The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
spot. And he was about to have them put to death, when the hermit
said to him; "King, if you put them to death, I will kill myself. If
the sword did this work on me, how are they in fault? And if they
put the sword in motion, anger put them in motion, and their anger
was excited by the loss of their gold, and that was due to my sins
in a previous state of existence, and that was due to my ignorance,
so my ignorance is the only thing that has injured me. So my ignorance
should be slain by me. Moreover, even if these men deserved to be put
to death for doing me an injury, ought not their lives to be saved
on account of their having done me a benefit? For if they had not
done to me what they have done, there would have been no one with
regard to whom I could have practised patience, of which the fruit
is emancipation? So they have done me a thorough benefit." With many
speeches of this kind did the patient hermit instruct the king, and
so he delivered the robbers from punishment. And on account of the
excellence of his asceticism his body immediately became unmutilated
as before, and that moment he attained emancipation.
"Thus patient men escape from the world of births. I have now
explained to you the perfection of patience; listen to the perfection
of perseverance."
Story of the persevering young Bráhman.
Once on a time there was a young Bráhman of the name of Máládhara:
he beheld one day a prince of the Siddhas flying through the
air. Wishing to rival him, he fastened to his sides wings of grass,
and continually leaping up, he tried to learn the art of flying in
the air. And as he continued to make this useless attempt every day,
he was at last seen by the prince while he was roaming though the
air. And the prince thought, "I ought to take pity on this boy who
shews spirit in struggling earnestly to attain an impossible object,
for it is my business to patronize such." Thereupon, being pleased,
he took the Bráhman boy, by his magic power, upon his shoulder,
and made him one of his followers. "Thus you see that even gods are
pleased with perseverance; I have now set before you the perfection
of perseverance; hear the perfection of meditation."
Story of Malayamálin.
Of old time there dwelt in the Carnatic a rich merchant, named
Vijayamálin, and he had a son named Malayamálin. One day Malayamálin,
when he was grown up, went with his father to the king's court,
and there he saw the daughter of the king Indukesarin, Induyasas by
name. That maiden, like a bewildering creeper of love, [216] entered
the heart of the young merchant, as soon as he saw her. Then he
returned home, and remained in a state of pallor, sleepless at night,
and during the day cowering with contracted limbs, having taken upon
himself the kumuda-vow. [217] And thinking continually of her, he
was averse to food and all other things of the kind, and even when
questioned by his relations, he gave no more answer than if he had
been dumb.
Then, one day, the king's painter, whose name was Mantharaka, an
intimate friend of his, said to him in private, when in this state
owing to the sorrow of separation: "Friend, why do you remain leaning
against the wall like a man in a picture? Like a lifeless image, you
neither eat, nor hear, nor see." When his friend the painter asked
him this question persistently, the merchant's son at last told him
his desire. The painter said to him; "It is not fitting that you,
a merchant's son, should fall in love with a princess. Let the swan
desire the beautiful face of the lotuses of all ordinary lakes, but
what has he to do with the delight of enjoying the lotus of that
lake, which is the navel of Vishnu?" Still the painter could not
prevent him from nursing his passion; so he painted the princess on a
piece of canvas, and gave her picture to him to solace his longing,
and to enable him to while away the time. And the young merchant
spent his time in gazing on, coaxing, and touching, and adorning
her picture, and he fancied that it was the real princess Induyasas,
and gradually became absorbed in her, and did all that he did under
that belief. [218] And in course of time he was so engrossed by
that fancy, that he seemed to see her, though she was only a painted
figure, talking to him and kissing him. Then he was happy, because
he had obtained in imagination union with his beloved, and he was
contented, because the whole world was for him contained in that
piece of painted canvas.
One night, when the moon was rising, he took the picture and went
out of his house with it to a garden, to amuse himself with his
beloved. And there he put down the picture at the foot of a tree, and
went to a distance, to pick flowers for his darling. At that moment he
was seen by a hermit, named Vinayajyoti, who came down from heaven out
of compassion, to rescue him from his delusion. He by his supernatural
power painted in one part of the picture a live black cobra, and
stood near invisible. In the meanwhile Malayamálin returned there,
after gathering those flowers, and seeing the black serpent on the
canvas, he reflected, "Where does this serpent come from now? Has it
been created by fate to protect this fair one, the treasure-house of
beauty." Thus reflecting, he adorned with flowers the fair one on the
canvas, and fancying that she surrendered herself to him, he embraced
her, and asked her the above question, and at that very moment the
hermit threw an illusion over him, which made him see her bitten
by the black snake and unconscious. Then he forgot that it was only
canvas, and exclaiming, alas! alas! he fell distracted on the earth,
like a Vidyádhara brought down by the canvas acting as a talisman. But
soon he recovered consciousness, and rose up weeping and determined
on suicide, and climbed up a lofty tree, and threw himself from its
top. But, as he was falling, the great hermit appeared to him, and bore
him up in his hands, and consoled him, and said to him, "Foolish boy,
do you not know that the real princess is in her palace, and that this
princess on the canvas is a painted figure devoid of life? So who is
it that you embrace, or who has been bitten by the serpent? Or what
is this delusion of attributing reality to the creation of your own
desire, that has taken possession of your passionate heart? Why do
you not investigate the truth with equal intensity of contemplation,
in order that you may not again become the victim of such sorrows?"
When the hermit had said this to the young merchant, the night of
his delusion was dispersed, and he recovered his senses, and, bowing
before the hermit, he said to him; "Holy one, by your favour I have
been rescued from this calamity; do me the favour of rescuing me also
from this changeful world." When Malayamálin made this request to the
hermit, who was a Bodhisattva, he instructed him in his own knowledge
and disappeared. Then Malayamálin went to the forest, and by the power
of his asceticism he came to know the real truth about that which is
to be rejected and that which is to be chosen, with the reasons, and
attained the rank of an Arhat. And the compassionate man returned,
and by teaching them knowledge, he made king Indukesarin and his
citizens obtain salvation.
"So even untruth, in the ease of those mighty in contemplation,
becomes true. I have now explained the perfection of contemplation;
listen to the perfection of wisdom."
Story of the robber who won over Yama's secretary.
Long ago there lived in Sinhaladvípa a robber, of the name of
Sinhavikrama, who since his birth had nourished his body with other
men's wealth stolen from every quarter. In time he grew old, and
desisting from his occupation, he reflected; "What resources have I in
the other world? Whom shall I betake myself to for protection there? If
I betake myself to Siva or Vishnu, what value will they attach to me,
when they have gods, hermits, and others to worship them? So I will
worship Chitragupta [219] who alone records the good and evil deeds
of men. He may deliver me by his power. For he, being a secretary,
does alone the work of Brahmá and Siva: he writes down or erases in a
moment the whole world, which is in his hand." Having thus reflected,
he began to devote himself to Chitragupta; he honoured him specially,
and in order to please him, kept continually feeding Bráhmans.
While he was carrying on this system of conduct, one day Chitragupta
came to the house of that robber, in the form of a guest, to
examine into his real feelings. The robber received him courteously,
entertained him, and gave him a present, and then said to him, "Say
this, 'May Chitragupta be propitious to you'." Then Chitragupta,
who was disguised as a Bráhman, said, "Why do you neglect Siva, and
Vishnu, and the other gods, and devote yourself to Chitragupta?" When
the robber Sinhavikrama heard that, he said to him, "What business is
that of yours. I do not need any other gods but him." Then Chitragupta,
wearing the form of a Bráhman, went on to say to him, "Well, if you
will give me your wife, I will say it." When Sinhavikrama heard that,
he was pleased, and said to him: "I hereby give you my wife, in order
to please the god whom I have specially chosen for my own." When
Chitragupta heard that, he revealed himself to him and said, "I am
Chitragupta himself, and I am pleased with you, so tell me what I am
to do for you."
Then Sinhavikrama was exceedingly pleased and said to him, "Holy one,
take such order as that I shall not die." Then Chitragupta said,
"Death is one from whom it is impossible to guard people; but still
I will devise a plan to save you: listen to it. Ever since Death was
consumed by Siva, being angry on account of Sveta, and was created
again in this world because he was required, [220] wherever Sveta
lives, he abstains from injuring other people, as well as Sveta
himself, for he is restrained by the command of the god. And at
present the hermit Sveta is on the other side of the eastern ocean,
in a grove of ascetics beyond the river Taranginí. That grove cannot
be invaded by Death, so I will take you and place you there. But
you must not return to this side of the Taranginí. However, if you
do return out of carelessness, and Death seizes you, I will devise
some way of escape for you, when you have come to the other world."
When Chitragupta had said this, he took the delighted Sinhavikrama,
and placed him in that grove of asceticism belonging to Sveta, and
then disappeared. And after some time Death went to the hither bank
of the river Taranginí, to carry off Sinhavikrama. While there, he
created by his delusive power a heavenly nymph, and sent her to him,
as he saw no other means of getting hold of him. The fair one went and
approached Sinhavikrama, and artfully enslaved him, fascinating him
with her wealth of beauty. After some days had passed, she entered
the Taranginí, which was disturbed with waves, giving out that she
wished to see her relations. And while Sinhavikrama, who had followed
her, was looking at her from the bank, she slipped in the middle of
the river. And there she uttered a piercing cry, as if she was being
carried away by the stream, exclaiming, "My husband, can you see me
carried away by the stream without saving me? Are you a jackal in
courage, and not a lion as your name denotes?" When Sinhavikrama
heard that, he rushed into the river, and the nymph pretended to
be swept away by the current, and when he followed her to save her,
she soon led him to the other bank. When he reached it, Death threw
his noose over his neck, and captured him; for destruction is ever
impending over those whose minds are captivated by objects of sense.
Then the careless Sinhavikrama was led off by Death to the hall of