The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
Nága, and had wandered about for many days in search of you, I said to
myself, "I will make for Ujjayiní, for they will go there quickly,"
and having formed this intention, I set out for that city. And in
course of time I reached a village near it, named Brahmasthala, and
there I sat down on the bank of a lake at the foot of a tree. There
an old Bráhman, afflicted with the bite of a serpent, came up to
me and said, "Rise up from this place, my son, lest you incur my
fate. For there is a great serpent here, and I am so tortured by the
bite which he has given me, that I am now about to drown myself in
this lake." When he said this, I dissuaded him, out of compassion,
from committing suicide, and I then and there counteracted the effect
of the poison by my knowledge of antidotes.
Then the Bráhman eagerly, but with due politeness, asked me the whole
story of my life, and when he knew the facts, said to me kindly, "You
have to-day saved my life, so receive, hero, this charm for mastering
Vetálas, which I inherited from my father. For it is suitable to you
who possess all powers, but what, I pray, could a feeble creature,
like me, do with it?" When I heard that, I answered that noble
Bráhman, "What use can I make of Vetálas, now that I am separated from
Mrigánkadatta?" When the Bráhman heard that, he laughed, and went on
to say to me, "Do you not know that you can obtain from a Vetála all
that you desire? Did not king Trivikramasena obtain of old time the
sovereignty of the Vidyádharas by the favour of a Vetála? Listen now,
I will tell you his story in proof of it."
Here begins the 1st of the 25 tales of a Demon. [276]
(Vetála-Panchavinsatiká.)
On the banks of the Godávarí there is a place named Pratishthána. In
it there lived of old time a famous king, named Trivikramasena, the
son of Vikramasena, equal to Indra in might. Every day, when he was in
his hall of audience, a mendicant named Kshántisíla came to him, to
pay him his respects, and presented him with a fruit. And every day,
the king as soon as he received the fruit, gave it into the hand of
the superintendent of his treasury who was near him. In this way ten
years passed, but one day, when the mendicant had left the hall of
audience, after giving the fruit to the king, the king gave it to a
young pet monkey, that had escaped from the hands of its keepers, and
happened to enter there. While the monkey was eating that fruit, it
burst open, and there came out of it a splendid priceless jewel. When
the king saw that, he took up the jewel, and asked the treasurer the
following question, "Where have you put all those fruits which I have
been in the habit of handing over to you, after they were given to
me by the mendicant?" When the superintendent of the treasury heard
that, he was full of fear, and he said to the king, "I used to throw
them into the treasury from the window without opening the door; if
your Majesty orders me, I will open it and look for them." When the
treasurer said this, the king gave him leave to do so, and he went
away, and soon returned, and said to the king, "I see that those
fruits have all rotted away in the treasury, and I also see that
there is a heap of jewels there resplendent with radiant gleams."
When the king heard it, he was pleased, and gave those jewels
to the treasurer, and the next day he said to the mendicant, who
came as before, "Mendicant, why do you court me every day with great
expenditure of wealth? I will not take your fruit to-day until you tell
me." When the king said this, the mendicant said to him in private,
"I have an incantation to perform which requires the aid of a brave
man, I request, hero, that you will assist me in it." When the king
heard that, he consented and promised him that he would do so. Then the
mendicant was pleased and he went on to say to that king, "Then I shall
be waiting for you at night-fall in the approaching black fortnight,
in the great cemetery here, under the shade of a banyan-tree, and
you must come to me there. The king said--"Well! I will do so." And
the mendicant Kshántisíla returned delighted to his own dwelling.
Then the heroic monarch, as soon as he had got into the black
fortnight, remembered the request of the mendicant, which he
had promised to accomplish for him, and as soon as night came, he
enveloped his head in a black cloth, and left the palace unperceived,
sword in hand, and went fearlessly to the cemetery. It was obscured
by a dense and terrible pall of darkness, and its aspect was rendered
awful by the ghastly flames from the burning of the funeral pyres,
and it produced horror by the bones, skeletons, and skulls of men that
appeared in it. In it were present formidable Bhútas and Vetálas,
joyfully engaged in their horrible activity, and it was alive with
the loud yells of jackals, [277] so that it seemed like a second
mysterious tremendous form of Bhairava. And after he had searched
about in it, he found that mendicant under a banyan-tree, engaged in
making a circle, and he went up to him and said, "Here I am arrived,
mendicant; tell me, what can I do for you?"
When the mendicant heard that, and saw the king, he was delighted,
and said to him--"King, if I have found favour in your eyes, go
alone a long way from here towards the south, and you will find an
sinsapá-tree. [278] On it there is a dead man hanging up; go and bring
him here; assist me in this matter, hero." As soon as the brave king,
who was faithful to his promise, heard this, he said, "I will do so,"
and went towards the south. And after he had gone some way in that
direction, along a path revealed by the light of the flaming pyres,
he reached with difficulty in the darkness that asoka-tree; the tree
was scorched with the smoke of funeral pyres, and smelt of raw flesh,
and looked like a Bhúta, and he saw the corpse hanging on its trunk,
as it were on the shoulder of a demon. So he climbed up, and cutting
the string which held it, flung it to the ground. And the moment it
was flung down, it cried out, as if in pain. Then the king, supposing
it was alive, came down and rubbed its body out of compassion;
that made the corpse utter a loud demoniac laugh. Then the king
knew that it was possessed by a Vetála, and said without flinching,
"Why do you laugh? Come, let us go off." And immediately he missed
from the ground the corpse possessed by the Vetála, and perceived
that it was once more suspended on that very tree. Then he climbed
up again and brought it down, for the heart of heroes is a gem more
impenetrable than adamant. Then king Trivikramasena threw the corpse
possessed by a Vetála over his shoulder, and proceeded to go off with
it, in silence. And as he was going along, the Vetála in the corpse
that was on his shoulder said to him, "King, I will tell you a story
to beguile the way, listen."
Story of the prince, who was helped to a wife by the son of his
father's minister. [279]
There is a city named Váránasí, which is the dwelling-place of
Siva, inhabited by holy beings, and thus resembles the plateau of
mount Kailása. The river Ganges, ever full of water, flows near it,
and appears as if it were the necklace ever resting on its neck;
in that city there lived of old time a king named Pratápamukuta,
who consumed the families of his enemies with his valour, as the
fire consumes the forest. He had a son named Vajramukuta, who dashed
the god of love's pride in his beauty, and his enemies' confidence
in their valour. And that prince had a friend, named Buddhisaríra,
whom he valued more than his life, the sagacious son of a minister.
Once on a time that prince was amusing himself with that friend, and
his excessive devotion to the chase made him travel a long distance. As
he was cutting off the long-maned [280] heads of lions with his arrows,
as it were the chowries that represented the glory of their valour,
he entered a great forest. It seemed like the chosen home of love,
with singing cuckoos for bards, fanned by trees with their clusters of
blossoms, waving like chowries. In it he and the minister's son saw
a great lake, looking like a second sea, the birthplace of lotuses
[281] of various colours; and in that pool of gods there was seen
by him a maiden of heavenly appearance, who had come there with her
attendants to bathe. She seemed to fill the splendid tank with the
flood of her beauty, and with her glances to create in it a new forest
of blue lotuses. With her face, that surpassed the moon in beauty, she
seemed to put to shame the white lotuses, and she at once captivated
with it the heart of that prince. The youth too, in the same way, took
with a glance such complete possession of her eyes, that she did not
regard her own modesty or even her ornaments. And as he was looking
at her with his attendants, and wondering who she was, she made,
under pretence of pastime, a sign to tell him her country and other
particulars about her. She took a lotus from her garland of flowers,
and put it in her ear, and she remained for a long time twisting it
into the form of an ornament called dantapatra or tooth-leaf, and then
she took another lotus and placed it on her head, and she laid her
hand significantly upon her heart. The prince did not at that time
understand those signs, but his sagacious friend the minister's son
did understand them. The maiden soon departed, being led away from
that place by her attendants, and when she had reached her own house,
she flung herself down on a sofa, but her heart remained with that
prince, to justify the sign she had made.
The prince, for his part, when without her, was like a Vidyádhara
who has lost his magic knowledge, and, returning to his own city,
he fell into a miserable condition. And one day the minister's son
questioned him in private, speaking of that beauty as easy to obtain,
whereupon he lost his self-command and exclaimed, "How is she to be
obtained, when neither her name, nor her village, nor her origin is
known? So why do you offer me false comfort?" When the prince said
this to the minister's son, he answered, "What! did you not see,
what she told you by her signs? By placing the lotus in her ear,
she meant to say this, 'I live in the realm of king Karnotpala.' By
making it into the tooth-leaf ornament she meant to say, 'Know that
I am the daughter of a dentist [282] there.' By lifting up the lotus
she let you know her name was Padmávatí; and by placing her hand on
her heart she told you that it was yours. Now there is a king named
Karnotpala in the country of Kalinga; he has a favourite courtier,
a great dentist named Sangrámavardhana, and he has a daughter named
Padmávatí, the pearl of the three worlds, whom he values more than
his life. All this I knew from the talk of the people, and so I
understood her signs, which were meant to tell her country and the
other particulars about her. [283]
When that prince had been told all this by the minister's son, he was
pleased with that intelligent man, and rejoiced, as he had now got an
opportunity of attaining his object, and, after he had deliberated
with him, he set out with him from his palace on the pretence of
hunting, but really in search of his beloved, and went again in that
direction. And on the way he managed to give his retinue the slip by
the speed of his swift horse, and he went to the country of Kalinga
accompanied by the minister's son only. There they reached the city
of king Karnotpala, and searched for and found the palace of that
dentist, and the prince and the minister's son entered the house of
an old woman, who lived near there, to lodge. The minister's son gave
their horses water and fodder, and placed them there in concealment,
and then said to that old woman in the presence of the prince,