The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
Vetála down from it, placed him on his shoulder, and set out. Then
the Vetála said to him; "King, this wandering about in a cemetery at
night is inconsistent with your kingly rank. Do you not see that this
place of the dead [315] is full of ghosts, and terrible at night,
and full of darkness as of the smoke of funeral pyres. Alas! what
tenacity you display in this undertaking you have engaged in, to
please that mendicant! So listen to this question from me which will
render your journey more agreeable."
Story of Anangarati and her four suitors.
There is in Avanti a city built by gods at the beginning of the world,
which is limitless as the body of Siva, and renowned for enjoyment
and prosperity, even as his body is adorned with the snake's hood and
ashes. [316] It was called Padmávatí in the Krita Yuga, Bhogavatí in
the Tretá Yuga, Hiranyavatí in the Dvápara Yuga, and Ujjayiní in the
Kali Yuga. And in it there lived an excellent king, named Víradeva,
and he had a queen named Padmarati. The king went with her to the
bank of the Mandákiní, and propitiated Siva with austerities, in
order to obtain a son. And after he had remained a long time engaged
in austerities, he performed the ceremonies of bathing and praying,
and then he heard this voice from heaven, uttered by Siva, who was
pleased with him, "King, there shall be born to thee a brave son to
be the head of thy family, and a daughter, who with her matchless
beauty shall put to shame the nymphs of heaven." When king Víradeva
had heard this voice from heaven, he returned to his city with his
consort, having gained all he desired.
There he first had a son born to him named Súradeva, and after a
time queen Padmarati gave birth to a daughter. And her father gave
her the name of Anangarati, on the ground that she was beautiful
enough to inspire love in the breast of Cupid. And, when she grew up,
in his desire to procure for her a suitable husband, he had brought
the portraits of all the kings of the earth, painted on canvas. And
as no one of them seemed a match for her, he said to his daughter,
in his tenderness for her; "I cannot find a suitable match for you,
my daughter, so summon all the kings of the earth, and select your
own husband." When the princess heard that, she said to her father,
"My father, I am too modest to select my own husband, but I must
be given in marriage to a good-looking young man, who is a perfect
master of one art; I do not want any other better man."
When the king heard this speech of his daughter Anangarati, he
proceeded to search for a young man, such as she had described, and
while he was thus engaged, there came to him from the Dekkan four
magnificent men, brave and skilful, who had heard from the people
what was going on. Those four suitors for the hand of the princess
were received with respect by the king, and one after another they
told to him in her presence their respective acquirements.
The first said; "I am a Súdra, Panchaphuttika by name; I make every day
five splendid pairs of garments: The first of them I give to my god,
and the second to a Bráhman, the third I retain for my own wearing,
[317] the fourth I should give to my wife, if this maid here were to
become my wife, the fifth I sell, and procure myself meat and drink:
as I possess this art, let Anangarati be given to me."
When he had said this, the second man said, "I am a Vaisya, Bháshájna
by name, I know the speech of all beasts and birds; [318] so let the
princess be given to me."
When the second had said this, the third said, "I am a Kshatriya king,
by name Khadgadhara, renowned for might of arm: my equal in the art
of swordsmanship does not exist upon the earth, so bestow this maiden
on me, O king."
When the third had said this, the fourth said, "I am a Bráhman,
named Jívadatta, and I possess the following art; I can restore to
life dead creatures, and exhibit them alive; [319] so let this maiden
obtain for a husband me, who am renowned for daring exploits."
When they had thus spoken, the king Víradeva, with his daughter
by his side, seeing that they were like gods in shape and dress,
remained lost in doubt.
When the Vetála had told this story, he said to king Trivikramasena,
menacing him with the before-mentioned curse, "So tell me, king,
to which of these four ought the maiden Anangarati to be given?"
When the king heard this, he gave the Vetála the following answer;
"You are thus repeatedly making me break silence simply in order to
waste time; otherwise, master of magic, how could you possibly ask
such an absurd question? How can a woman of Kshatriya caste be given
to a Súdra weaver? Moreover, how can a Kshatriya woman be given to a
Vaisya? And as to the power of understanding the language of beasts
and birds, which he possesses, what is the practical use of it? And
as for the third, the Bráhman, who fancies himself such a hero, of
what worth is he, as he is a sorcerer, and degraded by abandoning the
duties of his caste? Accordingly the maiden should be given to the
fourth suitor, the Kshatriya Khadgadhara, who is of the same caste
and distinguished for his skill and valour."
When the Vetála heard this, he left the king's shoulder, as before,
and quickly returned by the power of his magic to his own place,
and the king again pursued him, as before, to recover him, for
despondency never penetrates into a hero's heart, that is cased in
armour of fortitude.
NOTE.
This story is found on page 498 and ff of Vol. I. It bears a close
resemblance to Tale 5, and many of the parallels there quoted are
applicable to it. In the 47th tale of the Pentamerone of Basile,
the sons boast of their accomplishments in a very similar manner.
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
(Vetála 10.)
Then Trivikramasena went and took the Vetála from the asoka-tree, and
put him on his shoulder once more, and set out; and as he was going
along, the Vetála said from the top of his shoulder, "You are weary,
king, so listen to this tale that is capable of dispelling weariness."
Story of Madanasená and her rash promise.
There was an excellent king of the name of Vírabáhu, who imposed
his orders on the heads of all kings: he had a splendid city named
Anangapura, and in it there lived a rich merchant, named Arthadatta;
that merchant prince had for elder child a son named Dhanadatta,
and his younger child was a pearl of maidens, named Madanasená.
One day, as she was playing with her companions in her own garden,
a young merchant, named Dharmadatta, a friend of her brother's,
saw her. When he saw that maiden, who with the full streams of her
beauty, her breasts like pitchers half-revealed, and three wrinkles
like waves, resembled a lake for the elephant of youth to plunge in
in sport, he was at once robbed of his senses by the arrows of love,
that fell upon him in showers. He thought to himself, "Alas, this
maiden, illuminated with this excessive beauty, has been framed by
Mára, as a keen arrow to cleave asunder my heart." While, engaged in
such reflections, he watched her long, the day passed away for him,
as if he were a chakraváka. Then Madanasená entered her house, and
grief at no longer beholding her entered the breast of Dharmadatta. And
the sun sank red into the western main, as if inflamed with the fire
of grief at seeing her no more. And the moon, that was surpassed by
the lotus of her countenance, knowing that that fair-faced one had
gone in for the night, slowly mounted upward.
In the meanwhile Dharmadatta went home, and thinking upon that
fair one, he remained tossing to and fro on his bed, smitten by
the rays of the moon. And though his friends and relations eagerly
questioned him, he gave them no answer, being bewildered by the demon
of love. And in the course of the night he at length fell asleep,
though with difficulty, and still he seemed to behold and court that
loved one in a dream; to such lengths did his longing carry him. And
in the morning he woke up, and went and saw her once more in that very
garden, alone and in privacy, waiting for her attendant. So he went
up to her, longing to embrace her, and falling at her feet, he tried
to coax her with words tender from affection. But she said to him with
great earnestness, "I am a maiden, betrothed to another, I cannot now
be yours, for my father has bestowed me on the merchant Samudradatta,
and I am to be married in a few days. So depart quietly, let not any
one see you; it might cause mischief." But Dharmadatta said to her,
"Happen what may, I cannot live without you." When the merchant's
daughter heard this, she was afraid that he would use force to her,
so she said to him, "Let my marriage first be celebrated here, let
my father reap the long-desired fruit of bestowing a daughter in
marriage; then I will certainly visit you, for your love has gained
my heart." When he heard this, he said, "I love not a woman that has
been embraced by another man; does the bee delight in a lotus on which
another bee has settled?" When he said this to her, she replied,
"Then I will visit you as soon as I am married, and afterwards I
will go to my husband." But though she made this promise, he would
not let her go without further assurance, so the merchant's daughter
confirmed the truth of her promise with an oath. Then he let her go,
and she entered her house in low spirits.
And when the lucky day had arrived, and the auspicious ceremony of
marriage had taken place, she went to her husband's house and spent
that day in merriment, and then retired with him. But she repelled her
husband's caresses with indifference, and when he began to coax her,
she burst into tears. He thought to himself, "Of a truth she cares
not for me," and said to her, "Fair one, if you do not love me, I do
not want you; go to your darling, whoever he may be." When she heard
this, she said slowly, with downcast face, "I love you more than my
life, but hear what I have to say. Rise up cheerfully, and promise
me immunity from punishment; take an oath to that effect, my husband,
in order that I may tell you."
When she said this, her husband reluctantly consented, and then she
went on to say with shame, despondency, and fear; "A young man of
the name of Dharmadatta, a friend of my brother's, saw me once alone
in our garden, and smitten with love he detained me; and when he was
preparing to use force, I being anxious to secure for my father the
merit of giving a daughter in marriage, and to avoid all scandal, made
this agreement with him; 'When I am married, I will pay you a visit,
before I go to my husband;' so I must now keep my word, permit me,
my husband; I will pay him a visit first, and then return to you,
for I cannot transgress the law of truth which I have observed from my
childhood." When Samudradatta had been thus suddenly smitten by this
speech of hers, as by a down-lighting thunderbolt, being bound by the
necessity of keeping his word, he reflected for a moment as follows;
"Alas! she is in love with another man, she must certainly go; why
should I make her break her word? Let her depart! Why should I be so
eager to have her for a wife?" After he had gone through this train
of thought, he gave her leave to go where she would; and she rose up,
and left her husband's house.
In the meanwhile the cold-rayed moon ascended the great eastern
mountain, as it were the roof of a palace, and the nymph of the
eastern quarter smiled, touched by his finger. Then, though the
darkness was still embracing his beloved herbs in the mountain caves
and the bees were settling on another cluster of kumudas, a certain
thief saw Madanasená, as she was going along alone at night, and
rushing upon her, seized her by the hem of her garment. He said to
her, "Who are you, and where are you going?" When he said this, she,