The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
When the magistrate heard this, he went and informed the king. When the
king heard it, he concluded that that was the pearl necklace which had
been lost, and he sent a trustworthy old woman to see if the dentist's
daughter was really marked with a trident on the loins. The old woman
came back and said that the mark could be clearly seen. Then the king
made up his mind that she was a witch, and had really destroyed his
child. So he went in person to that minister's son, who was personating
an ascetic, and asked him how he ought to punish Padmávatí; and by
his advice he ordered her to be banished from the city, though her
parents lamented over her. And when she was banished, and was left
in the forest, though naked, she did not abandon the body, supposing
that it was all an artifice devised by the minister's son. And in
the evening the minister's son and the prince, who had abandoned the
dress of ascetics, and were mounted on their horses, came upon her
lamenting. And they consoled her, and mounted her upon a horse, and
took her to their own kingdom. There the prince lived happily with
her. But the dentist, supposing that his daughter had been devoured
by wild beasts in the forest, died of grief, and his wife followed him.
When the Vetála had said this, he went on to say to the king, "Now I
have a doubt about this story, resolve it for me; Was the minister's
son guilty of the death of this married couple, or the prince, or
Padmávatí? Tell me, for you are the chief of sages. And if, king,
you do not tell me the truth, though you know it, this head of yours
shall certainly split in a hundred pieces."
When the Vetála said this, the king, who discerned the truth, out
of fear of being cursed, gave him this answer--"O thou skilled in
magic arts, what difficulty is there about it? Why, none of the
three was in fault, but the whole of the guilt attaches to king
Karnotpala." The Vetála then said, "Why, what did the king do? Those
three were instrumental in the matter. Are the crows in fault when
the swans eat the rice?" Then the king said, "Indeed no one of
the three was in fault, for the minister's son committed no crime,
as he was forwarding his master's interests, and Padmávatí and the
prince, being burnt with the fire of the arrows of the god of Love,
and being therefore undiscerning and ignorant, were not to blame,
as they were intent on their own object. But the king Karnotpala, as
being untaught in treatises of policy, and not investigating by means
of spies the true state of affairs even among his own subjects, and not
comprehending the tricks of rogues, and inexperienced in interpreting
gestures and other external indications, is to be considered guilty,
on account of the indiscreet step which he took."
When the Vetála, who was in the corpse, heard this, as the king by
giving this correct answer had broken his silence, he immediately
left his shoulder, and went somewhere unobserved by the force of his
magic power, in order to test his persistence; and the intrepid king
at once determined to recover him.
NOTE.
An account of the various forms of the introduction to the XXV Tales
of a Demon will be found in Oesterley's German translation of the
Baitál Pachísí. The Hindi version contains the well-known story of
Theodosius the younger and his wife Athenais or Eudokia. The Mongolian
form differs widely from that in our text. Seven brothers, sorcerers,
live in India; a mile from them live two Khan's sons; the elder
of these studies magic under the seven enchanters for seven years,
but learns nothing; the younger acquires their art in a moment, and
both return to their palace. The younger turns himself into a horse,
which the elder by his order sells to the seven enchanters. These
try to kill the horse, but the Khan's son then turns himself into a
fish, which the enchanters pursue in the form of seven sea-gulls,
then into a dove, which they pursue as seven hawks, then he takes
refuge with Nágárjuna, becoming the chief bead in his rosary, and
asks him to put this bead in his mouth and to strew the rest on
the ground. The beads then become worms which the sorcerers pick
up in the form of hens. The Khan's son changes himself into a man,
and kills the hens with a stick, when lo! seven human corpses are
seen lying on the ground. As a penance for this crime the Khan's
son is sent to fetch the Siddhi-kür, which he fastens up in a bag,
and which behaves in much the same way as the Vetála does in our text.
It is remarkable that there are no questions addressed by the
Siddhi-kür to his captor. At the end of every story the Khan's son
utters an involuntary, often meaningless exclamation, of which the
Siddhi-kür takes advantage. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 174
and 175.)
Oesterley refers to an Arabian form of the 1st story in Scott's Tales,
Anecdotes and Letters, 1800, p. 108. A painter falls in love with the
picture of a beauty, and finds that the original is in the possession
of a certain minister. He penetrates in disguise into the minister's
harem, wounds his beloved in the hand and takes away her veil. He then
goes in the disguise of a pilgrim to the king, and says that he has
seen six witches, and that he has wounded one of them, who left her
veil behind her. The veil is recognized, the owner produced, convicted
by her veil, and as a witch flung into a chasm. There the painter
finds her, rescues her and carries her off. See also the 1001 Nights,
Breslau, 1, p. 245 (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 182 and 183).
CHAPTER LXXVI.
(Vetála 2.)
Then king Trivikramasena again went to the asoka-tree to fetch the
Vetála. And when he arrived there, and looked about in the darkness by
the help of the light of the funeral pyres, he saw the corpse lying on
the ground groaning. Then the king took the corpse, with the Vetála in
it, on his shoulder, and set out quickly and in silence to carry it to
the appointed place. Then the Vetála again said to the king from his
shoulder, "King, this trouble, into which you have fallen, is great
and unsuitable to you; so I will tell you a tale to amuse you, listen."
Story of the three young Bráhmans who restored a dead lady to life.
There is, on the banks of the river Yamuná, a district assigned to
Bráhmans, named Brahmasthala. In it there lived a Bráhman, named
Agnisvámin, who had completely mastered the Vedas. To him there
was born a very beautiful daughter named Mandáravatí. Indeed,
when Providence had created this maiden of novel and priceless
beauty, he was disgusted with the nymphs of Heaven, his own previous
handiwork. And when she grew up, there came there from Kányakubja three
young Bráhmans, equally matched in all accomplishments. And each one
of these demanded the maiden from her father for himself, and would
sooner sacrifice his life than allow her to be given to another. But
her father would not give her to any one of them, being afraid that,
if he did so, he would cause the death of the others; so the damsel
remained unmarried. And those three remained there day and night,
with their eyes exclusively fixed on the moon of her countenance, as
if they had taken upon themselves a vow to imitate the partridge. [284]
Then the maiden Mandáravatí suddenly contracted a burning fever,
which ended in her death. Then the young Bráhmans, distracted with
grief, carried her when dead, after she had been duly adorned, to the
cemetery, and burnt her. And one of them built a hut there and made
her ashes his bed, and remained there living on the alms he could get
by begging. And the second took her bones and went with them to the
Ganges, and the third became an ascetic and went travelling through
foreign lands.
As the ascetic was roaming about, he reached a village named
Vajraloka. And there he entered as a guest the house of a certain
Bráhman. And the Bráhman received him courteously. So he sat down
to eat; and in the meanwhile a child there began to cry. When, in
spite of all efforts to quiet it, it would not stop, the mistress
of the house fell into a passion, and taking it up in her arms,
threw it into the blazing fire. The moment the child was thrown in,
as its body was soft, it was reduced to ashes. When the ascetic,
who was a guest, saw this, his hair stood on end, and he exclaimed,
"Alas! Alas! I have entered the house of a Bráhman-demon. So I will
not eat food here now, for such food would be sin in a visible
material shape." When he said this, the householder said to him,
"See the power of raising the dead to life inherent in a charm of
mine, which is effectual as soon as recited." When he had said this,
he took the book containing the charm and read it, and threw on to the
ashes some dust, over which the charm had been recited. [285] That
made the boy rise up alive, exactly as he was before. Then the mind
of the Bráhman ascetic was quieted, and he was able to take his meal
there. And the master of the house put the book up on a bracket, and
after taking food, went to bed at night, and so did the ascetic. But
when the master of the house was asleep, the ascetic got up timidly,
and took the book, with the desire of restoring his beloved to life.
And he left the house with the book, and travelling day and night
at last reached the cemetery, where that beloved of his had been
burnt. And at that moment he saw the second Bráhman arrive there,
who had gone to throw her bones into the river Ganges. And having
also found the one who remained in the cemetery sleeping on her ashes,
having built a hut over them, he said to the two, "Remove this hut, in
order that by the power of a certain charm I may raise up my beloved
alive from her ashes." Having earnestly solicited them to do this,
and having overturned that hut, the Bráhman ascetic opened the book,
and read the charm. And after thus charming some dust, he threw it
on the ashes, and that made Mandáravatí rise up alive. And as she
had entered the fire, she possessed, when resuscitated, a body that
had come out of it more splendid than before, as if made of gold. [286]
When the three Bráhmans saw her resuscitated in this form, they
immediately became love-sick, and quarrelled with one another,
each desiring her for himself. And the first said, "She is my wife,
for she was won by the power of my charm." And the second said,
"She belongs to me, for she was produced by the efficacy of sacred
bathing-places." And the third said, "She is mine, for I preserved
her ashes, and resuscitated her by asceticism."
"Now king, give judgment to decide their dispute; whose wife ought
the maiden to be? If you know and do not say, your head shall fly
in pieces."
When the king heard this from the Vetála, he said to him, "The one
who restored her to life by a charm, though he endured hardship, must
be considered her father, because he performed that office for her,
and not her husband; and he who carried her bones to the Ganges is
considered her son; but he, who out of love lay on her ashes, and so
remained in the cemetery embracing her and practising asceticism,
he is to be called her husband, for he acted like one in his deep
affection." [287]
When the Vetála heard this from king Trivikramasena, who had broken
silence by uttering it, he left his shoulder, and went back invisible
to his own place. But the king, who was bent on forwarding the object
of the mendicant, made up his mind to fetch him again, for men of
firm resolution do not desist from accomplishing a task they have
promised to perform, even though they lose their lives in the attempt.
NOTE.
Oesterley, in the notes to his German translation of the Baitál
Pachísí, refers to the Turkish Tútínámah in which the lady dies of
despair at the difficulty of the choice, as in the Tamul version. [In