KATHA SARIT SAGARA Chapter CXXI.

 

Chapter CXXI.

 

When Anangadeva had told this to king Vikramáditya in his hall of audience, he continued as follows:—

 

Then, after I had taken food, that lady, sitting in the midst of her attendants, said to me, “Listen, Anangadeva, I will now tell you all.”

 

Story of Madanamanjarí.

 

I am Madanamanjarí, the daughter of Dundubhi the king of the Yakshas, and the wife of Maṇibhadra the brother of Kuvera. I used always to roam about happily with my husband on the banks of rivers, on hills, and in charming groves.

 

And one day I went with my beloved to a garden in Ujjayiní called Makaranda to amuse myself. There it happened that in the dawn a low hypocritical scoundrel of a kápálika saw me, when I had just woke up from a sleep brought on by the fatigue of roaming about. That rascal, being overcome with love, went into a cemetery, and proceeded to try and procure me for his wife by means of a spell, and a burnt-offering. But I by my power found out what he was about, and informed my husband; and he told his elder brother Kuvera. And Kuvera went and complained to Brahmá, and the holy Brahmá, after meditating, said to him, “It is true that kápálika intends to rob your brother of his wife, for such is the power of those spells for mastering Yakshas, which he possesses. But when she feels herself being drawn along by the spell, she must invoke the protection of king Vikramáditya; he will save her from him.” Then Kuvera came and told this answer of Brahmá’s to my husband, and my husband told it to me, whose mind was troubled by that wicked spell.

 

And in the meanwhile that hypocritical kápálika, offering a burnt-offering in the cemetery, began to draw me to him by means of a spell, duly muttered in a circle. And I, being drawn by that spell, reached in an agony of terror that awful cemetery, full of bones and skulls, haunted by demons. And then I saw there that wicked kápálika: he had made an offering to the fire, and he had in a circle a corpse lying on its back, which he had been worshipping. And that kápálika, when he saw that I had arrived, was beside himself with pride, and with difficulty tore himself away to rinse his mouth in a river, which happened to be near.

 

At that moment I called to mind what Brahmá had said, and I thought, “Why should I not call to the king for aid? He may be roaming about in the darkness somewhere near.” When I had said this to myself, I called aloud for his help in the following words, “Deliver me, noble king Vikramáditya! See, protecting talisman of the world, this kápálika is bent on outraging by force, in your realm, me a chaste matron, the Yakshí Madanamanjarí by name, the daughter of Dundubhi, and the wife of Maṇibhadra the younger brother of Kuvera.”

 

No sooner had I finished this plaintive appeal, than I saw that king coming towards me, sword in hand; he seemed to be all resplendent with brightness of valour, and he said to me, “My good lady, do not fear; be at ease; I will deliver you from that kápálika, fair one. For who is able to work such unrighteousness in my realm?” When he had said this, he summoned a Vetála, named Agniśikha. And he, when summoned, came, tall, with flaming eyes, with upstanding hair; and said to the king, “Tell me what I am to do.” Then the king said, “Kill and eat this wicked kápálika, who is trying to carry off his neighbour’s wife.” Then that Vetála Agniśikha entered the corpse that was in the circle of adoration, and rose up, and rushed forward, stretching out his arms and mouth. And when the kápálika, who had come back from rinsing his mouth, was preparing to fly, he seized him from behind by the legs; and he whirled him round in the air and then dashed him down with great force on the earth, and so at one blow crushed his body and his aspirations.

 

When the demons saw the kápálika slain, they were all eager for flesh, and a fierce Vetála, named Yamaśikha, came there. As soon as he came, he seized the body of the kápálika; then the first Vetála Agniśikha said to him, “Hear, villain! I have killed this kápálika by the order of king Vikramáditya; pray what have you to do with him?” When Yamaśikha heard that, he said to him, “Then tell me, what kind of power has that king?” Then Agniśikha said, “If you do not know the nature of his power, listen, I will tell you.”

 

Story of the gambler Dágineya, who was too cunning for the Vetála Agniśikha, and of Agniśikha’s submission to king Vikramáditya.

 

There once lived in this city a very resolute gambler of the name of Dágineya. Once on a time some gamblers, by fraudulent play, won from him all he possessed, and then bound him in order to obtain from him the borrowed money which he had lost in addition. And as he had nothing, they beat him with sticks and other instruments of torture, but he made himself like a stone, and seemed as rigid as a corpse. Then all those wicked gamblers took him and threw him into a large dark well, fearing that, if he lived, he might take vengeance on them.

 

But that gambler Dágineya, when flung down into that very deep well, saw in front of him two great and terrible men. But they, when they saw him fall down terrified, said to him kindly, “Who are you, and how have you managed to fall into this deep well? Tell us!” Then the gambler recovered his spirits, and told them his story, and said to them “Do you also tell me who you are and whence you come.” When those men, who were in the pit, heard that, they said, “Good Sir, we were Bráhman demons dwelling in the cemetery belonging to this city, and we possessed two maidens in this very city; one was the daughter of the principal minister, the other of the chief merchant. And no conjurer on the earth, however powerful his spells, was able to deliver those maidens from us.

 

“Then king Vikramáditya, who had an affection for their fathers, heard of it, and came to the place, where those maidens were with a friend of their fathers’. The moment we saw the king, we left the maidens, and tried to escape, but we were not able to do so, though we tried our utmost. We saw the whole horizon on fire with his splendour. Then that king, seeing us, bound us by his power. And seeing us unhappy, as we were afraid of being put to death, he gave us this order, ‘Ye wicked ones, dwell for a year in a dark pit, and then ye shall be set at liberty. But when freed, ye must never again commit such a crime; if ye do, I will punish you with destruction.’ After king Vishamaśíla had given us this order, he had us flung into this dark pit; but out of mercy he did not destroy us.

 

“And in eight more days the year will be completed, and with it the period during which we were to dwell in this cave, and we shall then be released from it. Now, friend, if you engage to supply us with some food during those days, we will lift you out of this pit, and set you down outside it; but if you do not, when lifted out, supply us with food according to your engagement, we will certainly, when we come out, devour you.”

 

When the Bráhman demons made this proposal to the gambler, he consented to it, and they put him out of the pit. When he got out of it, he went to the cemetery at night to deal in human flesh, as he saw no other chance of getting what he wanted. And I, happening to be there at that time, saw that gambler, who was crying out, “I have human flesh for sale; buy it somebody.” Then I said, “I will take it off your hands; what price do you want for it?” And he answered, “Give me your shape and power.” Then I said again to him, “My fine fellow, what will you do with them?” The gambler then told me his whole story, and said to me, “By means of your shape and power I will get hold of those enemies of mine, the gamblers, together with the keeper of the gambling-house, and will give them to the Bráhman demons to eat.” When I heard that, I was pleased with the resolute spirit of that gambler, and gave him my shape and my power for a specified period of seven days. And by means of them he drew those men that had injured him into his power, one after another, and flung them into the pit, and fed the Bráhman demons on them during seven days.

 

Then I took back from him my shape and power, and that gambler Dágineya, beside himself with fear, said to me, “I have not given those Bráhman demons any food this day, which is the eighth, so they will now come out and devour me. Tell me what I must do in this case, for you are my friend.” When he said this, I, having got to like him from being thrown with him, said to him, “If this is the case, since you have made those two demons devour the gamblers, I for your sake will in turn eat the demons. So shew them to me, my friend.” When I made the gambler this offer, he at once jumped at it, and took me to the pit where the demons were.

 

I, suspecting nothing, bent my head down to look into the pit, and while I was thus engaged, the gambler put his hand on the back of my neck, and pushed me into it. When I fell into it, the demons took me for some one sent for them to eat, and laid hold of me, and I had a wrestling-match with them. When they found that they could not overcome the might of my arms, they desisted from the struggle, and asked me who I was.

 

Then I told them my own story from the point where my fortunes became involved with those of Dágineya, and they made friends with me, and said to me, “Alas! What a trick that evil-minded gambler has played you, and us two, and those other gamblers! But what confidence can be placed in gamblers, who profess exclusively the science of cheating, whose minds are proof against friendship, pity, and gratitude for a benefit received? Recklessness and disregard of all ties are ingrained in the nature of gamblers; hear in illustration of this the story of Ṭhiṇṭhákarála.”

 

Story of Ṭhiṇṭhákarála the bold gambler.

 

Long ago there lived in this very city of Ujjayiní a ruffianly gambler, who was rightly named Ṭhiṇṭhákarála. He lost perpetually, and the others, who won in the game, used to give him every day a hundred cowries. With those he bought wheat-flour from the market, and in the evening made cakes by kneading them somewhere or other in a pot with water, and then he went and cooked them in the flame of a funeral pyre in the cemetery, and ate them in front of Mahákála, smearing them with the grease from the lamp burning before him: and he always slept at night on the ground in the court of the same god’s temple, pillowing his head on his arm.

 

Now, one night, he saw the images of all the Mothers and of the Yakshas and other divine beings in the temple of Mahákála trembling from the proximity of spells, and this thought arose in his bosom, “Why should I not employ an artful device here to obtain wealth? If it succeeds, well and good; if it does not succeed, wherein am I the worse?” When he had gone through these reflections, he challenged those deities to play, saying to them, “Come now, I will have a game with you, and I will act as keeper of the gaming-table, and will fling the dice; and mind, you must always pay up what you lose.” When he said this to the deities they remained silent; so Ṭhiṇṭhákarála staked some spotted cowries, and flung the dice. For this is the universally accepted rule among gamblers, that, if a gambler does not object to the dice being thrown, he agrees to play.

 

Then, having won much gold, he said to the deities, “Pay me the money I have won, as you agreed to do.” But though the gambler said this to the deities over and over again, they made no answer. Then he flew in a passion and said to them, “If you remain silent, I will adopt with you the same course as is usually adopted with a gambler, who will not pay the money he has lost, but makes himself as stiff as a stone. I will simply saw through your limbs with a saw as sharp as the points of Yama’s teeth, for I have no respect for anything.” When he had said this, he ran towards them, saw in hand; and the deities immediately paid him the gold he had won. Next morning he lost it all at play, and in the evening he came back again, and extorted more money from the Mothers in the same way by making them play with him.

 

He went on doing this every day, and those deities, the Mothers, were in very low spirits about it; then the goddess Chámuṇḍá said to them, “Whoever, when invited to gamble, says ‘I sit out of this game’ cannot be forced to play; this is the universal convention among gamblers, ye Mother deities. So when he invites you, say this to him, and so baffle him.” When Chámuṇḍá had said this to the Mothers, they laid her advice up in their minds. And when the gambler came at night and invited them to play with him, all the goddesses said with one accord “We sit out of this game.”

 

When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála had been thus repulsed by those goddesses, he invited their sovereign Mahákála himself to play. But that god, thinking that the fellow had taken this opportunity of trying to force him to gamble, said, “I sit out of this game.” Even gods, you see, like feeble persons, are afraid of a thoroughly self-indulgent, ruffianly scoundrel, flushed with impunity.

 

Then that Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, being depressed at finding his gambler’s artifice baffled by a knowledge of the etiquette of play, was disgusted, and said to himself, “Alas! I am baffled by these deities through their learning the conventions of gamblers; so I must now flee for refuge to this very sovereign of the gods.” Having formed this resolution in his heart, Ṭhiṇṭhákarála embraced the feet of Mahákála, and praising him, addressed to him the following petition; “I adore thee that sittest naked with thy head resting on thy knee; thy moon, thy bull, and thy elephant-skin having been won at play by Deví. When the gods give all powers at thy mere desire, and when thou art free from longings, having for thy only possessions the matted lock, the ashes and the skull, how canst thou suddenly have become avaricious with regard to hapless me, in that thou desirest to disappoint me for so small a gain? Of a truth the wishing-tree no longer gratifies the hope of the poor, as thou dost not support me, lord Bhairava, though thou supportest the world. So, as I have fled to thee as a suppliant, holy Stháṇu, with my mind pierced with grievous woe, thou oughtest even to pardon presumption in me. Thou hast three eyes, I have three dice, so I am like thee in one respect; thou hast ashes on thy body, so have I; thou eatest from a skull, so do I; shew me mercy. When I have conversed with you gods, how can I afterwards bear to converse with gamblers? So deliver me from my calamity.”

 

With this and similar utterances the gambler praised that Bhairava, until at last the god was pleased, and manifesting himself, said to him, “Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, I am pleased with thee; do not be despondent. Remain here with me; I will provide thee with enjoyments.” In accordance with this command of the god’s that gambler remained there, enjoying all kinds of luxuries provided by the favour of the deity.

 

Now, one night, the god saw certain Apsarases, that had come to bathe in that holy pool of Mahákála, and he gave this command to Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, “While all these nymphs of heaven are engaged in bathing, quickly snatch up the clothes, which they have laid on the bank, and bring them here; and do not give them back their garments, until they surrender to you this young nymph, named Kalávatí.”

 

“When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála had received this command from Bhairava, he went and carried off the garments of those heavenly beauties, while they were bathing; and they said to him, “Give us back our garments, please; do not leave us naked.” But he answered them, confident in the power which Śiva gave, “If you will give me the young nymph Kalávatí, I will give you back these garments, but not otherwise.” When they heard that, seeing that he was a stubborn fellow to deal with, and remembering that Indra had pronounced a curse of this kind upon Kalávatí, they agreed to his demand. And on his giving back the garments, they bestowed on him, in due form, Kalávatí the daughter of Alambushá.

 

Then the Apsarases departed, and Ṭhiṇṭhákarála remained there with that Kalávatí in a house built by the wish of Śiva. And Kalávatí went in the day to heaven to attend upon the king of the gods, but at night she always returned to her husband. And one day she said to him in the ardour of her affection, “My dear, the curse of Śiva, which enabled me to obtain you for a husband, has really proved a blessing.” Thereupon her husband Ṭhiṇṭhákarála asked her the cause of the curse, and the nymph Kalávatí thus answered him:

 

“One day, when I had seen the gods in a garden, I praised the enjoyments of mortals, depreciating the pleasures of the dwellers in heaven, as giving joys that consist only in seeing. When the king of the gods heard that, he cursed me, saying, ‘Thou shalt go and be married by a mortal, and enjoy those human pleasures.’ In this way has come about our union that is mutually agreeable. And to-morrow I shall return to heaven after a long absence; do not be unhappy about it; for Rambhá is going to dance a new piece before Vishṇu, and I must remain there, my beloved, until the exhibition is at an end.”

 

Then Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, whom love had made like a spoiled child, said to her, “I will go there and look at that dance unperceived, take me there.” When Kalávatí heard that, she said, “How is it fitting for me to do this? The king of the gods might be angry, if he found it out.” Though she said this to him, he continued to press her; then out of love she agreed to take him there.

 

So the next morning Kalávatí by her power concealed Ṭhiṇṭhákarála in a lotus, which she placed as an ornament in her ear, and took him to the palace of Indra. When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála saw that palace, the doors of which were adorned by the elephant of the gods, which was set off by the garden of Nandana, he thought himself a god, and was highly delighted. And in the court of Indra, frequented by gods, he beheld the strange and delightful spectacle of Rambhá’s dance, accompanied by the singing of all the nymphs of heaven. And he heard all the musical instruments played by Nárada and the other minstrels; for what is hard to obtain in this world if the supreme god is favourable to one?

 

Then, at the end of the exhibition a mime, in the shape of a divine goat, rose up, and began to dance with heavenly movements. And Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, when he saw him, recognized him, and said to himself, “Why, I see this goat in Ujjayiní, figuring as a mere animal, and here he is dancing as a mime before Indra. Of a truth this must be some strange incomprehensible heavenly delusion.” While Ṭhiṇṭhákarála was going through these reflections in his mind, the dance of the goat-mime came to an end, and then Indra returned to his own place. And then Kalávatí, in high spirits, also took back Ṭhiṇṭhákarála to his own home, concealed in the lotus-ornament of her ear.

 

And the next day Ṭhiṇṭhákarála beheld in Ujjayiní that goat-formed mime of the gods, who had returned there, and he insolently said to him, “Come, dance before me, as you dance before Indra. If you do not, I shall be angry with you; show off your dancing powers, you mime.” When the goat heard this, he was astonished, and remained silent, saying to himself, “How can this mere mortal know so much about me?” But when, in spite of persistent entreaties, the goat refused to dance, Ṭhiṇṭhákarála beat him on the head with sticks.

 

Then the goat went with bleeding head to Indra, and told him all that had taken place. And Indra by his supernatural powers of contemplation discovered the whole secret, how Kalávatí had brought Ṭhiṇṭhákarála to heaven when Rambhá was dancing, and how that profane fellow had there seen the goat dancing. Then Indra summoned Kalávatí, and pronounced on her the following curse, “Since, out of love, thou didst secretly bring here the man who has reduced the goat to this state, to make him dance, depart and become an image on a pillar in the temple built by king Narasinha in the city of Nágapura.”

 

When Indra had said this, Alambushá, the mother of Kalávatí, tried to appease him, and at last he was with difficulty appeased, and he thus fixed an end to the curse, “When that temple, which it has taken many years to complete, shall perish and be levelled with the ground, then shall her curse come to an end.” So Kalávatí came weeping and told to Ṭhiṇṭhákarála the curse Indra had pronounced, together with the end he had appointed to it, and how he himself was to blame, and then, after giving him her ornaments, she entered into an image on the front of a pillar in the temple in Nágapura.

 

Ṭhiṇṭhákarála for his part, smitten with the poison of separation from her, could neither hear nor see, but rolled swooning on the ground. And when that gambler came to his senses, he uttered this lament, “Alas! fool that I was, I revealed the secret, though I knew better all the time; for how can people like myself, who are by nature thoughtless, shew self-restraint? So now this intolerable separation has fallen to my lot.” However in a moment he said to himself, “This is no time for me to despond; why should I not recover firmness and strive to put an end to her curse?”

 

After going through these reflections, the cunning fellow thought carefully over the matter, and assuming the dress of a mendicant devotee, went with rosary, antelope-skin, and matted hair, to Nágapura. There he secretly buried in a forest outside the city, four pitchers containing his wife’s ornaments, one towards each of the cardinal points; and one full of sets of the five precious things he deliberately buried within the city, in the earth of the market-place, in front of the god himself.

 

When he had done this, he built a hut on the bank of the river, and remained there, affecting a hypocritical asceticism, pretending to be meditating and muttering. And by bathing three times in the day, and eating only the food given him as alms, after washing it with water on a stone, he acquired the character of a very holy man.

 

In course of time his fame reached the ears of the king, and the king often invited him, but he never went near him: so the king came to see him, and remained a long time in conversation with him. And in the evening, when the king was preparing to depart, a female jackal suddenly uttered a yell at a distance. When the cunning gambler, who was passing himself off as an ascetic, heard that, he laughed. And when the king asked him the meaning of the laugh, he said, “Oh! never mind.” But when the king went on persistently questioning him, the deceitful fellow said, “In the forest to the east of this city, under a ratan, there is a pitcher full of jewelled ornaments; so take it. This, king, is what that female jackal told me, for I understand the language of animals.”

 

Then the king was full of curiosity: so the ascetic took him to the spot, and dug up the earth, and took out that pitcher, and gave it to him. Then the king, having obtained the ornaments, began to have faith in the ascetic, and considered that he not only possessed supernatural knowledge but was a truthful and unselfish devotee. So he conducted him to his cell, and prostrated himself at his feet again and again, and returned to his palace at night with his ministers, praising his virtues.

 

In the same way, when the king again came to him, the ascetic pretended to understand the cry of an animal, and in this way made over to the king the other three pitchers, buried towards the other three cardinal points. Then the king, and the citizens, and the king’s wives became exclusively devoted to the ascetic, and were, so to speak, quite absorbed in him.

 

Now, one day, the king took that wicked ascetic to the temple for a moment; so he contrived to hear in the market-place the cry of a crow. Then he said to the king, “Did you hear what the crow said? ‘In this very market-place there is a pitcher full of valuable jewels buried in front of the god: why do you not take it up also?’ This was the meaning of his cry; so come, and take possession of it.” When the deceitful ascetic had said this, he conducted him there, and took up out of the earth the pitcher full of valuable jewels, and gave it to the king. Then the king, in his excessive satisfaction, entered the temple holding that pretended seer by the hand.

 

There the mendicant brushed against that image on the pillar, which his beloved Kalávatí had entered, and saw her. And Kalávatí, wearing the form of the image on the pillar, was afflicted when she saw her husband, and began to weep then and there. When the king and his attendants saw this, they were amazed, and cast down, and said to that pretended seer, “Reverend Sir, what is the meaning of this?” Then the cunning rascal, pretending to be despondent and bewildered, said to the king, “Come to your palace: there I will tell you this secret, though it is almost too terrible to be revealed.”

 

When he had said this, he led the king to the palace, and said to him, “Since you built this temple on an unlucky spot and in an inauspicious moment, on the third day from now a misfortune will befall you. It was for this reason that the image on the pillar wept when she saw you. So, if you care for your body’s weal, my sovereign, take this into consideration, and this very day quickly level this temple with the earth; and build another temple somewhere else, on a lucky spot, and in an auspicious moment. Let the evil omen be averted, and ensure the prosperity of yourself and your kingdom.” When he had said this to the king, he, in his terror, gave command to his subjects, and in one day levelled that temple with the earth, and he began to build another temple in another place. So true is it that rogues with their tricks gain the confidence of princes, and impose upon them.

 

Accordingly, the gambler Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, having gained his object, abandoned the disguise of a mendicant, and fled, and went to Ujjayiní. And Kalávatí, finding it out, went to meet him on the road, freed from her curse and happy, and she comforted him, and then went to heaven to visit Indra. And Indra was astonished, but when he heard from her mouth the artifice of her husband the gambler, he laughed and was highly delighted. Then Vṛihaspati, who was at his side, said to Indra, “Gamblers are always like this, abounding in every kind of trickery.”

         

Story of the gambler who cheated Yama.

 

For instance, in a previous kalpa there was in a certain city a gambler, of the name of Kuṭṭaníkapaṭa, accomplished in dishonest play. When he went to the other world, Indra said to him, “Gambler, you will have to live a kalpa in hell on account of your crimes, but owing to your charity you are to be Indra for one day, for once on a time you gave a gold coin to a knower of the Supreme Soul. So say, whether you will take out first your period in hell or your period as Indra.” When the gambler heard that, be said, “I will take out first my period as Indra.”

 

Then Yama sent the gambler to heaven, and the gods deposed Indra for a day, and crowned him sovereign in his stead. He, having obtained sovereign sway, summoned to heaven the gamblers his friends and his female favourites, and in virtue of his regal authority gave this order to the gods, “Carry us all in a moment to all the holy bathing-places, those in heaven, and those on earth, and those in the seven dvípas: and enter this very day into all the kings on the earth, and bestow without ceasing, great, gifts for our benefit.”

 

When he gave this order to the gods, they did everything as he had desired, and by means of those holy observances his sins were washed away, and he obtained the rank of Indra permanently. And by his favour his friends and his female favourites, that he had summoned to heaven, had their sins destroyed and obtained immortality. The next day Chitragupta informed Yama that the gambler had by his discretion obtained the rank of Indra permanently. Then Yama, hearing of his meritorious actions, was astonished, and said, “Dear me! this gambler has cheated us.”

 

When Vṛihaspati had told this story, he said, “Such, O wielder of the thunderbolt, are gamblers,” and then held his peace. And then Indra sent Kalávatí to summon Ṭhiṇṭhákarála to heaven. There the king of the gods, pleased with his cleverness and resolution, honoured him, and gave him Kalávatí to wife, and made him an attendant on himself. Then the brave Ṭhiṇṭhákarála lived happily, like a god, in heaven, with Kalávatí, by the favour of Śiva.

 

“So, you see, such is the style in which gamblers exhibit their treachery and audacity; accordingly Agniśikha the Vampire, what is there to be surprised at in your having been treacherously thrown into this well by Dágineya the gambler? So come out of this pit, friend, and we will come out also.”

 

When the Bráhman demons said this to me, I came up out of that pit, and being hungry, I came across a Bráhman traveller that night in the city. So I rushed forward and seized that Bráhman to eat him, but he invoked the protection of king Vikramáditya. And the moment the king heard his cry, he rushed out like flame, and while still at a distance, checked me by exclaiming “Ah villain! do not kill the Bráhman:” and then he proceeded to cut off the head of a figure of a man he had drawn; that did not sever my neck, but made it stream with blood.

 

Then I left the Bráhman and clung to the king’s feet, and he spared my life.

 

“Such is the power of that god, king Vikramáditya. And it is by his orders that I have slain this hypocritical kápálika. So he is my proper prey, to be devoured by me as being a Vetála; let him go, Yamaśikha!”

 

Though Agniśikha made this appeal to Yamaśikha, the latter proceeded contumaciously to drag with his hand the corpse of that hypocritical kápálika. Then king Vikramáditya appeared there, and drew the figure of a man on the earth and then cut off its hand with his sword. That made the hand of Yamaśikha fall severed; so he left the corpse, and fled in fear. And Agniśikha immediately devoured the corpse of that kápálika. And I witnessed all this, securely protected by the might of the king.

 

“In these words did that wife of the Yaksha, Madanamanjarí by name, describe your power, O king, and then she went on to say to me.”

 

Then, Anangadeva, the king said to me in a gentle voice, “Yakshí, being delivered from the kápálika, go to the house of your husband.” Then I bowed before him, and returned to this my own home, thinking how I might repay to that king the benefit he had conferred on me. In this way your master gave me life, family and husband; and when you tell him this story of mine, it will agree with his own recollections.

 

Moreover, I have to-day found out that the king of Sinhala has sent to that king his daughter, the greatest beauty in the three worlds, who has of her own accord elected to marry him. And all the kings, being jealous, have gathered themselves together and formed the intention of killing Vikramaśakti, and the dependent kings, and of carrying off that maiden. So, do you go, and make known that their intention to Vikramaśakti, in order that he may be on his guard and ready to repel their attack. And I will exert myself to enable king Vikramáditya to conquer those enemies and gain the victory.

 

“For this reason I brought you here by my own deluding power, in order that you might tell all this to king Vikramaśakti and the dependent monarchs; and I will send to your sovereign such a present as shall to a certain small extent be a requital for the benefit that he conferred on me.”

 

While she was saying this, the two maidens, that we had seen in the sea, came there with the deer; one had a body white as the moon, the other was dark as a priyangu; so they seemed like Gangá and Yamuná returned from worshipping the ocean, the monarch of rivers. When they had sat down, I put this question to the Yakshí, “Goddess, who are these maidens, and what is the meaning of this golden deer?” When the Yakshiṇí heard this, king, she said to me, “Anangadeva, if you feel any curiosity about the matter, listen, I will tell you.”

 

          Story of Ghaṇṭa and Nighaṇṭa and the two maidens.

 

Long ago there came to impede Prajápati, in his creation of creatures, two terrible Dánavas, named Ghaṇṭa and Nighaṇṭa, invincible even by gods. And the Creator, being desirous of destroying them, created these two maidens, the splendour of whose measureless beauty seemed capable of maddening the world. And those two mighty Asuras, when they saw these two exceedingly wonderful maidens, tried to carry them off; and fighting with one another, they both of them met their death.

 

Then Brahmá bestowed these maidens on Kuvera, saying, “You must give these girls to some suitable husband;” and Kuvera made them over to my husband, who is his younger brother; and in the same way my husband passed these fair ones on to me; and I have thought of king Vikramáditya as a husband for them, for, as he is an incarnation of a god, he is a fit person for them to marry.

 

“Such are the facts with regard to these maidens, now hear the history of the deer.”

 

Story of the golden deer.

 

Indra has a beloved son, named Jayanta. Once on a time, when he, still an infant, was being carried about in the air by the celestial nymphs, he saw some princes in a wood on earth playing with some young deer. Then Jayanta went to heaven, and cried in the presence of his father because he had not got a deer to play with, as a child would naturally do. Accordingly Indra had a deer made for him by Viśvakarman of gold and jewels, and life was given to the animal by sprinkling it with nectar. Then Jayanta played with it, and was delighted with it, and the young deer was continually roaming about in heaven.

 

In course of time that son of Rávaṇa, who was rightly named Indrajit, carried off the young deer from heaven and took it to his own city Lanká. And after a further period had elapsed, Rávaṇa and Indrajit having been slain by the heroes Ráma and Lakshmaṇa, to avenge the carrying off of Sítá, and Vibhíshaṇa having been set upon the throne of Lanká, as king of the Rákshasas, that wonderful deer of gold and jewels remained in his palace. And once on a time, when I was taken by my husband’s relations to Vibhíshaṇa’s palace on the occasion of a festival, he gave me the deer as a complimentary present. And that young heaven-born deer is now in my house, and I must bestow it on your master.

 

And while the Yakshiṇí was telling me this string of tales, the sun, the friend of the kamaliní, went to rest. Then I and the ambassador of the king of Sinhala went to sleep, both of us, after the evening ceremonies, in a palace which the Yakshiṇí assigned to us.

 

In the morning we woke up and saw, my sovereign, that the army of Vikramaśakti, your vassal, had arrived. We reflected that that must be a display of the Yakshiṇí’s power, and quickly went wondering into the presence of Vikramaśakti. And he, as soon as he saw us, showed us great honour, and asked after our welfare; and was on the point of asking us what message the king of Sinhala had sent, when the two heavenly maidens, whose history the Yakshiṇí had related to us, and the young deer arrived there, escorted by the army of the Yakshas. When king Vikramaśakti saw this, he suspected some glamour of malignant demons, and he said to me apprehensively “What is the meaning of this?” Then I told him in due course the commission of the king of Sinhala, and the circumstances connected with the Yakshiṇí, the two maidens, and the deer. Moreover I informed him of the hostile scheme of your majesty’s enemies, which was to be carried out by all the kings in combination, and which I had heard of from the Yakshí. Then Vikramaśakti honoured us two ambassadors, and those two heavenly maidens; and being delighted made his army ready for battle with the assistance of the other vassal kings.

 

And immediately, king, there was heard in the army the loud beating of drums, and immediately there was seen the mighty host of hostile kings, accompanied by the Mlechchhas. Then our army and the hostile army, furious at beholding one another, closed with a rush, and the battle began. Thereupon some of the Yakshas sent by the Yakshí entered our soldiers, and so smote the army of the enemies, and others smote them in open fight. And there arose a terrible tempest of battle, overspread with a cloud formed of the dust raised by the army, in which sword-blades fell thick as rain, and the shouts of heroes thundered. And the heads of our enemies flying up, as they were cut off, and falling again, made it seem as if the Fortune of our victory were playing at ball. And in a moment those kings that had escaped the slaughter, their troops having been routed, submitted and repaired for protection to the camp of your vassal.

 

Then, lord of earth, as you had conquered the four cardinal points and the dvípas, and had destroyed all the Mlechchhas, that Yakshiṇí appeared, accompanied by her husband, and said to king Vikramaśakti and to me, “You must tell your master that what I have done has been done merely by way of service to him, and you must also request him, as from me, to marry these two god-framed maidens, and to look upon them with favour, and to cherish this deer also, for it is a present from me.” When the Yakshí had said this, she bestowed a heap of jewels, and disappeared with her husband, and her attendants. The next day, Madanalekhá, the daughter of the king of Sinhala, came with a great retinue and much magnificence. And then Vikramaśakti went to meet her, and bending low, joyfully conducted her into his camp. And on the second day Vikramaśakti, having accomplished his object, set out with the other kings from that place, in order to come here and behold your Majesty’s feet, bringing with him that princess and the two heavenly maidens, and that deer composed of gold and jewels, a marvel for the eyes of the three worlds. And now, sovereign, that vassal prince has arrived near this city, and has sent us two on in front to inform Your Highness. So let the king, out of regard for the lord of Sinhala and the Yakshí, go forth to meet those maidens and the deer, and also the subject kings.

 

When Anangadeva had said this to king Vikramáditya, though the king recollected accomplishing that difficult rescue of the Yakshiṇí, he did not consider it worth a straw, when he heard of the return she had made for it; great-souled men, even when they have done much, think it worth very little. And, being much pleased, he loaded Anangadeva for the second time, with elephants, horses, villages, and jewels, and bestowed similar gifts on the ambassador of the king of Sinhala.

 

And after he had spent that day, the king set out from Ujjayiní, with his warriors mounted on elephants and horses, to meet that daughter of the king of Sinhala, and those two maidens created by Brahmá. And the following speeches of the military officers, assigning elephants and horses, were heard in the neighbourhood of the city when the kings started, and within the city itself when the sovereign started; “Jayavardhana must take the good elephant Anangagiri, and Raṇabhaṭa the furious elephant Kálamegha, and Sinhaparákrama Sangrámasiddhi, and the hero Vikramanidhi Ripurákshasa, and Jayaketu Pavanajava, and Vallabhaśakti Samudrakallola, and Báhu and Subáhu the two horses Śaravega and Garuḍavega, and Kírtivarman the black Konkan mare Kuvalayamálá, and Samarasinha the white mare Gangálaharí of pure Sindh breed.”

 

When that king, the supreme sovereign of all the dvípas, had started on his journey, the earth was covered with soldiers, the quarters were full of nothing but the shouts that they raised, even the heaven was obscured with the dust that was diffused by the trampling of his advancing army, and all men’s voices were telling of the wonderful greatness of his might.