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Title: The Kadambari of Bana
Author: Bana
Bhushanabhatta
Translator: C.M. Ridding
Release Date: October 21, 2012 [EBook #41128]
Language: English
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Oriental Translation Fund.
New Series.
II.
The
KADAMBARI OF BANA.
Translated, with Occasional Omissions,
And Accompanied by a
Full Abstract of the Continuation of the Romance
by the Author's Son Bhushanabhatta,
By
C. M. RIDDING,
Formerly Scholar of Girton College, Cambridge.
Printed and published under the patronage of
The Royal Asiatic Society,
And sold at
22, Albemarle Street, London.
1896.
To
MRS. COWELL,
WHO FIRST TOLD ME
THE STORY OF KADAMBARI,
THIS TRANSLATION
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
'Anenakaranavishkritavatsalyena caritena
kasya na bandhutvam adhyaropayasi.'
INTRODUCTION. [1]
The story of Kadambari is interesting for several reasons. It is a
standard example of classical prose; it has enjoyed a long popularity
as a romance; and it is one of the comparatively few Sanskrit works
which can be assigned to a certain date, and so it can serve as a
landmark in the history of Indian literature and Indian thought.
THE AUTHOR.
Banabhatta, its author, lived in the reign of Harshavardhana of
Thaneçar, the great king mentioned in many inscriptions, [2] who
extended his rule over the whole of Northern India, and from whose
reign (A.D. 606) dates the Harsha era, used in Nepal. Bana, as he
tells us, both in the 'Harsha-Carita' and in the introductory verses
of 'Kadambari,' was a Vatsyayana Brahman. His mother died while he
was yet young, and his father's tender care of him, recorded in the
'Harsha-Carita,' [3] was doubtless in his memory as he recorded the
unselfish love of Vaiçampayana's father in 'Kadambari' (p. 22). In
his youth he travelled much, and for a time 'came into reproach,'
by reason of his unsettled life; but the experience gained in foreign
lands turned his thoughts homewards, and he returned to his kin, and
lived a life of quiet study in their midst. From this he was summoned
to the court of King Harsha, who at first received him coldly, but
afterwards attached him to his service; and Bana in the 'Harsha-Carita'
relates his own life as a prelude to that of his master.
The other works attributed to him are the 'Candikaçataka,' [4] or
verses in honour of Candika; a drama, 'The Parvatiparinaya'; and
another, called 'Mukutataditaka,' the existence of which is inferred
from Gunavinayagani's commentary on the 'Nalacampu.' Professor
Peterson also mentions that a verse of Bana's ('Subhashitavali,'
1087) is quoted by Kshemendra in his 'Aucityavicaracarca,' with a
statement that it is part of a description of Kadambari's sorrow in
the absence of Candrapida, whence, he adds, 'it would seem that Bana
wrote the story of Kadambari in verse as well as in prose,' and he
gives some verses which may have come from such a work.
Bana himself died, leaving 'Kadambari' unfinished, and his son
Bhushanabhatta took it up in the midst of a speech in which Kadambari's
sorrows are told, and continued the speech without a break, save for
a few introductory verses in honour of his father, and in apology for
his having undertaken the task, 'as its unfinished state was a grief to
the good.' He continued the story on the same plan, and with careful,
and, indeed, exaggerated, imitation of his father's style.
THE PLOT OF KADAMBARI.
The story of 'Kadambari' is a very complex one, dealing as it does
with the lives of two heroes, each of whom is reborn twice on earth.
(1-47) A learned parrot, named Vaiçampayana, was brought by a Candala
maiden to King Çudraka, and told him how it was carried from its
birthplace in the Vindhya Forest to the hermitage of the sage Jabali,
from whom it learnt the story of its former life.
(47-95) Jabali's story was as follows: Tarapida, King of Ujjayini, won
by penance a son, Candrapida, who was brought up with Vaiçampayana,
son of his minister, Çukanasa. In due time Candrapida was anointed
as Crown Prince, and started on an expedition of world-conquest. At
the end of it he reached Kailasa, and, while resting there, was
led one day in a vain chase of a pair of kinnaras to the shores of
the Acchoda Lake. (95-141) There he beheld a young ascetic maiden,
Mahaçveta, who told him how she, being a Gandharva princess, had seen
and loved a young Brahman Pundarika; how he, returning her feeling,
had died from the torments of a love at variance with his vow; how
a divine being had carried his body to the sky, and bidden her not
to die, for she should be reunited with him; and how she awaited
that time in a life of penance. (141-188) But her friend Kadambari,
another Gandharva princess, had vowed not to marry while Mahaçveta
was in sorrow, and Mahaçveta invited the prince to come to help her
in dissuading Kadambari from the rash vow. Love sprang up between
the prince and Kadambari at first sight; but a sudden summons from
his father took him to Ujjayini without farewell, while Kadambari,
thinking herself deserted, almost died of grief.
(188-195) Meanwhile news came that his friend Vaiçampayana, whom he had
left in command of the army, had been strangely affected by the sight
of the Acchoda Lake, and refused to leave it. The prince set out to
find him, but in vain; and proceeding to the hermitage of Mahaçveta,
he found her in despair, because, in invoking on a young Brahman,
who had rashly approached her, a curse to the effect that he should
become a parrot, she learnt that she had slain Vaiçampayana. At her
words the prince fell dead from grief, and at that moment Kadambari
came to the hermitage.
(195-202) Her resolve to follow him in death was broken by the promise
of a voice from the sky that she and Mahaçveta should both be reunited
with their lovers, and she stayed to tend the prince's body, from
which a divine radiance proceeded; while King Tarapida gave up his
kingdom, and lived as a hermit near his son.
(202 to end) Such was Jabali's tale; and the parrot went on to say how,
hearing it, the memory of its former love for Mahaçveta was reawakened,
and, though bidden to stay in the hermitage, it flew away, only to be
caught and taken to the Candala princess. It was now brought by her to
King Çudraka, but knew no more. The Candala maiden thereupon declared
to Çudraka that she was the goddess Lakshmi, mother of Pundarika or
Vaiçampayana, and announced that the curse for him and Çudraka was
now over. Then Çudraka suddenly remembered his love for Kadambari,
and wasted away in longing for her, while a sudden touch of Kadambari
restored to life the Moon concealed in the body of Candrapida, the
form that he still kept, because in it he had won her love. Now the
Moon, as Candrapida and Çudraka, and Pundarika, in the human and
parrot shape of Vaiçampayana, having both fulfilled the curse of an
unsuccessful love in two births on earth, were at last set free,
and, receiving respectively the hands of Kadambari and Mahaçveta,
lived happily ever afterwards.
The plot is involved, and consists of stories within each other after
the fashion long familiar to Europeans in the 'Arabian Nights'; but
the author's skill in construction is shown by the fact that each
of the minor stories is essential to the development of the plot,
and it is not till quite the end that we see that Çudraka himself,
the hearer of the story, is really the hero, and that his hearing
the story is necessary to reawaken his love for Kadambari, and
so at the same time fulfil the terms of the curse that he should
love in vain during two lives, and bring the second life to an end
by his longing for reunion. It may help to make the plot clear if
the threads of it are disentangled. The author in person tells all
that happens to Çudraka (pp. 3-16 and pp. 205 to end). The parrot's
tale (pp. 16-205) includes that of Jabali (pp. 47-202) concerning
Candrapida, and Vaiçampayana the Brahman, with the story told by
Mahaçveta (pp. 101-136) of her love for Pundarika.
THE STORY AS TOLD IN THE KATHA-SARIT-SAGARA.
The story as told in the Katha-Sarit-Sagara of Somadeva [5] differs
in some respects from this. There a Nishada princess brought to King
Sumanas a learned parrot, which told its life in the forest, ended by
a hunt in which its father was killed, and the story of its past life
narrated by the hermit Agastya. In this story a prince, Somaprabha,
after an early life resembling that of Candrapida, was led in his
pursuit of kinnaras to an ascetic maiden, Manorathaprabha, whose
story is that of Mahaçveta, and she took him, at his own request,
to see the maiden Makarandika, who had vowed not to marry while
her friend was unwed. He was borne through the air by a Vidyadhara,
and beheld Makarandika. They loved each other, and a marriage was
arranged between them. The prince, however, was suddenly recalled
by his father, and Makarandika's wild grief brought on her from
her parents a curse that she should be born as a Nishada. Too late
they repented, and died of grief; and her father became a parrot,
keeping from a former birth as a sage his memory of the Çastras,
while her mother became a sow. Pulastya added that the curse would
be over when the story was told in a king's court.
The parrot's tale reminded King Sumanas of his former birth, and on
the arrival of the ascetic maiden, sent by Çiva, 'who is merciful
to all his worshippers,' he again became the young hermit she had
loved. Somaprabha, too, at Çiva's bidding, went to the king's court,
and at the sight of him the Nishada regained the shape of Makarandika,
and became his wife; while the parrot 'left the body of a bird, and
went to the home earned by his asceticism.' 'Thus,' the story ends,
'the appointed union of human beings certainly takes place in this
world, though vast spaces intervene.'
The main difference between the stories is in the persons affected
by the curse; and here the artistic superiority of Bana is shown
in his not attaching the degrading forms of birth to Kadambari or
her parents. The horse is given as a present to the hero by Indra,
who sends him a message, saying: 'You are a Vidyadhara, and I give
you the horse in memory of our former friendship. When you mount it
you will be invincible.' The hero's marriage is arranged before his
sudden departure, so that the grief of the heroine is due only to their
separation, and not to the doubts on which Bana dwells so long. It
appears possible that both this story and 'Kadambari' are taken from a
common original now lost, which may be the Brihatkatha of Gunadhya. [6]
In that case the greater refinement of Bana's tale would be the result
of genius giving grace to a story already familiar in a humbler guise.
REFERENCES TO KADAMBARI IN THE SAHITYA-DARPANA AND ELSEWHERE.
The author of the Sahitya-Darpana [7] speaks of the Katha as follows:
'In the Katha (tale), which is one of the species of poetical
composition in prose, a poetical matter is represented in verse,
and sometimes the Arya, and sometimes the Vaktra and Apavaktraka are
the metres employed in it. It begins with stanzas in salutation to
some divinity, as also descriptive of the behaviour of bad men and
others.' To this the commentary adds: 'The "Kadambari" of Banabhatta is
an example.' Professor Peterson corrects the translation of the words
'Kathayam sarasam vastu padyair eva vinirmitam,' giving as their sense,
'A narration in prose, with here and there a stray verse or two,
of matter already existing in a metrical form.' [8] According to his
rendering, the Katha is in its essence a story claiming to be based
on previous works in verse, whether in this case the original were
Bana's own metrical version of 'Kadambari,' [9] or the work which
was also the original of the Katha-Sarit-Sagara story.
The story of Pundarika and Mahaçveta receives mention, firstly, for
the introduction of death, contrary to the canon; secondly, for the
determination of the nature of their sorrow, and its poetic quality,
and consequent appeal to the feelings of the reader. Firstly: (§ 215)
'Death, which is a condition to which one may be brought by love,
is not described in poetry and the drama, where the other conditions,
such as anxiety, etc., are constantly described, because it, instead
of enhancing, causes the destruction of "Flavour." [10] But it may be
spoken of (1) as having nearly taken place, or (2) as being mentally
wished for; and it is with propriety described (3) if there is to be,
at no distant date, a restoration to life.' The commentary takes
the story of Pundarika as an example of the third condition, and
describes it as a 'case of pathetic separation.' Secondly: (§ 224)
'Either of two young lovers being dead, and being yet to be regained
through some supernatural interposition, when the one left behind is
sorrowful, then let it be called the separation of tender sadness'
(karunavipralamhha). The commentary gives Mahaçveta as the instance,
and continues: 'But if the lost one be not regainable, or regainable
only after transmigration in another body, the flavour is called the
"Pathetic" simply, there being in this case no room for any admixture
of the "Erotic"; but in the case just mentioned--of Pundarika and
Mahaçveta--immediately on Sarasvati's declaration from the sky that
the lovers should be reunited, there is the "Erotic in its form of
tender sadness," for desire arises on the expectation of reunion,
but PREVIOUSLY to Sarasvati's promise there was the "Pathetic";
such is the opinion of the competent authorities. And as for what
some say in regard to the case of Pundarika and Mahaçveta, that
"moreover AFTER the expectation of reunion, excited by Sarasvati's
promise to that effect, there is merely your honour's variety of
"love in absence," (§ 222) the one which you call "being abroad"
(§ 221)--others hold it to be distinct, because of the presence of
that distinction, DEATH, which is something else than merely being
abroad.' These are the passages in which direct mention is made of
'Kadambari,' and in § 735, which defines special mention (parisamkhya)
as taking place 'when something is affirmed for the denial, expressed
or understood, of something else similar to it,' the commentary adds:
'When founded upon a Paronomasia, it is peculiarly striking, e.g.,
"When that king, the conqueror of the world, was protecting the earth,
the mixture of colours (or castes) was in painting, etc.,"--a passage
from the description of Çudraka in "Kadambari" (P. 5).'
References to Bana in other works are given by Professor Peterson, so
that three only need be mentioned here. The first I owe to the kindness
of Professor C. Bendall. In a collection of manuscripts at the British
Museum (Or., 445-447) 'consisting chiefly of law-books transcribed
(perhaps for some European) on European paper in the Telugu-Canarese
character,' one, Or., 446 c., the Kamandakiya-Niti-Çastra, contains
on folios 128-131 a passage from 'Kadambari' (pp. 76-84, infra) [11]
on the consecration of a crown-prince, and the duties and dangers of a
king. It forms part of an introduction to the Kamandakiya-Niti-Çastra
and occurs without any hint of its being a quotation from another
work. The author of the Nalacampu not only writes a verse in honour
of Bana, [12] but models his whole style upon him. A curious instance
of the long popularity of 'Kadambari' is that in the 'Durgeçanandini'
by Chattaji, an historical novel, published in 1871, and treating
of the time of Akbar, the heroine is represented as reading in her
boudoir the romance of 'Kadambari.' [13]
THE INTEREST OF 'KADAMBARI.'
It may be asked What is the value of 'Kadambari' for European
readers? and to different persons the answer will doubtless
be different. Historical interest, so far as that depends on the
narration of historical facts, appears to be entirely lacking, though
it may be that at some future time our knowledge from other sources
may be so increased that we may recognise portraits and allusions in
what seems now purely a work of romance. But in the wider sense in
which history claims to deal with the social ideas that belong to
any epoch, 'Kadambari' will always have value as representing the
ways of thinking and feeling which were either customary or welcome
at its own time, and which have continued to charm Indian readers. It
is indeed true that it probably in many ways does not give a picture
of contemporary manners, just as a mediæval illuminated manuscript
often represents the dress and surroundings prior to the time of
the illuminator, so as to gain the grace of remoteness bestowed by
reverence for the past. In India, where change works but slowly,
the description of the court and city life, where all the subjects
show by outward tokens their sympathy with the joys and sorrows of
their ruler, as in a Greek chorus, is vivid in its fidelity. [14]
The quiet yet busy life of the hermits in the forest, where the day
is spent in worship and in peaceful toils, where at eve the sunbeams
'linger like birds on the crest of hill and tree,' and where night
'darkens all save the hearts of the hermits,' is full of charm. [15]
The coronation of the crown prince, the penances performed by the
queen to win a son, the reverence paid to Mahakala, also belong to
our picture of the time. The description of Ujjayini, surrounded by
the Sipra, is too general in its terms to give a vivid notion of what
it then was. The site of the temple of Mahakala is still shown outside
the ruins of the old town. A point of special interest is the argument
against the custom of suicide on the death of a friend. Candrapida
consoles Mahaçveta that she has not followed her lover in death
by saying that one who kills himself at his friend's death makes
that friend a sharer in the guilt, and can do no more for him in
another world, whereas by living he can give help by sacrifices and
offerings. Those, too, who die may not be reunited for thousands of
births. In the 'Katha-Koça' [16] a prince is dissuaded from following
his wife to death because 'Even the idea of union with your beloved
will be impossible when you are dead'; but the occurrence of the
idea in a romance is more noteworthy than in a work which illustrates
Jain doctrines. The question of food as affected by caste is touched
on also (p. 205), when the Candala maiden tells the parrot that a
Brahman may, in case of need, receive food of any kind, and that
water poured on the ground, and fruit, are pure even when brought by
the lowest. Another point to be remarked is the mention of followers
of many sects as being present at court. Çiva, especially under the
name of Mahakala at Ujjayini, receives special worship, and Agni and
the Matrikas (p. 14) also receive reverence. The zenanas include aged
ascetic women (p. 217); followers of the Arhat, Krishna, Viçravasa,
Avalokiteçvara, and Viriñca (p. 162); and the courtyard of Çukanasa
has Çaivas and followers of Çakyamuni (p. 217), also Kshapanakas
(explained by the Commentary as Digambaras). The king, [17] however,
is described as having an urna (the hair meeting between the brows),
which is one of Buddha's marks; but the Commentary describes the urna
as cakravartiprabhritinam eva nanyasya, so probably it only belongs to
Buddha as cakravarti, or universal ruler. This shows that the reign of
Harsha was one of religious tolerance. Hiouen Thsang, indeed, claims
him as a Buddhist at heart, and mentions his building Buddhist stupas,
[18] but he describes himself as a Çaiva in the Madhuban grant, [19]
and the preeminence yielded in 'Kadambari' to Çiva certainly shows
that his was then the popular worship.
Another source of interest in 'Kadambari' lies in its contribution to
folklore. It may perhaps contain nothing not found elsewhere, but the
fact of its having a date gives it a value. The love of snakes for
the breeze and for sandal-trees, the truth of dreams at the end of
night, the magic circles, bathing in snake-ponds to gain a son, the
mustard-seed and ghi put in a baby's mouth, may all be familiar ideas,
but we have a date at which they were known and not despised. Does
the appeal to the truth of her heart by Mahaçveta in invoking the
curse (p. 193) rest on the idea that fidelity to a husband confers
supernatural power, [20] or is it like the 'act of truth' by which
Buddha often performs miracles in the 'Jataka'?
THE STYLE OF 'KADAMBARI.'
The unsettled chronology of Indian literature makes it impossible
to work out at present Bana's relations with other Sanskrit
writers. Professor Peterson, [21] indeed, makes some interesting
conjectures as to his connection with other authors of his own country,
and also suggests, from similarity of phrase, that he may have fallen
indirectly under the influence of Alexandrian literature. Be that
as it may, he has been for many centuries a model of style, and it
is therefore worth while to consider briefly the characteristics
of his style compared with European standards. The first thing
that strikes the reader is that the sense of proportion, the very
foundation of style as we know it, is entirely absent. No topic is
let go till the author can squeeze no more from it. In descriptions
every possible minor detail is given in all its fulness; then follows
a series of similes, and then a firework of puns. In speeches, be they
lamentations or exhortations, grief is not assuaged, nor advice ended,
till the same thing has been uttered with every existing variety of
synonym. This defect, though it springs from the author's richness of
resource and readiness of wit, makes the task of rendering in English
the merit of the Sanskrit style an impossible one. It gives also a
false impression; for to us a long description, if good, gives the
effect of 'sweetness long drawn out,' and, if bad, brings drowsiness;
whereas in Sanskrit the unending compounds suggest the impetuous rush
of a torrent, and the similes and puns are like the play of light
and shade on its waters. Bana, according to Professor Weber, [22]
'passes for the special representative of the Pañcali style,' [23]
which Bhoja, quoted in the commentary of the 'Sahitya-Darpana,' defines
as 'a sweet and soft style characterized by force (ojas) and elegance
(kanti), containing compounds of five or six words.' But style,
which is to poetic charm as the body to the soul, varies with the
sense to be expressed, and Bana in many of his speeches is perfectly
simple and direct. Owing to the peacefulness of 'Kadambari,' there is
little opportunity for observing the rule that in the 'Katha' letters
'ought not to be too rough, even when the flavour is furious.' [24]
Of the alliteration of initial consonants, the only long passage
is in the description of Çukanasa (p. 50), but in its subtler
forms it constantly occurs. Of shorter passages there are several
examples--e.g., Candra Candala (infra, p. 127); Candrapida Candalo
(Sanskrit text, p. 416); Utkantham sotkantham kanthe jagraha (Ibid.,
p. 367); Kamam sakamam kuryam (Ibid., p. 350); Candrapida pidanaya
(Ibid., p. 370). The ornament of çlesha, or paronomasia, which seems
to arise from the untrained philological instinct of mankind seeking
the fundamental identity of like sounds with apparently unlike meaning,
and which lends dramatic intensity when, as sometimes in Shakespeare,
[25] a flash of passionate feeling reveals to the speaker an original
sameness of meaning in words seemingly far apart, is by Bana used
purely as an adornment. He speaks of pleasant stories interwoven
with puns 'as jasmine garlands with campak buds,' and they abound
in his descriptions. The rasanopama, [26] or girdle of similes,
is exemplified (p. 115), 'As youth to beauty, love to youth, spring
to love' so was Kapiñjala to Pundarika. Vishamam (incongruity) is
the figure used in 'the brightness of his glory, free from heat,
consumed his foes; constant, ever roamed' (p. 48). It can scarcely
be separated from virodha (contradiction)--often used, as in 'I
will allay on the funeral pyre the fever which the moon, sandal,
and all cool things have increased' (p. 195)--or from vicitram [27]
(strangeness), where an act is contrary to its apparent purpose:
'There lives not the man whom the virtues of the most courteous lady
Kadambari do not discourteously enslave' (p. 159). Arthapatti [28] (a
fortiori conclusion) is exemplified in 'Even the senseless trees, robed
in bark, seem like fellow-ascetics of this holy man. How much more,
then, living beings endowed with sense!' (p. 43). Time and space would
alike fail for analysis of Bana's similes according to the rules of the
'Sahitya-Darpana.' [29] The author of the 'Raghavapandaviya' considers
Subandhu and Bana as his only equals in vakrokti, or crooked speech,
and the fault of a 'meaning to be guessed out' ('Sahitya-Darpana,' §
574) is not rare. The 'Kavya-Prakaça,' in addition to the references
given by Professor Peterson, quotes a stanza describing a horse in the
'Harsha-Carita' (chap. iii.) as an example of svabhavokti.
The hero belongs to the division described as the high-spirited,
but temperate and firm ('Sahitya-Darpana,' § 64), i.e., he who
is 'not given to boasting, placable, very profound, with great
self-command, resolute, whose self-esteem is concealed, and faithful
to his engagements,' and who has the 'eight manly qualities' of
'brilliancy, vivacity, sweetness of temper, depth of character,
steadfastness, keen sense of honour, gallantry, and magnanimity'
(Ibid., § 89). Kadambari is the type of the youthful heroine who
feels love for the first time, is shy, and gentle even in indignation
(Ibid., § 98). The companions of each are also those declared in the
books of rhetoric to be appropriate.
LITERARY PARALLELS.
The work which most invites comparison with 'Kadambari' is one far
removed from it in place and time--Spenser's 'Faerie Queene.' Both
have in great measure the same faults and the same virtues. The
lack of proportion,--due partly to too large a plan, partly to an
imagination wandering at will--the absence of visualization--which
in Spenser produces sometimes a line like
'A lovely Ladie rode him faire beside
Upon a lowly Asse more white then snow,
Yet she much whiter,'
and in Bana many a description like that of Mahaçveta's fairness
(pp. 95-97)--the undiscriminating praise bestowed on those whom they
would fain honour, the shadowy nature of many of their personages,
and the intricacies in which the story loses itself, are faults common
to both. Both, too, by a strange coincidence, died with their work
unfinished. But if they have the same faults, they have also many
of the same virtues. The love of what is beautiful and pure both
in character and the world around, tenderness of heart, a gentle
spirit troubled by the disquiet of life, [30] grace and sweetness of
style, and idyllic simplicity, are common to both. Though, however,
Candrapida may have the chivalry and reverence of the Red Cross Knight,
and Una share with Kadambari or Rohini 'nobility, tenderness, loftiness
of soul, devotion and charm,' [31] the English hero and heroine are
more real and more strenuous. We are, indeed, told in one hurried
sentence of the heroic deeds of Candrapida in his world-conquest,
and his self-control and firmness are often insisted on; but as he
appears throughout the book, his self-control is constantly broken
down by affection or grief, and his firmness destroyed by a timid
balancing of conflicting duties, while his real virtue is his unfailing
gentleness and courtesy. Nor could Kadambari, like Una, bid him, in
any conflict, 'Add faith unto your force, and be not faint.' She is,
perhaps, in youth and entire self-surrender, more like Shakespeare's
Juliet, but she lacks her courage and resolve.
THE PURPOSE OF 'KADAMBARI.'
The likeness of spirit between these two leads to the question, Had
Bana, like Spenser, any purpose, ethical or political, underlying his
story? On the surface it is pure romance, and it is hard to believe
that he had any motive but the simple delight of self-expression
and love for the children of his own imagination. He only claims
to tell a story 'tender with the charm of gracious speech, that
comes of itself, like a bride, to the possession of its lord';
[32] but it may be that he gladly gathered up in old age the fruits
of his life's experience, and that his own memory of his father's
tenderness to his childhood, of the temptations of youth, and of the
dangers of prosperity and flattery that assail the heart of kings,
was not used only to adorn a tale, but to be a guide to others on the
perilous path of life. Be that as it may, the interest of 'Kadambari,'
like that of the 'Faerie Queene,' does not depend for us now on any
underlying purpose, but on the picture it presents in itself of the
life and thought of a world removed in time, but not in sympathy, from
our own; on the fresh understanding it gives of those who are in the
widest sense our fellow-countrymen; and on the charm, to quote the
beautiful words of Professor Peterson, 'of a story of human sorrow
and divine consolation, of death and the passionate longing for a
union after death, that goes straight from the heart of one who had
himself felt the pang, and nursed the hope, to us who are of like
frame with him ... the story which from the beginning of time mortal
ears have yearned to hear, but which mortal lips have never spoken.'
THE PLAN OF THE TRANSLATION.
The translation of Bana presents much difficulty from the elaboration
of his style, and it has been a specially hard task, and sometimes
an impossible one, to give any rendering of the constant play on
words in which he delights. I have sometimes endeavoured to give
what might be an English equivalent, and in such cases I have
added in a note the literal meaning of both alternatives; perhaps
too much freedom may have been used, and sometimes also the best
alternative may not have been chosen to place in the text; but those
who have most experience will know how hard it is to do otherwise
than fail. Some long descriptions have been omitted, such, e.g.,
as a passage of several pages describing how the dust rose under
the feet of Candrapida's army, and others where there seemed no
special interest or variety to redeem their tediousness. A list of
these omissions [33] is given at the end, together with an appendix,
in which a few passages, chiefly interesting as mentioning religious
sects, are added. I have acted on Professor Cowell's advice as to the
principle on which omissions are made, as also in giving only a full
abstract, and not a translation, of the continuation of 'Kadambari'
by Bhushana. It is so entirely an imitation of his father's work in
style, with all his faults, and without the originality that redeems
them, that it would not reward translation. In my abstract I have
kept the direct narration as more simple, but even when passages are
given rather fully, it does not profess in any case to be more than
a very free rendering; sometimes only the sense of a whole passage
is summed up. I regret that the system of transliteration approved
by the Royal Asiatic Society came too late for adoption here.
The edition of 'Kadambari' to which the references in the text are
given is that of the Nirnaya-Sagara Press (Bombay, 1890), which
the full commentary makes indispensable, but I have also throughout
made use of Professor Peterson's edition (Bombay Sanskrit Series,
No. xxiv.). For the last half of the Second Part [34] I have referred
to an anonymous literal translation, published by the New Britannia
Press Depository, 78, Amherst Street, Calcutta.
I have now to offer my grateful thanks to the Secretary of State
for India, without whose kind help the volume could not have been
published. I have also to thank Miss C. M. Duff for allowing me to use
the MS. of her 'Indian Chronology'; Miss E. Dale, of Girton College,
for botanical notes, which I regret that want of space prevented my
printing in full; Mr. C. Tawney, librarian of the Indian Office, for
information as to the sources of Indian fiction; Mr. F. F. Arbuthnot
and Professor Rhys-Davids, for valuable advice; Professor C. Bendall,
for his description of the Kamandakiya-Niti-Çastra, and his constant
kindness about my work; Mr. F. W. Thomas, of Trinity College, for
letting me see the proof-sheets of the translation of the 'Harsha
Carita'; and others for suggested renderings of difficult phrases,
and for help of various kinds.
But especially my thanks are due to Professor Cowell [35] for a
generosity and unwearied helpfulness which all his pupils know,
and which perhaps few but they could imagine. I read through with
him the whole of the First Part before translating it myself, so that
mistakes in the translation, many as they may be, can arise only from
misunderstanding on my part, from too great freedom of rendering,
or from failing to have recourse to the knowledge he so freely gives.
'Vrihatsahayah karyantam kshodiyanapi gacchati;
Sambhuyambodhim abhyeti mahanadya nagapaga.'
KADAMBARI.
(1) Hail to the Birthless, the cause of creation, continuance, and
destruction, triple [36] in form and quality, who shows activity in
the birth of things, goodness in their continuance, and darkness in
their destruction.
(2) Glory to the dust of Tryambaka's feet, caressed by the diadem
of the demon Bana [37]; even that dust that kisses the circle of
Ravana's ten crest-gems, that rests on the crests of the lords of
gods and demons, and that destroys our transitory life.
(3) Glory to Vishnu, who, resolving to strike from afar, with but
a moment's glance from his wrath-inflamed eye stained the breast of
his enemy, as if it had burst of itself in terror.
I salute the lotus feet of Bhatsu, [38] honoured by crowned Maukharis:
the feet which have their tawny toes rubbed on a footstool made by
the united crowns of neighbouring kings.
Who is there that fears not the wicked, pitiless in causeless enmity;
in whose mouth calumny hard to bear is always ready as the poison of
a serpent?
The wicked, like fetters, echo harshly, wound deeply, and leave a
scar; while the good, like jewelled anklets, ever charm the mind with
sweet sounds.
(4) In a bad man gentle words sink no deeper than the throat, like
nectar swallowed by Rahu. The good man bears them constantly on his
heart, as Hari his pure gem.
A story tender with the charm of gracious speech, creates in the heart
joy full of fresh interest [39]; and it comes of itself, with native
feeling, to its lord's possession, like a fresh bride. [40]
Who is not carried captive by tales fashioned in freshness of
speech, all alight with similes, and the lamps of glowing words
[41]: pleasant tales interwoven with many a contrast of words, [42]
as jasmine garlands with campak buds?
There was once a Brahman, Kuvera by name, sprung from the race of
Vatsyayana, sung throughout the world for his virtue, a leader of the
good: his lotus feet were worshipped by many a Gupta, and he seemed
a very portion of Brahma.
(5) On his mouth Sarasvati ever dwelt: for in it all evil was stilled
by the Veda; it had lips purified by sacrificial cake, and a palate
bitter with soma, and it was pleasant with smriti and çastra.
In his house frightened boys, as they repeated verses of the Yajur
and Sama Veda, were chidden at every word by caged parrots and mainas,
who were thoroughly versed in everything belonging to words.
From him was born Arthapati, a lord of the twice-born, as Hiranyagarbha
from the world-egg, the moon from the Milky Ocean, or Garuda from
Vinata.
As he unfolded his spreading discourse day by day at dawn, new troops
of pupils, intent on listening, [43] gave him a new glory, like fresh
sandal-shoots fixed on the ear.
(6) With countless sacrifices adorned with gifts duly offered, [44]
having glowing Mahavira fires in their midst, [45] and raising the
sacrificial posts as their hands, [46] he won easily, as if with a
troop of elephants, the abode of the gods.
He in due course obtained a son, Citrabhanu, who amongst his other
noble and glorious sons, all versed in çruti and çastra, shone as
crystal, like Kailasa among mountains.
The virtues of that noble man, reaching far and gleaming bright as a
digit of the moon, yet without its spot, pierced deep even into the
hearts of his foes, like the budding claws of Nrisimha (Vishnu).
The dark smoke of many a sacrifice rose like curls on the brow of the
goddesses of the sky; or like shoots of tamala on the ear of the bride,
the Threefold Veda, and only made his own glory shine more bright.
From him was born a son, Bana, when the drops that rose from
the fatigue of the soma sacrifice were wiped from his brow by the
folded lotus hands of Sarasvati, and when the seven worlds had been
illuminated by the rays of his glory.
(7) By that Brahman, albeit with a mind keeping even in his unspoken
words its original dullness blinded by the darkness of its own utter
folly, and simple from having never gained the charm of ready wit, this
tale, surpassing the other two, [47] was fashioned, even Kadambari.
There was once upon a time a king named Çudraka. Like a second
Indra, he had his commands honoured by the bent heads of all kings;
he was lord of the earth girt in by the four oceans; he had an army
of neighbouring chiefs bowed down in loyalty to his majesty; he had
the signs of a universal emperor; (8) like Vishnu, his lotus-hand bore
the sign of the conch and the quoit; like Çiva, he had overcome Love;
like Kartikeya, he was unconquerable in might [48]; like Brahma, he
had the circle of great kings humbled [49]; like the ocean, he was
the source of Lakshmi; like the stream of Ganges, he followed in the
course of the pious king Bhagiratha; like the sun, he rose daily in
fresh splendour; like Meru, the brightness of his foot was honoured by
all the world; like the elephant of the quarters, [50] he constantly
poured forth a stream of generosity. He was a worker of wonders, an
offerer of sacrifices, a mirror of moral law, a source of the arts, a
native home of virtue; a spring of the ambrosial sweetness of poetry,
a mountain of sunrise to all his friends, [51] and a direful comet to
all his foes. (9) He was, moreover, a founder of literary societies,
a refuge for men of taste, a rejecter of haughty bowholders, a leader
among the bold, a chief among the wise. He was a cause of gladness to
the humble, as Vainateya [52] was to Vinata. He rooted up with the
point of his bow the boundary-mountains of his foes as Prithuraja
did the noble mountains. He mocked Krishna, also, for while the
latter made his boast of his man-lion form, he himself smote down
the hearts of his foes by his very name, and while Krishna wearied
the universe with his three steps, he subdued the whole world by one
heroic effort. Glory long dwelt on the watered edge of his sword, as
if to wash off the stain of contact with a thousand base chieftains,
which had clung to her too long.
By the indwelling of Dharma in his mind, Yama in his wrath, Kuvera in
his kindness, Agni in his splendour, Earth in his arm, Lakshmi in his
glance, Sarasvati in his eloquence, (10) the Moon in his face, the Wind
in his might, Brihaspati in his knowledge, Love in his beauty, the Sun
in his glory, he resembled holy Narayana, whose nature manifests every
form, and who is the very essence of deity. Royal glory came to him
once for all, like a woman coming to meet her lover, on the nights of
battle stormy with the showers of ichor from the elephants' temples,
and stood by him in the midst of the darkness of thousands of coats of
mail, loosened from the doors of the breasts of warriors. She seemed
to be drawn irresistibly by his sword, which was uneven in its edge,
by reason of the drops of water forced out by the pressure of his
strong hand, and which was decked with large pearls clinging to it
when he clove the frontal bones of wild elephants. The flame of his
majesty burnt day and night, as if it were a fire within his foes'
fair wives, albeit reft of their lords, as if he would destroy the
husbands now only enshrined in their hearts.
(11) While he, having subdued the earth, was guardian of the world,
the only mixing of colour [53] was in painting; the only pulling of
hair in caresses; the only strict fetters in the laws of poetry; the
only care was concerning moral law; the only deception was in dreams;
the only golden rods [54] were in umbrellas. Banners alone trembled;
songs alone showed variations [55]; elephants alone were rampant; [56]
bows alone had severed cords; [57] lattice windows alone had ensnaring
network; lovers' disputes alone caused sending of messengers; dice and
chessmen alone left empty squares; and his subjects had no deserted
homes. Under him, too, there was only fear of the next world, only
twisting in the curls of the zenana women, only loquacity in anklets,
only taking the hand [58] in marriage, only shedding of tears from
the smoke of ceaseless sacrificial fires; the only sound of the lash
was for horses, while the only twang of the bow was Love's.
(15) When the thousand-rayed sun, bursting open the young lotus-buds,
had not long risen, though it had lost somewhat of the pinkness of
dawn, a portress approached the king in his hall of audience, and
humbly addressed him. Her form was lovely, yet awe-inspiring, and
with the scimitar (a weapon rarely worn by women) hanging at her left
side, was like a sandal-tree girt by a snake. Her bosom glistened with
rich sandal ointment like the heavenly Ganges when the frontal-bone of
Airavata rises from its waters. (16) The chiefs bent before her seemed,
by her reflection on their crests, to bear her on their foreheads as
a royal command in human form. Like autumn, [59] she was robed in
the whiteness of hamsas; like the blade of Paraçurama she held the
circle of kings in submission; like the forest land of the Vindhyas,
she bore her wand, [60] and she seemed the very guardian-goddess of
the realm. Placing on the ground her lotus hand and knee, she thus
spake: 'Sire, there stands at the gate a Candala maiden from the
South, a royal glory of the race of that Triçamku [61] who climbed
the sky, but fell from it at the murmur of wrathful Indra. She bears
a parrot in a cage, and bids me thus hail your majesty: "Sire, thou,
like the ocean, art alone worthy to receive the treasures of the whole
earth. In the thought that this bird is a marvel, and the treasure of
the whole earth, I bring it to lay at thy feet, and desire to behold
thee." (17) Thou, 0 king, hast heard her message, and must decide!' So
saying, she ended her speech. The king, whose curiosity was aroused,
looked at the chiefs around him, and with the words 'Why not? Bid
her enter?' gave his permission.
Then the portress, immediately on the king's order, ushered in the
Candala maiden. And she entered and beheld the king in the midst of
a thousand chiefs, like golden-peaked Meru in the midst of the noble
mountains crouching together in fear of Indra's thunderbolt; or,
in that the brightness of the jewels scattered on his dress almost
concealed his form, like a day of storm, whereon the eight quarters of
the globe are covered by Indra's thousand bows. He was sitting on a
couch studded with moon-stones, beneath a small silken canopy, white
as the foam of the rivers of heaven, with its four jewel-encrusted
pillars joined by golden chains, and enwreathed with a rope of large
pearls. Many cowries with golden handles waved around him; (18) his
left foot rested on a footstool of crystal that was like the moon
bent in humiliation before the flashing beauty of his countenance,
and was adorned by the brightness of his feet, which yet were tinged
with blue from the light rays of the sapphire pavement, as though
darkened by the sighs of his conquered foes. His breast, crimsoned by
the rubies which shone on his throne, recalled Krishna, red with blood
from the fresh slaughter of Madhukaitabha; his two silken garments,
white as the foam of ambrosia, with pairs of hamsas painted in yellow
on their hem, waved in the wind raised by the cowries; the fragrant
sandal unguent with which his chest was whitened, besprinkled with
saffron ointment, was like snowy Kailasa with the early sunshine upon
it; his face was encircled by pearls like stars mistaking it for the
moon; the sapphire bracelets that clasped his arms were as a threat of
chains to bind fickle fortune, or as snakes attracted by the smell of
sandal-wood; (19) the lotus in his ear hung down slightly; his nose
was aquiline, his eyes were like lotuses in full blossom, the hair
grew in a circle between his brows, and was purified by the waters
that inaugurated his possession of universal rule; his forehead was
like a piece of the eighth-day moon made into a block of pure gold,
garlanded with sweet jasmine, like the Western Mountain in the dawn
with the stars growing pale on its brow. He was like the God of Love
when struck by Çiva's fire, for his body was tawny from the colour
of his ornaments. His hand-maidens surrounded him, as if they were
the goddesses of the quarters of the globe come to worship him; the
earth bore him, as on her heart, through loyalty, in the reflection
of his image in her clear mosaic pavement; fortune seemed his alone,
though by him she was given to all to enjoy. (20) He was without a
second, though his followers were without number; he trusted only
to his own sword, though he had countless elephants and horses in
his retinue; he filled the whole earth, though he stood in a small
space of ground; he rested only on his bow, and yet was seated on his
throne; he shone with the flame of majesty, though all the fuel of
his enemies was uprooted; he had large eyes, and yet saw the smallest
things; he was the home of all virtues, and yet was overreaching;
[62] he was beloved of his wives, and yet was a despotic lord; he was
free from intoxication, though he had an unfailing stream of bounty;
he was fair in nature, yet in conduct a Krishna; [63] he laid no heavy
hand [64] on his subjects, and yet the whole world rested in his grasp.
Such was this king. And she yet afar beholding him, with a hand soft
as the petal of a red lotus, and surrounded by a tinkling bracelet,
and clasping the bamboo with its end jagged, (21) struck once on the
mosaic floor to arouse the king; and at the sound, in a moment the
whole assemblage of chiefs turned their eyes from the king to her,
like a herd of wild elephants at the falling of the cocoanut. Then the
king, with the words, 'Look yonder,' to his suite, gazed steadily upon
the Candala maiden, as she was pointed out by the portress. Before
her went a man, whose hair was hoary with age, whose eyes were the
colour of the red lotus, whose joints, despite the loss of youth,
were firm from incessant labour, whose form, though that of a Matanga,
was not to be despised, and who wore the white raiment meet for a
court. Behind her went a Candala boy, with locks falling on either
shoulder, bearing a cage, the bars of which, though of gold, shone
like emerald from the reflection of the parrot's plumage. (22) She
herself seemed by the darkness of her hue to imitate Krishna when he
guilefully assumed a woman's attire to take away the amrita seized by
the demons. She was, as it were, a doll of sapphire walking alone;
and over the blue garment, which reached to her ankle, there fell a
veil of red silk, like evening sunshine falling on blue lotuses. The
circle of her cheek was whitened by the earring that hung from one
ear, like the face of night inlaid with the rays of the rising moon;
she had a tawny tilaka of gorocana, as if it were a third eye, like
Parvati in mountaineer's attire, after the fashion of the garb of Çiva.
She was like Çri, darkened by the sapphire glory of Narayana reflected
on the robe on her breast; or like Rati, stained by smoke which rose as
Madana was burnt by the fire of wrathful Çiva; or like Yamuna, fleeing
in fear of being drawn along by the ploughshare of wild Balarama;
or, from the rich lac that turned her lotus feet into budding shoots,
like Durga, with her feet crimsoned by the blood of the Asura Mahisha
she had just trampled upon.
(23) Her nails were rosy from the pink glow of her fingers; the
mosaic pavement seemed too hard for her touch, and she came forward,
placing her feet like tender twigs upon the ground.
The rays of her anklets, rising in flame-colour, seemed to encircle
her as with the arms of Agni, as though, by his love for her beauty, he
would purify the stain of her birth, and so set the Creator at naught.
Her girdle was like the stars wreathed on the brow of the elephant
of Love; and her necklace was a rope of large bright pearls, like
the stream of Ganga just tinged by Yamuna.
Like autumn, she opened her lotus eyes; like the rainy season, she had
cloudy tresses; like the circle of the Malaya Hills, she was wreathed
with sandal; (24) like the zodiac, she was decked with starry gems;
[65] like Çri, she had the fairness of a lotus in her hand; like a
swoon, she entranced the heart; like a forest, she was endowed with
living [66] beauty; like the child of a goddess, she was claimed by
no tribe; [67] like sleep, she charmed the eyes; as a lotus-pool in
a wood is troubled by elephants, so was she dimmed by her Matanga
[68] birth; like a spirit, she might not be touched; like a letter,
she gladdened the eyes alone; like the blossoms of spring, she lacked
the jati flower; [69] her slender waist, like the line of Love's bow,
could be spanned by the hands; with her curly hair, she was like the
Lakshmi of the Yaksha king in Alaka. [70] She had but reached the
flower of her youth, and was beautiful exceedingly. And the king was
amazed; and the thought arose in his mind, (25) 'Ill-placed was the
labour of the Creator in producing this beauty! For if she has been
created as though in mockery of her Candala form, such that all the
world's wealth of loveliness is laughed to scorn by her own, why was
she born in a race with which none can mate? Surely by thought alone
did Prajapati create her, fearing the penalties of contact with the
Matanga race, else whence this unsullied radiance, a grace that belongs
not to limbs sullied by touch? Moreover, though fair in form, by the
baseness of her birth, whereby she, like a Lakshmi of the lower world,
is a perpetual reproach to the gods, [71] she, lovely as she is, causes
fear in Brahma, the maker of so strange a union.' While the king was
thus thinking the maiden, garlanded with flowers, that fell over her
ears, bowed herself before him with a confidence beyond her years. And
when she had made her reverence and stepped on to the mosaic floor,
her attendant, taking the parrot, which had just entered the cage,
advanced a few steps, and, showing it to the king, said: 'Sire, this
parrot, by name Vaiçampayana, knows the meaning of all the çastras,
is expert in the practice of royal policy, (26) skilled in tales,
history, and Puranas, and acquainted with songs and with musical
intervals. He recites, and himself composes graceful and incomparable
modern romances, love-stories, plays, and poems, and the like; he
is versed in witticisms, and is an unrivalled disciple of the vina,
flute, and drum. He is skilled in displaying the different movements of
dancing, dextrous in painting, very bold in play, ready in resources
to calm a maiden angered in a lover's quarrel, and familiar with the
characteristics of elephants, horses, men, and women. He is the gem
of the whole earth; and in the thought that treasures belong to thee,
as pearls to the ocean, the daughter of my lord has brought him hither
to thy feet, O king! Let him be accepted as thine.'
Having thus said, he laid the cage before the king and retired. (27)
And when he was gone, the king of birds, standing before the king, and
raising his right foot, having uttered the words, 'All hail!' recited
to the king, in a song perfect in the enunciation of each syllable
and accent, a verse [72] to this effect:
'The bosoms of your foemen's queens now mourn,
Keeping a fast of widowed solitude,
Bathed in salt tears, of pearl-wreaths all forlorn,
Scorched by their sad hearts' too close neighbourhood.'
And the king, having heard it, was amazed, and joyfully addressed
his minister Kumarapalita, who sat close to him on a costly golden
throne, like Brihaspati in his mastery of political philosophy, aged,
of noble birth, first in the circle of wise councillors: 'Thou hast
heard the bird's clear enunciation of consonants, and the sweetness
of his intonation. This, in the first place, is a great marvel, that
he should raise a song in which the syllables are clearly separated;
and there is a combination of correctness with clearness in the vowels
and anunasikas. (28) Then, again, we had something more than that:
for in him, though a lower creation, are found the accomplishments,
as it were, of a man, in a pleasurable art, and the course of his
song is inspired by knowledge. For it was he who, with the cry, "All
hail!" straightened his right foot and sang this song concerning me,
whereas, generally, birds and beasts are only skilled in the science of
fearing, eating, pairing, and sleeping. This is most wonderful.' And
when the king had said this, Kumarapalita, with a slight smile,
replied: 'Where is the wonder? For all kinds of birds, beginning with
the parrot and the maina, repeat a sound once heard, as thou, O king,
knowest; so it is no wonder that exceeding skill is produced either
by the efforts of men, or in consequence of perfection gained in a
former birth. Moreover, they formerly possessed a voice like that of
men, with clear utterance. The indistinct speech of parrots, as well
as the change in elephants' tongues, arose from a curse of Agni.'
Hardly had he thus spoken when there arose the blast of the mid-day
conch, following the roar of the drum distinctly struck at the
completion of the hour, and announcing that the sun had reached
the zenith. (29) And, hearing this, the king dismissed his band of
chiefs, as the hour for bathing was at hand, and arose from his hall
of audience.
Then, as he started, the great chiefs thronged together as they rose,
tearing their silk raiment with the leaf-work of their bracelets,
as it fell from its place in the hurried movement. Their necklaces
were swinging with the shock; the quarters of space were made
tawny by showers of fragrant sandal-powder and saffron scattered
from their limbs in their restlessness; the bees arose in swarms
from their garlands of malati flowers, all quivering; their cheeks
were caressed by the lotuses in their ears, half hanging down; their
strings of pearls were trembling on their bosoms--each longed in his
self-consciousness to pay his respects to the king as he departed.
The hall of audience was astir on all sides with the sound of the
anklets of the cowrie bearers as they disappeared in all directions,
bearing the cowries on their shoulders, their gems tinkling at every
step, broken by the cry of the kalahamsas, eager to drink the lotus
honey; (30) with the pleasant music of the jewelled girdles and
wreaths of the dancing-girls coming to pay their respects as they
struck their breast and sides; with the cries of the kalahamsas
of the palace lake, which, charmed by the sound of the anklets,
whitened the broad steps of the hall of audience; with the voices of
the tame cranes, eager for the sound of the girdles, screaming more
and more with a prolonged outcry, like the scratching of bell-metal;
with the heavy tramp on the floor of the hall of audience struck
by the feet of a hundred neighbouring chiefs suddenly departing,
which seemed to shake the earth like a hurricane; with the cry of
'Look!' from the wand-bearing ushers, who were driving the people
in confusion before them, and shouting loudly, yet good-naturedly,
'Behold!' long and shrill, resounding far by its echo in the bowers
of the palace; (31) with the ringing of the pavement as it was
scratched by the points of diadems with their projecting aigrettes,
as the kings swiftly bent till their trembling crest-gems touched
the ground; with the tinkling of the earrings as they rang on the
hard mosaic in their owners' obeisance; with the space-pervading din
of the bards reciting auspicious verses, and coming forward with the
pleasant continuous cry, 'Long life and victory to our king!'; with
the hum of the bees as they rose up leaving the flowers, by reason
of the turmoil of the hundreds of departing feet; with the clash of
the jewelled pillars on which the gems were set jangling from being
struck by the points of the bracelets as the chieftains fell hastily
prostrate in their confusion. The king then dismissed the assembled
chiefs, saying, 'Rest awhile'; and after saying to the Candala maiden,
'Let Vaiçampayana be taken into the inner apartments,' and giving the
order to his betel-nut bearer, he went, accompanied by a few favourite
princes, to his private apartments. There, laying aside his adornments,
like the sun divested of his rays, or the sky bare of moon and stars,
he entered the hall of exercise, where all was duly prepared. Having
taken pleasant exercise therein with the princes of his own age, (32)
he then entered the bathing-place, which was covered with a white
canopy, surrounded by the verses of many a bard. It had a gold bath,
filled with scented water in its midst, with a crystal bathing-seat
placed by it, and was adorned with pitchers placed on one side,
full of most fragrant waters, having their mouths darkened by bees
attracted by the odour, as if they were covered with blue cloths,
from fear of the heat. (33) Then the hand-maidens, some darkened by
the reflection of their emerald jars, like embodied lotuses with
their leafy cups, some holding silver pitchers, like night with a
stream of light shed by the full moon, duly besprinkled the king. (34)
Straightway there arose a blare of the trumpets sounded for bathing,
penetrating all the hollows of the universe, accompanied by the din
of song, lute, flute, drum, cymbal, and tabor, resounding shrilly
in diverse tones, mingled with the uproar of a multitude of bards,
and cleaving the path of hearing. Then, in due order, the king put
upon him two white garments, light as a shed snake-skin, and wearing
a turban, with an edge of fine silk, pure as a fleck of white cloud,
like Himalaya with the stream of the heavenly river falling upon it,
he made his libation to the Pitris with a handful of water, consecrated
by a hymn, and then, prostrating himself before the sun, proceeded to
the temple. When he had worshipped Çiva, and made an offering to Agni,
(35) his limbs were anointed in the perfuming-room with sandal-wood,
sweetened with the fragrance of saffron, camphor, and musk, the
scent of which was followed by murmuring bees; he put on a chaplet
of scented malati flowers, changed his garb, and, with no adornment
save his jewelled earrings, he, together with the kings, for whom a
fitting meal was prepared, broke his fast, with the pleasure that
arises from the enjoyment of viands of sweet savour. Then, having
drunk of a fragrant drug, rinsed his mouth, and taken his betel, he
arose from his daïs, with its bright mosaic pavement. The portress,
who was close by, hastened to him, and leaning on her arm, he went
to the hall of audience, followed by the attendants worthy to enter
the inner apartments, whose palms were like boughs, very hard from
their firm grasp of their wands.
The hall showed as though walled with crystal by reason of the
white silk that draped its ends; the jewelled floor was watered to
coolness with sandal-water, to which was added very fragrant musk;
the pure mosaic was ceaselessly strewn with masses of blossoms,
as the sky with its bevy of stars; (36) many a golden pillar shone
forth, purified with scented water, and decked with countless images,
as though with the household gods in their niches; aloe spread its
fragrance richly; the whole was dominated by an alcove, which held a
couch white as a cloud after storm, with a flower-scented covering,
a pillow of fine linen at the head, castors encrusted with gems, and
a jewelled footstool by its side, like the peak of Himalaya to behold.
Reclining on this couch, while a maiden, seated on the ground, having
placed in her bosom the dagger she was wont to bear, gently rubbed his
feet with a palm soft as the leaves of fresh lotuses, the king rested
for a short time, and held converse on many a theme with the kings,
ministers, and friends whose presence was meet for that hour.
He then bade the portress, who was at hand, to fetch Vaiçampayana
from the women's apartments, for he had become curious to learn his
story. And she, bending hand and knee to the ground, with the words
'Thy will shall be done!' taking the command on her head, fulfilled
his bidding. (37) Soon Vaiçampayana approached the king, having his
cage borne by the portress, under the escort of a herald, leaning on
a gold staff, slightly bent, white robed, wearing a top-knot silvered
with age, slow in gait, and tremulous in speech, like an aged flamingo
in his love for the race of birds, who, placing his palm on the ground,
thus delivered his message: 'Sire, the queens send thee word that by
thy command this Vaiçampayana has been bathed and fed, and is now
brought by the portress to thy feet.' Thus speaking, he retired,
and the king asked Vaiçampayana: 'Hast thou in the interval eaten
food sufficient and to thy taste?' 'Sire,' replied he, 'what have
I not eaten? I have drunk my fill of the juice of the jambu fruit,
aromatically sweet, pink and blue as a cuckoo's eye in the gladness
of spring; I have cracked the pomegranate seeds, bright as pearls
wet with blood, which lions' claws have torn from the frontal bones
of elephants. I have torn at my will old myrobalans, green as lotus
leaves, and sweet as grapes. (38) But what need of further words? For
everything brought by the queens with their own hands turns to
ambrosia.' And the king, rebuking his talk, said: 'Let all this
cease for a while, and do thou remove our curiosity. Tell us from
the very beginning the whole history of thy birth--in what country,
and how wert thou born, and by whom was thy name given? Who were thy
father and mother? How came thine attainment of the Vedas, and thine
acquaintance with the Çastras, and thy skill in the fine arts? What
caused thy remembrance of a former birth? Was it a special boon given
thee? Or dost thou dwell in disguise, wearing the form only of a bird,
and where didst thou formerly dwell? How old art thou, and how came
this bondage of a cage, and the falling into the hands of a Candala
maiden, and thy coming hither?' Thus respectfully questioned by the
king, whose curiosity was kindled, Vaiçampayana thought a moment,
and reverently replied, 'Sire, the tale is long; but if it is thy
pleasure, let it be heard.'
'There is a forest, by name Vindhya, that embraces the shores of the
eastern and western ocean, and decks the central region as though
it were the earth's zone. (39) It is beauteous with trees watered
with the ichor of wild elephants, and bearing on their crests masses
of white blossom that rise to the sky and vie with the stars; in
it the pepper-trees, bitten by ospreys in their spring gladness,
spread their boughs; tamala branches trampled by young elephants
fill it with fragrance; shoots in hue like the wine-flushed cheeks
of Malabaris, as though roseate with lac from the feet of wandering
wood-nymphs, overshadow it. Bowers there are, too, wet with drippings
from parrot-pierced pomegranates; bowers in which the ground is covered
with torn fruit and leaves shaken down by restless monkeys from the
kakkola trees, or sprinkled with pollen from ever-falling blossoms,
or strewn with couches of clove-branches by travellers, or hemmed
in by fine cocoanuts, ketakis, kariras, and bakulas; bowers so fair
that with their areca trees girt about with betel vines, they make
a fitting home for a woodland Lakshmi. Thickly growing elas make
the wood dark and fragrant, as with the ichor of wild elephants;
(40) hundreds of lions, who meet their death from barbaric leaders
eager to seize the pearls of the elephants' frontal-bones still
clinging to their mouth and claws, roam therein; it is fearful as
the haunt of death, like the citadel of Yama, and filled with the
buffaloes dear to him; like an army ready for battle, it has bees
resting on its arrow-trees, as the points on arrows, and the roar of
the lion is clear as the lion-cry of onset; it has rhinoceros tusks
dreadful as the dagger of Durga, and like her is adorned with red
sandal-wood; like the story of Karnisuta, it has its Vipula, Acala
and Çaça in the wide mountains haunted by hares, [73] that lie near
it; as the twilight of the last eve of an aeon has the frantic dance
of blue-necked Çiva, so has it the dances of blue-necked peacocks,
and bursts into crimson; as the time of churning the ocean had the
glory of Çri and the tree which grants all desires, and was surrounded
by sweet draughts of Varuna, [74] so is it adorned by Çri trees and
Varuna2 trees. It is densely dark, as the rainy season with clouds,
and decked with pools in countless hundreds; [75] like the moon, it
is always the haunt of the bears, and is the home of the deer. [76]
(41) Like a king's palace, it is adorned by the tails of cowrie deer,
[77] and protected by troops of fierce elephants. Like Durga, it is
strong of nature, [78] and haunted by the lion. Like Sita, it has
its Kuça, and is held by the wanderer of night. [79] Like a maiden
in love, it wears the scent of sandal and musk, and is adorned with
a tilaka of bright aloes; [80] like a lady in her lover's absence,
it is fanned with the wind of many a bough, and possessed of Madana;
[81] like a child's neck, it is bright with rows of tiger's-claws,
[82] and adorned with a rhinoceros; [83] like a hall of revelry with
its honeyed draughts, it has hundreds of beehives [84] visible, and
is strewn with flowers. In parts it has a circle of earth torn up by
the tusks of large boars, like the end of the world when the circle
of the earth was lifted up by the tusks of Mahavaraha; here, like
the city of Ravana, it is filled with lofty çalas [85] inhabited by
restless monkeys; (42) here it is, like the scene of a recent wedding,
bright with fresh kuça grass, fuel, flowers, acacia, and palaça; here,
it seems to bristle in terror at the lions' roar; here, it is vocal
with cuckoos wild for joy; here it is, as if in excitement, resonant
with the sound of palms [86] in the strong wind; here, it drops its
palm-leaves like a widow giving up her earrings; here, like a field of
battle, it is filled with arrowy reeds; [87] here, like Indra's body,
it has a thousand netras; [88] here, like Vishnu's form, it has the
darkness of tamalas; [89] here, like the banner of Arjuna's chariot,
it is blazoned with monkeys; here, like the court of an earthly king,
it is hard of access, through the bamboos; here, like the city of
King Virata, it is guarded by a Kicaka; [90] here, like the Lakshmi of
the sky, it has the tremulous eyes of its deer pursued by the hunter;
[91] here, like an ascetic, it has bark, bushes, and ragged strips and
grass. [92] (43) Though adorned with Saptaparna, [93] it yet possesses
leaves innumerable; though honoured by ascetics, it is yet very savage;
[94] though in its season of blossom, it is yet most pure.
'In that forest there is a hermitage, famed throughout the world--a
very birthplace of Dharma. It is adorned with trees tended by
Lopamudra as her own children, fed with water sprinkled by her own
hands, and trenched round by herself. She was the wife of the great
ascetic Agastya; he it was who at the prayer of Indra drank up the
waters of ocean, and who, when the Vindhya mountains, by a thousand
wide peaks stretching to the sky in rivalry of Meru, were striving to
stop the course of the sun's chariot, and were despising the prayers
of all the gods, yet had his commands obeyed by them; who digested the
demon Vatapi by his inward fire; who had the dust of his feet kissed
by the tips of the gold ornaments on the crests of gods and demons; who
adorned the brow of the Southern Region; and who manifested his majesty
by casting Nahusha down from heaven by the mere force of his murmur.
(44) 'The hermitage is also hallowed by Lopamudra's son Dridhadasyu,
an ascetic, bearing his staff of palaça, [95] wearing a sectarial
mark made of purifying ashes, clothed in strips of kuça grass,
girt with muñja, holding a cup of green leaves in his roaming from
hut to hut to ask alms. From the large supply of fuel he brought,
he was surnamed by his father Fuelbearer.
'The place is also darkened in many a spot by green parrots and by
plantain groves, and is girt by the river Godaveri, which, like a
dutiful wife, followed the path of the ocean when drunk by Agastya.
'There, too, Rama, when he gave up his kingdom to keep his father's
promise, dwelt happily for some time at Pañcavati with Sita, following
the great ascetic Agastya, living in a pleasant hut made by Lakshmana,
even Rama, the vexer of the triumphs of Ravana's glory. [96]
'There, even now, the trees, though the hermitage has long been empty,
show, as it were, in the lines of white doves softly nestling in the
boughs, the hermits' pure lines of sacrificial smoke clinging to them;
and there a glow bursts forth on the shoots of creepers, as if it had
passed to them from Sita's hand as she offered flowers of oblation;
(45) there the water of ocean drunk and sent forth by the ascetic
seems to have been wholly distributed among the great lakes round the
hermitage; there the wood, with its fresh foliage, shines as if its
roots had been watered with the blood of countless hosts of demons
struck down by Rama's many keen shafts, and as if now its palaaças
were stained with their crimson hue; there, even yet, the old deer
nurtured by Sita, when they hear the deep roar of fresh clouds in the
rainy season, think on the twang of Rama's bow penetrating all the
hollows of the universe, and refuse their mouthfuls of fresh grass,
while their eyes are dimmed by ceaseless tears, as they see a deserted
world, and their own horns crumbling from age; there, too, the golden
deer, as if it had been incited by the rest of the forest deer slain
in the ceaseless chase, deceived Sita, and led the son of Raghu
far astray; there, too, in their grief for the bitter loss of Sita,
Rama and Lakshmana seized by Kabandha, like an eclipse of sun and moon
heralding the death of Ravana, filled the universe with a mighty dread;
(46) there, too, the arm of Yojanabahu, struck off by Rama's arrow,
caused fear in the saints as it lay on the ground, lest it should be
the serpent form of Nahusha, brought back by Agastya's curse; there,
even now, foresters behold Sita painted inside the hut by her husband
to solace his bereavement, as if she were again rising from the ground
in her longing to see her husband's home.
'Not far from that hermitage of Agastya, of which the ancient history
is yet clearly to be seen, is a lotus lake called Pampa. It stands
near that hermitage, as if it were a second ocean made by the Creator
in rivalry with Agastya, at the prompting of Varuna, wrathful at
the drinking of ocean; it is like the sky fallen on earth to bind
together the fragments of the eight quarters when severed in the
day of doom. [97] (48) It is, indeed, a peerless home of waters,
and its depth and extent none can tell. There, even now, the wanderer
may see pairs of cakravakas, with their wings turned to blue by the
gleam of the blossoming lotuses, as if they were swallowed up by the
impersonate curse of Rama.
'On the left bank of that lake, and near a clump of palms broken
by Rama's arrows, was a large old çalmali tree. [98] It shows as
though it were enclosed in a large trench, because its roots are
always encircled by an old snake, like the trunk of the elephants
of the quarters; (49) it seems to be mantled with the slough of
serpents, which hangs on its lofty trunk and waves in the wind;
it strives to compass the measurement of the circle of space by its
many boughs spreading through the firmament, and so to imitate Çiva,
whose thousand arms are outstretched in his wild dance at the day
of doom, and who wears the moon on his crest. Through its weight of
years, it clings for support even to the shoulder of the wind; it is
girt with creepers that cover its whole trunk, and stand out like the
thick veins of old age. Thorns have gathered on its surface like the
moles of old age; not even the thick clouds by which its foliage is
bedewed can behold its top, when, after drinking the waters of ocean,
they return from all sides to the sky, and pause for a moment, weary
with their load of water, like birds amongst its boughs. From its
great height, it seems to be on tiptoe to look [99] at the glory of
the Nandana [100] Wood; its topmost branches are whitened by cotton,
which men might mistake for foam dropped from the corners of their
mouths by the sun's steeds as, beset with weariness of their path
through the sky, they come near it in their course overhead; (50)
it has a root that will last for an aeon, for, with the garland
of drunken bees sticking to the ichor which clings to it where the
cheeks of woodland elephants are rubbed against it, it seems to be
held motionless by iron chains; it seems alive with swarms of bees,
flashing in and out of its hollow trunk. It beholds the alighting of
the wings of birds, as Duryodhana receives proofs of Çakuni's [101]
partizanship; like Krishna, it is encircled by a woodland chaplet;
[102] like a mass of fresh clouds its rising is seen in the sky. It
is a temple whence woodland goddesses can look out upon the whole
world. It is the king of the Dandaka Wood, the leader of the lordly
trees, the friend of the Vindhya Mountains, and it seems to embrace
with the arms of its boughs the whole Vindhya Forest. There, on the
edge of the boughs, in the centre of the crevices, amongst the twigs,
in the joints of the trunks, in the holes of the rotten bark, flocks
of parrots have taken their abode. From its spaciousness, they have
confidently built in it their thousand nests; from its steepness,
they have come to it fearlessly from every quarter. Though its
leaves are thin with age, this lord of the forest still looks green
with dense foliage, as they rest upon it day and night. (51) In it
they spend the nights in their own nests, and daily, as they rise,
they form lines in the sky; they show in heaven like Yamuna with her
wide streams scattered by the tossing of Bala's ploughshare in his
passion; they suggest a lotus-bed of the heavenly Ganges flowing away,
uprooted by the elephant of heaven; they show forth a sky streaked,
as it were, with the brightness of the steeds of the sun's chariot;
they wear the semblance of a moving floor of emerald; they stretch
out in the lake of heaven like long twines of Vallisneria; they fan
the faces of the quarters wearied with the mass of the sun's keen
rays, with their wings spread against the sky like plantain leaves;
they form a grassy path stretching through the heaven, and as they
roam they grace the firmament with a rainbow. After their meal they
return to the young birds which stay in the nest, and give them,
from beaks pink as tiger's claws reddened with the blood of slain
deer, the juice of fruits and many a dainty morsel of rice-clusters,
for by their deep love to their children all their other likings are
subdued; (52) then they spend the night in this same tree with their
young under their wings.
'Now my father, who by reason of his great age barely dragged on his
life, dwelt with my mother in a certain old hollow, and to him I was,
by the decree of Fate, born as his only son. My mother, overcome by
the pains of child-birth when I was born, went to another world, and,
in spite of his grief for the death of his loved wife, my father, from
love to his child, checked the keen onrush of his sorrow, and devoted
himself in his loneliness wholly to my nurture. From his great age,
the wide wings he raised had lost their power of flight, and hung
loose from his shoulders, so that when he shook them he seemed to
be trying to shake off the painful old age that clung to his body,
while his few remaining tail feathers were broken like a tatter of
kuça grass; and yet, though he was unable to wander far, he gathered
up bits of fruit torn down by parrots and fallen at the foot of the
tree, and picked up grains of rice from rice-stalks that had fallen
from other nests, with a beak the point of which was broken and the
edge worn away and rubbed by breaking rice-clusters, and pink as the
stalk of the sephalika flower when still hard, and he daily made his
own meal on what I left.
(53) 'But one day I heard a sound of the tumult of the chase. The
moon, reddened by the glow of dawn, was descending to the shore
of the Western Ocean, from the island of the heavenly Ganges, like
an old hamsa with its wings reddened by the honey of the heavenly
lotus-bed; the circle of space was widening, and was white as the
hair of a ranku deer; the throng of stars, like flowers strewn on
the pavement of heaven, were being cast away by the sun's long rays,
as if they were brooms of rubies, for they were red as a lion's
mane dyed in elephant's blood, or pink as sticks of burning lac; the
cluster of the Seven Sages was, as it were, descending the bank of the
Manasa Lake, and rested on the northern quarter to worship the dawn;
the Western Ocean was lifting a mass of pearls, scattered from open
shells on its shore, as though the stars, melted by the sun's rays,
had fallen on it, whitening the surface of its alluvial islands. The
wood was dropping dew; its peacocks were awake; its lions were yawning;
(54) its wild elephants were wakened by herds of she-elephants, and
it, with its boughs raised like reverential hands, sent up towards
the sun, as he rested on the peak of the Eastern Mountain, a mass of
flowers, the filaments of which were heavy with the night dews. The
lines of sacrificial smoke from the hermitages, gray as the hair
of an ass, were gleaming like banners of holiness, and rested like
doves on the tree-tops whereon the wood-nymphs dwelt. The morning
breeze was blowing, and roamed softly, for it was weary at the end
of night; it gladdened swarms of bees by the flowers' perfume; it
rained showers of honey dew from the opened lotuses; it was eager
to teach the dancing creepers with their waving boughs; it carried
drops of foam from the rumination of woodland buffaloes; it removed
the perspiration of the weary mountaineers; it shook the lotuses, and
bore with it the dewdrops. The bees, who ought to be the drums on the
elephant's frontal-bones to recite auspicious songs for the wakening
of the day lotus-groves, now sent up their hum from the hearts of the
night-lotuses, as their wings were clogged in the closing petals;
(55) the deer of the wood had the markings on their breast, gray
with resting on the salt ground, and slowly opened eyes, the pupils
of which were still squinting with the remains of sleep, and were
caught by the cool morning breeze as if their eyelashes were held
together by heated lac; foresters were hastening hither and thither;
the din of the kalahamsas on the Pampa Lake, sweet to the ear, was
now beginning; the pleasant flapping of the wild elephant's ears
breaking forth caused the peacocks to dance; in time the sun himself
slowly arose, and wandered among the tree-tops round the Pampa Lake,
and haunted the mountain peaks, with rays of madder, like a mass of
cowries bending downwards from the sun's elephant as he plunges into
the sky; the fresh light sprung from the sun banished the stars,
falling on the wood like the monkey king who had again lost Tara;
[103] the morning twilight became visible quickly, occupying the
eighth part of the day, and the sun's light became clear.
'The troops of parrots had all started to the places they desired;
that tree seemed empty by reason of the great stillness, though it had
all the young parrots resting quietly in their nests. (56) My father
was still in his own nest, and I, as from my youth my wings were
hardly fledged and had no strength, was close to him in the hollow,
when I suddenly heard in that forest the sound of the tumult of the
chase. It terrified every woodland creature; it was drawn out by a
sound of birds' wings flying hastily up; it was mingled with cries
from the frightened young elephants; it was increased by the hum of
drunken bees, disturbed on the shaken creepers; it was loud with the
noise of wild boars roaming with raised snouts; it was swollen by the
roar of lions wakened from their sleep in mountain caves; it seemed to
shake the trees, and was great as the noise of the torrents of Ganges,
when brought down by Bhagiratha; and the woodland nymphs listened to
it in terror.
'When I heard this strange sound I began to tremble in my childishness;
the cavity of my ear was almost broken; I shook for fear, and thinking
that my father, who was close by, could help me, I crept within his
wings, loosened as they were by age.
'Straightway I heard an outcry of "Hence comes the scent of the
lotus beds the leaders of the elephants have trampled! Hence the
perfume of rushes the boars have chewed! Hence the keen fragrance
of gum-olibanum the young elephants have divided! Hence the rustling
of dry leaves shaken down! (57) Hence the dust of antheaps that the
horns of wild buffaloes have cleft like thunderbolts! Hence came a
herd of deer! Hence a troop of wild elephants! Hence a band of wild
boars! Hence a multitude of wild buffaloes! Hence the shriek of a
circle of peacocks! Hence the murmur of partridges! Hence the cry of
ospreys! Hence the groan of elephants with their frontal bones torn
by lion's claws! This is a boar's path stained with fresh mud! This
a mass of foam from the rumination of deer, darkened by the juice
of mouthfuls of grass just eaten! This the hum of bees garrulous as
they cling to the scent left by the rubbing of elephants' foreheads
with ichor flowing! That the path of the ruru deer pink with withered
leaves bedewed with blood that has been shed. That is a mass of shoots
on the trees crushed by the feet of elephants! Those are the gambols
of rhinoceroses; that is the lion's track jagged with pieces of the
elephant's pearls, pink with blood, and engraved with a monstrous
device by their claws; that is the earth crimsoned with the blood of
the newly born offspring of the does; that is the path, like a widow's
braid, darkened with the ichor of the lord of the herd wandering at his
will! Follow this row of yaks straight before us! Quickly occupy this
part of the wood where the dung of the deer is dried! (58) Climb the
tree-top! Look out in this direction! Listen to this sound! Take the
bow! Stand in your places! Let slip the hounds!" The wood trembled
at the tumult of the hosts of men intent on the chase shouting to
each other and concealed in the hollows of the trees.
'Then that wood was soon shaken on all sides by the roar of lions
struck by the Çabaras' arrows, deepened by its echo rebounding from
the hollows of the mountains, and strong as the sound of a drum newly
oiled; by the roar from the throats of the elephants that led the herd,
like the growl of thunder, and mixed with the ceaseless lashing of
their trunks, as they came on alone, separated from the frightened
herd; by the piteous cry of the deer, with their tremulous, terrified
eyes, when the hounds suddenly tore their limbs; by the yell of
she-elephants lengthening in grief for the death of their lord and
leader, as they wandered every way with ears raised, ever pausing
to listen to the din, bereft of their slain leaders and followed by
their young; (59) by the bellowing of she-rhinoceroses seeking with
outstretched necks their young, only born a few days before, and now
lost in the panic; by the outcry of birds flying from the tree-tops,
and wandering in confusion; by the tramp of herds of deer with all
the haste of limbs made for speed, seeming to make the earth quake
as it was struck simultaneously by their hurrying feet; by the twang
of bows drawn to the ear, mingled, as they rained their arrows, with
the cry from the throats of the loving she-ospreys; by the clash of
swords with their blades whizzing against the wind and falling on the
strong shoulders of buffaloes; and by the baying of the hounds which,
as it was suddenly sent forth, penetrated all the recesses of the wood.
'When soon afterwards the noise of the chase was stilled and the
wood had become quiet, like the ocean when its water was stilled by
the ceasing of the churning, or like a mass of clouds silent after
the rainy season, I felt less of fear and became curious, and so,
moving a little from my father's embrace, (60) I stood in the hollow,
stretched out my neck, and with eyes that, from my childishness, were
yet tremulous with fear, in my eagerness to see what this thing was,
I cast my glance in that direction.
'Before me I saw the Çabara [104] army come out from the wood like
the stream of Narmada tossed by Arjuna's [105] thousand arms; like a
wood of tamalas stirred by the wind; like all the nights of the dark
fortnight rolled into one; like a solid pillar of antimony shaken by
an earthquake; like a grove of darkness disturbed by sunbeams; like
the followers of death roaming; like the demon world that had burst
open hell and risen up; like a crowd of evil deeds come together;
like a caravan of curses of the many hermits dwelling in the Dandaka
Forest; like all the hosts of Dushana [106] and Khara struck by
Rama as he rained his ceaseless shafts, and they turned into demons
for their hatred to him; like the whole confraternity of the Iron
Age come together; like a band of buffaloes prepared for a plunge
into the water; like a mass of black clouds broken by a blow from a
lion's paw as he stands on the mountain peak; [107] like a throng of
meteors risen for the destruction of all form; it darkened the wood;
it numbered many thousands; it inspired great dread; it was like a
multitude of demons portending disasters.
(61) 'And in the midst of that great host of Çabaras I beheld the
Çabara leader, Matanga by name. He was yet in early youth; from his
great hardness he seemed made of iron; he was like Ekalavya [108]
in another birth; from his growing beard, he was like a young royal
elephant with its temples encircled by its first line of ichor;
he filled the wood with beauty that streamed from him sombre as
dark lotuses, like the waters of Yamuna; he had thick locks curled
at the ends and hanging on his shoulders, like a lion with its
mane stained by elephant's ichor; his brow was broad; his nose was
stern and aquiline; his left side shone reddened by the faint pink
rays of a jewelled snake's hood that was made the ornament for one
of his ears, like the glow of shoots that had clung to him from
his resting on a leafy couch; he was perfumed with fragrant ichor,
bearing the scent of saptacchada blossoms torn from the cheeks of an
elephant freshly slain, like a stain of black aloes; (62) he had the
heat warded off by a swarm of bees, like a peacock-feather parasol,
flying about blinded by the scent, as if they were a branch of tamala;
he was marked with lines of perspiration on his cheek rubbed by his
hand, as if Vindhya Forest, being conquered by his strong arm, were
timidly offering homage under the guise of its slender waving twigs,
and he seemed to tinge space by his eye somewhat pink, as if it were
bloodshot, and shedding a twilight of the night of doom for the deer;
he had mighty arms reaching to his knees, as if the measure of an
elephant's trunk had been taken in making them, and his shoulders were
rough with scars from keen weapons often used to make an offering of
blood to Kali; the space round his eyes was bright and broad as the
Vindhya Mountain, and with the drops of dried deer's blood clinging
on it, and the marking of drops of perspiration, as if they were
adorned by large pearls from an elephant's frontal bone mixed with
guñja fruit; his chest was scarred by constant and ceaseless fatigue;
he was clad in a silk dress red with cochineal, and with his strong
legs he mocked a pair of elephants' posts stained with elephants'
ichor; he seemed from his causeless fierceness to have been marked
on his dread brow by a frown that formed three banners, as if Durga,
propitiated by his great devotion, had marked him with a trident to
denote that he was her servant. (63) He was accompanied by hounds
of every colour, which were his familiar friends; they showed their
weariness by tongues that, dry as they were, seemed by their natural
pinkness to drip deer's blood, and which hung down far from tiredness;
as their mouths were open they raised the corners of their lips and
showed their flashing teeth clearly, like a lion's mane caught between
the teeth; their throats were covered with strings of cowries, and they
were hacked by blows from the large boars' tusks; though but small,
from their great strength they were like lions' cubs with their manes
ungrown; they were skilled in initiating the does in widowhood; with
them came their wives, very large, like lionesses coming to beg an
amnesty for the lions. He was surrounded by troops of Çabaras of all
kinds: some had seized elephants' tusks and the long hair of yaks;
some had vessels for honey made of leaves closely bound; some, like
lions, had hands filled with many a pearl from the frontal bones of
elephants; some, like demons, had pieces of raw flesh; some, like
goblins, were carrying the skins of lions; some, like Jain ascetics,
held peacocks' tails; some, like children, wore crows' feathers; [109]
some represented Krishna's [110] exploits by bearing the elephants'
tusks they had torn out; (64) some, like the days of the rainy season,
had garments dark as clouds. [111] He had his sword-sheath, as a
wood its rhinoceroses; [112] like a fresh cloud, he held a bow [113]
bright as peacocks' tails; like the demon Vaka, [114] he possessed a
peerless army; like Garuda, he had torn out the teeth of many large
nagas; [115] he was hostile to peacocks, as Bhishma to Çikhandi; [116]
like a summer day, he always showed a thirst for deer; [117] like a
heavenly genius, he was impetuous in pride; [118] as Vyasa followed
Yojanagandha, [119] so did he follow the musk deer; like Ghatotkaca,
he was dreadful in form; [120] as the locks of Uma were decked with
Çiva's moon, so was he adorned with the eyes in the peacocks' tails;
[121] as the demon Hiranyakaçipu [122] by Mahavaraha, so he had his
breast torn by the teeth of a great boar; (65) like an ambitious
man, [123] he had a train of captives around him; like a demon,
he loved [124] the hunters; like the gamut of song, he was closed
in by Nishadas; [125] like the trident of Durga, he was wet with the
blood of buffaloes; though quite young, he had seen many lives pass;
[126] though he had many hounds, [127] he lived on roots and fruits;
though of Krishna's hue, [128] he was not good to look on; though
he wandered at will, his mountain fort [129] was his only refuge;
though he always lived at the foot of a lord of earth, [130] he was
unskilled in the service of a king.
'He was as the child of the Vindhya Mountains, the partial avatar of
death; the born brother of wickedness, the essence of the Iron Age;
horrible as he was, he yet inspired awe by reason of his natural
greatness, [131] and his form could not be surpassed. [132] His name I
afterwards learnt. In my mind was this thought: "Ah, the life of these
men is full of folly, and their career is blamed by the good. (66)
For their one religion is offering human flesh to Durga; their meat,
mead, and so forth, is a meal loathed by the good; their exercise is
the chase; their çastra [133] is the cry of the jackal; their teachers
of good and evil are owls; [134] their knowledge is skill in birds;
[135] their bosom friends are dogs; their kingdom is in deserted
woods; their feast is a drinking bout; their friends are the bows
that work their cruel deeds, and arrows, with their heads smeared,
like snakes, with poison, are their helpers; their song is what draws
on bewildered deer; their wives are the wives of others taken captive;
their dwelling is with savage tigers; their worship of the gods is with
the blood of beasts, their sacrifice with flesh, their livelihood by
theft; the snakes' hood is their ornament; their cosmetic, elephants'
ichor; and the very wood wherein they may dwell is utterly destroyed
root and branch."
'As I was thus thinking, the Çabara leader, desiring to rest after
his wandering through the forest, approached, and, laying his bow
in the shade beneath that very cotton-tree, sat down on a seat of
twigs gathered hastily by his suite. (67) Another youthful Çabara,
coming down hastily, brought to him from the lake, when he had stirred
its waters with his hand, some water aromatic with lotus-pollen, and
freshly-plucked bright lotus-fibres with their mud washed off; the
water was like liquid lapis lazuli, or showed as if it were painted
with a piece of sky fallen from the heat of the sun's rays in the day
of doom, or had dropped from the moon's orb, or were a mass of melted
pearl, or as if in its great purity it was frozen into ice, and could
only be distinguished from it by touch. After drinking it, the Çabara
in turn devoured the lotus-fibres, as Rahu does the moon's digits;
when he was rested he rose, and, followed by all his host, who had
satisfied their thirst, he went slowly to his desired goal. But one
old Çabara from that barbarous troop had got no deer's flesh, and,
with a demoniac [136] expression coming into his face in his desire
for meat, he lingered a short time by that tree. (68) As soon as the
Çabara leader had vanished, that old Çabara, with eyes pink as drops
of blood and terrible with their overhanging tawny brows, drank in, as
it were, our lives; he seemed to reckon up the number in the parrots'
nests like a falcon eager to taste bird's flesh, and looked up the
tree from its foot, wishing to climb it. The parrots seemed to have
drawn their last breath at that very moment in their terror at the
sight of him. For what is hard for the pitiless? So he climbed the
tree easily and without effort, as if by ladders, though it was as
high as many palms, and the tops of its boughs swept the clouds,
and plucked the young parrots from among its boughs one by one,
as if they were its fruit, for some were not yet strong for flight;
some were only a few days old, and were pink with the down of their
birth, so that they might almost be taken for cotton-flowers; [137]
some, with their wings just sprouting, were like fresh lotus-leaves;
some were like the Asclepias fruit; some, with their beaks growing
red, had the grace of lotus-buds with their heads rising pink from
slowly unfolding leaves; while some, under the guise of the ceaseless
motion of their heads, seemed to try to forbid him, though they could
not stop him, for he slew them and cast them on the ground.
(69) 'But my father, seeing on a sudden this great, destructive,
remediless, overwhelming calamity that had come on us, trembled doubly,
and, with pupils quivering and wandering from fear of death, cast
all round a glance that grief had made vacant and tears had dimmed;
his palate was dry, and he could not help himself, but he covered me
with his wing, though its joints were relaxed by fear, and bethought
himself of what help could avail at such a moment. Swayed wholly by
love, bewildered how to save me, and puzzled what to do, he stood,
holding me to his breast. That miscreant, however, wandering among
the boughs, came to the entrance of the hollow, and stretched out
his left arm, dreadful as the body of an old black snake, with its
hand redolent of the raw fat of many boars, and its forearm marked
with weals from ceaseless drawing of the bowstrings, like the wand of
death; and though my father gave many a blow with his beak, and moaned
piteously, that murderous wretch dragged him down and slew him. (70)
Me, however, he somehow did not notice, though I was within the wings,
from my being small and curled into a ball from fear, and from my
not having lived my fated life, but he wrung my father's neck and
threw him dead upon the ground. Meanwhile I, with my neck between my
father's feet, clinging quietly to his breast, fell with him, and,
from my having some fated life yet to live, I found that I had fallen
on a large mass of dry leaves, heaped together by the wind, so that
my limbs were not broken. While the Çabara was getting down from the
tree-top, I left my father, like a heartless wretch, though I should
have died with him; but, from my extreme youth, I knew not the love
that belongs to a later age, and was wholly swayed by the fear that
dwells in us from birth; I could hardly be seen from the likeness of
my colour to the fallen leaves; I tottered along with the help of my
wings, which were just beginning to grow, thinking that I had escaped
from the jaws of death, and came to the foot of a very large tamala
tree close by. Its shoots were fitted to be the earrings of Çabara
women, as if it mocked the beauty of Vishnu's body by the colour of
Balarama's dark-blue robe, (71) or as if it were clad in pure strips
of the water of Yamuna; its twigs were watered by the ichor of wild
elephants; it bore the beauty of the tresses of the Vindhya Forest;
the space between its boughs was dark even by day; [138] the ground
round its root was hollow, and unpierced by the sun's rays; and I
entered it as if it were the bosom of my noble father. Then the Çabara
came down and gathered up the tiny parrots scattered on the ground;
he bound them hastily in a basket of leaves with a coil of creepers,
and going off with hasty steps by the path trodden by his leader,
he made for that region. I meanwhile had begun to hope for life,
but my heart was dried up with grief for my father's recent death; my
body was in pain from my long fall, and I was possessed by a violent
thirst, caused by fright, which tortured all my limbs. Then I thought,
"The villain has now gone some way," so I lifted my head a little and
gazed around with eyes tremulous with fear, thinking even when a blade
of grass moved that the wretch was coming back. I watched him go step
by step, and then, leaving the root of the tamala tree, I made a great
effort to creep near the water. (72) My steps were feeble, because
my wings were not yet grown, and again and again I fell on my face;
I supported myself on one wing; I was weak with the weariness [139]
of creeping along the ground, and from my want of practice; after
each step I always lifted my head and panted hard, and as I crept
along I became gray with dust. "Truly even in the hardest trials,"
I reflected, "living creatures never become careless of life. Nothing
in this world is dearer to all created beings than life, seeing that
when my honoured father, of well-chosen name, is dead, I still live
with senses unimpaired! Shame on me that I should be so pitiless,
cruel, and ungrateful! For my life goes on shamefully in that the
grief of my father's death is so easily borne. I regard no kindness;
truly my heart is vile! I have even forgotten how, when my mother died,
my father restrained his bitter grief, and from the day of my birth,
old as he was, reckoned lightly in his deep love the great toil of
bringing me up with every care. And yet in a moment I have forgotten
how I was watched over by him! (73) Most vile is this breath of mine
which goes not straightway forth to follow my father on his path,
my father, that was so good to me! Surely there is none that thirst
of life does not harden, if the longing for water can make me take
trouble in my present plight. Methinks this idea of drinking water
is purely hardness of heart, because I think lightly of the grief
of my father's death. Even now the lake is still far off. For the
cry of the kalahamsas, like the anklets of a water-nymph, is still
far away; the cranes' notes are yet dim; the scent of the lotus-bed
comes rarely through the space it creeps through, because the distance
is great; noontide is hard to bear, for the sun is in the midst of
heaven, and scatters with his rays a blazing heat, unceasing, like
fiery dust, and makes my thirst worse; the earth with its hot thick
dust is hard to tread; my limbs are unable to go even a little way,
for they are weary with excessive thirst; I am not master of myself;
(74) my heart sinks; my eyes are darkened. O that pitiless fate would
now bring that death which yet I desire not!" Thus I thought; but
a great ascetic named Jabali dwelt in a hermitage not far from the
lake, and his son Harita, a youthful hermit, was coming down to the
lotus-lake to bathe. He, like the son of Brahma, had a mind purified
with all knowledge; he was coming by the very path where I was with
many holy youths of his own age; like a second sun, his form was hard
to see from its great brightness; he seemed to have dropped [140]
from the rising sun, and to have limbs fashioned from lightning and
a shape painted with molten gold; he showed the beauty of a wood on
fire, or of day with its early sunlight, by reason of the clear tawny
splendour of his form flashing out; he had thick matted locks hanging
on his shoulders red as heated iron, and pure with sprinkling from
many a sacred pool; his top-knot was bound as if he were Agni in the
false guise of a young Brahman in his desire to burn the Khandava Wood;
[141] he carried a bright crystal rosary hanging from his right ear,
like the anklets of the goddesses of the hermitage, and resembling the
circle of Dharma's commandments, made to turn aside all earthly joys;
(75) he adorned his brow with a tripundraka [142] mark in ashes, as if
with threefold truth; [143] he laid his left hand on a crystal pitcher
with its neck held ever upwards as if to look at the path to heaven,
like a crane gazing upwards to the sky; he was covered by a black
antelope skin hanging from his shoulders, like thick smoke that was
coming out again after being swallowed [144] in thirst for penance,
with pale-blue [145] lustre; he wore on his left shoulder a sacrificial
thread, which seemed from its lightness to be fashioned from very young
lotus-fibres, and wavered in the wind as if counting the framework of
his fleshless ribs; he held in his right hand an ashadha [146] staff,
having on its top a leafy basket full of creeper-blossoms gathered
for the worship of Çiva; he was followed by a deer from the hermitage,
still bearing the clay of the bathing-place dug up by its horns, quite
at home with the hermits, fed on mouthfuls of rice, and letting its
eyes wander on all sides to the kuça grass flowers and creepers. Like
a tree, he was covered with soft bark; [147] like a mountain, he was
surrounded by a girdle; [148] like Rahu, he had often tasted Soma;
[149] like a day lotus-bed, he drank the sun's rays; (76) like a
tree by the river's side, his tangled locks were pure with ceaseless
washing; like a young elephant, his teeth were white as [150] pieces
of moon-lotus petals; like Drauni, he had Kripa [151] ever with him;
like the zodiac, he was adorned by having the hide [152] of the
dappled deer; like a summer day, he was free from darkness; [153]
like the rainy season, he had allayed the blinding dust of passion;
[154] like Varuna, he dwelt on the waters; [155] like Krishna, he had
banished the fear of hell; [156] like the beginning of twilight,
he had eyes tawny as the glow of dawn; [157] like early morn,
he was gilded with fresh sunlight; like the chariot of the sun,
he was controlled in his course; [158] like a good king, he brought
to nought the secret guiles of the foe; [159] (77) like the ocean,
his temples were cavernous with meditation; [160] like Bhagiratha,
he had often beheld the descent of Ganges; [161] like a bee, he had
often tasted life in a water-engirt wood; [162] though a woodsman,
he yet entered a great home; [163] though unrestrained, he longed
for release; [164] though intent on works of peace, he bore the
rod; [165] though asleep, he was yet awake; [166] though with two
well-placed eyes, he had his sinister eye abolished. [167] Such was
he who approached the lotus-lake to bathe.
'Now the mind of the good is ever wont to be compassionate and kind
instinctively. Wherefore he, seeing my plight, was filled with pity,
and said to another young ascetic standing near: (78) "This little
half-fledged parrot has somehow fallen from the top of that tree,
or perhaps from a hawk's mouth. For, owing to his long fall, he has
hardly any life left; his eyes are closed, and he ever falls on his
face and pants violently, and opens his beak, nor can he hold up his
neck. Come, then, take him before his breath deserts him. Carry him
to the water." So saying, he had me taken to the edge of the lake;
and, coming there, he laid down his staff and pitcher near the water,
and, taking me himself, just when I had given up all effort, he lifted
up my head, and with his finger made me drink a few drops of water;
and when I had been sprinkled with water and had gained fresh breath,
he placed me in the cool wet shade of a fresh lotus-leaf growing on
the bank, and went through the wonted rites of bathing. After that,
he purified himself by often holding his breath, and murmuring the
cleansing aghamarshana [168], and then he arose and, with upraised
face, made an offering to the sun with freshly-plucked red lotuses
in a cup of lotus-leaves. Having taken a pure white robe, so that
he was like the glow of evening sunlight accompanied by the moon's
radiance, he rubbed his hair with his hands till it shone, and, (79)
followed by the band of ascetic youths, with their hair yet wet from
recent bathing, he took me and went slowly towards the penance grove.
'And after going but a short way, I beheld the penance grove, hidden
in thick woods rich in flowers and fruit.
(80) 'Its precincts were filled by munis entering on all sides,
followed by pupils murmuring the Vedas, and bearing fuel, kuça grass,
flowers, and earth. There the sound of the filling of the pitchers
was eagerly heard by the peacocks; there appeared, as it were,
a bridge to heaven under the guise of smoke waving to exalt to the
gods the muni race while yet in the body by fires satisfied with the
ceaseless offering of ghee; all round were tanks with their waves
traversed by lines of sunbeams stainless as though from contact with
the hermits they rested upon, plunged into by the circle of the Seven
Rishis who had come to see their penance, and lifting by night an open
moon-lotus-bed, like a cluster of constellations descending to honour
the rishis; the hermitage received homage from woodland creepers with
their tops bent by the wind, and from trees with their ever-falling
blossoms, and was worshipped by trees with the añjali of interlaced
boughs; parched grain was scattered in the yards round the huts,
and the fruit of the myrobalan, lavali, jujube, banana, bread-tree,
mango, panasa, [169] and palm pressed on each other; (81) the young
Brahmans were eloquent in reciting the Vedas; the parrot-race was
garrulous with the prayer of oblation that they learnt by hearing it
incessantly; the subrahmanya [170] was recited by many a maina; the
balls of rice offered to the deities were devoured by the cocks of the
forest, and the offering of wild rice was eaten by the young kalahamsas
of the tanks close by. The eating-places of the sages were protected
from pollution by ashes cast round them. (82) The fire for the munis'
homa sacrifice was fanned by the tails of their friends the peacocks;
the sweet scent of the oblation prepared with nectar, the fragrance of
the half-cooked sacrificial cake was spread around; the crackling of
flames in the offering of a stream of unbroken libations made the place
resonant; a host of guests was waited upon; the Pitris were honoured;
Vishnu, Çiva, and Brahma were worshipped. The performance of çraddha
rites was taught; the science of sacrifice explained; the çastras
of right conduct examined; good books of every kind recited; and the
meaning of the çastras pondered. Leafy huts were being begun; courts
smeared with paste, and the inside of the huts scrubbed. Meditation
was being firmly grasped, mantras duly carried out, yoga practised,
and offerings made to woodland deities. Brahmanical girdles of
muñja grass were being made, bark garments washed, fuel brought,
deer-skins decked, grass gathered, lotus-seed dried, rosaries strung,
and bamboos laid in order for future need. [171] Wandering ascetics
received hospitality, and pitchers were filled.
(84) 'There defilement is found in the smoke of the oblations, not in
evil conduct; redness of face in parrots, not in angry men; sharpness
in blades of grass, not in dispositions; wavering in plantain-leaves,
not in minds; red eyes [172] in cuckoos alone; clasping of necks
with pitchers only; binding of girdles in vows, not in quarrels;
pakshapata [173] in cocks, not in scientific discussions; wandering
in making the sunwise turn round the soma fire, but not error in the
çastras; mention of the Vasus in legends, but not longing for wealth;
counting of beads for Rudra, but no account made of the body; loss of
locks by the saints in the practice of sacrifice, but not loss of their
children [174] by death; propitiation of Rama by reciting the Ramayana,
not of women [175] by youth; wrinkles brought on by old age, not by
pride of riches; the death of a Çakuni [176] in the Mahabharata only;
only in the Purana windy talk; [177] in old age only loss of teeth;
[178] coldness only in the park sandal-trees; [179] (85) in fires only
turning to ashes; [180] only deer love to hear song; only peacocks care
for dancing; only snakes wear hoods; [181] only monkeys desire fruit;
[182] only roots have a downward tendency.
(85-89, condensed) 'There, beneath the shade of a red açoka-tree,
beauteous with new oblations of flowers, purified with ointment of
fresh gomaya, garlanded with kuça grass and strips of bark tied on
by the hermitage maidens, I saw the holy Jabali surrounded by most
ascetic sages, like time by æons, the last day by suns, the sacrifice
by bearers of the three fires, [183] the golden mountain by the noble
hills, or the earth by the oceans.
(89) 'And as I looked on him I thought: "Ah! how great is the power of
penance! His form, calm as it is, yet pure as molten gold, overpowers,
like lightning, the brightness of the eye with its brilliance. Though
ever tranquil, it inspires fear at first approach by its inherent
majesty. The splendour of even those ascetics who have practised but
little asceticism is wont to be easily provoked, like fire swiftly
falling on dry reeds, kaça grass, or flowers. (90) How much more, then,
that of holy men like these, whose feet are honoured by the whole
world, whose stains are worn away by penance, who look with divine
insight on the whole earth as if it were a myrobalan [184] in the hand,
and who purge away all sin. For even the mention of a great sage has
its reward; much more, then, the sight of him! Happy is the hermitage
where dwells this king of Brahmans! Nay, rather, happy is the whole
world in being trodden by him who is the very Brahma of earth! Truly
these sages enjoy the reward of their good deeds in that they attend
him day and night with no other duty, hearing holy stories and ever
fixing on him their steady gaze, as if he were another Brahma. Happy
is Sarasvati, who, encircled by his shining teeth, and ever enjoying
the nearness of his lotus-mouth, dwells in his serene mind, with
its unfathomable depths and its full stream of tenderness, like a
hamsa on the Manasa lake. The four Vedas, that have long dwelt in the
four lotus-mouths of Brahma, find here their best and most fitting
home. (91) All the sciences, which became turbid in the rainy season
of the Iron Age, become pure when they reach him, as rivers coming
to autumn. Of a surety, holy Dharma, having taken up his abode here
after quelling the riot of the Iron Age, no longer cares to recall
the Golden Age. Heaven, seeing earth trodden by him, no longer takes
pride in being dwelt in by the Seven Rishis. How bold is old age,
which fears not to fall on his thick matted locks, moonbeam-pale as
they are, and hard to gaze on as the rays of the sun of doom. [185]
For it falls on him as Ganges, white with flecks of foam, on Çiva,
or as an offering of milk on Agni. Even the sun's rays keep far from
the penance-grove, as if terrified by the greatness of the saint whose
hermitage is darkened by the thick smoke of many an oblation. These
fires, too, for love of him, receive oblations purified by hymns, for
their flames are pressed together by the wind, like hands reverently
raised. (92) The wind itself approaches him timidly, just stirring the
linen and bark dresses, fragrant with the sweet creeper blossoms of the
hermitage, and gentle in motion. Yet the glorious might of the elements
is wont to be beyond our resistance! But this man towers above [186]
the mightiest! The earth shines as if with two suns, being trodden by
this noble man. In his support the world stands firm. He is the stream
of sympathy, the bridge over the ocean of transient existence, and the
home of the waters of patience; the axe for the glades of the creepers
of desire, the ocean of the nectar of content, the guide in the path
of perfection, the mountain behind which sets the planet of ill, [187]
the root of the tree of endurance, the nave of the wheel of wisdom,
the staff of the banner of righteousness, the holy place for the
descent of all knowledge, the submarine fire of the ocean of craving,
the touch-stone of the jewels of the çastras, the consuming flame of
the buds of passion, the charm against the snake of wrath, the sun
to dispel the darkness of delusion, the binder of the bolts of hell's
gates, the native home of noble deeds, the temple of propitious rites,
the forbidden ground for the degradation of passion, the sign-post
to the paths of good, the birthplace of holiness, the felly of the
wheel of effort, the abode of strength, the foe of the Iron Age, the
treasury of penance, the friend of truth, the native soil of sincerity,
the source of the heaping up of merit, the closed gate for envy, the
foe of calamity. (93) Truly he is one in whom disrespect can find no
place; for he is averse from pride, unclaimed by meanness, unenslaved
by wrath, and unattracted by pleasure. Purely by the grace of this
holy man the hermitage is free from envy and calm from enmity. Great
is the power of a noble soul. Here, ceasing their constant feud, the
very animals are quiet, and learn the joy of a hermitage life. For
here a snake, wearied by the sun, fearlessly enters, as if into
fresh grass, into the peacock's tail, like an interwoven grove
of open lotuses, with its hundred beauteous eyes, changing in hue
as the eyes of a deer. Here a young antelope, leaving his mother,
makes friends with the lion-cubs whose manes are not yet grown, and
drinks at the bounteous breast of the lioness. Here a lion closes his
eyes, and is pleased to have his moon-white mane pulled by the young
elephants that mistake it for lotus-fibres. Here the monkey-tribe loses
its capriciousness and brings fruit to the young munis after their
bath. There the elephants, too, though excited, are tender-hearted,
and do not drive away by their flapping the bees that dwell round their
frontal bones, and stay motionless to drink their ichor. (94) But what
need of more? There even the senseless trees, with roots and fruits,
clad in bark, and adorned with outer garments of black antelope skin
perpetually made for them by the upward creeping lines of sacrificial
smoke, seem like fellow ascetics of this holy man. How much more,
then, living beings, endowed with sense!"
'And while I was thus thinking, Harita placed me somewhere in the shade
of the açoka tree, and embracing his father's feet and saluting him,
sat down not far from him on a seat of kuça grass.
'But the hermits, looking on me, asked him as he rested: "Whence was
this little parrot brought?" "When I went hence to bathe," replied he,
"I found this little parrot fallen from its nest in a tree on the
bank of the lotus-lake, faint with the heat, lying in hot dust, and
shaken by the fall, with little life left in him. And as I could not
replace him in his nest (for that tree was too hard for an ascetic
to climb), I brought him hither in pity. So, while his wings are not
grown, and he cannot fly into the sky, let him live in the hollow of
some hermitage tree, (95) fed on the juice of fruits and on handfuls
of rice brought to him by us and by the young hermits. For it is the
law of our order to protect the weak. But when his wings are grown,
and he can fly into the sky, he shall go where he likes. Or perhaps,
when he knows us well, he will stay here." The holy Jabali, hearing
this and other remarks about me, with some curiosity bent his head
slightly, and, with a very calm glance that seemed to purify me with
holy waters, he gazed long upon me, and then, looking again and again
as if he were beginning to recognise me, said: "He is reaping the fruit
of his own ill-conduct." For by the potency of penance the saint with
divine insight beholds the past, present, and future, and sees the
whole world as though placed on the palm of his hand. He knows past
births. He tells things yet to come. He declares the length of days
of beings within his sight.
'At these words the whole assemblage of hermits, aware of his power,
became curious to know what was my crime, and why committed, and where,
and who I was in a former birth; and implored the saint, saying: (96)
"Vouchsafe, sir, to tell us of what kind of misconduct he is reaping
the fruits. Who was he in a former birth, and how was he born in
the form of a bird? How is he named? Do thou satisfy our curiosity,
for thou art the fountain-head of all marvels."
'Thus urged by the assemblage, the great saint replied: "The story of
this wonder is very long, the day is almost spent, our bathing-time
is near, while the hour for worshipping the gods is passing. Arise,
therefore; let each perform his duties as is meet. In the afternoon,
after your meal of roots and fruits, when you are resting quietly,
I will tell you the whole story from beginning to end--who he is, what
he did in another birth, and how he was born in this world. Meanwhile,
let him be refreshed with food. He will certainly recall, as it
were, the vision of a dream when I tell the whole story of his former
birth." So saying, he arose, and with the hermits bathed and performed
their other daily duties.
(97) 'The day was now drawing to a close. When the hermits rose
from their bathing, and were offering a sacrifice, the sun in the
sky seemed to bear upwards before our eyes the offering cast on the
ground, with its unguent of red sandal-wood. Then his glow faded and
vanished; the effluence of his glory was drunk by the Ushmapas [188]
with faces raised and eyes fixed on his orb, as if they were ascetics;
and he glided from the sky pink as a dove's foot, drawing in his rays
as though to avoid touching the Seven Rishis as they rose. His orb,
with its network of crimson rays reflected on the Western Ocean,
was like the lotus of Vishnu on his couch of waters pouring forth
nectar; his beams, forsaking the sky and deserting the lotus-groves,
lingered at eve like birds on the crest of hill and tree; the splashes
of crimson light seemed for a moment to deck the trees with the red
bark garments hung up by the ascetics. And when the thousand-rayed sun
had gone to rest, twilight sprang up like rosy coral from the Western
Ocean. (98) Then the hermitage became the home of quiet thought, as
the pleasant sound of milking the sacred cows arose in one quarter,
and the fresh kuça grass was scattered on the altar of Agni, and the
rice and oblations to the goddesses of space were tossed hither and
thither by the hermitage maidens. And red-starred eve seemed to the
hermits as the red-eyed cow of the hermitage roaming about, tawny
in the fall of day. And when the sun had vanished, the lotus-bed,
in the grief of bereavement, seemed to perform a vow in the hopes of
rejoining the lord of day, for she lifted the goblets of her buds,
and wore the fine white vesture of her hamsas, and was girt with the
sacrificial thread of white filaments, and bore a circle of bees as
her rosary. And the starry host leapt up and filled the sky, like a
splash of spray when the sun fell into the Western Ocean; and for a
brief space the star-bespangled sky shone as though inlaid with flowers
offered by the daughters of the Siddhas [189] in honour of twilight;
but in a moment the whole glory of the gloaming vanished as though
washed away by the libations which the hermits, with faces upraised,
cast towards the sky; (99) and at its departure, night, as sorrowing
for its loss, wore a deeper darkness, like a black antelope's skin--a
blackness which darkened all save the hearts of the hermits.
'Learning that the sun had gone to rest, the lord of rays ambrosial, in
pure severity of light, arrayed in the whiteness of clear gossamer,
dwelling in the palace of his wives with Tara, [190] mounted the
sky which, in that it was outlined with the darkness of tamala-trees,
presided over by the circle of Seven Rishis, purified by the wanderings
of Arundhati, [191] surrounded by Ashadha, [192] showing its Mula
[193] with its soft-eyed white deer, [194] was a very hermitage of
heaven. White as a hamsa, moonlight fell on the earth, filling the
seas; falling, as Ganges from the head of Çiva, from the sky which
was decked with the moon, and inlaid with the shattered potsherds
of the stars. (100) And in the moon-lake, white as an opening lotus,
was seen the motionless deer, which went down in eagerness to drink
the water of the moonbeams, and was caught, as it were, in the mud
of ambrosia. The lakes of the night-lotus were fondly visited by
the moonbeams, like hamsas, falling on the ocean white as sinduvara
flowers in their fresh purity after the rains. At that moment the
globe of the moon lost all the glow of its rising, like the frontal
bone of the elephant Airavata when its red lead is washed away by
plunging into the heavenly stream; and his highness the cold-shedder
had gradually risen high in the sky, and by his light had whitened
the earth as with lime-dust; the breezes of early night were blowing,
slackened in their course by the cold dew, aromatic with the scent
of opening moon-lotuses, (101) and gladly welcomed by the deer, who,
with eyes weighed down by the approach of sleep, and eyelashes clinging
together, were beginning to ruminate and rest in quiet.
'Only half a watch of the night was spent, when Harita took me after
my meal and went with the other holy hermits to his father, who,
in a moonlit spot of the hermitage, was sitting on a bamboo stool,
gently fanned by a pupil named Jalapada, who held a fan of antelope
skin white as dharba grass, and he spake, saying: "Father, the whole
assemblage of hermits is in a circle round thee, with hearts eager
to hear this wonder; the little bird, too, has rested. Tell us,
therefore, what he has done, who was he, and who will he be in
another birth?" Thus addressed, the great saint, looking at me,
and seeing the hermits before him intently listening, slowly spake:
"Let the tale be told, if ye care to hear it.
'"(102) There is a city named Ujjayini, the proudest gem of earth,
the very home of the golden age, created by Mahakala, [195] creator,
preserver, and destroyer of the three worlds, and lord of Pramathas,
as a habitation meet for himself, as it were a second earth. There
the sun is daily seen paying homage to Mahakala, for his steeds vail
their heads at the charm of the sweet chant of the women singing in
concert in the lofty white palace, and his pennon droops before him.
(109) '"There darkness never falls, and the nights bring no separation
to the pairs of cakravakas; nor need they any lamps, for they pass
golden as with morning sunshine, from the bright jewels of women,
as though the world were on fire with the flame of love. (110) There
the only unending life is in jewelled lamps, the only wavering in
pearl necklaces, the only variations in the sound of drum and song,
the only disunion of pairs in cakravakas, the only testing of colour
[196] in gold pieces, the only unsteadiness in banners, the only
hatred of the sun [197] in night-lotuses, the only concealment of
metal in the sheathing of the sword. (111) Why should I say more? For
he whose bright feet are kissed by the rays of the jewelled crests
of gods and demons, who hath the river of heaven wandering lost in
his locks tawny with a wreath of flame for the burning of the world;
he the foe of Andhaka; he the holy one; he who hath given up his
love for his home on Kailasa; even he whose name is Mahakala hath
there made a habitation for himself. And in this city was a king
named Tarapida. He was like unto the great kings Nala, Nahusha,
Yayati, Dundhumara, Bharata, Bhagiratha, and Daçaratha; by the might
of his arm he conquered the whole world; he reaped the fruits of the
three powers; [198] wise and resolute, with an intellect unwearied in
political science, and a deep study of the law books, he made in light
and glory a third with the sun and moon. (112) His form was purified
by many a sacrifice; by him the calamities of the whole world were
set at rest; to him Lakshmi openly clung, deserting her lotus-woods
and despising the happiness of her home in the breast of Narayana,
she the lotus-handed, who ever joys in the contest of heroes. He was
the source of truth, ever honoured by the race of saints, as the foot
of Vishnu was of the stream of the heavenly Ganges.
'"From him arose glory, as from the ocean of the moon, for his
brightness, free from heat, consumed his foes; constant, ever roamed;
stainless, darkened the brightness of the lotus-faced widows of his
foes; white, made all things gay. (113) He was the incarnation of
justice, the very representative of Vishnu and the destroyer of all
the sorrows of his people.
(115) '"When he approached the throne that blossomed with the rays of
many gems and was hung with clusters of pearls, like the elephant of
space approaching the tree of desire, all the wide quarters of space,
like creepers weighed down by bees, bowed down before his majesty;
and of him, I think, even Indra was envious. From him, too, proceeded a
host of virtues, like a flock of hamsas from Mount Krauñca, brightening
the earth's surface, and gladdening the hearts of all mankind. His
fame wandered, so that the world echoed with it throughout the ten
regions, making fair the world of gods and demons, like a streak of
foam of the stream of milk tossed by Mandara, ambrosial sweet. His
royal glory never for a moment laid aside the shade of her umbrella,
as though scorched by the heat of a splendour hard to bear. (116)
His achievements were heard by the people like news of good fortune,
were received like the teaching of a guru, were valued like a good
omen, were murmured like a hymn, and were remembered like a sacred
text. And while he was king, though the flight of the mountains was
stayed, the flight of thought was free; suffixes alone were dependent,
and the people feared no foe; nought dared to face him but his mirror;
the pressure of Durga [199] was given to Çiva's image alone; the bow
was only borne by the clouds; there was no uprising save of banners, no
bending save of bows, no shaft sped home save the bee's on the bamboo,
no enforced wandering save of the images of gods in a procession,
no imprisonment save of flowers in their calyx, no restraint save of
the senses; wild elephants entered the pale, but none paled before
the water-ordeal; the only sharpness was in the edge of the sword;
the only endurance of the flame [200] was by ascetics; the only passing
the Balance [201] was by the stars; the only clearing of baneful [202]
waters was in the rising of Agastya; the only cutting short was of
hair and nails; the only stained garb was of the sky on stormy days;
the only laying bare was of gems, and not of secret counsels; the only
mysteries [203] were those of religion; (117) none ceased to behold
the light save slaughtered Taraka [204] in the praises of Kumara; none
dreaded eclipse save the sun; none passed over the First-born [205]
save the moon; none heard of the Disobedient save in the Mahabharata;
none grasped the rod [206] save in the decline of life; none clung
to a sinister object save the sword-sheath; no stream of liberality
was interrupted save the elephant's ichor; no squares were deserted
save those on the dice-board.
'"That king had a minister, by name Çukanasa, a Brahman, whose
intelligence was fixed on all the affairs of the kingdom, whose
mind had plunged deeply into the arts and çastras, and whose strong
affection for the king had grown up in him from childhood. Skilled in
the precepts of political science, pilot of the world's government,
unshaken in resolve by the greatest difficulties, he was the castle of
constancy, the station of steadfastness, the bridge of bright truth,
the guide to all goodness, the conductor in conduct, the ordainer
of all ordered life. Like the serpent Çesha, enduring the weight of
the world; like the ocean, full of life; like Jarasandha, shaping
war and peace; [207] (118) like Çiva, at home with Durga [208];
like Yuddhishthira, a dayspring of Dharma, he knew all the Vedas
and Vedangas, and was the essence of the kingdom's prosperity. He
was like Brihaspati [209] to Sunasira; like Çukra to Vrishaparvan;
like Vaçishtha to Daçaratha; like Viçvamitra to Rama; like Dhaumya to
Ajataçatru; like Damanaka to Nala. He, by the force of his knowledge,
thought that Lakshmi was not hard to win, resting though she were on
the breast of Narayana, terrible with the scars of the weapons of the
demons of hell, and a strong shoulder hardened by the pitiless pressure
of Mount Mandara as it moved to and fro. Near him knowledge spread
wide, thick with many a tendril, and showed the fruits gained from
conquered realms like a creeper near a tree. (119) To him throughout
the earth's surface, measured by the circumference of the four oceans,
and filled with the goings to and fro of many thousands of spies, every
whisper of the kings was known as though uttered in his own palace.
'"Now, Tarapida while yet a child had conquered the whole earth ringed
by the seven Dvipas by the might of his arm, thick as the trunk of
Indra's elephant, and he devolved the weight of the empire on that
councillor named Çukanasa, and having made his subjects perfectly
contented, he searched for anything else that remained to be done.
'"And as he had crushed his enemies and had lost all cause for fear,
and as the strain of the world's affairs had become a little relaxed,
for the most part he began to pursue the ordinary pleasures of youth.
(124) '"And some time passed while the king pursued the pleasures of
youth, and entrusted the affairs of state to his minister; and after
a time he came to the end of all the other pleasures of life, and the
only one he did not get was the sight of a son born to him; so that
his zenana was like reeds showing only flowers without fruit; and as
youth went by there arose in him a regret produced by childlessness,
and his mind was turned away from the desire of the pleasures of sense,
and he felt himself alone, though surrounded by a thousand princes;
blind, though possessed of sight; without support, though supporting
the world.
(125) '"But the fairest ornament of this king was his queen Vilasavati;
as the moon's digit to the braided hair of Çiva, as the splendour
of the Kaustubha gem to the breast of the foe [210] of Kaitabha,
as the woodland garland to Balarama, as the shore to the ocean, as
the creeper to the tree, as the outburst of flowers to the spring,
as the moonlight to the moon, as the lotus-bed to the lake, as the
array of stars to the sky, as the circling of hamsas to Lake Manasa,
as the line of sandal-woods to Mount Malaya, as the jewelled crest to
Çesha, so was she to her lord; she reigned peerless in the zenana,
and created wonder in the three worlds, as though she were the very
source of all womanly grace.
'"And it chanced once that, going to her dwelling, he beheld her
seated on a stately [211] couch, weeping bitterly, surrounded by
her household mute in grief, their glances fixed in meditation, and
attended by her chamberlains, who waited afar with eyes motionless
in anxious thought, while the old women of the zenana were trying
to console her. Her silken robes were wet with ceaseless tears; her
ornaments were laid aside; her lotus-face rested on her left hand; and
her tresses were unbound and in disorder. As she arose to welcome him,
the king placed her on the couch again, and sitting there himself,
ignorant of the cause of her weeping, and in great alarm, wiped away
with his hand the tears from her cheeks, saying: (126) 'My queen,
what means this weeping, voiceless and low with the weight of the
heavy sorrow concealed in thy heart? For these eyelashes of thine are
stringing, as it were, a network of pearls of dropping tears. Why,
slender one, art thou unadorned? and why has not the stream of lac
fallen on thy feet like early sunlight on rosy lotus-buds? And why
are thy jewelled anklets, with their murmur like teals on the lake
of love, not graced with the touch of thy lotus-feet? And why is
this waist of thine bereft of the music of the girdle thou hast laid
aside? And why is there no device painted on thy breast like the deer
on the moon? and why is that slender neck of thine, fair-limbed queen,
not adorned with a rope of pearls as the crescent on Çiva's brow by
the heavenly stream? And why dost thou, erst so gay, wear in vain
a face whose adornment is washed away with flowing tears? And why
is this hand, with its petal-like cluster of soft fingers, exalted
into an ear-jewel, as though it were a rosy lotus? (127) And why,
froward lady, dost thou raise thy straight brow undecked with the
mark of yellow pigment, and surrounded by the mass of thine unbound
tresses? For these flowing locks of thine, bereft of flowers, grieve
my eyes, like the loss of the moon in the dark fortnight, clouded in
masses of thickest gloom. Be kind, and tell me, my queen, the cause
of thy grief. For this storm of sighs with which the robe on thy
breast is quivering bows my loving heart like a ruddy tendril. Has
any wrong been done by me, or by any in thy service? Closely as I
examine myself, I can truly see no failure of mine towards thee. For
my life and my kingdom are wholly thine. Let the cause of thy woe,
fair queen, be told.' But Vilasavati, thus addressed, made no reply,
and turning to her attendants, he asked the cause of her exceeding
grief. Then her betel-nut bearer, Makarika, who was always near her,
said to the king: 'My lord, how could any fault, however slight,
be committed by thee? (128) And how in thy presence could any of thy
followers, or anyone else, offend? The sorrow of the queen is that her
union with the king is fruitless, as though she were seized by Rahu,
and for a long time she has been suffering. For at first our lady
was like one in heavy grief, was only occupied with difficulty by
the persuasion of her attendants in the ordinary duties of the day,
however fitting they might be, such as sleeping, bathing, eating,
putting on of ornaments, and the like, and, like a Lakshmi of the lower
world, ceaselessly upbraided divine love. [212] But in her longing
to take away the grief of my lord's heart, she did not show her sad
change. Now, however, as it was the fourteenth day of the month,
she went to worship holy Mahakala, and heard in a recitation of the
Mahabharata, "No bright abodes await the childless, for a son is he
who delivers from the sunless shades"; and when she heard this, she
returned to her palace, and now, though reverently entreated thereto
by her attendants, she takes no pleasure in food, nor does she busy
herself in putting on her jewels, nor does she vouchsafe to answer
us; (129) she only weeps, and her face is clouded with a storm of
ever-flowing tears. My lord has heard, and must judge.' So saying,
she ceased; and, with a long and passionate sigh, the king spoke thus:
'"'My queen, what can be done in a matter decreed by fate? Enough of
this weeping beyond measure! For it is not on us that the gods are
wont to bestow their favours. In truth, our heart is not destined to
hold the bliss of that ambrosial draught, the embrace of a child of
our own. In a former life no glorious deed was done; for a deed done
in a former life brings forth fruit in man's life on earth; even the
wisest man cannot change destiny. Let all be done that may be done in
this mortal life. Do more honour to the gurus; redouble thy worship of
the gods; let thy good works be seen in thy reverence to the rishis;
for the rishis are a powerful deity, and if we serve them with all our
might, they will give boons that fulfil our heart's desire, hard though
it be to gain. (130) For the tale is an old one how King Brihadratha
in Magadha won by the power of Candakauçika a son Jarasandha, victor
of Vishnu, peerless in prowess, fatal to his foes. Daçaratha, too,
when very old, received by the favour of Rishyaçringa, son of the great
saint Vibhandaka, four sons, unconquerable as the arms of Narayana,
and unshaken as the depths of the oceans. [213] And many other royal
sages, having conciliated ascetics, have enjoyed the happiness of
tasting the ambrosia of the sight of a son. For the honour paid to
saints is never without its reward.
'"'And for me, when shall I behold my queen ready to bear a child,
pale as the fourteenth night when the rising of the full moon is at
hand; and when will her attendants, hardly able to bear the joy of
the great festival of the birth of my son, carry the full basket of
gifts? When will my queen gladden me wearing yellow robes, and holding
a son in her arms, like the sky with the newly-risen sun and the early
sunlight; and when will a son give me joy of heart, with his curly
hair yellow with many a plant, a few ashes mixed with mustard-seed
on his palate, which has a drop of ghi on it as a talisman, (131)
and a thread bright with yellow dye round his neck, as he lies on his
back and smiles with a little toothless mouth; when will this baby
destroy all the darkness of sorrow in my eyes like an auspicious lamp
welcomed by all the people, handed from one to another by the zenana
attendants, shining tawny with yellow dye; and when will he adorn the
courtyard, as he toddles round it, followed by my heart and my eyes,
and gray with the dust of the court; and when will he walk from one
place to another and the power of motion be formed in his knees,
so that, like a young lion, he may try to catch the young tame deer
screened behind the crystal walls? And when, running about at will
in the courtyard, will he run after the tame geese, accompanied
by the tinkling of the anklets of the zenana, and weary his nurse,
who will hasten after him, following the sound of the bells of his
golden girdle; (132) and when will he imitate the antics of a wild
elephant, and have his cheeks adorned with a line of ichor painted in
black aloe, full of joy at the sound of the bell held in his mouth,
gray with the dust of sandal-wood scattered by his uplifted hand,
shaking his head at the beckoning of the hooked finger; and when
will he disguise the faces of the old chamberlains with the juice of
handfuls of lac left after being used to colour his mother's feet;
and when, with eyes restless in curiosity, will he bend his glance
on the inlaid floors, and with tottering steps pursue his own shadow;
and when will he creep about during the audience in front of me as I
stand in my audience-hall, with his eyes wandering bewildered by the
rays of the gems, and have his coming welcomed by the outstretched
arms of a thousand kings? Thinking on a hundred such desires, I pass
my nights in suffering. Me, too, the grief arising from our want of
children burns like a fire day and night. The world seems empty;
I look on my kingdom as without fruit. But what can I do towards
Brahma, from whom there is no appeal? Therefore, my queen, cease
thy continual grief. Let thy heart be devoted to endurance and to
duty. For increase of blessings is ever nigh at hand for those who
set their thoughts on duty.' (133) Thus saying, with a hand like
a fresh tendril, he took water and wiped her tear-stained face,
which showed as an opening lotus; and having comforted her again and
again with many a speech sweet with a hundred endearments, skilled to
drive away grief, and full of instruction about duty, he at last left
her. And when he was gone, Vilasavati's sorrow was a little soothed,
and she went about her usual daily duties, such as putting on of her
adornments. And from that time forth she was more and more devoted to
propitiating the gods, honouring Brahmans, and paying reverence to
all holy persons; whatever recommendation she heard from any source
she practised in her longing for a child, nor did she count the
fatigue, however great; she slept within the temples of Durga, dark
with smoke of bdellium ceaselessly burnt, on a bed of clubs covered
with green grass, fasting, her pure form clothed in white raiment;
(134) she bathed under cows endued with auspicious marks, adorned for
the occasion by the wives of the old cowherds in the herd-stations,
with golden pitchers laden with all sorts of jewels, decorated with
branches of the pipal, decked with divers fruits and flowers and
filled with holy water; every day she would rise and give to Brahmans
golden mustard-leaves adorned with every gem; she stood in the midst
of a circle drawn by the king himself, in a place where four roads
meet, on the fourteenth night of the dark fortnight, and performed
auspicious rites of bathing, in which the gods of the quarters were
gladdened by the various oblations offered; she honoured the shrines
of the siddhas and sought the houses of neighbouring Matrikas, [214]
in which faith was displayed by the people; she bathed in all the
celebrated snake-ponds; with a sun-wise turn, she worshipped the pipal
and other trees to which honour was wont to be shown; after bathing,
with hands circled by swaying bracelets, she herself gave to the
birds an offering of curds and boiled rice placed in a silver cup;
she offered daily to the goddess Durga a sacrifice consisting of
parched grain of oblation, boiled rice, sesamum sweetmeats, cakes,
unguents, incense, and flowers, in abundance; (135) she besought,
with a mind prostrate in adoration, the naked wandering ascetics,
bearing the name of siddhas, and carrying their begging-bowls filled
by her; she greatly honoured the directions of fortune-tellers;
she frequented all the soothsayers learned in signs; she showed all
respect to those who understood the omens of birds; she accepted all
the secrets handed down in the tradition of a succession of venerable
sages; in her longing for the sight of a son, she made the Brahmans
who came into her presence chant the Veda; she heard sacred stories
incessantly repeated; she carried about little caskets of mantras
filled with birch-leaves written over in yellow letters; she tied
strings of medicinal plants as amulets; even her attendants went
out to hear passing sounds and grasped the omens arising from them;
she daily threw out lumps of flesh in the evening for the jackals;
she told the pandits the wonders of her dreams, and at the cross-roads
she offered oblation to Çiva.
'"And as time went on, it chanced once that near the end of night,
when the sky was gray as an old pigeon's wing, and but few stars
were left, the king saw in a dream the full moon entering the mouth
of Vilasavati, as she rested on the roof of her white palace, like a
ball of lotus-fibres into the mouth of an elephant. (136) Thereupon
he woke, and arising, shedding brightness through his dwelling by
the joyous dilation of his eyes, he straightway called Çukanasa
and told him the dream; whereto the latter, filled with sudden joy,
replied: 'Sire, our wishes and those of thy subjects are at length
fulfilled. After a few days my lord will doubtless experience the
happiness of beholding the lotus-face of a son; for I, too, this night
in a dream saw a white-robed Brahman, of godlike bearing and calm
aspect, place in Manorama's [215] lap a lotus that rained drops of
honey, with a hundred outspread white petals, like the moon's digits,
and a thousand quivering stamens forming its matted locks. Now,
all auspicious omens which come to us foretell the near approach of
joy; and what other cause of joy can there be than this? for dreams
seen at the close of night are wont to bear fruit in truth. (137)
Certainly ere long the queen shall bear a son that, like Mandhatri,
shall be a leader among all royal sages, and a cause of joy to all the
world; and he shall gladden thy heart, O king, as the lotus-pool in
autumn with its burst of fresh lotuses gladdens the royal elephant;
by him thy kingly line shall become strong to bear the weight of
the world, and shall be unbroken in its succession as the stream of
a wild elephant's ichor.' As he thus spoke, the king, taking him by
the hand, entered the inner apartments and gladdened the queen, with
both their dreams. And after some days, by the grace of the gods,
the hope of a child came to Vilasavati, like the moon's image on a
lake, and she became thereby yet more glorious, like the line of the
Nandana wood with the tree of Paradise, or the breast of Vishnu with
the Kaustubha gem.
(138) '"On one memorable day the king had gone at evening to an inner
pavilion, where, encircled by a thousand lamps, burning bright with
abundance of scented oil, he was like the full moon in the midst of
stars, or like Narayana seated among the thousand jewelled hoods of
the king of snakes; he was surrounded only by a few great kings who
had received the sprinkling of coronation; his own attendants stood
at some distance; close by Çukanasa was sitting on a high stool, clad
in white silk, with little adornment, a statesman profound as the
depths of ocean; and with him the king was holding a conversation on
many topics, full of the confidence that had grown with their growth,
when he was approached by the handmaiden Kulavardhana, the queen's
chief attendant, always skilled in the ways of a court, well trained
by nearness to royalty, and versed in all auspicious ceremonies,
who whispered in his ear the news about Vilasavati. (139) At her
words, so fresh to his ears, the king's limbs were bedewed as if
with ambrosia, a thrill passed through his whole body, and he was
bewildered with the draught of joy; his cheeks burst into a smile;
under the guise of the bright flash of his teeth he scattered abroad
the happiness that overflowed his heart, and his eye, with its pupil
quivering, and its lashes wet with tears of gladness, fell on the face
of Çukanasa. And when Çukanasa saw the king's exceeding joy, such as he
had never seen before, and beheld the approach of Kulavardhana with a
radiant smile on her face, though he had not heard the tidings, yet,
from constantly revolving the matter in his mind, he saw no other
cause befitting the time of this excess of gladness; (140) he saw
all, and bringing his seat closer to the king, said in a low voice:
'My lord, there is some truth in that dream; for Kulavardhana has
her eyes radiant, and thy twin eyes announce a cause of great joy,
for they are dilated, their pupils are tremulous, and they are bathed
in tears of joy, and as they seem to creep to the lobes of thy ears
in their eagerness to hear the good tidings, they produce, as it were,
the beauty of an ear-pendant of blue lotuses. My longing heart yearns
to hear the festival that has sprung up for it. Therefore let my lord
tell me what is this news.' When he had thus said, the king replied
with a smile: 'If it is true as she says, then all our dream is true;
but I cannot believe it. How should so great a happiness fall to
our lot? For we are no fitting vessel for the bearing of such good
tidings. Kulavardhana is always truthful, and yet when I consider
how unworthy I am of such joy, I look upon her as having changed her
nature. Rise, therefore; I myself will go and ask the queen if it is
true, and then I shall know.' (141) So saying, he dismissed all the
kings, and taking off his ornaments, gave them to Kulavardhana, and
when, on his gracious dismissal of her with gifts, he received her
homage paid with a deep reverence as she touched the earth with her
straight brow, he rose with Çukanasa and went to the inner apartments,
hurried on by a mind filled with exceeding happiness, and gladdened
by the throbbing of his right eye, which seemed to mimic the play of
a blue lotus-petal stirred by the wind. He was followed by a scanty
retinue, as befitted so late a visit, and had the thick darkness of
the courtyard dispelled by the brightness of the lamps of the women
who went before him, though their steady flame flickered in the wind."'
[Bana then describes the birth of Tarapida's son, who is named
Candrapida, from the king's dream about the moon, and also that of
Çukanasa's son Vaiçampayana. [216]]
(155) '"And as Candrapida underwent in due course all the circle of
ceremonies, beginning with the tying of his top-knot, his childhood
passed away; and to prevent distraction, Tarapida had built for him
a palace of learning outside the city, stretching half a league along
the Sipra river, surrounded by a wall of white bricks like the circle
of peaks of a snow-mountain, girt with a great moat running along
the walls, guarded by very strong gates, having one door kept open
for ingress, with stables for horses and palanquins close by, and
a gymnasium constructed beneath--a fit palace for the immortals. He
took infinite pains in gathering there teachers of every science, and
having placed the boy there, like a young lion in a cage, forbidding
all egress, surrounding him with a suite composed mainly of the sons
of his teachers, removing every allurement to the sports of boyhood,
and keeping his mind free from distraction, on an auspicious day (156)
he entrusted him, together with Vaiçampayana, to masters, that they
might acquire all knowledge. Every day when he rose, the king, with
Vilasavati and a small retinue, went to watch him, and Candrapida,
undisturbed in mind and kept to his work by the king, quickly grasped
all the sciences taught him by teachers, whose efforts were quickened
by his great powers, as they brought to light his natural abilities;
the whole range of arts assembled in his mind as in a pure jewelled
mirror. He gained the highest skill in word, sentence, proof, law,
and royal policy; in gymnastics; in all kinds of weapons, such as
the bow, quoit, shield, scimitar, dart, mace, battle-axe, and club;
in driving and elephant-riding; in musical instruments, such as the
lute, fife, drum, cymbal, and pipe; in the laws of dancing laid down
by Bharata and others, and the science of music, such as that of
Narada; in the management of elephants, the knowledge of a horse's
age, and the marks of men; in painting, leaf-cutting, the use of
books, and writing; in all the arts of gambling, knowledge of the
cries of birds, and astronomy; in testing of jewels, (157) carpentry,
the working of ivory; in architecture, physic, mechanics, antidotes,
mining, crossing of rivers, leaping and jumping, and sleight of hand;
in stories, dramas, romances, poems; in the Mahabharata, the Puranas,
the Itihasas, and the Ramayana; in all kinds of writing, all foreign
languages, all technicalities, all mechanical arts; in metre, and
in every other art. And while he ceaselessly studied, even in his
childhood an inborn vigour like that of Bhima shone forth in him
and stirred the world to wonder. For when he was but in play the
young elephants, who had attacked him as if he were a lion's whelp,
had their limbs bowed down by his grasp on their ears, and could not
move; with one stroke of his scimitar he cut down palm-trees as if
they were lotus-stalks; his shafts, like those of Paraçurama when
he blazed to consume the forest of earth's royal stems, cleft only
the loftiest peaks; he exercised himself with an iron club which
ten men were needed to lift; and, except in bodily strength, he was
followed close in all his accomplishments by Vaiçampayana, (158)
who, by reason of the honour Candrapida felt for his deep learning,
and of his reverence due to Çukanasa, and because they had played in
the dust and grown up together, was the prince's chief friend, and,
as it were, his second heart, and the home of all his confidences. He
would not be without Vaiçampayana for a moment, while Vaiçampayana
never for an instant ceased to follow him, any more than the day
would cease to follow the sun.
'"And while Candrapida was thus pursuing his acquaintance with all
knowledge, the spring of youth, loved of the three worlds as the amrita
draught of the ocean, gladdening the hearts of men as moonrise gladdens
the gloaming; transient in change of iridescent glow, like the full
arch of Indra's bow to the rainy season; weapon of love, like the
outburst of flowers to the tree of desire; beautiful in ever freshly
revealed glow, like sunrise to the lotus-grove; ready for all play
of graceful motion, like the plumes of the peacock, became manifest
and brought to flower in him, fair as he was, a double beauty; love,
lord of the hour, stood ever nigh, as if to do his bidding; his chest
expanded like his beauty; his limbs won fulness, like the wishes of his
friends; his waist became slender, like the host of his foes; (159)
his form broadened, like his liberality; his majesty grew, like his
hair; his arms hung down more and more, like the plaits of his enemies'
wives; his eyes became brighter, like his conduct; his shoulders broad,
like his knowledge; and his heart deep, like his voice.
'"And so in due course the king, learning that Candrapida had grown to
youth, and had completed his knowledge of all the arts, studied all the
sciences, and won great praise from his teachers, summoned Balahaka,
a mighty warrior, and, with a large escort of cavalry and infantry,
sent him on a very auspicious day to fetch the prince. And Balahaka,
going to the palace of learning, entered, announced by the porters,
and bending his head till its crest-jewels rested on the ground,
sat down, by the prince's permission, on a seat befitting his office,
as reverently as though in the king's presence; after a short pause
he approached Candrapida and respectfully gave the king's message:
'Prince, the king bids me say: "Our desires are fulfilled; the çastras
have been studied; all the arts have been learnt; thou hast gained
the highest skill in all the martial sciences. (160) All thy teachers
give thee permission to leave the house of learning. Let the people
see that thou hast received thy training, like a young royal elephant
come out from the enclosure, having in thy mind the whole orb of
the arts, like the full moon newly risen. Let the eyes of the world,
long eager to behold thee, fulfil their true function; for all the
zenanas are yearning for thy sight. This is now the tenth year of
thine abode in the school, and thou didst enter it having reached
the experience of thy sixth year. This year, then, so reckoned, is
the sixteenth of thy life. Now, therefore, when thou hast come forth
and shown thyself to all the mothers longing to see thee, and hast
saluted those who deserve thy honour, do thou lay aside thy early
discipline, and experience at thy will the pleasures of the court
and the delights of fresh youth. Pay thy respects to the chiefs;
honour the Brahmans; protect thy people; gladden thy kinsfolk. There
stands at the door, sent by the king, this horse, named Indrayudha,
swift as Garuda or as the wind, the chief jewel of the three worlds;
(161) for in truth the monarch of Persia, who esteemed him the wonder
of the universe, sent him with this message: 'This noble steed, sprung
straight from the waters of ocean, was found by me, and is worthy for
thee, O king, to mount;' and when he was shown to those skilled in a
horse's points, they said: 'He has all the marks of which men tell us
as belonging to Uccaihçravas; there never has been nor will be a steed
like him.' Therefore let him be honoured by thy mounting him. These
thousand princes, all sons of anointed kings, highly-trained, heroic,
wise, and accomplished, and of long descent, sent for thine escort,
wait on horseback, all eager to salute thee."' Having thus said,
Balahaka paused, and Candrapida, laying his father's command on his
head, in a voice deep as a new cloud gave the order, 'Let Indrayudha
be brought,' for he desired to mount him.
'"Immediately on his command Indrayudha was brought, and he beheld that
wondrous steed, led by two men on each side grasping the circle of
the bit, and using all their efforts to curb him. He was very large,
his back being just within reach of a man's uplifted hand; he seemed
to drink the sky, which was on a level with his mouth; with a neigh
which shook the cavity of his belly, and filled the hollows of the
three worlds, he, as it were, upbraided Garuda for his vain trust
in his fabled speed; (162) with a nostril snorting in wrath at any
hindrance to his course, he, in his pride, examined the three worlds,
that he might leap over them; his body was variegated with streaks
of black, yellow, green, and pink, like Indra's bow; he was like a
young elephant, with a many-hued rug spread over him; like Çiva's
bull, pink with metallic dust from butting at Kailasa's peaks; like
Parvati's lion, with his mane crimsoned with the red streak of the
demon's clotted blood; and like the very incarnation of all energy,
with a sound emitted from his ever-quivering nostrils, he seemed
to pour forth the wind inhaled in his swift course; he scattered
the foam-flakes that frothed from his lips from the champing of
the points of the bit which rattled as he rolled it in his mouth,
as if they were mouthfuls of ambrosia drunk in his ocean home. (164)
And, beholding this steed, whose like was never before seen, in form
fit for the gods, meet for the kingdom of the whole universe, (165)
possessed of all the favourable marks, the perfection of a horse's
shape, the heart of Candrapida, though of a nature not easily moved,
was touched with amazement, and the thought arose in his mind: 'What
jewel, if not this wondrous horse, was brought up by the Suras and
Asuras when they churned the waters of ocean and whirled round Mount
Mandara with the serpent Vasuki revolving in ceaseless gyration? And
what has Indra gained by his lordship of the three worlds if he did not
mount this back, broad as Mount Meru? Surely Indra was cheated by the
ocean when his heart was gladdened by Uccaihçravas! And I think that
so far he has not crossed the sight of holy Narayana, who even now
does not give up his infatuation for riding Garuda. My father's royal
glory surpasses the riches of the kingdom of heaven, in that treasures
such as this, which can hardly be gained in the whole universe, come
here into servitude. From its magnificence and energy, this form of
his seems the shrine of a god, and the truth of this makes me fear to
mount him. For forms like this, fit for the gods and the wonder of
the universe, belong to no common horse. Even deities, subject to a
muni's curse, have been known to leave their own bodies and inhabit
other bodies brought to them by the terms of the curse. (166) For
there is a story of old how Sthulaçiras, a muni of great austerity,
cursed an Apsaras named Rambha, the ornament of the three worlds; and
she, leaving heaven, entered the heart of a horse, and thus, as the
story goes, dwelt for a long time on earth as a mare, in the service of
King Çatadhanvan, at Mrittikavati; and many other great-souled beings,
having had their glory destroyed by the curse of munis, have roamed the
world in various forms. Surely this must be some noble being subject
to a curse! My heart declares his divinity.' Thus thinking, he rose,
wishing to mount; and in mind only approaching the steed, he prayed
thus: 'Noble charger, thou art that thou art! All hail to thee! Yet
let my audacity in mounting thee be forgiven! for even deities whose
presence is unknown taste of a contumely all unmeet for them.'
'"As if knowing his thought, Indrayudha looked at him with eye
askance, the pupil turned and partly closed by the lashing of his
tossing mane, (167) and repeatedly struck the ground with his right
hoof, till the hair on his chest was gray with the dust it cast up,
as though summoning the prince to mount, with a pleasant whinnying
long drawn out into a gentle soft murmur blent with the snorting of
his quivering nostrils. Whereupon Candrapida mounted Indrayudha,
as though invited thereunto by his pleasant neighing; and, having
mounted, he passed out, thinking the whole universe but a span long,
and beheld a cavalcade of which the furthest limits could not be seen;
it deafened the hollows of the three worlds with the clatter of hoofs
breaking up the earth, fierce as a shower of stones let fall from the
clouds, and with a neighing sounding the fiercer from nostrils choked
with dust; it decked the sky with a forest of lances all horrent,
whose shafts gleamed bright when touched by the sun, like a lake half
hidden in a grove of blue lotus-buds upborne on their stalks; from its
darkening the eight quarters with its thousand umbrellas all raised,
it was like a mass of clouds iridescent with the full arch of Indra's
bow shining on them; (168) while from the horses' mouths being white
with foam-flakes cast abroad, and from the undulating line of their
ceaseless curvetting, it rose to sight like a mass of ocean billows
in the flood of final destruction; all the horses were in motion at
Candrapida's approach, as the waves of ocean at the moon's rising;
and the princes, each wishing to be first in their eagerness to pay
their homage, having their heads unprotected by the hasty removal of
their umbrellas, and weary with trying to curb their horses, which
were wild with trampling on each other, drew around the prince. As
Balahaka presented each by name, they bowed, bending low their heads,
which showed the glow of loyalty under the guise of the rays uprising
from the rubies in their waving crests, and which, from their having
buds held up in adoration, were like lotuses resting on the water
in the pitchers of coronation. Having saluted them, Candrapida,
accompanied by Vaiçampayana, also mounted, straightway set out for
the city. (169) He was shaded by a very large umbrella with a gold
stick, borne above him, formed like the lotus on which royal glory
might dwell, like the moon's orb to the moon-lotus grove of royal
races, like an island being formed by the flow of the cavalcade,
in hue like the circle of Vasuki's hood whitened by the sea of milk,
garlanded with many a rope of pearls, bearing the device of a lion
designed above. The flowers in his ears were set dancing by the wind
of the cowries waved on either side, and his praises were sung by many
thousands of retainers running before him, young, for the most part,
and brave, and by the bards, who ceaselessly recited aloud auspicious
verses, with a soft cry of 'Long life and victory.'
'"And as he passed on his way to the city, like a manifestation
of the god of love no longer bodiless, [217] all the people, like
a lotus-grove awakened by the moon's rising, left their work and
gathered to behold him.
'"'Kartikeya scorns the name of Kumara, [218] since his own form is
looked on with scorn by the throng of lotus-faces when this prince is
by. Surely we reap the reward of great virtue in that we behold that
godlike form with eyes wide with the overflow of love sprung up within
us, and upraised in eager curiosity. (170) Our birth in this world
has now brought forth its fruit. Nevertheless, all hail to blessed
Krishna, who in the guise of Candrapida has assumed a new form!' With
such words the city folk folded their hands in adoration and bowed
before him. And from the thousand windows which were unclosed from
curiosity to behold Candrapida, the city itself became as it were a
mass of open eyes; for straightway on hearing that he had left the
palace of learning filled with all knowledge, women eager to see
him mounted the roofs hastily throughout the city, leaving their
half-done work; some with mirrors in their left hand were like the
nights of the full moon, when the moon's whole orb is gleaming; some,
with feet roseate with fresh lac, were like lotus-buds whose flowers
had drunk the early sunlight; some, with their tender feet enmeshed in
the bells of their girdle, fallen to the ground in their haste, were
like elephants moving very slowly, checked by their chain; some were
robed in rainbow hues, like the beauty of a day in the rainy season;
some raised feet that blossomed into the white rays of their nails,
like tame kalahamsas drawn by the sound of the anklets; (171) some
held strings of large pearls in their hands, as if in imitation of
Rati with her crystal rosary grasped in grief for the death of Love;
some, with wreaths of pearls falling between their breasts, were like
the glory of evening when the pairs of cakravakas are separated by a
pure slender stream; some, with rainbow flashes rising from the gems of
their anklets, shone as if lovingly accompanied by tame peacocks; some,
with their jewelled cups half drunk, distilled, as it were, from their
rosy flower-like lips a sweet nectar. Others, too, with their orbed
faces appearing at the interstices of the emerald lattices, presented
to the eyes a lotus-grove with its opening buds traversing the sky,
as they gazed on the prince. On a sudden there arose a tinkling of
ornaments born of hasty motion, with many a sound of lutes struck
sweetly on their chords, blended with the cry of cranes summoned by
the clanging of the girdles, accompanied by the noise of peacocks
shut up in the zenana and rejoicing in the thunder caused by the
stairs being struck by stumbling feet, (172) soft with the murmur of
kalahamsas fluttering in fear of the clash of fresh clouds, imitating
the triumphant cry of Love, taking captive the ears of lovely women
with their ropes of jewels resounding shrilly as they touched one
another, and re-echoing through all the corners of the houses. In
a moment the dense throng of maidens made the palaces seem walled
with women; the ground seemed to blossom by the laying on it of their
lac-strewn lotus-feet; the city seemed girt with grace by the stream
of fair forms; the sky seemed all moon by the throng of orbed faces;
the circle of space seemed a lotus-grove by reason of the hands all
raised to ward off the heat; the sunshine seemed robed in rainbows
by the mass of rays from the jewels, and the day seemed formed of
blue lotus-petals by the long line of bright glances. As the women
gazed on him with eyes fixed and widened in curiosity, the form of
Candrapida entered into their hearts as though they were mirrors or
water or crystal; and as the glow of love manifested itself there,
their graceful speech became straightway mirthful, confidential,
confused, envious, scornful, derisive, coquettish, loving, or full
of longing. (173) As, for instance: 'Hasty one, wait for me! Drunk
with gazing, hold thy mantle! Simpleton, lift up the long tresses
that hang about thy face! Remove thy moon-digit ornament! Blinded
with love, thy feet are caught in the flowers of thine offering, and
thou wilt fall! Love-distraught, tie up thy hair! Intent on the sight
of Candrapida, raise thy girdle! Naughty one, lift up the ear-flower
waving on thy cheek! Heartless one, pick up thine earring! Eager in
youth, thou art being watched! Cover thy bosom! Shameless one, gather
up thy loosened robe! Artfully artless, go on quicker! Inquisitive
girl, take another look at the king! Insatiable, how long wilt thou
look? Fickle-hearted, think of thine own people! Impish girl, thy
mantle has fallen, and thou art mocked! Thou whose eyes art filled
with love, seest thou not thy friends? Maiden full of guile, thou wilt
live in sorrow with thy heart in causeless torment! Thou who feignest
coyness, what mean thy crafty glances? (174) look boldly! Bright with
youth, why rest thy weight against us? Angry one, go in front! Envious
girl, why block up the window? Slave of love, thou bringest my outer
robe to utter ruin! Drunk with love's breath, restrain thyself! Devoid
of self-control, why run before thine elders? Bright in strength, why
so confused? Silly girl, hide the thrill of love's fever! Ill-behaved
girl, why thus weary thyself? Changeful one, thy girdle presseth thee,
and thou sufferest vainly! Absent-minded, thou heedest not thyself,
though outside thy house! Lost in curiosity, thou hast forgotten how
to breathe! Thou whose eyes art closed in the happy imagination of
union with thy beloved, open them! He is passing! Bereft of sense by
the stroke of love's arrow, place the end of thy silken robe on thy
head to keep off the sun's rays! Thou who hast taken the vow of Sati,
thou lettest thine eyes wander, not seeing what is to be seen! Wretched
one, thou art cast down by the vow not to gaze on other men! Vouchsafe
to rise, dear friend, and to look at the blessed fish-bannered god,
[219] without his banner and bereft of Rati, visibly present. (175)
His crest of malati flowers under his umbrella looks like a mass
of moonbeams fallen in under the idea that night has set in, on
his head dark with swarms of bees. His cheek is fair as a garland
of open çirisha flowers touched with green by the splendour of his
emerald earring. Our youthful glow of love, under the guise of rich
ruby rays among the pearl necklaces, shines out eager to enter his
heart. It is so seen by him among the cowries. Moreover, what is he
laughing at as he talks to Vaiçampayana, so that the circle of space
is whitened with his bright teeth? Balahaka, with the edge of his
silken mantle green as a parrot's plumage, is removing from the tips
of his hair the dust raised by the horses' hoofs. His bough-like foot,
soft as Lakshmi's lotus-hand, is raised and sportively cast athwart
his horse's shoulder. His hand, with tapering fingers and bright
as pink lotus-buds, is outstretched to its full length to ask for
betel-nut, just as an elephant's trunk in eagerness for mouthfuls
of vallisneria. (176) Happy is she who, a fellow-bride with earth,
shall, like Lakshmi, win that hand outvying the lotus! Happy, too,
is Queen Vilasavati, by whom he who is able to bear the whole earth
was nourished in birth, as the elephant of the quarters by Space!'
'"And as they uttered these and other sayings of the same kind,
Candrapida, drunk in by their eyes, summoned by the tinkling of their
ornaments, followed by their hearts, bound by the ropes of the rays
of their jewels, honoured with the offering of their fresh youth,
bestrewn with flowers and rice in salutation like a marriage fire,
advancing step by step on a mass of white bracelets slipping from
their languid arms, reached the palace."'
[Dismounting and leaning on Vaiçampayana, he entered the court,
preceded by Balahaka, and passing through the crowd of attendant
kings, beheld his father seated on a white couch and attended by his
guards. [220]]
'"(189) And on the chamberlain's saying 'Behold him!' the prince,
with his head bent low, and its crest shaking, while yet afar off
made his salutation, and his father, crying from afar, 'Come, come
hither!' stretched forth both arms, raised himself slightly from his
couch, while his eyes filled with tears of joy and a thrill passed over
his body, and embraced his reverently-bent son as though he would bind
him fast [221] and absorb him, and drink him in. And after the embrace,
Candrapida sat down on the bare ground by his father's footstool,
kicking away the cloak which had been rolled up and hastily made into
a seat by his own betel-nut bearer, and softly bidding her take it
away; (190) and then Vaiçampayana, being embraced by the king like his
own son, sat down on a seat placed for him. When he had been there a
short time, assailed, as it were, by glances from the women who stood
motionless, with the waving of the cowries forgotten, glances of love,
long as strings of lotus stirred by the wind, from fine eyes tremulous
and askant, he was dismissed with the words, 'Go, my son, salute thy
loving mother, who longs to see thee, and then in turn gladden all
who nurtured thee by thy sight.' Respectfully rising, and stopping
his suite from following him, he went with Vaiçampayana to the zenana,
led by the royal servants meet to enter therein, and approaching his
mother, saluted her"' [as she sat surrounded by her attendants and
by aged ascetic women, who read and recited legends to her [222]].
'"(191) She raised him, while her attendants, skilled in doing her
commands, stood around her, and, with a loving caress, held him in
a long embrace, as though thinking inwardly of a hundred auspicious
words to say, and straightway, when the claims of affection had been
satisfied, and she had embraced Vaiçampayana, she sat down, and drew
Candrapida, who was reverently seated on the ground, forcibly and
against his will to rest in her arms; (192) and when Vaiçampayana
was seated on a stool quickly brought by the attendants, she embraced
Candrapida again and again on brow, breast, and shoulders, and said,
with many a caressing touch: 'Hard-hearted, my child, was thy father,
by whom so fair a form, meet to be cherished by the whole universe,
was made to undergo great fatigue for so long! How didst thou endure
the tedious restraint of thy gurus? Indeed, young as thou art, thou
hast a strong man's fortitude! Thy heart, even in childhood, has lost
all idle liking for childish amusement and play. Ah well, all devotion
to natural and spiritual parents is something apart; and as I now see
thee endowed, by thy father's favour, with all knowledge, so I shall
soon see thee endowed with worthy wives.' Having thus said as he bent
his head, smiling half in shame, she kissed him on the cheek, which was
a full reflection of her own, and garlanded with open lotuses; and he,
when he had stayed a short time, gladdened in turn by his presence the
whole zenana. Then, departing by the royal door, he mounted Indrayudha,
who was standing outside, and, followed by the princes, went to see
Çukanasa,"' [and at the gate of an outer court, filled with priests
of many sects, he dismounted [223]] '"(194) and entered the palace
of Çukanasa, which resembled a second royal court. On entering he
saluted Çukanasa like a second father as he stood in the midst of
thousands of kings, showing him all respect, with his crest bent
low even from afar. Çukanasa, quickly rising, while the kings rose
one after another, and respectfully advancing straight to him, with
tears of joy falling from eyes wide with gladness, heartily, and with
great affection, embraced him, together with Vaiçampayana. Then the
prince, rejecting the jewelled seat respectfully brought, sat on the
bare ground, and next to him sat Vaiçampayana; and when he sat on the
ground, the whole circle of kings, except Çukanasa, leaving their own
seats, sat also on the ground. Çukanasa stood silent for a moment,
showing his extreme joy by the thrill that passed over his limbs,
and then said to the prince: 'Truly, my child, now that King Tarapida
has seen thee grown to youth and possessed of knowledge, he has at
length gained the fruit of his rule over the universe. Now all the
blessings of thy parents have been fulfilled. Now the merit acquired
in many other births has borne fruit. Now the gods of thy race are
content. (195) For they who, like thee, astonish the three worlds,
do not become the sons of the unworthy. For where is thy age? and
where thy superhuman power and thy capacity of reaching boundless
knowledge? Yea, blessed are those subjects who have thee for their
protector, one like unto Bharata and Bhagiratha. What bright deed
of merit was done by Earth that she has won thee as lord? Surely,
Lakshmi is destroyed by persisting in the caprice of dwelling in
Vishnu's bosom, that she does not approach thee in mortal form! But,
nevertheless, do thou with thine arm, as the Great Boar with his
circle of tusks, bear up for myriads of ages the weight of the earth,
helping thy father.' Thus saying, and offering homage with ornaments,
dresses, flowers, and unguents, he dismissed him. Thereupon the
prince, rising, and entering the zenana, visited Vaiçampayana's
mother, by name Manorama, and, departing, mounted Indrayudha, and
went to his palace. It had been previously arranged by his father,
and had white jars filled and placed on the gates, like an image of
the royal palace; it had garlands of green sandal boughs, thousands of
white flags flying, and filled the air with the sound of auspicious
instruments of music; open lotuses were strewn in it. A sacrifice to
Agni had just been performed, every attendant was in bright apparel,
every auspicious ceremony for entering a house had been prepared. On
his arrival he sat for a short time on a couch placed in the hall,
and then, together with his princely retinue, performed the day's
duties, beginning with bathing and ending with a banquet; (196) and
meanwhile he arranged that Indrayudha should dwell in his own chamber.
'"And in these doings of his the day came to a close; the sun's orb
fell with lifted rays like the ruby anklet--its interstices veiled in
its own light--of the Glory of Day, as she hastens from the sky. (198)
And when evening had begun, Candrapida, encircled by a fence of lighted
lamps, went on foot to the king's palace, (199) and having stayed a
short time with his father, and seen Vilasavati, he returned to his
own house and lay down on a couch, many-hued with the radiance of
various gems, like Krishna on the circle of Çesha's hoods.
'"And when night had turned to dawn, he, with his father's leave,
rose before sunrise, in eagerness for the new delight of hunting, and,
mounting Indrayudha, went to the wood with a great retinue of runners,
horses, and elephants. His eagerness was doubled by huntsmen leading
in a golden leash hounds large as asses. With arrows whose shafts
were bright as the leaves of a blossoming lotus, and fit to cleave
the frontal bones of young wild elephants, he slew wild boars, lions,
çarabhas, [224] yaks, and many other kinds of deer by thousands,
(200) while the woodland goddesses looked at him with half-closed
eyes, fluttered by fear of the twanging of his bow. Other animals by
his great energy he took alive. And when the sun reached the zenith,
he rode home from the wood (201) with but a few princes who were well
mounted, going over the events of the chase, saying: 'Thus I killed
a lion, thus a bear, thus a buffalo, thus a çarabha, thus a stag.'
'"On dismounting, he sat down on a seat brought hastily by his
attendants, took off his corselet, and removed the rest of his riding
apparel; he then rested a short time, till his weariness was removed
by the wind of waving fans; having rested, he went to the bathroom,
provided with a hundred pitchers of gold, silver, and jewels, and
having a gold seat placed in its midst. And when the bath was over,
and he had been rubbed in a separate room with cloths, his head
was covered with a strip of pure linen, his raiment was put on,
and he performed his homage to the gods; and when he entered the
perfuming-room, there approached him the court women attendants,
appointed by the grand chamberlain and sent by the king, slaves of
Vilasavati, with Kulavardhana, and zenana women sent from the whole
zenana, bearing in baskets different ornaments, wreaths, unguents,
and robes, which they presented to him. Having taken them in due order
from the women, he first himself anointed Vaiçampayana. When his own
anointing was done, and giving to those around him flowers, perfumes,
robes, and jewels, as was meet, (202) he went to the banquet-hall,
rich in a thousand jewelled vessels, like the autumn sky gleaming with
stars. He there sat on a doubled rug, with Vaiçampayana next him,
eagerly employed, as was fitting, in praising his virtues, and the
host of princes, placed each in order of seniority on the ground,
felt the pleasure of their service increased by seeing the great
courtesy with which the prince said: 'Let this be given to him,
and that to him!' And so he duly partook of his morning meal.
'"After rinsing his mouth and taking betel, he stayed there a short
time, and then went to Indrayudha, and there, without sitting down,
while his attendants stood behind him, with upraised faces, awaiting
his commands, and talking mostly about Indrayudha's points, he himself,
with heart uplifted by Indrayudha's merits, scattered the fodder
before him, and departing, visited the court; and in the same order
of routine he saw the king, and, returning home, spent the night
there. Next day, at dawn, he beheld approaching a chamberlain, by
name Kailasa, the chief of the zenana, greatly trusted by the king,
accompanied by a maiden of noble form, in her first youth, from
her life at court self-possessed, yet not devoid of modesty, (203)
growing to maidenhood, and in her veil of silk red with cochineal,
resembling the Eastern quarter clothed in early sunshine. (204) And
Kailasa, bowing and approaching, with his right hand placed on the
ground, spoke as follows:
'"'Prince, Queen Vilasavati bids me say: "This maiden, by name
Patralekha, daughter of the King of Kuluta, was brought with the
captives by the great king on his conquest of the royal city of
Kuluta while she was yet a little child, and was placed among the
zenana women. And tenderness grew up in me towards her, seeing she
was a king's daughter and without a protector, and she was long
cared for and brought up by me just like a daughter. Therefore,
I now send her to thee, thinking her fit to be thy betel-bearer;
but she must not be looked on by thee, great prince of many days,
as thine other attendants. She must be cared for as a young maiden;
she must be shielded from the thoughtless like thine own nature;
she must be looked on as a pupil. (205) Like a friend, she must
be admitted to all thy confidences. By reason of the love that has
long grown up in me, my heart rests on her as on my own daughter;
and being sprung from a great race, she is fitted for such duties;
in truth, she herself will in a few days charm the prince by her
perfect gentleness. My love for her is of long growth, and therefore
strong; but as the prince does not yet know her character, this is
told to him. Thou must in all ways strive, happy prince, that she may
long be thy fitting companion."' When Kailasa had thus spoken and was
silent, Candrapida looked long and steadily at Patralekha as she made
a courteous obeisance, and with the words, 'As my mother wishes,'
dismissed the chamberlain. And Patralekha, from her first sight of
him, was filled with devotion to him, and never left the prince's
side either by night or day, whether he was sleeping, or sitting,
or standing, or walking, or going to the court, just as if she were
his shadow; while he felt for her a great affection, beginning from
his first glance at her, and constantly growing; he daily showed
more favour to her, and counted her in all his secrets as part of
his own heart.
'"As the days thus passed on, the king, eager for the anointing of
Candrapida as crown prince, (206) appointed chamberlains to gather
together all things needful for it; and when it was at hand, Çukanasa,
desirous of increasing the prince's modesty, great as it already was,
spoke to him at length during one of his visits: 'Dear Candrapida,
though thou hast learnt what is to be known, and read all the çastras,
no little remains for thee to learn. For truly the darkness arising
from youth is by nature very thick, nor can it be pierced by the sun,
nor cleft by the radiance of jewels, nor dispelled by the brightness
of lamps. The intoxication of Lakshmi is terrible, and does not cease
even in old age. There is, too, another blindness of power, evil, not
to be cured by any salve. The fever of pride runs very high, and no
cooling appliances can allay it. The madness that rises from tasting
the poison of the senses is violent, and not to be counteracted by
roots or charms. The defilement of the stain of passion is never
destroyed by bathing or purification. The sleep of the multitude
of royal pleasures is ever terrible, and the end of night brings no
waking. Thus thou must often be told at length. Lordship inherited even
from birth, fresh youth, peerless beauty, superhuman talent, all this
is a long succession of ills. (207) Each of these separately is a home
of insolence; how much more the assemblage of them! For in early youth
the mind often loses its purity, though it be cleansed with the pure
waters of the çastras. The eyes of the young become inflamed, though
their clearness is not quite lost. Nature, too, when the whirlwind of
passion arises, carries a man far in youth at its own will, like a dry
leaf borne on the wind. This mirage of pleasure, which captivates the
senses as if they were deer, always ends in sorrow. When the mind has
its consciousness dulled by early youth, the characteristics of the
outer world fall on it like water, all the more sweetly for being
but just tasted. Extreme clinging to the things of sense destroys
a man, misleading him like ignorance of his bearings. But men such
as thou art the fitting vessels for instruction. For on a mind free
from stain the virtue of good counsel enters easily, as the moon's
rays on a moon crystal. The words of a guru, though pure, yet cause
great pain when they enter the ears of the bad, as water does; (208)
while in others they produce a nobler beauty, like the ear-jewel on
an elephant. They remove the thick darkness of many sins, like the
moon in the gloaming. [225] The teaching of a guru is calming, and
brings to an end the faults of youth by turning them to virtue, just
as old age takes away the dark stain of the locks by turning them to
gray. This is the time to teach thee, while thou hast not yet tasted
the pleasures of sense. For teaching pours away like water in a heart
shattered by the stroke of love's arrow. Family and sacred tradition
are unavailing to the froward and undisciplined. Does a fire not burn
when fed on sandal-wood? Is not the submarine fire the fiercer in
the water that is wont to quench fire? But the words of a guru are a
bathing without water, able to cleanse all the stains of man; they are
a maturity that changes not the locks to gray; they give weight without
increase of bulk; though not wrought of gold, they are an ear-jewel
of no common order; without light they shine; without startling they
awaken. They are specially needed for kings, for the admonishers of
kings are few. (209) For from fear, men follow like an echo the words
of kings, and so, being unbridled in their pride, and having the cavity
of their ears wholly stopped, they do not hear good advice even when
offered; and when they do hear, by closing their eyes like an elephant,
they show their contempt, and pain the teachers who offer them good
counsel. For the nature of kings, being darkened by the madness of
pride's fever, is perturbed; their wealth causes arrogance and false
self-esteem; their royal glory causes the torpor brought about by the
poison of kingly power. First, let one who strives after happiness
look at Lakshmi. For this Lakshmi, who now rests like a bee on the
lotus-grove of a circle of naked swords, has risen from the milk ocean,
has taken her glow from the buds of the coral-tree, her crookedness
from the moon's digit, her restlessness from the steed Uccaihçrava,
her witchery from Kalakuta poison, her intoxication from nectar, and
from the Kaustubha gem her hardness. (210) All these she has taken
as keepsakes to relieve her longing with memory of her companions'
friendship. There is nothing so little understood here in the world
as this base Lakshmi. When won, she is hard to keep; when bound fast
by the firm cords of heroism, she vanishes; when held by a cage of
swords brandished by a thousand fierce champions, she yet escapes;
when guarded by a thick band of elephants, dark with a storm of ichor,
she yet flees away. She keeps not friendships; she regards not race;
she recks not of beauty; she follows not the fortunes of a family;
she looks not on character; she counts not cleverness; she hears
not sacred learning; she courts not righteousness; she honours not
liberality; she values not discrimination; she guards not conduct;
she understands not truth; she makes not auspicious marks her guide;
like the outline of an aërial city, she vanishes even as we look on
her. She is still dizzy with the feeling produced by the eddying of
the whirlpool made by Mount Mandara. As if she were the tip of a
lotus-stalk bound to the varying motion of a lotus-bed, she gives
no firm foothold anywhere. Even when held fast with great effort
in palaces, she totters as if drunk with the ichor of their many
wild elephants. (211) She dwells on the sword's edge as if to learn
cruelty. She clings to the form of Narayana as if to learn constant
change of form. Full of fickleness, she leaves even a king, richly
endowed with friends, judicial power, treasure, and territory, as she
leaves a lotus at the end of day, though it have root, stalk, bud, and
wide-spreading petals. Like a creeper, she is ever a parasite. [226]
Like Ganga, though producing wealth, she is all astir with bubbles;
like the sun's ray, she alights on one thing after another; like the
cavity of hell, she is full of dense darkness. Like the demon Hidamba,
her heart is only won by the courage of a Bhima; like the rainy season,
she sends forth but a momentary flash; like an evil demon, she, with
the height of many men, [227] crazes the feeble mind. As if jealous,
she embraces not him whom learning has favoured; she touches not
the virtuous man, as being impure; she despises a lofty nature as
unpropitious; she regards not the gently-born, as useless. She leaps
over a courteous man as a snake; (212) she avoids a hero as a thorn;
she forgets a giver as a nightmare; she keeps far from a temperate man
as a villain; she mocks at the wise as a fool; she manifests her ways
in the world as if in a jugglery that unites contradictions. For,
though creating constant fever, [228] she produces a chill; [229]
though exalting men, she shows lowness of soul; though rising from
water, she augments thirst; though bestowing lordship, [230] she
shows an unlordly [231] nature; though loading men with power, she
deprives them of weight; [232] though sister of nectar, she leaves a
bitter taste; though of earthly mould, [233] she is invisible; though
attached to the highest, [234] she loves the base; like a creature of
dust, she soils even the pure. Moreover, let this wavering one shine
as she may, she yet, like lamplight, only sends forth lamp-black. For
she is the fostering rain of the poison-plants of desire, the hunter's
luring song to the deer of the senses, the polluting smoke to the
pictures of virtue, the luxurious couch of infatuation's long sleep,
the ancient watch-tower of the demons of pride and wealth. (213) She is
the cataract gathering over eyes lighted by the çastras, the banner of
the reckless, the native stream of the alligators of wrath, the tavern
of the mead of the senses, the music-hall of alluring dances, the lair
of the serpents of sin, the rod to drive out good practices. She is
the untimely rain to the kalahamsas [235] of the virtues, the hotbed
of the pustules of scandal, the prologue of the drama of fraud, the
roar of the elephant of passion, the slaughter-house of goodness,
the tongue of Rahu for the moon of holiness. Nor see I any who has
not been violently embraced by her while she was yet unknown to him,
and whom she has not deceived. Truly, even in a picture she moves;
even in a book she practises magic; even cut in a gem she deceives;
even when heard she misleads; even when thought on she betrays.
'"'When this wretched evil creature wins kings after great toil by
the will of destiny, they become helpless, and the abode of every
shameful deed. For at the very moment of coronation their graciousness
is washed away as if by the auspicious water-jars; (214) their heart
is darkened as by the smoke of the sacrificial fire; their patience is
swept away as by the kuça brooms of the priest; their remembrance of
advancing age is concealed as by the donning of the turban; the sight
of the next world is kept afar as by the umbrella's circle; truth is
removed as by the wind of the cowries; virtue is driven out as by the
wands of office; the voices of the good are drowned as by cries of
"All hail!" and glory is flouted as by the streamers of the banners.
'"'For some kings are deceived by successes which are uncertain as the
tremulous beaks of birds when loose from weariness, and which, though
pleasant for a moment as a firefly's flash, are contemned by the wise;
they forget their origin in the pride of amassing a little wealth,
and are troubled by the onrush of passion as by a blood-poisoning
brought on by accumulated diseases; they are tortured by the senses,
which though but five, in their eagerness to taste every pleasure,
turn to a thousand; they are bewildered by the mind, which, in
native fickleness, follows its own impulses, and, being but one,
gets the force of a hundred thousand in its changes. Thus they fall
into utter helplessness. They are seized by demons, conquered by imps,
(215) possessed by enchantments, held by monsters, mocked by the wind,
swallowed by ogres. Pierced by the arrows of Kama, they make a thousand
contortions; scorched by covetousness, they writhe; struck down by
fierce blows, they sink down. [236] Like crabs, they sidle; like
cripples, with steps broken by sin, they are led helpless by others;
like stammerers from former sins of falsehood, they can scarce babble;
like saptacchada [237] trees, they produce headache in those near them;
like dying men, they know not even their kin; like purblind [238] men,
they cannot see the brightest virtue; like men bitten in a fatal hour,
they are not waked even by mighty charms; like lac-ornaments, they
cannot endure strong heat; [239] like rogue elephants, being firmly
fixed to the pillar of self-conceit, they refuse teaching; bewildered
by the poison of covetousness, they see everything as golden; like
arrows sharpened by polishing, [240] when in the hands of others they
cause destruction; (216) with their rods [241] they strike down great
families, like high-growing fruit; like untimely blossoms, though
fair outwardly, they cause destruction; they are terrible of nature,
like the ashes of a funeral pyre; like men with cataract, they can
see no distance; like men possessed, they have their houses ruled by
court jesters; when but heard of, they terrify, like funeral drums;
when but thought of, like a resolve to commit mortal sin, they bring
about great calamity; being daily filled with sin, they become wholly
puffed up. In this state, having allied themselves to a hundred sins,
they are like drops of water hanging on the tip of the grass on an
anthill, and have fallen without perceiving it.
'"'But others are deceived by rogues intent on their own
ends, greedy of the flesh-pots of wealth, cranes of the palace
lotus-beds! "Gambling," say these, "is a relaxation; adultery a sign
of cleverness; hunting, exercise; drinking, delight; recklessness,
heroism; neglect of a wife, freedom from infatuation; (217) contempt
of a guru's words, a claim to others' submission; unruliness of
servants, the ensuring of pleasant service; devotion to dance, song,
music, and bad company, is knowledge of the world; hearkening to
shameful crimes is greatness of mind; tame endurance of contempt is
patience; self-will is lordship; disregard of the gods is high spirit;
the praise of bards is glory; restlessness is enterprise; lack of
discernment is impartiality." Thus are kings deceived with more than
mortal praises by men ready to raise faults to the grade of virtues,
practised in deception, laughing in their hearts, utterly villainous;
and thus these monarchs, by reason of their senselessness, have their
minds intoxicated by the pride of wealth, and have a settled false
conceit in them that these things are really so; though subject to
mortal conditions, they look on themselves as having alighted on
earth as divine beings with a superhuman destiny; they employ a pomp
in their undertakings only fit for gods (218) and win the contempt
of all mankind. They welcome this deception of themselves by their
followers. From the delusion as to their own divinity established in
their minds, they are overthrown by false ideas, and they think their
own pair of arms have received another pair; [242] they imagine their
forehead has a third eye buried in the skin. [243] They consider the
sight of themselves a favour; they esteem their glance a benefit; they
regard their words as a present; they hold their command a glorious
boon; they deem their touch a purification. Weighed down by the
pride of their false greatness, they neither do homage to the gods,
nor reverence Brahmans, nor honour the honourable, nor salute those
to whom salutes are due, nor address those who should be addressed,
nor rise to greet their gurus. They laugh at the learned as losing
in useless labour all the enjoyment of pleasure; they look on the
teaching of the old as the wandering talk of dotage; they abuse the
advice of their councillors as an insult to their own wisdom; they
are wroth with the giver of good counsel.
'"'At all events, the man they welcome, with whom they converse,
whom they place by their side, advance, (219) take as companion of
their pleasure and recipient of their gifts, choose as a friend,
the man to whose voice they listen, on whom they rain favours, of
whom they think highly, in whom they trust, is he who does nothing
day and night but ceaselessly salute them, praise them as divine,
and exalt their greatness.
'"'What can we expect of those kings whose standard is a law of
deceit, pitiless in the cruelty of its maxims; whose gurus are family
priests, with natures made merciless by magic rites; whose teachers
are councillors skilled to deceive others; whose hearts are set on a
power that hundreds of kings before them have gained and lost; whose
skill in weapons is only to inflict death; whose brothers, tender as
their hearts may be with natural affection, are only to be slaughtered.
'"'Therefore, my Prince, in this post of empire which is terrible in
the hundreds of evil and perverse impulses which attend it, and in this
season of youth which leads to utter infatuation, thou must strive
earnestly not to be scorned by thy people, nor blamed by the good,
nor cursed by thy gurus, nor reproached by thy friends, nor grieved
over by the wise. Strive, too, that thou be not exposed by knaves,
(220) deceived by sharpers, preyed upon by villains, torn to pieces
by wolvish courtiers, misled by rascals, deluded by women, cheated by
fortune, led a wild dance by pride, maddened by desire, assailed by the
things of sense, dragged headlong by passion, carried away by pleasure.
'"'Granted that by nature thou art steadfast, and that by thy father's
care thou art trained in goodness, and moreover, that wealth only
intoxicates the light of nature, and the thoughtless, yet my very
delight in thy virtues makes me speak thus at length.
'"'Let this saying be ever ringing in thine ears: There is none so
wise, so prudent, so magnanimous, so gracious, so steadfast, and
so earnest, that the shameless wretch Fortune cannot grind him to
powder. Yet now mayest thou enjoy the consecration of thy youth to
kinghood by thy father under happy auspices. Bear the yoke handed down
to thee that thy forefathers have borne. Bow the heads of thy foes;
raise the host of thy friends; after thy coronation wander round the
world for conquest; and bring under thy sway the earth with its seven
continents subdued of yore by thy father.
'"'This is the time to crown thyself with glory. (221) A glorious
king has his commands fulfilled as swiftly as a great ascetic.'
'"Having said thus much, he was silent, and by his words Candrapida
was, as it were, washed, wakened, purified, brightened, bedewed,
anointed, adorned, cleansed, and made radiant, and with glad heart
he returned after a short time to his own palace.
'"Some days later, on an auspicious day, the king, surrounded by a
thousand chiefs, raised aloft, with Çukanasa's help, the vessel of
consecration, and himself anointed his son, while the rest of the
rites were performed by the family priest. The water of consecration
was brought from every sacred pool, river and ocean, encircled by
every plant, fruit, earth, and gem, mingled with tears of joy, and
purified by mantras. At that very moment, while the prince was yet wet
with the water of consecration, royal glory passed on to him without
leaving Tarapida, as a creeper still clasping its own tree passes
to another. (222) Straightway he was anointed from head to foot by
Vilasavati, attended by all the zenana, and full of tender love, with
sweet sandal white as moonbeams. He was garlanded with fresh white
flowers; decked [244] with lines of gorocana; adorned with an earring
of durva grass; clad in two new silken robes with long fringes, white
as the moon; bound with an amulet round his hand, tied by the family
priest; and had his breast encircled by a pearl-necklace, like the
circle of the Seven Rishis come down to see his coronation, strung
on filaments from the lotus-pool of the royal fortune of young royalty.
'"From the complete concealment of his body by wreaths of white flowers
interwoven and hanging to his knees, soft as moonbeams, and from his
wearing snowy robes he was like Narasimha, shaking his thick mane,
[245] or like Kailasa, with its flowing streams, or Airavata, rough
with the tangled lotus-fibres of the heavenly Ganges, or the Milky
Ocean, all covered with flakes of bright foam.
(223) '"Then his father himself for that time took the chamberlain's
wand to make way for him, and he went to the hall of assembly and
mounted the royal throne, like the moon on Meru's peak. Then, when he
had received due homage from the kings, after a short pause the great
drum that heralded his setting out on his triumphal course resounded
deeply, under the stroke of golden drum-sticks. Its sound was as the
noise of clouds gathering at the day of doom; or the ocean struck by
Mandara; or the foundations of earth by the earthquakes that close an
aeon; or a portent-cloud, with its flashes of lightning; or the hollow
of hell by the blows of the snout of the Great Boar. And by its sound
the spaces of the world were inflated, opened, separated, outspread,
filled, turned sunwise, and deepened, and the bonds that held the
sky were unloosed. The echo of it wandered through the three worlds;
for it was embraced in the lower world by Çesha, with his thousand
hoods raised and bristling in fear; it was challenged in space by the
elephants of the quarters tossing their tusks in opposition; it was
honoured with sunwise turns in the sky by the sun's steeds, tossing
[246] their heads in their snort of terror; (224) it was wondrously
answered on Kailasa's peak by Çiva's bull, with a roar of joy in the
belief that it was his master's loudest laugh; it was met in Meru by
Airavata, with deep trumpeting; it was reverenced in the hall of the
gods by Yama's bull, with his curved horns turned sideways in wrath
at so strange a sound; and it was heard in terror by the guardian
gods of the world.
'"Then, at the roar of the drum, followed by an outcry of 'All
hail!' from all sides, Candrapida came down from the throne, and
with him went the glory of his foes. He left the hall of assembly,
followed by a thousand chiefs, who rose hastily around him, strewing
on all sides the large pearls that fell from the strings of their
necklaces as they struck against each other, like rice sportively
thrown as a good omen for their setting off to conquer the world. He
showed like the coral-tree amid the white buds of the kalpa-trees;
[247] or Airavata amid the elephants of the quarters bedewing him with
water from their trunks; or heaven, with the firmament showering stars;
or the rainy season with clouds ever pouring heavy drops.
(225) '"Then an elephant was hastily brought by the mahout, adorned
with all auspicious signs for the journey, and on the inner seat
Patralekha was placed. The prince then mounted, and under the shade of
an umbrella with a hundred wires enmeshed with pearls, beauteous as
Kailasa standing on the arms of Ravana, and white as the whirlpools
of the Milky Ocean under the tossing of the mountain, he started on
his journey. And as he paused in his departure he saw the ten quarters
tawny with the rich sunlight, surpassing molten lac, of the flashing
crest-jewels of the kings who watched him with faces hidden behind the
ramparts, as if the light were the fire of his own majesty, flashing
forth after his coronation. He saw the earth bright as if with his own
glow of loyalty when anointed as heir-apparent, and the sky crimson
as with the flame that heralded the swift destruction of his foes,
and daylight roseate as with lac-juice from the feet of the Lakshmi
of earth coming to greet him.
'"On the way hosts of kings, with their thousand elephants swaying
in confusion, their umbrellas broken by the pressure of the crowd,
their crest-jewels falling low as their diadems bent in homage, (226)
their earrings hanging down, and the jewels falling on their cheeks,
bowed low before him, as a trusted general recited their names. The
elephant Gandhamadana followed the prince, pink with much red lead,
dangling to the ground his ear-ornaments of pearls, having his head
outlined with many a wreath of white flowers, like Meru with evening
sunlight resting on it, the white stream of Ganges falling across it,
and the spangled roughness of a bevy of stars on its peak. Before
Candrapida went Indrayudha, led by his groom, perfumed with saffron
and many-hued, with the flash of golden trappings on his limbs. And
so the expedition slowly started towards the Eastern Quarter. [248]
'"Then the whole army set forth with wondrous turmoil, with its forest
of umbrellas stirred by the elephants' movements, like an ocean
of destruction reflecting on its advancing waves a thousand moons,
flooding the earth.
(227) '"When the prince left his palace Vaiçampayana performed every
auspicious rite, and then, clothed in white, anointed with an ointment
of white flowers, accompanied by a great host of powerful kings, shaded
by a white umbrella, followed close on the prince, mounted on a swift
elephant, like a second Crown Prince, and drew near to him like the
moon to the sun. Straightway the earth heard on all sides the cry:
'The Crown Prince has started!' and shook with the weight of the
advancing army.
(228) '"In an instant the earth seemed as it were made of horses;
the horizon, of elephants; the atmosphere, of umbrellas; the sky,
of forests of pennons; the wind, of the scent of ichor; the human
race, of kings; the eye, of the rays of jewels; the day, of crests;
the universe, of cries of 'All hail!'
(228-234 condensed) '"The dust rose at the advance of the army like
a herd of elephants to tear up the lotuses of the sunbeams, or a
veil to cover the Lakshmi of the three worlds. Day became earthy;
the quarters were modelled in clay; the sky was, as it were, resolved
in dust, and the whole universe appeared to consist of but one element.
(234) '"When the horizon became clear again, Vaiçampayana, looking at
the mighty host which seemed to rise from the ocean, was filled with
wonder, and, turning his glance on every side, said to Candrapida:
'What, prince, has been left unconquered by the mighty King
Tarapida, for thee to conquer? What regions unsubdued, for thee
to subdue? (235) What fortresses untaken, for thee to take? What
continents unappropriated, for thee to appropriate? What treasures
ungained, for thee to gain? What kings have not been humbled? By whom
have the raised hands of salutation, soft as young lotuses, not been
placed on the head? By whose brows, encircled with golden bands,
have the floors of his halls not been polished? Whose crest-jewels
have not scraped his footstool? Who have not accepted his staff of
office? Who have not waved his cowries? Who have not raised the cry of
"Hail!"? Who have not drunk in with the crocodiles of their crests,
the radiance of his feet, like pure streams? For all these princes,
though they are imbued with the pride of armies, ready in their rough
play to plunge into the four oceans; though they are the peers of
the great kings Daçaratha, Bhagiratha, Bharata, Dilipa, Alarka, and
Mandhatri; though they are anointed princes, soma-drinkers, haughty in
the pride of birth, yet they bear on the sprays of crests purified with
the shower of the water of consecration the dust of thy feet of happy
omen, like an amulet of ashes. By them as by fresh noble mountains,
the earth is upheld. These their armies that have entered the heart of
the ten regions follow thee alone. (236) For lo! wherever thy glance
is cast, hell seems to vomit forth armies, the earth to bear them, the
quarters to discharge them, the sky to rain them, the day to create
them. And methinks the earth, trampled by the weight of boundless
hosts, recalls to-day the confusion of the battles of the Mahabharata.
'"'Here the sun wanders in the groves of pennons, with his orb
stumbling over their tops, as if he were trying, out of curiosity,
to count the banners. The earth is ceaselessly submerged under
ichor sweet as cardamons, and flowing like a plait of hair, from the
elephants who scatter it all round, and thick, too, with the murmur
of the bees settling on it, so that it shines as if filled with the
waves of Yamuna. The lines of moon-white flags hide the horizon, like
rivers that in fear of being made turbid by the heavy host have fled
to the sky. It is a wonder that the earth has not to-day been split
into a thousand pieces by the weight of the army; and that the bonds
of its joints, the noble mountains, are not burst asunder; and that
the hoods of Çesha, the lord of serpents, in distress at the burden
of earth pressed down under the load of troops, do not give way.'
(237) '"While he was thus speaking, the prince reached his palace. It
was adorned with many lofty triumphal arches; dotted with a thousand
pavilions enclosed in grassy ramparts, and bright with many a tent
of shining white cloth. Here he dismounted, and performed in kingly
wise all due rites; and though the kings and ministers who had come
together sought to divert him with various tales, he spent the rest
of the day in sorrow, for his heart was tortured with bitter grief for
his fresh separation from his father. When day was brought to a close
he passed the night, too, mostly in sleeplessness, with Vaiçampayana
resting on a couch not far from his own, and Patralekha sleeping hard
by on a blanket placed on the ground; his talk was now of his father,
now of his mother, now of Çukanasa, and he rested but little. At dawn
he arose, and with an army that grew at every march, as it advanced
in unchanged order, he hollowed the earth, shook the mountains, dried
the rivers, emptied the lakes, (238) crushed the woods to powder,
levelled the crooked places, tore down the fortresses, filled up the
hollows, and hollowed the solid ground.
'"By degrees, as he wandered at will, he bowed the haughty, exalted
the humble, encouraged the fearful, protected the suppliant, rooted
out the vicious, and drove out the hostile. He anointed princes in
different places, gathered treasures, accepted gifts, took tribute,
taught local regulations, established monuments of his visit,
made hymns of worship, and inscribed edicts. He honoured Brahmans,
reverenced saints, protected hermitages, and showed a prowess that won
his people's love. He exalted his majesty, heaped up his glory, showed
his virtues far and wide, and won renown for his good deeds. Thus
trampling down the woods on the shore, and turning the whole expanse
of ocean to gray with the dust of his army, he wandered over the earth.
'"The East was his first conquest, then the Southern Quarter, marked
by Triçanku, then the Western Quarter, which has Varuna for its sign,
and immediately afterwards the Northern Quarter adorned by the Seven
Rishis. Within the three years that he roamed over the world he had
subdued the whole earth, with its continents, bounded only by the
moat of four oceans.
(239) '"He then, wandering sunwise, conquered and occupied Suvarnapura,
not far from the Eastern Ocean, the abode of those Kiratas who dwell
near Kailasa, and are called Hemajakutas, and as his army was weary
from its worldwide wandering, he encamped there for a few days to rest.
'"One day during his sojourn there he mounted Indrayudha to hunt, and
as he roamed through the wood he beheld a pair of Kinnaras wandering
down at will from the mountains. Wondering at the strange sight,
and eager to take them, he brought up his horse respectfully near
them and approached them. But they hurried on, fearing the unknown
sight of a man, and fleeing from him, while he pursued them, doubling
Indrayudha's speed by frequent pats on his neck, and went on alone,
leaving his army far behind. Led on by the idea that he was just
catching them, he was borne in an instant fifteen leagues from his
own quarters by Indrayudha's speed as it were at one bound, and was
left companionless. (240) The pair of Kinnaras he was pursuing were
climbing a steep hill in front of him. He at length turned away his
glance, which was following their progress, and, checked by the
steepness of the ascent, reined in Indrayudha. Then, seeing that
both his horse and himself were tired and heated by their toils,
he considered for a moment, and laughed at himself as he thought:
'Why have I thus wearied myself for nothing, like a child? What
matters it whether I catch the pair of Kinnaras or not? If caught,
what is the good? if missed, what is the harm? What a folly this is
of mine! What a love of busying myself in any trifle! What a passion
for aimless toil! What a clinging to childish pleasure! The good
work I was doing has been begun in vain. The needful rite I had begun
has been rendered fruitless. The duty of friendship I undertook has
not been performed. The royal office I was employed in has not been
fulfilled. The great task I had entered on has not been completed. My
earnest labour in a worthy ambition has been brought to nought. Why
have I been so mad as to leave my followers behind and come so
far? (241) and why have I earned for myself the ridicule I should
bestow on another, when I think how aimlessly I have followed these
monsters with their horses' heads? I know not how far off is the army
that follows me. For the swiftness of Indrayudha traverses a vast
space in a moment, and his speed prevented my noticing as I came by
what path I should turn back, for my eyes were fixed on the Kinnaras;
and now I am in a great forest, spread underfoot with dry leaves,
with a dense growth of creepers, underwood, and branching trees. Roam
as I may here I cannot light on any mortal who can show me the way
to Suvarnapura. I have often heard that Suvarnapura is the farthest
bound of earth to the north, and that beyond it lies a supernatural
forest, and beyond that again is Kailasa. This then is Kailasa; so
I must turn back now, and resolutely seek to make my way unaided to
the south. For a man must bear the fruit of his own faults.'
'"With this purpose he shook the reins in his left hand, and turned
the horse's head. Then he again reflected: (242) 'The blessed sun
with glowing light now adorns the south, as if he were the zone-gem
of the glory of day. Indrayudha is tired; I will just let him eat
a few mouthfuls of grass, and then let him bathe and drink in some
mountain rill or river; and when he is refreshed I will myself drink
some water, and after resting a short time under the shade of a tree,
I will set out again.'
'"So thinking, constantly turning his eyes on every side for water, he
wandered till at length he saw a track wet with masses of mud raised
by the feet of a large troop of mountain elephants, who had lately
come up from bathing in a lotus-pool. (243) Inferring thence that
there was water near, he went straight on along the slope of Kailasa,
the trees of which, closely crowded as they were, seemed, from their
lack of boughs, to be far apart, for they were mostly pines, çal, and
gum olibanum trees, and were lofty, and like a circle of umbrellas,
to be gazed at with upraised head. There was thick yellow sand,
and by reason of the stony soil the grass and shrubs were but scanty.
(244) '"At length he beheld, on the north-east of Kailasa, a very
lofty clump of trees, rising like a mass of clouds, heavy with its
weight of rain, and massed as if with the darkness of a night in the
dark fortnight.
'"The wind from the waves, soft as sandal, dewy, cool from passing
over the water, aromatic with flowers, met him, and seemed to woo him;
and the cries of kalahamsas drunk with lotus-honey, charming his ear,
summoned him to enter. So he went into that clump, and in its midst
beheld the Acchoda Lake, as if it were the mirror of the Lakshmi of the
three worlds, the crystal chamber of the goddess of earth, the path
by which the waters of ocean escape, the oozing of the quarters, the
avatar of part of the sky, Kailasa taught to flow, Himavat liquefied,
moonlight melted, Çiva's smile turned to water, (245) the merit of
the three worlds abiding in the shape of a lake, a range of hills of
lapis lazuli changed into water, or a mass of autumn clouds poured
down in one spot. From its clearness it might be Varuna's mirror;
it seemed to be fashioned of the hearts of ascetics, the virtues of
good men, the bright eyes of deer, or the rays of pearls.
(247) '"Like the person of a great man, it showed clearly the
signs of fish, crocodile, tortoise, and cakra; [249] like the
story of Kartikeya, the lamentations of the wives of Krauñca [250]
resounded in it; it was shaken by the wings of white Dhartarashtras,
as the Mahabharata by the rivalry of Pandavas and Dhartarashtras;
and the drinking of poison by Çiva was represented by the drinking
of its water by peacocks, as if it were the time of the churning of
ocean. It was fair, like a god, with a gaze that never wavers. (248)
Like a futile argument, it seemed to have no end; and was a lake most
fair and gladdening to the eyes.
'"The very sight of it seemed to remove Candrapida's weariness,
and as he gazed he thought:
'"'Though my pursuit of the horse-faced pair was fruitless, yet now
that I see this lake it has gained its reward. My eyes' reward in
beholding all that is to be seen has now been won, the furthest point
of all fair things seen, the limit of all that gladdens us gazed upon,
the boundary line of all that charms us descried, the perfection of all
that causes joy made manifest, and the vanishing-point of all worthy
of sight beheld. (249) By creating this lake water, sweet as nectar,
the Creator has made his own labour of creation superfluous. For this,
too, like the nectar that gladdens all the senses, produces joy to
the eye by its purity, offers the pleasure of touch by its coolness,
gladdens the sense of smell by the fragrance of its lotuses, pleases
the ear with the ceaseless murmur of its hamsas, and delights the
taste with its sweetness. Truly it is from eagerness to behold this
that Çiva leaves not his infatuation for dwelling on Kailasa. Surely
Krishna no longer follows his own natural desire as to a watery couch,
for he sleeps on the ocean, with its water bitter with salt, and leaves
this water sweet as nectar! Nor is this, in sooth, the primæval lake;
for the earth, when fearing the blows of the tusks of the boar of
destruction, entered the ocean, all the waters of which were designed
but to be a draught for Agastya; whereas, if it had plunged into this
mighty lake, deep as many deep hells, it could not have been reached,
I say not by one, but not even by a thousand boars. (250) Verily it
is from this lake that the clouds of doom at the seasons of final
destruction draw little by little their water when they overwhelm the
interstices of the universe, and darken all the quarters with their
destroying storm. And methinks that the world, Brahma's egg, which in
the beginning of creation was made of water, was massed together and
placed here under the guise of a lake.' So thinking, he reached the
south bank, dismounted and took off Indrayudha's harness; (251) and
the latter rolled on the ground, arose, ate some mouthfuls of grass,
and then the prince took him down to the lake, and let him drink and
bathe at will. After that, the prince took off his bridle, bound two
of his feet by a golden chain to the lower bough of a tree hard by,
and, cutting off with his dagger some durva grass from the bank of
the lake, threw it before the horse, and went back himself to the
water. He washed his hands, and feasted, like the cataka, on water;
like the cakravaka, he tasted pieces of lotus-fibre; like the moon
with its beams, he touched the moon-lotuses with his finger-tips;
like a snake, he welcomed the breeze of the waves; [251] like one
wounded with Love's arrows, he placed a covering of lotus-leaves on
his breast; like a mountain elephant, when the tip of his trunk is wet
with spray, he adorned his hands with spray-washed lotuses. Then with
dewy lotus-leaves, with freshly-broken fibres, he made a couch on a
rock embowered in creepers, and rolling up his cloak for a pillow,
lay down to sleep. After a short rest, he heard on the north bank
of the lake a sweet sound of unearthly music, borne on the ear, and
blent with the chords of the vina. (252) Indrayudha heard it first,
and letting fall the grass he was eating, with ears fixed and neck
arched, turned towards the voice. The prince, as he heard it, rose
from his lotus-couch in curiosity to see whence this song could arise
in a place deserted by men, and cast his glance towards the region;
but, from the great distance, he was unable, though he strained his
eyes to the utmost, to discern anything, although he ceaselessly
heard the sound. Desiring in his eagerness to know its source,
he determined to depart, and saddling and mounting Indrayudha, he
set forth by the western forest path, making the song his goal; the
deer, albeit unasked, were his guides, as they rushed on in front,
delighting in the music. [252]
(253-256 condensed) '"Welcomed by the breezes of Kailasa, he went
towards that spot, which was surrounded by trees on all sides, and
at the foot of the slope of Kailasa, on the left bank of the lake,
called Candraprabha, which whitened the whole region with a splendour
as of moonlight, he beheld an empty temple of Çiva.
(257) '"As he entered the temple he was whitened by the falling on
him of ketaki pollen, tossed by the wind, as if for the sake of seeing
Çiva he had been forcibly made to perform a vow of putting on ashes,
or as if he were robed in the pure merits of entering the temple;
and, in a crystal shrine resting on four pillars, he beheld Çiva, the
four-faced, teacher of the world, the god whose feet are honoured by
the universe, with his emblem, the linga, made of pure pearl. Homage
had been paid to the deity by shining lotuses of the heavenly Ganges,
that might be mistaken for crests of pearls, freshly-plucked and wet,
with drops falling from the ends of their leaves, like fragments of
the moon's disc split and set upright, or like parts of Çiva's own
smile, or scraps of Çesha's hood, or brothers of Krishna's conch,
or the heart of the Milky Ocean.
(258) '"But, seated in a posture of meditation, to the right of the
god, facing him, Candrapida beheld a maiden vowed to the service of
Çiva, who turned the region with its mountains and woods to ivory by
the brightness of her beauty. For its lustre shone far, spreading
through space, white as the tide of the Milky Ocean, overwhelming
all things at the day of doom, or like a store of penance gathered
in long years and flowing out, streaming forth massed together
like Ganges between the trees, giving a fresh whiteness to Kailasa,
and purifying the gazer's soul, though it but entered his eye. The
exceeding whiteness of her form concealed her limbs as though she had
entered a crystal shrine, or had plunged into a sea of milk, or were
hidden in spotless silk, or were caught on the surface of a mirror,
or were veiled in autumn clouds. She seemed to be fashioned from the
quintessence of whiteness, without the bevy of helps for the creation
of the body that consist of matter formed of the five gross elements.
(259) She was like sacrifice impersonate, come to worship Çiva, in
fear of being seized by the unworthy; or Rati, undertaking a rite
of propitiation to conciliate him, for the sake of Kama's body;
or Lakshmi, goddess of the Milky Ocean, longing for a digit of
Çiva's moon, her familiar friend of yore when they dwelt together
in the deep; or the embodied moon seeking Çiva's protection from
Rahu; or the beauty of Airavata, [253] come to fulfil Çiva's wish
to wear an elephant's skin; or the brightness of the smile on the
right face of Çiva become manifest and taking a separate abode; or
the white ash with which Çiva besprinkles himself, in bodily shape;
or moonlight made manifest to dispel the darkness of Çiva's neck;
or the embodied purity of Gauri's mind; or the impersonate chastity
of Kartikeya; or the brightness of Çiva's bull, dwelling apart from
his body; (260) or the wealth of flowers on the temple trees come of
themselves to worship Çiva; or the fulness of Brahma's penance come
down to earth; or the glory of the Prajapatis of the Golden Age,
resting after the fatigue of wandering through the seven worlds;
or the Three Vedas, dwelling in the woods in grief at the overthrow
of righteousness in the Kali Age; or the germ of a future Golden Age,
in the form of a maiden; or the fulness of a muni's contemplation, in
human shape; or a troop of heavenly elephants, falling into confusion
on reaching the heavenly Ganges; or the beauty of Kailasa, fallen in
dread of being uprooted by Ravana; or the Lakshmi of the Çvetadvipa
[254] come to behold another continent; or the grace of an opening
kaça-blossom looking for the autumn; or the brightness of Çesha's
body leaving hell and come to earth; or the brilliance of Balarama,
which had left him in weariness of his intoxication; or a succession
of bright fortnights massed together.
'"She seemed from her whiteness to have taken a share from all the
hamsas; (261) or to have come from the heart of righteousness; or to
have been fashioned from a shell; or drawn from a pearl; or formed
from lotus-fibres; or made of flakes of ivory; or purified by brushes
of moonbeams; or inlaid with lime; or whitened with foam-balls of
ambrosia; or laved in streams of quicksilver; or rubbed with melted
silver; or dug out from the moon's orb; or decked with the hues of
kutaja, jasmine, and sinduvara flowers. She seemed, in truth, to be
the very furthest bound of whiteness. Her head was bright with matted
locks hanging on her shoulders, made, as it were, of the brightness of
morning rays taken from the sun on the Eastern Mountain, tawny like
the quivering splendour of flashing lightning, and, being wet from
recent bathing, marked with the dust of Çiva's feet clasped in her
devotion; she bore Çiva's feet marked with his name in jewels on her
head, fastened with a band of hair; (262) and her brow had a sectarial
mark of ashes pure as the dust of stars ground by the heels of the
sun's horses. (266) She was a goddess, and her age could not be known
by earthly reckoning, but she resembled a maiden of eighteen summers.
'"Having beheld her, Candrapida dismounted, tied his horse to a
bough, and then, reverently bowing before the blessed Çiva, gazed
again on that heavenly maiden with a steady unswerving glance. And
as her beauty, grace, and serenity stirred his wonder, the thought
arose in him: 'How in this world each matter in its turn becomes of
no value! For when I was pursuing the pair of Kinnaras wantonly and
vainly I beheld this most beautiful place, inaccessible to men, and
haunted by the immortals. (267) Then in my search for water I saw
this delightful lake sought by the Siddhas. While I rested on its
bank I heard a divine song; and as I followed the sound, this divine
maiden, too fair for mortal sight, met my eyes. For I cannot doubt
her divinity. Her very beauty proclaims her a goddess. And whence
in the world of men could there arise such harmonies of heavenly
minstrelsy? If, therefore, she vanishes not from my sight, nor mounts
the summit of Kailasa, nor flies to the sky, I will draw near and ask
her, "Who art thou, and what is thy name, and why hast thou in the
dawn of life undertaken this vow?" This is all full of wonder.' With
this resolve he approached another pillar of the crystal shrine,
and sat there, awaiting the end of the song.
'"Then when she had stilled her lute, like a moon-lotus bed when
the pleasant hum of the bees is silenced, (268) the maiden rose,
made a sunwise turn and an obeisance to Çiva, and then turning round,
with a glance by nature clear, and by the power of penance confident,
she, as it were, gave courage to Candrapida, as if thereby she were
sprinkling him with merits, laving him with holy water, purifying him
with penance, freeing him from stain, giving him his heart's desire,
and leading him to purity.
'"'Hail to my guest!' said she. 'How has my lord reached this
place? Rise, draw near, and receive a guest's due welcome.' So she
spake; and he, deeming himself honoured even by her deigning to speak
with him, reverently arose and bowed before her. 'As thou biddest,
lady,' he replied, and showed his courtesy by following in her steps
like a pupil. And on the way he thought: 'Lo, even when she beheld me
she did not vanish! Truly a hope of asking her questions has taken hold
of my heart. And when I see the courteous welcome, rich in kindness,
of this maiden, fair though she be with a beauty rare in ascetics,
I surely trust that at my petition she will tell me all her story.'
(269) '"Having gone about a hundred paces, he beheld a cave, with
its entrance veiled by dense tamalas, showing even by day a night of
their own; its edge was vocal with the glad bees' deep murmur on the
bowers of creepers with their opening blossoms; it was bedewed with
torrents that in their sheer descent fell in foam, dashing against
the white rock, and cleft by the axe-like points of the jagged
cliff, with a shrill crash as the cold spray rose up and broke;
it was like a mass of waving cowries hanging from a door, from the
cascades streaming down on either side, white as Çiva's smile, or as
pearly frost. Within was a circle of jewelled pitchers; on one side
hung a veil worn in sacred meditation; a clean pair of shoes made of
cocoanut matting hung on a peg; one corner held a bark bed gray with
dust scattered by the ashes the maiden wore; the place of honour was
filled by a bowl of shell carved with a chisel, like the orb of the
moon; and close by there stood a gourd of ashes.
'"On the rock at the entrance Candrapida took his seat, and when the
maiden, having laid her lute on the pillow of the bark bed, took in
a leafy cup some water from the cascade to offer to her guest, and he
said as she approached (270): 'Enough of these thy great toils. Cease
this excess of grace. Be persuaded, lady. Let this too great honour
be abandoned. The very sight of thee, like the aghamarshana hymn,
stills all evil and sufficeth for purification. Deign to take thy
seat!' Yet being urged by her, he reverently, with head bent low,
accepted all the homage she gave to her guest. When her cares for
her guest were over, she sat down on another rock, and after a short
silence he told, at her request, the whole story of his coming in
pursuit of the pair of Kinnaras, beginning with his expedition of
conquest. The maiden then rose, and, taking a begging bowl, wandered
among the trees round the temple; and ere long her bowl was filled
with fruits that had fallen of their own accord. As she invited
Candrapida to the enjoyment of them, the thought arose in his heart:
'Of a truth, there is nought beyond the power of penance. For it is
a great marvel how the lords of the forest, albeit devoid of sense,
yet, like beings endowed with sense, gain honour for themselves by
casting down their fruits for this maiden. A wondrous sight is this,
and one never seen before.'
'"So, marvelling yet more, he brought Indrayudha to that spot,
unsaddled him, and tied him up hard by. (271) Then, having bathed in
the torrent, he partook of the fruits, sweet as ambrosia, and drank
the cool water of the cascade, and having rinsed his mouth, he waited
apart while the maiden enjoyed her repast of water, roots, and fruit.
'"When her meal was ended and she had said her evening prayer, and
taken her seat fearlessly on the rock, the Prince quietly approached
her, and sitting down near her, paused awhile and then respectfully
said:
'"'Lady, the folly that besets mankind impels me even against my
will to question thee, for I am bewildered by a curiosity that has
taken courage from thy kindness. For even the slightest grace of
a lord emboldens a weak nature: even a short time spent together
creates intimacy. Even a slight acceptance of homage produces
affection. Therefore, if it weary thee not, I pray thee to honour me
with thy story. For from my first sight of thee a great eagerness has
possessed me as to this matter. Is the race honoured by thy birth,
lady, that of the Maruts, or Rishis, or Gandharvas, or Guhyakas,
or Apsarases? And wherefore in thy fresh youth, tender as a flower,
has this vow been taken? (272) For how far apart would seem thy youth,
thy beauty, and thine exceeding grace, from this thy peace from all
thoughts of earth! This is marvellous in mine eyes! And wherefore
hast thou left the heavenly hermitages that gods may win, and that
hold all things needful for the highest saints, to dwell alone in
this deserted wood? And whereby hath thy body, though formed of the
five gross elements, put on this pure whiteness? Never have I heard
or seen aught such as this. I pray thee dispel my curiosity, and tell
me all I ask.'
'"For a little time she pondered his request in silence, and then she
began to weep noiselessly, and her eyes were blinded by tears which
fell in large drops, carrying with them the purity of her heart,
showering down the innocence of her senses, distilling the essence
of asceticism, dropping in a liquid form the brightness of her eyes,
most pure, falling on her white cheeks like a broken string of pearls,
unceasing, splashing on her bosom covered by the bark robe.
(273) '"And as he beheld her weeping Candrapida reflected: 'How hardly
can misfortune be warded off, if it takes for its own a beauty like
this, which one might have deemed beyond its might! Of a truth there
is none whom the sorrows of life in the body leave untouched. Strong
indeed is the working of the opposed powers of pleasure and pain. [255]
These her tears have created in me a further curiosity, even greater
than before. It is no slight grief that can take its abode in a
form like hers. For it is not a feeble blow that causes the earth
to tremble.'
'"While his curiosity was thus increased he felt himself guilty of
recalling her grief, and rising, brought in his folded hand from the
torrent some water to bathe her face. But she, though the torrent of
her tears was in nowise checked by his gentleness, yet bathed her
reddened eyes, and drying her face with the edge of her bark robe,
slowly said with a long and bitter sigh:
(274) '"'Wherefore, Prince, wilt thou hear the story of my ascetic
life, all unfit for thy ears? for cruel has been my heart, hard my
destiny, and evil my condition, even from my birth. Still, if thy
desire to know be great, hearken. It has come within the range of
our hearing, usually directed to auspicious knowledge, that there
are in the abode of the gods maidens called Apsarases. Of these
there are fourteen families: one sprung from the mind of Brahma,
another from the Vedas, another from fire, another from the wind,
another from nectar when it was churned, another from water, another
from the sun's rays, another from the moon's beams, another from
earth, and another from lightning; one was fashioned by Death, and
another created by Love; besides, Daksha, father of all, had among
his many daughters two, Muni and Arishta, and from their union with
the Gandharvas were sprung the other two families. These are, in sum,
the fourteen races. But from the Gandharvas and the daughters of
Daksha sprang these two families. Here Muni bore a sixteenth son, by
name Citraratha, who excelled in virtues Sena and all the rest of his
fifteen brothers. For his heroism was famed through the three worlds;
his dignity was increased by the name of Friend, bestowed by Indra,
whose lotus feet are caressed by the crests of the gods cast down
before him; and even in childhood he gained the sovereignty of all the
Gandharvas by a right arm tinged with the flashing of his sword. (275)
Not far hence, north of the land of Bharata, is his dwelling, Hemakuta,
a boundary mountain in the Kimpurusha country. There, protected by
his arm, dwell innumerable Gandharvas. By him this pleasant wood,
Caitraratha, was made, this great lake Acchoda was dug out, and this
image of Çiva was fashioned. But the son of Arishta, in the second
Gandharva family, was as a child anointed king by Citraratha, lord of
the Gandharvas, and now holds royal rank, and with a countless retinue
of Gandharvas dwells likewise on this mountain. Now, from that family
of Apsarases which sprang from the moon's nectar was born a maiden,
fashioned as though by the grace of all the moon's digits poured in
one stream, gladdening the eyes of the universe, moonbeam-fair, in
name and nature a second Gauri. [256] (276) Her Hamsa, lord of the
second family, wooed, as the Milky Ocean the Ganges; with him she
was united, as Rati with Kama, or the lotus-bed with the autumn;
and enjoying the great happiness of such a union she became the
queen of his zenana. To this noble pair I was born as only daughter,
ill-omened, a prey for grief, and a vessel for countless sorrows;
my father, however, having no other child, greeted my birth with a
great festival, surpassing that for a son, and on the tenth day, with
the customary rites he gave me the fitting name of Mahaçveta. In his
palace I spent my childhood, passed from lap to lap of the Gandharva
dames, like a lute, as I murmured the prattle of babyhood, ignorant as
yet of the sorrows of love; but in time fresh youth came to me as the
honey-month to the spring, fresh shoots to the honey-month, flowers
to the fresh shoots, bees to the flowers, and honey to the bees.
'"' [257]And one day in the month of honey I went down with my mother
to the Acchoda lake to bathe, when its beauties were spread wide in
the spring, and all its lotuses were in flower.
(278) '"'I worshipped the pictures of Çiva, attended by Bringiriti,
which were carved on the rocks of the bank by Parvati when she came
down to bathe, and which had the reverential attendance of ascetics
portrayed by the thin footprints left in the dust. "How beautiful!" I
cried, "is this bower of creepers, with its clusters of flowers of
which the bees' weight has broken the centre and bowed the filaments;
this mango is fully in flower, and the honey pours through the holes in
the stalks of its buds, which the cuckoo's sharp claws have pierced;
how cool this sandal avenue, which the serpents, terrified at the
murmur of hosts of wild peacocks, have deserted; how delightful the
waving creepers, which betray by their fallen blossoms the swinging of
the wood-nymphs upon them; how pleasant the foot of the trees on the
bank where the kalahamsas have left the line of their steps imprinted
in the pollen of many a flower!" Drawn on thus by the ever-growing
charms of the wood, I wandered with my companions. (279) And at a
certain spot I smelt the fragrance of a flower strongly borne on the
wind, overpowering that of all the rest, though the wood was in full
blossom; it drew near, and by its great sweetness seemed to anoint, to
delight, and to fill the sense of smell. Bees followed it, seeking to
make it their own: it was truly a perfume unknown heretofore, and fit
for the gods. I, too, eager to learn whence it came, with eyes turned
into buds, and drawn on like a bee by that scent, and attracting to
me the kalahamsas of the lake by the jangling of my anklets loudly
clashed in the tremulous speed of my curiosity, advanced a few steps
and beheld a graceful youthful ascetic coming down to bathe. He was
like Spring doing penance in grief for Love made the fuel of Çiva's
fire, or the crescent on Çiva's brow performing a vow to win a full
orb, or Love restrained in his eagerness to conquer Çiva: by his great
splendour he appeared to be girt by a cage of quivering lightning,
embosomed in the globe of the summer sun, or encircled in the flames
of a furnace: (280) by the brightness of his form, flashing forth ever
more and more, yellow as lamplight, he made the grove a tawny gold;
his locks were yellow and soft like an amulet dyed in gorocana. The
line of ashes on his brow made him like Ganges with the line of a
fresh sandbank, as though it were a sandal-mark to win Sarasvati,
[258] and played the part of a banner of holiness; his eyebrows were
an arch rising high over the abode of men's curses; his eyes were
so long that he seemed to wear them as a chaplet; he shared with
the deer the beauty of their glance; his nose was long and aquiline;
the citron of his lower lip was rosy as with the glow of youth, which
was refused an entrance to his heart; with his beardless cheek he was
like a fresh lotus, the filaments of which have not yet been tossed
by the bees in their sport; he was adorned with a sacrificial thread
like the bent string of Love's bow, or a filament from the lotus grove
of the pool of penance; in one hand he bore a pitcher like a kesara
fruit with its stalk; in the other a crystal rosary, strung as it were
with the tears of Rati wailing in grief for Love's death. (281) His
loins were girt with a muñja-grass girdle, as though he had assumed
a halo, having outvied the sun by his innate splendour; the office
of vesture was performed by the bark of the heavenly coral-tree,
[259] bright as the pink eyelid of an old partridge, and washed in
the waves of the heavenly Ganges; he was the ornament of ascetic
life, the youthful grace of holiness, the delight of Sarasvati, the
chosen lord of all the sciences, and the meeting-place of all divine
tradition. He had, like the summer season, [260] his ashadha [261];
he had, like a winter wood, the brightness of opening millet, and he
had like the month of honey, a face adorned with white tilaka. [262]
With him there was a youthful ascetic gathering flowers to worship
the gods, his equal in age and a friend worthy of himself.
(282) '"'Then I saw a wondrous spray of flowers which decked his ear,
like the bright smile of woodland Çri joying in the sight of spring,
or the grain-offering of the honey-month welcoming the Malaya winds, or
the youth of the Lakshmi of flowers, or the cowrie that adorns Love's
elephant; it was wooed by the bees; the Pleiads lent it their grace;
and its honey was nectar. "Surely," I decided, "this is the fragrance
which makes all other flowers scentless," and gazing at the youthful
ascetic, the thought arose in my mind: "Ah, how lavish is the Creator
who has skill [263] to produce the highest perfection of form, for he
has compounded Kama of all miraculous beauty, excelling the universe,
and yet has created this ascetic even more fair, surpassing him, like a
second love-god, born of enchantment. (283) Methinks that when Brahma
[264] made the moon's orb to gladden the world, and the lotuses to be
Lakshmi's palace of delight, he was but practising to gain skill for
the creation of this ascetic's face; why else should such things be
created? Surely it is false that the sun with its ray Sushumna [265]
drinks all the digits of the moon as it wanes in the dark fortnight,
for their beams are cast down to enter this fair form. How otherwise
could there be such grace in one who lives in weary penance, beauty's
destroyer?" As I thus thought, Love, beauty's firm adherent, who knows
not good from ill, and who is ever at hand to the young, enthralled
me, together with my sighs, as the madness of spring takes captive
the bee. Then with a right eye gazing steadily, the eyelashes half
closed, the iris darkened by the pupil's tremulous sidelong glance,
I looked long on him. With this glance I, as it were, drank him in,
besought him, told him I was wholly his, offered my heart, tried
to enter into him with my whole soul, sought to be absorbed in him,
implored his protection to save Love's victim, showed my suppliant
state that asked for a place in his heart; (284) and though I asked
myself, "What is this shameful feeling that has arisen in me, unseemly
and unworthy a noble maiden?" yet knowing this, I could not master
myself, but with great difficulty stood firm, gazing at him. For
I seemed to be paralyzed, or in a picture, or scattered abroad, or
bound, or in a trance, and yet in wondrous wise upheld, as though
when my limbs were failing, support was at the same moment given;
for I know not how one can be certain in a matter that can neither
be told nor taught, and that is not capable of being told, for it
is only learnt from within. Can it be ascertained as presented by
his beauty, or by my own mind, or by love, or by youth or affection,
or by any other causes? I cannot tell. Lifted up and dragged towards
him by my senses, led forward by my heart, urged from behind by Love,
I yet by a strong effort restrained my impulse. (285) Straightway
a storm of sighs went forth unceasingly, prompted by Love as he
strove to find a place within me; and my bosom heaved as longing to
speak earnestly to my heart, and then I thought to myself: "What an
unworthy action is this of vile Kama, who surrenders me to this cold
ascetic free from all thoughts of love! Truly, the heart of woman
is foolish exceedingly, since it cannot weigh the fitness of that
which it loves. For what has this bright home of glory and penance
to do with the stirrings of love that meaner men welcome? Surely
in his heart he scorns me for being thus deceived by Kama! Strange
it is that I who know this cannot restrain my feeling! (286) Other
maidens, indeed, laying shame aside, have of their own accord gone
to their lords; others have been maddened by that reckless love-god;
but not as I am here alone! How in that one moment has my heart been
thrown into turmoil by the mere sight of his form, and passed from my
control! for time for knowledge and good qualities always make Love
invincible. It is best for me to leave this place while I yet have
my senses, and while he does not clearly see this my hateful folly
of love. Perchance if he sees in me the effects of a love he cannot
approve, he will in wrath make me feel his curse. For ascetics are
ever prone to wrath." Thus having resolved, I was eager to depart,
but, remembering that holy men should be reverenced by all, I made an
obeisance to him with eyes turned to his face, eyelashes motionless,
not glancing downwards, my cheek uncaressed by the flowers dancing
in my ears, my garland tossing on my waving hair, and my jewelled
earrings swinging on my shoulders.
'"'As I thus bent, the irresistible command of love, the inspiration
of the spring, the charm of the place, the frowardness of youth, the
unsteadiness of the senses, (287) the impatient longing for earthly
goods, the fickleness of the mind, the destiny that rules events--in
a word, my own cruel fate, and the fact that all my trouble was
caused by him, were the means by which Love destroyed his firmness
by the sight of my feeling, and made him waver towards me like a
flame in the wind. He too was visibly thrilled, as if to welcome the
newly-entering Love; his sighs went before him to show the way to his
mind which was hastening towards me; the rosary in his hand trembled
and shook, fearing the breaking of his vow; drops rose on his cheek,
like a second garland hanging from his ear; his eyes, as his pupils
dilated and his glance widened in the joy of beholding me, turned
the spot to a very lotus-grove, so that the ten regions were filled
by the long rays coming forth like masses of open lotuses that had
of their own accord left the Acchoda lake and were rising to the sky.
'"'By the manifest change in him my love was redoubled, and I fell
that moment into a state I cannot describe, all unworthy of my
caste. "Surely," I reflected, "Kama himself teaches this play of the
eye, though generally after a long happy love, else whence comes this
ascetic's gaze? (288) For his mind is unversed in the mingled feelings
of earthly joys, and yet his eyes, though they have never learnt the
art, pour forth the stream of love's sweetness, rain nectar, are half
closed by joy, are slow with distress, heavy with sleep, roaming with
pupils tremulous and languid with the weight of gladness, and yet
bright with the play of his eyebrows. Whence comes this exceeding
skill that tells the heart's longing wordlessly by a glance alone?"
'"'Impelled by these thoughts I advanced, and bowing to the second
young ascetic, his companion, I asked: "What is the name of his
Reverence? Of what ascetic is he the son? From what tree is this
garland woven? For its scent, hitherto unknown, and of rare sweetness,
kindles great curiosity in me."
'"'With a slight smile, he replied: "Maiden, what needs this
question? But I will enlighten thy curiosity. Listen!
'"'"There dwells in the world of gods a great sage, Çvetaketu; his
noble character is famed through the universe; his feet are honoured by
bands of siddhas, gods, and demons; (289) his beauty, exceeding that
of Nalakubara, [266] is dear to the three worlds, and gladdens the
hearts of goddesses. Once upon a time, when seeking lotuses for the
worship of the gods, he went down to the Heavenly Ganges, which lay
white as Çiva's smile, while its water was studded as with peacocks'
eyes by the ichor of Airavata. Straightway Lakshmi, enthroned on
a thousand-petalled white lotus close by, beheld him coming down
among the flowers, and looking on him, she drank in his beauty with
eyes half closed by love, and quivering with weight of joyous tears,
and with her slender fingers laid on her softly-opening lips; and
her heart was disturbed by Love; by her glance alone she won his
affection. A son was born, and taking him in her arms with the words,
'Take him, for he is thine,' she gave him to Çvetaketu, who performed
all the rites of a son's birth, and called him Pundarika, because he
was born in a pundarika lotus. Moreover, after initiation, he led him
through the whole circle of the arts. (290) This is Pundarika whom you
see. And this spray comes from the parijata tree, [267] which rose
when the Milky Ocean was churned by gods and demons. How it gained
a place in his ear contrary to his vow, I will now tell. This being
the fourteenth day of the month, he started with me from heaven to
worship Çiva, who had gone to Kailasa. On the way, near the Nandana
Wood, a nymph, drunk with the juice of flowers, wearing fresh mango
shoots in her ear, veiled completely by garlands falling to the knees,
girt with kesara flowers, and resting on the fair hand lent her by the
Lakshmi of spring, took this spray of parijata, and bending low, thus
addressed Pundarika: 'Sir, let, I pray, this thy form, that gladdens
the eyes of the universe, have this spray as its fitting adornment;
let it be placed on the tip of thy ear, for it has but the playfulness
that belongs to a garland; let the birth of the parijata now reap
its full blessing!' At her words, his eyes were cast down in modesty
at the praise he so well deserved, and he turned to depart without
regarding her; but as I saw her following us, I said, 'What is the
harm, friend. Let her courteous gift be accepted!' and so by force,
against his will, the spray adorns his ear. Now all has been told:
who he is, whose son, and what this flower is, and how it has been
raised to his ear." (291) When he had thus spoken, Pundarika said to
me with a slight smile: "Ah, curious maiden, why didst thou take the
trouble to ask this? If the flower, with its sweet scent, please thee,
do thou accept it," and advancing, he took it from his own ear and
placed it in mine, as though, with the soft murmur of the bees on it,
it were a prayer for love. At once, in my eagerness to touch his hand,
a thrill arose in me, like a second parijata flower, where the garland
lay; while he, in the pleasure of touching my cheek, did not see that
from his tremulous fingers he had dropped his rosary at the same time
as his timidity; but before it reached the ground I seized it, and
playfully placed it on my neck, where it wore the grace of a necklace
unlike all others, while I learnt the joy of having my neck clasped,
as it were, by his arm.
'"'As our hearts were thus occupied with each other, my umbrella-bearer
addressed me: "Princess, the Queen has bathed. It is nearly time
to go home. Do thou, therefore, also bathe." At her words, like a
newly-caught elephant, rebellious at the first touch of the new hook,
I was unwillingly dragged away, and as I went down to bathe, I could
hardly withdraw my eyes, for they seemed to be drowned in the ambrosial
beauty of his face, or caught in the thicket of my thrilling cheek,
or pinned down by Love's shafts, or sewn fast by the cords [268]
of his charms.
(292) '"'Meanwhile, the second young ascetic, seeing that he was
losing his self-control, gently upbraided him: "Dear Pundarika, this
is unworthy of thee. This is the way trodden by common men. For the
good are rich in self-control. Why dost thou, like a man of low caste,
fail to restrain the turmoil of thy soul? Whence comes this hitherto
unknown assault of the senses, which so transforms thee? Where is
thine old firmness? Where thy conquest of the senses? Where thy
self-control? Where thy calm of mind, thine inherited holiness,
thy carelessness of earthly things? Where the teaching of thy guru,
thy learning of the Vedas, thy resolves of asceticism, thy hatred of
pleasure, thine aversion to vain delights, thy passion for penance, thy
distaste for enjoyments, thy rule over the impulses of youth? Verily
all knowledge is fruitless, study of holy books is useless, initiation
has lost its meaning, pondering the teaching of gurus avails not,
proficiency is worthless, learning leads to nought, since even men like
thee are stained by the touch of passion, and overcome by folly. (293)
Thou dost not even see that thy rosary has fallen from thy hand,
and has been carried away. Alas! how good sense fails in men thus
struck down. Hold back this heart of thine, for this worthless girl
is seeking to carry it away."
'"'To these words he replied, with some shame: "Dear Kapiñjala,
why dost thou thus misunderstand me? I am not one to endure this
reckless girl's offence in taking my rosary!" and with his moonlike
face beautiful in its feigned wrath, and adorned the more by the dread
frown he tried to assume, while his lip trembled with longing to kiss
me, he said to me, "Playful maiden, thou shalt not move a step from
this place without giving back my rosary." Thereupon I loosed from
my neck a single row of pearls as the flower-offering that begins
a dance in Kama's honour, and placed it in his outstretched hand,
while his eyes were fixed on my face, and his mind was far away. I
started to bathe, but how I started I know not, for my mother and my
companions could hardly lead me away by force, like a river driven
backwards, and I went home thinking only of him.
(294) '"'And entering the maidens' dwelling, I began straightway to ask
myself in my grief at his loss: "Am I really back, or still there? Am
I alone, or with my maidens? Am I silent, or beginning to speak? Am
I awake or asleep? Do I weep or hold back my tears? Is this joy or
sorrow, longing or despair, misfortune or gladness, day or night? Are
these things pleasures or pains?" All this I understood not. In my
ignorance of Love's course, I knew not whither to go, what to do,
hear, see, or speak, whom to tell, nor what remedy to seek. Entering
the maidens' palace, I dismissed my friends at the door, and shut
out my attendants, and then, putting aside all my occupations, I
stood alone with my face against the jewelled window. I gazed at the
region which, in its possession of him, was richly decked, endowed
with great treasure, overflowed by the ocean of nectar, adorned with
the rising of the full moon, and most fair to behold, I longed to ask
his doings even of the breeze wafted from thence, or of the scent of
the woodland flowers, or of the song of the birds. (295) I envied even
the toils of penance for his devotion to them. For his sake, in the
blind adherence of love, I took a vow of silence. I attributed grace
to the ascetic garb, because he accepted it, beauty to youth because
he owned it, charm to the parijata flower because it touched his ear,
delight to heaven because he dwelt there, and invincible power to
love because he was so fair. Though far away, I turned towards him
as the lotus-bed to the sun, the tide to the moon, or the peacock
to the cloud. I bore on my neck his rosary, like a charm against the
loss of the life stricken by his absence. I stood motionless, though
a thrill made the down on my cheek like a kadamba flower ear-ring,
as it rose from the joy of being touched by his hand, and from the
parijata spray in my ear, which spoke sweetly to me of him.
'"'Now my betel-bearer, Taralika, had been with me to bathe; she came
back after me rather late, and softly addressed me in my sadness:
"Princess, one of those godlike ascetics we saw on the bank of Lake
Acchoda--(296) he by whom this spray of the heavenly tree was placed
in thy ear--as I was following thee, eluded the glance of his other
self, and approaching me with soft steps between the branches of a
flowering creeper, asked me concerning thee, saying, 'Damsel, who is
this maiden? Whose daughter is she? What is her name? And whither goes
she?' I replied: 'She is sprung from Gauri, an Apsaras of the moon
race, and her father Hamsa is king of all the Gandharvas; the nails of
his feet are burnished by the tips of the jewelled aigrettes on the
turbans of all the Gandharvas; his tree-like arms are marked by the
cosmetics on the cheeks of his Gandharva wives, and the lotus-hand of
Lakshmi forms his footstool. The princess is named Mahaçveta, and she
has set out now for the hill of Hemakuta, the abode of the Gandharvas.'
'"'"When this tale had been told by me, he thought silently for a
moment, and then looking long at me with a steady gaze, as if gently
entreating me, he said: 'Damsel, thy form, young as thou art, is of
fair promise, and augurs truth and steadfastness. Grant me, therefore,
one request.' Courteously raising my hands, I reverently replied:
(297) 'Wherefore say this? Who am I? When great-souled men such as
thou, meet for the honour of the whole universe, deign to cast even
their sin-removing glance on one like me, their act wins merit--much
more if they give a command. Say, therefore, freely what is to be
done. Let me be honoured by thy bidding.'
'"'"Thus addressed, he saluted me with a kindly glance, as a friend,
a helper, or a giver of life; and taking a shoot from a tamala-tree
hard by, he crushed it on the stones of the bank, broke off a piece
from his upper bark garment as a tablet, and with the tamala-juice,
sweet as the ichor of a gandha elephant, wrote with the nail of the
little finger of his lotus-hand, and placed it in my hand, saying, 'Let
this letter be secretly given by thee to that maiden when alone.'" With
these words she drew it from the betel-box and showed it to me.
'"'As I took from her hand that bark letter, I was filled with this
talk about him, which, though but a sound, produced the joy of contact,
and though for the ears alone, had its pervading presence in all my
limbs manifested by a thrill, as if it were a spell to invoke Love;
and in his letter I beheld these lines: [269]
A hamsa on the Manas lake, lured by a creeper's treacherous shine,
My heart is led a weary chase, lured by that pearly wreath of
thine. [270]
(298) '"'By the reading of this, an even greater change for the worse
was wrought in my lovesick mind, as in one who has lost his way,
by also losing his bearings; as in a blind man, by a night of the
dark fortnight; as in a dumb man, by cutting out the tongue; as in an
ignorant man, by a conjuror's waving fan; as in a confused talker,
by the delirium of fever; as in one poisoned, by the fatal sleep;
as in a wicked man, by atheistic philosophy; as in one distraught, by
strong drink; or as in one possessed, by the action of the possessing
demon; so that in the turmoil it created in me, I was tossed like a
river in flood. I honoured Taralika for having seen him again, as one
who had acquired great merit, or who had tasted the joys of heaven,
or had been visited by a god, or had her highest boon granted, or
had drunk nectar, or had been anointed queen of the three worlds. I
spoke to her reverently, as if, though always by me, she were a
rare visitant, and though my familiar friend, she were hitherto
unknown. I looked on her, though behind me, as above the world;
I tenderly caressed the curls on her cheek, and entirely set at
nought the condition of mistress and maid, again and again asking,
(299) "How was he seen by thee? What did he say to thee? How long
wert thou there? How far did he follow us?" And shutting out all my
attendants, I spent the whole day with her in the palace, listening to
that tale. The sun's orb hanging in the sky became crimson, sharing
my heart's glow; the Lakshmi of sunlight longing for the sight of
the flushed sun, and preparing her lotus-couch, turned pale as though
faint with love; the sunbeams, rosy as they fell on waters dyed with
red chalk, rose from the lotus-beds clustering like herds of woodland
elephants; the day, with an echo of the joyous neighing of the steeds
of the sun's chariot longing to rest after their descent of the sky,
entered the caves of Mount Meru; the lotus-beds, as the bees entered
the folded leaves of the red lilies, seemed to close their eyes as
though their hearts were darkened by a swoon at the sun's departure;
the pairs of cakravakas, each taking the other's heart, safely hidden
in the hollow lotus-stalks whereof they had eaten together, were
now parted; and my umbrella-bearer approaching me, said as follows:
(300) "Princess, one of those youthful hermits is at the door, and
says he has come to beg for a rosary." At the hermit's name, though
motionless, I seemed to approach the door, and suspecting the reason of
his coming, I summoned another chamberlain, whom I sent, saying, "Go
and admit him." A moment later I beheld the young ascetic Kapiñjala,
who is to Pundarika as youth to beauty, love to youth, spring to love,
southern breezes to spring, and who is indeed a friend worthy of him;
he followed the hoary chamberlain as sunlight after moonlight. As he
drew near his appearance betrayed to me trouble, sadness, distraction,
entreaty, and a yearning unfulfilled. With a reverence I rose and
respectfully brought him a seat; and when he was reluctantly forced
to accept it, I washed his feet and dried them on the silken edge of
my upper robe; and then sat by him on the bare ground. For a moment
he waited, as if eager to speak, when he cast his eyes on Taralika
close by. Knowing his desire at a glance, I said, "Sir, she is one
with me. (301) Speak fearlessly." At my words Kapiñjala replied:
"Princess, what can I say? for through shame my voice does not reach
the sphere of utterance. How far is the passionless ascetic who
lives on roots in the woods from the illusion of passion that finds
its home in restless souls, and is stained with longing for earthly
pleasures, and filled with the manifold sports of the Love God. See how
unseemly all this is! What has fate begun? God easily turns us into
a laughing-stock! I know not if this be fitting with bark garments,
or seemly for matted locks, or meet for penance, or consonant with the
teaching of holiness! Such a mockery was never known! I needs must
tell you the story. No other course is visible; no other remedy is
perceived; no other refuge is at hand; no other way is before me. If
it remains untold, even greater trouble will arise. A friend's life
must be saved even at the loss of our own; so I will tell the tale:
'"'"It was in thy presence that I sternly rebuked Pundarika, and after
that speech I left him in anger and went to another place, leaving
my task of gathering flowers. After thy departure, I remained apart a
short time, (302) and then, becoming anxious as to what he was doing,
I turned back and examined the spot from behind a tree. As I did not
see him there, the thought arose within me, 'His mind was enslaved
by love, and perchance he followed her; and now that she is gone,
he has regained his senses, and is ashamed to come within my sight;
or he has gone from me in wrath, or departed hence to another place
in search of me.' Thus thinking, I waited some time, but, troubled by
an absence I had never since my birth suffered for a moment, I again
thought, 'It may be that, in shame at his failure in firmness, he will
come to some harm; for shame makes everything possible; he must not,
then, be left alone.' With this resolve, I earnestly made search for
him. But as I could not see him, though I sought on all sides, made
anxious by love for my friend, I pictured this or that misfortune,
and wandered long, examining glades of trees, creeper bowers among the
sandal avenues, and the banks of lakes, carefully glancing on every
side. (303) At length I beheld him in a thicket of creepers near
a lake, a very birthplace for spring, most fair, and in its close
growth appearing to be made wholly of flowers, of bees, of cuckoos,
and of peacocks. From his entire absence of employment, he was as one
painted, or engraved, or paralyzed, or dead, or asleep, or in a trance
of meditation; he was motionless, yet wandering from his right course;
alone, yet possessed by Love; all aglow, yet raising a pallid face;
absent-minded, yet giving his love a place within him; silent, and yet
telling a tale of Love's great woe; seated on a stone, yet standing
in face of death. He was tormented by Kama, who yet, in fear of many
a curse, remained unseen. By his great stillness he appeared to be
deserted by the senses which had entered into him to behold the love
that dwelt in his heart, and had fainted in fear at its unbearable
heat, or had left him in wrath at the tossing of his mind. From eyes
steadily closed, and dimmed within by the smoke of Love's keen fire,
he ceaselessly poured forth a storm of tears trickling down through
his eyelashes. (304) The filaments of the creepers near trembled in
the sighs which rushed out, bearing the redness of his lips like the
upstarting ruddy flame of Kama burning his heart. As his hand rested
on his left cheek, his brow, from the clear rays of his nails rising
upwards, seemed to have a fresh mark of sandal very pure; from the late
removal of his earring, the parijata flower, his ear was endowed with
a tamala shoot or a blue lotus by the bees that murmured a charm to
bewitch love, under the guise of their soft hum as they crept up in
longing for what remained of that fragrance. Under the guise of his
hair rising in a passionate thrill he seemed to bear on his limbs a
mass of broken points of the flowery darts of Love's arrows discharged
into his pores. With his right hand he bore on his breast a string of
pearls that, by being interlaced with the flashing rays of his nails,
seemed bristling in joy at the pleasure of touching his palm, and that
was, as it were, a banner of recklessness. He was pelted by the trees
with pollen, like a powder to subdue Love; he was caressed by açoka
shoots tossed by the wind, and transferring to him their rosy glow;
he was besprinkled by woodland Lakshmi with honey-dew from clusters
of fresh flowers, like waters to crown Love; he was struck by Love
with campak buds, which, as their fragrance was drunk in by bees, were
like fiery barbs all smoking; (305) he was rebuked by the south wind,
as if by the hum of the bees maddened by the many scents of the wood;
he was bewildered by the honey-month, as by cries of 'All hail!' to
Spring raised by the cuckoos in their melodious ecstasy. Like the
risen moon, he was robed in paleness; like the stream of Ganges in
summer, he had dwindled to meagreness; like a sandal-tree with a
fire at its heart, he was fading away. He seemed to have entered
on another birth, and was as another man, strange and unfamiliar;
he was changed into another shape. As one entered by an evil spirit,
ruled by a great demon, possessed by a strong devil, drunk, deluded,
blind, deaf, dumb, all merged in joy and love, he had reached the
climax of the mind's slavery when possessed by Love, and his old self
could no longer be known.
'"'"As with a steady glance I long examined his sad state, I became
despondent, and thought in my trembling heart: 'This is of a truth
that Love whose force none can resist; for by him Pundarika has
been in a moment brought to a state for which there is no cure. For
how else could such a storehouse of learning become straightway
unavailing? (306) It is, alas! a miracle in him who from childhood has
been firm of nature and unswerving in conduct, and whose life was the
envy of myself and the other young ascetics. Here, like a mean man,
despising knowledge, contemning the power of penance, he has rooted
up his deep steadfastness, and is paralyzed by Love. A youth which has
never swerved is indeed rare!' I went forward, and sitting down by him
on the same stone, with my hand resting on his shoulder, I asked him,
though his eyes were still closed: 'Dear Pundarika, tell me what this
means.' Then with great difficulty and effort he opened his eyes,
which seemed fastened together by their long closing, and which were
red from incessant weeping and overflowing with tears as if shaken
and in pain, while their colour was that of a red lotus-bed veiled in
white silk. He looked at me long with a very languid glance, and then,
deeply sighing, in accents broken by shame, he slowly and with pain
murmured: 'Dear Kapiñjala, why ask me what thou knowest?' Hearing this,
and thinking that Pundarika was suffering in this way a cureless ill,
but that still, as far as possible, a friend who is entering a wrong
course should be held back to the utmost by those who love him,
I replied: 'Dear Pundarika, I know it well. (307) I will only ask
this question: Is this course you have begun taught by your gurus,
or read in the holy books? or is this a way of winning holiness,
or a fresh form of penance, or a path to heaven, or a mystic vow,
or a means of salvation, or any other kind of discipline? Is this
fitting for thee even to imagine, much less to see or tell? Like a
fool, thou seest not that thou art made a laughing-stock by that
miscreant Love. For it is the fool who is tormented by Love. For
what is thy hope of happiness in such things as are honoured by the
base, but blamed by the good? He truly waters a poison tree under
the idea of duty, or embraces the sword plant for a lotus-wreath, or
lays hold on a black snake, taking it for a line of smoke of black
aloes, or touches a burning coal for a jewel, or tries to pull out
the club-like tusk of a wild elephant, thinking it a lotus-fibre; he
is a fool who places happiness in the pleasures of sense which end
in sorrow. And thou, though knowing the real nature of the senses,
why dost thou carry thy knowledge as the firefly his light, [271]
only to be concealed, in that thou restrainest not thy senses when they
start out of their course like streams turbid [272] in their passionate
onrush? Nor dost thou curb thy tossing mind. (308) Who, forsooth, is
this Love-god? Relying on thy firmness, do thou revile this miscreant.'
'"'"As I thus spoke he wiped with his hand his eyes streaming with
tears poured through his eyelashes, and while he yet leant on me,
replied, rebuking my speech: 'Friend, what need of many words? Thou
at least art untouched! Thou hast not fallen within the range of
Love's shafts, cruel with the poison of snakes! It is easy to teach
another! and when that other has his senses and his mind, and sees,
hears, and knows what he has heard, and can discern good and evil,
he is then fit for advice. But all this is far from me; all talk of
stability, judgment, firmness, reflection, has come to an end. How
do I even breathe but by strong effort? The time for advice is long
past. The opportunity for firmness has been let slip; the hour for
reflection is gone; the season for stability and judgment has passed
away. Who but thee could give advice at this time, or could attempt
to restrain my wandering? To whom but thee should I listen? or who
else in the world is a friend like thee? What ails me that I cannot
restrain myself? Thou sawest in a moment my wretched plight. The
time, then, for advice is now past. (309) While I breathe, I long
for some cure for the fever of love, violent as the rays of twelve
suns [273] at the end of the world. My limbs are baked, my heart is
seething, my eyes are burning, and my body on fire. Do, therefore,
what the time demands.' He then became silent, and after this speech
I tried again and again to rouse him; but as he did not listen even
when tenderly and affectionately exhorted in the words of the pure
teaching of the çastras full of cases like his own, together with
the legendary histories, I thought, 'He is gone too far; he cannot
be turned back. Advice is now useless, so I will make an effort
just to preserve his life.' With this resolve I rose and went, and
tore up some juicy lotus-fibres from the lake; then, taking some
lotus-petals marked by water, I plucked lotuses of all kinds, sweet
with the fragrance of the aromatic pollen within, and prepared a
couch on that same rock in the bower. And as he rested there at ease
(310), I crushed soft twigs of the sandal-trees hard by, and with
its juice, naturally sweet and cold as ice, made a mark on his brow,
and anointed him from head to foot. I allayed the perspiration by
camphor-dust powdered in my hand, broken from the interstices of the
split bark of the trees near, and fanned him with a plantain-leaf
dripping with pure water, while the bark robe he wore was moist with
the sandal placed on his breast; and as I again and again strewed
fresh lotus couches, and anointed him with sandal, and removed the
perspiration, and constantly fanned him, the thought arose in my mind,
'Surely nothing is too hard for Love! For how far apart would seem
Pundarika, by nature simple and content with his woodland home, like
a fawn, and Mahaçveta, the Gandharva princess, a galaxy of graces:
surely there is nothing for Love in the world hard, or difficult, or
unsubdued, or impossible. He scornfully attempts the hardest tasks,
nor can any resist him. For why speak of beings endowed with sense
when, if it so please him, he can bring together even things without
sense? For the night lotus-bed falls in love with the sun's ray,
and the day-lotus leaves her hatred of the moon, and night is joined
to day, (311) and moonlight waits on darkness, and shade stands in
the face of light, and lightning stays firm in the cloud, and old age
accompanies youth; and what more difficult thing can there be than that
one like Pundarika, who is an ocean of unfathomable depth, should thus
be brought to the lightness of grass? Where is his former penance, and
where his present state? Truly it is a cureless ill that has befallen
him! What must I now do or attempt, or whither go, or what refuge or
resource, or help or remedy, or plan, or recourse, is there by which
his life may be sustained? Or by what skill, or device, or means,
or support, or thought, or solace, may he yet live?' These and other
such thoughts arose in my downcast heart. But again I thought, 'What
avails dwelling on this useless thought? His life must be preserved
by any means, good or bad, (312) and there is no other way to save it
but by her union with him; and as he is timid by reason of his youth,
and moreover thinks the affairs of love contrary to his vow, unseemly,
and a mockery in himself, he certainly, even at his last breath, will
not gratify his longing by himself approaching her. This his disease
of love admits no delay. Good men always hold that a friend's life
must be saved even by a blameworthy deed; so that though this is a
shameful and wrong action, it has yet become imperative for me. What
else can be done? What other course is there? I will certainly go to
her. I will tell her his state.' Thus thinking, I left the place on
some pretext, and came hither without telling him, lest perchance
he should feel that I was engaged in an unseemly employment, and
should in shame hold me back. This being the state of affairs,
thou, lady, art the judge of what action is needful for the time,
worthy of so great a love, fitting for my coming, and right for
thyself." With these words he became silent, fixing his eyes on my
face to see what I should say. But I, having heard him, was plunged,
as it were, into a lake of ambrosial joy, or immersed in an ocean
of the sweets of love, floating above all joys, mounting to the
pinnacle of all desires, resting at the utmost bound of gladness. I
showed my happiness by joyful tears pouring clear, large, and heavy,
because my eyelashes were not closed, strung like a garland by their
unceasing succession, and not touching my cheek, because my face was
somewhat bent in sudden shame; (313) and I thought at once: "0 joy,
that Love entangles him as well as me, so that even while tormenting
me, he has in part showed me kindness; and if Pundarika is indeed in
such a plight, what help has not Love given me, or what has he not
done for me, or what friend is like him, or how could a false tale,
even in sleep, pass the lips of the calm-souled Kapiñjala? And if this
be so, what must I do, and what must I say in his presence?" While
I was thus deliberating, a portress hastily entered, and said to me:
"Princess, the Queen has learnt from her attendants that thou art ill,
and is now coming." On hearing this, Kapiñjala, fearing the contact
of a great throng, quickly rose, saying: "Princess, a cause of great
delay has arisen. The sun, the crest-jewel of the three worlds, is
now sinking, so I will depart. But I raise my hands in salutation as
a slight offering for the saving of my dear friend's life; that is
my greatest treasure." (314) Then, without awaiting my reply, he with
difficulty departed, for the door was blocked by the entrance of the
attendants that heralded my Lady Mother. There were the portresses
bearing golden staves; the chamberlains with unguents, cosmetics,
flowers, and betel, holding waving cowries; and in their train were
humpbacks, barbarians, deaf men, eunuchs, dwarfs, and deaf mutes.
'"'Then the Queen came to me, and after a long visit, went home;
but I observed nothing of what she did, said, or attempted while
with me, for my heart was far away. When she went the sun, with his
steeds bright as haritala pigeons, lord of life to the lotuses, and
friend of the cakravakas, had sunk to rest, and the face of the West
was growing crimson, and the lotus-beds were turning green, and the
East was darkening to blue; and the world of mortals was overcome
by a blackness like a wave of the ocean of final destruction turbid
with the mud of hell. I knew not what to do, and asked Taralika,
"Seest thou not, Taralika, how confused is my mind? My senses are
bewildered with uncertainty, and I am unable myself to see in the
least what I should do. (315) Do thou tell me what is right to do, for
Kapiñjala is now gone, and he told his tale in thy presence. What if,
like a base-born maiden, I cast away shame, relinquish self-control,
desert modesty, contemn the reproach of men, transgress good behaviour,
trample on conduct, despise noble birth, accept the disgrace of a
course blinded by love, and without my father's leave, or my mother's
approval, I were to go to him myself and offer him my hand? This
transgression against my parents would be a great wrong. But if,
taking the other alternative, I follow duty, I shall in the first
place accept death, and even so I shall break the heart of his
reverence Kapiñjala, who loved him first, and who came hither of
his own accord. And again, if perchance that man's death is brought
about by my deed in destroying his hopes, then causing the death of
an ascetic would be a grave sin." While I thus considered, the East
became gray with the glimmering light of moonrise, like a line of
woods in spring with the pollen of flowers. And in the moonlight the
eastern quarter showed white as if with the powdered pearls from the
frontal bone of the elephant of darkness torn open by the lion-moon,
(316) or pale with sandal-dust falling from the breast of the nymphs
of the eastern mountain, or light with the rising of sand in an
island left by the tide, stirred by the wind on the waves of the
ever-moving ocean. Slowly the moonlight glided down, and made bright
the face of night, as if it were the flash of her teeth as she softly
smiled at the sight of the moon; then evening shone with the moon's
orb, as if it were the circle of Çesha's hoods breaking through the
earth as it rose from hell; after that, night became fair with the
moon, the gladdener of the world of mortals, the delight of lovers,
now leaving its childhood behind and becoming the ally of Love,
with a youthful glow arising within it, the only fitting light for
the enjoyment of Love's pleasures, ambrosial, climbing the sky like
youth impersonate. Then I beheld the risen moon as if flushed with
the coral of the ocean it had just left, crimsoned with the blood
of its deer struck by the paw of the lion of the Eastern Mountain,
marked with the lac of Rohini's [274] feet, as she spurned her lord
in a love quarrel, (317) and ruddy with his newly-kindled glow. And
I, though the fire of Love burnt within me, had my heart darkened;
though my body rested on the lap of Taralika, I was a captive in the
hands of Love; though my eyes were fixed on the moon, I was looking
on death, and I straightway thought, "There are the honey-month, the
Malaya winds, and all other such things brought together, and in the
same place to have this evil miscreant moon cannot be endured. My
heart cannot bear it. Its rising now is like a shower of coals to
one consumed by fever, or a fall of snow to one ill from cold, or the
bite of a black snake to one faint with the swelling of poison." And
as I thus thought, a swoon closed my eyes, like the sleep brought
by moonlight that withers the lotuses of the day. Soon, however, I
regained consciousness by means of the fanning and sandal unguents
of the bewildered Taralika, and I saw her weeping, her face dimmed
with ceaseless tears, pressing the point of a moist moonstone to my
brow, and seeming possessed by despair impersonate. As I opened my
eyes, she fell at my feet, and said, raising hands yet wet with the
thick sandal ointment: "Princess, why think of shame or disrespect to
parents? Be kind; send me, and I will fetch the beloved of thy heart;
(318) rise, or go thither thyself. Henceforth thou canst not bear
this Love that is an ocean whose manifold passionate waves [275]
are swelling at the rise of a strong moon." To this speech I replied:
"Mad girl, what is love to me? The moon it is, even the lord of the
night lotuses, who removes all scruples, undermines all search for
means of escape, conceals all difficulties, takes away all doubts,
contemns all fears, roots out all shame, veils the sinful levity of
going myself to my lover, avoids all delay, and has come merely to
lead me either to Pundarika or to death. Rise, therefore; for while I
have life I will follow him and honour him who, dear as he is, tortures
my heart." Thus saying, I rose, leaning on her, for my limbs were yet
unsteady with the weakness of the swoon caused by Love, and as I rose
my right eye throbbed, presaging ill, and in sudden terror I thought:
"What new thing is this threatened by Destiny?"
(319) '"'The firmament was now flooded with moonlight, as if the
moon's orb, which had not yet risen far, was, like the waterpipe
of the temple of the universe, discharging a thousand streams of
the heavenly Ganges, pouring forth the waves of an ambrosial ocean,
shedding many a cascade of sandal-juice, and bearing floods of nectar;
the world seemed to learn what life was in the White Continent,
and the pleasures of seeing the land of Soma; the round earth was
being poured out from the depths of a Milky Ocean by the moon, which
was like the rounded tusk of the Great Boar; the moonrise offerings
were being presented in every house by the women with sandal-water
fragrant with open lotuses; the highways were crowded with thousands
of women-messengers sent by fair ladies; girls going to meet their
lovers ran hither and thither, veiled in blue silk and fluttered
by the dread of the bright moonlight as if they were the nymphs of
the white day lotus groves concealed in the splendours of the blue
lotuses; the sky became an alluvial island in the river of night, with
its centre whitened by the thick pollen of the groves of open night
lotuses; while the night lotus-beds in the house-tanks were waking,
encircled by bees which clung to every blossom; (320) the world of
mortals was, like the ocean, unable to contain the joy of moonrise,
and seemed made of love, of festivity, of mirth, and of tenderness:
evening was pleasant with the murmur of peacocks garrulous in gladness
at the cascade that fell from the waterpipes of moonstone.
'"'Taralika accompanied me, holding powders, perfumes, unguents,
betel, and various flowers, and I had also that napkin, wet with
the sandal ointment which had been applied in my swoon, and which
had its nap slightly disordered and gray with the partly-dried
mark of sandalwood clinging to it; the rosary was on my neck; the
parijata spray was kissing the tip of my ear; veiled in red silk
that seemed fashioned from rays of rubies, I went down from the top
of that palace, unseen by any of my devoted attendants. On my way I
was pursued by a swarm of bees, which hastened, leaving lotus-beds
and deserting gardens, drawn by the scent of the parijata spray,
sportively forming a blue veil round me. I departed through the door
of the pleasure-grove and set out to meet Pundarika. (321) As I went,
I thought, seeing myself attended by Taralika only: "What needs pomp
of retinue when we seek our dearest! Surely our servants then but
play a mockery of attendance, for Love follows me with shaft fitted
to the strung bow; the moon, stretching out a long ray, [276] draws
me on like a hand; passion supports me at every step from fear of
a fall; my heart rushes on with the senses, leaving shame behind;
longing has gained certainty, and leads me on." Aloud I said: "Oh,
Taralika, would that this miscreant moon would with its beams seize
him by the hair and draw him forward like myself!" As I thus spoke,
she smilingly replied: "Thou art foolish, my princess! What does
the moon want with Pundarika? Nay, rather, he himself, as though
wounded by Love, does all these things for thee; for under the guise
of his image he kisses thy cheeks marked with drops of perspiration;
with trembling ray he falls on thy fair breast; he touches the gems
of thy girdle; entangled in thy bright nails, he falls at thy feet;
moreover, the form of this lovesick moon wears the pallor of a sandal
unguent dried by fever; (322) he stretches out his rays [277] white
as lotus-fibres; under the guise of his reflection he falls on crystal
pavements; with rays [278] gray as the dust from the filaments inside
the ketaki, he plunges into lotus-pools; he touches with his beams
[279] the moonstones wet with spray; he hates the day lotus-groves
with their pairs of cakravakas once severed." With such discourse
fitting for the time I approached that spot in her company. I then
bathed my feet, gray with pollen from the creeper flowers on our path,
in a spot near Kapiñjala's abode which had a stream of moonstone,
liquefied by moonrise, flowing from Kailasa's slope; and there,
on the left bank of the lake, I heard the sound of a man's weeping,
softened by distance. Some fear had arisen within me at first, from
the quivering of my right eye, and now that my heart was yet more
torn by this cry, as if my downcast mind were telling some dreadful
tidings within, I cried in terror: "Taralika, what means this?" And
with trembling limbs I breathlessly hastened on.
'"'Then I heard afar a bitter cry, clear in the calm of night: "Alas,
I am undone! I am consumed! I am deceived! What is this that has
befallen me? What has happened? I am uprooted! (323) Cruel demon Love,
evil and pitiless, what shameful deed hast thou brought to pass? Ah,
wicked, evil, wanton Mahaçveta, how had he harmed thee? Ah, evil,
wanton, monstrous [280] moon, thou hast gained thy desire. Cruel
soft breeze of the South, thy softness is gone, and thy will is
fulfilled. That which was to be done is done. Go now as thou wilt! Ah,
venerable Çvetaketu, tender to thy son, thou knowest not that thy
life is stolen from thee! Dharma, thou art dispossessed! Penance,
thou art protectorless! Eloquence, thou art widowed! Truth, thou art
lordless! Heaven, thou art void! Friend, protect me! Yet I will follow
thee! I cannot remain even a moment without thee, alone! How canst thou
now suddenly leave me, and go thy way like a stranger on whom my eyes
had never rested? Whence comes this thy great hardness? Say, whither,
without thee, shall I go? Whom shall I implore? What refuge shall I
seek? I am blinded! For me space is empty! Life is aimless, penance
vain, the world void of joy! With whom shall I wander, to whom speak,
with whom hold converse? Do thou arise! Grant me an answer. Friend,
where is thine old love to me? Where that smiling welcome that never
failed me?"
(324) '"'Such were the words I heard Kapiñjala utter; and as I heard
them I uttered a loud cry, while yet far off, as if my life had fallen;
and with my silk cloak torn as it clung to the creepers by the lake's
bank, and my feet placed on the ground regardless of its being rough
or even, and as hastily as I could, I went on to that place, stumbling
at every step, and yet as if led on by one who lifted me up again.
'"'There I beheld Pundarika lying on a couch made on a slab of
moonstone wet with showers of cool spray, close to the lake; it
was made of lotus-fibres like a garland of tender flowers from
all lilies, and seemed to be formed wholly of the points of Love's
arrows. Pundarika seemed from his great stillness to be listening for
the sound of my step. He seemed to have gained a moment's happiness in
sleep, as if Love's pain had been quenched by inward wrath; he seemed
engaged in a yoga penance of holding his breath, as an atonement
for his breach of ascetic duty; he seemed to murmur, with bright yet
trembling lip: "By thy deed am I come to this pass." He seemed pierced
by the moonbeams which, under the guise of his bright finger-nails
placed on a heart throbbing with Love's fire, fell on his back as he
lay averted in hatred of the moon. (325) He bore a mark on his brow
of a line of sandal, which, by its being pale from dryness, was like
a digit of Love's waning moon portending his own destruction. Life
seemed to leave him in anger, saying: "Fool, another is dearer to thee
than I!" His eyes were not wholly closed; their pupils were slightly
turned to look; they were red with ceaseless weeping; they seemed to
drop blood, since by failure of breath his tears were exhausted; and
they were partly curved in pain at Love's darts. He now experienced
the pain of unconsciousness, as if together with the torment of love he
were also yielding life itself; he seemed to meditate a new version of
Love's mystery, and to practise an unwonted retention of breath. His
life seemed to be carried off as a prize [281] by Love, who had in
kindness arranged my coming. On his brow was a sandal tripundraka mark;
he wore a sacrificial thread of juicy lotus-fibre; his dress clung
to his shoulder beautiful as the leaf that ensheathes a plantain;
his rosary had only the thickness of a single row; [282] the ashes on
his brow were of abundant white camphor-powder; he was fair with the
string of lotus-fibre, bound on his arm as an amulet; he seemed to wear
the garb of Love's vow, as if completing a charm for my coming. With
his eye he tenderly uttered the reproach: "Hard-hearted! I was but
followed by one glance, and never again received thy favour." (326)
His lips were slightly open, so that his form gleamed white in the
rays of his teeth, which came forth as if they were moonbeams that
had entered him to take away his life; with his left hand placed on
a heart breaking with the pain of love, he seemed to say: "Be kind,
depart not with my life, thou that art dear as life!" and so to hold
me firmly in his heart; his right hand, which from the uneven rays
of his nails jutting forth seemed to drop sandal, was raised as if to
ward off the moonlight; near him stood his pitcher, the friend of his
penance, with neck upright, as if it gazed at the path by which his
life was just rising; the garland of lotus-fibres which adorned his
neck bound him as if with a rope of moonbeams to lead him to another
world; and when, at the sight of me, Kapiñjala, with a cry of "Help,
help!" raised his hands, and crying aloud with redoubled tears, fell
on his neck, at that very moment I, wicked and ill-fated as I was,
beheld that noble youth yield up his life. The darkness of a swoon came
upon me, and I descended into hell; nor knew I anything of whither
I then went, or what I did or said. Neither knew I why my life did
not at that moment leave me; (327) whether from the utter hardness
of my stupefied heart, or from the callousness to bear thousands
of troubles of my wretched body, or from being fated to endure a
long grief, or from being a vessel of evil earned in another birth,
or from the skill of my cruel destiny in bestowing sorrow, or from
the singular perversity of malign accursed love. Only this I know:
that when at length in my misery I regained consciousness, I found
myself writhing on the ground, tortured, as if I had fallen on a fire,
by a grief too hard to bear. I could not believe aught so impossible
as that he should die and I yet live, and rising with a bitter cry of
"Alas, what is this--mother, father, friends?" I exclaimed: "Ah, my
Lord, thou who upholdest my life, speak to me! Whither goest thou,
pitilessly leaving me alone and protectorless? Ask Taralika what I
have suffered for thy sake. Hardly have I been able to pass the day,
drawn out into a thousand ages. Be gracious! Utter but one word! Show
tenderness to her that loves thee! Look but a little on me! Fulfil
my longing! I am wretched! I am loyal! I am thine in heart! I am
lordless! I am young! I am helpless! I am unhappy! I am bereft of
other refuge! I am vanquished by Love! Why showest thou no pity? Say
what I have done or left undone, what command I have neglected,
or in what thing pleasing to thee I have not shown affection, that
thou art wroth. (328) Fearest thou not the reproach of men in that
thou goest, deserting me, thy handmaid, without cause? Yet why think
of me, perverse and wicked, and skilled to deceive by false shows of
love! Alas, I yet live! Alas, I am accursed and undone! For why? I
have neither thee, nor honour, nor kinsfolk, nor heaven. Shame on
me, a worker of evil deeds, for whose sake this fate hath befallen
thee. There is none of so murderous a heart as I who went home,
leaving one so peerless as thou. What to me were home, mother,
father, kinsfolk, followers? Alas, to what refuge shall I flee? Fate,
show pity to me! I entreat thee. Lady of destiny, give me a boon of
mercy! Show compassion! Protect a lordless lady! Ye woodland goddesses,
be kind! Give back his life! Help, Earth, that bringest favours to
all! Night, showest thou no mercy? Father Kailasa, thy protection
I implore. Show thy wonted pity!" Such were my laments, so far as
I remember, and I murmured incoherently as one held by a demon,
or possessed or mad, or struck down by an evil spirit. In the tears
that fell in torrents upon me I was turned to water, I melted away,
I took upon me a shape of water; my laments, followed by the sharp
rays of my teeth, fell as if with showers of tears; (329) my hair,
with its flowers ever falling, seemed to shed teardrops, and my
very ornaments by the tears of pure gemlight that sprang from them
seemed to raise their lament. I longed for my own death as for his
life; I yearned to enter his heart with my whole soul, dead though
he were; with my hand I touched his cheeks, and his brow with the
roots of his hair, white with dry sandal, and his shoulders with the
lotus-fibres on them, and his heart covered with lotus-leaves and
flecks of sandal-juice. With the tender reproach, "Thou art cruel,
Pundarika! Thou carest nought that I am thus wretched!" I again
sought to win him back. I again embraced him, I again clasped his
neck, and wept aloud. Then I rebuked that string of pearls, saying:
"Ah, wicked one, couldst not even thou have preserved his life till
my coming?" Then again I fell at Kapiñjala's feet with the prayer,
"Be kind, my lord; restore him to life!" and again, clinging to
Taralika's neck, I wept. Even now, when I think of it, I know
not how these piteous, tender words came forth from my ill-fated
heart--words all unthought, unlearnt, untaught, unseen before;
nor whence these utterances arose; nor whence these heart-rending
cries of despair. My whole being was changed. (330) For there rose a
deluge wave of inward tears, the springs of weeping were set loose,
the buds of wailing came forth, the peaks of sorrow grew lofty and
a long line of madness was begun.' And so, as she thus told her own
tale, she seemed again to taste the bitterness of that former plight,
so cruel, and so hardly endured, and a swoon bereft her of sense. In
the force of her swoon she fell on the rock, and Candrapida hastily
stretched out his hand, like her servant, and supported her, full of
sorrow. At length he brought her back to consciousness by fanning
her with the edge of her own bark garment, wet with tears. Filled
with pity, and with his cheeks bathed in tears, he said to her,
as she came to life: 'Lady, it is by my fault that thy grief has
been brought back to its first freshness, and that thou hast come to
this pass. Therefore no more of this tale. Let it be ended. Even I
cannot bear to hear it. For the story even of past sorrow endured by
a friend pains us as if we ourselves were living through it. [283]
Thou wilt not therefore surely place on the fire of grief that life
so precious and so hardly preserved?' (331) Thus addressed, with a
long, hot sigh and eyes dissolved in tears, she despairingly replied:
'Prince, even in that dreadful night my hated life did not desert me;
[284] it is not likely that it will leave me now. Even blessed Death
turns away his eyes from one so ill-fated and wicked. Whence could
one so hard-hearted feel grief? all this can be but feigned in a
nature so vile. But be that as it may, that shameless heart has
made me chief among the shameless. For to one so adamantine as to
have seen love in all his power, and yet to have lived through this,
what can mere speaking of it matter?
'"'Or what could there be harder to tell than this very thing, which
is supposed to be impossible to hear or say? I will at least briefly
tell the marvel that followed on that thunderbolt, and I will tell,
too, what came as a tiny dim cause of my prolonging my life, which by
its mirage so deludes me that I bear about a hated body, almost dead,
alien to me, burdensome, unfitted to my needs, and thankless for my
care. That shall suffice. Afterwards, in a sudden change [285] of
feeling, with resolve firmly set on death, lamenting bitterly, I cried
to Taralika: "Rise, cruel-hearted girl; how long wilt thou weep? Bring
together wood and make a pile. I will follow the lord of my life."
(332) '"'Straightway a being swiftly left the moon's orb and descended
from the sky. Behind him he trailed a silken vesture hanging from
his crest, white as the foam of nectar, and waving in the wind;
his cheeks were reddened with the bright gems that swayed in his
ears; on his breast he bore a radiant necklace, from the size of its
pearls like a cluster of stars; his turban was tied with strips of
white silk; his head was thick with curling locks, and dark as bees;
his earring was an open moon lotus; on his shoulder was the impress
of the saffron lines that adorned his wives; he was white as a moon
lotus, lofty in stature, endowed with all the marks of greatness, and
godlike in form; he seemed to purify space by the light shed round him
clear as pure water, and to anoint it as by a thick frost with a dewy
ambrosial shower that created a chill as he shed it from his limbs,
cool and fragrant, and to besprinkle it with a rich store of goçirsha
[286] sandal-juice.
'"'With arms sturdy as the trunk of Airavata, and fingers white as
lotus-fibres and cool to the touch, he lifted my dead lord, (333)
and, in a voice deep as a drum, he said to me: "Mahaçveta, my child,
thou must not die; for thou shalt again be united with him!" And with
these words, tender as a father's, he flew into the sky with Pundarika.
'"'But this sudden event filled me with fear, dismay, and eager
anxiety, and with upraised face I asked Kapiñjala what it might
mean. He, however, started up hastily without replying, and with the
cry, "Monster, whither goest thou with my friend?" with uplifted eyes
and sudden wrath he hastily girt up his loins, and following him in
his flight, in hot pursuit he rose into the sky; and while I yet gazed
they all entered amongst the stars. But the departure of Kapiñjala was
to me like a second death of my beloved, and it redoubled my grief,
so that my heart was rent asunder. Bewildered what to do, I cried
to Taralika: "Knowest thou not? Tell me what this means!" But she,
with all a woman's timidity at the sight, was at that very moment
trembling in all her limbs, overcome by a fear stronger than her grief,
and was frightened, moreover, by the dread of my death; and so with
downcast heart she piteously replied: "Princess, wretch that I am,
I know not! Yet this is a great miracle. The man is of no mortal
mould, and thou wert pityingly comforted by him in his flight as by a
father. Such godlike beings are not wont to deceive us, even in sleep,
much less face to face; and when I think it over I cannot see the
least cause for his speaking falsely. (334) It is meet, therefore,
that thou shouldst weigh it, and restrain thy longing for death. In
thy present state it is in truth a great ground for comfort. Moreover,
Kapiñjala has gone in pursuit of Pundarika. From him thou canst learn
whence and who this being is, and why Pundarika on his death was by
him raised and carried off, and whither he is carried, and wherefore
thou wert consoled by him with the boon of a hope of reunion that
exceeds thought; then thou canst devote thyself either to life or
death. For when death is resolved upon, it is easy to compass. But
this can wait; for Kapiñjala, if he lives, will certainly not rest
without seeing thee; therefore let thy life be preserved till his
return." Thus saying, she fell at my feet. And I, from the thirst
for life that mortals find so hard to overcome, and from the weakness
of woman's nature, and from the illusion his words had created, and
from my anxiety for Kapiñjala's return, thought that that plan was
best for the time, and did not die. For what will not hope achieve?
'"'That night I spent in Taralika's company on the bank of the lake. To
my wretchedness it was like a night of doom, [287] drawn out to a
thousand years, all torment, all grief, all hell, all fire. (335)
Sleep was rooted out, and I tossed on the ground; my face was hidden
by the loosened and dishevelled tresses that clung to my cheeks,
wet with tears and gray with dust, and my throat was weak, for my
voice failed, broken with piteous weeping.
'"'At dawn I arose and bathed in the lake, and having formed my
resolve, I took, for love of Pundarika, his pitcher and his bark
garments and his rosary; for I clearly knew the worthlessness of the
world. I perceived my own lack of merit; I pictured to myself the
remediless cruelty of the blows of fate; I pondered the inevitableness
of grief; I beheld the harshness of destiny; I meditated the course
of love, rich in sorrow; I learnt the inconstancy of earthly things;
I considered the frailness of all joys. Father and mother were
disregarded; kinsfolk and followers abandoned; the joys of earth were
banished from my mind; the senses held in firm restraint.
'"'I took the ascetic vow, and sought the protection of Çiva, lord
of the three worlds and helper of the helpless. Next day my father
came, having somehow learnt my story, bringing with him my mother and
kinsfolk. Long he wept, and strove with all his might and by every
means--prayers, admonitions, and tender words of every kind--to lead
me home. (336) And when he understood my firm resolve, and knew that I
could not be turned from that infatuation, he could not, even though
without hope, part with his love for his child; and though I often
bade him go, he stayed for some days, and went home at length full
of grief, and with his heart hot within him.
'"'After his going, it was only by empty tears that I could show
my gratitude to my lord; by many a penance I wasted my hated body,
worn away by love of him, rich in ill, devoid of shame, ill-omened,
and the home of a thousand tortures of grief; I lived but on water
and the roots and fruits of the wood; under the guise of telling
my beads I counted his virtues; thrice a day I bathed in the lake;
I daily worshipped Çiva, and in this cell I dwelt with Taralika,
tasting the bitterness of a long grief. Such am I, evil, ill-omened,
shameless, cruel, cold, murderous, contemptible, useless, fruitless,
helpless, and joyless. (337) Why should one so noble as thou deign
to look on or speak with me, the doer of that monstrous crime, the
slaughter of a Brahman?' Thus saying, she covered her face with the
white edge of her bark garment, as if veiling the moon with a fleck
of autumn cloud, and, unable to quell the irresistible torrent of
her tears, she gave way to her sobs, and began to weep loud and long.
'"From the very first Candrapida had been filled with reverence
by her beauty, modesty, and courtesy; by the charm of her speech,
her unselfishness and her austerity; and by her serenity, humility,
dignity, and purity. But now he was carried away both by the story of
her life, which showed her noble character, and by her devoted spirit,
and a fresh tenderness arose in him. With softened heart he gently
said: 'Lady, those may weep who fear pain, and are devoid of gratitude,
and love pleasure, for they are unable to do anything worthy of love,
and show their affection merely by vain tears. But thou who hast
done all rightly, what duty of love hast thou left undone, that thou
weepest? For Pundarika's sake, thy kinsfolk who from thy birth have
been around thee, dear as they were, have been forsaken as if they
were strangers. (338) Earthly pleasures, though at thy feet, have
been despised and reckoned light as grass. The joys of power, though
their riches excelled the empire of Indra, have been resigned. Thy
form has been emaciated by dread penances, even though by nature it
was slender as a lotus-stalk. Thou hast taken the ascetic vow. Thy
soul has been devoted to great penance. Thou hast dwelt in the woods,
hard though it be for a woman. Moreover, life is easily resigned by
those whom sorrow has overwhelmed, but it needs a greater effort not
to throw away life in heavy grief. This following another to death is
most vain! It is a path followed by the ignorant! It is a mere freak
of madness, a path of ignorance, an enterprise of recklessness, a view
of baseness, a sign of utter thoughtlessness, and a blunder of folly,
that one should resign life on the death of father, brother, friend,
or husband. If life leaves us not of itself, we must not resign
it. For this leaving of life, if we examine it, is merely for our
own interest, because we cannot bear our own cureless pain. To the
dead man it brings no good whatever. For it is no means of bringing
him back to life, or heaping up merit, or gaining heaven for him,
or saving him from hell, or seeing him again, or being reunited with
him. (339) For he is led helplessly, irresistibly to another state
meet for the fruits of his own deeds. And yet he shares in the guilt
of the friend who has killed himself. But a man who lives on can help
greatly, by offerings of water and the like, both the dead man and
himself; but by dying he helps neither. Remember how Rati, the sole
and beloved wife of Love, when her noble husband, who won the hearts
of all women, was burnt up by the fire of Çiva, yet did not yield
her life; and remember also Kunti, of the race of Vrishni, daughter
of Surasena, for her lord was Pandu the wise; his seat was perfumed
by the flowers in the crests of all the kings whom he had conquered
without an effort, and he received the tribute of the whole earth,
and yet when he was consumed by Kindama's curse she still remained
alive. Uttara, too, the young daughter of Virata, on the death of
Abhimanyu, gentle and heroic, and joyful to the eyes as the young
moon, yet lived on. And Duhçalya, too, daughter of Dhritarashtra,
tenderly cared for by her hundred brothers; when Jayadratha, king of
Sindhu, was slain by Arjuna, fair as he was and great as he had become
by Çiva's [288] gift, yet made no resignation of her life. (340)
And others are told of by thousands, daughters of Rakshasas, gods,
demons, ascetics, mortals, siddhas and Gandharvas, who when bereft
of their husbands yet preserved their lives. Still, where reunion
is doubtful, life might be yielded. But for thee, thou hast heard
from that great being a promise of reunion. What doubt can there be
in a matter of thine own experience, and how could falsehood find
a place in the words of such noble truth-speaking saints, even when
there might be greater cause? And what union could there be between
the dead and the living? Therefore of a surety that wondrous being
was filled with pity and carried away Pundarika to heaven solely
to bring him back to life. For the power of great men transcends
thought. Life has many aspects. Destiny is manifold. Those skilled in
penance are fitted for wondrous miracles. Many are the forms of power
gained by previous actions. Moreover, however subtly we may consider
the matter, what other cause can we imagine for Pundarika's being
taken away, but the gift of fresh life. And this, thou must know,
is not impossible. It is a path often trodden. (341) For Pramadvara,
daughter of Viçvavasu, king of the Gandharvas and Menaka, lost her
life through a poisonous snake at the hermitage of Sthulakeça, and
the young ascetic Ruru, son of Pramati and grandson of the Bhrigu
Cyavana, provided her with half his own life. And when Arjuna was
following the Açvamedha steed, he was pierced in the van of the
battle by an arrow from his own son Babhruvahana, and a Naga maiden,
Ulupa, brought him back to life. When Parikshit, Abhimanyu's son,
was consumed by Açvatthama's fiery dart, though he had already died
at birth, Krishna, filled with pity by Uttara's lament, restored
his precious life. And at Ujjayini, he whose steps are honoured
by the three worlds, carried off from the city of death the son of
Sandipani the Brahman, and brought him back. [289] And in thy case,
too, the same will somehow come to pass. For by thy present grief,
what is effected or what won? Fate is all-powerful. Destiny is
strong. We cannot even draw a breath at our own will. The freaks of
that accursed and most harsh destiny are exceeding cruel. A love fair
in its sincerity is not allowed long to endure; for joys are wont to
be in their essence frail and unlasting, while sorrows by their nature
are long-lived. (342) For how hardly are mortals united in one life,
while in a thousand lives they are separated. Thou canst not surely
then blame thyself, all undeserving of blame. For these things often
happen to those who enter the tangled path of transmigration, and it
is the brave who conquer misfortune.' With such gentle and soothing
words he consoled her, and made her, albeit reluctantly, bathe her
face with water brought in his joined hands from the cascade.
'"Straightway the sun began to sink, as if he were leaving the day's
duties from grief at hearing Mahaçveta's story. Then day faded away;
the sun hung shining red as the pollen of a cluster of priyangu in full
blossom; the quarters of space were losing the glow of sunset soft
as silk dyed in the juice of many lotuses; (343) the sky was tinged
with red, glowing like the pupils of a partridge, [290] while its
blue was hidden; twilight was reddening and lighting up the earth,
tawny as a pigeon's eye; the clusters of stars shone forth, vying
with each other; the darkness of night was deepening into black,
and stealing away the broad path of the stars with its form dark as a
forest buffalo; the woodland avenues seemed massed together as their
green was hidden by deep gloom; the wind wandered cooled by night-dew,
with its path tracked by the perfume of the wild flowers as it stirred
the tangle of trees and creepers; and when night had its birds all
still in sleep Mahaçveta slowly rose, and saying her evening prayers,
washed her feet with water from the pitcher and sat down with a hot,
sorrowful sigh on her bark couch. Candrapida, too, rose and poured a
libation of water strewn with flowers, said his evening prayer, and
made a couch on the other rock with soft creeper boughs. As he rested
upon it he went over Mahaçveta's story again in his mind. 'This evil
Love,' thought he, 'has a power hard alike to cure and to endure. For
even great men, when overcome by him, regard not the course of time,
but suddenly lose all courage and surrender life. Yet all hail to
Love, whose rule is honoured throughout the three worlds!' (344)
And again he asked her: 'She that was thy handmaiden, thy friend in
the resolve to dwell in the woods, and the sharer of the ascetic vow
taken in thy sorrow--Taralika, where is she?' 'Noble sir,' she replied,
'from the race of Apsarases sprung from ambrosia of which I told you,
there was born a fair-eyed daughter named Madira, [291] who married
King Citraratha, the king whose footstool was formed of the buds in
the crests of all the Gandharvas. Charmed by her countless virtues,
he showed his favour by giving her the title of Chief Queen, bearing
with it cowrie, sceptre and umbrella, marked by a golden throne,
and placing all the zenana below her--a woman's rarest glory! And,
as they pursued together the joys of youth in their utter devotion
to each other, a priceless daughter was in due time born to them,
by name Kadambari, most wondrous, the very life of her parents, and
of the whole Gandharva race, and even of all living beings. From her
birth she was the friend of my childhood, and shared with me seat,
couch, meat and drink; on her my deepest love was set, and she was
the home of all my confidence, and like my other heart. Together we
learnt to dance and sing, and our childhood passed away free from
restraint in the sports that belong to it. (345) From sorrow at my
unhappy story she made a resolve that she would in nowise accept a
husband while I was still in grief, and before her girl friends she
took an oath, saying: "If my father should in anywise or at any time
wish to marry me against my will and by force, I will end my life
by hunger, fire, cord, or poison." Citraratha himself heard all the
resolution of his daughter, spoken of positively in the repeated
gossip of her attendants, and as time went on, seeing that she was
growing to full youth, he became prey to great vexation, and for a
time took pleasure in nothing, and yet, as she was his only child and
he dearly loved her, he could say nothing to her, though he saw no
other resource. But as he deemed the time now ripe, he considered the
matter with Queen Madira, and sent the herald Kshiroda to me at early
dawn with the message: "Dear Mahaçveta, our hearts were already burnt
up by thy sad fate, and now this new thing has come upon us. To thee
we look to win back Kadambari." Thereupon, in reverence to the words
of one so respected, and in love to my friend, I sent Taralika with
Kshiroda to bid Kadambari not add grief to one already sad enough;
(346) for if she wished me to live she must fulfil her father's words;
and ere Taralika had been long gone, thou, noble sir, camest to this
spot.' So saying she was silent.
'"Then the moon arose, simulating by his mark the heart of Mahaçveta,
burnt through by the fire of grief, bearing the great crime of
the young ascetic's death, showing the long ingrained scar of the
burning of Daksha's curse, [292] white with thick ashes, and half
covered by black antelope skin, like the left breast of Durga, the
crest-jewel of Çiva's thick locks. (347) Then at length Candrapida
beheld Mahaçveta asleep, and quietly lay down himself on his leafy
couch and fell asleep while thinking what Vaiçampayana and sorrowing
Patralekha and his princely compeers would then be imagining about him.
'"Then at dawn, when Mahaçveta had honoured the twilight and was
murmuring the aghamarshana, and Candrapida had said his morning
prayer, Taralika was seen coming with a Gandharva boy named Keyuraka
(348). As she drew near, she looked long at Candrapida, wondering
who he might be, and approaching Mahaçveta, she bowed low and sat
respectfully by her. Then Keyuraka, with head low bent even from
afar, took his place on a rock some way off, assigned to him by a
glance from Mahaçveta, and was filled with wonder at the sight of
Candrapida's marvellous beauty, rare, mocking that of gods, demons,
Gandharvas, and Vidyadharas, and surpassing even the god of love.
(349) '"When she had finished her prayers, Mahaçveta asked Taralika,
'Didst thou see my dear Kadambari well? and will she do as I
said?' 'Princess,' said Taralika, in a very sweet voice, with
head respectfully inclined, 'I saw Princess Kadambari well in all
respects, and told her all thine advice; and what was her reply,
when with a continuous stream of thick tears she had heard it, that
her lute-player Keyuraka, whom she has sent, shall tell thee;' and
as she ceased Keyuraka said, 'Princess Mahaçveta, my lady Kadambari,
with a close embrace, sends this message, "Is this, that Taralika
has been sent to tell me, said to please my parents or to test my
feelings, or to subtly reproach me for my crime in dwelling at home;
or is it a desire to break our friendship, or a device to desert
one who loves her, or is it simply anger? Thou knowest that my heart
overflows with a love that was inborn in me. How wert thou not ashamed
to send so cruel a message? Thou, erst so soft of speech, from whom
hast thou learnt to speak unkindness and utter reproach? Who in his
senses would, even if happy, make up his mind to undertake even a
slight matter that would end in pain? how much less one like me,
whose heart is struck down by deep grief? For in a heart worn by a
friend's sorrow, what hope is there of joy, what contentment, what
pleasures or what mirth? (350) How should I fulfil the desire of Love,
poisonous, pitiless, unkind, who has brought my dear friend to so
sad a plight? Even the hen cakravaka, when the lotus-beds are widowed
by the sun's setting, renounces from the friendship that arises from
dwelling among them, the joys of union with her lord; how much more,
then, should women! While my friend dwells day and night sorrowing
for the loss of her lord and avoiding the sight of mankind, how
could anyone else enter my heart; and while my friend in her sorrow
tortures herself with penances and suffers great pain, how could I
think so lightly of that as to seek my own happiness and accept a
husband, or how could any happiness befall me? For from love of thee
I have in this matter accepted disgrace by embracing an independent
life contrary to the wont of maidens. I have despised noble breeding,
transgressed my parent's commands, set at nought the gossip of mankind,
thrown away modesty, a woman's inborn grace; how, tell me, should such
a one go back? Therefore I salute thee, I bow before thee, I embrace
thy feet; be gracious to me. As thou hast gone hence into the forest,
taking my life with thee, make not this request in thy mind, even in
a dream."' (351) Thus having said, he became silent, and Mahaçveta
thought long, and then dismissed Keyuraka, saying, 'Do thou depart;
I will go to her and do what is fitting.' On his departure she said
to Candrapida, 'Prince, Hemakuta is pleasant and the royal city of
Citraratha marvellous; the Kinnara country is curious, the Gandharva
world beautiful, and Kadambari is noble and generous of heart. If
thou deemest not the journey too tedious, if no serious business is
hindered, if thy mind is curious to behold rare sights, if thou art
encouraged by my words, if the sight of wonders gives thee joy, if
thou wilt deign to grant my request, if thou thinkest me worthy of
not being denied, if any friendship has grown up between us, or if
I am deserving of thy favour, then thou canst not disdain to fulfil
this prayer. Thou canst go hence with me, and see not only Hemakuta,
that treasure of beauty, but my second self, Kadambari; and having
removed this foolish freak of hers, thou canst rest for one day,
and return hither the next morn. For by the sight of thy kindness so
freely [293] given, my grief has become bearable, since I have told
thee my story, breathed out as it was from a heart long overwhelmed
with the darkness of grief. (352) For the presence of the good gives
joy even to those who are sad at heart, and a virtue springs from
such as thou art that wholly tends to make others happy.'
'"'Lady,' replied Candrapida, 'from the first moment of seeing thee
I have been devoted to thy service. Let thy will be imposed without
hesitation'; so saying, he started in her company.
'"In due time he reached Hemakuta, the royal city of the Gandharvas,
and passing through the seven inner courts with their golden arches,
the prince approached the door of the maidens' dwelling. Escorted
by porters, who ran forward at the sight of Mahaçveta, bowing while
yet far off, and holding their golden staves, he entered and beheld
the inside of the maidens' palace. It seemed a new woman's world,
consisting wholly of women in countless numbers, as if the womankind
of the three worlds had been gathered together to make such a total;
or it might be a fresh manless creation, a yet unborn continent of
girls, a fifth women's era, a fresh race created by Prajapati out of
hatred for men, or a treasury of women prepared for the making of many
yugas. The wave of girlish beauty which surrounded it on all sides,
which flooded space, sprinkled nectar on the day, rained splendour on
the interstices of the world, and shone lustrous as an emerald, made
the place all aglow as if with thousands of moons; (353) it seemed
modelled in moonlight; jewels made another sky; service was done by
bright glances; every part was made for youthful pleasures; here was
an assemblage for Rati's sports, a material for Love's practice; here
the entrance of all was made smooth by Love; here all was affection,
beauty, the supreme deity of passion, the arrows of Love, here all
was wonder, marvel, and tenderness of youth. (356) When he had gone a
little way in he heard the pleasant talk of the maidens round Kadambari
as they wandered hither and thither. Such as 'Lavalika, deck the
lavali trenches with ketaki pollen. Sagarika, sprinkle jewelled dust
in the tanks of scented water. Mrinalika, inlay with saffron dust the
pairs of toy [294] cakravakas in the artificial lotus-beds. Makarika,
scent the pot-pourri with camphor-juice. Rajanika, place jewelled
lamps in the dark tamala avenues. Kumudika, cover the pomegranates
with pearly nets to keep off the birds. Nipunika, draw saffron
lines on the breasts of the jewelled dolls. Utpalika, sweep with
golden brooms the emerald arbour in the plaintain house. Kesarika,
sprinkle with wine the houses of bakul flowers. Malatika, redden with
red lead the ivory roof of Kama's shrine. Nalinika, give the tame
kalahamsas lotus-honey to drink. Kadalika, take the tame peacocks to
the shower-bath. Kamalinika, give some sap from the lotus-fibres to
the young cakravakas. Cutalatika, give the caged pigeons their meal
of mango-buds. Pallavika, distribute to the tame haritala pigeons
some topmost leaves of the pepper-tree. Lavangika, throw some pieces
of pippali leaves into the partridges' cages. Madhukarika, make some
flowery ornaments. Mayurika, dismiss the pairs of kinnaras in the
singing-room. Kandalika, bring up the pairs of partridges to the top
of the playing hill. Harinika, give the caged parrots and mainas
their lesson.'
(358) '"Then he beheld Kadambari herself in the midst of her pavilion
encircled by a bevy of maidens sitting by her, whose glittering gems
made them like a cluster of kalpa trees. [295] (359) She was resting
on her bent arms, which lay on a white pillow placed on a small couch
covered with blue silk; she was fanned by cowrie-bearers, that in the
motion of their waving arms were like swimmers in the wide-flowing
stream of her beauty, as if it covered the earth, which was only held
up by the tusks of Mahavaraha.
'"And as her reflection fell, she seemed on the jewelled pavement
below to be borne away by serpents; on the walls hard by to be led
by the guardians of space; on the roof above to be cast upwards by
the gods; to be received by the pillars into their inmost heart;
to be drunk in by the palace mirrors, to be lifted to the sky by the
Vidyadharas scattered in the pavilion, looking down from the roof;
to be surrounded by the universe concealed in the guise of pictures,
all thronging together to see her; to be gazed at by the palace itself,
which had gained a thousand eyes to behold her, in that the eyes of its
peacocks' tails were outspread as they danced to the clashing of her
gems; and to be steadily looked on by her own attendants, who seemed
in their eagerness to behold her to have gained a divine insight.
'"Her beauty bore the impress of awakening love, though but yet in
promise, and she seemed to be casting childhood aside like a thing
of no worth.
(365) '"Such was Kadambari as the prince beheld her. Before her was
seated Keyuraka, loud in praise of Candrapida's beauty, as Kadambari
questioned him, saying, 'Who is he, and what are his parentage, name,
appearance, and age? What did he say, and what didst thou reply? How
long didst thou see him? how has he become so close a friend to
Mahaçveta? and why is he coming hither?'
'"Now, on beholding the moonlike beauty of Kadambari's face, the
prince's heart was stirred like the tide of ocean. 'Why,' thought he,
'did not the Creator make all my senses into sight, or what noble
deed has my eye done that it may look on her unchecked? Surely it is
a wonder! The Creator has here made a home for every charm! Whence
have the parts of this exceeding beauty been gathered? Surely from
the tears that fell from the Creator's eyes in the labour of thought,
as he gently moulded her with his hands, all the lotuses in the world
have their birth.'
(366) '"And as he thus thought his eye met hers, and she, thinking,
'This is he of whom Keyuraka spoke,' let her glance, widened by wonder
at his exceeding beauty, dwell long and quietly on him. Confused
by the sight of Kadambari, yet illumined by the brightness of her
gaze, he stood for a moment like a rock, while at the sight of him a
thrill rose in Kadambari, her jewels clashed, and she half rose. Then
love caused a glow, but the excuse was the effort of hastily rising;
trembling hindered her steps--the hamsas around, drawn by the sound of
the anklets, got the blame; the heaving of a sigh stirred her robe--it
was thought due to the wind of the cowries; her hand fell on her heart,
as if to touch Candrapida's image that had entered in--it pretended to
cover her bosom; she let fall tears of joy--the excuse was the pollen
falling from the flowers in her ear. Shame choked her voice--the swarm
of bees hastening to the lotus sweetness of her mouth was the cause;
(367) the pain of the first touch of Love's arrow caused a sigh--the
pain of the ketaki thorns amidst the flowers shared the guilt; a tremor
shook her hand--keeping off the portress who had come with a message
was her pretence; and while love was thus entering into Kadambari,
a second love, as it were, arose, who with her entered the heart
of Candrapida. For he thought the flash of her jewels but a veil,
her entrance into his heart a favour, the tinkling of her gems a
conversation, her capture of all his senses a grace, and contact
with her bright beauty the fulfilment of all his wishes. Meanwhile
Kadambari, advancing with difficulty a few steps, affectionately and
with yearning embraced her friend, who also yearned for the sight
of her so long delayed; and Mahaçveta returned her embrace yet more
closely, and said, 'Dear Kadambari, in the land of Bharata there is a
king named Tarapida, who wards off all grief [296] from his subjects,
and who has impressed his seal on the Four Oceans by the edge of the
hoofs of his noble steeds; and this his son, named Candrapida, decked
[297] with the orb of earth resting on the support of his own rock-like
arms, has, in pursuit of world conquest, approached this land; and
he, from the moment I first beheld him, has instinctively become my
friend, though there was nought to make him so; and, though my heart
was cold from its resignation of all ties, yet he has attracted it by
the rare and innate nobility of his character. (368) For it is rare
to find a man of keen mind who is at once true of heart, unselfish in
friendship, and wholly swayed by courtesy. Wherefore, having beheld
him, I brought him hither by force. For I thought thou shouldst
behold as I have done a wonder of Brahma's workmanship, a peerless
owner of beauty, a supplanter of Lakshmi, earth's joy in a noble lord,
the surpassing of gods by mortals, the full fruition of woman's eyes,
the only meeting-place of all graces, the empire of nobility, and the
mirror of courtesy for men. And my dear friend has often been spoken
of to him by me. Therefore dismiss shame on the ground of his being
unseen before, lay aside diffidence as to his being a stranger, cast
away suspicion rising from his character being unknown, and behave
to him as to me. He is thy friend, thy kinsman, and thy servant.' At
these words of hers Candrapida bowed low before Kadambari, and as she
glanced sideways at him affectionately there fell from her eyes, with
their beautiful pupils turned towards the corner of their long orbs,
a flood of joyous tears, as though from weariness. The moonlight of a
smile, white as nectar, darted forth, as if it were the dust raised
by the heart as it hastily set out; one eyebrow was raised as if to
bid the head honour with an answering reverence the guest so dear to
the heart; (369) her hand crept to her softly parting lips, and might
seem, as the light of an emerald ring flashed between the fingers,
to have taken some betel. She bowed diffidently, and then sat down on
the couch with Mahaçveta, and the attendants quickly brought a stool
with gold feet and a covering of white silk, and placed it near the
couch, and Candrapida took his seat thereon. To please Mahaçveta, the
portresses, knowing Kadambari's wishes, and having by a hand placed on
closed lips received an order to stop all sounds, checked on every side
the sound of pipe, lute and song, and the Magadha women's cry of 'All
hail!' (370) When the servants had quickly brought water, Kadambari
herself washed Mahaçveta's feet, and, drying them with her robe,
sat on the couch again; and Madalekha, a friend worthy of Kadambari,
dear as her own life and the home of all her confidence, insisted
on washing Candrapida's feet, unwilling though he were. Mahaçveta
meanwhile asked Kadambari how she was, and lovingly touched with her
hand the corner of her friend's eyes, which shone with the reflected
light of her earrings; she lifted the flowers in Kadambari's ear,
all covered with bees, and softly stroked the coils of her hair,
roughened by the wind of the cowries. And Kadambari, ashamed, from
love to her friend, of her own well-being, as though feeling that in
still dwelling at home she had committed a crime, said with an effort
that all was well with her. Then, though filled with grief and intent
on gazing at Mahaçveta's face, yet her eye, with its pupil dark and
quivering as it looked out sideways, was, under the influence of love,
with bow fully bent, irresistibly drawn by Candrapida's face, and she
could not turn it away. At that same moment she felt jealousy [298]
of his being pictured on the cheek of her friend standing near--the
pain of absence as his reflection faded away on her own breast,
pierced by a thrill--the anger of a rival wife as the image of the
statues fell on him--the sorrow of despair as he closed his eyes,
and blindness as his image was veiled by tears of joy.
(371) '"At the end of a moment Mahaçveta said to Kadambari as she was
intent on giving betel: 'Dear Kadambari, the moment has approached for
us to show honour to our newly arrived guest, Candrapida. Therefore
give him some.' But averting her bent face, Kadambari replied slowly
and indistinctly, 'Dear friend, I am ashamed to do so, for I do not
know him. Do thou take it, for thou canst without the forwardness
there would be in me, and give it him'; and it was only after many
persuasions, that with difficulty, and like a village maiden, she
resolved to give it. Her eyes were never drawn from Mahaçveta's face,
her limbs trembled, her glance wavered, she sighed deeply, she was
stunned by Love with his shaft, and she seemed a prey to terror
as she stretched forth her hand, holding the betel as if trying to
cling to something under the idea she was falling. The hand Candrapida
stretched out, by nature pink, as if red lead had fallen upon it from
the flapping of his triumphal elephant, was darkened by the scars of
the bowstring, and seemed to have drops of collyrium clinging to it
from touching the eyes of his enemies' Lakshmi, weeping as he drew
her by the hair; (372) its fingers by the forth-flashing rays of
his nails seemed to run up hastily, to grow long and to laugh, and
the hand seemed to raise five other fingers in the five senses that,
in desire to touch her, had just made their entry full of love. Then
contending feelings [299] took possession of Kadambari as if they
had gathered together in curiosity to see the grace at that moment so
easy of access. Her hand, as she did not look whither it was going,
was stretched vainly forth, and the rays of its nails seemed to hasten
forward to seek Candrapida's hand; and with the murmur of the line
of bracelets stirred by her trembling, it seemed to say, as drops of
moisture arose on it, 'Let this slave offered by Love be accepted,'
[300] as if she were offering herself, and 'Henceforth it is in thy
hand,' as if she were making it into a living being, and so she gave
the betel. And in drawing back her hand she did not notice the fall
of her bracelet, which had slipped down her arm in eagerness to touch
him, like her heart pierced by Love's shaft; and taking another piece
of betel, she gave it to Mahaçveta.
(373) '"Then there came up with hasty steps a maina, a very flower,
in that her feet were yellow as lotus filaments, her beak was like
a campak bud, and her wings blue as a lotus petal. Close behind her
came a parrot, slow in gait, emerald-winged, with a beak like coral
and neck bearing a curved, three-rayed rainbow. Angrily the maina
began: 'Princess Kadambari, why dost thou not restrain this wretched,
ill-mannered, conceited bird from following me? If thou overlookest
my being oppressed by him, I will certainly destroy myself. I swear
it truly by thy lotus feet.' At these words Kadambari smiled; but
Mahaçveta, not knowing the story, asked Madalekha what she was saying,
and she told the following tale: 'This maina, Kalindi, is a friend
of Princess Kadambari, and was given by her solemnly in marriage to
Parihasa, the parrot. And to-day, ever since she saw him reciting
something at early dawn to Kadambari's betel-bearer, Tamalika, alone,
she has been filled with jealousy, and in frowardness of wrath will
not go near him, or speak, or touch, or look at him; and though
we have all tried to soothe her, she will not be soothed.' (374)
Thereat a smile spread over Candrapida's face, and he softly laughed
and said, 'This is the course of gossip. It is heard in the court;
by a succession of ears the attendants pass it on; the outside
world repeats it; the tale wanders to the ends of the earth, and we
too hear how this parrot Parihasa has fallen in love with Princess
Kadambari's betel-bearer, and, enslaved by love, knows nothing of the
past. Away with this ill-behaved, shameless deserter of his wife,
and away with her too! But is it fitting in the Princess not to
restrain her giddy slave? Perhaps her cruelty, however, was shown at
the first in giving poor Kalindi to this ill-conducted bird. What can
she do now? For women feel that a shared wifehood is the bitterest
matter for indignation, the chief cause for estrangement, and the
greatest possible insult. Kalindi has been only too patient that in
the aversion caused by this weight of grief she has not slain herself
by poison, fire, or famine. For nothing makes a woman more despised;
and if, after such a crime, she is willing to be reconciled and to
live with him again, shame on her! enough of her! let her be banished
and cast out in scorn! Who will speak to her or look at her again,
and who will mention her name?' A laugh arose among Kadambari's women
as they heard [301] his mirthful words. (375) But Parihasa, hearing
his jesting speech, said: 'Cunning Prince, she is clever. Unsteady
as she is, she is not to be taken in by thee or anyone else. She
knows all these crooked speeches. She understands a jest. Her mind is
sharpened by contact with a court. Cease thy jests. She is no subject
for the talk of bold men. For, soft of speech as she is, she knows
well the time, cause, measure, object, and topic for wrath and for
peace.' Meanwhile, a herald came up and said to Mahaçveta: 'Princess,
King Citraratha and Queen Madira send to see thee,' and she, eager
to go, asked Kadambari, 'Friend, where should Candrapida stay?' The
latter, inwardly smiling at the thought that he had already found a
place in the heart of thousands of women, said aloud, 'Dear Mahaçveta,
why speak thus? Since I beheld him I have not been mistress of myself,
far less than of my palace and my servants. Let him stay wherever it
pleases him and my dear friend's heart.' Thereon Mahaçveta replied,
"Let him stay in the jewelled house on the playing hill of the royal
garden near thy palace,' and went to see the king.
(376) '"Candrapida went away at her departure, followed by maidens,
sent for his amusement by the portress at Kadambari's bidding,
players on lute and pipe, singers, skilful dice and draught players,
practised painters and reciters of graceful verses; he was led by
his old acquaintance Keyuraka to the jewelled hall on the playing hill.
'"When he was gone the Gandharva princess dismissed her girl-friends
and attendants, and followed only by a few, went into the palace. There
she fell on her couch, while her maidens stayed some way off, full
of respect, and tried to comfort her. At length she came to herself,
and remaining alone, she was filled with shame. For Modesty censured
her: 'Light one, what hast thou begun?' Self-respect reproached her:
'Gandharva Princess, how is this fitting for thee?' Simplicity mocked
her: 'Where has thy childhood gone before its day was over?' Youth
warned her: 'Wilful girl, do not carry out alone any wild plan of
thine own!' Dignity rebuked her: 'Timid child, this is not the course
of a high-born maiden.' Conduct blamed her: 'Reckless girl, avoid
this unseemly behaviour!' High Birth admonished her: 'Foolish one,
love hath led thee into lightness.' Steadfastness cried shame on her:
'Whence comes thine unsteadiness of nature?' Nobility rebuked her:
'Self-willed, my authority is set at nought by thee.'
(377) '"And she thought within herself, 'What shameful conduct is this
of mine, in that I cast away all fear, and show my unsteadiness and
am blinded by folly. In my audacity I never thought he was a stranger;
in my shamelessness I did not consider that he would think me light of
nature; I never examined his character; I never thought in my folly if
I were worthy of his regard; I had no dread of an unexpected rebuff;
I had no fear of my parents, no anxiety about gossip. Nay, more, I
did not in my unkindness [302] remember that Mahaçveta was in sorrow;
in my stupidity I did not notice that my friends stood by and beheld
me; in my utter dullness I did not see that my servants behind were
observing me. Even grave minds would mark such utter forgetfulness of
seemliness; how much more Mahaçveta, who knows the course of love;
and my friends skilled in all its ways, and my attendants who know
all its symptoms, and whose wits are sharpened by life at court. The
slaves of a zenana have keen eyes in such matters. My evil fate has
undone me! Better were it for me now to die than live a shameful
life. What will my father and mother and the Gandharvas say when they
hear this tale? What can I do? What remedy is there? How can I cover
this error? To whom can I tell this folly of my undisciplined senses,
(378) and where shall I go, consumed by Kama, the five-arrowed god? I
had made a promise in Mahaçveta's sorrow, I had announced it before
my friends, I had sent a message of it by the hands of Keyuraka, and
how it has now come about that that beguiling Candrapida has been
brought hither, I know not, ill-fated that I am; whether it be by
cruel fate or proud love, or nemesis of my former deeds, or accursed
death, or anything else. But some power unseen, unknown, unheard of,
unthought of and unimagined before, has come to delude me. At the
mere sight of him I am a captive in bonds; I am cast into a cage
and handed over by my senses; I am enslaved and led to him by Love;
I am sent away by affection; I am sold at a price by my feelings; I
am made as a household chattel by my heart. I will have nothing to do
with this worthless one!' Thus for a moment she resolved. But having
made this resolve, she was mocked by Candrapida's image stirred by
the trembling of her heart, 'If thou, in thy false reserve, will have
nought to do with me, I will go.' She was asked by her life, which
clung to her in a farewell embrace before starting at the moment of
her determination to give up Candrapida; (379) she was addressed by a
tear that rose at that moment, 'Let him be seen once more with clearer
eyes, whether he be worthy of rejection or no'; she was chidden by
Love, saying, 'I will take away thy pride together with thy life;'
and so her heart was again turned to Candrapida. Overwhelmed, when
the force of her meditation had collapsed, by the access of love,
she rose, under its sway, and stood looking through the window at the
playing hill. And there, as if bewildered by a veil of joyful tears,
she saw with her memory, not her eyes; as if fearing to soil with a
hot hand her picture, she painted with her fancy, not with her brush;
dreading the intervention of a thrill, she offered an embrace with
her heart, not her breast; unable to bear his delay in coming, she
sent her mind, not her servants, to meet him.
'"Meanwhile, Candrapida willingly entered the jewelled house, as if it
were a second heart of Kadambari. On the rock was strewn a blanket,
with pillows piled on it at either end, and thereon he lay down,
with his feet in Keyuraka's lap, while the maidens sat round him
in the places appointed for them. With a heart in turmoil he betook
himself to reflection: 'Are these graces of Princess Kadambari, that
steal all men's hearts, innate in her, or has Love, with kindness won
by no service of mine, ordained them for me? (380) For she gave me a
sidelong glance with loving, reddened eyes half curved as if they were
covered with the pollen of Love's flowery darts as they fell on her
heart. She modestly veiled herself with a bright smile fair as silk
as I looked at her. She offered the mirror of her cheek to receive my
image, as in shame at my gaze she averted her face. She sketched on
the couch with her nail the first trace of wilfulness of a heart that
was giving me entrance. Her hand, moist with the fatigue of bringing
me the betel, seemed in its trembling to fan her hot face, as if it
were a tamala branch she had taken, for a swarm of bees hovered round
it, mistaking it for a rosy lotus. Perhaps,' he went on to reflect,
'the light readiness to hope so common among mortals is now deceiving
me with a throng of vain desires; and the glow of youth, devoid of
judgment, or Love himself, makes my brain reel; whence the eyes of
the young, as though struck by cataract, magnify even a small spot;
and a tiny speck of affection is spread far by youthful ardour as by
water. An excited heart like a poet's imagination is bewildered by
the throng of fancies that it calls up of itself, and draws likenesses
from everything; youthful feelings in the hand of cunning love are as
a brush, and shrink from painting nothing; and imagination, proud of
her suddenly gained beauty, turns in every direction. (381) Longing
shows as in a dream what I have felt. Hope, like a conjuror's wand,
[303] sets before us what can never be. Why, then,' thought he again,
'should I thus weary my mind in vain? If this bright-eyed maiden
is indeed thus inclined towards me, Love, who is so kind without my
asking, will ere long make it plain to me. He will be the decider of
this doubt.' Having at length come to this decision, he rose, then
sat down, and merrily joined the damsels in gentle talk and graceful
amusements--with dice, song, lute, tabor, concerts of mingled sound,
and murmur of tender verse. After resting a short time he went out
to see the park, and climbed to the top of the pleasure hill.
'"Kadambari saw him, and bade that the window should be opened to watch
for Mahaçveta's return, saying, 'She tarries long,' and, with a heart
tossed by Love, mounted to the roof of the palace. There she stayed
with a few attendants, protected from the heat by a gold-handled
umbrella, white as the full moon, and fanned by the waving of four
yaks' tails pure as foam. She seemed to be practising an adornment fit
for going to meet [304] Candrapida, by means of the bees which hovered
round her head, eager for the scent of the flowers, which veiled her
even by day in darkness. Now she leaned on the point of the cowrie,
now on the stick of the umbrella; now she laid her hands on Tamalika's
shoulder, (382), now she clung to Madalekha; now she hid herself amidst
her maidens, looking with sidelong glance; now she turned herself
round; now she laid her cheek on the tip of the portress's staff;
now with a steady hand she placed betel on her fresh lips; now she
laughingly ran a few steps in pursuit of her maidens scattered by the
blows of the lotuses she threw at them. And in looking at the prince,
and being gazed at by him, she knew not how long a time had passed. At
last a portress announced Mahaçveta's return, and she went down, and
albeit unwilling, yet to please Mahaçveta she bathed and performed
the wonted duties of the day.
'"But Candrapida went down, and dismissing Kadambari's followers,
performed the rites of bathing, and worshipped the deity honoured
throughout the mountain, and did all the duties of the day, including
his meal, on the pleasure hill. There he sat on an emerald seat
which commanded the front of the pleasure hill, pleasant, green as
a pigeon, bedewed with foam from the chewing of fawns, shining like
Yamuna's waters standing still in fear of Balarama's plough, glowing
crimson with lac-juice from the girls' feet, sanded with flower-dust,
hidden in a bower, a concert-house of peacocks. He suddenly beheld
day eclipsed by a stream of white radiance, rich in glory, (383)
light drunk up as by a garland of lotus-fibres, earth flooded as by
a Milky Ocean, space bedewed as by a storm of sandal-juice, and the
sky painted as with white chunam.
'"'What!' thought he, 'is our lord, the Moon, king of plants,
suddenly risen, or are a thousand shower-baths set going with their
white streams let loose by a spring, or is it the heavenly Ganges,
whitening the earth with her wind-tossed spray, that has come down
to earth in curiosity?'
[305]'"Then, turning his eyes in the direction of the light, he
beheld Kadambari, and with her Madalekha and Taralika bearing a
pearl necklace on a tray covered with white silk. (384) Thereupon
Candrapida decided that it was this necklace that eclipsed [306]
moonlight, and was the cause of the brightness, and by rising while
she was yet far off, and by all wonted courtesies, he greeted the
approach of Madalekha. For a moment she rested on that emerald seat,
and then, rising, anointed him with sandal perfume, put on him two
white robes, (385) crowned him with malati flowers, and then gave
him the necklace, saying, 'This thy gentleness, my Prince, so devoid
of pride, must needs subjugate every heart. Thy kindness gives an
opening even to one like me; by thy form thou art lord of life to
all; by that tenderness shown even where there is no claim on thee,
thou throwest on all a bond of love; the innate sweetness of thy
bearing makes every man thy friend; these thy virtues, manifested
with such natural gentleness, give confidence to all. Thy form
must take the blame, for it inspires trust even at first sight;
else words addressed to one of such dignity as thou would seem all
unmeet. For to speak with thee would be an insult; our very respect
would bring on us the charge of forwardness; our very praise would
display our boldness; our subservience would manifest lightness,
our love self-deception, our speech to thee audacity, our service
impertinence, our gift an insult. Nay, more, thou hast conquered
our hearts; what is left for us to give thee? Thou art lord of our
life; what can we offer thee? Thou hast already bestowed the great
favour of thy presence; what return could we make? Thou by thy sight
hast made our life worth having; how can we reward thy coming? (386)
Therefore Kadambari with this excuse shows her affection rather than
her dignity. Noble hearts admit no question of mine and thine. Away
with the thought of dignity. Even if she accepted slavery to one
like thee, she would do no unworthy act; even if she gave herself
to thee, she would not be deceived; if she gave her life, she
would not repent. The generosity of a noble heart is always bent
on kindness, and does not willingly reject affection, and askers
are less shamefaced than givers. But it is true that Kadambari
knows she has offended thee in this matter. Now, this necklace,
called Çesha, [307] because it was the only jewel left of all that
rose at the churning of nectar, was for that reason greatly valued
by the Lord of Ocean, and was given by him to Varuna on his return
home. By the latter it was given to the Gandharva king, and by him
to Kadambari. And she, thinking thy form worthy of this ornament,
in that not the earth, but the sky, is the home of the moon, hath
sent it to thee. And though men like thee, who bear no ornament
but a noble spirit, find it irksome to wear the gems honoured by
meaner men, yet here Kadambari's affection is a reason for thee to
do so. (387) Did not Vishnu show his reverence by wearing on his
breast the kaustubha gem, because it rose with Lakshmi; and yet he
was not greater than thee, nor did the kaustubha gem in the least
surpass the Çesha in worth; nor, indeed, does Lakshmi approach in
the slightest degree to imitating Kadambari's beauty. And in truth,
if her love is crushed by thee, she will grieve Mahaçveta [308] with
a thousand reproaches, and will slay herself. Mahaçveta therefore
sends Taralika with the necklace to thee, and bids me say thus:
"Let not Kadambari's first impulse of love be crushed by thee, even
in thought, most noble prince."' Thus having said, she fastened on
his breast the necklace that rested like a bevy of stars on the slope
of the golden mountain. Filled with amazement, Candrapida replied:
'What means this, Madalekha? Thou art clever, and knowest how to
win acceptance for thy gifts. By leaving me no chance of a reply,
thou hast shown skill in oratory. Nay, foolish maiden, what are we
in respect of thee, or of acceptance and refusal; truly this talk
is nought. Having received kindness from ladies so rich in courtesy,
let me be employed in any matter, whether pleasing or displeasing to
me. But truly there lives not the man whom the virtues of the most
courteous lady Kadambari do not discourteously [309] enslave.' (388)
Thus saying, after some talk about Kadambari, he dismissed Madalekha,
and ere she had long gone the daughter of Citraratha dismissed her
attendants, rejected the insignia of wand, umbrella, and cowrie,
and accompanied only by Tamalika, again mounted to the roof of her
palace to behold Candrapida, bright with pearls, silk raiment and
sandal, go to the pleasure hill, like the moon to the mount of
rising. There, with passionate glances imbued with every grace,
she stole his heart. (390) And when it became too dark to see, she
descended from the roof, and Candrapida, from the slope of the hill.
'"Then the moon, source of nectar, gladdener of all eyes, arose with
his rays gathered in; he seemed to be worshipped by the night-lotuses,
to calm the quarters whose faces were dark as if with anger, and
to avoid the day-lotuses as if from fear of waking them; under the
guise of his mark he wore night on his heart; he bore in the glow of
rising the lac that had clung to him from the spurning of Rohini's
feet; he pursued the sky, in its dark blue veil, like a mistress;
and by reason of his great goodwill, spread beauty everywhere.
'"And when the moon, the umbrella of the supreme rule of Kama, the
lord of the lotuses, the ivory earring that decks the night, had
risen, and when the world was turned to whiteness, as though overlaid
with ivory, Candrapida lay down on a cool moonlit slab, pearl white,
pointed out by Kadambari's servants. It was washed with fresh sandal,
garlanded with pure sinduvara flowers, and carved round with a leafy
tracery of lotus petals. It lay on the shore of a palace lotus tank,
that seemed from the full moonlight to be made of night-lotuses,
[310] with steps white with bricks washed by the waves, as it wafted a
breeze fanned by the ripples; (391) pairs of hamsas lay there asleep,
and pairs of cakravakas kept up their dirge of separation thereon. And
while the Prince yet rested there Keyuraka approached him, and told
him that Princess Kadambari had come to see him. Then Candrapida rose
hastily, and beheld Kadambari drawing near. Few of her friends were
with her; all her royal insignia were removed; she was as it were
a new self, in the single necklace she wore; her slender form was
white with the purest sandal-juice; an earring hung from one ear; she
wore a lotus-petal in the ear, soft as a budding digit of the moon;
she was clad in robes of the kalpa-tree, [311] clear as moonlight;
and in the garb that consorted with that hour she stood revealed like
the very goddess of moonrise, as she rested on the hand offered by
Madalekha. Drawing near, she showed a grace prompted by love, and
took her seat on the ground, where servants are wont to sit, like a
maiden of low degree; and Candrapida, too, though often entreated by
Madalekha to sit on the rocky seat, took his place on the ground by
Madalekha; and when all the women were seated he made an effort to
speak, saying, 'Princess, to one who is thy slave, and whom even a
glance gladdens, there needs not the favour of speech with thee, far
less so great a grace as this. (392) For, deeply as I think, I cannot
see in myself any worth that this height of favour may befit. Most
noble and sweet in its laying aside of pride is this thy courtesy,
in that such grace is shown to one but newly thy servant. Perchance
thou thinkest me a churl that must be won by gifts. Blessed, truly,
is the servant over whom is thy sway! How great honour is bestowed
on the servants deemed worthy of the bestowal of thy commands. But
the body is a gift at the service of any man, and life is light as
grass, so that I am ashamed in my devotion to greet thy coming with
such a gift. Here am I, here my body, my life, my senses! Do thou,
by accepting one of them, raise it to honour.'
'"Madalekha smilingly replied to this speech of his: 'Enough,
Prince. My friend Kadambari is pained by thy too great ceremony. Why
speakest thou thus? She accepts thy words without further talk. And
why, too, is she brought to suspense by these too flattering
speeches?' and then, waiting a short time, she began afresh: 'How is
King Tarapida, how Queen Vilasavati, how the noble Çukanasa? What is
Ujjayini like, and how far off is it? What is the land of Bharata? And
is the world of mortals pleasant?' So she questioned him. (393)
After spending some time in such talk, Kadambari rose, and summoning
Keyuraka, who was lying near Candrapida, and her attendants, she went
up to her sleeping-chamber. There she adorned a couch strewn with
a coverlet of white silk. Candrapida, however, on his rock passed
the night like a moment in thinking, while his feet were rubbed by
Keyuraka, of the humility, beauty, and depth of Kadambari's character,
the causeless kindness of Mahaçveta, the courtesy of Madalekha, the
dignity of the attendants, the great splendour of the Gandharva world,
and the charm of the Kimpurusha land.
'"Then the moon, lord of stars, weary of being kept awake by the sight
of Kadambari, descended, as if to sleep, to the forest on the shore,
with its palms and tamalas, talis, banyans, and kandalas, [312] cool
with the breeze from the hardly stirred [313] ripples. As though with
the feverish sighs of a woman grieving for her lover's approaching
absence, the moonlight faded away. Lakshmi, having passed the night
on the moon lotuses, lay on the sun lotuses, as though love had sprung
up in her at the sight of Candrapida. At the close of night, when the
palace lamps grew pale, as if dwindling in longing as they remembered
the blows of the lotuses in maidens' ears, the breezes of dawn,
fragrant with creeper-flowers, were wafted, sportive with the sighs
of Love weary from ceaselessly discharging his shafts; the stars were
eclipsed by the rising dawn, and took their abode, as through fear, in
the thick creeper bowers of Mount Mandara. [314] (394) Then when the
sun arose, with its orb crimson as if a glow remained from dwelling
in the hearts of the cakravakas, Candrapida, rising from the rock,
bathed his lotus face, said his morning prayer, took his betel, and
then bade Keyuraka see whether Princess Kadambari was awake or no, and
where she was; and when it was announced to him by the latter on his
return that she was with Mahaçveta in the bower of the courtyard below
the Mandara palace, he started to see the daughter of the Gandharva
king. There he beheld Mahaçveta surrounded by wandering ascetic women
like visible goddesses of prayer, with marks of white ash on their
brow, and hands quickly moving as they turned their rosaries; bearing
the vow of Çiva's followers, clad in robes tawny with mineral dyes,
bound to wear red cloth, robed in the ruddy bark of ripe cocoanuts,
or girdled with thick white cloth; with fans of white cloth; with
staves, matted locks, deer-skins, and bark dresses; with the marks of
male ascetics; reciting the pure praises of Çiva, Durga, Kartikeya,
Viçravasa, [315] Krishna, Avalokiteçvara, the Arhat, Viriñca. [316]
Mahaçveta herself was showing honour to the elder kinswomen of the
king, the foremost of the zenana, by salutes, courteous speeches,
by rising to meet them and placing reed seats for them.
(395) '"He beheld Kadambari also giving her attention to the
recitation of the Mahabharata, that transcends all good omens, by
Narada's sweet-voiced daughter, with an accompaniment of flutes soft
as the murmur of bees, played by a pair of Kinnaras sitting behind
her. She was looking in a mirror fixed before her at her lip, pale as
beeswax when the honey is gone, bathed in the moonlight of her teeth,
though within it was darkened by betel. She was being honoured by a
sunwise turn in departing by a tame goose wandering like the moon
in a fixed circle, with wide eyes raised to her sirisha earrings
in its longing for vallisneria. Here the prince approached, and,
saluting her, sat down on a seat placed on the dais. After a short
stay he looked at Mahaçveta's face with a gentle smile that dimpled
his cheek, and she, at once knowing his wish, said to Kadambari:
'Dear friend, Candrapida is softened by thy virtues as the moonstone
by the moon, and cannot speak for himself. He wishes to depart; for
the court he has left behind is thrown into distress, not knowing what
has happened. Moreover, however far apart you may be from each other,
this your love, like that of the sun and the day lotus, or the moon and
the night lotus, will last till the day of doom. Therefore let him go.'
(396) '"'Dear Mahaçveta,' replied Kadambari, 'I and my retinue belong
as wholly to the prince as his own soul. Why, then, this ceremony?' So
saying, and summoning the Gandharva princes, she bade them escort
the prince to his own place, and he, rising, bowed before Mahaçveta
first, and then Kadambari, and was greeted by her with eyes and
heart softened by affection; and with the words, 'Lady, what shall
I say? For men distrust the multitude of words. Let me be remembered
in the talk of thy retinue,' he went out of the zenana; and all the
maidens but Kadambari, drawn by reverence for Candrapida's virtues,
followed him on his way like his subjects to the outer gate.
'"On their return, he mounted the steed brought by Keyuraka, and,
escorted by the Gandharva princes, turned to leave Hemakuta. His whole
thoughts on the way were about Kadambari in all things both within and
without. With a mind wholly imbued with her, he beheld her behind him,
dwelling within him in his bitter grief for the cruel separation;
or before him, stopping him in his path; or cast on the sky, as if
by the force of longing in his heart troubled by parting, so that
he could perfectly see her face; he beheld her very self resting
on his heart, as if her mind were wounded with his loss. When he
reached Mahaçveta's hermitage, he there beheld his own camp, which
had followed the tracks of Indrayudha.
(397) '"Dismissing the Gandharva princes, he entered his own abode
amidst the salutations of his troops full of joy, curiosity,
and wonder; and after greeting the rest of the court, he spent
the day mostly in talk with Vaiçampayana and Patralekha, saying,
'Thus said Mahaçveta, thus Kadambari, thus Madalekha, thus Tamalika,
thus Keyuraka.' No longer did royal Glory, envious at the sight
of Kadambari's beauty, find in him her joy; for him night passed
in wakefulness as he thought, with a mind in ceaseless longing, of
that bright-eyed maiden. Next morning, at sunrise, he went to his
pavilion with his mind still fixed on her, and suddenly saw Keyuraka
entering with a doorkeeper; and as the latter, while yet far off,
cast himself on the ground, so that his crest swept the floor,
Candrapida cried, 'Come, come,' greeting him first with a sidelong
glance, then with his heart, then with a thrill. Then at last he
hastened forward to give him a hearty and frank embrace, and made
him sit down by himself. Then, in words brightened by the nectar of
a smile, and transfused with overflowing love, he reverently asked:
'Say, Keyuraka, is the lady Kadambari well, and her friends, and
her retinue, and the lady Mahaçveta?' With a low bow, Keyuraka, as
though he had been bathed, anointed, and refreshed by the smile that
the prince's deep affection had prompted, replied respectfully:
'"'She is now well, in that my lord asks for her.' And then he showed
a folded lotus-leaf, wrapped in wet cloth, with its opening closed
by lotus filaments, and a seal of tender lotus filaments set in a
paste of wet sandal. (398) This he opened, and showed the tokens
sent by Kadambari, such as milky betel-nuts of emerald hue, with
their shells removed and surrounded with fresh sprays, betel-leaves
pale as the cheek of a hen-parrot, camphor like a solid piece of
Çiva's moon, and sandal ointment pleasant with rich musk scent. 'The
lady Kadambari,' said he, 'salutes thee with folded hands that kiss
her crest, and that are rosy with the rays of her tender fingers;
Mahaçveta with a greeting and embrace; Madalekha with a reverence
and a brow bathed in the moonlight of the crest-gem she has let fall;
the maidens with the points of the fish-ornaments and the parting of
their hair resting on the ground; and Taralika, with a prostration
to touch the dust of thy feet. Mahaçveta sends thee this message:
"Happy truly are they from whose eyes thou art never absent. For
in truth thy virtues, snowy, cold as the moon when thou art by, in
thine absence burn like sunlight. Truly all yearn for the past day
as though it were that day whereon fate with such toil brought forth
amrita. Without thee the royal Gandharva city is languid as at the end
of a feast. (399) Thou knowest that I have surrendered all things; yet
my heart, in my despite, desires to see thee who art so undeservedly
kind. Kadambari, moreover, is far from well. She recalls thee with thy
smiling face like Love himself. Thou, by the honour of thy return,
canst make her proud of having some virtues of her own. For respect
shown by the noble must needs confer honour. And thou must forgive
the trouble of knowing such as we. For thine own nobility gives this
boldness to our address. And here is this Çesha necklace, which was
left by thee on thy couch."' So saying, he loosed it from his band,
where it was visible by reason of the long rays that shot through the
interstices of the fine thread, and placed it in the fan-bearer's hand.
'"'This, indeed, is the reward of doing homage at Mahaçveta's feet,
that the lady Kadambari should lay so great a weight of honour on
her slave as to remember him," said Candrapida, as he placed all on
his head [317] and accepted it. The necklace he put round his neck,
after anointing it with an ointment cool, pleasant, and fragrant,
as it were with the beauty of Kadambari's cheeks distilled, or the
light of her smile liquefied, or her heart melted, or her virtues
throbbing forth. (400) Taking some betel, he rose and stood, with his
left arm on Keyuraka's shoulder, and then dismissed the courtiers,
who were gladly paying their wonted homage, and at length went
to see his elephant Gandhamadana. There he stayed a short time,
and after he had himself given to the elephant a handful of grass,
that, being jagged with the rays of his nails, was like lotus-fibre,
he went to the stable of his favourite steed. On the way he turned
his face now on this side, now on that, to glance at his retinue,
and the porters, understanding his wish, forbade all to follow him,
and dismissed the retinue, so that he entered the stable with Keyuraka
alone. The grooms bowed and departed, with eyes bewildered by terror
at their dismissal, and the prince set straight Indrayudha's cloth,
which had fallen a little on one side, pushed back his mane, tawny
as a lion's, which was falling on his eyes and half closing them, and
then, negligently resting his foot on the peg of the tethering-rope,
and leaning against the stable wall, he eagerly asked:
'"'Tell me, Keyuraka, what has happened in the Gandharva court since
my departure? In what occupation has the Gandharva princess spent
the time? What were Mahaçveta and Madalekha doing? What talk was
there? How were you and the retinue employed? And was there any
talk about me?' Then Keyuraka told him all: 'Listen, prince. On
thy departure, the lady Kadambari, with her retinue, climbed to the
palace roof, making in the maidens' palace with the sound of anklets
the beat of farewell drums that rose from a thousand hearts; (401)
and she gazed on thy path, gray with the dust of the cavalcade. When
thou wert out of sight, she laid her face on Mahaçveta's shoulder, and,
in her love, sprinkled the region of thy journey with glances fair as
the Milky Ocean, and, warding off the sun's touch, as it were, with
the moon assuming in jealousy the guise of a white umbrella, she long
remained there. Thence she reluctantly tore herself away and came down,
and after but a short rest in the pavilion, she arose and went to the
pleasaunce where thou hadst been. She was guided by bees murmuring in
the flowers of oblation; startled by the cry of the house peacocks,
she checked their note as they looked up at the shower-like rays of
her nails, by the circlets which lay loose round her throat; at every
step she let her hand rest on creeper-twigs white with flowers, and
her mind on thy virtues. When she reached the pleasaunce, her retinue
needlessly told her: "Here the prince stayed on the spray-washed rock,
with its creeper-bower bedewed by the stream from a pipe that ends
in an emerald fish-head; here he bathed in a place covered by bees
absorbed in the fragrance of the scented water; here he worshipped
Çiva on the bank of the mountain stream, sandy with flower-dust; here
he ate on a crystal stone which eclipsed moonlight; and here he slept
on a pearly slab with a mark of sandal-juice imprinted on it." (402)
And so she passed the day, gazing on the signs of thy presence; and
at close of day Mahaçveta prepared for her, though against her will, a
meal in that crystal dwelling. And when the sun set and the moon rose,
soon, as though she were a moonstone that moonlight would melt, and
therefore dreaded the entrance of the moon's reflection, she laid her
hands on her cheeks, and, as if in thought, remained for a few minutes
with closed eyes; and then rising, went to her sleeping-chamber,
scarcely raising her feet as they moved with graceful, languid gait,
seemingly heavy with bearing the moon's reflection on their bright
nails. Throwing herself on her couch, she was racked by a severe
headache, and overcome by a burning fever, and, in company with the
palace-lamps, the moon-lotuses, and the cakravakas, she passed the
night open-eyed in bitter grief. And at dawn she summoned me, and
reproachfully bade me seek for tidings of thee.'
'"At these words, Candrapida, all eager to depart, shouted: 'A
horse! a horse!' and left the palace. Indrayudha was hastily saddled,
and brought round by the grooms, and Candrapida mounted, placing
Patralekha behind him, leaving Vaiçampayana in charge of the camp,
dismissing all his retinue, and followed by Keyuraka on another steed,
he went to Hemakuta. (403) On his arrival, he dismounted at the gate of
Kadambari's palace, giving his horse to the doorkeeper, and, followed
by Patralekha, eager for the first sight of Kadambari, he entered, and
asked a eunuch who came forward where the lady Kadambari was. Bending
low, the latter informed him, that she was in the ice-bower on the
bank of the lotus-tank below the Mattamayura pleasaunce; and then the
prince, guided by Keyuraka, went some distance through the women's
garden, and beheld day grow green, and the sunbeams turn into grass
by the reflection of the plantain-groves with their emerald glow,
and there he beheld Kadambari. (410) Then she looked with tremulous
glance at her retinue, as, coming in one after another, they announced
Candrapida's approach, and asked each by name: 'Tell me, has he really
come, and hast thou seen him? How far off is he?' She gazed with
eyes gradually brightening as she saw him yet afar off, and rose from
her couch of flowers, standing like a newly-caught elephant bound to
her post, and trembling in every limb. She was veiled in bees drawn
as vassals by the fragrance of her flowery couch, all murmuring; her
upper garment was in confusion, and she sought to place on her bosom
the shining necklace; (411) she seemed to beg the support of a hand
from her own shadow as she laid her left hand on the jewelled pavement;
she seemed to receive herself as a gift by sprinkling [318] with her
right hand moist with the toil of binding together her falling locks;
she poured forth tears of joy cool as though the sandal-juice of her
sectarial mark had entered in and been united with them; she washed
with a line of glad tears her smooth cheeks, that the pollen from
her garland had tinged with gray, as if in eagerness that the image
of her beloved might fall thereon; she seemed to be drawn forward by
her long eyes fastened on Candrapida's face, with its pupil fixed in
a sidelong glance, and her head somewhat bent, as if from the weight
of the sandal-mark on her brow.
'"And Candrapida, approaching, bowed first before Mahaçveta, then
courteously saluted Kadambari, and when she had returned his obeisance,
and seated herself again on the couch, and the portress had brought
him a gold stool with legs gleaming with gems, he pushed it away
with his foot, and sat down on the ground. Then Keyuraka presented
Patralekha, saying: 'This is Prince Candrapida's betel-box bearer
and most favoured friend.' And Kadambari, looking on her, thought:
'How great partiality does Prajapati bestow on mortal women!' And
as Patralekha bowed respectfully, she bade her approach, and placed
her close behind herself, amidst the curious glances of all her
retinue. (412) Filled even at first sight with great love for her,
Kadambari often touched her caressingly with her slender hand.
'"Now, Candrapida, having quickly performed all the courtesies of
arrival, beheld the state of Citraratha's daughter, and thought:
'Surely my heart is dull, in that it cannot even now believe. Be
it so. I will, nevertheless, ask her with a skilfully-devised
speech.' [319] Then he said aloud: 'Princess, I know that this pain,
with its unceasing torment, has come on thee from love. Yet, slender
maiden, it torments thee not as us. I would gladly, by the offering
of myself, restore thee to health. For I pity thee as thou tremblest;
and as I see thee fallen under the pain of love, my heart, too, falls
prostrate. For thine arms are slender and unadorned, and thou bearest
in thine eye a red lotus like a hybiscus [320] from the deep wasting
of fever. And all thy retinue weep ceaselessly for thy pain. Accept
thine ornaments. Take of thine own accord thy richest adornments; for
as the creeper shines hidden in bees and flowers, so shouldst thou.'
'"Then Kadambari, though naturally simple by reason of her youth, yet,
from a knowledge taught by love, understood all the meaning of this
darkly-expressed speech. (413) Yet, not realizing that she had come to
such a point in her desires, supported by her modesty, she remained
silent. She sent forth, however, the radiance of a smile at that
moment on some pretext, as though to see his face darkened by the bees
which were gathered round its sweetness. Madalekha therefore replied:
'Prince, what shall I say? This pain is cruel beyond words. Moreover,
in one of so delicate a nature what does not tend to pain? Even cool
lotus-fibres turn to fire and moonlight burns. Seest thou not the pain
produced in her mind by the breezes of the fans? Only her strength
of mind keeps her alive.' But in heart alone did Kadambari admit
Madalekha's words as an answer to the prince. His mind, however, was in
suspense from the doubtfulness of her meaning, and after spending some
time in affectionate talk with Mahaçveta, at length with a great effort
he withdrew himself, and left Kadambari's palace to go to the camp.
'"As he was about to mount his horse, Keyuraka came up behind him,
and said: 'Prince, Madalekha bids me say that Princess Kadambari, ever
since she beheld Patralekha, has been charmed by her, and wishes to
keep her. She shall return later. (414) Having heard her message, thou
must decide' 'Happy,' replied the prince, 'and enviable is Patralekha,
in that she is honoured by so rare a favour by the princess. Let her
be taken in.' So saying, he went to the camp.
'"At the moment of his arrival he beheld a letter-carrier well known
to him, that had come from his father's presence, and, stopping
his horse, he asked from afar, with eyes widened by affection:
'Is my father well, and all his retinue? and my mother and all the
zenana?' Then the man, approaching with a reverence, saying, 'As
thou sayest, prince,' gave him two letters. Then the prince, placing
them on his head, and himself opening them in order, read as follows:
'Hail from Ujjayini. King Tarapida, king of kings, whose lotus-feet
are made the crest on the head of all kings, greets Candrapida, the
home of all good fortune, kissing him on his head, which kisses the
circle of the flashing rays of his crest jewels. Our subjects are
well. Why has so long a time passed since we have seen thee? Our
heart longs eagerly for thee. The queen and the zenana pine for
thee. Therefore, let the cutting short of this letter be a cause of
thy setting out.' And in the second letter, sent by Çukanasa, he read
words of like import. Vaiçampayana, too, at that moment came up, and
showed another pair of letters of his own to the same effect. (415)
So with the words, 'As my father commands,' he at once mounted his
horse, and caused the drum of departure to be sounded. He instructed
Meghanada, son of Balahaka, the commander-in-chief, who stood near him
surrounded by a large troop: 'Thou must come with Patralekha. Keyuraka
will surely bring her as far as here, and by his lips a message must
be sent with a salutation to Princess Kadambari. Truly the nature of
mortals deserves the blame of the three worlds, for it is discourteous,
unfriendly, and hard to grasp, in that, when the loves of men suddenly
clash, they do not set its full value on spontaneous tenderness. Thus,
by my going, my love has become a cheating counterfeit; my faith
has gained skill in false tones; my self-devotion has sunk into base
deceit, having only a pretended sweetness; and the variance of voice
and thought has been laid bare. But enough of myself. The princess,
though a mate for the gods, has, by showing her favour to an unworthy
object, [321] incurred reproach. For the ambrosially kind glances of
the great, when they fall in vain on unfitting objects, cause shame
afterwards. And yet my heart is not so much weighed down by shame
for her as for Mahaçveta. For the princess will doubtless often blame
her for her ill-placed partiality in having painted my virtues with
a false imputation of qualities I did not possess. What, then, shall
I do? My parents' command is the weightier. Yet it controls my body
alone. (416) But my heart, in its yearning to dwell at Hemakuta, has
written a bond of slavery for a thousand births to Princess Kadambari,
[322] and her favour holds it fast [323] as the dense thicket holds a
forester. Nevertheless, I go at my father's command. Truly from this
cause the infamous Candrapida will be a byword to the people. Yet,
think not that Candrapida, if he lives, will rest without again tasting
the joy of worshipping the lotus-feet of the princess. Salute with
bent head and sunwise turn the feet of Mahaçveta. Tell Madalekha that
a hearty embrace, preceded by an obeisance, is offered her; salute
Tamalika, and inquire on my behalf after all Kadambari's retinue. Let
blessed Hemakuta be honoured by me with upraised hands.' After giving
this message, he set Vaiçampayana over the camp, instructing his friend
to march [324] slowly, without overtasking the army. Then he mounted,
accompanied by his cavalry, mostly mounted on young horses, wearing the
grace of a forest of spears, breaking up the earth with their hoofs,
and shaking Kailasa with their joyful neighing as they set out; and
though his heart was empty, in the fresh separation from Kadambari,
he asked the letter-carrier who clung to his saddle concerning the
way to Ujjayini.
(417-426 condensed) '"And on the way he beheld in the forest a red
flag, near which was a shrine of Durga, guarded by an old Dravidian
hermit, who made his abode thereby.
(426) '"Dismounting, he entered, and bent reverently before the
goddess, and, bowing again after a sunwise turn, he wandered about,
interested in the calm of the place, and beheld on one side the
wrathful hermit, howling and shouting at him; and at the sight,
tossed as he was by passionate longing in his absence from Kadambari,
he could not forbear smiling a moment; but he checked his soldiers,
who were laughing and beginning a quarrel with the hermit; and at
length, with great difficulty, he calmed him with many a soothing and
courteous speech, and asked him about his birthplace, caste, knowledge,
wife and children, wealth, age, and the cause of his ascetic vow. On
being asked, the latter described himself, and the prince was greatly
interested by him as he garrulously described his past heroism, beauty,
and wealth, and thus diverted his mind in its soreness of bereavement;
and, having become friendly with him, he caused betel to be offered to
him. (427) When the sun set, the princes encamped under the trees that
chanced [325] to be near; the golden saddles of the steeds were hung
on boughs; the steeds showed the exertions they had gone through,
from the tossing of their manes dusty with rolling on the earth,
and after they had taken some handfuls of grass and been watered,
and were refreshed, they were tethered, with the spears dug into the
ground before them; the soldiery, wearied [326] with the day's march,
appointed a watch, and gladly went to sleep on heaps of leaves near
the horses; the encampment was bright as day, for the darkness was
drunk up by the light of many a bivouac fire, and Candrapida went to a
couch prepared for him by his retinue, and pointed out to him by his
porters, in front of the place where Indrayudha was tethered. But
the very moment he lay down restlessness seized his heart, and,
overcome by pain, he dismissed the princes, and said nothing even
to the special favourites who stood behind him. With closed eyes
he again and again went in heart to the Kimpurusha land. With fixed
thought he recalled Hemakuta. He thought on the spontaneous kindness
of Mahaçveta's favours. [327] He constantly longed for the sight
of Kadambari as his life's highest fruit. He continually desired
the converse of Madalekha, so charming in its absence of pride. He
wished to see Tamalika. He looked forward to Keyuraka's coming. He
beheld in fancy the winter palace. He often sighed a long, feverish
sigh. He bestowed on the Çesha necklace a kindness beyond that for
his kin. (428) He thought he saw fortunate Patralekha standing behind
him. Thus he passed the night without sleep; and, rising at dawn,
he fulfilled the hermit's wish by wealth poured out at his desire,
and, sojourning at pleasant spots on the way, in a few days he
reached Ujjayini. A thousand hands, like lotuses of offering to a
guest raised in reverent salutation, were raised by the citizens in
their confusion and joy at his sudden coming, as he then unexpectedly
entered the city. The king heard from the retinue [328] hastening to
be first to tell him that Candrapida was at the gate, and bewildered
by sudden gladness, with steps slow from the weight of joy, he went to
meet his son. Like Mandara, he drew to himself as a Milky Ocean his
spotless silk mantle that was slipping down; like the kalpa-tree,
with its shower of choice pearls, he rained tears of gladness;
he was followed by a thousand chiefs that were round him--chiefs
with topknots white with age, anointed with sandal, wearing untorn
[329] linen robes, bracelets, turbans, crests and wreaths, bearing
swords, staves, umbrellas and cowries, making the earth appear rich
in Kailasas and Milky Oceans. The prince, seeing his father from afar,
dismounted, and touched the ground with a head garlanded by the rays of
his crest-jewels. Then his father stretched out his arms, bidding him
approach, and embraced him closely; and when he had paid his respects
to all the honourable persons who were there, he was led by the king
to Vilasavati's palace. (429) His coming was greeted by her and her
retinue, and when he had performed all the auspicious ceremonies of
arrival, he stayed some time in talk about his expedition of conquest,
and then went to see Çukanasa. Having duly stayed there some time, he
told him that Vaiçampayana was at the camp and well, and saw Manorama;
and then returning, he mechanically [330] performed the ceremonies
of bathing, and so forth, in Vilasavati's palace. On the morrow he
went to his own palace, and there, with a mind tossed by anxiety,
he deemed that not only himself, but his palace and the city, and,
indeed, the whole world, was but a void without Kadambari, and so, in
his longing to hear news of her, he awaited the return of Patralekha,
as though it were a festival, or the winning of a boon, or the time
of the rising of amrita.
'"A few days later Meghanada came with Patralekha, and led her in;
and as she made obeisance from afar, Candrapida smiled affectionately,
and, rising reverently, embraced her; for though she was naturally
dear to him, she was now yet dearer as having won a fresh splendour
from Kadambari's presence. He laid his slender hand on Meghanada's
back as he bent before him, and then, sitting down, he said: 'Tell me,
Patralekha, is all well with Mahaçveta and Madalekha, and the lady
Kadambari? (430) And are all her retinue well, with Tamalika and
Keyuraka?' 'Prince,' she replied, 'all is well, as thou sayest. The
lady Kadambari, with her friends and retinue, do thee homage by making
their raised hands into a wreath for their brows.' At these words the
prince dismissed his royal retinue, and went with Patralekha into
the palace. Then, with a tortured heart, no longer able from its
intense love to overcome his eagerness to hear, he sent his retinue
far away and entered the house. With his lotus-feet he pushed away
the pair of hamsas that were sleeping happily on the slope beneath a
leafy bower that made an emerald banner; and, resting in the midst
of a fresh bed of hybiscus, that made a sunshade with its broad,
long-stalked leaves, he sat down, and asked: 'Tell me, Patralekha,
how thou hast fared. How many days wert thou there? What favour did
the princess show thee? What talk was there, and what conversation
arose? Who most remembers us, and whose affection is greatest?' [331]
Thus questioned, she told him: 'Give thy mind and hear all. When thou
wert gone, I returned with Keyuraka, and sat down near the couch of
flowers; and there I gladly remained, receiving ever fresh marks of
kindness from the princess. What need of words? (431) The whole of
that day her eye, her form, her hand, were on mine; her speech dwelt
on my name and her heart on my love. On the morrow, leaning on me,
she left the winter palace, and, wandering at will, bade her retinue
remain behind, and entered the maidens' garden. By a flight of emerald
steps, that might have been formed from Jamuna's [332] waves, she
ascended to a white summer-house, and in it she stayed some time,
leaning against a jewelled pillar, deliberating with her heart,
wishing to say something, and gazing on my face with fixed pupil
and motionless eyelashes. As she looked she formed her resolve, and,
as if longing to enter love's fire, she was bathed in perspiration;
whereat a trembling came upon her, so that, shaking in every limb as
though fearing to fall, she was seized by despair.
'"'But when I, who knew her thoughts, fixed my mind on her, and,
fastening my eyes on her face, bade her speak, she seemed to be
restrained by her own trembling limbs; with a toe that marked the
floor as if for retreat, she seemed to rub out her own image in shame
that it should hear her secret; (432) with her lotus foot--its anklets
all set jingling by the scratching of the floor--she pushed aside the
tame geese; with a strip of silk made into a fan for her hot face,
she drove away the bees on her ear-lotuses; to the peacock she gave,
like a bribe, a piece of betel broken by her teeth; and gazing often
on every side lest a wood-goddess should listen, much as she longed
to speak, she was checked in her utterance by shame, and could not
speak a word. [333] Her voice, in spite of her greatest efforts,
was wholly burnt up by love's fire, borne away by a ceaseless flow
of tears, overwhelmed by onrushing griefs, broken by love's falling
shafts, banished by invading sighs, restrained by the hundred
cares that dwelt in her heart, and drunk by the bees that tasted
her breath, so that it could not come forth. In brief, she made a
pearl rosary to count her many griefs with the bright tears that
fell without touching her cheeks, as with bent head she made the
very image of a storm. Then from her shame learnt its full grace;
modesty, a transcendant modesty; simplicity, simplicity; courtesy,
courtesy; (433) fear, timidity; coquetry, its quintessence; despair,
its own nature; and charm, a further charm. And so, when I asked her,
"Princess, what means this?" she wiped her reddened eyes, and, holding
a garland woven by the flowers of the bower with arms which, soft as
lotus-fibres, seemed meant to hold her firmly in the excess of her
grief, she raised one eyebrow, as if gazing on the path of death,
and sighed a long, fevered sigh. And as, in desire to know the cause
of her sorrow, I pressed her to tell me, she seemed to write on the
ketaki petals scratched by her nails in her shame, and so deliver her
message. She moved her lower lip in eagerness to speak, and seemed to
be whispering to the bees who drank her breath, and thus she remained
some time with eyes fixed on the ground.
'"'At last, often turning her glance to my face, she seemed to purify,
with the tears that fell from her brimming eyes, the voice that the
smoke of Love's fire had dimmed. And, in the guise of tears, she bound
up with the rays of her teeth, flashing in a forced smile, the strange
syllables of what she had meant to say, but forgotten in her tremor,
and with great difficulty betook herself to speech. "Patralekha," she
said to me, "by reason of my great favour for thee, neither father,
mother, Mahaçveta, Madalekha, nor life itself is dear to me as thou
hast been since I first beheld thee. (434) I know not why my heart has
cast off all my friends and trusts in thee alone. To whom else can I
complain, or tell my humiliation, or give a share in my woe? When I
have shown thee the unbearable burden of my woe, I will die. By my life
I swear to thee I am put to shame by even my own heart's knowledge of
my story; how much more by another's? How should such as I stain by
ill report a race pure as moonbeams, and lose the honour which has
descended from my sires, and turn my thoughts on unmaidenly levity,
acting thus without my father's will, or my mother's bestowal, or my
elders' congratulations, without any announcement, without sending
of gifts, or showing of pictures? Timidly, as one unprotected,
have I been led to deserve my parents' blame by that overweening
Candrapida. Is this, I pray, the conduct of noble men? Is this the
fruit of our meeting, that my heart, tender as a lotus filament,
is now crushed? For maidens should not be lightly treated by youths;
the fire of love is wont to consume first their reserve and then their
heart; the arrows of love pierce first their dignity and then their
life. Therefore, I bid thee farewell till our meeting in another birth,
for none is dearer to me than thou. (435) By carrying out my resolve
of death, I shall cleanse my own stain." So saying, she was silent.
'"'Not knowing the truth of her tale, I sorrowfully, as if ashamed,
afraid, bewildered, and bereft of sense, adjured her, saying:
"Princess, I long to hear. Tell me what Prince Candrapida has
done. What offence has been committed? By what discourtesy has he
vexed that lotus-soft heart of thine, that none should vex? When I
have heard this, thou shalt die on my lifeless body." Thus urged,
she again began: "I will tell thee; listen carefully. In my dreams
that cunning villain comes daily and employs in secret messages a
caged parrot and a starling. In my dreams he, bewildered in mind with
vain desires, writes in my earrings to appoint meetings. He sends
love-letters with their syllables washed away, filled with mad hopes,
most sweet, and showing his own state by the lines of tears stained
with pigment falling on them. By the glow of his feelings he dyes my
feet against my will. In his reckless insolence he prides himself on
his own reflection in my nails. (436) In his unwarranted boldness
he embraces me against my will in the gardens when I am alone,
and almost dead from fear of being caught, as the clinging of my
silken skirts to the branches hinders my steps, and my friends the
creepers seize and deliver me to him. Naturally crooked, he teaches
the very essence of crookedness to a heart by nature simple by the
blazonry he paints on my breast. Full of guileful flattery, he fans
with his cool breath my cheeks all wet and shining as with a breeze
from the waves of my heart's longing. He boldly places the rays of his
nails like young barley-sheaves on my ear, though his hand is empty,
because its lotus has fallen from his grasp relaxed in weariness. He
audaciously draws me by the hair to quaff the sweet wine of his breath,
inhaled by him when he watered his favourite bakul-flowers. Mocked by
his own folly, he demands on his head the touch of my foot, destined
for the palace açoka-tree. [334] In his utter love madness, he says:
'Tell me, Patralekha, how a madman can be rejected?' For he considers
refusal a sign of jealousy; he deems abuse a gentle jest; he looks
on silence as pettishness; he regards the mention of his faults as a
device for thinking of him; he views contempt as the familiarity of
love; he esteems the blame of mankind as renown."
'"'A sweet joy filled me as I heard her say this, and I thought,
(437) "Surely Love has led her far in her feelings for Candrapida. If
this indeed be true, he shows in visible form, under the guise of
Kadambari, his tender feeling towards the prince, and he is met
by the prince's innate and carefully-trained virtues. The quarters
gleam with his glory; a rain of pearls is cast by his youth on the
waves of the ocean of tenderness; his name is written by his youthful
gaiety on the moon; his own fortune is proclaimed by his happy lot;
and nectar is showered down by his grace as by the digits of the moon."
'"'Moreover, the Malaya wind has at length its season; moonrise has
gained its full chance; the luxuriance of spring flowers has won a
fitting fruit; the sharpness of wine has mellowed to its full virtue,
and the descent of love's era is now clearly manifest on earth.
'"'Then I smiled, and said aloud: "If it be so, princess, cease thy
wrath. Be appeased. Thou canst not punish the prince for the faults of
Kama. These truly are the sports of Love, the god of the Flowery Bow,
not of a wanton Candrapida."
'"'As I said this, she eagerly asked me: "As for this Kama, whoever
he may be, tell me what forms he assumes."
'"'"How can he have forms?" replied I. "He is a formless fire. For
without flame he creates heat; without smoke he makes tears flow;
without the dust of ashes he shows whiteness. Nor is there a being
in all the wide universe who is not, or has not been, or will not be,
the victim of his shaft. Who is there that fears him not? (438) Even
a strong man is pierced by him when he takes in hand his flowery bow.
'"'"Moreover, when tender women are possessed by him, they gaze,
and the sky is crowded with a thousand images of their beloved. They
paint the loved form; the earth is a canvas all too small. They reckon
the virtues of their hero; number itself fails them. They listen to
talk about their dearest; the Goddess of Speech herself seems all too
silent. They muse on the joys of union with him who is their life;
and time itself is all too short to their heart."
'"'She pondered a moment on this ere she replied: "As thou sayest,
Patralekha, Love has led me into tenderness for the prince. For all
these signs and more are found in me. Thou art one with my own heart,
and I ask thee to tell me what I should now do? I am all unversed in
such matters. Moreover, if I were forced to tell my parents, I should
be so ashamed that my heart would choose death rather than life."
'"'Then again I answered; "Enough, princess! Why this needless talk
of death as a necessary condition? [335] Surely, fair maiden, though
thou hast not sought to please him, Love has in kindness given thee
this boon. Why tell thy parents? Love himself, like a parent, plans
for thee; (439) like a mother, he approves thee; like a father, he
bestows thee; like a girl friend, he kindles thine affection; like
a nurse, he teaches thy tender age the secrets of love. Why should I
tell thee of those who have themselves chosen their lords? For were
it not so, the ordinance of the svayamvara in our law-books [336]
would be meaningless. Be at rest, then, princess. Enough of this talk
of death. I conjure thee by touching thy lotus-foot to send me. I am
ready to go. I will bring back to thee, princess, thy heart's beloved."
'"'When I had said this, she seemed to drink me in with a tender
glance; she was confused by an ardour of affection which, though
restrained, found a path, and burst through the reserve that Love's
shafts had pierced. In her pleasure at my words, she cast off the
silken outer robe which clung to her through her weariness, and
left it suspended on her thrilling limbs. [337] She loosened the
moonbeam necklace on her neck, put there as a noose to hang herself,
and entangled in the fish ornaments of her swinging earring. Yet,
though her whole soul was in a fever of joy, she supported herself
by the modesty which is a maiden's natural dower, and said: "I
know thy great love. But how could a woman, tender of nature as a
young çirisha-blossom, show such boldness, especially one so young
as I? (440) Bold, indeed, are they who themselves send messages, or
themselves deliver a message. I, a young maiden, [338] am ashamed to
send a bold message. What, indeed, could I say? 'Thou art very dear,'
is superfluous. 'Am I dear to thee?' is a senseless question. 'My
love for thee is great,' is the speech of the shameless. 'Without
thee I cannot live,' is contrary to experience. 'Love conquers
me,' is a reproach of my own fault. 'I am given to thee by Love,'
is a bold offering of one's self. 'Thou art my captive,' is the
daring speech of immodesty. 'Thou must needs come,' is the pride of
fortune. 'I will come myself,' is a woman's weakness. 'I am wholly
devoted to thee,' is the lightness of obtruded affection. 'I send
no message from fear of a rebuff,' is to wake the sleeper. [339]
'Let me be a warning of the sorrow of a service that is despised,'
is an excess of tenderness. 'Thou shalt know my love by my death,'
is a thought that may not enter the mind."'"'
PART II.
(441) I hail, for the completion of the difficult toil of this
unfinished tale, Uma and Çiva, parents of earth, whose single body,
formed from the union of two halves, shows neither point of union
nor division.
(442) I salute Narayana, creator of all, by whom the man-lion form
was manifested happily, showing a face terrible with its tossing mane,
and displaying in his hand quoit, sword, club and conch.
I do homage to my father, that lord of speech, the creator by whom that
story was made that none else could fashion, that noble man whom all
honour in every house, and from whom I, in reward of a former life,
received my being.
(443) When my father rose to the sky, on earth the stream of the
story failed with his voice. And I, as I saw its unfinished state
was a grief to the good, began it, but from no poetic pride.
For that the words flow with such beauty is my father's special gift;
a single touch of the ray of the moon, the one source of nectar,
suffices to melt the moonstone.
As other rivers at their full enter the Ganges, and by being absorbed
in it reach the ocean, so my speech is cast by me for the completion
of this story on the ocean-flowing stream of my father's eloquence.
Reeling under the strong sweetness of Kadambari [340] as one
intoxicated, I am bereft of sense, in that I fear not to compose an
ending in my own speech devoid of sweetness and colour.
(444) The seeds that promise fruit and are destined to flower are
forced by the sower with fitting toils; scattered in good ground, they
grow to ripeness; but it is the sower's son who gathers them. [341]
'"Moreover," Kadambari continued, "if the prince were brought shame
itself, put to shame by my weakness, would not allow a sight of
him. (446) Fear itself, frightened at the crime of bringing him by
force, would not enter his presence. Then all would be over if my
friend Patralekha did her utmost from love to me, and yet could not
induce him to come, even by falling at his feet, either perchance
from his respect for his parents, or devotion to royal duty, or love
of his native land, or reluctance towards me. Nay, more. (448) I am
that Kadambari whom he saw resting on a couch of flowers in the winter
palace, and he is that Candrapida, all ignorant of another's pain,
who stayed but two days, and then departed. I had promised Mahaçveta
not to marry while she was in trouble, though she besought me not
to promise, saying, that Kama often takes our life by love even for
one unseen. (449) But this is not my case. For the prince, imaged by
fancy, ever presents himself to my sight, and, sleeping or waking,
in every place I behold him. Therefore talk not of bringing him."
'(450) Thereupon I [342] reflected, "Truly the beloved, as shaped in
the imagination, is a great support to women separated from their
loves, especially to maidens of noble birth." (451) And I promised
Kadambari that I would bring thee, O Prince. (452) Then she, roused by
my speech full of thy name, as by a charm to remove poison, suddenly
opened her eyes, and said, "I say not that thy going pleases me,
Patralekha. (453) It is only when I see thee that I can endure my
life; yet if this desire possess thee, do what thou wilt!" So saying,
she dismissed me with many presents.
'Then with slightly downcast face Patralekha continued: "The recent
kindness of the princess has given me courage, my prince, and I am
grieved for her, and so I say to thee, 'Didst thou act worthily of
thy tender nature in leaving her in this state?'"
'Thus reproached by Patralekha, and hearing the words of Kadambari,
so full of conflicting impulses, the prince became confused; (454)
and sharing in Kadambari's feeling, he asked Patralekha with tears,
"What am I to do? Love has made me a cause of sorrow to Kadambari,
and of reproach to thee. (455) And methinks this was some curse that
darkened my mind; else how was my mind deceived when clear signs were
given, which would create no doubt even in a dull mind? All this my
fault has arisen from a mistake. I will therefore now, by devoting
myself to her, even with my life, act so that the princess may know
me not to be of so hard a heart."
'(456) While he thus spoke a portress hastened in and said: "Prince,
Queen Vilasavati sends a message saying, 'I hear from the talk
of my attendants that Patralekha, who had stayed behind, has now
returned. And I love her equally with thyself. Do thou therefore come,
and bring her with thee. The sight of thy lotus face, won by a thousand
longings, is rarely given.'"
'"How my life now is tossed with doubts!" thought the prince. "My
mother is sorrowful if even for a moment she sees me not. (457) My
subjects love me; but the Gandharva princess loves me more. Princess
Kadambari is worthy of my winning, and my mind is impatient of delay;"
so thinking, he went to the queen, and spent the day in a longing of
heart hard to bear; (458) while the night he spent thinking of the
beauty of Kadambari, which was as a shrine of love.
'(459) Thenceforth pleasant talk found no entrance into him. His
friends' words seemed harsh to him; the conversation of his kinsmen
gave him no delight. (460) His body was dried up by love's fire, but
he did not yield up the tenderness of his heart. (461) He despised
happiness, but not self-control.
'While he was thus drawn forward by strong love, which had its
life resting on the goodness and beauty of Kadambari, and held
backwards by his very deep affection for his parents, he beheld
one day, when wandering on the banks of the Sipra, a troop of horse
approaching. (462) He sent a man to inquire what this might be, and
himself crossing the Sipra where the water rose but to his thigh,
he awaited his messenger's return in a shrine of Kartikeya. Drawing
Patralekha to him, he said, "Look! that horse-man whose face can
scarce be descried is Keyuraka!"
'(463) He then beheld Keyuraka throw himself from his horse while
yet far off, gray with dust from swift riding, while by his changed
appearance, his lack of adornment, his despondent face, and his eyes
that heralded his inward grief, he announced, even without words,
the evil plight of Kadambari. Candrapida lovingly called him as he
hastily bowed and drew near, and embraced him. And when he had drawn
back and paid his homage, the prince, having gratified his followers by
courteous inquiries, looked at him eagerly, and said, "By the sight of
thee, Keyuraka, the well-being of the lady Kadambari and her attendants
is proclaimed. When thou art rested and at ease, thou shalt tell me
the cause of thy coming;" and he took Keyuraka and Patralekha home
with him on his elephant. (464) Then he dismissed his followers, and
only accompanied by Patralekha, he called Keyuraka to him, and said:
"Tell me the message of Kadambari, Madalekha and Mahaçveta."
'"What shall I say?" replied Keyuraka; "I have no message from any of
these. For when I had entrusted Patralekha to Meghanada, and returned,
and had told of thy going to Ujjayini, Mahaçveta looked upwards,
sighed a long, hot sigh, and saying sadly, 'It is so then,' returned
to her own hermitage to her penance. Kadambari, as though bereft of
consciousness, ignorant of Mahaçveta's departure, only opened her eyes
after a long time, scornfully bidding me tell Mahaçveta; and asking
Madalekha (465) if anyone ever had done, or would do, such a deed as
Candrapida, she dismissed her attendants, threw herself on her couch,
veiled her head, and spent the day without speaking even to Madalekha,
who wholly shared her grief. When early next morning I went to her,
she gazed at me long with tearful eyes, as if blaming me. And I, when
thus looked at by my sorrowing mistress, deemed myself ordered to go,
and so, without telling the princess, I have approached my lord's
feet. Therefore vouchsafe to hear attentively the bidding of Keyuraka,
whose heart is anxious to save the life of one whose sole refuge is in
thee. For, as by thy first coming that virgin [343] forest was stirred
as by the fragrant Malaya wind, so when she beheld thee, the joy of
the whole world, like the spring, love entered her as though she were
a red açoka creeper. (466) But now she endures great torture for thy
sake." (466-470) Then Keyuraka told at length all her sufferings, till
the prince, overcome by grief, could bear it no longer and swooned.
'Then, awakening from his swoon, he lamented that he was thought too
hard of heart to receive a message from Kadambari or her friends,
and blamed them for not telling him of her love while he was there.
(476) '"Why should there be shame concerning one who is her servant,
ever at her feet, that grief should have made its home in one so
tender, and my desires be unfulfilled? (477) Now, what can I do
when at some days' distance from her. Her body cannot even endure
the fall of a flower upon it, while even on adamantine hearts like
mine the arrows of love are hard to bear. When I see the unstable
works began by cruel Fate, I know not where it will stop. (478)
Else where was my approach to the land of the immortals, in my vain
hunt for the Kinnaras? where my journey to Hemakuta with Mahaçveta,
or my sight of the princess there, or the birth of her love for me,
or my father's command, that I could not transgress, for me to return,
though my longing was yet unfulfilled? It is by evil destiny that
we have been raised high, and then dashed to the ground. Therefore
let us do our utmost to console [344] the princess." (479) Then in
the evening he asked Keyuraka, "What thinkest thou? Will Kadambari
support life till we arrive? (480) Or shall I again behold her face,
with its eyes like a timid fawn's?" "Be firm, prince," he replied. "Do
thine utmost to go." The prince had himself begun plans for going;
but what happiness or what content of heart would there be without
his father's leave, and how after his long absence could that be
gained? A friend's help was needed here, but Vaiçampayana was away.
'(484) But next morning he heard a report that his army had reached
Daçapura, and thinking with joy that he was now to receive the favour
of Fate, in that Vaiçampayana was now at hand, he joyfully told the
news to Keyuraka. (485) "This event," replied the latter, "surely
announces thy going. Doubtless thou wilt gain the princess. For when
was the moon ever beheld by any without moonlight, or a lotus-pool
without a lotus, or a garden without creeper? Yet there must be delay
in the arrival of Vaiçampayana, and the settling with him of thy
plans. But I have told thee the state of the princess, which admits
of no delay. Therefore, my heart, rendered insolent by the grace
bestowed by thy affection, desires that favour may be shown me by a
command to go at once to announce the joy of my lord's coming." (486)
Whereat the prince, with a glance that showed his inward satisfaction,
replied: "Who else is there who so well knows time and place, or who
else is so sincerely loyal? This, therefore, is a happy thought. Go to
support the life of the princess and to prepare for my return. But let
Patralekha go forward, too, with thee to the feet of the princess. For
she is favoured by the princess." Then he called Meghanada, and bade
him escort Patralekha, (487) while he himself would overtake them
when he had seen Vaiçampayana. Then he bade Patralekha tell Kadambari
that her noble sincerity and native tenderness preserved him, even
though far away and burnt by love's fire, (489) and requested her
bidding to come. (491) After their departure, he went to ask his
father's leave to go to meet Vaiçampayana. The king lovingly received
him, and said to Çukanasa: (492) "He has now come to the age for
marriage. So, having entered upon the matter with Queen Vilasavati,
let some fair maiden be chosen. For a face like my son's is not often
to be seen. Let us then gladden ourselves now by the sight of the
lotus face of a bride." Çukanasa agreed that as the prince had gained
all knowledge, made royal fortune firmly his own, and wed the earth,
there remained nothing for him to do but to marry a wife. "How fitly,"
thought Candrapida, "does my father's plan come for my thoughts of a
union with Kadambari! (493) The proverb 'light to one in darkness,'
or 'a shower of nectar to a dying man,' is coming true in me. After
just seeing Vaiçampayana, I shall win Kadambari." Then the king went
to Vilasavati, and playfully reproached her for giving no counsel as
to a bride for her son. (494) Meanwhile the prince spent the day in
awaiting Vaiçampayana's return. And after spending over two watches
of the night sleepless in yearning for him, (495) the energy of his
love was redoubled, and he ordered the conch to be sounded for his
going. (497) Then he started on the road to Daçapura, and after going
some distance he beheld the camp, (501) and rejoiced to think he would
now see Vaiçampayana; and going on alone, he asked where his friend
was. But weeping women replied: "Why ask? How should he be here?" And
in utter bewilderment he hastened to the midst of the camp. (502) There
he was recognised, and on his question the chieftains besought him to
rest under a tree while they related Vaiçampayana's fate. He was, they
said, yet alive, and they told what had happened. (505) "When left by
thee, he halted a day, and then gave the order for our march. 'Yet,'
said he, 'Lake Acchoda is mentioned in the Purana as very holy. Let us
bathe and worship Çiva in the shrine on its bank. For who will ever,
even in a dream, behold again this place haunted by the gods?' (506)
But beholding a bower on the bank he gazed at it like a brother long
lost to sight, as if memories were awakened in him. And when we urged
him to depart, he made as though he heard us not; but at last he
bade us go, saying that he would not leave that spot. (508) 'Do I not
know well' said he, 'all that you urge for my departure? But I have
no power over myself, and I am, as it were, nailed to the spot, and
cannot go with you.' (510) So at length we left him, and came hither."
'Amazed at this story, which he could not have even in a dream
imagined, Candrapida wondered: "What can be the cause of his resolve
to leave all and dwell in the woods? I see no fault of my own. He
shares everything with me. Has anything been said that could hurt him
by my father or Çukanasa?" (517) He at length returned to Ujjayini,
thinking that where Vaiçampayana was there was Kadambari also,
and resolved to fetch him back. (518) He heard that the king and
queen had gone to Çukanasa's house, and followed them thither. (519)
There he heard Manorama lamenting the absence of the son without
whose sight she could not live, and who had never before, even in
his earliest years, shown neglect of her. (520) On his entrance the
king thus greeted him: "I know thy great love for him. Yet when I
hear thy story my heart suspects some fault of thine." But Çukanasa,
his face darkened with grief and impatience, said reproachfully: "If,
O king, there is heat in the moon or coolness in fire, then there may
be fault in the prince. (521) Men such as Vaiçampayana are portents of
destruction, (522) fire without fuel, polished mirrors that present
everything the reverse way; (523) for them the base are exalted,
wrong is right, and ignorance wisdom. All in them makes for evil, and
not for good. Therefore Vaiçampayana has not feared thy wrath, nor
thought that his mother's life depends on him, nor that he was born
to be a giver of offerings for the continuance of his race. (524)
Surely the birth of one so evil and demoniac was but to cause us
grief." (525) To this the king replied: "Surely for such as I to
admonish thee were for a lamp to give light to fire, or daylight an
equal splendour to the sun. Yet the mind of the wisest is made turbid
by grief as the Manasa Lake by the rainy season, and then sight is
destroyed. Who is there in this world who is not changed by youth? When
youth shows itself, love for elders flows away with childhood. (528)
My heart grieves when I hear thee speak harshly of Vaiçampayana. Let
him be brought hither. Then we can do as is fitting." (529) Çukanasa
persisted in blaming his son; but Candrapida implored leave to fetch
him home, and Çukanasa at length yielded. (532) Then Candrapida
summoned the astrologers, and secretly bade them name the day for
his departure, when asked by the king or Çukanasa, so as not to delay
his departure. "The conjunction of the planets," they answered him,
"is against thy going. (533) Yet a king is the determiner of time. On
whatever time thy will is set, that is the time for every matter." Then
they announced the morrow as the time for his departure; and he spent
that day and night intent on his journey, and deeming that he already
beheld Kadambari and Vaiçampayana before him.
'(534) And when the time came, Vilasavati bade him farewell in deep
sorrow: "I grieved not so for thy first going as I do now. My heart
is torn; my body is in torture; my mind is overwhelmed. (535) I know
not why my heart so suffers. Stay not long away." He tried to console
her, and then went to his father, who received him tenderly, (539)
and finally dismissed him, saying: "My desire is that thou shouldst
take a wife and receive the burden of royalty, so that I may enter on
the path followed by royal sages; but this matter of Vaiçampayana is
in the way of it, and I have misgivings that my longing is not to be
fulfilled; else how could he have acted in so strange a way? Therefore,
though thou must go, my son, return soon, that my heart's desire may
not fail." (540) At length he started, and spent day and night on his
journey in the thought of his friend and of the Gandharva world. (544)
And when he had travelled far the rainy season came on, and all the
workings of the storms found their counterpart in his own heart. (548)
Yet he paused not on his way, nor did he heed the entreaties of his
chieftains to bestow some care on himself, but rode on all day. (549)
But a third part of the way remained to traverse when he beheld
Meghanada, and, asking him eagerly concerning Vaiçampayana, (550) he
learnt that Patralekha, sure that the rains would delay his coming,
had sent Meghanada to meet him, and that the latter had not been to the
Acchoda lake. (552) With redoubled grief the prince rode to the lake,
and bade his followers guard it on all sides, lest Vaiçampayana should
in shame flee from them; but all his search found no traces of his
friend. (553) "My feet," thought he, "cannot leave this spot without
him, and yet Kadambari has not been seen. Perchance Mahaçveta may know
about this matter; I will at least see her." So he mounted Indrayudha,
and went towards her hermitage. There dismounting, he entered; but
in the entrance of the cave he beheld Mahaçveta, with difficulty
supported by Taralika, weeping bitterly. (554) "May no ill," thought
he, "have befallen Kadambari, that Mahaçveta should be in this state,
when my coming should be a cause of joy." Eagerly and sorrowfully he
questioned Taralika, but she only gazed on Mahaçveta's face. Then
the latter at last spoke falteringly: "What can one so wretched
tell thee? Yet the tale shall be told. When I heard from Keyuraka of
thy departure, my heart was torn by the thought that the wishes of
Kadambari's parents, my own longing, and the sight of Kadambari's
happiness in her union with thee had not been brought about, and,
cleaving even the bond of my love to her, I returned home to yet
harsher penance than before. (555) Here I beheld a young Brahman,
like unto thee, gazing hither and thither with vacant glance. But at
the sight of me his eyes were fixed on me alone, as if, though unseen
before, he recognised me, though a stranger, he had long known me,
and gazing at me like one mad or possessed, he said at last: 'Fair
maiden, only they who do what is fitting for their birth, age, and form
escape blame in this world. Why toilest thou thus, like perverse fate,
in so unmeet an employment, in that thou wastest in stern penance a
body tender as a garland? (556) The toil of penance is for those who
have enjoyed the pleasures of life and have lost its graces, but not
for one endowed with beauty. If thou turnest from the joys of earth,
in vain does Love bend his bow, or the moon rise. Moonlight and the
Malaya wind serve for naught.'"
'"But I, caring for nothing since the loss of Pundarika, asked no
questions about him, (557) and bade Taralika keep him away, for some
evil would surely happen should he return. But in spite of being kept
away, whether from the fault of love or the destiny of suffering that
lay upon us, he did not give up his affection; and one night, while
Taralika slept, and I was thinking of Pundarika, (559) I beheld in the
moonlight, clear as day, that youth approaching like one possessed. The
utmost fear seized me at the sight. 'An evil thing,' I thought,
'has befallen me. If he draw near, and but touch me with his hand,
this accursed life must be destroyed; and then that endurance of it,
which I accepted in the hope of again beholding Pundarika, will have
been in vain.' While I thus thought he drew near, and said: 'Moon-faced
maiden, the moon, Love's ally, is striving to slay me. Therefore I
come to ask protection. Save me, who am without refuge, and cannot
help myself, for my life is devoted to thee. (560) It is the duty of
ascetics to protect those who flee to them for protection. If, then,
thou deign not to bestow thyself on me, the moon and love will slay
me.' At these words, in a voice choked by wrath, I exclaimed: 'Wretch,
how has a thunderbolt failed to strike thy head in the utterance of
these thy words? Surely the five elements that give witness of right
and wrong to mortals are lacking in thy frame, in that earth and air
and fire and the rest have not utterly destroyed thee. Thou hast learnt
to speak like a parrot, without thought of what was right or wrong
to say. Why wert thou not born as a parrot? (561) I lay on thee this
fate, that thou mayest enter on a birth suited to thine own speech,
and cease to make love to one such as I.' So saying, I turned towards
the moon, and with raised hands prayed: 'Blessed one, lord of all,
guardian of the world, if since the sight of Pundarika my heart has
been free from the thought of any other man, may this false lover by
the truth of this my saying, fall into the existence pronounced by
me.' Then straightway, I know not how, whether from the force of love,
or of his own sin, or from the power of my words, he fell lifeless,
like a tree torn up by the roots. And it was not till he was dead that
I learnt from his weeping attendants that he was thy friend, noble
prince." Having thus said, she bent her face in shame and silently
wept. But Candrapida, with fixed glance and broken voice, replied:
"Lady, thou hast done thine utmost, and yet I am too ill-fated to
have gained in this life the joy of honouring the feet of the lady
Kadambari. Mayest thou in another life create this bliss for me." (562)
With these words his tender heart broke, as if from grief at failing
to win Kadambari, like a bud ready to open when pierced by a bee.
'Then Taralika burst into laments over his lifeless body and into
reproaches to Mahaçveta. And as the chieftains, too, raised their cry
of grief and wonder, (564) there entered, with but few followers,
Kadambari herself, attired as to meet her lover, though a visit
to Mahaçveta was the pretext of her coming, and while she leant on
Patralekha's hand, she expressed her doubts of the prince's promised
return, (565) and declared that if she again beheld him she would not
speak to him, nor be reconciled either by his humility or her friend's
endeavours. Such were her words; but she counted all the toil of
the journey light in her longing to behold him again. But when she
beheld him dead, with a sudden cry she fell to the ground. And when
she recovered from her swoon, she gazed at him with fixed eyes and
quivering mouth, like a creeper trembling under the blow of a keen
axe, and then stood still with a firmness foreign to her woman's
nature. (566) Madalekha implored her to give her grief the relief of
tears, lest her heart should break, and remember that on her rested the
hopes of two races. "Foolish girl," replied Kadambari, with a smile,
"how should my adamantine heart break if it has not broken at this
sight? These thoughts of family and friends are for one who wills to
live, not for me, who have chosen death; for I have won the body of
my beloved, which is life to me, and which, whether living or dead,
whether by an earthly union, or by my following it in death, suffices
to calm every grief. It is for my sake that my lord came hither and
lost his life; how, then, could I, by shedding tears, make light of
the great honour to which he has raised me? or how bring an ill-omened
mourning to his departure to heaven? or how weep at the joyous moment
when, like the dust of his feet, I may follow him? Now all sorrow is
far away. (567) For him I neglected all other ties; and now, when he is
dead, how canst thou ask me to live? In dying now lies my life, and to
live would be death to me. Do thou take my place with my parents and
my friends, and mayest thou be the mother of a son to offer libations
of water for me when I am in another world. Thou must wed the young
mango in the courtyard, dear to me as my own child, to the madhavi
creeper. Let not a twig of the açoka-tree that my feet have caressed be
broken, even to make an earring. Let the flowers of the malati creeper
I tended be plucked only to offer to the gods. Let the picture of Kama
in my room near my pillow be torn in pieces. The mango-trees I planted
must be tended so that they may come to fruit. (568) Set free from the
misery of their cage the maina Kalindi and the parrot Parihasa. Let
the little mongoose that rested in my lap now rest in thine. Let my
child, the fawn Taralaka, be given to a hermitage. Let the partridges
on the pleasure-hill that grew up in my hand be kept alive. See that
the hamsa that followed my steps be not killed. Let my poor ape be
set free, for she is unhappy in the house. Let the pleasure-hill be
given to some calm-souled hermit, and let the things I use myself be
given to Brahmans. My lute thou must lovingly keep in thine own lap,
and anything else that pleases thee must be thine own. But as for
me, I will cling to my lord's neck, and so on the funeral pyre allay
the fever which the moon, sandal, lotus-fibres, and all cool things
have but increased." (569) Then she embraced Mahaçveta, saying: "Thou
indeed hast some hope whereby to endure life, even though its pains
be worse than death; but I have none, and so I bid thee farewell,
dear friend, till we meet in another birth."
'As though she felt the joy of reunion, she honoured the feet of
Candrapida with bent head, and placed them in her lap. (570) At
her touch a strange bright light arose from Candrapida's body, and
straightway a voice was heard in the sky: "Dear Mahaçveta, I will
again console thee. The body of thy Pundarika, nourished in my world
and by my light, free from death, awaits its reunion with thee. The
other body, that of Candrapida, is filled with my light, and so is
not subject to death, both from its own nature, and because it is
nourished by the touch of Kadambari; it has been deserted by the
soul by reason of a curse, like the body of a mystic whose spirit
has passed into another form. Let it rest here to console thee and
Kadambari till the curse be ended. Let it not be burnt, nor cast into
water, nor deserted. It must be kept with all care till its reunion."
'All but Patralekha were astounded at this saying, and fixed their
gaze on the sky; but she, recovering, at the cool touch of that light,
from the swoon brought on by seeing the death of Candrapida, rose,
hastily seizing Indrayudha from his groom, saying: "However it may be
for us, thou must not for a moment leave thy master to go alone without
a steed on his long journey;" and plunged, together with Indrayudha,
into the Acchoda Lake. (571) Straightway there rose from the lake a
young ascetic, and approaching Mahaçveta, said mournfully: "Princess
of the Gandharvas, knowest thou me, now that I have passed through
another birth?" Divided between joy and grief, she paid homage to
his feet, and replied: "Blessed Kapiñjala, am I so devoid of virtue
that I could forget thee? And yet this thought of me is natural,
since I am so strangely ignorant of myself and deluded by madness
that when my lord Pundarika is gone to heaven I yet live. (572) Tell
me of Pundarika." He then recalled how he had flown into the sky in
pursuit of the being who carried off Pundarika, and passing by the
wondering gods in their heavenly cars, he had reached the world of
the moon. "Then that being," he continued, "placed Pundarika's body
on a couch in the hall called Mahodaya, and said: 'Know me to be the
moon! (573) When I was rising to help the world I was cursed by thy
friend, because my beams were slaying him before he could meet his
beloved; and he prayed that I, too, might die in the land of Bharata,
the home of all sacred rites, knowing myself the pains of love. But I,
wrathful at being cursed for what was his own fault, uttered the curse
that he should endure the same lot of joy or sorrow as myself. When,
however, my anger passed away, I understood what had happened about
Mahaçveta. Now, she is sprung from the race that had its origin in
my beams, and she chose him for her lord. Yet he and I must both
be born twice in the world of mortals, else the due order of births
will not be fulfilled. I have therefore carried the body hither, and
I nourish it with my light lest it should perish before the curse is
ended, and I have comforted Mahaçveta. (574) Tell the whole matter to
Pundarika's father. His spiritual power is great, and he may find a
remedy.' And I, rushing away in grief, leapt off another rider in a
heavenly chariot, and in wrath he said to me: 'Since in the wide path
of heaven thou hast leapt over me like a horse in its wild course,
do thou become a horse, and descend into the world of mortals.' To
my tearful assurance that I had leapt over him in the blindness of
grief, and not from contempt, he replied: 'The curse, once uttered,
cannot be recalled. But when thy rider shall die, thou shalt bathe and
be freed from the curse.' Then I implored him that as my friend was
about to be born with the moon-god, in the world of mortals, I might,
as a horse, constantly dwell with him. (575) Softened by my affection,
he told me that the moon would be born as a son to King Tarapida
at Ujjayini, Pundarika would be the son of his minister, Çukanasa,
and that I should be the prince's steed. Straightway I plunged into
the ocean, and rose as a horse, but yet lost not consciousness of the
past. I it was who purposely brought Candrapida hither in pursuit of
the kinnaras. And he who sought thee by reason of the love implanted
in a former birth, and was consumed by a curse in thine ignorance,
was my friend Pundarika come down to earth."
'Then Mahaçveta beat her breast with a bitter cry, saying: "Thou didst
keep thy love for me through another birth, Pundarika; I was all the
world to thee; and yet, like a demon, born for thy destruction even in
a fresh life, I have received length of years but to slay thee again
and again. (576) Even in thee, methinks, coldness must now have sprung
up towards one so ill-fated, in that thou answerest not my laments;"
and she flung herself on the ground. But Kapiñjala pityingly replied:
"Thou art blameless, princess, and joy is at hand. Grieve not,
therefore, but pursue the penance undertaken by thee; for to perfect
penance naught is impossible, and by the power of thine austerities
thou shalt soon be in the arms of my friend."
'(577) Then Kadambari asked Kapiñjala what had become of Patralekha
when she plunged with him into the tank. But he knew naught of what
had happened since then, either to her, or his friend, or Candrapida,
and rose to the sky to ask the sage Çvetaketu, Pundarika's father,
to whom everything in the three worlds was visible.
'(577-578) Then Mahaçveta counselled Kadambari, whose love to her was
drawn the closer from the likeness of her sorrow, that she should
spend her life in ministering to the body of Candrapida, nothing
doubting that while others, to gain good, worshipped shapes of wood
and stone that were but images of invisible gods, she ought to worship
the present deity, veiled under the name of Candrapida. Laying his
body tenderly on a rock, Kadambari put off the adornments with which
she had come to meet her lover, keeping but one bracelet as a happy
omen. She bathed, put on two white robes, rubbed off the deep stain of
betel from her lips, (579) and the very flowers, incense, and unguents
she had brought to grace a happy love she now offered to Candrapida
in the worship due to a god. That day and night she spent motionless,
holding the feet of the prince, and on the morrow she joyfully saw
that his brightness was unchanged, (581) and gladdened her friends
and the prince's followers by the tidings. (582) The next day she sent
Madalekha to console her parents, and they sent back an assurance that
they had never thought to see her wed, and that now they rejoiced
that she had chosen for her husband the incarnation of the moon-god
himself. They hoped, when the curse was over, to behold again her
lotus-face in the company of their son-in-law. (583) So comforted,
Kadambari remained to tend and worship the prince's body. Now, when
the rainy season was over, Meghanada came to Kadambari, and told her
that messengers had been sent by Tarapida to ask the cause of the
prince's delay, (584) and that he, to spare her grief, had told them
the whole story, and bade them hasten to tell all to the king. They,
however, had replied that this might doubtless be so; yet, to say
nothing of their hereditary love for the prince, the desire to see so
great a marvel urged them to ask to be allowed to behold him; their
long service deserved the favour; and what would the king say if they
failed to see Candrapida's body? (585) Sorrowfully picturing to herself
what the grief of Tarapida would be, Kadambari admitted the messengers,
(586) and as they tearfully prostrated themselves, she consoled them,
saying that this was a cause for joy rather than sorrow. "Ye have seen
the prince's face, and his body free from change; therefore hasten to
the king's feet. Yet do not spread abroad this story, but say that ye
have seen the prince, and that he tarries by the Acchoda Lake. For
death must come to all, and is easily believed; but this event,
even when seen, can scarce win faith. It profits not now, therefore,
by telling this to his parents, to create in them a suspicion of
his death; but when he comes to life again, this wondrous tale will
become clear to them." (587) But they replied: "Then we must either not
return or keep silence. But neither course is possible; nor could we
so greet the sorrowing king." She therefore sent Candrapida's servant
Tvaritaka with them, to give credit to the story, for the prince's
royal retinue had all taken a vow to live there, eating only roots
and fruits, and not to return till the prince himself should do so.
(589) 'After many days, Queen Vilasavati, in her deep longing for
news of her son, went to the temple of the Divine Mothers of Avanti,
[345] the guardian goddesses of Ujjayini, to pray for his return; and
on a sudden a cry arose from the retinue: "Thou art happy, O Queen! The
Mothers have shown favour to thee! Messengers from the prince are at
hand." Then she saw the messengers, with the city-folk crowding round
them, asking news of the prince, or of sons, brothers, and other
kinsfolk among his followers, (591) but receiving no answers. She
sent for them to the temple court, and cried: "Tell me quickly of my
son. (592) Have ye seen him?" And they, striving to hide their grief,
replied: "O Queen, he has been seen by us on the shore of the Acchoda
Lake, and Tvaritaka will tell thee the rest." "What more," said she,
"can this unhappy man tell me? For your own sorrowful bearing has
told the tale. Alas, my child! Wherefore hast thou not returned? When
thou didst bid me farewell, I knew by my forebodings that I should not
behold thy face again. (593) This all comes from the evil deeds of my
former birth. Yet think not, my son, that I will live without thee,
for how could I thus even face thy father? And yet, whether it be
from love, or from the thought that one so fair must needs live, or
from the native simplicity of a woman's mind, my heart cannot believe
that ill has befallen thee." (594) Meanwhile, the news was told to
the king, and he hastened to the temple with Çukanasa, and tried to
rouse the queen from the stupor of grief, saying: (595) "My queen,
we dishonour ourselves by this show of grief. Our good deeds in a
former life have carried us thus far. We are not the vessel of further
joys. That which we have not earned is not won at will by beating
the breast. The Creator does what He wills, and depends on none. We
have had the joy of our son's babyhood and boyhood and youth. We have
crowned him, and greeted his return from his world conquest. (596)
All that is lacking to our wishes is that we have not seen him wed,
so that we might leave him in our place, and retire to a hermitage. But
to gain every desire is the fruit of very rare merit. We must, however,
question Tvaritaka, for we know not all yet." (597) But when he heard
from Tvaritaka how the prince's heart had broken, he interrupted him,
and cried that a funeral pyre should be prepared for himself near the
shrine of Mahakala. (598) All his treasure was to be given to Brahmans,
and the kings who followed him were to return to their own lands. Then
Tvaritaka implored him to hear the rest of the story of Vaiçampayana,
and his grief was followed by wonder; while Çukanasa, showing the
desire of a true friend to forget his own grief and offer consolation,
said: (599) "Sire, in this wondrous transitory existence, wherein
wander gods, demons, animals and men, filled with joy and grief,
there is no event which is not possible. Why then doubt concerning
this? If from a search for reason, how many things rest only on
tradition, and are yet seen to be true? As the use of meditation
or certain postures to cure a poisoned man, the attraction of the
loadstone, the efficacy of mantras, Vedic or otherwise, in actions
of all kinds, wherein sacred tradition is our authority. (600) Now
there are many stories of curses in the Puranas, the Ramayana, the
Mahabharata, and the rest. For it was owing to a curse that Nahusha
[346] became a serpent, Saudasa [347] a cannibal, Yayati decrepit,
Triçamku [348] a Candala, the heaven-dwelling Mahabhisha was born
as Çantanu, while Ganga became his wife, and the Vasus, [349] his
sons. Nay, even the Supreme God, Vishnu, was born as Yamadagni's son,
and, dividing himself into four, he was born to Daçaratha, and also
to Vasudeva at Mathura. Therefore the birth of gods among mortals
is not hard of belief. And thou, sire, art not behind the men of
old in virtue, nor is the moon greater than the god from whom the
lotus springs. Our dreams at our sons' birth confirm the tale; the
nectar that dwells in the moon preserves the prince's body, (601)
and his beauty that gladdens the world must be destined to dwell in
the world. We shall therefore soon see his marriage with Kadambari,
and therein find all the past troubles of life more than repaid. Do
then thine utmost by worshipping gods, giving gifts to Brahmans,
and practising austerities, to secure this blessing." (602-604) The
king assented, but expressed his resolve to go himself to behold the
prince, and he and the queen, together with Çukanasa and his wife,
went to the lake. (605) Comforted by the assurance of Meghanada, who
came to meet him, that the prince's body daily grew in brightness,
he entered the hermitage; (606) while, at the news of his coming,
Mahaçveta fled in shame within the cave, and Kadambari swooned. And
as he looked on his son, who seemed but to sleep, the queen rushed
forward, and with fond reproaches entreated Candrapida to speak
to them. (608) But the king reminded her that it was her part to
comfort Çukanasa and his wife. "She also, to whom we shall owe the
joy of again beholding our son alive, even the Gandharva princess,
is yet in a swoon; do thou take her in thine arms, and bring her
back to consciousness." Then she tenderly touched Kadambari, saying
"Be comforted, my mother, [350] for without thee, who could have
preserved the body of my son Candrapida? Surely thou must be wholly
made of amrita, that we are again able to behold his face." (609) At
the name of Candrapida and the touch of the queen, so like his own,
Kadambari recovered her senses, and was helped by Madalekha to pay
due honour, though with face bent in shame, to his parents. She
received their blessing--"Mayest thou live long, and long enjoy an
unwidowed life"--and was set close behind Vilasavati. The king then
bade her resume her care of the prince, and took up his abode in
a leafy bower near the hermitage, provided with a cool stone slab,
and meet for a hermit, (610) and told his royal retinue that he would
now carry out his long-cherished desire of an ascetic life, and that
they must protect his subjects. "It is surely a gain if I hand over
my place to one worthy of it, and by this enfeebled and useless body
of mine win the joys of another world."
'So saying, he gave up all his wonted joys, and betook himself to
the unwonted life in the woods; he found a palace beneath the trees;
the delights of the zenana, in the creepers; the affection of friends,
in the fawns; the pleasure of attire, in rags and bark garments. (611)
His weapons were rosaries; his ambition was for another world; his
desire for wealth was in penance. He refused all the delicacies that
Kadambari and Mahaçveta offered him, and so dwelt with his queen and
Çukanasa, counting all pains light, so that every morning and evening
he might have the joy of seeing Candrapida.'
Having told this tale, [351] the sage Jabali said with a scornful
smile to his son Harita and the other ascetics: 'Ye have seen how this
story has had power to hold us long, and to charm our hearts. And this
is the love-stricken being who by his own fault fell from heaven,
and became on earth Vaiçampayana, son of Çukanasa. He it is who,
by the curse of his own wrathful father, and by Mahaçveta's appeal
to the truth of her heart, has been born as a parrot.' (612) As he
thus spoke, I awoke, as it were, out of sleep, and, young as I was,
I had on the tip of my tongue all the knowledge gained in a former
birth; I became skilled in all arts; I had a clear human voice,
memory, and all but the shape of a man. My affection for the prince,
my uncontrolled passion, my devotion to Mahaçveta, all returned. A
yearning arose in me to know about them and my other friends, and
though in deepest shame, I faintly asked Jabali: 'Now, blessed saint,
that thou hast brought back my knowledge, my heart breaks for the
prince who died in grief for my death. (613) Vouchsafe to tell me
of him, so that I may be near him; even my birth as an animal will
not grieve me.' With mingled scorn and pity he replied: 'Wilt thou
not even now restrain thine old impatience? Ask, when thy wings are
grown.' Then to his son's inquiry how one of saintly race should be
so enslaved by love, he replied that this weak and unrestrained nature
belonged to those born, like me, from a mother only. For the Veda says,
'As a man's parents are, so is he,' (614) and medical science, too,
declares their weakness. And he said my life now would be but short,
but that when the curse was over, I should win length of years. I
humbly asked by what sacrifices I should gain a longer life, but he
bade me wait, and as the whole night had passed unobserved in his
story, (615) he sent the ascetics to offer the morning oblation, while
Harita took me, and placed me in his own hut near his couch, and went
to his morning duties. (616) During his absence, I sorrowfully thought
how hard it would be to rise from being a bird to being a Brahman,
not to say a saint, who has the bliss of heaven. Yet if I could not
be united to those I loved in past lives why should I yet live? But
Harita then returned, and told me that Kapiñjala was there. (617-618)
When I saw him weary, yet loving as ever, I strove to fly to him, and
he, lifting me up, placed me in his bosom, and then on his head. (619)
Then he told me, 'Thy father Çvetaketu knew by divine insight of
thy plight, and has begun a rite to help thee. As he began it I was
set free from my horse's shape; (620) but he kept me till Jabali had
recalled the past to thee, and now sends me to give thee his blessing,
and say that thy mother Lakshmi is also helping in the rite.' (621)
Then, bidding me stay in the hermitage, he rose to the sky, to take
part in the rite. (622) After some days, however, my wings were grown,
and I resolved to fly to Mahaçveta, so I set off towards the north;
(623) but weariness soon overtook me, and I went to sleep in a tree,
only to wake in the snare of a terrible Candala. (624) I besought
him to free me, for I was on the way to my beloved, but he said he
had captured me for the young Candala princess, who had heard of
my gifts. With horror I heard that I, the son of Lakshmi and of a
great saint, must dwell with a tribe shunned even by barbarians;
(625) but when I urged that he could set me free without danger,
for none would see him, he laughed, and replied: 'He, for whom there
exist not the five guardians of the world, [352] witnesses of right
and wrong, dwelling within his own body to behold his actions, will
not do his duty for fear of any other being.' (626) So he carried me
off, and as I looked out in hope of getting free from him, I beheld
the barbarian settlement, a very market-place of evil deeds. It was
surrounded on all sides by boys engaged in the chase, unleashing their
hounds, teaching their falcons, mending snares, carrying weapons, and
fishing, horrible in their attire, like demoniacs. Here and there the
entrance to their dwellings, hidden by thick bamboo forests, was to
be inferred, from the rising of smoke of orpiment. On all sides the
enclosures were made with skulls; (627) the dustheaps in the roads
were filled with bones; the yards of the huts were miry with blood,
fat, and meat chopped up. The life there consisted of hunting; the
food, of flesh; the ointment, of fat; the garments, of coarse silk;
the couches, of dried skins; the household attendants, of dogs; the
animals for riding, of cows; the men's employment, of wine and women;
the oblation to the gods, of blood; the sacrifice, of cattle. The
place was the image of all hells. (628) Then the man brought me to
the Candala maiden, who received me gladly, and placed me in a cage,
saying: 'I will take from thee all thy wilfulness.' What was I to
do? Were I to pray her to release me, it was my power of speech that
had made her desire me; were I silent, anger might make her cruel;
(629) still, it was my want of self-restraint that had caused all my
misery, and so I resolved to restrain all my senses, and I therefore
kept entire silence and refused all food.
Next day, however, the maiden brought fruits and water, and when I
did not touch them she said tenderly: 'It is unnatural for birds and
beasts to refuse food when hungry. If thou, mindful of a former birth,
makest distinction of what may or may not be eaten, yet thou art now
born as an animal, and canst keep no such distinction. (630) There is
no sin in acting in accordance with the state to which thy past deeds
have brought thee. Nay, even for those who have a law concerning food,
it is lawful, in a time of distress, to eat food not meet for them,
in order to preserve life. Much more, then, for thee. Nor needst thou
fear this food as coming from our caste; for fruit may be accepted
even from us; and water, even from our vessels, is pure, so men say,
when it falls on the ground.' I, wondering at her wisdom, partook of
food, but still kept silence.
'After some time, when I had grown up, I woke one day to find myself
in this golden cage, and beheld the Candala maiden as thou, O king,
hast seen her. (631) The whole barbarian settlement shewed like
a city of the gods, and before I could ask what it all meant, the
maiden brought me to thy feet. But who she is and why she has become a
Candala, and why I am bound or brought hither, I am as eager as thou,
O king, to learn.'
Thereupon the king, in great amazement, sent for the maiden, and she,
entering, overawed the king with her majesty, and said with dignity:
'Thou gem of earth, lord of Rohini, joy of Kadambari's eyes--thou, O
moon, hast heard the story of thy past birth, and that of this foolish
being. Thou knowest from him how even in this birth he disregarded his
father's command, and set off to seek his bride. Now I am Lakshmi,
his mother, and his father, seeing by divine insight that he had
started, bade me keep him in safety till the religious rite for him was
completed, and lead him to repentance. (632) The rite is now over. The
end of the curse is at hand. I brought him to thee that thou mightest
rejoice with him thereat. I became a Candala to avoid contact with
mankind. Do ye both therefore, straightway leave bodies beset with the
ills of birth, old age, pain, and death, and win the joy of union with
your beloved.' So saying, she suddenly rose to the sky, followed by
the gaze of all the people, while the firmament rang with her tinkling
anklets. The king, at her words, remembered his former birth and said:
'Dear Pundarika, now called Vaiçampayana, happy is it that the curse
comes to an end at the same moment for us both'; but while he spoke,
Love drew his bow, taking Kadambari as his best weapon, and entered
into the king's heart to destroy his life. (635) The flame of love
wholly consumed him, and from longing for Mahaçveta, Vaiçampayana,
who was in truth Pundarika, endured the same sufferings as the king.
Now at this time there set in the fragrant season of spring, as if to
burn him utterly, (636) and while it intoxicated all living beings,
it was used by Love as his strongest shaft to bewilder the heart of
Kadambari. On Kama's festival she passed the day with great difficulty,
and at twilight, when the quarters were growing dark, she bathed,
worshipped Kama, and placed before him the body of Candrapida, washed,
anointed with musk-scented sandal, and decked with flowers. (637)
Filled with a deep longing, she drew nigh, as if unconsciously and
suddenly, bereft by love of a woman's native timidity, she could
no longer restrain herself, and clasped Candrapida's neck as though
he were yet alive. At her ambrosial embrace the prince's life came
back to him, and, clasping her closely, like one awakened from sleep
(638), he gladdened her by saying: 'Timid one, away with fear! Thine
embrace hath brought me to life; for thou art born of the Apsaras race
sprung from nectar, and it was but the curse that prevented thy touch
from reviving me before. I have now left the mortal shape of Çudraka,
that caused the pain of separation from thee; but this body I kept,
because it won thy love. Now both this world and the moon are bound
to thy feet. Vaiçampayana, too, the beloved of thy friend Mahaçveta,
has been freed from the curse with me.' While the moon, hidden
in the shape of Candrapida, thus spoke, Pundarika descended from
the sky, pale, wearing still the row of pearls given by Mahaçveta,
and holding the hand of Kapiñjala. (639) Gladly Kadambari hastened
to tell Mahaçveta of her lover's return, while Candrapida said:
'Dear Pundarika, though in an earlier birth thou wast my son-in-law,
[353] thou must now be my friend, as in our last birth.' Meanwhile,
Keyuraka set off to Hemakuta to tell Hamsa and Citraratha, and
Madalekha fell at the feet of Tarapida, who was absorbed in prayer
to Çiva, Vanquisher of Death, and Vilasavati, and told them the
glad tidings. (640) Then the aged king came, leaning on Çukanasa,
with the queen and Manorama, and great was the joy of all. Kapiñjala
too brought a message to Çukanasa from Çvetakatu, saying: 'Pundarika
was but brought up by me; but he is thy son, and loves thee; do thou
therefore keep him from ill, and care for him as thine own. (641) I
have placed in him my own life, and he will live as long as the moon;
so that my desires are fulfilled. The divine spirit of life in me now
yearns to reach a region surpassing the world of gods.' That night
passed in talk of their former birth; and next day the two Gandharva
kings came with their queens, and the festivities were increased a
thousandfold. Citraratha, however, said: 'Why, when we have palaces of
our own, do we feast in the forest? Moreover, though marriage resting
only on mutual love is lawful among us, [354] yet let us follow the
custom of the world.' 'Nay,' replied Tarapida. 'Where a man hath
known his greatest happiness, there is his home, even if it be the
forest.1 (642) And where else have I known such joy as here? [355]
All my palaces, too, have been given over to thy son-in-law; take
my son, therefore, with his bride, and taste the joys of home.' Then
Citraratha went with Candrapida to Hemakuta, and offered him his whole
kingdom with the hand of Kadambari. Hamsa did the same to Pundarika;
but both refused to accept anything, for their longings were satisfied
with winning the brides dear to their hearts.
Now, one day Kadambari, though her joy was complete, asked her husband
with tears: 'How is it that when we all have died and come to life,
and have been united with each other, Patralekha alone is not here,
nor do we know what has become of her?' 'How could she be here, my
beloved?' replied the prince tenderly. 'For she is my wife Rohini,
and, when she heard I was cursed, grieving for my grief, she refused
to leave me alone in the world of mortals, and though I sought to
dissuade her, she accepted birth in that world even before me, that
she might wait upon me. (643) When I entered on another birth, she
again wished to descend to earth; but I sent her back to the world
of the moon. There thou wilt again behold her.' But Kadambari, in
wonder at Rohini's nobility, tenderness, loftiness of soul, devotion,
and charm, was abashed, and could not utter a word.
The ten nights that Candrapida spent at Hemakuta passed as swiftly
as one day; and then, dismissed by Citraratha and Madira, who were
wholly content with him, he approached the feet of his father. There he
bestowed on the chieftains who had shared his sufferings a condition
like his own, and laying on Pundarika the burden of government,
followed the steps of his parents, who had given up all earthly
duties. Sometimes from love of his native land, he would dwell in
Ujjayini, where the citizens gazed at him with wide, wondering eyes;
sometimes, from respect to the Gandharva king, at Hemakuta, beautiful
beyond compare; sometimes, from reverence to Rohini, in the world
of the moon, where every place was charming from the coolness and
fragrance of nectar; sometimes, from love to Pundarika, by the lake
where Lakshmi dwelt, on which the lotuses ever blossomed night and day,
and often, to please Kadambari, in many another fair spot.
With Kadambari he enjoyed many a pleasure, to which the yearning of
two births gave an ever fresh [356] and inexhaustible delight. Nor
did the Moon rejoice alone with Kadambari, nor she with Mahaçveta,
but Mahaçveta with Pundarika, and Pundarika with the Moon, all spent
an eternity of joy in each other's company, and reached the very
pinnacle of happiness.
APPENDIX.
DESCRIPTION OF UJJAYINI.
(102) There is a town by name Ujjayini, the proudest gem of the
three worlds, the very birthplace of the golden age, created by the
blessed Mahakala, [357] Lord of Pramathas, [358] Creator, Preserver
and Destroyer of the Universe, as a habitation meet for himself, like
a second earth. It is encompassed by a moat deep as hell--as by the
ocean, mistaking it for another earth--and surrounded by fenced walls,
white with plaster, like Kailasa, with its many points showing clear
against the sky, through joy at being the dwelling of Çiva.
It is adorned with large bazaars, like the oceans when their waters
were drunk by Agastya, stretching far, with gold-dust for sand,
with conch and oyster pearls, coral and emeralds laid bare. The
painted halls that deck it are filled with gods, demons, Siddhas,
[359] Gandharvas, genii, and snakes, (103) and show like a row of
heavenly chariots come down from the sky to behold fair women at
ceaseless festivals. Its crossways shine with temples like Mandara
whitened by the milk raised up by the churning stick, with spotless
golden vases for peaks, and white banners stirred by the breeze
like the peaks of Himalaya with the heavenly Ganges falling on
them. Commons gray with ketaki pollen, dark with green gardens,
watered by buckets constantly at work, and having wells adorned with
brick seats, lend their charm. Its groves are darkened by bees vocal
with honey draughts, its breeze laden with the sweetness of creeper
flowers, all trembling. It pays open honour to Kama, with banners
marked with the fish on the house-poles, with bells ringing merrily,
with crimson pennons of silk, and red cowries steady, made of coral,
standing upright in every house. Its sin is washed away by the
perpetual recitation of sacred books. (104) It resounds with the cry
of the peacocks, intent on a wild dance with their tails outspread
from excitement in the bathing-houses, wherein is the steady, deep
sound of the drums, and a storm caused by the heavy showers of spray,
and beautiful rainbows made by the sunbeams cast upon it. It glitters
with lakes, fair with open blue water-lilies, with their centre white
as unclosed moon-lotuses, beautiful in their unwavering gaze, [360]
like the thousand eyes of Indra. It is whitened with ivory turrets on
all sides, endowed with plantain groves, white as flecks of ambrosial
foam. It is girt with the river Sipra, which seems to purify the sky,
with its waves forming a ceaseless frown, as though jealously beholding
the river of heaven on the head of Çiva, while its waters sway over
the rounded forms of the Malavis, wild with the sweetness of youth.
The light-hearted race that dwell there, like the moon on the locks
of Çiva, spread their glory [361] through all the earth, and have
their horn filled with plenty; [362] like Mainaka, they have known no
pakshapata; [363] like the stream of the heavenly Ganges, with its
golden lotuses, their heaps of gold and rubies [364] shine forth;
like the law-books, they order the making of water-works, bridges,
temples, pleasure-grounds, wells, hostels for novices, wayside sheds
for watering cattle, and halls of assembly; like Mandara, they have
the best treasures of ocean drawn up for them; though they have charms
against poison, [365] yet they fear snakes; [366] though they live
on the wicked, [367] they give their best to the good; though bold,
they are very courteous; though pleasant of speech, they are truthful;
though handsome, [368] content with their wives; though they invite
the entrance of guests, they know not how to ask a boon; though they
seek love and wealth, they are strictly just; though virtuous, they
fear another world. [369] They are connoisseurs in all arts, pleasant
[370] and intelligent. They talk merrily, are charming in their humour,
spotless in their attire, (106) skilled in foreign languages, clever
at subtleties of speech, [371] versed in stories of all kinds, [372]
accomplished in letters, having a keen delight in the Mahabharata,
Puranas, and Ramayana, familiar with the Brihatkatha, masters of the
whole circle of arts, especially gambling, lovers of the çastras,
devoted to light literature, calm as a fragrant spring breeze,
constantly going to the south; [373] upright, [374] like the wood of
Himalaya; skilled in the worship of Rama, [375] like Lakshmana; open
lovers of Bharata, like Çatrughna; [376] like the day, following the
sun; [377] like a Buddhist, bold in saying 'Yes' about all kinds of
gifts; [378] like the doctrine of the Samkhya philosophy, possessed
of noble men; [379] like Jinadharma, pitiful to life.
The city seems possessed of rocks, with its palaces; it stretches like
a suburb with its long houses; it is like the tree that grants desires
with its good citizens; it bears in its painted halls the mirror of
all forms. Like twilight, it shines with the redness of rubies; [380]
(107) like the form of the Lord of Heaven, it is purified with the
smoke of a hundred sacrifices; like the wild dance of Çiva, it has
the smiles, which are its white markets; [381] like an old woman, it
has its beauty worn; [382] like the form of Garuda, it is pleasing
in being the resting-place of Vishnu; [383] like the hour of dawn,
it has its people all alert; like the home of a mountaineer, it has
palaces in which ivory cowries [384] are hanging; like the form of
Çesha, [385] it always bears the world; like the hour of churning
the ocean, it fills the end of the earth with its hubbub; [386]
like the rite of inauguration, it has a thousand gold pitchers [387]
at hand; like Gauri, it has a form fit to sit on the lion-throne;
like Aditi, honoured in a hundred houses of the gods; like the
sports of Mahavaraha, showing the casting down of Hiranyaksha;
[388] like Kadru, it is a joy to the race of reptiles; [389] like
the Harivamça, it is charming with the games of many children. [390]
(108) Though its courts are open to all, its glory is uninjured;
[391] though it glows with colour, [392] it is white as nectar;
though it is hung with strings of pearls, yet when unadorned [393]
it is adorned the most; though composed of many elements, [394] it is
yet stable, and it surpasses in splendour the world of the immortals.
There the sun is daily seen paying homage to Mahakala, for his steeds
vail their heads at the charm of the sweet chant of the women singing
in concert in the lofty white palaces, and his pennon droops before
him. There his rays fall on the vermeil floors like the crimson of
eve; and on the emerald seats, as though busy in creating lotus beds;
on the lapis-lazuli, as though scattered on the sky; on the circling
aloe smoke, as though eager to break its dense gloom; on the wreaths
of pearl, as though disdaining the clusters of stars; (109) on the
women's faces, as though kissing unfolding lotuses; on the splendour of
crystal walls, as though falling amid the pale moonlight of morning;
on the white silken banners, as though hanging on the waves of the
heavenly Ganges; on the sun-gems, as though blossoming from them;
on the sapphire lattices, as though entering the jaws of Rahu. There
darkness never falls, and the nights bring no separation to the pairs
of cakravakas; nor need they any lamps, for they pass golden as with
morning sunshine, from the bright jewels of women, as though the world
were on fire with the flame of love. There, though Çiva is at hand,
the cry of the hamsas in the houses, arising sweet and ceaseless,
at the kindling of love, fills the city with music, like the mourning
of Rati for the burning of the God of Love. There the palaces stretch
forth their flags, whose silken fringes gleam and flutter at night
in the wind, like arms to remove the mark of the moon put to shame
by the fair lotus-faced Malavis. (110) There the moon, deer-marked,
moves, in the guise of his reflection, on the jewel pavement, cool
with the sprinkling of much sandal-water, as though he had fallen
captive to Love at the sight of the faces of the fair city dames
resting on the palace roofs. There the auspicious songs of dawn
raised by the company of caged parrots and starlings, though they
sing their shrillest, as they wake at night's close, are drowned and
rendered vain by the tinkling of women's ornaments, reaching far,
and outvying the ambrosial voices of the tame cranes. [395] (111)
There dwells Çiva, who has pierced the demon Andhaka with his sharp
trident, who has a piece of the moon on his brow polished by the
points of Gauri's anklets, whose cosmetic is the dust of Tripura,
and whose feet are honoured by many bracelets fallen from Rati's
outstretched arms as she pacifies him when bereft of Kama.
DESCRIPTION OF TARAPIDA. [396]
(112) Like hell, he was the refuge of the lords of earth, [397]
fearing when their soaring pride was shorn; [398] like the stars, he
was followed by the wise men; [399] like Love, he destroyed strife;
[400] like Daçaratha, he had good friends; [401] (113) like Çiva,
he was followed by a mighty host; [402] like Çesha, he had the weight
of the earth upon him; [403] like the stream of Narmada, his descent
was from a noble tree. [404] He was the incarnation of Justice, the
very representative of Vishnu, the destroyer of all the sorrows of
his people. He re-established justice, which had been shaken to its
foundations by the Kali Age, set on iniquity, and mantled in gloom
by the spread of darkness, just as Çiva re-established Kailasa when
carried off by Ravana. He was honoured by the world as a second Kama,
created by Çiva when his heart was softened by the lamentations
of Rati.
(113-115) Before him bowed conquered kings with eyes whose pupils were
tremulous and quivering from fear, with the bands of the wreaths on
their crest ornaments caught by the rays of his feet, and with the line
of their heads broken by the lotus-buds held up in adoration. They
came from the Mount of Sunrise, [405] which has its girdle washed
by the ocean waves, where the flowers on the trees of its slopes are
doubled by stars wandering among the leaves, where the sandal-wood is
wet with the drops of ambrosia that fall from the moon as it rises,
where the clove-trees [406] blossom when pierced by the hoofs of
the horses of the sun's chariot, where the leaves and shoots of the
olibanum-trees are cut by the trunk of the elephant Airavata; (114)
from Setubandha, built with a thousand mountains seized by the hand
of Nala, [407] where the fruit on the lavali-trees is carried off by
monkeys, where the feet of Rama are worshipped by the water-deities
coming up from the sea, and where the rock is starred with pieces
of shell broken by the fall of the mountain; from Mandara, where the
stars are washed by the waters of pure waterfalls, where the stones are
polished by the rubbing of the edge of the fish ornament of Krishna
rising at the churning of ambrosia, where the slopes are torn by the
weight of the feet moving in the effort of drawing hither and thither
Vasuki coiled in the struggles of Gods and demons, where the peaks are
sprinkled with ambrosial spray; from Gandhamadana, beautiful with the
hermitage of Badarika marked with the footprints of Nara and Narayana,
where the peaks are resonant with the tinkling of the ornaments of
the fair dames of Kuvera's city, where the water of the streams is
purified by the evening worship of the Seven Rishis, and where the
land around is perfumed by the fragments of lotuses torn up by Bhima.
CANDRAPIDA'S ENTRY INTO THE PALACE.
(188) Preceded by groups of chamberlains, hastening up and bowing,
he received the respectful homage of the kings, who had already taken
their position there, who came forward on all sides, who had the ground
kissed by the rays of the crest-jewels loosened from their crests and
thrown afar, and who were introduced one by one by the chamberlains;
at every step he had auspicious words for his dismounting uttered by
old women of the zenana, who had come out from inside, and were skilled
in old customs; having passed through the seven inner courts crowded
with thousands of different living beings, as if they were different
worlds, he beheld his father. The king was stationed within, surrounded
by a body-guard whose hands were stained black by ceaseless grasping of
weapons, who had their bodies, with the exception of hands, feet, and
eyes, covered with dark iron coats of mail, (189) like elephant-posts
covered with swarms of bees ceaselessly attracted by desire of the
scent of ichor, hereditary in their office, of noble birth, faithful;
whose heroism might be inferred from their character and gestures,
and who in their energy and fierceness were like demons. On either
side he had white cowries ceaselessly waved by his women; and he
sat on a couch white as a wild goose, and bright as a fair island,
as if he were the heavenly elephant on the water of Ganges.
VILASAVATI'S ATTENDANTS.
(190) Approaching his mother, he saluted her. She was surrounded by
countless zenana attendants in white jackets, like Çri with the waves
of milk, and was having her time wiled away by elderly ascetic women,
very calm in aspect, wearing tawny robes, like twilight in its clouds,
worthy of honour from all the world, with the lobes of their ears long,
knowing many stories, relating holy tales of old, reciting legends,
holding books, and giving instructions about righteousness. (191)
She was attended by eunuchs using the speech and dress of women, and
wearing strange decorations; she had a mass of cowries constantly waved
around her, and was waited upon by a bevy of women seated around her,
bearing clothes, jewels, flowers, perfumes, betel, fans, unguents,
and golden jars; she had strings of pearls resting on her bosom, as
the earth has the stream of Ganges flowing in the midst of mountains,
and the reflection of her face fell on a mirror close by, like the
sky when the moon's orb has entered into the sun.
ÇUKANASA'S PALACE.
(192) He reached Çukanasa's gate, which was crowded with a troop of
elephants appointed for the watch, obstructed by thousands of horses,
(193) confused with the hustling of countless multitudes, visited
day and night by Brahmans, Çaivas, and red-robed men skilled in
the teaching of Çakyamuni, clothed as it were in the garments of
righteousness, sitting on one side by thousands, forming circles,
coming for various purposes, eager to see Çukanasa, having their
eyes opened by the ointment of their several çastras, and showing
their respectful devotion by an appearance of humility. The gateway
was filled with a hundred thousand she-elephants of the tributary
kings who had entered the palace with double blankets drawn round
the mahouts who sat on their shoulders, having their mahouts asleep
from weariness of their long waiting, some saddled and some not,
nodding their heads from their long standing motionless. The prince
dismounted in the outer court, as though he were in a royal palace,
though not stopped by the guards standing in the entrance and running
up in haste; and having left his horse at the entrance, leaning on
Vaiçampayana, and having his way shown by circles of gatekeepers,
who hastened up, pushing away the bystanders, he received the salutes
of bands of chiefs who arose with waving crests to do him homage,
and beheld the inner courts with all the attendants mute in fear
of the scolding of cross porters, and having the ground shaken by
hundreds of feet of the retinues of neighbouring kings frightened by
the moving wands, (194) and finally entered the palace of Çukanasa,
bright inside with fresh plaster, as if it were a second royal court.
DESCRIPTION OF NIGHT.
(196) The brightness of day approached the west, following the path
of the sun's chariot-wheels, like a stream of water. Day wiped away
all the glow of the lotuses with the sun's orb hastening downwards
like a hand roseate as fresh shoots. The pairs of cakravakas, whose
necks were hidden in swarms of bees approaching from familiarity
with the scent of lotuses, were separated as if drawn by the noose
of destiny. The sun's orb poured forth, under the guise of a rosy
glow, the lotus honey-draught, as it were, drunk in with its rays
till the end of day, as if in weariness of its path through the
heavens. And when in turn the blessed sun approached another world,
and was a very red lotus-earring of the West, when twilight shone
forth with its lotus-beds opening into the lake of heaven, (197)
when in the quarters of space lines of darkness showed clear like
decorations of black aloes; when the glow of eve was driven out by
darkness like a band of red lotuses by blue lotuses dark with bees;
when bees slowly entered the hearts of red lotuses, as if they were
shoots of darkness, to uproot the sunshine drunk in by the lotus-beds;
when the evening glow had melted away, like the garland round the face
of the Lady of night; when the oblations in honour of the goddess of
twilight were cast abroad in all quarters; when the peacock's poles
seemed tenanted by peacocks, by reason of the darkness gathered round
their summits, though no peacocks were there; when the doves, very
ear-lotuses of the Lakshmi of palaces, were roosting in the holes of
the lattices; when the swings of the zenana had their bells dumb,
and their gold seats motionless and bearing no fair dames; when
the bands of parrots and mainas ceased chattering, and had their
cages hung up on the branches of the palace mango-trees; when the
lutes were banished, and their sound at rest in the ceasing of the
concert; when the tame geese were quiet as the sound of the maidens'
anklets was stilled; (198) when the wild elephants had the clefts of
their cheeks free from bees, and their ornaments of pearls, cowries,
and shells taken away; when the lights were kindled in the stables
of the king's favourite steeds; when the troops of elephants for the
first watch were entering; when the family priests, having given their
blessing, were departing; when the jewelled pavements, emptied almost
of attendants on the dismissal of the king's suite, spread out wide,
kissed by the reflection of a thousand lights shining in the inner
apartments, like offerings of golden campak-blossoms; when the palace
tanks, with the splendours of the lamps falling on them, seemed as if
the fresh sunlight had approached to soothe the lotus-beds grieved by
separation from the sun; when the caged lions were heavy with sleep;
and when Love had entered the zenana like a watchman, with arrows in
hand and bow strung; when the words of Love's messenger were uttered
in the ear, bright in tone as the blossoms in a garland; when the
hearts of froward dames, widowed by grief, were smouldering in the
fire transmitted to them from the sun-crystals; and when evening had
closed in, Candrapida ... went to the king's palace....
THE REGION OF KAILASA.
(243) The red arsenic-dust scattered by the elephants' tusks crimsoned
the earth. The clefts of the rock were festooned with shoots of
creepers, now separating and now uniting, hanging in twists, twining
like leafage; the stones were wet with the ceaseless dripping of
gum-trees; the boulders were slippery with the bitumen that oozed from
the rocks. The slope was dusty with fragments of yellow orpiment broken
by the mountain horses' hoofs; powdered with gold scattered from the
holes dug out by the claws of rats; lined by the hoofs of musk-deer
and yaks sunk in the sand and covered with the hair of rallakas and
rankus fallen about; filled with pairs of partridges resting on the
broken pieces of rock; with the mouths of its caves inhabited by pairs
of orang-outangs; with the sweet scent of sulphur, and with bamboos
that had grown to the length of wands of office.
PASSAGES PRINTED IN THE APPENDIX. [408]
102, 1--110, 6
111, 1-4
112, 6--115, 1
188, 4--189, 5
190, 6--191, 5
192, 11--194, 2
196, 4--199, 1
243, 4-10
PASSAGES CONDENSED OR OMITTED. [409]
11, 7--15, 2
*31, 10--34, 2
46, 7--48, 4
81, 3-10
83, 1-8
85, 3--89, 4
119, 3--124, 3
137, 7--138, 3
141, 6--155, 5
162, 8--164, 8
176, 6--188, 4
*199, 5--200, 9
203, 2--204, 2
*227, 4--234, 6
242, 6-10
*245, 4--248, 3
250, 3-8
*252, 7--256, 5
262, 1--266, 3
276, 9--277, 8
285, 2-4
*346, 7--348, 7
353, 6--355, 9
357, 1-10
359, 12--365, 2
369, 2-8
*383, 6--384,9
388, 5--390, 4
403, 6--410, 3
417, 1--426, 3
NOTES
[1] It is needless to give here more than the few facts essential
for the understanding of 'Kadambari,' for the life and times of Bana
will probably be treated of in the translation of the 'Harsha-Carita'
by Professor Cowell and Mr. Thomas in this series; and Professor
Peterson's Introduction to his edition of 'Kadambari' (Bombay Sanskrit
Series, 1889) deals fully with Bana's place in literature. The facts
here given are, for the most part, taken from the latter work.
[2] E.g., the Madhuban grant of Sam 25, E. I. i., 67 ff. For this
and other chronological references I am indebted to Miss C. M. Duff,
who has let me use the MS. of her 'Chronology of India.'
[3] For Bana's early life, V. 'Harsha-Carita,' chs. i., ii. I have
to thank Mr. F. W. Thomas for allowing me to see the proof-sheets of
his translation.
[4] Peterson, 'Kadambari,' pp. 96-98; and 'The Subhashitavali,'
edited by Peterson (Bombay Sanskrit Series, 1886), pp. 62-66.
[5] Translated by Mr. C. Tawney (Calcutta, 1884), vol. ii.,
pp. 17-26. Somadeva's date is about A.D. 1063.
[6] V. Peterson, 'Kadambari,' pp. 82-96.
[7] Translated by Ballantyne and Pramada-Dasa-Mitra (Calcutta, 1875),
§ 567. The italics represent words supplied by the translators.
[8] Kadambari,' p. 69.
[9] Professor Peterson does not, however, make this deduction in
favour of Bana's own version.
[10] I.e., rasa, poetic charm.
[11] 'Kadambari,' Nirnaya Sagara Press, Bombay, pp. 205-221. 'Evam
samatikramatsu--ajagama.'
[12] Bombay edition, p. 6.
[13] Professor Cowells review of 'A Bengali Historical
Novel.' Macmillan, April, 1872.
[14] V. Peterson, 'Kadambari,' p. 42.
[15] Indeed, this description is so like in spirit to that of
Clairvaux, that I cannot forbear quoting a few lines of the latter. The
writer describes the workshops where the brethren labour, and the
orchard used for rest and quiet thought, and goes on to say how the
Aube is raised by the toils of the brethren to the level of the Abbey;
it throws half its water into the Abbey, 'as if to salute the brethren,
and seems to excuse itself for not coming in its whole force.' Then
'it returns with rapid current to the stream, and renders to it,
in the name of Clairvaux, thanks for all the services which it has
performed.' The writer then goes on to tell of the fountain which,
protected by a grassy pavilion, rises from the mountain, and is
quickly engulfed in the valley, 'offering itself to charm the sight
and supply the wants of the brethren, as if it were not willing to
have communition with any others than saints.' This last is surely
a touch worthy of Bana. V. Dr. Eale's translation of 'St. Bernard's
Works.' London, 1889, vol. ii., pp. 462-467.
[16] Translated by Mr. C. Tawney. Oriental Translation Fund Series,
p. 113.
[17] V. 'Kadambari,' Nirnaya Sagara, p. 19, l. 2.
[18] 'Hiouen Thsang,' translated by St. Julien, 'Mémoires sur les
Contrées Occidentals,' I., pp. 247-265. Cf. also 'Harsha-Carita,'
ch. viii. (p. 236 of the translation), where he pays great honour to
a Buddhist sage.
[19] E. I. i. 67.
[20] V. 'Katha-Sarit-Sagara,' i. 505.
[21] V. 'Kadambari,' pp. 97-104.
[22] V. 'History of Indian Literature,' translation, London, 1878,
p. 232.
[23] V. 'Sahitya-Darpana,' § 626-628.
[24] Ibid., § 630.
[25]
'Not on thy sole, but on thy soul, harsh Jew,
Thou makest thy knife keen.'
'Merchant of Venice,' IV. 1, 123 (Globe edition).
'Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough,
When there is in it but one only man.'
'Julius Cæsar,' I. 2, 156.
[26] V. 'Sahitya-Darpana,' § 664.
[27] Ibid., § 718-722.
[28] Ibid., § 738.
[29] V. Peterson, 'Kadambari,' p. 36.
[30] Cf. Spenser's stanzas on Mutability.
[31] V. infra, p. 208.
[32] V. infra, p. 2.
[33] The list looks long, but the pages in the 'Nirnaya-Sagara'
edition contain frequently but few lines, and many of the omissions
are a line or two of oft-repeated similes.
[34] Beginning at p. 566 of the 'Nirnaya-Sagara' edition.
[35] I here take the opportunity to acknowledge what by an oversight
was omitted in its proper place, my indebtedness to Professor Cowell
for the rendering into English verse of two couplets given on pp. 11
and 113.
[36] As the three Vedas, or the triad.
[37] Vishnu Purana, Bk. v., ch. 33.
[38] His guru.
[39] Rasa = (a) the eight rasas; (b) love.
[40] Çayya = (a) composition; (b) couch.
[41] (a) Which sparkle with emphatic words and similes; (b) like
flashing lamps.
[42] (a) Pun; (b) proximity.
[43] Hanging on his ear (as an ornament).
[44] In the case of elephants, 'having their ichor regulated by a
proper regimen.'
[45] With renowned warriors on their backs.
[46] Having trunks as thick as sacrificial posts.
[47] I.e., Vasavadatta and the Brihatkatha; or, r., advitiya,
unrivalled.
[48] (a) Unconquerable in might; (b) having unconquerable shafts.
[49] In the case of Brahma, 'he made his chariot of flamingoes.'
[50] (a) His hand was wet with a stream of constant giving; (b)
the trunk was wet with ichor.
[51] Or, to the sun's orb.
[52] Vinata = (a) mother of Garuda; (b) humble.
[53] Or, caste.
[54] Or, fines of gold.
[55] Or, fickle affections.
[56] Had, mada = (a) pride; (b) ichor.
[57] Or, breaking away from virtue.
[58] Or, tribute.
[59] In autumn, the hamsas, or wild geese, return.
[60] Or, bamboos.
[61] Ram. I. 60.
[62] He had (a) great faults; (b) a long arm.
[63] Dark.
[64] I.e., imposed no heavy tribute.
[65] Or, 'with citra and çravana,' lunar mansions.
[66] Or, living creatures.
[67] (a) Of lowly birth; (b) not dwelling on earth.
[68] (a) Candala; (b) elephant.
[69] Or, ajati, without caste.
[70] Alaka = (a) curls; (b) a city.
[71] Or, whose love would be a reproach.
[72] A verse in the arya measure.
[73] Vipula, Acala, and Çaça, characters in the Brihatkatha. Or,
broad mountains and hares.
[74] Varuna, tree; varuna, wine.
[75] Or, with lightning.
[76] Constellations. The moon was supposed to have a deer dwelling
in it.
[77] (a) The cowries held by the suite; (b) different kinds of deer.
[78] (a) Rocky; (b) having Çiva.
[79] Kuça: (a) Sita's son; (b) grass. Niçacara: (a) Ravana; (b) owls.
[80] (a) Mark of aloes on the brow; (b) tilaka trees and aloe trees
all bright.
[81] (a) Love; (b) madana trees.
[82] As an amulet.
[83] Name of an ornament.
[84] Wine-cups.
[85] (a) Halls; (b) çal trees.
[86] (a) Clapping of hands; (b) palm-trees.
[87] (a) Arrows; (b) reeds.
[88] (a) Trees; (b) eyes.
[89] (a) As tamala trees (very dark); (b) with tamala trees.
[90] Virata, a king who befriended the Pandavas. The chief of his army
was named Kicaka. F. Mbh., Bk. iv., 815. Kicaka also means 'bamboo.'
[91] Or, the twinkling stars of the Deer constellation, pursued by
the Hunter (a constellation).
[92] Bark garments, matted locks, and rags of grass.
[93] (a) Seven leaves; (b) a tree.
[94] (a) Of fierce disposition; (b) full of wild beasts.
[95] The sign of a vow.
[96] Or perhaps, 'not caring for the fascination of the beauty of
Ravana,' i.e. his sister. He was loved by Ravana's sister.
[97] Does this refer to the reflection of the sky in its clear water?
[98] Çalmali = silk cotton-tree.
[99] Lit., 'striving upwards to see.'
[100] Indra's wood.
[101] Çakuni = (a) bird; (b) name of Duryodhana's supporter.
[102] Or, 'by Vanamala,' Krishna's chaplet.
[103] Tara = (a) wife of Sugriva, the monkey king; (b) star.
[104] Mountaineer.
[105] Arjuna, or Karttavirya, was captured by Ravana when sporting
in the Nerbuddha, and was killed by Paraçurama. V. Vishnu Purana,
Bk. iv., ch. 11.
[106] Dushana was one of Ravana's generals; Khara was Ravana's brother,
and was slain by Rama.
[107] Cf. Uttararamacarita, Act V.
[108] Ekalavya, king of the Nishadas, killed by Krishna. Mbh., I., 132.
[109] Or, curls.
[110] V. Harivamça, 83.
[111] Or, with clouds.
[112] She-rhinoceros.
[113] Or, rainbows.
[114] Ekacakra = (a) a city possessed by Vaka; (b) one army, or
one quoit.
[115] Naga = (a) elephant; (b) snake.
[116] Or, Çikhandi, a son of Drupada, a friend of the Pandavas.
[117] Or, mirage.
[118] Or, eager for the Manasa lake. The Vidyadhara was a good or
evil genius attending the gods. V. Kulluka on Manu, xii., 47.
[119] Yojanagandha, mother of Vyasa.
[120] Or, 'bearing the form of Bhima.' He was Bhima's son. V. Mbh.,
I., 155.
[121] (a) Crescent moon of Çiva; (b) eyes of peacocks' tails.
[122] Hiranyakaçipu. V. Harivamça, 225.
[123] Or, an ambitious man surrounded by bards (to sing his praises).
[124] Or, loving blood.
[125] Nishadas = (a) mountaineers; (b) the highest note of the scale.
[126] (a) Had passed many ages; (b) had killed many birds.
[127] Or, great wealth.
[128] Black.
[129] Or, Durga.
[130] Or, mountain.
[131] (a) Magnanimity; (b) great strength.
[132] Anabhibhavaniya°.
[133] (a) Awakening cry; (b) moral law.
[134] Owls are supposed to be descendants of the sage Viçvamitra.
[135] As omens.
[136] Piçitaçna, a demon, or, according to the commentary here,
a tiger.
[137] Lit., 'creating a doubt of.'
[138] Cf. Emerson's Essay on Experience: 'Sleep lingers all our
life-time about our eyes, as night hovers all day in the boughs of
the fir-tree.'
[139] Read, Çrama.
[140] Lit., 'To have been an extract from.'
[141] Sacred to Indra, and burnt by Agni with the help of Arjuna
and Krishna.
[142] Three horizontal lines.
[143] Truth in thought, word, and deed.
[144] Read, Nishpatata.
[145] Nilapandu, mottled blue and white. The Hindu penance is to be
between five fires: four on earth and the sun above. V. Manu, vi. 23.
[146] The sign of a vow.
[147] (a) Bark garment; (b) bark of trees.
[148] (a) Girdle. V. Manu, ii. 42; (b) mountain slope.
[149] Or, the moon.
[150] Or, with.
[151] (a) Kripa = compassion; (b) Kripa was the teacher of Açvatthama,
or Drauni.
[152] Or, Virgo, Cervus, the Pleiads and Draco.
[153] (a) Having twilight drunk up; (b) having many faults eradicated.
[154] Rajas = (a) dust; (b) passion.
[155] In performance of a vow. V. Manu, vi. 23.
[156] Or, 'of the demon Naraka,' slain by Krishna. Harivamça, 122.
[157] Or, had stars tawny at the junction of night and day.
[158] Lit., (a) Holding all his passions in firm restraint; (b)
having the axle of its wheels firm.
[159] Lit., (a) He had a body wasted by secret performance of penance;
(b) he brought to nought the enemies' plans of battle by secret
counsel and by his army.
[160] Or, having caves with whirlpools and the circles of shells
oblique.
[161] Or, quays.
[162] (a) Perhaps Pushkara, the place of pilgrimage in Ajmere;
(b) lotus-grove.
[163] (a) Having entrance into great halls; (b) being absorbed
in Brahma.
[164] Or, salvation.
[165] Or, inflicted punishment; or, though intent on the Sama veda,
he was yet a dandi; i.e., an ascetic who despises ritual.
[166] Having beautiful matted locks.
[167] (a) Having no left eye; (b) having no crooked glances.
[168] R. V., x. 190.
[169] Another kind of bread-tree.
[170] The Commentary explains it as 'Veda.'
[171] The tridandaka or three staves of the mendicant Brahman who
has resigned the world.
[172] Or, impassioned glances.
[173] (a) Moulting; (b) partisanship.
[174] Bala = (a) hair; (b) children.
[175] Rama, woman.
[176] Çakuni = (a) a bird; (b) Duryodhana's uncle.
[177] Vayu = (a) wind; (b) breath.
[178] (a) Teeth; (b) Brahmans.
[179] Or, dullness.
[180] Or, seeking prosperity.
[181] Or, seek enjoyment.
[182] Or good fortune.
[183] The Garhapatya, Dakshina, and Ahavaniya fires.
[184] Proverbial phrase for clearness.
[185] Vishnu Purana, vi., ch. 3, 'The seven solar rays dilate to
seven suns, and set the three worlds on fire.'
[186] Lit., 'is leader of.'
[187] Or, caprice.
[188] Vishnu Purana, i., 123.
[189] Semi-divine beings dwelling between the earth and the sun.
[190] Tara = (a) stars; (b) wife of Brihaspati, carried away by
the moon.
[191] (a) "Wife of the sage Vaçishtha; (b) the morning star.
[192] (a) Constellation; (b) staff borne during a vow.
[193] (a) Constellation; (b) roots for the hermits' food.
[194] Or, constellation.
[195] Çiva.
[196] Caste.
[197] Friends.
[198] I.e., king, minister, and energy.
[199] Or, misfortune.
[200] An ordeal.
[201] An ordeal.
[202] (a) Clearing of the waters after the rainy season; (b) ordeal
of poison.
[203] (a) Magic; (b) practice of Yoga.
[204] (a) Lit., 'tearing out of eyes;' (b) slaughter of the demon
Taraka by Kartikeya.
[205] A star in the Scorpion's tail.
[206] Seizing of tribute.
[207] Or, having his body united. V. Dowson, 'Classical Dictionary.'
[208] Having fortresses subdued.
[209] These are teachers of the gods and heroes.
[210] Vishnu.
[211] Lit., 'firm.'
[212] (a) The gods; (b) love.
[213] Four was the number of the oceans and of the arms of Narayana.
[214] The divine mothers, or personified energies of the chief deities.
[215] Wife of Çukanasa.
[216] Summary of pp. 141-155.
[217] Or, Ananga, name of Kama.
[218] Since he can only give it the name, not the substance or
meaning. Kumara = (a) name of Kartikeya; (b) prince.
[219] Kama.
[220] Summary of pp. 176-189.
[221] Lit., 'sew him to himself.'
[222] Summary of pp. 190, 191.
[223] Summary of p. 193.
[224] Çarabha, a fabulous animal supposed to have eight legs, and to
dwell in the snowy mountains.
[225] (a) Many sins; (b) twilight.
[226] Lit., (a) climbs trees; (b) protects parasites.
[227] (a) Showing the elevation of many men; (b) rising in stature
to the height of many men.
[228] Or, arrogance.
[229] Or, stupidity.
[230] Or, wealth.
[231] Or, ill-fortune.
[232] Balam = (a) strength; (b) army. Laghuma = (a) lightness;
(b) triviality.
[233] Vigrahavati = (a) having a body; (b) full of strife.
[234] Purushottama, i.e., Vishnu.
[235] The rainy season sends away the hamsas.
[236] Lit., their limbs fail them.
[237] Which have a strong scent.
[238] Men having throbbing eyes.
[239] (a) A noble man; (b) fire.
[240] Or, drink.
[241] Or, taxes.
[242] Like Vishnu.
[243] Like Çiva.
[244] Lit., 'inlaid.'
[245] Or, kesara flowers.
[246] Recaka, so commentary.
[247] Both trees of paradise.
[248] The quarter of Çatakratu or Indra.
[249] All auspicious signs. Cakra is (a) a quoit; (b) a cakravaka.
[250] (a) A demon; (b) the heron.
[251] For the love of snakes for the breeze, V. Raghuvamça, XIII.,
12, and Buddhacarita, I., 44. Snakes are sometimes called vayubaksha.
[252] The following reference to Thomas Bell's 'History of British
Quadrupeds' was given by Mr. S. B. Charlesworth. 'Writing about the
deer of our parks (p. 404) he (Bell) quotes Playford's "Introduction to
Music" as follows: "Travelling some years since, I met on the road near
Royston a herd of about twenty deer following a bagpipe and violin,
which while the music played went forward. When it ceased they all
stood still, and in this manner they were brought out of Yorkshire
to Hampton Court."' V. supra, pp. 40, 79.
[253] Meghaduta, 38.
[254] The dvipas are continents separated from each other by
oceans. The Çvetadvipa, or White Continent, is, according to Weber,
suggested by Alexandria. V. 'Indische Studien,' I., 400; II., 397, 398.
[255] Dvandva, a pair of opposites, as, e.g., pleasure and pain.
[256] (a) Brilliant; (b) Durga.
[257] Summary of p. 277.
[258] The Commentary says: 'A house is whitened to welcome anyone. The
face (or mouth) is the dwelling of Sarasvati.'
[259] Mandara, one of the trees of Paradise.
[260] The month June-July.
[261] Staff.
[262] (a) A tilaka, or mark of ashes; (b) abundance of tilaka trees
white with blossoms.
[263] Read Kauçalasya.
[264] Cf. 'Dulce rudimentum meditantis lilia quondam naturæ, cum
sese opera ad majora pararet.'--Rapin, on the convolvulus. V. Hallam,
'Hist. of Lit.,' Pt. iv., ch. v.
[265] Vishnu Purana, Wilson, 1865, vol. ii., p. 297.
[266] Son of Kuvera.
[267] The coral tree.
[268] Or, virtue.
[269] 'In the arya metre,' in the Sanskrit.
[270] Manasijanma = (a) born in the Manasa lake; (b) born in the mind,
i.e., love. Muktalata = (a) a white creeper; (b) a pearl necklace.
[271] Scilicet, in the day.
[272] Turbid with (a) dust; (b) passion.
[273] The Vishnu Purana, Bk. vi., ch. iii., mentions seven suns.
[274] The asterism Rohini.
[275] Utkalika = (a) wave; (b) longing.
[276] Or, hand.
[277] Hands.
[278] Feet.
[279] Hands.
[280] Candracandala (lit., 'base-born moon') is intended as an
assonance.
[281] Purnapatra, a basket of gifts to be scrambled for at a wedding.
[282] I.e., the row of pearls given by Mahaçveta.
[283] Omit, priyajanaviçvasavacanani.
[284] Read, parityakta.
[285] Read, antare.
[286] Goçirsha, a kind of fragrant sandal.
[287] V. Vishnu Purana, Bk. i., ch. iii. (For the description of
Brahma's night.)
[288]
Tatah Saindhavako raja kshudras, tata, Jayadrathah,
Varadanena Rudrasya sarvan nah samavarayat.
('Then the vile Sindh kinglet, Jayadratha, through the boon conferred
by Rudra, O my son, kept us all back.')--Mahabharata, vii., 2574.
[289] Harivamça, 4906.
[290] The cakora, or Greek partridge, was said to have its eyes turned
red in the presence of poison.
[291] Madira, intoxicating, bewitching; so called because her eyes
were madirah.
[292] Daksha cursed the moon with consumption at the appeal of his
forty-nine daughters, the moon's wives, who complained of his special
favour to the fiftieth sister.
[293] Lit., 'without cause.'
[294] Lit., 'going by machinery.'
[295] Trees of paradise.
[296] A pun on pida, grief.
[297] A pun on pida, a chaplet.
[298] Read irshyam, vyatham, and rosham, as the Calcutta edition.
[299] 'All the rasas,' the ten emotions of love, fear, etc., enumerated
by writers on rhetoric.
[300] Because water was poured out to ratify a gift.
[301] Bhashita, literally, 'addressed by'; or read, bhavita, 'entering
into the spirit of.'
[302] Read nirdakshinyaya.
[303] A bundle of peacock feathers waved by the conjuror to bewilder
the audience.
[304] The dark blue of the bees was like the blue veil worn by women
going to meet their lovers.
[305] This passage is condensed.
[306] Read musho.
[307] I.e., 'relic,' or 'remaining.'
[308] Read Mahaçvetam.
[309] Cf. 'Harsha Carita' (Bombay edition, p. 272),
'Parameçvarottamangapatadurlalitangam'.
[310] Read Kumudamayya.
[311] A tree of paradise.
[312] Tali, a kind of palm; Kandala, a plantain.
[313] Or, reading avirala, thick coming.
[314] The Vishnu Purana, Bk. ii., ch. ii., calls Mandara the Mountain
of the East; Gandhamadana, of the South; Vipula, of the West; and
Suparçva, of the North.
[315] Father of Kuvera.
[316] Brahma.
[317] A phrase denoting readiness to obey. V. supra, p. 15.
[318] Pouring water into the hand was the confirmation of a
gift. V. supra, p. 150.
[319] Transpose iti.
[320] Hybiscus mutabilis changes colour thrice a day.
[321] Or, at a wrong time.
[322] Remove the stop after asyah and Candrapidah, and place one
after gantum.
[323] 'It is not allowed by her favour to move.'
[324] Read suhridapi gantavyam, 'his friend must go.'
[325] Or, sampanna, 'full-grown, having fruit and flowers,' according
to the commentary.
[326] Read khinne.
[327] Read prasadanam.
[328] Read °janat, etc.
[329] V. supra, p. 12, where the robes of the chiefs are torn by
their ornaments in their hasty movements.
[330] Paravaça iva, or, 'with mind enslaved to other thoughts.'
[331] Read garigasi.
[332] The Jamuna is a common comparison for blue or green.
[333] Placing a stop after gaditum instead of after nihçesham.
[334] An allusion to the idea that the açoka would bud when touched
by the foot of a beautiful woman.
[335] Anubandha, one of the four necessary conditions in writing. (a)
Subject-matter; (b) purpose; (c) relation between subject treated
and its end; (d) competent person to hear it.-- V. 'Vedanta Sara.,'
p. 2-4; 'Vacaspatya Dictionary.'
[336] 'Manu,' ix., 90.
[337] I.e., the down on the body rises from joy (a common idea in
Sanskrit writers), and holds the robe on its points.
[338] Read, Samdiçanti, and place the stop after svayam instead of
after samdiçanti.
[339] I.e., awake a sleeping lion.
[340] Or, 'wine.'
[341] Bhushanabhatta, after these introductory lines, continues
Patralekha's account of Kadambari's speech, and completes the story.
[342] I.e., Patralekha.
[343] Literally, 'that forest of creepers, sc. maidens.'
[344] So commentary.
[345] Avanti is the province of which Ujjayini is the capital. For
the Divine Mothers, V. supra, p. 56.
[346] V. supra, pp. 19, 20, 47.
[347] A king of the solar race.
[348] V. supra, p. 6.
[349] Read ashtanam api Vasunam.
[350] The commentary says 'mother' is said to a daughter-in-law,
just as tata, 'father,' is said to a son.
[351] The parrot's own history is now continued from p. 47.
[352] The commentary explains these as Indra, Yama, Varuna, Soma
and Kuvera. The Calcutta translation apparently translates a reading
mahabhutani.
[353] As the betrothed of Mahaçveta, who was of the moon-race of
Apsarases.
[354] For gandharva marriage, v. Manu., iii. 32.
[355] Cf. M. Arnold:
'Ah, where the spirit its highest life hath led,
All spots, match'd with that spot, are less divine.'
[356] Apunarukta, 'without tautology.'
[357] Çiva.
[358] Fiends attendant on Çiva.
[359] Vide p. 98.
[360] Or, with fishes.
[361] Or, light.
[362] Literally (a) whose wealth is crores of rupees; (b) in the case
of the moon, 'whose essence is in its horns.'
[363] (a) Partizanship; (b) cutting of pinions. When the rest of the
mountains lost their wings, Mainaka escaped.
[364] Or, padma, 1000 billions.
[365] Or, emeralds.
[366] Or, rogues.
[367] Or, granaries.
[368] Or, learned.
[369] Or, though full of energy, they fear their enemies.
[370] Or, liberal.
[371] V. Sahitya-Darpana, 641.
[372] Ibid., 568.
[373] Or, offering gifts.
[374] Or, containing pine-trees.
[375] Or, attentive to women.
[376] Brother of Rama and Bharata.
[377] Or, their friends.
[378] Or, of the Sarvastivadin School (a subdivision of the Vaibhashika
Buddhists).
[379] Or, matter and spirit.
[380] Or, lotus-hued.
[381] In the case of Çiva, 'loud laughter, bright as nectar.'
[382] It has treasure vaults.
[383] Or, keeping its covenants firm.
[384] Or, houses whitened with ivory and cowries.
[385] Or, having splendid mountains always at hand.
[386] Or, false.
[387] Or, gold pieces.
[388] (a) Demon; (b) golden dice.
[389] Or, rogues.
[390] Or, the sporting of King Bala.
[391] Though the free intercourse with women is allowed, it is of
irreproachable conduct.
[392] Its castes are loved.
[393] Vihara (a) without necklaces; (b) having temples.
[394] Having many citizens.
[395] Then follows: 'There--demons,' p. 47, l. 18.
[396] Follows p. 48, l. 17, 'gay.'
[397] Read °kulaih; (a) Kings; (b) mountains.
[398] Loss of dependencies; or, loss of wings.
[399] Or, by the star Budha.
[400] Or, his body was destroyed.
[401] Or, Sumitra, wife of Daçaratha.
[402] Or, by the 'Lord of Battles,' i.e., Kartikeya.
[403] Or, was honoured for his patience.
[404] (a) A great family; (b) a great bamboo from which the river is
said to rise.
[405] V. supra, p. 162.
[406] Read lavanga.
[407] A monkey chief.
[408] The figures refer to the page and line of the Nirnaya-Sagara
edition of Kadambari.
[409] Passages marked * are condensed, and only occasional phrases
are translated.
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