The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
cheated Vishnu out of Lakshmí. So I throw myself on thy protection,
thou who canst not be sounded even by gods, the refuge of mountains
[324] that retain their wings; grant me to obtain my desire." While he
was uttering this, the maiden disappeared in the sea, with the tree,
and when the king saw that, he flung himself into the sea after her,
as if to cool the flames of love's fire.
When the merchant Lakshmídatta saw that unexpected sight, the good
man thought the king had perished, and was so afflicted that he
was on the point of committing suicide, but he was consoled by the
following utterance, that came from the heavens, "Do not act rashly;
he is not in danger, though he has plunged into the sea; this king,
Yasahketu by name, has come, disguised as an ascetic, to obtain this
very maiden, for she was his wife in a former state of existence, and
as soon as he has won her, he shall return to his realm of Anga." Then
the merchant continued his intended voyage, to accomplish his purposes.
But when king Yasahketu plunged into the sea, he suddenly beheld
to his astonishment a splendid city. It gleamed with palaces that
had bright pillars of precious stone, walls flashing with gold, and
latticed windows of pearl. It was adorned with gardens in which were
tanks with flights of steps composed of slabs of every kind of gem,
and wishing-trees that granted every desire. He entered house after
house in that city, which, though opulent, was uninhabited, but he
could not find his beloved anywhere. Then, as he was looking about,
he beheld a lofty jewelled palace, and going up to it he opened the
door and went in. And when he had entered it, he beheld a solitary
human form stretched out upon a gem-bestudded couch, with its whole
length covered with a shawl. Wondering whether it could be that
very lady, he uncovered its face with eager expectation, and saw his
lady-love. Her beautiful moon-like countenance smiled, when the black
robe fell from it like darkness; and she seemed like a night, illumined
with moonlight, gone to visit Pátála in the day. At sight of her the
king was in a state of ecstasy, like that which a man, travelling
through a desert in the season of heat, experiences on beholding a
river. She, for her part, opened her eyes, and when she saw that hero
of auspicious form and bodily marks thus suddenly arrived, sprang
from her couch in a state of excitement. She welcomed him, and with
downcast countenance, seemed to honour him by flinging on his feet the
full-blown lotuses of her wide-expanded eyes; and then she slowly said
to him, "Who are you, and why have you come to this inaccessible lower
region? And why, though your body is marked with the signs of royalty,
have you undertaken the vow of an ascetic? Condescend to tell me this,
distinguished Sir, if I have found favour in your sight." When the king
had heard this speech of hers, he gave her this answer; "Fair one,
I am the king of Anga, by name Yasahketu, and I heard from a friend
on whom I can rely, that you were to be seen here every day in the
sea. So I assumed this disguise, and abandoned my kingdom for your
sake, and I have come here and followed you down through the sea. So
tell me who you are." When he said this, she answered him with mixed
feelings of shame, affection, and joy; "There is a fortunate king
of the Vidyádharas named Mrigánkasena; know that I am his daughter,
Mrigánkavatí by name. That father of mine, for some reason unknown
to me, has left me alone in this city of his, and has gone somewhere
or other with his subjects. So I, feeling melancholy in my solitary
abode, rise up out of the sea on a moveable [325] wishing-tree, and
sing of the decrees of Fate." When she had said this, the brave king,
remembering the speech of the hermit, courted her so assiduously with
speeches tender with love, that she was overpowered with affection,
and promised to become his wife at once, but insisted on the following
condition; "My husband, for four days in every month, the fourteenth
and eighth of the white and black fortnights, I am not my own mistress;
[326] and whithersoever I may go on those days, you must not question
me on the subject nor forbid me, for there is a reason for it." [327]
When the heavenly maiden had stated in these words the only condition
on which she would consent to marry the king, he agreed to it, and
married her by the Gándharva form of marriage.
And one day, while the king was living happily with Mrigánkavatí, she
said to him, "You must stop here, while I go somewhere for a certain
business, for to-day is the fourteenth day of the black fortnight
of which I spoke to you. And while you are waiting here, my husband,
you must not enter this crystal pavilion, lest you should fall into a
lake there and go to the world of men." When she had said this, she
took leave of him, and went out of that city, and the king took his
sword and followed her secretly, determined to penetrate the mystery.
Then the king saw a terrible Rákshasa approaching, looking like Hades
embodied in a human shape, with his cavernous mouth, black as night,
opened wide. That Rákshasa uttered an appalling roar, and swooping
down on Mrigánkavatí, put her in his mouth and swallowed her. When
the mighty king saw that, he was at once, so to speak, on fire with
excessive anger, and rushing forward with his great sword, black as
a snake that has cast its slough, [328] drawn from the sheath, he cut
off with it the head of the charging Rákshasa, the lips of which were
firmly pressed together. Then the burning fire of the king's anger
was quenched by the stream of blood that poured forth from the trunk
of the Rákshasa, but not the fire of his grief at the loss of his
beloved. Then the king was blinded with the darkness of bewilderment,
and at a loss what to do, when suddenly Mrigánkavatí cleft asunder
the body of that Rákshasa, which was dark as a cloud, and emerged
alive and uninjured, illuminating all the horizon like a spotless
moon. When the king saw his beloved thus delivered from danger, he
rushed eagerly forward and embraced her, exclaiming, "Come! Come!" And
he said to her, "My beloved, what does all this mean? Is it a dream
or a delusion?" When the king asked the Vidyádharí this question,
she remembered the truth, and said: "Listen, my husband! This is no
delusion, nor is it a dream; but such was the curse imposed upon me
by my father, a king of the Vidyádharas. For my father, who formerly
lived in this city, though he had many sons, was so fond of me, that
he would never take food when I was not present. But I, being devoted
to the worship of Siva, used always to come to this uninhabited place
on the fourteenth and eighth days of the two fortnights.
"And one fourteenth day I came here and worshipped Gaurí for a long
time; and, as fate would have it, so ardent was my devotion that the
day came to an end before my worship was finished. That day my father
ate nothing and drank nothing, though he was hungry and thirsty, as
he waited for me, but he was very angry with me. And when I returned
in the evening with downcast countenance, conscious of my fault, his
love for me was so completely overpowered by the force of Destiny,
that he cursed me in the following words; 'As owing to your arrogance
I was devoured to-day by hunger, so on the eighth and fourteenth
days of the two fortnights of every month, and on those days only,
a Rákshasa named Kritántasantrása shall swallow you, when you go to
that place outside the city to worship Siva; and on every occasion
you shall make your way through his heart and come out alive. But
you shall not remember the curse, nor the pain of being swallowed;
and you shall remain alone here.' [329] When my father had uttered
this curse, I managed gradually to propitiate him, and after thinking
a little he appointed this termination to my curse; 'When a king named
Yasahketu, lord of the land of Anga, shall become your husband, and
shall see you swallowed by the Rákshasa, and shall slay him, then you
shall issue from his heart, and shall be delivered from your curse,
and you shall call to mind your curse and the other circumstances,
and all your supernatural sciences.'
"When he had appointed this end of my curse, he left me alone here,
and went with his retinue to the mountain of Nishada in the world of
men. And I remained here, thus engaged, bewildered by the curse. But
that curse has now come to an end, and I remember all. So I will
immediately go to my father on the Nishada mountain; the law, that
governs us celestial beings, is, that when our curse is at an end we
return to our own place. You are perfectly free to remain here or go to
your kingdom, as you like." When she had said this, the king was sorry,
and he made this request to her; "Fair one, do me the favour not to go
for seven days. Let us in the meanwhile cheat the pain of parting by
amusing ourselves here in the garden. After that you shall go to your
father's abode, and I will return to mine." When he made this proposal,
the fair one agreed to it. Then the king diverted himself with her for
six days in the gardens, and in tanks, the lotus-eyes of which were
full of tears, and that seemed to toss aloft their waves like hands,
and in the cries of their swans and cranes to utter this plaintive
appeal, "Do not leave us!" And on the seventh day he artfully decoyed
his darling to that pavilion, where was the tank that served as a
magic gate [330] conducting to the world of men; and throwing his arms
round her neck, he plunged into that tank, and rose up with her from a
tank in the garden of his own city. When the gardeners saw that he had
arrived with his beloved, they were delighted, and they went and told
his minister Dírghadarsin. And the minister came and fell at his feet,
and seeing that he had brought with him the lady of his aspirations,
he and the citizens escorted him into the palace. And he thought to
himself, "Dear me! I wonder how the king has managed to obtain this
celestial nymph, of whom I caught a transient glimpse in the ocean,
as one sees in the heaven a lightning-flash. But the fact is, whatever
lot is written for a man by the Disposer in the inscription on his
forehead, infallibly befalls him, however improbable."
Such were the reflections of the prime minister; while the rest
of his subjects were full of joy at the return of the king,
and of astonishment at his having won the celestial nymph. But
Mrigánkavatí, seeing that the king had returned to his own kingdom,
longed, as the seven days were completed, to return to the home of
the Vidyádharas. But the science of flying up into the air did not
appear to her, though she called it to mind. Then she felt as one
robbed of a treasure, and was in the deepest despondency. And the
king said to her, "Why do you suddenly appear despondent, tell me,
my darling?" Then the Vidyádharí answered him, "Because I remained so
long, after I had been released from my curse, out of love for you,
my science has abandoned me, and I have lost the power of returning
to my heavenly home." When king Yasahketu heard this, he said, "Ha! I
have now won this Vidyádharí," and so his rejoicing was complete.
When the minister Dírghadarsin saw this, he went home, and at night,
when he was in bed, he suddenly died of a broken heart. And Yasahketu,
after he had mourned for him, remained long bearing the burden of
empire himself, with Mrigánkavatí for his consort.
When the Vetála, seated on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena, had
told him this story on the way, he went on to say to him, "So tell
me, king; why did the heart of that great minister suddenly break,
when his master had thus succeeded so completely? Did his heart break
through grief at not having won the nymph himself? Or was it because