The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
skin, flesh, and blood, the third is about to give the animal life,
when the brother, who possesses common sense, says "If you raise him
to life, he will kill us all." Finding that the third brother will not
desist from his intention, he climbs up a tree and so saves his life,
while his three brothers are torn to pieces.
In the Bahar-Danush (Scott) Vol. II, p. 290, the bones of a cow are
joined together by being sprinkled with water. See Benfey, Vol. I,
p. 489. (Oesterley's Baitál Pachísí, pp. 211-212.)
CHAPTER XCVII.
(Vetála 23.)
Then the noble king Trivikramasena went back, and again took down
that Vetála from the asoka-tree, and though the Vetála transformed
himself in all possible ways, he put him on his shoulder and started
off with him in silence, and then the Vetála said to him, "King,
though the business in which you are engaged is not becoming to you,
you exhibit in it undaunted perseverance; so listen, I will tell you
a tale to dispel your fatigue."
Story of the Hermit who first wept and then danced.
There is in the land of Kalinga a city named Sobhávatí, like the
city of Indra in heaven, the abode of those that act aright. It was
ruled by a king named Pradyumna, whose sway was mighty, and who,
like the god Pradyumna, was celebrated for his exceeding power and
valour. The only detraction heard in his realm was that of the string
from the bow, the only pressure that of the fingers on the cymbal,
vice was only known in the name of the age, [404] and keenness only
in the pursuit of knowledge.
In a certain part of that town there was a grant named Yajnasthala,
given by that king, on which many Bráhmans were settled. There lived
on it a very wealthy Bráhman who had mastered the Vedas, whose name
was Yajnasoma. He maintained a sacrificial fire, and honoured guests,
and the gods. After his youth was past, there was born to him by his
wife, who was in every way a suitable match for him, an only son,
the child of a hundred wishes. And that promising boy grew up in his
father's house, and the Bráhmans duly named him Devasoma. And when he
had attained the age of sixteen years, that boy, who captivated all
by his knowledge, modesty, and other good qualities, suddenly died of
a fever. Then Yajnasoma, together with his wife, remained lovingly
embracing that dead boy, and lamenting over him, and refused for a
long time to let him be taken away to be burnt.
Then the old men assembled and reproved that Bráhman in the following
words, "Bráhman, are you not aware, though you know what is near and
far, that the condition of this Fata Morgana of a world is frail
as a bubble on water? Look at those kings who filled the earth
with their armies, and enjoyed themselves in this world, deeming
themselves immortal, lying on jewelled couches on the delightful
summits of palaces, that resounded with the warbling of music, having
their bodies anointed with sandal-wood ointment and other fragrant
unguents, and begirt with beautiful women. Even these no one could
save from being consumed by flesh-devouring flames, lying alone on
the funeral pyre in the cemetery whither the dead are followed by
weeping friends, and when their extremities had been shrivelled,
from being at last devoured by the jackals: much less can any others
escape this fate. So tell us, wise man, what mean you by embracing
that corpse?" Many other speeches of this kind did they address to him.
At last with difficulty his relations got him to stop clinging to his
dead son, and then, after the body had been laid out, they put it on
a bier, and with loud lamentations carried it to the burning-place,
accompanied by many people who shed tears on account of the calamity.
Now at that time there was dwelling in that cemetery an old Pásupata
ascetic possessing supernatural power, who lived in a hut. His name was
Vámasiva. His body was emaciated with age and excessive asceticism,
and bound round with veins, as if for fear that it would break. He
was covered all over with hair white with ashes, his matted locks were
yellow as lightning, and he looked like a second Siva. When that hermit
heard in the distance the lamentation of those people outside his hut,
he said to the pupil that lived with him, "Rise up! go and find out
the meaning of this confused noise outside in the cemetery, such as I
never heard before, and come back quickly, and tell me." Now this pupil
was one who had taken a vow of living on the products of begging; he
was a fool, and a rogue, and an egoist, puffed up with contemplation,
magical powers, and other things of the kind, and at this time he was
annoyed because his teacher had rebuked him. So, when his teacher gave
him this order, he answered him, "I will not go; go yourself, for my
time for begging is fast slipping away." When the teacher heard that,
he said, "Out on you, fool, devoted to your belly! Only half one watch
of the day has passed: how can it be your time for begging now?" When
the wicked pupil heard that, he was angry, and said to his teacher;
"Out on you, you decrepit old creature! I am no longer your pupil,
and you are no longer my teacher. I will go elsewhere, carry this
vessel yourself." When he had said this, he put down in front of him
his stick and water-vessel, and got up and went away.
Then the hermit left his hut, laughing as he went, and came to the
place where the young Bráhman had been brought to be burned. And when
the hermit saw him, with the people lamenting for the flower of his
youth, being afflicted with old age, and possessed of magical powers,
he determined to enter his body. So he quickly went aside, and first
wept aloud, and immediately afterwards he danced with appropriate
gesticulations. [405] Then the ascetic, longing to be young again,
abandoned his own body, and at once entered by magic power that young
Bráhman's body. And immediately the young Bráhman on the pyre, which
was ready prepared, returned to life, and rose up with a yawn. When
his relations and all the people saw that, they raised a loud shout of
"Hurrah! he is alive! he is alive!"
Then that ascetic, who was a mighty sorcerer, and had thus entered the
young Bráhman's body, not intending to abandon his vow, told them all
the following falsehood; "Just now, when I went to the other world,
Siva himself restored my life to me, telling me that I must take upon
me the vow of a Pásupata ascetic. And I must this moment go into
a solitary place and support this vow, otherwise I cannot live, so
depart you, and I also will depart." Saying this to all those present,
the resolute votary, bewildered with mixed feelings of joy and grief,
dismissed them to their own homes. And he himself went, and threw
that former body of his into a ravine; and so that great magician,
who had taken the vow, having become young, went away to another place.
When the Vetála had told this story that night on the way, he again
said to king Trivikramasena, "Tell me, king, why did that mighty
magician, when entering another body, first weep, and then dance? I
have a great desire to know this."
When that king, who was a chief of sages, heard this question of
the Vetála's, fearing the curse, he broke silence, and gave him this
answer, "Hear what the feelings of that ascetic were. He was grieved
because he thought that he was just going to abandon that body, which
had grown up with him through many years, by living in which he had
acquired magic power, and which his parents had fondled, when he
was a child, so he wept violently; for affection for one's body is
a deeply rooted feeling. But he danced for joy, because he thought
that he was about to enter a new body, and that by means of that he
would acquire greater magic power; for to whom is not youth pleasing."
When the Vetála, who was inside that corpse, heard this speech of
the king's, he left his shoulder and went back to that asoka-tree;
but that exceedingly undaunted monarch again ran after him, to recover
him; for the resolution of determined men surpasses in firmness the
mighty mountains, and remains unshaken even at the end of a kalpa.
CHAPTER XCVIII.
(Vetála 24.)
Then the brave king Trivikramasena, disregarding the awful night,
which in that terrible cemetery assumed the appearance of a Rákshasí,
being black with darkness, and having the flames of the funeral pyres
for fiery eyes, again went to the asoka-tree, and took from it the
Vetála, and put him on his shoulder.
And while he was going along with him, as before, the Vetála again
said to that king, "O king, I am tired out with going backwards and
forwards, though you are not: so I will put to you one difficult
question, and mind you listen to me."
Story of the father that married the daughter and the son that married
the mother.
There was in the Dekkan a king of a small province, who was named
Dharma; he was the chief of virtuous men, but he had many relations
who aspired to supplant him. He had a wife named Chandravatí, who
came from the land of Málava; she was of high lineage, and the most
virtuous of women. And that king had born to him by that wife one
daughter, who was not without cause named Lávanyavatí. [406]
And when that daughter had attained a marriageable age, king Dharma
was ejected from his throne by his relations, who banded together and
divided his realm. Then he fled from his kingdom at night with his
wife and that daughter, taking with him a large number of valuable
jewels, and he deliberately set out for Málava the dwelling-place of
his father-in-law. And in the course of that same night he reached the
Vindhya forest with his wife and daughter. And when he entered it, the
night, that had escorted him thus far, took leave of him with drops
of dew by way of tears. And the sun ascended the eastern mountain,
stretching forth its first rays, like a warning hand, to dissuade him
from entering that brigand-haunted wood. Then he travelled on through
it with his wife and daughter, having his feet wounded with sharp
points of kusa-grass, and he reached a village of the Bhillas. It
was full of men that robbed their neighbours of life and property,
and shunned by the virtuous, like the strong city of Death.
Then beholding the king from a distance with his dress and ornaments,
many Savaras, armed with various weapons, ran to plunder him. When king
Dharma saw that, he said to his daughter and wife, "The barbarians will
seize on you first, so enter the wood in this direction." When the king
said this to them, queen Chandravatí and her daughter Lávanyavatí,
in their terror, plunged into the middle of the wood. And the brave
king, armed with sword and shield, killed many of the Savaras, who came
towards him, raining arrows. Then the chief summoned the whole village,
and falling on the king, who stood there alone, they slashed his shield
to pieces and killed him; and then the host of bandits departed with
his ornaments. And queen Chandravatí, concealed in a thicket of the
wood, saw from a distance her husband slain: so in her bewilderment
she fled with her daughter, and they entered another dense forest a
long distance off. There they found that the shadows of the trees,
afflicted by the heat of midday, had laid themselves at their cool
roots, imitating travellers. So, tired and sad, the queen sat down
weeping with her daughter, in a spot on the bank of a lotus-lake,
under the shade of an asoka-tree.
In the meanwhile a chief, who lived near, came to that forest on
horseback, with his son, to hunt. He was named Chandasinha, and
when he saw their footsteps imprinted in the dust, he said to his
son Sinhaparákrama, "We will follow up these lovely and auspicious
tracks, and if we find the ladies to whom they belong, you shall