The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
princess Vásavadattá was devoted in her attentions to him, resembling
the goddess of Fortune in that she was firmly attached to him, and
did not leave him though he was a captive.
In the meanwhile the men who had accompanied the king returned to
Kausámbí, and the country, hearing of the captivity of the monarch,
was thrown into a state of great excitement. Then the enraged subjects,
out of love for the king of Vatsa, wanted to make a general [159]
assault on Ujjayiní. But Rumanvat checked the impetuous fury of the
subjects by telling them that Chandamahásena was not to be overcome
by force, for he was a mighty monarch, and besides that an assault
was not advisable, for it might endanger the safety of the king of
Vatsa; but their object must be attained by policy. Then the calm
and resolute Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the country was loyal, and
would not swerve from its allegiance, said to Rumanvat and the others;
"All of you must remain here, ever on the alert; you must guard this
country, and when a fit occasion comes you must display your prowess;
but I will go accompanied by Vasantaka only, and will without fail
accomplish by my wisdom the deliverance of the king and bring him
home. For he is a truly firm and resolute man whose wisdom shines
forth in adversity, as the lightning flash is especially brilliant
during pelting rain. I know spells for breaking through walls,
and for rending fetters, and receipts for becoming invisible,
serviceable at need." Having said this, and entrusted to Rumanvat
the care of the subjects, Yaugandharáyana set out from Kausámbí with
Vasantaka. And with him he entered the Vindhya forest, full of life
[160] like his wisdom, intricate and trackless as his policy. Then he
visited the palace of the king of the Pulindas, Pulindaka by name,
who dwelt on a peak of the Vindhya range, and was an ally of the
king of Vatsa. He first placed him, with a large force at his heels,
in readiness to protect the king of Vatsa when he returned that way,
and then he went on accompanied by Vasantaka and at last arrived at the
burning-ground of Mahákála in Ujjayiní, which was densely tenanted by
vampires [161] that smelt of carrion, and hovered hither and thither,
black as night, rivalling the smoke-wreaths of the funeral pyres. And
there a Bráhman-Rákshasa of the name of Yogesvara immediately came up
to him, delighted to see him, and admitted him into his friendship;
then Yaugandharáyana by means of a charm, which he taught him,
suddenly altered his shape. That charm immediately made him deformed,
hunchbacked, and old, and besides gave him the appearance of a madman,
so that he produced loud laughter in those who beheld him. And in
the same way Yaugandharáyana, by means of that very charm, gave
Vasantaka a body full of outstanding veins, with a large stomach,
and an ugly mouth with projecting teeth; [162] then he sent Vasantaka
on in front to the gate of the king's palace, and entered Ujjayiní
with such an appearance as I have described. There he, singing and
dancing, surrounded by Bráhman boys, beheld with curiosity by all,
made his way to the king's palace. And there he excited by that
behaviour the curiosity of the king's wives, and was at last heard
of by Vásavadattá. She quickly sent a maid and had him brought
to the concert-room. For youth is twin-brother to mirth. And when
Yaugandharáyana came there and beheld the king of Vatsa in fetters,
though he had assumed the appearance of a madman, he could not help
shedding tears. And he made a sign to the king of Vatsa, who quickly
recognized him, though he had come in disguise. Then Yaugandharáyana by
means of his magic power made himself invisible to Vásavadattá and her
maids. So the king alone saw him, and they all said with astonishment,
"that maniac has suddenly escaped somewhere or other." Then the king
of Vatsa hearing them say that, and seeing Yaugandharáyana in front
of him, understood that this was due to magic, and cunningly said
to Vásavadattá; "Go my good girl, and bring the requisites for the
worship of Sarasvatí." When she heard that, she said, "So I will,"
and went out with her companions. Then Yaugandharáyana approached the
king and communicated to him, according to the prescribed form, spells
for breaking chains; and at the same time he furnished him with other
charms for winning the heart of Vásavadattá, which were attached to the
strings of the lute; and informed him that Vasantaka had come there and
was standing outside the door in a changed form, and recommended him
to have that Bráhman summoned to him; at the same time he said--"When
this lady Vásavadattá shall come to repose confidence in you, then you
must do what I tell you, at the present remain quiet." Having said
this, Yaugandharáyana quickly went out, and immediately Vásavadattá
entered with the requisites for the worship of Sarasvatí. Then the
king said to her, "There is a Bráhman standing outside the door, let
him be brought in to celebrate this ceremony in honour of Sarasvatí,
in order that he may obtain a sacrificial fee." Vásavadattá consented,
and had Vasantaka, who wore a deformed shape, summoned from the door
into the music-hall. And when he was brought and saw the king of
Vatsa, he wept for sorrow, and then the king said to him, in order
that the secret might not be discovered, "O Bráhman, I will remove
all this deformity of thine produced by sickness; do not weep, remain
here near me." And then Vasantaka said--"It is a great condescension
on thy part, O king." And the king seeing how he was deformed could
not keep his countenance. And when he saw that, Vasantaka guessed
what was in the king's mind, and laughed so that the deformity of his
distorted face was increased; and thereupon Vásavadattá, beholding him
grinning like a doll, burst out laughing also, and was much delighted;
then the young lady asked Vasantaka in fun the following question:
"Bráhman, what science are you familiar with, tell us?" So he said,
"Princess, I am an adept at telling tales." Then she said, "Come,
tell me a tale." Then in order to please that princess, Vasantaka told
the following tale, which was charming by its comic humour and variety.
Story of Rúpiniká.
There is in this country a city named Mathurá, the birthplace of
Krishna, in it there was a hetæra known by the name of Rúpiniká;
she had for a mother an old kuttiní named Makaradanshtrá, who
seemed a lump of poison in the eyes of the young men attracted by
her daughter's charms. One day Rúpiniká went at the time of worship
to the temple to perform her duty, [163] and beheld from a distance
a young man. When she saw that handsome young fellow, he made such an
impression upon her heart, that all her mother's instructions vanished
from it. Then she said to her maid, "Go and tell this man from me,
that he is to come to my house to-day." The maid said, "So I will,"
and immediately went and told him. Then the man thought a little
and said to her; "I am a Bráhman named Lohajangha [164]; I have no
wealth; then what business have I in the house of Rúpiniká which is
only to be entered by the rich." The maid said,--"My mistress does
not desire wealth from you,"--whereupon Lohajangha consented to do
as she wished. When she heard that from the maid, Rúpiniká went home
in a state of excitement, and remained with her eyes fixed on the
path by which he would come. And soon Lohajangha came to her house,
while the kuttiní Makaradanshtrá looked at him, and wondered where he
came from. Rúpiniká, for her part, when she saw him, rose up to meet
him herself with the utmost respect, and clinging to his neck in her
joy, led him to her own private apartments. Then she was captivated
with Lohajangha's wealth of accomplishments, and considered that
she had been only born to love him. So she avoided the society of
other men, and that young fellow lived with her in her house in great
comfort. Rúpiniká's mother, Makaradanshtrá, who had trained up many
hetæræ, was annoyed when she saw this, and said to her in private;
"My daughter, why do you associate with a poor man? Hetæræ of good
taste embrace a corpse in preference to a poor man. What business has a
hetæra like you with affection? How have you come to forget that great
principle? The light of a red [165] sunset lasts but a short time, and
so does the splendour of a hetæra who gives way to affection. A hetæra,
like an actress, should exhibit an assumed affection in order to get
wealth; so forsake this pauper, do not ruin yourself." When she heard
this speech of her mother's, Rúpiniká said in a rage, "Do not talk
in this way, for I love him more than my life. And as for wealth,
I have plenty, what do I want with more? So you must not speak to
me again, mother, in this way." When she heard this, Makaradanshtrá
was in a rage, and she remained thinking over some device for getting
rid of this Lohajangha. Then she saw coming along the road a certain
Rájpút, who had spent all his wealth, surrounded by retainers with
swords in their hands. So she went up to him quickly and taking him
aside, said--"My house is beset by a certain poor lover. So come there
yourself to-day, and take such order with him that he shall depart from
my house, and do you possess my daughter." "Agreed," said the Rájpút,
and entered that house. At that precise moment Rúpiniká was in the
temple, and Lohajangha meanwhile was absent somewhere, and suspecting
nothing, he returned to the house a moment afterwards. Immediately
the retainers of the Rájpút ran upon him, and gave him severe kicks
and blows on all his limbs, and then they threw him into a ditch full
of all kinds of impurities, and Lohajangha with difficulty escaped
from it. Then Rúpiniká returned to the house, and when she heard
what had taken place, she was distracted with grief, so the Rájpút,
seeing that, returned as he came.
Lohajangha, after suffering this brutal outrage by the machinations
of the kuttiní, set out for some holy place of pilgrimage, in order to
leave his life there, now that he was separated from his beloved. As he
was going along in the wild country, [166] with his heart burning with
anger against the kuttiní, and his skin with the heat of the summer,
he longed for shade. Not being able to find a tree, he lighted on
the body of an elephant, which had been stripped of all its flesh
[167] by jackals making their way into it by the hind-quarters;
accordingly Lohajangha being worn out crept into this carcase, which
was a mere shell, as only the skin remained, and went to sleep in
it, as it was kept cool by the breeze which freely entered. Then
suddenly clouds arose from all sides, and began to pour down a
pelting shower of rain; that rain made the elephant's skin contract
so that no aperture was left, and immediately a copious inundation
came that way, and carrying off the elephant's hide swept it into
the Ganges; so eventually the inundation bore it into the sea. And
there a bird of the race of Garuda saw that hide, and supposing it
to be carrion, took it to the other side of the sea; there it tore
open the elephant's hide with its claws, and, seeing that there was
a man inside it, fled away. But Lohajangha was awaked by the bird's
pecking and scratching, and came out through the aperture made by
its beak. And finding that he was on the other side of the sea,
he was astonished, and looked upon the whole thing as a day-dream;
then he saw there to his terror two horrible Rákshasas, and those
two for their part contemplated him from a distance with feelings of
fear. Remembering how they were defeated by Ráma, and seeing that
Lohajangha was also a man who had crossed the sea, they were once
more alarmed in their hearts. So, after they had deliberated together,
one of them went off immediately and told the whole occurrence to king