KATHA SARIT SAGAR Chapter XXII

 

Chapter XXII

 

Then, in a short time, Vásavadattá became pregnant with a child, glorious inasmuch as it was an incarnation of the god of Love, and it was a feast to the eyes of the king of Vatsa. She shone with a face, the eyes of which rolled, and which was of palish hue, as if with the moon come to visit her out of affection for the god of Love conceived in her. When she was sitting down, the two images of her form, reflected in the sides of the jewelled couch, seemed like Rati and Príti come there out of regard for their husband. Her ladies-in-waiting attended upon her like the Sciences that grant desires, come in bodily form to shew their respect for the future king of the Vidyádharas conceived in her. At that time she had breasts with points dark like a folded bud, resembling pitchers intended for the inaugural sprinkling of her unborn son. When she lay down on a comfortable couch in the middle of the palace, which gleamed with pavement composed of translucent, flashing, lustrous jewels, she appeared as if she were being propitiated by the waters, that had come there trembling, through fear of being conquered by her future son, with heaps of jewels on every side. Her image reflected from the gems in the middle of the chariot, appeared like the Fortune of the Vidyáharas coming in the heaven to offer her adoration. And she felt a longing for stories of great magicians provided with incantations by means of spells, introduced appropriately in conversation. Vidyádhara ladies, beginning melodious songs, waited upon her when in her dream she rose high up in the sky, and when she woke up, she desired to enjoy in reality the amusement of sporting in the air, which would give the pleasure of looking down upon the earth. And Yaugandharáyaṇa gratified that longing of the queen’s by employing spells, machines, juggling, and such like contrivances. So she roamed through the air by means of those various contrivances, which furnished a wonderful spectacle to the upturned eyes of the citizens’ wives. But once on a time, when she was in her palace, there arose in her heart a desire to hear the glorious tales of the Vidyádharas; then Yaugandharáyaṇa, being entreated by that queen, told her this tale while all were listening.

 

Story of Jímútaváhana.

 

There is a great mountain named Himavat, the father of the mother of the world, who is not only the chief of hills, but the spiritual preceptor of Śiva, and on that great mountain, the home of the Vidyádharas, dwelt the lord of the Vidyádharas, the king Jímútaketu. And in his house there was a wishing-tree, which had come down to him from his ancestors, called by a name which expressed its nature, The Giver of Desires. And one day the king Jímútaketu approached that wishing-tree in his garden, which was of divine nature, and supplicated it; “We always obtain from you all we desire, therefore give me, O god, who am now childless, a virtuous son.” Then the wishing-tree said,—“King, there shall be born to thee a son who shall remember his past birth, who shall be a hero in giving, and kind to all creatures.” When he heard that, the king was delighted, and bowed before that tree, and then he went and delighted his queen with the news: accordingly in a short time a son was born to him, and his father called the son Jímútaváhana. Then that Jímútaváhana, who was of great goodness, grew up step by step with the growth of his innate compassion for all creatures. And in course of time, when he was made Crown-Prince, he being full of compassion for the world said in secret to his father, who was pleased by his attentions—“I know, O father, that in this world all things perish in an instant, but the pure glory of the great alone endures till the end of a Kalpa. If it is acquired by benefiting others, what other wealth can be, like it, valued by high-minded men more than life. And as for prosperity, if it be not used to benefit others, it is like lightning which for a moment pains the eye, and flickering disappears somewhere or other. So, if this wishing-tree, which we possess, and which grants all desires, is employed for the benefit of others, we shall have reaped from it all the fruit it can give. So let me take such steps as that by its riches the whole multitude of men in need may be rescued from poverty.” This petition Jímútaváhana made to his father, and having obtained his permission, he went and said to that wishing-tree, “O god, thou always givest us the desired fruit, therefore fulfil to-day this one wish of ours. O my friend, relieve this whole world from its poverty, success to thee, thou art bestowed on the world that desires wealth!” The wishing-tree being addressed in this style by that self-denying one, showered much gold on the earth, and all the people rejoiced; what other compassionate incarnation of a Bodhisattva except the glorious Jímútaváhana would be able to dispose even of a wishing-tree in favour of the needy? For this reason every region of the earth became devoted to Jímútaváhana, and his stainless fame was spread on high.

 

Then the relations of Jímútaketu, seeing that his throne was firmly established by the glory of his son, were envious, and became hostile to him. And they thought it would be easy to conquer that place, which possessed the excellent wishing-tree that was employed for bestowing gifts, on account of its not being strong: then they assembled and determined on war, and thereupon the self-denying Jímútaváhana said to his father,—“As this body of ours is like a bubble in the water, for the sake of what do we desire prosperity, which flickers like a candle exposed to the wind? And what wise man desires to attain prosperity by the slaughter of others? Accordingly, my father, I ought not to fight with my relations. But I must leave my kingdom and go to some forest or other; let these miserable wretches be, let us not slay the members of our own family.” When Jímútaváhana had said this, his father Jímútaketu formed a resolution and said to him; “I too must go, my son, for what desire for rule can I, who am old, have, when you, though young, out of compassion abandon your realm as if it were so much grass?” In these words his father expressed his acquiescence in the project of Jímútaváhana, who then, with his father and his father’s wife, went to the Malaya mountain. There he remained in a hermitage, the dwelling of the Siddhas, where the brooks were hidden by the sandal-wood trees, and devoted himself to taking care of his father. There he struck up a friendship with the self-denying son of Viśvávasu, the chief prince of the Siddhas, whose name was Mitrávasu. And once on a time the all-knowing Jímútaváhana beheld in a lonely place Mitrávasu’s maiden sister, who had been his beloved in a former birth. And the mutual gaze of those two young people was like the catching in a frail net of the deer of the mind.

 

Then one day Mitrávasu came up suddenly to Jímútaváhana, who deserved the respect of the three worlds, with a pleased expression, and said to him, “I have a younger sister, the maiden called Malayavatí; I give her to you, do not refuse to gratify my wish.” When Jímútaváhana heard that, he said to him, “O prince, she was my wife in a former birth, and in that life you became my friend, and were like a second heart to me. I am one who remembers the former state of existence, I recollect all that happened in my previous birth.” When he said this, Mitrávasu said to him, “then tell me this story of your former birth, for I feel curiosity about it.” When he heard this from Mitrávasu, the benevolent Jímútaváhana told him the tale of his former birth as follows:

 

Story of Jímútaváhana’s adventures in a former birth.

 

Thus it is; formerly I was a sky-roaming Vidyádhara, and once on a time I was passing over a peak of the Himálaya. And then Śiva, who was below, sporting with Gaurí, being angry at my passing above him, cursed me, saying, “Descend into a mortal womb, and after obtaining a Vidyádharí for your wife, and appointing your son in your place, you shall remember your former birth, and again be born as a Vidyádhara.” Having pronounced when this curse should end, Śiva ceased and disappeared; and soon after I was born upon earth in a family of merchants. And I grew up as the son of a rich merchant in a city named Vallabhí, and my name was Vasudatta. And in course of time, when I became a young man, I had a retinue given me by my father, and went by his orders to another land to traffic. As I was going along, robbers fell upon me in a forest, and after taking all my property, led me in chains to a temple of Durgá in their village, terrible with a long waving banner of red silk like the tongue of Death eager to devour the lives of animals. There they brought me into the presence of their chief named Pulindaka, who was engaged in worshipping the goddess, in order that I might serve as a victim. He, though he was a Śavara, the moment he saw me, felt his heart melt with pity for me; an apparently causeless affectionate movement of the heart is a sign of friendship in a former birth. Then that Śavara king, having saved me from slaughter, was about to complete the rite by the sacrifice of himself, when a heavenly voice said to him—“Do not act thus, I am pleased with thee, crave a boon of me,”—thereupon he was delighted, and said—“O goddess, thou art pleased; what other blessing can I need, nevertheless I ask so much—may I have friendship with this merchant’s son in another birth also.” The voice said—“So be it,” and then ceased, and then that Śavara gave me much wealth, and sent me back to my own home. And then, as I had returned from foreign travel and from the jaws of death, my father, when he heard the whole occurrence, made a great feast in my honour. And in course of time I saw there that very same Śavara chief, whom the king had ordered to be brought before him as a prisoner for plundering a caravan. I told my father of it immediately, and making a petition to the king, I saved him from capital punishment by the payment of a hundred thousand gold-pieces. And having in this way repaid the benefit, which he conferred upon me by saving my life, I brought him to my house, and entertained him honourably for a long time with all loving attention. And then, after this hospitable entertainment, I dismissed him, and he went to his own village fixing upon me a heart tender with affection. Then, while he thought about a present for me that might be worthy of my return for his previous kindness, he came to the conclusion that the pearls and musk and treasures of that kind, which were at his disposal, were not valuable enough. Thereupon he took his bow and went off to the Himálaya to shoot elephants, in order to obtain a surpassingly splendid necklace for me. And while he was roaming about there, he reached a great lake with a temple upon its shore, being welcomed by its lotuses, which were as devoted to their friend as he was to me. And suspecting that the wild elephants would come there to drink water, he remained in concealment with his bow, in order to kill them. In the meanwhile he saw a young lady of wonderful beauty come riding upon a lion to worship Śiva, whose temple stood on the shore of the lake; looking like a second daughter of the king of the snowy mountains, devoted to the service of Śiva while in her girlhood. And the Śavara, when he saw her, being overpowered with wonder, reflected—“Who can this be? If she is a mortal woman, why does she ride upon a lion? On the other hand, if she is divine, how can she be seen by such as me? So she must certainly be the incarnate development of the merits of my eyes in a former birth. If I could only marry my friend to her, then I should have bestowed upon him a new and wonderful recompense. So I had better first approach her to question her.” Thus reflecting, my friend the Śavara advanced to meet her. In the meanwhile she dismounted from the lion, that lay down in the shade, and advancing began to pick the lotuses of the lake. And seeing the Śavara, who was a stranger, coming towards her and bowing, out of a hospitable feeling she gratified him with a welcome. And she said to him—“Who are you, and why have you come to this inaccessible land?” Thereupon the Śavara answered her, “I am a prince of the Śavaras, who regard the feet of Bhavání as my only refuge, and I am come to this wood to get pearls from the heads of elephants. But when I beheld you just now, O goddess, I called to mind my own friend that saved my life, the son of a merchant prince, the auspicious Vasudatta. For he, O fair one, is, like you, matchless for beauty and youth, a very fount of nectar to the eyes of this world. Happy is that maiden in the world, whose braceleted hand is taken in this life by that treasure-house of friendship, generosity, compassion, and patience. And if this beautiful form of yours is not linked to such a man, then I cannot help grieving that Káma bears the bow in vain.” By these words of the king of the hunters the mind of the maiden was suddenly carried away, as if by the syllables of the god of Love’s bewildering spell. And prompted by love, she said to that Śavara, “Where is that friend of yours? Bring him here and shew him to me.” When he heard that, he said—“I will do so,” and that moment the Śavara took leave of her and set out on his journey in high spirits, considering his object attained. And after he had reached his village, he took with him pearls and musk, a weight sufficient for hundreds of heavily-laden porters, and came to our house. There he was honoured by all the inmates, and entering it, he offered to my father that present, which was worth much gold. And after that day and that night had been spent in feasting, he related to me in private the story of his interview with the maiden from the very commencement. And he said to me, who was all excitement, “Come, let us go there,” and so the Śavara carried me off at night just as he pleased. And in the morning my father found that I had gone off somewhere with the Śavara prince, but feeling perfect confidence in his affection, he remained master of his feelings. But I was conducted in course of time by that Śavara, who travelled fast, to the Himálaya, and he tended me carefully throughout the journey.

 

And one evening we reached that lake, and bathed, and we remained that one night in the wood eating sweet fruits. That mountain wood, in which the creepers strewed the ground with flowers, and which was charming with the hum of bees, full of balmy gales, and with beautiful gleaming herbs for lamps, was like the chamber of Rati to repose in during the night for us two, who drank the water of the lake. Then, the next day that maiden came there, and at every step my mind, full of strange longings, flew to meet her, and her arrival was heralded by this my right eye, throbbing as if through eagerness to behold her. And that maid with lovely eyebrows was beheld by me, on the back of a knotty-maned lion, like a digit of the moon resting in the lap of an autumn cloud; and I cannot describe how my heart felt at that time while I gazed on her, being full of tumultuous emotions of astonishment, longing, and fear; then that maiden dismounted from the lion, and gathered flowers, and after bathing in the lake, worshipped Śiva who dwelt in the temple on its banks. And when the worship was ended, that Śavara, my friend, advanced towards her and announcing himself, bowed, and said to her who received him courteously; “Goddess, I have brought that friend of mine as a suitable bridegroom for you: if you think proper, I will shew him to you this moment.” When she heard that, she said, “Shew him,” and that Śavara came and took me near her and shewed me to her. She looked at me askance with an eye that shed love, and being overcome by Cupid’s taking possession of her soul, said to that chieftain of the Śavaras; “This friend of yours is not a man, surely he is some god come here to deceive me to-day: how could a mortal have such a handsome shape?” When I heard that, I said myself to remove all doubt from her mind: “Fair one, I am in very truth a mortal, what is the use of employing fraud against one so honest as yourself, lady? For I am the son of a merchant named Mahádhana that dwells in Vallabhí, and I was gained by my father by the blessing of Śiva. For he, when performing austerities to please the god of the moony crest, in order that he might obtain a son, was thus commanded by the god in a dream being pleased with him; ‘Rise up, there shall spring from thee a great-hearted son, and this is a great secret, what is the use of setting it forth at length?’ After hearing this, he woke up, and in course of time I was born to him as a son, and I am known by the name of Vasudatta. And long ago, when I went to a foreign land, I obtained this Śavara chieftain for a chosen friend, who shewed himself a true helper in misfortune. This is a brief statement of the truth about me.” When I had said this I ceased; and that maiden, with her face cast down from modesty, said—“It is so; to-day, I know, Śiva being propitiated deigned to tell me in a dream, after I had worshipped him,—‘To-morrow morning thou shalt obtain a husband:’—so you are my husband, and this friend of yours is my brother.” When she had delighted me by this nectar-like speech, she ceased; and after I had deliberated with her, I determined to go to my own house with my friend, in order that the marriage might be solemnized in due form. Then that fair one summoned by a sign of her own that lion, on which she rode, and said to me, “Mount it, my husband,” then I, by the advice of my friend, mounted the lion, and taking that beloved one in my arms, I set out thence for my home, having obtained all my objects, riding on the lion with my beloved, guided by that friend. And living on the flesh of the deer that he killed with his arrows, we all reached in course of time the city of Vallabhí. Then the people, seeing me coming along with my beloved, riding on a lion, being astonished, ran and told that fact quickly to my father. He too came to meet me in his joy, and when he saw me dismount from the lion and fall at his feet, he welcomed me with astonishment.

 

And when he saw that incomparable beauty adore his feet, and perceived that she was a fit wife for me, he could not contain himself for joy. So he entered the house, and after asking us about the circumstances, he made a great feast, praising the friendship of the Śavara chieftain. And the next day, by the appointment of the astrologers, I married that excellent maiden, and all my friends and relations assembled to witness our wedding. And that lion, on which my wife had ridden, having witnessed the marriage, suddenly before the eyes of all, assumed the form of a man. Then all the by-standers were bewildered thinking—“What can this mean?” But he, assuming heavenly garments and ornaments, thus addressed me: “I am a Vidyádhara named Chitrángada, and this maiden is my daughter Manovatí by name, dearer to me than life. I used to wander continually through the forest with her in my arms, and one day I reached the Ganges, on the banks of which are many ascetic groves. And as I was going along in the middle of the river, for fear of disturbing the ascetics, my garland by accident fell into its waters. [180]Then the hermit Nárada, who was under the water, suddenly rose up, and angry because the garland had fallen upon his back, cursed me in the following words: ‘On account of this insolence, depart, wicked one, thou shalt become a lion, and repairing to the Himálaya, shalt carry this daughter upon thy back. And when thy daughter shall be taken in marriage by a mortal, then after witnessing the ceremony, thou shalt be freed from this curse.’ After being cursed in these words by the hermit, I became a lion, and dwelt on the Himálaya carrying about this daughter of mine, who is devoted to the worship of Śiva. And you know well the sequel of the story, how by the exertions of the Śavara chieftain this highly auspicious event has been brought about. So I shall now depart; good luck to you all! I have now reached the termination of that curse.” Having said this, that Vidyádhara immediately flew up into the sky. Then my father, overwhelmed with astonishment at the marvel, delighted at the eligible connection, and finding that his friends and relations were overjoyed, made a great feast. And there was not a single person who did not say with astonishment, reflecting again and again on that noble behaviour of the Śavara chieftain—“Who can imagine the actions of sincere friends, who are not even satisfied when they have bestowed on their sworn brothers the gift of life?” The king of the land too, hearing of that occurrence, was exceedingly pleased with the affection which the Śavara prince had shown me, and finding he was pleased, my father gave him a present of jewels, and so induced him immediately to bestow on the Śavara a vast forest territory. Then I remained there in happiness, considering myself to have attained all that heart could wish, in having Manovatí for a wife, and the Śavara prince for a friend. And that Śavara chieftain generally lived in my house, finding that he took less pleasure in dwelling in his own country than he formerly did. And the time of us two friends, of him and me, was spent in continually conferring benefits upon one another without our ever being satisfied. And not long after I had a son born to me by Manovatí, who seemed like the heart-joy of the whole family in external visible form; and being called Hiraṇyadatta he gradually grew up, and after having been duly instructed, he was married. Then my father having witnessed that, and considering that the object of his life had been accomplished, being old, went to the Ganges with his wife to leave the body. Then I was afflicted by my father’s death, but having been at last persuaded by my relations to control my feelings, I consented to uphold the burden of the family. And at that time on the one hand the sight of the beautiful face of Manovatí, and on the other the society of the Śavara prince delighted me. Accordingly those days of mine passed, joyous from the goodness of my son, charming from the excellence of my wife, happy from the society of my friend.

 

Then, in course of time, I became well-stricken in years, and old age seized me by the chin, as it were out of love giving me this wholesome reproach—“Why are you remaining in the house so long as this, my son?” Then disgust with the world was suddenly produced in my breast, and longing for the forest I appointed my son in my stead. And with my wife I went to the mountain of Kálinjara, together with the king of the Śavaras, who abandoned his kingdom out of love to me. And when I arrived there, I at once remembered that I had been a Vidyádhara in a former state of existence, and that the curse I had received from Śiva had come to an end. And I immediately told my wife Manovatí of that, and my friend the king of the Śavaras, as I was desirous of leaving this mortal body. I said—“May I have this wife and this friend in a future birth, and may I remember this birth,” and then I meditated on Śiva in my heart, and flung myself from that hill side, and so suddenly quitted the body together with that wife and friend. And so I have been now born, as you see, in this Vidyádhara family, under the name of Jímútaváhana, with a power of recollecting my former existence. And you, that prince of the Śavaras, have been also born again by the favour of Śiva, as Mitrávasu the son of Viśvávasu the king of the Siddhas. And, my friend, that Vidyádhara lady, my wife Manovatí, has been again born as your sister Malayavatí by name. So your sister is my former wife, and you were my friend in a former state of existence, therefore it is quite proper that I should marry her. But first go and tell this to my parents, for if the matter is referred to them, your desire will be successfully accomplished.

 

When Mitrávasu heard this from Jímútaváhana, he was pleased, and he went and told all that to the parents of Jímútaváhana. And when they received his proposal gladly, he was pleased, and went and told that same matter to his own parents. And they were delighted at the accomplishment of their desire, and so the prince quickly prepared for the marriage of his sister. Then Jímútaváhana, honoured by the king of the Siddhas, received according to usage the hand of Malayavatí. And there was a great festival, in which the heavenly minstrels bustled about, the dense crowd of the Siddhas assembled, and which was enlivened by bounding Vidyádharas. Then Jímútaváhana was married, and remained on that Malaya mountain with his wife in very great prosperity. And once on a time he went with his brother-in-law Mitrávasu to behold the woods on the shore of the sea. And there he saw a young man come in an agitated state, sending away his mother, who kept exclaiming “Alas! my son!” And another man, who seemed to be a soldier, following him, conducted him to a broad and high slab of rock and left him there. Jímútaváhana said to him: “Who are you? What are you about to do, and why does your mother weep for you?” Then the man told him his story.

 

“Long ago Kadrú and Vinatá, the two wives of Kaśyapa, had a dispute in the course of a conversation which they were carrying on. The former said that the Sun’s horses were black, the latter that they were white, and they made an agreement that the one that was wrong should become a slave to the other.14 Then Kadrú, bent on winning, actually induced her sons, the snakes, to defile the horses of the Sun by spitting venom over them; and shewing them to Vinatá in that condition, she conquered her by a trick and made her her slave: terrible is the spite of women against each other! When Garuḍa the son of Vinatá heard of that, he came and tried to induce Kadrú by fair means to release Vinatá from her slavery; then the snakes, the sons of Kadrú, reflecting, said this to him; ‘O Garuḍa, the gods have began to churn the sea of milk, bring the nectar thence and give it to us as a substitute, and then take your mother away with you, for you are the chief of heroes.’ When Garuḍa heard that, he went to the sea of milk, and displayed his great might in order to obtain the nectar. Then the god Vishṇu pleased with his might deigned to say to him, ‘I am pleased with thee, choose some boon.’ Then Garuḍa, angry because his mother was made a slave, asked as a boon from Vishṇu—‘May the snakes become my food.’ Vishṇu consented, and when Garuḍa had obtained the nectar by his own valour, he was thus addressed by Indra who had heard the whole story: ‘King of birds, you must take steps to prevent the foolish snakes from consuming the nectar, and to enable me to take it away from them again.’ When Garuḍa heard that, he agreed to do it, and elated by the boon of Vishṇu, he went to the snakes with the vessel containing the nectar.

 

And he said from a distance to those foolish snakes, who were terrified on account of the boon granted to him, “Here is the nectar brought by me, release my mother and take it; if you are afraid, I will put it for you on a bed of Darbha grass. When I have procured my mother’s release, I will go; take the nectar thence.” The snakes consented, and then he put the vessel of nectar on a pure bed of Kuśa grass, and they let his mother go. So Garuḍa departed, having thus released his mother from slavery; but while the snakes were unsuspectingly taking the nectar, Indra suddenly swooped down, and bewildering them by his power, carried off the vessel of nectar from the bed of Kuśa grass. Then the snakes in despair licked that bed of Darbha grass, thinking there might be a drop of spilt nectar on it; the effect was that their tongues were split, and they became double-tonguedfor nothing. What but ridicule can ever be the portion of the over-greedy? Then the snakes did not obtain the nectar of immortality, and their enemy Garuḍa, on the strength of Vishṇu’s boon, began to swoop down and devour them. And this he did again and again. And while he was thus attacking them, the snakes in Pátála were dead with fear, the females miscarried, and the whole serpent race was well-nigh destroyed. And Vásuki the king of the snakes, seeing him there every day, considered that the serpent world was ruined at one blow: then, after reflecting, he preferred a petition to that Garuḍa of irresistible might, and made this agreement with him—“I will send you every day one snake to eat, O king of birds, on the hill that rises out of the sand of the sea. But you must not act so foolishly as to enter Pátála, for by the destruction of the serpent world your own object will be baffled.” When Vásuki said this to him, Garuḍa consented, and began to eat every day in this place one snake sent by him: and in this way innumerable serpents have met their death here. But I am a snake called Śankachúḍa,18 and it is my turn to-day: for that reason I have to-day, by the command of the king of the snakes, in order to furnish a meal to Garuḍa, come to this rock of execution, and to be lamented by my mother.”

 

When Jímútaváhana heard this speech of Śankachúḍa’s, he was grieved, and felt sorrow in his heart and said to him, “Alas! Vásuki exercises his kingly power in a very cowardly fashion, in that with his own hand he conducts his subjects to serve as food for his enemy. Why did he not first offer himself to Garuḍa? To think of this effeminate creature choosing to witness the destruction of his race! And how great a sin does Garuḍa, though the son of Kaśyapa, commit! How great folly do even great ones commit for the sake of the body only! So I will to-day deliver you alone from Garuḍa by surrendering my body. Do not be despondent, my friend.” When Śankachúḍa heard this, he out of his firm patience said to him,—“This be far from thee, O great-hearted one, do not say so again. The destruction of a jewel for the sake of a piece of glass is never becoming. And I will never incur the reproach of having disgraced my race.” In these words the good snake Śankachúḍa tried to dissuade Jímútaváhana, and thinking that the time of Garuḍa’s arrival would come in a moment, he went to worship in his last hour an image of Śiva under the name of Gokarṇa, that stood on the shore of the sea. And when he was gone, Jímútaváhana, that treasure-house of compassion, considered that he had gained an opportunity of offering himself up to save the snake’s life. Thereupon he quickly dismissed Mitrávasu to his own house on the pretext of some business, artfully pretending that he himself had forgotten it. And immediately the earth near him trembled, being shaken by the wind of the wings of the approaching Garuḍa, as if through astonishment at his valour. That made Jímútaváhana think that the enemy of the snakes was approaching, and full of compassion for others he ascended the stone of execution. And in a moment Garuḍa swooped down, darkening the heaven with his shadow, and carried off that great-hearted one, striking him with his beak. He shed drops of blood, and his crest-jewel dropped off torn out by Garuḍa, who took him away and began to eat him on the peak of the mountain. At that moment a rain of flowers fell from heaven, and Garuḍa was astonished when he saw it, wondering what it could mean.

 

In the meanwhile Śankachúḍa came there, having worshipped Gokarṇa, and saw the rock of execution sprinkled with many drops of blood; then he thought—“Alas! surely that great-hearted one has offered himself for me, so I wonder where Garuḍa has taken him in this short time. I must search for him quickly, perhaps I may find him.” Accordingly the good snake went following up the track of the blood. And in the meanwhile Garuḍa, seeing that Jímútaváhana was pleased, left off eating and thought with wonder: “This must be some one else, other than I ought to have taken, for though I am eating him, he is not at all miserable, on the contrary the resolute one rejoices.” While Garuḍa was thinking this, Jímútaváhana, though in such a state, said to him in order to attain his object: “O king of birds, in my body also there is flesh and blood; then why have you suddenly stopped eating, though your hunger is not appeased?” When he heard that, that king of birds, being overpowered with astonishment, said to him—“Noble one, you are not a snake, tell me who you are.” Jímútaváhana was just answering him, “I am a snake, so eat me, complete what you have begun, for men of resolution never leave unfinished an undertaking they have begun,” when Śankachúḍa arrived and cried out from afar, “Stop, stop, Garuḍa, he is not a snake, I am the snake meant for you, so let him go, alas! how have you suddenly come to make this mistake?” On hearing that, the king of birds was excessively bewildered, and Jímútaváhana was grieved at not having accomplished his desire. Then Garuḍa, learning, in the course of their conversation with one another, that he had begun to devour by mistake the king of the Vidyádharas, was much grieved. He began to reflect, “Alas! in my cruelty I have incurred sin. In truth those who follow evil courses easily contract guilt. But this great-hearted one who has given his life for another, and despising the world, which is altogether under the dominion of illusion, come to face me, deserves praise.” Thinking thus, he was about to enter the fire to purify himself from guilt, when Jímútaváhana said to him: “King of birds, why do you despond? If you are really afraid of guilt, then you must determine never again to eat these snakes: and you must repent of eating all those previously devoured, for this is the only remedy available in this case, it was idle for you ever to think of any other.” Thus Jímútaváhana, full of compassion for creatures, said to Garuḍa, and he was pleased and accepted the advice of that king, as if he had been his spiritual preceptor, determining to do what he recommended; and he went to bring nectar from heaven to restore to life rapidly that wounded prince, and the other snakes, whose bones only remained. Then the goddess Gaurí, pleased with Jímútaváhana’s wife’s devotion to her, came in person and rained nectar on him: by that his limbs were reproduced with increased beauty, and the sound of the drums of the rejoicing gods was heard at the same time. Then, on his rising up safe and sound, Garuḍa brought the nectar of immortality from heaven, and sprinkled it along the whole shore of the sea. That made all the snakes there rise up alive, and then that forest along the shore of the sea, crowded with the numerous tribe of snakes, appeared like Pátála come to behold Jímútaváhana, having lost its previous dread of Garuḍa. Then Jímútaváhana’s relations congratulated him, having seen that he was glorious with unwounded body and undying fame. And his wife rejoiced with her relations, and his parents also. Who would not joy at pain ending in happiness? And with his permission Śankachúḍa departed to Rasátala, and without it his glory, of its own accord, spread through the three worlds. Then, by virtue of the favour of the daughter of the Himálaya all his relations, Matanga and others, who were long hostile to him, came to Garuḍa, before whom the troops of gods were inclining out of love, and timidly approaching the glory of the Vidyádhara race, prostrated themselves at his feet. And being entreated by them, the benevolent Jímútaváhana went from that Malaya mountain to his own home, the slope of the Himálaya. There, accompanied by his parents and Mitrávasu and Malayavatí, the resolute one long enjoyed the honour of emperor of the Vidyádharas. Thus a course of fortunate events always of its own accord follows the footsteps of all those, whose exploits arouse the admiration of the three worlds. When the queen Vásavadattá heard this story from the mouth of Yaugandharáyaṇa, she rejoiced, as she was eager to hear of the splendour of her unborn son. Then, in the society of her husband, she spent that day in conversation about her son, who was to be the future king of the Vidyádharas, which was suggested by that story, for she placed unfailing reliance upon the promise of the favouring gods.