KATHA SARIT SAGARA Book VII. Chapter XXXV

Book VII.

Chapter XXXV

 

May the head of Śiva, studded with the nails of Gaurí engaged in playfully pulling his hair, and so appearing rich in many moons, procure you prosperity.

 

May the god of the elephant face, who, stretching forth his trunk wet with streaming ichor, curved at the extremity, seems to be bestowing successes, protect you.

 

Thus the young son of the king of Vatsa, having married in Kauśámbí Madanamanchuká, whom he loved as his life, remained living as he chose, with his ministers Gomukha and others, having obtained his wish.

 

And once on a time, when the feast of spring had arrived, adorned with the gushing notes of love-intoxicated cuckoos, in which the wind from the Malaya mountain set in motion by force the dance of the creepers,—the feast of spring delightful with the hum of bees, the prince went to the garden with his ministers to amuse himself. After roaming about there, his friend Tapantaka suddenly came with his eyes expanded with delight, and stepping up to him, said—“Prince, I have seen not far from here a wonderful maiden, who has descended from heaven and is standing under an aśoka-tree, and that very maiden, who illumines the regions with her beauty, advancing towards me with her friends, sent me here to summon you.” When Naraváhanadatta heard that, being eager to see her, he went quickly with his ministers to the foot of the tree. He beheld there that fair one, with her rolling eyes like bees, with her lips red like shoots, beautiful with breasts firm as clusters, having her body yellow with the dust of flowers, removing fatigue by her loveliness, like the goddess of the garden appearing in a visible shape suited to her deity. And the prince approached the heavenly maiden, who bowed before him, and welcomed her, for his eyes were ravished with her beauty. Then his minister Gomukha, after all had sat down, asked her, “Who are you, auspicious one, and for what reason have you come here?” When she heard that, she laid aside her modesty in obedience to the irresistible decree of Love, and frequently stealing sidelong glances at the lotus of Naraváhanadatta’s face with an eye that shed matchless affection, she began thus at length to relate her own history.

 

 

Story of Ratnaprabhá.

 

There is a mountain-chain called Himavat, famous in the three worlds; it has many peaks, but one of its peaks is the mount of Śiva which is garlanded with the brightness of glittering jewels, and flashes with gleaming snow, and like the expanse of the heaven, cannot be measured. Its plateaux are the home of magic powers and of magic herbs, which dispel old age, death, and fear, and are to be obtained by the favour of Śiva. With its peaks yellow with the brightness of the bodies of many Vidyádharas, it transcends the glory of the peaks of Sumeru itself, the mighty hill of the immortals.

 

On it there is a golden city called Kánchanaśṛinga, which gleams refulgent with brightness, like the palace of the Sun. It extends many yojanas, and in it there lives a king of the Vidyádharas named Hemaprabha, who is a firm votary of the husband of Umá. And though he has many wives, he has only one queen, whom he loves dearly, named Alankáraprabhá, as dear to him as Rohiṇí to the moon. With her the virtuous king used to rise up in the morning and bathe, and worship duly Śiva and his wife Gaurí, and then he would descend to the world of men, and give to poor Bráhmans every day a thousand gold-pieces mixed with jewels. And then he returned from earth and attended to his kingly duties justly, and then he ate and drank, abiding by his vow like a hermit. While days elapsed in this way, melancholy arose once in the bosom of the king, caused by his childlessness, but suggested by a passing occasion. And his beloved queen Alankáraprabhá, seeing that he was in very low spirits, asked him the cause of his sadness. Then the king said to her—“I have all prosperity, but the one grief of childlessness afflicts me, O queen. And this melancholy has arisen in my breast on the occasion of calling to mind a tale, which I heard long ago, of a virtuous man who had no son.” Then the queen said to him, “Of what nature was that tale?” When asked this question, the king told her the tale briefly in the following words:

 

Story of Sattvaśíla and the two treasures.

 

In the town of Chitrakúṭa there was a king named Bráhmaṇavara, rightly named, for he was devoted to honouring Bráhmans. He had a victorious servant named Sattvaśíla who devoted himself exclusively to war, and every month Sattvaśíla received a hundred gold-pieces from that king. But as he was munificent, that gold was not enough for him, especially as his childlessness made the pleasure of giving the sole pleasure to which he was addicted. Sattvaśíla was continually reflecting—“The Disposer has not given me a son to gladden me, but he has given me the vice of generosity, and that too without wealth. It is better to be produced in the world as an old barren tree or a stone, than as a poor man altogether abandoned to the vice of giving away money.” But once on a time Sattvaśíla, while wandering in a garden, happened by luck to find a treasure: and with the help of his servants he quickly brought home that hoard, which gleamed with much gold and glittered with priceless stones. Out of that he provided himself with pleasures, and gave wealth to Bráhmans, slaves, and friends, and thus the virtuous man spent his life. Meanwhile his relations, beholding this, guessed the secret, and went to the king’s palace, and of their own accord informed the king that Sattvaśíla had found a treasure. Then Sattvaśíla was summoned by the king, and by order of the door-keeper remained standing for a moment in a lonely part of the king’s courtyard. There, as he was scratching the earth with the hilt of a lílávajra, that was in his hand, he found another large treasure in a copper vessel. It appeared like his own heart, displayed openly for him by Destiny pleased with his virtue, in order that he might propitiate the king with it. So he covered it up again with earth as it was before, and when summoned by the door-keeper, entered the king’s presence. When he had made his bow there, the king himself said, “I have come to learn that you have obtained a treasure, so surrender it to me.” And Sattvaśíla for his part answered him then and there, “O king, tell me: shall I give you the first treasure I found, or the one I found to-day.” The king said to him—“Give the one recently found.” And thereupon Sattvaśíla went to a corner of the king’s courtyard, and gave him up the treasure. Then the king, being pleased with the treasure, dismissed Sattvaśíla with these words—“Enjoy the first-found treasure as you please.” So Sattvaśíla returned to his house. There he remained increasing the propriety of his name with gifts and enjoyments, and so managing to dispel somehow or other the melancholy caused by the affliction of childlessness.

 

“Such is the story of Sattvaśíla, which I heard long ago, and because I have recalled it to mind, I remain sorrowful through thinking over the fact that I have no son.” When the queen Alankáraprabhá was thus addressed by her husband Hemaprabha, the king of the Vidyádharas, she answered him, “It is true: Fortune does assist the brave in this way; did not Sattvaśíla, when in difficulties, obtain a second treasure? So you too will obtain your desire by the power of your courage, as an example of the truth of this, hear the story of Vikramatunga.”

 

Story of the brave king Vikramatunga.

 

There is a city called Páṭaliputra, the ornament of the earth, filled with various beautiful jewels, the colours of which are so disposed as to form a perfect scale of colour. In that city there dwelt long ago a brave king, named Vikramatunga, who in giving never turned his back on a suppliant, nor in fighting on an enemy. That king one day entered the forest to hunt, and saw there a Bráhman offering a sacrifice with vilva fruits. When he saw him, he was desirous to question him, but avoided going near him, and went off to a great distance with his army in his ardour for the chase. For a long time he sported with deer and lions, that rose up and fell slain by his hand, as if with foes, and then he returned and beheld the Bráhman still intent on his sacrifice as before, and going up to him he bowed before him, and asked him his name and the advantage he hoped to derive from offering the vilva fruits. Then the Bráhman blessed the king and said to him, “I am a Bráhman named Nágaśarman, and bear the fruit I hope from my sacrifice. When the god of Fire is pleased with this vilva sacrifice, then vilva fruits of gold will come out of the fire-cavity. Then the god of Fire will appear in bodily form and grant me a boon; and so I have spent much time in offering vilva fruits. But so little is my merit that even now the god of Fire is not propitiated.” When he said this, that king of resolute valour answered him—“Then give me one vilva fruit that I may offer it, and I will to-day, O Bráhman, render the god of Fire propitious to you.” Then the Bráhman said to the king, “How will you, unchastened and impure, propitiate that god of Fire, who is not satisfied with me, who remain thus faithful to my vow, and am chastened?” When the Bráhman said this to him, the king said to him again, “Never mind, give me a vilva fruit, and in a moment you shall behold a wonder.” Then the Bráhman, full of curiosity, gave a vilva fruit to the king, and he then and there meditated with soul of firm valour—“If thou art not satisfied with this vilva fruit, O god of Fire, then I will offer thee my own head,” and thereupon offered the fruit. And the seven-rayed god appeared from the sacrificial cavity, bringing the king a golden vilva fruit as the fruit of his tree of valour. And the Fire-god, present in visible form, said to that king—“I am pleased with thy courage, so receive a boon, O king.” When the magnanimous king heard that, he bowed before him and said—“Grant this Bráhman his wish. What other boon do I require?” On hearing this speech of the king’s, the Fire-god was much pleased and said to him—“O king, this Bráhman shall become a great lord of wealth, and thou also by my favour shalt have the prosperity of thy treasury ever undiminished.” When the Fire-god had, in these words, bestowed the boon, the Bráhman asked him this question; “Thou hast appeared swiftly to a king that acts according to his own will, but not to me that am under vows: why is this, O revered one?” Then the Fire-god, the giver of boons, answered—“If I had not granted him an interview, this king of fierce courage would have offered his head in sacrifice to me. In this world successes quickly befall those of fierce spirit, but they come slowly, O Bráhman, to those of dull spirit like thee.” Thus spake the god of Fire, and vanished, and the Bráhman Nágaśarman took leave of the king and in course of time became very rich. But the king Vikramatunga, whose courage had been thus seen by his dependents, returned amid their plaudits to his town of Páṭaliputra.

 

When the king was dwelling there, the warder Śatrunjaya entered suddenly one day, and said secretly to him; “There is standing at the door, O king, a Bráhman lad, who says his name is Dattaśarman, he wishes to make a representation to you in private.” The king gave the order to introduce him, and the lad was introduced, and after blessing the king, he bowed before him, and sat down. And he made this representation—“King, by a certain device of powder I know how to make always excellent gold out of copper. For that device was shewn me by my spiritual teacher, and I saw with my own eyes that he made gold by that device.” When the lad said this, the king ordered copper to be brought, and when it was melted, the lad threw the powder upon it. But while the powder was being thrown, an invisible Yaksha carried it off, and the king alone saw him, having propitiated the god of Fire. And that copper did not turn into gold, as the powder did not reach it; thrice did the lad make the attempt and thrice his labour was in vain. Then the king, first of brave men, took the powder from the desponding lad, and himself threw it on the melted copper; when he threw the powder, the Yaksha did not intercept it, but went away smiling. Accordingly the copper became gold by contact with that powder. Then the boy, astonished, asked the king for an explanation, and the king told him the incident of the Yaksha, just as he had seen it. And having learned in this way the device of the powder from that lad, the king made him marry a wife, and gave him all he wished, and having his treasury prosperously filled by means of the gold produced by that device, he himself enjoyed great happiness together with his wives, and made Bráhmans rich.

 

“Thus you see that the Lord grants their desires to men of fierce courage, seeming to be either terrified or pleased by them. And who, O king, is of more firm valour or more generous than you? So Śiva, when propitiated by you, will certainly give you a son; do not sorrow.” The king Hemaprabha, when he heard this noble speech from the mouth of queen Alankáraprabhá, believed it and was pleased. And he considered that his own heart, radiant with cheerfulness, indicated that he would certainly obtain a son by propitiating Śiva. The next day after this, he and his wife bathed and worshipped Śiva, and he gave 90 millions of gold-pieces to the Bráhmans, and without taking food he went through ascetic practices in front of Śiva, determined that he would either leave the body or propitiate the god, and continuing in asceticism, he praised the giver of boons, the husband of the daughter of the mountain, that lightly gave away the sea of milk to his votary Upamanyu, saying, “Honour to thee, O husband of Gaurí, who art the cause of the creation, preservation, and destruction of the world, who dost assume the eight special forms of ether and the rest. Honour to thee, who sleepest on the ever-expanded lotus of the heart, that art Śambhu, the swan dwelling in the pure Mánasa lake. Honour to thee, the exceeding marvellous Moon, of divine brightness, pure, of watery substance, to be beheld by those whose sins are put away; to thee whose beloved is half thy body, and who nevertheless art supremely chaste. Honour to thee who didst create the world by a wish, and art thyself the world.”

 

When the king had praised Śiva in these words and fasted for three nights, the god appeared to him in a dream, and spake as follows: “Rise up, O king, there shall be born to thee a heroic son that shall uphold thy race. And thou shalt also obtain by the favour of Gaurí, a glorious daughter who is destined to be the queen of that treasure-house of glory, Naraváhanadatta, your future emperor.” When Śiva had said this, he disappeared, and Hemaprabha woke up, delighted, at the close of night. And by telling his dream he gladdened his wife Alankáraprabhá, who had been told the same by Gaurí in a dream, and dwelt on the agreement of the two visions. And then the king rose up and bathed and worshipped Śiva, and after giving gifts, broke his fast, and kept high festival.

 

Then, after some days had passed, the queen Alankáraprabhá became pregnant by that king, and delighted her beloved by her face redolent of honey, with wildly rolling eyes, so that it resembled a pale lotus with bees hovering round it. Then she gave birth in due time to a son, (whose noble lineage was proclaimed by the elevated longings of her pregnancy,) as the sky gives birth to the orb of day. As soon as he was born, the lying-in chamber was illuminated by his might, and so was made red as vermilion. And his father gave to that infant, that brought terror to the families of his enemies, the name of Vajraprabha, that had been appointed for him by a divine voice. Then the boy grew by degrees, being filled with accomplishments, and causing the exultation of his family, as the new moon fills out with digits, and causes the sea to rise.

 

Then, not long after, the queen of that king Hemaprabha again became pregnant. And when she was pregnant, she sat upon a golden throne, and became truly the jewel of the harem, adding special lustre to her settings. And in a chariot, in the shape of a beautiful lotus, manufactured by help of magic science, she roamed about in the sky, since her pregnant longings assumed that form. But when the due time came, a daughter was born to that queen, whose birth by the favour of Gaurí was a sufficient guarantee of her loveliness. And this voice was then heard from heaven—“She shall be the wife of Naraváhanadatta”—which agreed with the words of Śiva’s revelation. And the king was just as much delighted at her birth as he was at that of his son, and gave her the name of Ratnaprabhá. And Ratnaprabhá, adorned with her own science, grew up in the house of her father, producing illumination in all the quarters of the sky. Then the king made his son Vajraprabha, who had begun to wear armour, take a wife, and appointed him crown-prince. And he devolved on him the burden of the kingdom and remained at ease; but still one anxiety lingered in his heart, anxiety about the marriage of his daughter.

 

One day the king beheld that daughter, who was fit to be given away in marriage, sitting near him, and said to the queen Alankáraprabhá, who was in his presence; “Observe, queen, a daughter is a great misery in the three worlds, even though she is the ornament of her family, a misery, alas! even to the great. For this Ratnaprabhá, though modest, learned, young and beautiful, afflicts me because she has not obtained a husband.” The queen said to him—“She was proclaimed by the gods as the destined wife of Naraváhanadatta, our future emperor, why is she not given to him?” When the queen said this to him, the king answered: “In truth the maiden is fortunate, that shall obtain him for a bridegroom. For he is an incarnation of Káma upon earth, but he has not as yet attained his divine nature: therefore I am now waiting for his attainment of superhuman knowledge.” While he was thus speaking, Ratnaprabhá, by means of those accents of her father, which entered her ear like the words of the bewildering spell of the god of love, became as if bewildered, as if possessed, as if asleep, as if in a picture, and her heart was captivated by that bridegroom. Then with difficulty she took a respectful leave of her parents, and went to her own private apartments, and managed at length to get to sleep at the end of the night. Then the goddess Gaurí, being full of pity for her, gave her this command in a dream; “To-morrow, my daughter, is an auspicious day; so thou must go to the city of Kauśámbí and see thy future husband, and thence thy father, O auspicious one, will himself bring thee and him into this his city, and celebrate your marriage.” So in the morning, when she woke up, she told that dream to her mother. Then her mother gave her leave to go, and she, knowing by her superhuman knowledge that her bridegroom was in the garden, set out from her own city to visit him.

 

“Thou knowest, O my husband, that I am that Ratnaprabhá, arrived to-day in a moment, full of impatience, and you all know the sequel.” When he heard this speech of hers, that in sweetness exceeded nectar, and beheld the body of the Vidyádharí that was ambrosia to the eyes, Naraváhanadatta in his heart blamed the Creator, saying to himself—“Why did he not make me all eye and ear?” And he said to her—“Fortunate am I; my birth and life has obtained its fruit, in that I, O beautiful one, have been thus visited by thee out of affection!” When they had thus exchanged the protestations of new love, suddenly the army of the Vidyádharas was beheld there in the heaven. Ratnaprabhá said immediately, “Here is my father come,” and the king Hemaprabha descended from heaven with his son. And with his son Vajraprabha he approached that Naraváhanadatta, who gave him a courteous welcome. And while they stood for a moment paying one another the customary compliments, the king of Vatsa, who had heard of it, came with his ministers. And then that Hemaprabha told the king, after he had performed towards him the rites of hospitality, the whole story exactly as it had been related by Ratnaprabhá, and said, “I knew by the power of my supernatural knowledge that my daughter had come here, and I am aware of all that has happened in this place.

 

For he will afterwards possess such an imperial chariot. Pray consent, and then thou shalt behold in a short time thy son, the prince, returned here, united to his wife Ratnaprabhá.” After he had addressed this prayer to the king of Vatsa, and he had consented to his wish, that Hemaprabha, with his son, prepared that chariot by his own magic skill, and made Naraváhanadatta ascend it, together with Ratnaprabhá, whose face was cast down from modesty, followed by Gomukha and the others, and Yaugandharáyaṇa, who was also deputed to accompany him by his father, and thus Hemaprabha took him to his own capital, Kánchanaśringaka.

 

And Naraváhanadatta, when he reached that city of his father-in-law, saw that it was all of gold, gleaming with golden ramparts, embraced, as it were, on all sides with rays issuing out like shoots, and so stretching forth innumerable arms in eagerness of love for that son-in-law. There the king Hemaprabha, of high emprise, gave Ratnaprabhá with due ceremonies to him, as the sea gave Lakshmí to Vishṇu. And he gave him glittering heaps of jewels, gleaming like innumerable wedding fires lighted. And in the city of that festive prince, who was showering wealth, even the houses, being draped with flags, appeared as if they had received changes of raiment. And Naraváhanadatta, having performed the auspicious ceremony of marriage, remained there enjoying heavenly pleasures with Ratnaprabhá. And he amused himself by looking in her company at beautiful temples of the gods in gardens and lakes, having ascended with her the heaven by the might of her science.

 

So, after he had lived some days with his wife in the city of the king of the Vidyádharas, the son of the king of Vatsa determined, in accordance with the advice of Yaugandharáyaṇa, to return to his own city. Then his mother-in-law performed for him the auspicious ceremonies previous to starting, and his father-in-law again honoured him and his minister, and then he set out with Hemaprabha and his son, accompanied by his beloved, having again ascended that chariot. He soon arrived, like a stream of nectar to the eyes of his mother, and entered his city with Hemaprabha and his son and his own followers, bringing with him his wife, who made the king of Vatsa rejoice exceedingly with delight at beholding her. The king of Vatsa of exalted fortune, with Vásavadattá, welcomed that son, who bowed at his feet with his wife, and honoured Hemaprabha his new connexion, as well as his son, in a manner conformable to his own dignity. Then, after that king of the Vidyádharas, Hemaprabha, had taken leave of the lord of Vatsa and his family, and had flown up into the heaven and gone to his own city, that Naraváhanadatta, together with Ratnaprabhá and Madanamanchuká, spent that day in happiness surrounded by his friends.