The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
compassionate, generous, resolute, the protector of all creatures;
and in order to beguile him Indra assumed the shape of a hawk,
and swiftly pursued Dharma, [107] who by magic had transformed
himself into a dove. The dove in terror went and took refuge in the
bosom of Sivi. Then the hawk addressed the king with a human voice;
'O king, this is my natural food, surrender the dove to me, for I
am hungry. Know that my death will immediately follow if you refuse
my prayer; in that case where will be your righteousness?' Then Sivi
said to the god,--'this creature has fled to me for protection, and I
cannot abandon it, therefore I will give you an equal weight of some
other kind of flesh.' The hawk said, 'if this be so, then give me your
own flesh.' The king, delighted, consented to do so. But as fast as
he cut off his flesh and threw it on the scale, the dove seemed to
weigh more and more in the balance. Then the king threw his whole
body on to the scale, and thereupon a celestial voice was heard,
'Well done! this is equal in weight to the dove.' Then Indra and
Dharma abandoned the form of hawk and dove, and being highly pleased
restored the body of king Sivi whole as before, and, after bestowing
on him many other blessings, they both disappeared. In the same way
this Bráhman is some god that has come to prove me." [108]
Having said this to his ministers, that king Susarman of his own
motion said to that excellent Gana that had assumed the form of
a Bráhman, prostrating himself before him in fear, "Spare me; that
daughter-in-law of thine was carried off last night. She has been taken
somewhere or other by magic arts, though guarded night and day." Then
the Gana, who had assumed the Bráhman's semblance, pretending to be
with difficulty won over to pity him, said, "If this be so, king,
give thy daughter in marriage to my son." When he heard this, the
king afraid of being cursed, gave his own daughter to Devadatta: then
Panchasikha departed. Then Devadatta having recovered his beloved,
and that in an open manner, flourished in the power and splendour
of his father-in-law who had no son but him. And in course of time
Susarman anointed the son of his daughter by Devadatta, Mahídhara
by name, as successor in his room, and retired to the forest. Then
having seen the prosperity of his son, Devadatta considered that he
had attained all his objects, and he too with the princess retired to
the forest. There he again propitiated Siva, and having laid aside
his mortal body, by the special favour of the god he attained the
position of a Gana. Because he did not understand the sign given by
the flower dropped from the tooth of his beloved, therefore he became
known by the name of Pushpadanta in the assembly of the Ganas. And
his wife became a door-keeper in the house of the goddess, under the
name of Jayá: this is how he came to be called Pushpadanta: now hear
the origin of my name.
Long ago I was a son of that same Bráhman called Govindadatta
the father of Devadatta, and my name was Somadatta. I left my home
indignant for the same reason as Devadatta, and I performed austerities
on the Himálaya continually striving to propitiate Siva with offerings
of many garlands. The god of the moony crest, being pleased, revealed
himself to me in the same way as he did to my brother, and I chose
the privilege of attending upon him as a Gana, not being desirous
of lower pleasures. The husband of the daughter of the mountain,
that mighty god, thus addressed me; "Because I have been worshipped
by thee with garlands of flowers growing in trackless forest-regions,
brought with thy own hand, therefore thou shalt be one of my Ganas,
and shalt bear the name of Mályaván." Then I cast off my mortal frame,
and immediately attained the holy state of an attendant on the god. And
so my name of Mályaván was bestowed upon me by him who wears the burden
of the matted locks, [109] as a mark of his special favour. And I,
that very Mályaván, have once more, O Kánabhúti, been degraded to the
state of a mortal, as thou seest, owing to the curse of the daughter
of the mountain, therefore do thou now tell me the tale told by Siva,
in order that the state of curse of both of us may cease.
NOTE TO CHAPTER VII.
"Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Pisáchas have no power in the day, being dazed
with the brightness of the sun therefore they delight in the night."
Farmer commenting on Hamlet, Act I, Sc. I, 150, quotes the following
lines of Prudentius Ad Gallicinium. Ferunt vagantes dæmonas,
Lætos tenebris noctium, Gallo canente exterritos, Sparsim timere
et cedere. Hoc esse signum præscii Norunt repromissæ spei, Qua nos
soporis liberi Speramus adventum Dei. Douce quotes from another hymn
said to have been composed by Saint Ambrose and formerly used in the
Salisbury service. Præco dici jam sonat, Noctis profundæ pervigil;
Nocturna lux viantibus, A nocte noctem segregans. Hoc excitatus
Lucifer Solvit polum caligine; Hoc omnis errorum cohors Viam nocendi
deserit. Gallo canente spes redit &c.
See also Grössler's Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld, pp. 58 and 59;
the Pentamerone of Basile, translated by Liebrecht, Vol. I, p. 251;
Dasent's Norse Tales, p. 347, "The Troll turned round, and, of course,
as soon as he saw the sun, he burst;" Grimm's Irische Märchen,
p. x; Kuhn's Westfälische Märchen, p. 63; Schöppner's Sagenbuch der
Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, pp. 123, and 228; and Bernhard Schmidt's
Griechische Märchen, p. 138. He quotes the following interesting
passage from the Philopseudes of Lucian, Synên achri dê alektryonôn
êkousamen adontôn tote dê hê te Selênê aneptato eis ton ouranon kai
hê Hekatê edy kata tês gês, kai ta alla phasmata êphanisthê, &c.
CHAPTER VIII.
In accordance with this request of Gunádhya that heavenly tale
consisting of seven stories was told by Kánabhúti in his own language,
and Gunádhya for his part using the same Paisácha language threw them
into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great
poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition,
wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And
so the Vidyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it,
and the heaven above where Kánabhúti was reciting, was, as it were,
continually covered with a canopy. And Kánabhúti, when he had seen that
great tale composed by Gunádhya, was released from his curse and went
to his own place. There were also other Pisáchas that accompanied him
in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard
that heavenly tale. Then that great poet Gunádhya began to reflect,
"I must make this Great Tale [110] of mine current on the earth, for
that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed
how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom
shall I give it?" Then his two disciples that had followed him, one
of whom was called Gunadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him,
"The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to,
for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the
wind diffuses the perfume of the flower." "So be it," said Gunádhya,
and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them
to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishthána,
but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess,
where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went
and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same
time that it was the work of Gunádhya. When he heard that Paisácha
language and saw that they had the appearance of Pisáchas, that
king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, "The seven
hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paisácha
language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away
with this Paisácha tale." Then the two pupils took the book, and
returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance
to Gunádhya. Gunádhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately
overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by
a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy
hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and
first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one
by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he
flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful
eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand
couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake
of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he
was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars,
buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage,
and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes,
unable to quit the spot. [111]
In the meanwhile king Sátaváhana fell sick. And the physicians
said that his illness was due to eating meat wanting in nutritive
qualities. And when the cooks were scolded for it, they said--"The
hunters bring in to us flesh of this kind." And when the hunters were
taken to task, they said,--"On a hill not very far from here there is a
Bráhman reading, who throws into the fire every leaf as soon as he has
read it; so all the animals go there and listen without ever grazing,
they never wander anywhere else, consequently this flesh of theirs
is wanting in nutritive properties on account of their going without
food." When he heard this speech of the hunters he made them shew
him the way, and out of curiosity went in person to see Gunádhya,
and he beheld him owing to his forest life overspread with matted
locks, that looked like the smoke of the fire of his curse, that was
almost extinguished.
Then the king recognized him as he stood in the midst of the weeping
animals, and after he had respectfully saluted him, he asked him
for an explanation of all the circumstances. That wise Bráhman then
related to the king in the language of the demons his own history as
Pushpadanta, giving an account of the curse and all the circumstances
which originated the descent of the tale to earth. Then the king,
discovering that he was an incarnation of a Gana, bowed at his feet,
and asked him for that celestial tale that had issued from the mouth
of Siva. Then Gunádhya said to that king Sátaváhana; "O king I have
burnt six tales containing six hundred thousand couplets; but here
is one tale consisting of a hundred thousand couplets, take that:
[112] and these two pupils of mine shall explain it to you." So
spake Gunádhya and took leave of the king, and then by strength of
devotion laid aside his earthly body, and released from the curse
ascended to his own heavenly home. Then the king took that tale which
Gunádhya had given, called Vrihat Kathá, containing the adventures of
Naraváhanadatta, and went to his own city. And there he bestowed on
Gunadeva and Nandideva, the pupils of the poet who composed that tale,
lands, gold, garments, beasts of burden, palaces, and treasures. And
having recovered the sense of that tale with their help, Sátaváhana
composed the book named Kathápítha, in order to shew how the tale
came to be first made known in the Paisácha language. Now that tale
was so full of various interest, that men were so taken up with it
as to forget the tales of the gods, and after producing that effect
in the city it attained uninterrupted renown in the three worlds.
BOOK II.
CALLED KATHÁMUKHA.
This nectarous tale sprang in old time from the mouth of Siva, set in
motion by his love for the daughter of the Himálaya, as the nectar
of immortality sprang from the sea, when churned by the mountain
Mandara. Those who drink eagerly the nectar of this tale, have all