Chapter
XXXIV
Then the
king of Vatsa, thinking on the peerless beauty of Kalingasená, was one night
seized with love, so he rose up and went sword in hand, and entered her palace
alone; and she welcomed him and received him politely. Then the king asked her
to become his wife, but she rejected his addresses, saying, “You should regard
me as the wife of another.” Whereupon he answered—“Since you are unchaste as
having resorted to three men, I shall not by approaching you incur the guilt of
adultery.” When the king said this to Kalingasená, she answered him, [303]“I
came to marry you, O king, but I was married by the Vidyádhara Madanavega at
his will, for he assumed your shape. And he is my only husband, so why am I
unchaste? But such are the misfortunes even of ordinary women who desert their
relations, having their minds bewildered with the love of lawless roaming, much
more of princesses? And this is the fruit of my own folly in sending a
messenger to you, though I had been warned not to do so by my friend, who had
seen an evil omen. So if you touch me by force, I will abandon life, for what
woman of good family will injure her husband? And to prove this I will tell you
a tale—listen O king.”
The
story of king Indradatta.
There lived
in old time in the land of Chedi a great king called Indradatta, he founded for
his glory a great temple at the holy bathing-place of Pápaśodhana, desiring the
body of good reputation, as he saw that our mortal body is perishable. And the
king in the ardour of his devotion was continually going to visit it, and all
kinds of people were continually coming there to bathe in the holy water. Now,
one day the king saw a merchant’s wife, whose husband was travelling in foreign
parts, who had come there to bathe in the holy water; she was steeped in the
nectar of pure beauty, and adorned with various charms, like a splendid moving
palace of the god of Love. She was embraced on both her feet by the radiance of
the two quivers of the five-arrowed god, as if out of love, believing that with
her he would conquer the world. The moment the king saw her, she captivated his
soul so entirely that, unable to restrain himself, he found out her house and
went there at night. And when he solicited her, she said to him—“You are a
protector of the helpless, you ought not to touch another man’s wife. And if
you lay violent hands on me, you will commit a great sin; and I will die
immediately, I will not endure disgrace.” Though she said this to him, the king
still endeavoured to use force to her, whereupon her heart broke in a moment
through fear of losing her chastity. When the king saw that, he was at once
abashed, and went back by the way that he came, and in a few days died out of
remorse for that crime.
Having told
this tale, Kalingasená bowed in timid modesty, and again said to the king of
Vatsa—“Therefore, king, set not your heart on wickedness that would rob me of
breath; since I have come here, allow me to dwell here; if not, I will depart
to some other place.” Then the king of Vatsa, who knew what was right, hearing
this from Kalingasená, after reflecting, desisted from his intention, and said
to her—“Princess, dwell here at will with this husband of yours; I will not say
anything to you, henceforth fear not.” When the king had said this, he returned
of his own accord to his house, and Madanavega, having heard the conversation,
descended from heaven, and said—“My beloved, you have done well, if you had not
acted thus, O fortunate one, good fortune would not have resulted, for I should
not have tolerated your conduct.” When the Vidyádhara had said this, he
comforted her, and passed the night there, and continued going to her house and
returning again. And Kalingasená, having a king of the Vidyádharas for her
husband, remained there, blessed even in her mortal state with the enjoyment of
heavenly pleasures. As for the king of Vatsa, he ceased to think about her, and
remembering the speech of his minister, he rejoiced, considering that he had
saved his queens and kingdom and also his son. And the queen Vásavadattá and
the minister Yaugandharáyaṇa were at ease, having reaped the fruit of the
wishing-tree of policy.
Then, as
days went on, Kalingasená had the lotus of her face a little pale, and was
pregnant, having longing produced in her. Her lofty breasts, with extremities a
little dark, appeared like the treasure-vessels of Love, marked with his seal
of joy.3 Then her husband Madanavega came to her and said, “Kalingasená, we
heavenly beings are subject to this law, that, when a mortal child is conceived
we must abandon it, and go afar. Did not Menaká leave Śakuntalá in the
hermitage of Kanva? And though you were formerly an Apsaras, you have now,
goddess, become a mortal by the curse of Śiva, inflicted on account of your
disobedience. Thus it has come to pass that, though chaste, you have incurred
the reproach of unchastity; so guard your offspring, I will go to my own place.
And whenever you think upon me, I will appear to you.” Thus the prince of the
Vidyádharas spake to the weeping Kalingasená, and consoled her, and gave her a
heap of valuable jewels, and departed with his mind fixed on her, drawn away by
the law. Kalingasená, for her part, remained there; supported by the hope of
offspring as by a friend, protected by the shade of the king of Vatsa’s arm.
In the meanwhile
the husband of Ambiká gave the following order to Rati, the wife of the god of
Love, who had performed penance in order to get back her husband with his body
restored: “That husband of thine who was formerly consumed, has been born in
the palace of the king of Vatsa, under the name of Naraváhanadatta, conceived
in a mortal womb on account of disrespect shewn to me. But because thou hast
propitiated me, thou shalt also be born in the world of mortals, without being
conceived in a mortal womb; and then thou shalt be reunited to thy husband,
once more possessing a body.” Having said this to Rati, Śiva then gave this
command to the Creator; “Kalingasená shall give birth to a son of divine
origin. By thy power of illusion thou shalt remove her son, and substitute in
his place this very Rati, who shall abandon her heavenly body, and be moulded
by thee in the form of a mortal maiden.” The Creator, in obedience to the order
of Śiva, went down to earth, and when the appointed time came, Kalingasená gave
birth to a son. The Creator abstracted, by his divine power of illusion, her
son, the moment he was born, and substituted Rati, whom he had turned into a
girl, in his place, without the change being detected. And all present there
saw that girl born, and she seemed like the streak of the new moon suddenly
rising in broad daylight, for she illuminated with her splendour the lying-in
chamber, and eclipsing the long row of flames of the jewel-lamps robbed them of
lustre, and made them, as it were, abashed. Kalingasená, when she saw that
incomparable daughter born, in her delight made greater rejoicing, than she
would have made at the birth of a son.
Then the
king of Vatsa, with his queen and his ministers, heard that such a lovely
daughter had been born to Kalingasená. And when the king heard of it, he
suddenly, under the impulsion of the god Śiva, said to the queen Vásavadattá,
in the presence of Yaugandharáyaṇa; “I know, this Kalingasená is a heavenly
nymph, who has fallen down to earth in consequence of a curse, and this
daughter born to her will also be heavenly, and of wonderful beauty. So this
girl, being equal in beauty to my son Naraváhanadatta, ought to be his
head-queen.” When the queen Vásavadattá heard that, she said to the king—“Great
king, why do you suddenly say this now? What similarity can there possibly be
between this son of yours, of pure descent by both lines, and the daughter of
Kalingasená, a girl whose mother is unchaste.” When the king heard that, he reflected,
and said, “Truly, I do not say this of myself, but some god seems to have entered
into me, and to be forcing me to speak. And I seem to hear a voice uttering
these words from heaven—‘This daughter of Kalingasená is the appointed wife of
Naraváhanadatta.’ Moreover, that Kalingasená is a faithful wife, of good
family; and her reproach of unchastity has arisen from the influence of her
actions in a former birth.” When the king had said this, the minister
Yaugandharáyaṇa spoke—“We hear, king, that when the god of Love was consumed,
Rati performed asceticism. And Śiva granted to Rati, who wished to recover her
husband, the following boon: ‘Thou shalt assume the condition of a mortal, and
be reunited to thy husband, who has been born with a body in the world of
mortals.’ Now, your son has long ago been declared by a heavenly voice to be an
incarnation of Káma, and Rati by the order of Śiva has to become incarnate in
mortal form. And the midwife said to me to-day—‘I inspected previously the
fetus when contained in the uterus, and then I saw one quite different from
what has now appeared. Having beheld this marvel I have come here to tell you.’
This is what that woman told me, and now this inspiration has come to you. So I
am persuaded that the gods have stolen the real child of Kalingasená and
substituted this daughter not born in the ordinary way, who is no other than
Rati, ordained beforehand to be the wife of your son, who is an incarnation of
Káma, O king. To illustrate this, hear the following story concerning a
Yaksha.”
Story
of the Yaksha Virúpáksha.
The god of
wealth had for servant a Yaksha, named Virúpáksha, who had been appointed chief
guardian of lacs of treasure. And he delegated a certain Yaksha to guard a
treasure lying outside the town of Mathurá, posted there like an immovable
pillar of marble. And once on a time a certain Bráhman, a votary of Paśupati,
who made it his business to exhume treasures, went there in search of hidden
wealth. While he was examining that place, with a candle made of human fat in
his hand, the candle fell from his grasp. By that sign he knew that treasure
was concealed there; and he attempted to dig it up with the help of some other
Bráhmans his friends. Then the Yaksha, who was told off to guard that treasure,
beholding that, came and related the whole circumstance to Virúpáksha. And
Virúpáksha in his wrath gave the following command to the Yaksha—“Go and slay
immediately those mean treasure-hunters.” Then the Yaksha went and slew by his
power those Bráhmans, who were digging for treasure, before they had attained
their object. Then the god of wealth came to hear of it, and being angry he
said to Virúpáksha, “Why did you, evil one, recklessly order the slaughter of a
Bráhman? What will not poor people, who are struggling for a livelihood, do out
of desire for gain? But they must be prevented by being terrified with various
bug-bears, they must not be slain.” When the god of Wealth had said this, he
cursed that Virúpáksha as follows—“Be born as a mortal on account of your
wicked conduct.” Then that Virúpáksha, smitten with the curse, was born on the
earth as the son of a certain Bráhman who lived on a royal grant. Then the
Yakshiṇí his wife implored the lord of wealth, “O god, send me whither my
husband has gone; be merciful to me, for I cannot live without him.” When the
virtuous lady addressed this prayer to him, Vaiśravana said—“Thou shalt
descend, without being born, into the house of a female slave of that very
Bráhman, in whose house thy husband is born. There thou shalt be united to that
husband of thine, and by thy power he shall surmount his curse and return to my
service.” In accordance with this decree of Vaiśravana, that virtuous wife
became a mortal maiden, and fell at the door of that Bráhman’s female slave’s
house. And the slave suddenly saw that maiden of marvellous beauty, and took
her and exhibited her to her master the Bráhman. And the Bráhman rejoiced, and
said to the female slave—“This is without doubt some heavenly maiden not born in
the ordinary way; so my soul tells me. Bring here this girl who has entered
your house, for, I think, she deserves to be my son’s wife.” Then in course of
time that girl and the son of the Bráhman, having grown up, were smitten with
ardent reciprocal affection at the sight of one another. Then they were married
by the Bráhman; and the couple, though they did not remember their previous
births, felt as if a long separation had been brought to an end. Then at last
the Yaksha died, and as his wife burnt herself with his mortal body, his sins
were wiped away by her sufferings, and he regained his former rank.
“Thus, you
see, heavenly beings, on account of certain causes, descend from heaven to the
earth, by the appointment of fate, and, because they are free from sin, they
are not born in the usual way. What does this girl’s family matter to you? So
this daughter of Kalingasená is, as I said, the wife appointed for your son by
destiny.” When Yaugandharáyaṇa had said this to the king of Vatsa and the queen
Vásavadattá, they both consented in their hearts that it should be so. Then the
prime minister returned to his house, and the king, in the company of his wife,
spent the day happily, in drinking and other enjoyments.
Then, as
time went on, that daughter of Kalingasená, who had lost her recollection of
her former state through illusion, gradually grew up, and her dower of beauty
grew with her; and her mother and her attendants gave her the name of
Madanamanchuká, because she was the daughter of Madanavega, saying, “Surely the
beauty of all other lovely women has fled to her; else how could they have
become ugly before her?” And the queen Vásavadattá, hearing she was beautiful,
one day had her brought into her presence out of curiosity. Then the king and
Yaugandharáyaṇa and his fellows beheld her clinging to the face of her nurse,
as the candle-flame clings to the wick. And there was no one present, who did
not think that she was an incarnation of Rati, when they beheld her matchless
body, which was like nectar to their eyes. And then the queen Vásavadattá
brought there her son Naraváhanadatta, who was a feast to the eyes of the
world. He beheld, with the lotus of his face expanded, the gleaming
Madanamanchuká, as the bed of water-lilies beholds the young splendour of the
sun. The girl gazed with dilated countenance upon that gladdener of the eyes,
and could not gaze enough, as the female partridge can never be sated with
gazing on the moon. Henceforth these two children could not remain apart even
for a moment, being, as it were, fastened together with the nooses of glances.
But, in
course of time, the king of Vatsa came to the conclusion that that marriage was
made in heaven, and turned his mind to the solemnization of the nuptials. When
Kalingasená heard that, she rejoiced, and fixed her affection upon
Naraváhanadatta out of love for her daughter’s future husband. And then the
king of Vatsa, after deliberating with his ministers, had made for his son a
separate palace like his own. Then that king, who could discern times and
seasons, collected the necessary utensils, and anointed his son as
crown-prince, since it was apparent that he possessed all praiseworthy
qualities. First there fell on his head the water of his father’s tears, and
then the water of holy bathing-places, purified by Vaidik spells of mickle
might. When the lotus of his face was washed with the water of inauguration,
wonderful to say, the faces of the cardinal points became also clear. When his
mothers threw on him the flowers of the auspicious garlands, the heaven
immediately shed a rain of many celestial wreaths. As if in emulation of the
thunder of the drums of the gods, the echoes of the sound of the cymbals of
rejoicing floated in the air. Every one there bowed before him, as soon as he was
inaugurated as crown-prince; then by that alone he was exalted, without his own
power.
Then the
king of Vatsa summoned the good sons of the ministers, who were the playfellows
of his son, and appointed them to their offices as servants to the crown-prince.
He appointed to the office of prime minister Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyaṇa,
and then Hariśikha the son of Rumaṇvat to the office of commander-in-chief, and
he appointed Tapantaka the son of Vasantaka as the companion of his lighter
hours, and Gomukha the son of Ityaka to the duty of chamberlain and warder, and
to the office of domestic chaplains the two sons of Pingaliká, Vaiśvánara and
Śántisoma, the nephews of the king’s family priest. When these men had been
appointed by the king servants to his son, there was heard from heaven a voice
preceded by a rain of flowers: “These ministers shall accomplish all things
prosperously for the prince, and Gomukha shall be his inseparable companion.”
When the heavenly voice had said this, the delighted king of Vatsa honoured
them all with clothes and ornaments; and while that king was showering wealth
upon his dependents, none of them could claim the title of poor on account of
the accumulation of riches. And the city was filled with dancing girls and minstrels,
who seemed to be invited by the rows of silken streamers fanned and agitated by
the wind.
Then
Kalingasená came to the feast of her future son-in-law, looking like the
Fortune of the Vidyádhara race which was to attend him, present in bodily form.
Then Vásavadattá and Padmávatí and she danced, all three of them, for joy, like
the three powers of a king united together. And all the trees there seemed to
dance, as their creepers waved in the wind, much more did the creatures
possessing sense.
Then the
crown-prince Naraváhanadatta, having been inaugurated in his office, ascended
an elephant of victory, and went forth. And he was sprinkled by the city wives
with their upcast eyes, blue, white and red, resembling offerings of blue
lotuses, parched grain and water-lilies. And after visiting the gods worshipped
in that city, being praised by heralds and minstrels, he entered his palace
with his ministers. Then Kalingasená gave him, to begin with, celestial viands
and drinks far exceeding what his own magnificence could supply, and she
presented to him and his ministers, friends and servants, beautiful robes and
heavenly ornaments, for she was overpowered with love for her son-in-law. So
the day passed in high festivity for all these, the king of Vatsa and the
others, charming as the taste of nectar.
Then the
night arrived, and Kalingasená pondering over her daughter’s marriage, called
to mind her friend Somaprabhá. No sooner had she called to mind the daughter of
the Asura Maya, than her husband, the much-knowing Naḍakúvara, thus addressed
that noble lady, his wife—“Dear one, Kalingasená is now thinking on thee with
longing, therefore go and make a heavenly garden for her daughter.” Having said
this, and revealed the future and the past history of that maiden, her husband
dismissed that instant his wife Somaprabhá. And when she arrived, her friend
Kalingasená threw her arms around her neck, having missed her so long, and
Somaprabhá, after asking after her health, said to her—“You have been married by
a Vidyádhara of great power, and your daughter is an incarnation of Rati by the
favour of Śiva, and she has been brought into the world as the wife, in a
previous state of existence, of an incarnation of Love, that has taken his
birth from the king of Vatsa. He shall be emperor of the Vidyádharas for a
kalpa of the gods; and she shall be honoured above his other wives. But you
have descended into this world, being an Apsaras degraded by the curse of
Indra, and after you have brought your duties to completion, you shall obtain
deliverance from your curse. All this was told me, my friend, by my wise
husband, so you must not be anxious; you will enjoy every prosperity. And I
will now make here for your daughter a heavenly garden, the like of which does
not exist on earth, in heaven, or in the nether regions.” Having said this,
Somaprabhá made a heavenly garden by her magic power, and taking leave of the
regretful Kalingasená, she departed. Then, at the dawn of day, people beheld
that garden, looking like the garden of Nandana suddenly fallen down from
heaven to earth. Then the king of Vatsa heard of it, and came there with his
wives and his ministers, and Naraváhanadatta with his companions. And they
beheld that garden, the trees of which bore both flowers and fruits all the
year round, with many jewelled pillars, walls, lawns, and tanks; with birds of
the colour of gold, with heavenly perfumed breezes, like a second Svarga
descended to earth from the region of the gods. The lord of Vatsa, when he saw
that wonderful sight, asked Kalingasená, who was intent on hospitality, what it
was. And she thus answered the king in the hearing of all: “There is a great
Asura, Maya by name, an incarnation of Viśvakarman, who made the assembly-hall
of Yudhishṭhira, and the city of Indra: he has a daughter, Somaprabhá by name,
who is a friend of mine. She came here at night to visit me, and out of love
made this heavenly garden by her magic power, for the sake of my daughter.”
After saying this, she told all the past and future fortunes of her daughter,
which Somaprabhá had revealed to her, letting the king know that she had heard
them from her friend. Then all there, perceiving that the speech of Kalingasená
tallied with what they previously knew, dismissed their doubts and were
exceedingly delighted. And the king of Vatsa, with his wives and his son, spent
that day in the garden, being hospitably entertained by Kalingasená.
The next
day, the king went to visit a god in a temple, and he saw many women
well-clothed and with beautiful ornaments. And when he asked them who they
were, they said to him—“We are the sciences, and these are the accomplishments;
and we are come here on account of your son: we shall now go and enter into
him.” Having said this they disappeared, and the king of Vatsa entered his
house astonished. There he told it to the queen Vásavadattá and to the circle
of his ministers, and they rejoiced at that favour of the deity. Then
Vásavadattá, by the direction of the king, took up a lyre as soon as Naraváhanadatta
entered the room. And while his mother was playing, Naraváhanadatta said
modestly to her, “This lyre is out of tune.” His father said, “Take it, and
play on it,” whereupon he played upon the lyre so as to astonish even the
Gandharvas. When he was thus tested by his father in all the sciences and the
accomplishments, he became endowed with them all, and of himself knew all
knowledge. When the king of Vatsa beheld his son endowed with all talents, he
taught Madanamanchuká, the daughter of Kalingasená, dancing. As fast as she
became perfect in accomplishments, the heart of the prince Naraváhanadatta was
disturbed. So the sea is disturbed, as fast as the orb of the moon rounds off
its digits. And he delighted in beholding her singing and dancing, accomplished
in all the gestures of the body, so that she seemed to be reciting the decrees
of Love. As for her, if she did not see for a moment that nectar-like lover,
the tears rose to her eyes, and she was like a bed of white lotuses, wet with
dew at the hour of dawn. And Naraváhanadatta, being unable to live without
continually beholding her face, came to that garden of hers. There he remained,
and Kalingasená out of affection did all she could to please him, bringing her
daughter to him. And Gomukha, who saw into his master’s heart, and wished to
bring about his long stay there, used to tell various tales to Kalingasená. The
king was delighted by his friend’s penetrating his intentions, for seeing into
one’s lord’s soul is the surest way of winning him. And Naraváhanadatta himself
perfected Madanamanchuká in dancing and other accomplishments, giving her
lessons in a concert-hall that stood in the garden, and while his beloved
danced, he played on all instruments so as to put to the blush the most skilful
minstrels. And he conquered also various professors that came from all
quarters, and were skilful in managing elephants, horses, and chariots, in the
use of hand-to-hand and missile weapons, in painting and modelling. In these
amusements passed during childhood the days of Naraváhanadatta, who was the
chosen bridegroom of Science.
Now, once
on a time the prince, with his ministers, and accompanied by his beloved, went
on a pilgrimage to a garden called Nágavana. There a certain merchant’s wife
fell in love with Gomukha, and being repulsed, tried to kill him by offering to
him a poisoned drink. But Gomukha came to hear of it from the lips of her
confidante, and did not take that drink, but broke out into the following
denunciation of women: “Alas! the Creator first created recklessness, and then
women in imitation of it; by nature nothing is too bad for them to do. Surely
this being they call woman, is created of nectar and poison, for, when she is
attached to one, she is nectar, and when estranged she is indeed poison. Who
can see through a woman, with loving face secretly planning crime? A wicked
woman is like a lotus-bed with its flowers expanded, and an alligator concealed
in it. But now and then there falls from heaven, urging on a host of virtues, a
good woman that brings praise to her husband, like the pure light of the sun.
But another, of evil augury, attached to strangers, not free from inordinate
desires, wicked, bearing the poison of aversion, slays her husband like a
female snake.”
Story
of Śatrughna and his wicked wife.
For
instance, in a certain village there was a certain man named Śatrughna, and his
wife was unchaste. He once saw in the evening his wife in the society of her
lover, and he slew that lover of hers, when he was in the house, with the
sword. And he remained at the door waiting for the night, keeping his wife
inside, and at night-fall a traveller came there to ask for a lodging. He gave
him refuge, and artfully carried away with his help the corpse of that
adulterer at night, and went with it to the forest. And there, while he was
throwing that corpse into a well, the mouth of which was overgrown with plants,
his wife came behind him, and pushed him in also.
“What
reckless crime of this kind will not a wicked wife commit?” In these words
Gomukha, though still a boy, denounced the conduct of women.
Then
Naraváhanadatta himself worshipped the snakes in that grove of snakes, and went
back to his palace with his retinue.
While he
was there, he desired one day to prove his ministers, Gomukha and the others,
so he asked them, though he himself knew it well, for a summary of the policy
of princes. They consulted among themselves, and said—“You know all things,
nevertheless we will tell you this, now that you ask us,” and so they proceeded
to relate the cream of political science.
“A king
should first tame and mount the horses of the senses, and should conquer those
internal foes, love, anger, avarice and delusion, and should subdue himself as
a preparation for subduing other enemies, for how can a man, who has not
conquered himself, being helpless, conquer others? Then he should procure
ministers, who, among other good qualities, possess that of being natives of
his own country, and a skilful family priest, knowing the Atharva Veda, gifted
with asceticism. He should test his ministers with respect to fear, avarice,
virtue and passion, by ingenious artifices, and then he should appoint them to
appropriate duties, discerning their hearts. He should try their speech, when they
are deliberating with one another on affairs, to see if it is truthful, or
inspired by malice, spoken out of affection, or connected with selfish objects.
He should be pleased with truth, but should punish untruth as it deserves, and
he should continually inquire into the conduct of each of them by means of
spies. Thus he should look at business with unhooded eye, and by rooting up
opponents, and acquiring a treasure, a force, and the other means of success,
should establish himself firmly on the throne. Then, equipped with the three
powers of courage, kingly authority, and counsel, he should be eager to conquer
the territory of others, considering the difference between the power of
himself and his foe. He should continually take counsel with advisers, who
should be trusty, learned and wise, and should correct with his own intellect
the policy determined on by them, in all its details. Being versed in the means
of success, (conciliation, bribery and the others,) he should attain for
himself security, and he should then employ the six proper courses, of which alliance
and war are the chief. Thus a king acquires prosperity, and as long as he
carefully considers his own realm and that of his rival, he is victorious but
never vanquished. But an ignorant monarch, blind with passion and avarice, is
plundered by wicked servants, who shew him the wrong path, and leading him
astray, fling him into pits. On account of these rogues a servant of another
kind is never admitted into the presence of the king, as a husbandman cannot
get at a crop of rice enclosed with a palisade. For he is enslaved by those
faithless servants, who penetrate into his secrets; and consequently Fortune in
disgust flies from him, because he does not know the difference between man and
man. Therefore a king should conquer himself, should inflict due chastisement,
and know the difference of men’s characters, for in this way he will acquire
his subjects’ love and become thereby a vessel of prosperity.”
Story
of king Śúrasena and his ministers.
In old time
a king named Śúrasena, who relied implicitly upon his servants, was enslaved
and plundered by his ministers, who had formed a coalition. Whoever was a
faithful servant to the king, the ministers would not give even a straw to, though
the king wished to bestow a reward upon him; but if any man was a faithful
servant to them, they themselves gave him presents, and by their
representations induced the king to give to him, though he was undeserving.
When the king saw that, he gradually came to be aware of that coalition of
rogues, and set those ministers at variance with one another by a clever
artifice. When they were estranged, and the clique was broken up, and they
began to inform against one another, the king ruled the realm successfully,
without being deceived by others.
Story
of Harisinha.
And there
was a king named Harisinha, of ordinary power but versed in the true science of
policy, who had surrounded himself with devoted and wise ministers, possessed
forts, and stores of wealth; he made his subjects devoted to him and conducted
himself in such a way that, though attacked by an emperor, he was not defeated.
“Thus
discernment and reflection are the main things in governing a kingdom; what is
of more importance?” Having said this, each taking his part, Gomukha and his
fellows ceased. Naraváhanadatta, approving that speech of theirs, though he
knew that heroic action is to be thought upon, still placed his reliance upon
destiny whose power surpasses all thought.
Then he
rose up, and his ardour being kindled by delay, he went with them to visit his
beloved Madanamanchuká; when he had reached her palace and was seated on a
throne, Kalingasená, after performing the usual courtesies, said with
astonishment to Gomukha, “Before the prince Naraváhanadatta arrived,
Madanamanchuká, being impatient, went up to the top of the palace to watch him
coming, accompanied by me, and while we were there, a man descended from heaven
upon it, he was of divine appearance, wore a tiara, and a sword, and said to me
‘I am a king, a lord of the Vidyádharas named Mánasavega, and you are a
heavenly nymph named Surabhidattá who by a curse have fallen down to earth, and
this your daughter is of heavenly origin, this is known to me well. So give me
this daughter of yours in marriage, for the connexion is a suitable one.’ When
he said this, I suddenly burst out laughing, and said to him, ‘Naraváhanadatta
has been appointed her husband by the gods, and he is to be the emperor of all
you Vidyádharas.’ When I said this to him, the Vidyádhara flew up into the sky,
like a sudden streak of lightning dazzling the eyes of my daughter.” When
Gomukha heard that, he said, “The Vidyádharas found out that the prince was to
be their future lord, from a speech in the air, by which the future birth of
the prince was made known to the king in private, and they immediately desired
to do him a mischief. What self-willed one would desire a mighty lord as his
ruler and restrainer? For which reason Śiva has made arrangements to ensure the
safety of this prince, by commissioning his attendants to wait on him in actual
presence. I heard this speech of Nárada’s being related by my father. So it
comes to pass that the Vidyádharas are now hostile to us.” When Kalingasená
heard this, she was terrified at the thought of what had happened to herself,
and said, “Why does not the prince marry Madanamanchuká now, before she is
deceived, like me, by delusion?” When Gomukha and the others heard this from
Kalingasená, they said, “Do you stir up the king of Vatsa to this business.”
Then Naraváhanadatta, with his heart fixed on Madanamanchuká only, amused
himself by looking at her in the garden all that day, with her face like a
full-blown lotus, with her eyes like opening blue water-lilies, with lips
lovely as the bandhúka, with breasts like clusters of mandáras, with body
delicate as the śirísha, like a matchless arrow, composed of five flowers,
appointed by the god of love for the conquest of the world.
The next
day Kalingasená went in person, and proffered her petition to the king for the
marriage of her daughter. The king of Vatsa dismissed her, and summoning his
ministers, said to them in the presence of the queen Vásavadattá, “Kalingasená
is impatient for the marriage of her daughter: so how are we to manage it, for
the people think that that excellent woman is unchaste? And we must certainly
consider the people: did not Rámabhadra long ago desert queen Sítá, though she
was chaste, on account of the slander of the multitude? Was not Ambá, though
carried off with great effort by Bhíshma for the sake of his brother,
reluctantly abandoned, because she had previously chosen another husband? In
the same way this Kalingasená, after spontaneously choosing me, was married by
Madanavega; for this reason the people blame her. Therefore let this
Naraváhanadatta himself marry by the Gándharva ceremony her daughter, who will
be a suitable wife for him.” When the king of Vatsa said this, Yaugandharáyaṇa
answered, “My lord, how could Kalingasená consent to this impropriety? For I
have often observed that she, as well as her daughter, is a divine being, no
ordinary woman, and this was told me by my wise friend the Bráhman-Rákshasa.”
While they were debating with one another in this style, the voice of Śiva was
heard from heaven to the following effect: “The god of love, after having been
consumed by the fire of my eye, has been created again in the form of
Naraváhanadatta, and having been pleased with the asceticism of Rati I have
created her as his wife in the form of Madanamanchuká. And dwelling with her,
as his head-wife, he shall exercise supreme sovereignty over the Vidyádharas
for a kalpa of the gods, after conquering his enemies by my favour.” After
saying this the voice ceased.
When he
heard this speech of the adorable Śiva, the king of Vatsa, with his retinue,
worshipped him, and joyfully made up his mind to celebrate the marriage of his
son. Then the king congratulated his prime minister, who had before discerned
the truth, and summoned the astrologers, and asked them what would be a
favourable moment, and they, after being honoured with presents, told him that
a favourable moment would arrive within a few days. Again those astrologers
said to him—“Your son will have to endure some separation for a short season
from this wife of his; this we know, O lord of Vatsa, by our own scientific
foresight.” Then the king proceeded to make the requisite preparations for the
marriage of his son, in a style suited to his own magnificence, so that not
only his own city, but the whole earth was made to tremble with the effort of
it. Then, the day of marriage having arrived, Kalingasená adorned her daughter,
to whom her father had sent his own heavenly ornaments, and Somaprabhá came in
obedience to her husband’s order. Then Madanamanchuká, adorned with a heavenly
marriage thread, looked still more lovely; is not the moon truly beautiful,
when accompanied by Kártika? And heavenly nymphs, by the order of Śiva, sang
auspicious strains in her honour: they were eclipsed by her beauty and remained
hidden as if ashamed, but the sound of their songs was heard. They sang the
following hymn in honour of Gaurí, blended with the minstrelsy of the matchless
musicians of heaven, so as to make unequalled harmony—“Victory to thee, O
daughter of the mountain, that hast mercy on thy faithful votaries, for thou
hast thyself come to-day and blessed with success the asceticism of Rati.” Then
Naraváhanadatta, resplendent with excellent marriage-thread, entered the
wedding-pavilion full of various musical instruments. And the bride and
bridegroom, after accomplishing the auspicious ceremony of marriage, with
intent care, so that no rite was left out, ascended the altar-platform where a
fire was burning, as if ascending the pure flame of jewels on the heads of
kings. If the moon and the sun were to revolve at the same time round the
mountain of gold, there would be an exact representation in the world of the
appearance of those two, the bride and the bridegroom, when circumambulating
the fire, keeping it on their right. Not only did the drums of the gods in the
air drown the cymbal-clang in honour of the marriage festival, but the rain of
flowers sent down by the gods overwhelmed the gilt grain thrown by the women.
Then also the generous Kalingasená honoured her son-in-law with heaps of gold
studded with jewels, so that the lord of Alaká was considered very poor
compared with him, and much more so all miserable earthly monarchs. And then
the bride and bridegroom, now that the delightful ceremony of marriage was
accomplished in accordance with their long-cherished wishes, entered the inner
apartments crowded with women, adorned with pure and variegated decoration,
even as they penetrated the heart of the people full of pure and various
loyalty. Moreover, the city of the king of Vatsa was quickly filled with kings,
surrounded with splendid armies, who, though their valour was worthy of the
world’s admiration, had bent in submission, bringing in their hands valuable
jewels by way of presents, as if with subject seas. On that high day of
festival, the king distributed gold with such magnificence to his dependants,
that the children in their mothers’ wombs were at any rate the only beings in
his kingdom not made of gold. Then on account of the troops of excellent
minstrels and dancing girls, that came from all quarters of the world, with
hymns, music, dances and songs on all sides, the world seemed full of harmony.
And at that festival the city of Kauśámbí seemed itself to be dancing, for the
pennons agitated by the wind seemed like twining arms, and it was beautified
with the toilettes of the city matrons, as if with ornaments. And thus waxing
in mirth every day, that great festival continued for a long time, and all
friends, relations and people generally were delighted by it, and had their
wishes marvellously fulfilled. And that crown-prince Naraváhanadatta,
accompanied by Madanamanchuká, enjoyed, though intent on glory, the long-desired
pleasures of this world.
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