The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
in distress, impoverished by the vice of gambling, and on his way
to a foreign country, affection made them say to him, while still
remaining invisible, the following words; "Srídarsana, your mother,
the wife of Devadarsana, buried in her house some jewels. Take those,
and do not omit to go with them to Málava, for there is a magnificent
prince there of the name of Srísena. And since he was much afflicted
in his youth by miseries arising from gambling, he has made a large
and glorious asylum for gamblers. There gamblers live, and are fed
with whatever food they desire. So go there, darling, and you shall
be prosperous."
When Srídarsana heard this speech from heaven, he went back to his
house with his friend, and found those ornaments in it, in a hole in
the ground. Then he set out delighted for Málava, with his friend,
thinking that the gods had shewn him favour. So in that night and
the succeeding day he went a long distance, and the next evening he
reached with his friend a village named Bahusasya. And being weary,
he sat down with his friend on the bank of a translucent lake, not
far from that village. While he remained for a brief period on the
bank of that lake, after washing his feet and drinking water, there
came there a certain maiden, matchless in beauty, to fetch water. Her
body resembled a blue lotus in colour, and she seemed like Rati left
alone, and blackened by the smoke from the body of the god of Love,
when he had just been consumed by Siva. Srídarsana was delighted
to behold her, and she went up to him, and looked at him with an
eye full of love, and said to him and his friend, "Worthy sirs,
why have you come hither to your death? Why, through ignorance,
have you fallen like moths into burning fire?" When Mukharaka heard
this, he said to the maiden, without the least trepidation, "Who are
you? And what is the meaning of what you say? Tell us." Then she said,
"Listen both of you! I will tell you the whole story in few words.
"There is a large and famous royal grant to Bráhmans, named
Sughosha. In it there dwelt a Bráhman named Padmagarbha, who possessed
a thorough knowledge of the Vedas. He had a wife of very good family,
named Sasikalá. And the Bráhman had two children by that wife, a
son of the name of Mukharakha, and myself a daughter of the name of
Padmishthá. My brother Mukharaka was ruined by the vice of gambling in
early youth, and left his home and went off to some other country. My
mother died of grief on that account, and my father, afflicted with
two sorrows, abandoned the state of a householder. And he roamed about
from place to place, with no other companion than myself, to look for
that son, and, as it happened, he reached this village. Now in this
village there lives a great bandit, the chief of a gang of robbers,
called Vasubhúti, a Bráhman only by name. When my father arrived here,
that ruffian, with the help of his servants, killed him, and took away
the gold that he had about his person. And he made me a prisoner and
carried me off to his house, and he has made arrangements to give me
in marriage to his son Subhúti. But his son has gone off somewhere
to plunder a caravan, and, owing to my good fortune, the result of
good deeds in a former birth, he has not yet returned; now it remains
for Destiny to dispose of me. But, if this bandit were to see you,
he would certainly do you some violence: so think of some artifice
by which you may escape him."
When the maiden said this, Mukharaka recognized her, and at
once clasping her round the neck, said to her, "Alas, my sister
Padmishthá! I am that very brother of yours Mukharaka, the murderer of
his relations. Alas! wretched that I am, I am ruined." When Padmishthá
heard this, and saw her elder brother, pity caused her to be, as it
were, suddenly encircled with all sorrows. Then Srídarsana comforted
the brother and sister, who were lamenting their parents, and addressed
a timely admonition and encouragement to them. He said, "This is not
the time for lamentation, we must now save our lives even at the cost
of our wealth, and by means of it we must protect ourselves against
this bandit." When Srídarsana said this, they checked their grief
with self-control, and all three agreed together what each was to do.
Then Srídarsana, being thin by reason of his former fasts, flung
himself down on the bank of that tank, and pretended to be ill. And
Mukharaka remained holding his feet and weeping: but Padmishthá
immediately repaired to that bandit chief, and said, "A traveller
has arrived, and is lying ill on the border of the tank, and there is
another there who is his servant." When the bandit chief heard that,
he sent some of his followers there. They went, and seeing the two men
as had been described, asked Mukharaka why he wept so much for his
companion. When Mukharaka heard this, he said with affected sorrow,
"This Bráhman, who is my elder brother, left his native land to visit
holy bathing-places, but was attacked by disease, and slowly travelling
along he has arrived here, accompanied by me. And the moment he got
here, he became incapable of movement, and he said to me, 'Rise up, my
dear brother, and quickly prepare for me a bed of darbha-grass. And
fetch me some virtuous Bráhman from this village. On him I will
bestow all my wealth, for I cannot live through this night.' When
he said this to me in this foreign country after sunset, I felt
quite puzzled as to what I ought to do, and, being afflicted, I had
recourse to weeping. So bring here some Bráhman while he is alive,
in order that he may bestow on him with his own hand whatever wealth
we possess. For he will certainly not live through the night, and I
shall not be able to survive the sorrow of his loss, so to-morrow I
shall enter the fire. So do for us this which we ask, since we have
met with you here as compassionate men and friends without any cause."
When the bandits heard that, pity arose in their minds, and they
went and told the story, exactly as they had heard it, to their
master Vasubhúti, and went on to say, "So come and receive, as a
pious gift, from this Bráhman, who is eager to bestow it on you,
the wealth which ordinarily is to be obtained only by killing its
possessor." When they said this to Vasubhúti, he said, "What course is
this which you suggest? It is highly impolitic for us to take wealth
without killing its possessor, for, if he is deprived of his wealth,
without being killed, he will certainly do us an injury." When the
villain said this, those servants answered him, "What is there to
fear in this? There is some difference between taking wealth by
force, and receiving it as a pious gift from a dying man. Besides,
to-morrow morning we will kill those two Bráhmans, if they are still
alive. Otherwise, what is the use of incurring needlessly the guilt
of killing a Bráhman?" When Vasubhúti heard this, he consented,
and in the night he came to Srídarsana to receive his pious gift,
and Srídarsana concealed a part of his mother's ornaments, and gave
him the rest, assuming a faltering voice. Then the bandit, having
got what he wanted, returned home with his followers.
Then Padmishthá came at night to Srídarsana and Mukharaka, while
the bandits were asleep. Then they quickly deliberated together, and
set off at once from that place for Málava by a path not frequented
by the robbers. And during that night they went a long distance, and
reached a wood that seemed to be afraid of the roaring lions, tigers,
and other wild beasts within it. It seemed by its thorns to be in a
state of perpetual horripilation, and by its roaming black antelopes
to be rolling its eyes. The dry creepers shewed that its body was
dried up from fear, and the shrill whistling of the loose bark was
its screams of terror. And while they were journeying through that
forest, the sun, that had observed their sufferings all day, withdrew
its light, as if in compassion, and set. Then they sat down weary
and hungry at the foot of a tree, and in the early part of the night
they saw in the distance a light, as of fire. And Srídarsana said,
"Can there possibly be a village here? I will go and look." So he went
in the direction of the light. And when he reached it, and looked
at it, lo! it was a great palace built of jewels, and its splendour
produced that light as of fire. [247] And he saw inside it a Yakshiní
of heavenly beauty, surrounded by many Yakshas, with feet turned the
wrong way and squinting eyes. And the brave man, seeing that they had
brought there all kinds of meat and drink, went up to the Yakshiní,
and asked her to give him his share as a guest. And she was pleased
with his courage and gave him what he asked for, enough food and
water to satisfy himself and his two companions. The refreshment was
placed on the back of a Yaksha ordered off by her for that duty, and
Srídarsana returned with it to his friend and Padmishthá. And then he
dismissed the Yaksha, and partook there with them of all that splendid
food of various kinds, and drank pure cold water. Then Mukharaka was
pleased, perceiving that he must be an incarnation of a divinity, as
he was so rich in courage and might, and, desiring his own prosperity,
he said to him, "You are some incarnation of a divinity, and this
sister of mine Padmishthá is the greatest beauty in the world, so I
now give her to you as a wife meet for you." When Srídarsana heard
that, he was delighted, and said to his friend, "I accept with joy
this offer of yours which I have long desired. But when I reach my
goal I will marry her in proper form." This he said to those two,
and then passed the night in a joyful state of mind. And the next
morning they all set out from that place, and reached in due course
the city of that king Srísena, the sovereign of Málava. And arriving
tired, they immediately entered the house of an old Bráhman woman to
rest. And in the course of conversation they told her their story and
their names, and then they saw that the old woman was much disturbed,
and when they questioned her, she said to them:
"I am the well-born wife of a Bráhman here, named Satyavrata, who
was a servant of the king's, and my name is Yasasvatí. And after my
husband died, the compassionate king gave me the fourth part of his
salary to live upon, as I had not a son to support me. But now this
moon of kings, though his virtues are great, and though he is generous
enough to give away the whole world, has been seized by a consumption
[248] which the physicians cannot cure. And the drugs and charms of
those skilled in such things do not prevail against it; but a certain
enchanter made this promise in his presence, 'If I could only get a
hero, equal to the task, to help me, I would certainly put an end to
this illness by getting a Vetála into my power.' Then proclamation
was made by beat of drum, but no such hero was found. Then the king
gave the following order to his ministers; 'You must look out for
some daring gambler, who comes to reside in the great and well-known
asylum, which I built for such. For gamblers are reckless, abandoning
wife and relations, fearless, sleeping at the foot of trees and in
other exposed places, like ascetics.' When the king gave this order
to his ministers, they instructed to this effect the superintendent
of the asylum, and he is now on the lookout for some brave man who
may come there to reside awhile. Now you are gamblers, and if you,
Srídarsana, feel able to accomplish the undertaking, I will take
you to-day to that asylum. And you will be well treated by the king,
and you will confer a benefit on me, for grief is killing me."
When the old lady said this, Srídarsana answered her, "Agreed! I am
able to accomplish this, so lead me quickly to that asylum." When