The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
forest, accompanied by those ministers, Srutadhi and the four others,
reached a wood, which was refreshing with the shade of its goodly
fruit-laden trees, and in which there was a tank of very pure sweet
cold water. He bathed in it with his ministers and ate many fruits,
and lo! he suddenly thought that he heard conversation in a place shut
in with creepers. So he went and looked into that bower of creepers,
and he saw inside it a great elephant, which was refreshing a blind
way-worn man by throwing over him showers of water from his trunk,
by giving him fruits, and fanning him with his ears. And like a kind
man, the elephant said to him lovingly, over and over again, with
articulate voice, "Do you feel at all better?" When the prince saw
that, he was astonished, and he said to his companions, "Look! how
comes it that a wild elephant conducts itself like a man? So you may
be sure that this is some higher being translated into this form for
some reason. And this man is very like my friend Prachandasakti. But
he is blind. So let us keep a sharp lookout." When Mrigánkadatta had
said this to his friends, he remained there concealed, and listened
attentively. In the meanwhile the blind man recovered a little, and the
elephant said to him, "Tell me; who are you, and how did you come here,
being blind?" Then the blind man said to that mighty elephant, "There
is in this land a king of the name of Amaradatta, lord of the city
of Ayodhyá, he has a son of excellent qualities, named Mrigánkadatta,
of auspicious birth, and I am that prince's servant. For some reason
or other his father banished him from his native land, with us his
ten companions. We had set out for Ujjayiní to obtain Sasánkavatí,
when we were separated in the forest by the curse of a Nága. And I
was blinded by his curse, and wandering about I have arrived here,
living on the fruits, and roots, and water I could get on the way. And
to me death by falling into a chasm, or in some other way, would be
most desirable, but alas! Providence has not bestowed it on me, but
makes me endure calamity. However I feel convinced that, as my pangs
of hunger have been to-day assuaged by your favour, so my blindness
also will be somewhat alleviated, for you are a divinity." When he said
this, Mrigánkadatta felt certain who he was, and with a mind wavering
between joy and grief he said to those ministers, "It is our friend
Prachandasakti that is reduced to this melancholy state, but it will
not do for us to be in a hurry to greet him immediately. Perhaps
this elephant will cure his blindness. But if he were to see us,
he would flee away; so we must stop here and look at him." When the
prince had said this, he remained listening with his followers. Then
Prachandasakti said to that elephant, "Now great-souled one, tell
me your history; who are you? How comes it that, though you are an
elephant, and are subject to the fury of elephants, you speak in
this gentle way?" When the great elephant heard this, he sighed,
and said to him, "Listen! I will tell you my story from the beginning."
Story of Bhímabhata.
Long ago, in the city of Ekalavyá, there was a king named Srutadhara,
and he had two sons by two wives. When the king went to heaven,
his younger son, named Satyadhara, expelled the elder son, named
Síladhara, from the throne. Síladhara was angry on that account, so
he went and propitiated Siva, and craved the following boon from the
god, who was pleased with his asceticism, "May I become a Gandharva,
in order that I may be able to move through the air, and so slay
with ease that kinsman of mine, Satyadhara!" When the holy god Siva
heard this, he said to him, "This boon shall be granted to thee, but
that enemy of thine has to-day died a natural death. And he shall be
again born in the city of Rádhá, as Samarabhata, the favourite son
of king Ugrabhata. But thou shalt be born as Bhímabhata, his elder
brother, by a different mother, and thou shalt kill him and rule the
kingdom. But because thou didst perform these ascetic penances under
the influence of anger, thou shalt be hurled from thy rank by the curse
of a hermit, and become a wild elephant, that remembers its birth and
possesses articulate speech, and when thou shalt comfort a guest in
distress and tell him thy history, then thou shalt be freed from thy
elephant-nature and become a Gandharva, and at the same time a great
benefit will be conferred upon that guest." When Siva had said this,
he disappeared, and Síladhara, seeing that his body was emaciated by
long penance, flung himself into the Ganges.
At this point of my tale it happened that, while that king named
Ugrabhata, whom I have before mentioned, was living happily in the city
of Rádhá with his wife Manoramá who was equal to him in birth, there
came to his court from a foreign country an actor named Lásaka. And
he exhibited before the king that dramatic piece in which Vishnu, in
the form of a woman, carries off the amrita from the Daityas. And in
that piece the king saw the actor's daughter Lásavatí dancing in the
character of Amritiká. When he saw her beauty, that was like that of
the real Amritá, with which Vishnu bewildered the Dánavas, he fell
in love with her. And at the end of the dance he gave her father
much wealth, and immediately introduced her into his harem. And
then he married that dancer Lásavatí, and lived with her, having
his eyes riveted upon her face. One day he said to his chaplain named
Yajuhsvámin, "I have no son, so perform a sacrifice in order to procure
me a son." The chaplain obeyed, and performed duly, with the help of
learned Bráhmans, a sacrifice for that king's benefit. And, as he had
been previously gained over by Manoramá, he gave her to eat, as being
the eldest queen, the first half of the oblation purified with holy
texts. [255] And he gave the rest to the second queen Lásavatí. Then
those two, Síladhara and Satyadhara, whom I have before mentioned, were
conceived in those two queens. And when the time came, Manoramá, the
consort of that king, brought forth a son with auspicious marks. And
at that moment a distinct utterance was heard from heaven, "This child
who is born shall be a famous king under the name of Bhímabhata." On
the next day Lásavatí also brought forth a son, and the king his
father gave him the name of Samarabhata. And the usual sacraments
were performed for them, and the two boys gradually grew up. But
the eldest Bhímabhata surpassed the youngest in all accomplishments,
and rivalry in these increased the natural ill-feeling between them.
One day, as they were engaged in wrestling, Samarabhata, being jealous,
struck Bhímabhata with his arm with great force on the neck. Then
Bhímabhata was enraged, and immediately throwing his arms round
Samarabhata, he lifted him up and flung him on the ground. The fall
gave him a severe shock, and his servants took him up and carried
him to his mother, discharging blood from all the apertures in his
body. When she saw him, and found out what had taken place, she was
alarmed on account of her love for him, and she placed her face close
to his and wept bitterly. At that moment the king entered, and when he
saw this sight, he was much troubled in mind, and asked Lásavatí what
it meant, and she gave the following answer: "This son of mine has been
reduced to this state by Bhímabhata. And he is always ill-treating him,
but I have never told you, king; however now, that I have seen this,
I must say, I cannot [256] understand how your majesty can be safe
with such a son as this, but let your majesty decide." When king
Ugrabhata was thus appealed to by his favourite wife, he was angry,
and banished Bhímabhata from his court. And he took away from him
his allowance, and appointed a hundred Rájpúts with their retainers
to guard that Samarabhata. And he put his treasury at the disposal
of the younger son, but he drove the elder son from his presence,
and took away all that he possessed.
Then his mother Manoramá sent for him and said, "Your father has
thrown you over, because he is in love with a dancer. So go to
the palace of my father in Pátaliputra, and when you arrive there,
your grandfather will give you his kingdom, for he has no son. But,
if you remain here, your enemy, this Samarabhata, will kill you, for
he is powerful." When Bhímabhata heard this speech of his mother's,
he said, "I am a Kshatriya, and I will not sneak away from my native
land, like a coward. Be of good cheer, mother! what wretch is able to
injure me?" When he said this, his mother answered him, "Then procure a
numerous body of companions to guard you, by means of my wealth." When
Bhímabhata heard this proposal, he said, "Mother, this is not becoming;
for if I did this, I should be really opposing my father. You may
be quite at your ease, for your blessing alone will procure me good
fortune." When Bhímabhata had encouraged her with these words, he
left her. In the meanwhile all the citizens came to hear of it, and
they thought, "Alas! a great injustice has been done to Bhímabhata by
the king. Surely Samarabhata does not think he is going to rob him of
the kingdom. Well it is an opportunity for us to do him a service,
before he comes to the throne." Having formed this resolution, the
citizens secretly supplied Bhímabhata with such abundance of wealth,
that he lived in great comfort with his servants. But the younger
brother was ever on the look out to kill his elder brother, supposing
that this was his father's object in furnishing him with a guard.
In the meanwhile a heroic and wealthy young Bráhman, of the name
of Sankhadatta, who was a friend of both brothers, came and said
to Samarabhata, "You ought not to carry on hostility with your
elder brother; it is not right, and you cannot do him an injury;
on the contrary the result of a quarrel would be disgraceful to
you." When he said this, Samarabhata abused and threatened him; good
advice given to a fool does not calm but rather enrages him. Then the
resolute Sankhadatta went away indignant at this treatment, and made
a strict friendship with Bhímabhata, in order to have the opportunity
of conquering Samarabhata.
Then a merchant, of the name of Manidatta, came there from a foreign
country, bringing with him an excellent horse; it was as white as the
moon; the sound of its neighing was as musical as that of a clear conch
or other sweet-sounding instrument; it looked like the waves of the
sea of milk surging on high; it was marked with curls on the neck;
and adorned with the crest-jewel, the bracelet, and other signs,
which it seemed as if it had acquired by being born in the race
of the Gandharvas. When Bhímabhata heard of that splendid horse,
which was mentioned to him by Sankhadatta, he went and bought it for
a high price from that merchant-prince. At that moment Samarabhata,
hearing of it, came and tried to buy the horse from the merchant for
double the price. But he refused to give it him, as it had already been
sold to another; then Samarabhata, out of envy, proceeded to carry it
off by force. Then there took place a fierce combat between those two
princes, as the adherents of both came running up with weapons in their
hands. Then the mighty arm of Bhímabhata laid low the attendants of
Samarabhata, and he himself abandoned the horse, and began to retire
through fear of his brother. But as he was retiring, Sankhadatta,
full of overpowering anger, pursued him, and laying hold of his hair
behind, was on the point of killing him, when Bhímabhata rushed up and
prevented him, saying, "Let be for the present, it would be a grief to
my father." Then Sankhadatta let Samarabhata go, and he fled in fear,
discharging blood from his wounds, and repaired to his father.
Then the brave Bhímabhata took possession of the horse, and immediately