The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
though my devotion to thee has not made Jímútaváhana my husband in
this life, let him be so in my next life!" As soon as she had said
this, she made a noose with her upper garment, and fastened it to the
branch of the asoka-tree in front of the temple of Gaurí. And she said
"Prince Jímútaváhana, lord renowned over the whole world, how is it,
that, though thou art compassionate, thou hast not delivered me?" When
she had said this, she was proceeding to fasten the noose round her
throat, but at that very moment a voice spoken by the goddess came
from the air, "Daughter, do not act recklessly, for the Vidyádhara
prince Jímútaváhana, the future emperor, shall be thy husband."
When the goddess said this, Jímútaváhana also heard it, and seeing
his beloved, he went up to her, and his friend accompanied him. And
his friend, the hermit's son, said to the young lady, "See, here is
that very bridegroom whom the goddess has in reality bestowed upon
you." And Jímútaváhana, uttering many tender loving speeches, removed
with his own hand the noose from her neck. Then they seemed to have
experienced, as it were, a sudden shower of nectar, and Malayavatí
remained with bashful eye, drawing lines upon the ground. And at that
moment, one of her companions, who was looking for her, suddenly came
up to her, and said in joyful accents, "Friend, you are lucky, and
you are blessed with good fortune in that you have obtained the very
thing which you desired. For, this very day, prince Mitrávasu said to
the great king, your father, in my hearing, 'Father, that Vidyádhara
prince Jímútaváhana, the object of the world's reverence, the bestower
of the wishing-tree, who has come here, should be complimented by us,
as he is our guest; and we cannot find any other match as good as
him; so let us pay him a compliment by bestowing on him this pearl of
maidens Malayavatí.' The king approved, saying 'So be it', and your
brother Mitrávasu has now gone to the hermitage of the illustrious
prince on this very errand. And I know that your marriage will take
place at once, so come back to your palace, and let this illustrious
prince also return to his dwelling." When the princess's companion
said this to her, she departed slowly from that place, rejoicing and
regretful, frequently turning her head.
And Jímútaváhana also returned quickly to his hermitage, and heard
from Mitrávasu, who came there, his commission, which fulfilled
all his wishes, and welcomed it with joy. And as he remembered his
former births, he gave him an account of one in which Mitrávasu was
his friend, and Mitrávasu's sister his wife. [355] Then Mitrávasu
was pleased, and informed the parents of Jímútaváhana, who were also
delighted, and returned, to the joy of his own parents, having executed
his mission successfully. And that very day he took Jímútaváhana to
his own house, and he made preparations for the marriage festival
with a magnificence worthy of his magic power, and on that very
same auspicious day he celebrated the marriage of his sister to that
Vidyádhara prince; and then Jímútaváhana, having obtained the desire of
his heart, lived with his newly married wife Malayavatí. And once on a
time, as he was roaming about out of curiosity with Mitrávasu on that
Malaya mountain, he reached a wood on the shore of the sea. There
he saw a great many heaps of bones, and he said to Mitrávasu,
"What creatures are these whose bones are piled up here?" Then his
brother-in-law Mitrávasu said to that compassionate man, "Listen, I
will tell you the story of this in a few words. Long, long ago, Kadrú
the mother of the snakes conquered Vinatá, the mother of Garuda, in a
treacherous wager, and made her a slave. Through enmity caused thereby,
the mighty Garuda, [356] though he had delivered his mother, began
to eat the snakes the sons of Kadrú. He was thenceforth continually
in the habit of entering Pátála, and some he smote, some he trampled,
and some died of fright.
"When Vásuki, the king of the snakes, saw that, he feared that
his race would be annihilated at one fell swoop, so he supplicated
Garuda, and made a compact with him, saying, 'King of birds, I will
send you one snake every day to this shore of the southern sea for
your meal. But you must by no means enter Pátála, for what advantage
will you gain by destroying the snakes at one blow?' When the king
of the snakes said this, the mighty Garuda saw that the proposal was
to his advantage, and agreed to it. And from that time forth, the
king of birds eats every day, on the shore of the sea, a snake sent
by Vásuki. So these are heaps of bones of snakes devoured by Garuda,
that have gradually accumulated in course of time, and come to look
like the peak of a mountain."
When Jímútaváhana, that treasure-house of courage and compassion,
had heard, inly grieving, this story from the mouth of Mitrávasu,
he thus answered him, "One cannot help grieving for king Vásuki, who,
like a coward, offers up every day his subjects to their enemy with his
own hand. As he has a thousand faces and a thousand mouths, why could
he not say with one mouth to Garuda, 'Eat me first?' And how could he
be so cowardly as to ask Garuda to destroy his race, and so heartless
as to be able to listen continually unmoved to the lamentation of the
Nága women? [357] And to think that Garuda, though the son of Kasyapa
and a hero, and though sanctified by being the bearer of Krishna,
should do such an evil deed! Alas the depths of delusion!" When the
noble-hearted one had said this, he formed this wish in his heart,
"May I obtain the one essential object in this world by the sacrifice
of the unsubstantial body! May I be so fortunate as to save the life
of one friendless terrified Nága by offering myself to Garuda!"
While Jímútaváhana was going through these reflections, a doorkeeper
came from Mitrávasu's father to summon them, and Jímútaváhana sent
Mitrávasu home, saying to him, "Go you on first, I will follow." And
after he had gone, the compassionate man roamed about alone, intent on
effecting the object he had in view, and he heard afar off a piteous
sound of weeping. And he went on, and saw near a lofty rocky slab
a young man of handsome appearance plunged in grief: an officer of
some monarch seemed to have just brought him and left him there,
and the young man was trying to induce by loving persuasions [358]
an old woman, who was weeping there, to return.
And while Jímútaváhana was listening there in secret, melted with pity,
eager to know who he could be, the old woman, overwhelmed with the
weight of her grief, began to look again and again at the young man,
and to lament his hard lot in the following words, "Alas Sankhachúda,
you that were obtained by me by means of a hundred pangs! Alas,
virtuous one! Alas! son, the only scion of our family, where shall I
behold you again? Darling, when this moon of your face is withdrawn,
your father will fall into the darkness of grief, and how will he
live to old age? How will your body, that would suffer even from the
touch of the sun's rays, be able to endure the agony of being devoured
by Garuda? How comes it that Providence and the king of the snakes
were able to find out you, the only son of ill-starred me, though
the world of the snakes is wide?" When she thus lamented, the young
man her son said to her, "I am afflicted enough, as it is, mother;
why do you afflict me more? Return home; this is my last reverence to
you, for I know it will soon be time for Garuda to arrive here." When
the old woman heard that, she cast her sorrowful eyes all round the
horizon, and cried aloud, "I am undone; who will deliver my son?"
In the meanwhile Jímútaváhana, that portion of a Bodhisattva, having
heard and seen that, said to himself, being profoundly touched with
pity, "I see, this is an unhappy snake, of the name of Sankhachúda,
who has now been sent by king Vásuki, to serve as food for Garuda. And
this is his aged mother, whose only son he is, and who has followed
him here out of love, and is lamenting piteously from grief. So,
if I cannot save this wretched Nága by offering up this exceedingly
perishable body, alas! my birth will have been void of fruit."
When Jímútaváhana had gone through these reflections, he went joyfully
up to the old woman, and said to her, "Mother, I will deliver your
son." When the old woman heard that, she was alarmed and terrified,
thinking that Garuda had come, and she cried out, "Eat me, Garuda,
eat me!" Then Sankhachúda said, "Mother, do not be afraid, this is not
Garuda. There is a great difference between this being who cheers one
like the moon, and the terrible Garuda." When Sankhachúda said this,
Jímútaváhana said, "Mother, I am a Vidyádhara, come to deliver your
son; for I will give my body, disguised in clothes, to the hungry
Garuda; and do you return home, taking your son with you."
When the old woman heard that, she said, "By no means, for you are my
son in a still higher sense, because you have shewn such compassion
for us at such a time." When Jímútaváhana heard that, he replied,
"You two ought not to disappoint my wish in this matter." And when
he persistently urged this, Sankhachúda said to him; "Of a truth,
noble-hearted man, you have displayed your compassionate nature,
but I cannot consent to save my body at the cost of yours; for who
ought to save a common stone by the sacrifice of a gem? The world is
full of people like myself, who feel pity only for themselves, but
people like you, who are inclined to feel pity for the whole world,
are few in number; besides, excellent man, I shall never find it in
my heart to defile the pure race of Sankhapála, as a spot defiles
the disk of the moon."
When Sankhachúda had in these words attempted to dissuade him,
he said to his mother, "Mother, go back, and leave this terrible
wilderness. Do you not see here this rock of execution, smeared with
the clotted gore of snakes, awful as the luxurious couch of Death! But
I will go to the shore of the sea, and worship the lord Gokarna,
and quickly return, before Garuda comes here." When Sankhachúda had
said this, he took a respectful leave of his sadly-wailing mother,
and went to pay his devotions to Gokarna.
And Jímútaváhana made up his mind that, if Garuda arrived in the
meantime, he would certainly be able to carry out his proposed
self-sacrifice for the sake of another. And while he was thus
reflecting, he saw the trees swaying with the wind of the wings of the
approaching king of birds, and seeming, as it were, to utter a cry of
dissuasion. So he came to the conclusion that the moment of Garuda's
arrival was at hand, and determined to offer up his life for another,
he ascended the rock of sacrifice. And the sea, churned by the wind,
seemed with the eyes of its bright-flashing jewels to be gazing in
astonishment at his extraordinary courage. Then Garuda came along,
obscuring the heaven, and swooping down, struck the great-hearted
hero with his beak, and carried him off from that slab of rock. And he
quickly went off with him to a peak of the Malaya mountain, to eat him
there; and Jímútaváhana's crest-jewel was torn from his head, and drops
of blood fell from him, as he was carried through the air. And while
Garuda was eating that moon of the Vidyádhara race, he said to himself;
"May my body thus be offered in every birth for the benefit of others,
and let me not enjoy heaven or liberation, if they are dissociated
from the opportunity of benefiting my neighbour." And while he was
saying this to himself, a rain of flowers fell from heaven.
In the meanwhile his crest-jewel, dripping with his blood, had fallen
in front of his wife Malayavatí. When she saw it, she recognized it
with much trepidation as her husband's crest-jewel, and as she was