrary to the
prescribed method, obtains a result which is the opposite of that desired.”
Story
of the fool that was his own doctor.
For
instance, there was a man suffering from flatulence. And once on a time the
doctor gave him a medicine, to be used as a clyster, and said to him, “Go to
your house, and bruise this, and wait till I come.” The physician, after giving
this order, delayed a little, and in the meanwhile the fool, having reduced the
drug to powder, mixed it with water and drank it. That made him very ill, and
when the doctor came, he had to give him an emetic, and with difficulty brought
him round, when he was at the point of death. And he scolded his patient,
saying to him, “A clyster is not meant to be drunk, but must be administered in
the proper way. Why did you not wait for me?”
“So an
action, useful in itself, if done contrary to rule, has bad effects. Therefore
a wise man should do nothing contrary to rule. And the man, who acts without
consideration, does what is wrong, and immediately incurs reproach.”
Story
of the fool who mistook hermits for monkeys
For
instance, there was in a certain place a foolish man. He was once going to a
foreign country, accompanied by his son, and when the caravan encamped in the
forest, the boy entered the wood to amuse himself. There he was scratched by
monkeys, and with difficulty escaped with life, and when his father asked him
what had happened, the silly boy, not knowing what monkeys were, said; “I was
scratched in this wood by some hairy creatures that live on fruits.” When the
father heard it, he drew his sword in a rage, and went to that wood. And seeing
some ascetics with long matted hair, picking fruits there, he ran towards them,
saying to himself, “Those hairy rascals injured my son.” But a certain
traveller there prevented him from killing them, by saying; “I saw some monkeys
scratch your son; do not kill the hermits.” So by good luck he was saved from
committing a crime, and returned to the caravan.
“So a wise
man should never act without reflection. What is ever likely to go wrong with a
man who reflects? But the thoughtless are always ruined and made the objects of
public ridicule.”
Story
of the fool who found a purse.
For
instance, a certain poor man, going on a journey, found a bag of gold, that had
been dropped by the head of a caravan. The fool, the moment he found it, instead
of going away, stood still where he was, and began to count the gold. In the
meanwhile the merchant, who was on horseback, discovered his loss, and
galloping back, he saw the bag of gold in the poor man’s possession, and took
it away from him. So he lost his wealth as soon as he got it, and went on his
way sorrowful, with his face fixed on the ground.
“Fools lose
wealth as soon as they get it.”
Story
of the fool who looked for the moon
A certain
foolish man, who wished to see the new moon, was told by a man who saw it, to
look in the direction of his finger. He averted his eyes from the sky, and
stood staring at his friend’s finger, and so did not see the new moon, but saw
the people laughing at him.
“Wisdom
accomplishes the impossible; hear a story in proof of it.”
Story
of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the cowherd
A certain
woman set out alone to go to another village. And on the way a monkey suddenly
came and tried to lay hold of her, but she avoided it by going to a tree and
dodging round it. The foolish monkey threw its arms round the tree, and she
laid hold of its arms with her hands, and pressed them against the tree.
The monkey,
which was held tight, became furious, but at that moment the woman saw a
cowherd coming that way, and said to him; “Sir, hold this ape by the arms a
moment, until I can arrange my dress and hair, which are disordered.” He said,
“I will do so, if you promise to grant me your love,” and she consented. And he
held the monkey. Then she drew his dagger and killed the monkey, and said to
the cowherd, “Come to a lonely spot,” and so took him a long distance. At last
they fell in with some travellers, so she left him and went with them to the
village that she wished to reach, having avoided outrage by her wisdom.
“So you see
that wisdom is in this world the principal support of men; the man who is poor
in wealth lives, but the man who is poor in intellect does not live. Now hear,
prince, this romantic wonderful tale.”
Story
of the two thieves, Ghaṭa and Karpara.
There were
in a certain city two thieves, named Ghaṭa and Karpara. One night Karpara left
Ghaṭa outside the palace, and breaking through the wall, entered the bedchamber
of the princess. And the princess, who could not sleep, saw him there in a
corner, and suddenly falling in love with him, called him to her. And she gave
him wealth, and said to him; “I will give you much more if you come again.”
Then Karpara went out, and told Ghaṭa what had happened, and gave him the
wealth, and having thus got hold of the king’s property, sent him home. But he
himself again entered the women’s apartments of the palace; who, that is
attracted by love and covetousness, thinks of death? There he remained with the
princess, and bewildered with love and wine, he fell asleep, and did not
observe that the night was at an end. And in the morning the guards of the
women’s apartments entered, and made him prisoner, and informed the king, and
he in his anger ordered him to be put to death. “While he was being led to the
place of execution, his friend Ghaṭa came to look for him, as he had not
returned in the course of the night. Then Karpara saw Ghaṭa, and made a sign to
him that he was to carry off and take care of the princess. And he answered by
a sign that he would do so. Then Karpara was led away by the executioners, and
being at their mercy, was quickly hanged up upon a tree, and so executed.
Then Ghaṭa
went home, sorrowing for his friend, and as soon as night arrived, he dug a
mine and entered the apartment of the princess. Seeing her in fetters there
alone, he went up to her and said; “I am the friend of Karpara, who was to-day
put to death on account of you. And out of love for him I am come here to carry
you off, so come along, before your father does you an injury.” Thereupon she
consented joyfully, and he removed her bonds. Then he went out with her, who at
once committed herself to his care, by the underground passage he had made, and
returned to his own house.
And next
morning the king heard that his own daughter had been carried off by someone,
who had dug a secret mine, and that king thought to himself, “Undoubtedly that
wicked man whom I punished has some audacious friend, who has carried off my
daughter in this way.” So he set his servants to watch the body of Karpara, and
he said to them, “You must arrest anyone who may come here lamenting, to burn
the corpse and perform the other rites, and so I shall recover that wicked girl
who has disgraced her family.” When those guards had received this order from
the king, they said, “We will do so,” and remained continually watching the
corpse of Karpara.
Then Ghaṭa
made enquiries, and found out what was going on, and said to the princess; “My
dear, my comrade Karpara was a very dear friend to me, and by means of him I
gained you and all these valuable jewels; so until I have paid to him the debt
of friendship, I cannot rest in peace. So I will go and see his corpse, and by
a device of mine manage to lament over it, and I will in due course burn the
body, and scatter the bones in a holy place. And do not be afraid, I am not
reckless like Karpara.” After he had said this to her, he immediately assumed
the appearance of a Páśupata ascetic, and taking boiled rice and milk in a pot,
he went near the corpse of Karpara, as if he were a person passing that way
casually, and when he got near it, he slipped, and let fall from his hand and
broke that pot of milk and rice, and began lamenting, “O Karpara full of
sweetness,” and so on. And the guards thought that he was grieving for his pot
full of food, that he had got by begging. And immediately he went home and told
that to the princess. And the next day he made a servant, dressed as a bride,
go in front of him, and he had another behind him, carrying a vessel full of
sweetmeats, in which the juice of the Dhattúra had been infused. And he himself
assumed the appearance of a drunken villager, and so in the evening he came
reeling along past those guards, who were watching the body of Karpara. They
said to him, “Who are you, friend, and who is this lady, and where are you
going?” Then the cunning fellow answered them with stuttering accents, “I am a
villager; this is my wife; I am going to the house of my father-in-law; and I
am taking for him this complimentary present of sweetmeats. But you have now
become my friends by speaking to me, so I will take only half of the sweetmeats
there; take the other half for yourselves.” Saying this, he gave a sweetmeat to
each of the guards. And they received them, laughing, and all of them partook
of them. Accordingly Ghaṭa, having stupefied the guards with Dhattúra, at night
brought fuel and burnt the body of Karpara.
The next
morning, after he had departed, the king hearing of it, removed those guards
who had been stupefied, and placed others there, and said; “You must guard
these bones, and you must arrest whoever attempts to take them away, and you
must not accept food from any outsider.” When the guards were thus instructed
by the king, they remained on the lookout day and night, and Ghaṭa heard of it.
Then he, being acquainted with the operation of a bewildering charm granted him
by Durgá, made a wandering mendicant his friend, in order to make them repose
confidence in him. And he went there with that wandering mendicant, who was
muttering spells, and bewildered those guards, and recovered the bones of
Karpara. And after throwing them into the Ganges, he came and related what he
had done, and lived happily with the princess, accompanied by the mendicant.
But the king, hearing that the bones had been carried off, and the men guarding
them stupefied, thought that the whole exploit, beginning with the carrying off
of his daughter, was the doing of a magician. And he had the following
proclamation made in his city; “If that magician, who carried off my daughter,
and performed the other exploits connected with that feat, will reveal himself,
I will give him half my kingdom.” When Ghaṭa heard this, he wished to reveal
himself, but the princess dissuaded him, saying, “Do not do so, you cannot
repose any confidence in this king, who treacherously puts people to death.”
Then, for fear that, if he remained there, the truth might come out, he set out
for another country with the princess and the mendicant.
And on the
way the princess said secretly to the mendicant, “The other one of these
thieves seduced me, and this one made me fall from my high rank. The other
thief is dead, as for this, Ghaṭa, I do not love him, you are my darling.” When
she had said this, she united herself to the mendicant, and killed Ghaṭa in the
dead of night. Then, as she was journeying along with that mendicant, the
wicked woman fell in with a merchant on the way, whose name was Dhanadeva. So
she said, “Who is this skull-bearer? You are my darling,” and she left that
mendicant, while he was asleep, and went off with that merchant. And in the
morning the mendicant woke up, and reflected, “There is no love in women, and
no courtesy free from fickleness, for, after lulling me into security, the
wicked woman has gone off, and robbed me too. However, I ought perhaps to
consider myself lucky, that I have not been killed like Ghaṭa.” After these
reflections, the mendicant returned to his own country.
Story
of Dhanadeva’s wife.
And the
princess, travelling on with the merchant, reached his country. And when
Dhanadeva arrived there, he said to himself; “Why should I rashly introduce
this unchaste woman into my house? So, as it was evening, he went into the
house of an old woman in that place, with the princess. And at night he asked
that old woman, who did not recognize him, “Mother, do you know any tidings
about the family of Dhanadeva?” When the old woman heard that, she said, “What
tidings is there except that his wife is always ready to take a new lover. For
a basket, covered with leather, is let down every night from the window here,
and whoever enters it, is drawn up into the house, and is dismissed in the same
way at the end of the night. And the woman is always stupefied with drink, so
that she is absolutely void of discernment. And this state of hers has become
well-known in the whole city. And though her husband has been long away, he has
not yet returned.”
When
Dhanadeva heard this speech of the old woman’s, he went out that moment on some
pretext, and repaired to his own house, being full of inward grief and
uncertainty. And seeing a basket let down by the female servants with ropes, he
entered it, and they pulled up him into the house. And his wife, who was
stupefied with drink, embraced him most affectionately, without knowing who he
was. But he was quite cast down at seeing her degradation. And thereupon she
fell into a drunken sleep. And at the end of the night, the female servants let
him down again quickly from the window, in the basket suspended with ropes. And
the merchant reflected in his grief, “Enough of the folly of being a family
man, for women in a house are a snare! It is always this story with them, so a
life in the forest is much to be preferred.” Having formed this resolve,
Dhanadeva abandoned the princess into the bargain, and set out for a distant
forest. And on the way he met, and struck up a friendship with, a young
Bráhman, named Rudrasoma, who had lately returned from a long absence abroad.
When he told him his story, the Bráhman became anxious about his own wife; and
so he arrived in the company of that merchant at his own village in the
evening.
Story
of the wife of the Bráhman Rudrasoma.
And when he
arrived there, he saw a cowherd, on the bank of the river, near his house,
singing with joy, like one beside himself. So he said to him in joke, “Cowherd,
is any young woman in love with you, that you sing thus in your rapture,
counting the world as stubble?” “When the cowherd heard that, he laughed and
said, “I have a great secret. The head of this village, a Bráhman, named Rudrasoma,
has been long away, and I visit his wife every night; her maid introduces me
into the house dressed as a woman.” When Rudrasoma heard this, he restrained
his anger, and wishing to find out the truth, he said to the cowherd; “If such
kindness is shewn to guests here, give me this dress of yours, and let me go
there to-night: I feel great curiosity about it.” The cowherd said, “Do so,
take this black rug of mine, and this stick, and remain here until her maid
comes. And she will take you for me, and will give you a female dress, and
invite you to come, so go there boldly at night, and I will take repose this
night.” When the cowherd said this, the Bráhman Rudrasoma took from him the
stick and the rug, and stood there, personating him. And the cowherd stood at a
little distance, with that merchant Dhanadeva, and then the maid came. She
walked silently up to him in the darkness, and wrapped him up in a woman’s
dress, and said to him, “Come along,” and so took him off to his wife, thinking
that he was the cowherd. When his wife saw Rudrasoma, she sprang up and
embraced him, supposing that he was the cowherd, and then Rudrasoma thought to
himself; “Alas! wicked women fall in love with a base man, if only he is near
them, for this vicious wife of mine has fallen in love with a cowherd, merely
because be is near at hand.” Then he made some excuse with faltering voice, and
went, disgusted in mind, to Dhanadeva. And after he had told his adventure in
his own house, he said to that merchant; “I too will go with you to the forest;
perish my family!” So Rudrasoma and the merchant Dhanadeva set out together for
the forest.
Story
of the wife of Śaśin.
And on the
way a friend of Dhanadeva’s, named Śaśin, joined them. And in the course of
conversation they told him their circumstances. And when Śaśin heard that,
being a jealous man, and having just returned from a long absence in a foreign
land, he became anxious about his wife, though he had locked her up in a
cellar. And Śaśin, travelling along with them, came near his own house in the
evening, and was desirous of entertaining them. But he saw there a man singing
in an amorous mood, who had an evil smell, and whose hands and feet were eaten
away with leprosy. And in his astonishment, he asked him; “Who are you, sir,
that you are so cheerful?” And the leper said to him, “I am the god of love.”
Śaśin answered, “There can be no mistake about that. The splendour of your
beauty is sufficient evidence for your being the god of love.” Thereupon the
leper continued, “Listen, I will tell you something. A rogue here, named Śaśin,
being jealous of his wife, locked her up in a cellar with one servant to attend
on her, and went to a foreign land. But that wife of his happened to see me
here, and immediately surrendered herself to me, her heart being drawn towards
me by love. And I spend every night with her, for the maid takes me on her back
and carries me in. So tell me if I am not the god of love. Who, that was the
favoured lover of the beautiful wife of Śaśin, could care for other women?”
When Śaśin heard this speech of the leper’s, he suppressed his grief,
intolerable as a hurricane, and wishing to discover the truth, he said to the
leper, “In truth you are the god of love, so I have a boon to crave of your
godship. I feel great curiosity about this lady from your description of her,
so I will go there this very night disguised as yourself. Be propitious to your
suppliant: you will lose but little, as you can attain this object every day.”
When Śaśin made this request, the leper said to him; “So be it! take this dress
of mine and give me yours, and remain covering up your hands and feet with your
clothes, as you see me do, until her maid comes, which will be as soon as it
becomes dark. And she will mistake you for me, and put you on her back, and you
must submit to go there in that fashion, for I always have to go in that way,
having lost the use of my hands and feet from leprosy.” Thereupon Śaśin put on
the leper’s dress and remained there, but the leper and Śaśin’s two companions
remained a little way off.
Then
Śaśin’s wife’s maid came, and supposing that he was the leper, as he had his
dress on, said, “Come along,” and took him up on her back. And so she took him
at night into that cellar to his wife, who was expecting her paramour the
leper. Then Śaśin made out for certain that it was his wife, who was lamenting
there in the darkness, by feeling her limbs, and he became an ascetic on the
spot. And when she was asleep, he went out unobserved, and made his way to
Dhanadeva and Rudrasoma. And he told them his experiences, and said in his
grief, “Alas! women are like torrents that flow in a ravine, they are ever
tending downwards, capricious, beautiful at a distance, prone to turbidness,
and so they are as difficult to guard as such rivers are to drink, and thus my
wife, though kept in a cellar, has run after a leper. So for me also the forest
is the best thing. Out on family life!” And so he spent the night in the
company of the merchant and the Bráhman, whose affliction was the same as his.
And next morning they all set out together for the forest, and at evening they
reached a tree by the roadside, with a tank at its foot. And after they had
eaten and drunk, they ascended the tree to sleep, and while they were there,
they saw a traveller come and lie down underneath the tree.
Story
of the snake-god and his wife.
And soon
they saw another man arise from the tank, and he brought out of his mouth a
couch and a lady. Then he lay down on the couch beside that wife of his, and
went to sleep, and the moment she saw it, she went and embraced the traveller.
And he asked her who they were, and she answered; “This is a snake-god, and I
am his wife, a daughter of the snake race. Do not fear, I have had ninety-nine
lovers among travellers, and you make the hundredth.” But, while she was saying
this, it happened that the snake-god woke up, and saw them. And he discharged
fire from his mouth, and reduced them both to ashes.
When the
snake-god had gone, the three friends said to one another, “If it is impossible
to guard one’s wife by enclosing her in one’s own body, what chance is there of
keeping her safe in a house? Out on them all!” So they spent the night in
contentment, and next morning went on to the forest. There they became
completely chastened in mind, with hearts quieted by practising the four
meditations, which were not interfered with by their friendship, and they
became gentle to all creatures, and attained perfection in contemplation, which
produces unequalled absolute beatification; and all three in due course
destroyed the inborn darkness of their souls, and became liberated from the
necessity of future births. But their wicked wives fell into a miserable state
by the ripening of their own sin, and were soon ruined, losing both this and
the next world.
“So
attachment to women, the result of infatuation, produces misery to all men. But
indifference to them produces in the discerning emancipation from the bonds of
existence.”
When the
prince, who was longing for union with Śaktiyaśas, had patiently listened to
this diverting tale, told by his minister Gomukha, he again went to sleep.
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