Chapter
XCVII.
(Vetála
.)
Then the
noble king Trivikramasena went back, and again took down that Vetála from the
aśoka-tree, and though the Vetála transformed himself in all possible ways, he
put him on his shoulder and started off with him in silence, and then the
Vetála said to him, “King, though the business in which you are engaged is not
becoming to you, you exhibit in it undaunted perseverance; so listen, I will
tell you a tale to dispel your fatigue.”
Story
of the Hermit who first wept and then danced.
There is in
the land of Kalinga a city named Śobhávatí, like the city of Indra in heaven,
the abode of those that act aright. It was ruled by a king named Pradyumna,
whose sway was mighty, and who, like the god Pradyumna, was celebrated for his
exceeding power and valour. The only detraction heard in his realm was that of
the string from the bow, the only pressure that of the fingers on the cymbal,
vice was only known in the name of the age, and keenness only in the pursuit of
knowledge.
In a
certain part of that town there was a grant named Yajnasthala, given by that
king, on which many Bráhmans were settled. There lived on it a very wealthy
Bráhman who had mastered the Vedas, whose name was Yajnasoma. He maintained a
sacrificial fire, and honoured guests, and the gods. After his youth was past,
there was born to him by his wife, who was in every way a suitable match for
him, an only son, the child of a hundred wishes. And that promising boy grew up
in his father’s house, and the Bráhmans duly named him Devasoma. And when he
had attained the age of sixteen years, that boy, who captivated all by his
knowledge, modesty, and other good qualities, suddenly died of a fever. Then
Yajnasoma, together with his wife, remained lovingly embracing that dead boy,
and lamenting over him, and refused for a long time to let him be taken away to
be burnt.
Then the
old men assembled and reproved that Bráhman in the following words, “Bráhman,
are you not aware, though you know what is near and far, that the condition of
this Fata Morgana of a world is frail as a bubble on water? Look at those kings
who filled the earth with their armies, and enjoyed themselves in this world,
deeming themselves immortal, lying on jewelled couches on the delightful
summits of palaces, that resounded with the warbling of music, having their
bodies anointed with sandal-wood ointment and other fragrant unguents, and
begirt with beautiful women. Even these no one could save from being consumed
by flesh-devouring flames, lying alone on the funeral pyre in the cemetery
whither the dead are followed by weeping friends, and when their extremities
had been shrivelled, from being at last devoured by the jackals: much less can
any others escape this fate. So tell us, wise man, what mean you by embracing
that corpse?” Many other speeches of this kind did they address to him.
At last
with difficulty his relations got him to stop clinging to his dead son, and
then, after the body had been laid out, they put it on a bier, and with loud
lamentations carried it to the burning-place, accompanied by many people who
shed tears on account of the calamity.
Now at that
time there was dwelling in that cemetery an old Páśupata ascetic possessing
supernatural power, who lived in a hut. His name was Vámaśiva. His body was emaciated
with age and excessive asceticism, and bound round with veins, as if for fear
that it would break. He was covered all over with hair white with ashes, his
matted locks were yellow as lightning, and he looked like a second Śiva. When
that hermit heard in the distance the lamentation of those people outside his
hut, he said to the pupil that lived with him, “Rise up! go and find out the
meaning of this confused noise outside in the cemetery, such as I never heard
before, and come back quickly, and tell me.” Now this pupil was one who had
taken a vow of living on the products of begging; he was a fool, and a rogue,
and an egoist, puffed up with contemplation, magical powers, and other things
of the kind, and at this time he was annoyed because his teacher had rebuked
him. So, when his teacher gave him this order, he answered him, “I will not go;
go yourself, for my time for begging is fast slipping away.” When the teacher
heard that, he said, “Out on you, fool, devoted to your belly! Only half one
watch of the day has passed: how can it be your time for begging now?” When the
wicked pupil heard that, he was angry, and said to his teacher; “Out on you,
you decrepit old creature! I am no longer your pupil, and you are no longer my
teacher. I will go elsewhere, carry this vessel yourself.” When he had said
this, he put down in front of him his stick and water-vessel, and got up and
went away.
Then the
hermit left his hut, laughing as he went, and came to the place where the young
Bráhman had been brought to be burned. And when the hermit saw him, with the
people lamenting for the flower of his youth, being afflicted with old age, and
possessed of magical powers, he determined to enter his body. So he quickly
went aside, and first wept aloud, and immediately afterwards he danced with
appropriate gesticulations. Then the ascetic, longing to be young again,
abandoned his own body, and at once entered by magic power that young Bráhman’s
body. And immediately the young Bráhman on the pyre, which was ready prepared,
returned to life, and rose up with a yawn. When his relations and all the
people saw that, they raised a loud shout of “Hurrah! he is alive! he is
alive!”
Then that
ascetic, who was a mighty sorcerer, and had thus entered the young Bráhman’s
body, not intending to abandon his vow, told them all the following falsehood;
“Just now, when I went to the other world, Śiva himself restored my life to me,
telling me that I must take upon me the vow of a Páśupata ascetic. And I must
this moment go into a solitary place and support this vow, otherwise I cannot
live, so depart you, and I also will depart.” Saying this to all those present,
the resolute votary, bewildered with mixed feelings of joy and grief, dismissed
them to their own homes. And he himself went, and threw that former body of his
into a ravine; and so that great magician, who had taken the vow, having become
young, went away to another place.
When the Vetála had told this story
that night on the way, he again said to king Trivikramasena, “Tell me, king,
why did that mighty magician, when entering another body, first weep, and then
dance? I have a great desire to know this.”
When that
king, who was a chief of sages, heard this question of the Vetála’s, fearing
the curse, he broke silence, and gave him this answer, “Hear what the feelings
of that ascetic were. He was grieved because he thought that he was just going
to abandon that body, which had grown up with him through many years, by living
in which he had acquired magic power, and which his parents had fondled, when
he was a child, so he wept violently; for affection for one’s body is a deeply
rooted feeling. But he danced for joy, because he thought that he was about to
enter a new body, and that by means of that he would acquire greater magic power;
for to whom is not youth pleasing.”
When the Vetála, who was inside that corpse, heard this speech of the king’s, he left his shoulder and went back to that aśoka-tree; but that exceedingly undaunted monarch again ran after him, to recover him; for the resolution of determined men surpasses in firmness the mighty mountains, and remains unshaken even at the end of a kalpa.
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