Chapter LVIII.
When
Marubhúti had thus illustrated the untrustworthy character of hetæræ, the wise
Gomukha told this tale of Kumudiká, the lesson of which was the same.
Story
of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra, and the young Bráhman.
There was
in Pratishṭhána a king named Vikramasinha, who was made by Providence a lion in
courage, so that his name expressed his nature. He had a queen of lofty
lineage, beautiful and beloved, whose lovely form was her only ornament, and
she was called Śaśilekhá. Once on a time, when he was in his city, five or six
of his relations combined together, and going to his palace, surrounded him.
Their names were Mahábhaṭa, Vírabáhu, Subáhu, Subhaṭa and Pratápáditya, all
powerful kings. The king’s minister was proceeding to try the effect of
conciliation on them, but the king set him aside, and went out to fight with
them. And when the two armies had begun to exchange showers of arrows, the king
himself entered the fray, mounted on an elephant, confiding in his might. And
when the five kings, Mahábhaṭa and the others, saw him, seconded only by his
bow, dispersing the army of his enemies, they all attacked him together. And as
the numerous force of the five kings made an united charge, the force of
Vikramasinha, being inferior in number, was broken. Then his minister Anantaguṇa,
who was at his side, said, “Our force is routed for the present, there is no
chance of victory to-day, and you would engage in this conflict with an
overwhelming force in spite of my advice, so now at the last moment do what I
recommend you, in order that the affair may turn out prosperously; come now,
descend from your elephant, and mount a horse, and let us go to another
country; if you live, you will conquer your enemies on some future occasion.”
When the minister said this, the king readily got down from his elephant, and
mounted on a horse, and left his army in company with him. And in course of
time, the king, in disguise, reached with his minister the city of Ujjayiní.
There he entered with his minister the house of a hetæra, named Kumudiká,
renowned for her wealth; and she, seeing him suddenly entering the house,
thought, “This is a distinguished hero that has come to my house: and his
majesty and the marks on his body shew him to be a great king, so my desire is
sure to be attained if I can make him my instrument.” Having thus reflected,
Kumudiká rose up and welcomed him, and entertained him hospitably, and
immediately she said to the king, who was wearied,—“I am fortunate, to-day the
good deeds of my former life have borne fruit, in that Your Majesty has
hallowed my house by coming to it in person. So by this favour Your Majesty has
made me your slave. The hundred elephants, and two myriads of horses, and house
full of jewels, which belong to me, are entirely at your majesty’s disposal.”
Having said this, she provided the king and his minister with baths and other
luxuries, all in magnificent style.
Then the
wearied king lived in her palace, at his ease, with her, who put her wealth at his
disposal. He consumed her substance and gave it away to petitioners, and she
did not show any anger against him on that account, but was rather pleased at
it. Thereupon the king was delighted, thinking that she was really attached to
him, but his minister Anantaguṇa, who was with him, said to him in secret:
“Your majesty, hetæræ are not to be depended upon, though, I must confess, I
cannot guess the reason why Kumudiká shews you love.” When the king heard this
speech of his, he answered him: “Do not speak thus; Kumudiká would even lay
down her life for my sake. If you do not believe it, I will give you a
convincing proof.” After the king had said this to his minister, he adopted
this artifice; he took little to eat and little to drink, and so gradually
attenuated his body, and at last he made himself as dead, without movement,
prostrate on the ground. Then his attendants put him on a bier, and carried him
to the burning-ghat with lamentations, while Anantaguṇa affected a grief which
he did not feel. And Kumudiká, out of grief, came and ascended the funeral pyre
with him, though her relations tried to prevent her. But before the fire was
lighted, the king, perceiving that Kumudiká had followed him, rose up with a
yawn. And all his attendants took him home with Kumudiká to his lodging,
exclaiming, “Fortunate is it that our king has been restored to life.”
Then a
feast was made, and the king recovered his normal condition, and said in
private to his minister,—“Did you observe the devotion of Kumudiká?” Then the
minister said,—“I do not believe even now. You may be sure that there is some
reason for her conduct, so we must wait to get to the bottom of the matter. But
let us reveal to her who we are, in order that we may obtain a force granted by
her, and another force supplied by your ally, and so smite our enemies in
battle.” While he was saying this, the spy, that had been secretly sent out,
returned, and when questioned, answered as follows; “Your enemies have overrun
the country, and queen Śaśilekhá, having heard from the people a false report
of your majesty’s death, has entered the fire.” When the king heard this, he
was smitten by the thunderbolt of grief, and lamented—“Alas! my queen! Alas,
chaste lady!”
Then
Kumudiká at last came to know the truth, and after consoling the king
Vikramasinha, she said to him; “Why did not the king give me the order long
ago? Now punish your enemies with my wealth and my forces.” When she said this,
the king augmented the force by means of her wealth, and repaired to a powerful
king who was an ally of his. And he marched with his forces and those forces of
his own, and after killing those five enemies in battle, he got possession of
their kingdoms into the bargain. Then he was delighted, and said to Kumudiká
who accompanied him; “I am pleased with you, so tell me what I can do to
gratify you.” Then Kumudiká said—“If you are really pleased, my lord, then
extract from my heart this one thorn that has long remained there. I have an
affection for a Bráhman’s son, of the name of Śrídhara, in Ujjayiní, whom the
king has thrown into prison for a very small fault, so deliver him out of the
king’s hand. Because I saw by your royal marks, that your majesty was a
glorious hero, and destined to be successful, and able to effect this object of
mine, I waited on you with devoted attentions. Moreover, I ascended that pyre
out of despair of attaining my object, considering that life was useless
without that Bráhman’s son. When the hetæra said this, the king answered her;
“I will accomplish it for you, fair one, do not despair.” After saying this, he
called to mind his minister’s speech, and thought—“Anantaguṇa was right, when
he said that hetæræ were not to be depended upon. But I must gratify the wish
of this miserable creature.” Thus resolved, he went with his troops to
Ujjayiní, and after getting Śrídhara set at liberty, and giving him much
wealth, he made Kumudiká happy by uniting her with her beloved there. And after
returning to his city, he never disobeyed the advice of his minister, and so in
time he came to enjoy the whole earth.
“So you
see, the hearts of hetæræ are fathomless and hard to understand.”
Then
Gomukha stopped, after he had told this story. But then Tapantaka said in the
presence of Naraváhanadatta—“Prince, you must never repose any confidence at
all in women, for they are all light, even those that, being married or
unmarried, dwell in their father’s house, as well as those that are hetæræ by
profession. I will tell you a wonder which happened in this very place, hear it.
Story
of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her husband’s body.
There was a
merchant in this very city named Balavarman, and he had a wife named
Chandraśrí, and she beheld from a window a handsome merchant’s son, of the name
of Śílahara, and she sent her female friend to invite him to her house, and
there she used to have assignations with him in secret. And while she was in
the habit of meeting him there every day, her attachment to him was discovered
by all her friends and relations. But her husband Balavarman was the only one
who did not discover that she was unchaste; very often men blinded by affection
do not discover the wickedness of their wives.
Then a
burning fever seized Balavarman, and the merchant consequently was soon reduced
to a very low state. But, though he was in this state, his wife went every day
to her friend’s house, to meet her paramour. And the next day, while she was
there, her husband died. And on hearing of it she returned, quickly taking
leave of her lover. And out of grief for her husband, she ascended the pyre
with his body, being firmly resolved, though her attendants, who knew her
character, tried to dissuade her.
“Thus is
the way of a woman’s heart truly hard to understand. They fall in love with
strange men, and die when separated from their husbands.” When Tapantaka said
this, Hariśikha said in his turn, “Have you not heard what happened in this way
to Devadása?”
Story
of the faithless wife who had her husband murdered.
Of old time
there lived in a village a householder, named Devadása, and he had a wife named
with good cause Duḥśílá. And the neighbours knew that she was in love with
another man. Now, once on a time, Devadása went to the king’s court on some
business. And his wife, who wished to have him murdered, took advantage of the
occasion to bring her paramour, whom she concealed on the roof of the house.
And in the dead of night she had her husband Devadása killed by that paramour,
when he was asleep. And she dismissed her paramour, and remained quiet until
the morning, when she went out, and exclaimed, “My husband has been killed by
robbers.” Then his relations came there, and after they had seen his body, they
said, “If he was killed by thieves, why did they not carry off anything?” After
they had said this, they asked her young son, who was there, “Who killed your
father?” Then he said plainly; “A man had gone up on the roof here in the day,
he came down in the night, and killed my father before my eyes; but first my
mother took me and rose up from my father’s side.” When the boy said this, the
dead man’s relations knew that Devadása had been killed by his wife’s paramour,
and they searched him out, and put him to death then and there, and they
adopted that boy and banished Duḥśílá.
“So you
see, a woman, whose heart is fixed on another man, infallibly kills like the
snake.” When Hariśikha said this, Gomukha said again—“Why should we tell any
out-of-the-way story? Listen to the ridiculous fate that befell Vajrasára here,
the servant of the king of Vatsa.”
Story
of Vajrasára whose wife cut off his nose and ears.
He, being
brave and handsome, had a beautiful wife that came from Málava, whom he loved
more than his own body. Once on a time his wife’s father, longing to see her,
came in person, accompanied by his son, from Málava, to invite him and her.
Then Vajrasára entertained him, and informed the king, and went, as he had been
invited to do, to Málava with his wife and his father-in-law. And after he had
rested a month only in his father-in-law’s house, he came back here to attend
upon the king, but that wife of his remained there. Then, after some days had
passed, suddenly a friend of the name of Krodhana came to him, and said:—“Why
have you ruined your family by leaving your wife in her father’s house? For the
abandoned woman has there formed a connexion with another man. This was told me
to-day by a trustworthy person who came from that place. Do not suppose that it
is untrue; punish her, and marry another.” When Krodhana had said this, he went
away, and Vajrasára stood bewildered for a moment, and then reflected—“I
suspect this may be true; otherwise, why did she not come back, though I sent a
man to summon her? So I will go myself to bring her, and see what the state of
the case is.”
Having
formed this resolution, he went to Málava, and after taking leave of his
father-in-law and his mother-in-law, he set out with his wife. And after he had
gone a long distance, he eluded his followers by a trick, and going by the
wrong path, entered with his wife a dense wood. He sat down in the middle of
it, and said to her, out of hearing of any one: “I have heard from a
trustworthy friend, that you are in love with another, and when I, remaining at
home, sent for you, you did not come; so tell me the truth; if you do not, I
will punish you.” When she heard this, she said: “If this is your intention,
why do you ask me? Do what you like.” When Vajrasára heard this contemptuous
speech of hers, he was angry and tied her up, and began to beat her with
creepers. But while he was stripping off her clothes, he felt his passion
renewed, and asked her to forgive him, whereupon she said; “I will, if I may
tie you up and beat you with creepers, in the same way as you tied me up and
beat me, but not otherwise.” Vajrasára, whose heart was made like stubble by
love, consented, for he was blinded by passion. Then she bound him firmly, hand
and foot, to a tree, and, when he was bound, she cut off his ears and nose with
his own sword, and the wicked woman took his sword and clothes, and disguising
herself as a man, departed whither she would.
But
Vajrasára, with his nose and ears cut off, remained there, depressed by great
loss of blood, and loss of self-respect. Then a certain benevolent physician,
who was wandering through the wood in search of healing herbs, saw him, and out
of compassion unbound him, and brought him home to his house. And Vajrasára,
having been brought round by him, slowly returned to his own house, but he did
not find that wicked wife, though he sought for her. And he described the whole
occurrence to Krodhana, and he related it in the presence of the king of Vatsa;
and all the people in the king’s court mocked him, saying, that his wife had
justly taken away his man’s dress and suitably punished him, because he had
lost all manly spirit and faculty of just resentment, and so become a woman.
But in spite of their ridicule he remains there with heart of adamant, proof
against shame. So what confidence, your Royal Highness, can be placed in women?
When
Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti went on to say, “The mind of woman is
unstable, hear a tale in illustration of this truth.”
Story
of king Sinhabala and his fickle wife.
Formerly
there dwelt in the Deccan a king, of the name of Sinhabala. And his wife named
Kalyáṇavatí, the daughter of a prince of Málava, was dear to him above all the
women of his harem. And the king ruled the realm with her as consort, but once
on a time he was expelled from his kingdom by his powerful relations, who
banded together against him. And then the king, accompanied by the queen, with
his weapons and but few attendants, set out for the house of his father-in-law
in Málava.
And as he
was going along through a forest, which lay in his road, a lion charged him,
and the hero easily cut it in two with a stroke of his sword. And when a wild
elephant came at him trumpeting, he circled round it and cut off with his sword
its trunk and feet, and stripped it of its jewel, and killed it. And alone he
dispersed the hosts of bandits like lotuses, and trampled them, as the
elephant, lord of the forest, tramples the beds of white water-lilies. Thus he
accomplished the journey, and his wonderful courage was seen, and so he reached
Málava, and then this sea of valour said to his wife: “You must not tell in
your father’s house this that happened to me on the journey, it will bring
shame to me, my queen, for what is there laudable in courage displayed by a man
of the military caste?” After he had given her this injunction, he entered his
father-in-law’s house with her, and when eagerly questioned by him, told his
story. His father-in-law honoured him, and gave him elephants and horses, and
then he repaired to a very powerful king named Gajáníka. But being intent on
conquering his enemies, he left his wife Kalyáṇavatí there in her father’s
house.
Some days
after he had gone, his wife, while standing at the window, saw a certain man.
The moment she saw him, he captivated her heart by his good looks; and being
drawn on by love, she immediately thought, “I know, no one is more handsome or
more brave than my husband, but alas! my mind is attracted towards this man. So
let what must be, be. I will have an interview with him.” So she determined in
her own mind, and told her desire to a female attendant, who was her
confidante. And she made her bring him at night, and introduce him into the
women’s apartments by the window, pulling him up with a rope. When the man was
introduced, he had not courage to sit boldly on the sofa on which she was, but
sat apart on a chair. The queen, when she saw that, was despondent, thinking he
was a mean man, and at that very moment a snake, which was roaming about, came
down from the roof. When the man saw the snake, he sprang up quickly in fear,
and taking his bow, he killed the snake with an arrow. And when it fell dead,
he threw it out of the window, and in his delight at having escaped that
danger, the coward danced for joy. When Kalyáṇavatí saw him dancing, she was
cast down, and thought to herself over and over again: “Alas! alas! What have I
to do with this mean-spirited coward?” And her friend, who was a discerning
person, saw that she was disgusted, and so she went out, and quickly returned
with assumed trepidation, and said, “Queen, your father has come, so let this
young man quickly return to his own house by the way by which he came.” When
she said this, he went out of the window by means of the rope, and being
overpowered by fear, he fell, but as luck would have it, he was not killed.
When he had
gone, Kalyáṇavatí said to her confidante,—“My friend, you have acted rightly in
turning out this low fellow. You penetrated my feelings, for my heart is vexed.
My husband, after slaying tigers and lions, conceals it through modesty, and
this cowardly man, after killing a snake, dances for joy. So why should I
desert such a husband and fall in love with a common fellow? Curse on my
unstable mind, or rather curse on women, who are like flies that leave camphor
and haste to impurity!” The queen spent the night in these self-reproaches, and
afterwards remained waiting in her father’s house for the return of her
husband. In the meanwhile Sinhabala, having been supplied with another army by
king Gajáníka, slew those five wicked relations. Then he recovered his kingdom,
and at the same time brought back his wife from her father’s house, and after
loading his father-in-law with abundance of wealth, he ruled the earth for a
long time without opposition.
“So you
see, king, that the mind of even discerning women is fickle, and, though they
have brave and handsome husbands, wanders hither and thither, but women of pure
character are scarce.”
When
Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard this story related by
Marubhúti, he sank off into a sound sleep and so passed the night.
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