The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
while my body retains strength. For see, old age whispers at the root
of my ear--'Since this body is perishable, why do you still remain
in your house?'" Having said this, the king Ságaravarman, all whose
ends were attained, went, though his son was opposed to it, to Prayága
with his beloved. And Samudravarman escorted his father there, and,
after returning to his own city, ruled it in accordance with the law.
And the king Ságaravarman, accompanied by his wife Anangaprabhá,
propitiated the god Siva in Prayága with asceticism. And at the end
of the night, the god said to him in a dream--"I am pleased with this
penance of yourself and your wife, so hear this--This Anangaprabhá and
you, my son, are both of the Vidyádhara race, and to-morrow the curse
will expire, and you will go to your own world." When the king heard
that, he woke up, and Anangaprabhá too, who had seen a similar dream,
and they told their dreams to one another. And then Anangaprabhá,
delighted, said to the king--"My husband, I have now remembered all
the history of my former birth; I am the daughter of Samara, a prince
of the Vidyádharas, in the city of Vírapura, and my name has always
been Anangaprabhá. And I came here owing to the curse of my father,
having become a human being by the loss of my science, and I forgot my
Vidyádharí nature. But now I have recovered consciousness of it." While
she was saying this, her father Samara descended from heaven; and
after he had been respectfully welcomed by the king Ságaravarman,
he said to that daughter Anangaprabhá, who fell at his feet, "Come,
daughter, receive these sciences, your curse is at an end. For you
have endured in one birth the sorrows of eight births." [727] Saying
this, he took her on his lap, and gave her back the sciences; then he
said to the king Ságaravarman--"You are a prince of the Vidyádharas,
named Madanaprabha, and I am by name Samara, and Anangaprabhá is my
daughter. And long ago, when she ought to have been given in marriage,
her hand was demanded by several suitors, but being intoxicated by
her beauty, she did not desire any husband. Then she was asked in
marriage by you, who were equal in merit, and very eager to marry her,
but as fate would have it, she would not then accept even you. For that
reason I cursed her, that she might go to the world of mortals. And
you, being passionately in love with her, fixed your heart on Siva
the giver of boons, and wished intently that she might be your wife
in the world of mortals, and then you abandoned your Vidyádhara body
by magic art. Then you became a man and she became your wife. Now
return to your own world linked together." When Samara said this to
Ságaravarman, he, remembering his birth, abandoned his body in the
water of Prayága, [728] and immediately became Madanaprabha. And
Anangaprabhá was rekindled with the brightness of her recovered
science, and immediately becoming a Vidyádharí, gleamed with that very
body, which underwent a heavenly change. And then Madanaprabha, being
delighted, and Anangaprabhá also, feeling great passion stir in both
their hearts at the sight of one another's heavenly bodies, and the
auspicious Samara, king of the sky-goers, all flew up into the air,
and went together to that city of the Vidyádharas, Vírapura. And there
Samara immediately gave, with due rites, his daughter Anangaprabhá to
the Vidyádhara king, Madanaprabha. And Madanaprabha went with that
beloved, whose curse had been cancelled, to his own city, and there
he dwelt at ease.
"Thus divine beings fall by virtue of a curse, and owing to the
consequences of their own wickedness, are incarnate in the world of
men, and after reaping the fruit appropriate to their bad conduct, they
again go to their own home on account of previously acquired merit."
When Naraváhandadatta heard this tale from his minister Gomukha, he
and Alankáravatí were delighted, and then he performed the duties of
the day.
CHAPTER LIII.
Then, on the next day, Naraváhanadatta's friend Marubhúti said to him,
when he was in the company of Alankáravatí--"See, king, this miserable
dependent [729] of yours remains clothed with one garment of leather,
with matted hair, thin and dirty, and never leaves the royal gate,
day or night, in cold or heat; so why do you not shew him favour at
last? For it is better that a little should be given in time, than
much when it is too late; so have mercy on him before he dies." When
Gomukha heard this, he said--"Marubhúti speaks well, but you, king,
are not the least in fault in this matter; for until a suitor's guilt,
which stands in his way, is removed, a king, even though disposed to
give, cannot give; but when a man's guilt is effaced, a king gives,
though strenuously dissuaded from doing so; this depends upon works
in a previous state of existence. And à propos of this, I will tell
you, O king, the story of Lakshadatta the king, and Labdhadatta the
dependent; listen."
Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta. [730]
There was on the earth a city named Lakshapura. In it there lived a
king named Lakshadatta, chief of generous men. He never knew how to
give a petitioner less than a lac of coins, but he gave five lacs
to any one with whom he conversed. As for the man with whom he was
pleased, he lifted him out of poverty, for this reason his name was
called Lakshadatta. A certain dependent named Labdhadatta stood day and
night at his gate, with a piece of leather for his only loin-rag. He
had matted hair, and he never left the king's gate for a second, day
or night, in cold, rain, or heat, and the king saw him there. And,
though he remained there long in misery, the king did not give him
anything, though he was generous and compassionate.
Then, one day the king went to a forest to hunt, and his dependent
followed him with a staff in his hand. There, while the king seated
on an elephant, armed with a bow, and followed by his army, slew
tigers, bears, and deer, with showers of arrows, his dependent, going
in front of him, alone on foot, slew with his staff many boars and
deer. When the king saw his bravery, he thought in his heart--"It
is wonderful that this man should be such a hero," but he did not
give him anything. And the king, when he had finished his hunting,
returned home to his city, to enjoy himself, but that dependent stood
at his palace-gate as before. Once on a time, Lakshadatta went out to
conquer a neighbouring king of the same family, and he had a terrible
battle. And in the battle the dependent struck down in front of him
many enemies, with blows from the end of his strong staff of acacia
wood. And the king, after conquering his enemies, returned to his own
city, and though he had seen the valour of his dependent, he gave him
nothing. In this condition the dependent Labdhadatta remained, and many
years passed over his head, while he supported himself with difficulty.
And when the sixth year had come, king Lakshadatta happened to see
him one day, and feeling pity for him, reflected--"Though he has been
long afflicted, I have not as yet given him anything, so why should
I not give him something in a disguised form, and so find out whether
the guilt of this poor man has been effaced, or not, and whether even
now Fortune will grant him a sight of her, or not." Thus reflecting,
the king deliberately entered his treasury, and filled a citron with
jewels, as if it were a casket. And he held an assembly of all his
subjects, having appointed a meeting outside his palace, and there
entered the assembly all his citizens, chiefs, and ministers. And
when the dependent entered among them, the king said to him with an
affectionate voice, "Come here;" then the dependent, on hearing this,
was delighted, and coming near, he sat in front of the king. Then
the king said to him--"Utter some composition of your own." Then the
dependent recited the following Áryá verse--"Fortune ever replenishes
the full man, as all the streams replenish the sea, but she never
even comes within the range of the eyes of the poor." When the king
had heard this, and had made him recite it again, he was pleased,
and gave him the citron full of valuable jewels. And the people said,
"This king puts a stop to the poverty of every one with whom he is
pleased; so this dependent is to be pitied, since this very king,
though pleased with him, after summoning him politely, has given him
nothing but this citron; a wishing-tree, in the case of ill-starred
men, often becomes a palása-tree." [731] These were the words which
all in the assembly said to one another in their despondency, when
they saw that, for they did not know the truth.
But the dependent went out, with the citron in his hand, and when he
was in a state of despondency, a mendicant came before him. And that
mendicant, named Rájavandin, seeing that the citron was a fine one,
obtained it from that dependent by giving him a garment. And then
the mendicant entered the assembly, and gave that fruit to the king,
and the king, recognizing it, said to that hermit, [732] "Where,
reverend sir, did you procure this citron." Then he told the king
that the dependent had given it to him. Then the king was grieved and
astonished, reflecting that his guilt was not expiated even now. The
king Lakshadatta took the citron, rose up from the assembly, and
performed the duties of the day. And the dependent sold the garment,
and after he had eaten and drunk, remained at his usual post at the
king's gate.
And on the second day the king held a general assembly, and everybody
appeared at it again, citizens and all. And the king, seeing that the
dependent had entered the assembly, called him as before, and made him
sit near him. And after making him again recite that very same Áryá
verse, being pleased, he gave him that very same citron with jewels
concealed in it. And all there thought with astonishment--"Ah! this
is the second time that our master is pleased with him without his
gaining by it. And the dependent, in despondency, took the citron in
his hand, and thinking that the king's good will had again been barren
of results, went out. At that very moment a certain official met him,
who was about to enter that assembly, wishing to see the king. He,
when he saw that citron, took a fancy to it, and regarding the omen,
procured it from the dependent by giving him a pair of garments. And
entering the king's court, he fell at the feet of the sovereign, and
first gave him the citron, and then another present of his own. And
when the king recognised the fruit, he asked the official where he got
it, and he replied--"From the dependent." And the king, thinking in
his heart that Fortune would not even now give the dependent a sight
of her, was exceedingly sad. [733] And he rose up from the assembly
with that citron, and the dependent went to the market with the pair
of garments he had got. And by selling one garment he procured meat
and drink, and tearing the other in half he made two of it. Then
on the third day also the king held a general assembly, and all
the subjects entered, as before, and when the dependent entered,
the king gave him the same citron again, after calling him and
making him recite the Áryá verse. Then all were astonished, and the
dependent went out, and gave that citron to the king's mistress. And
she, like a moving creeper of the tree of the king's regard, gave
him gold, which was, so to speak, the flower, the harbinger of the
fruit. The dependent sold it, and enjoyed himself that day, and the
king's mistress went into his presence. And she gave him that citron,
which was large and fine, and he, recognising it, asked her whence she
procured it. Then she said--"The dependent gave it me." Hearing that,
the king thought, "Fortune has not yet looked favourably upon him;