The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
on the earth that does not honour me? [437] But if your youth and
other advantages render you so proud now, it is certain that, if you
obtain for a wife that ornament of the world, the maiden Mandáravatí,
the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa, you will be too much puffed
up with arrogance to listen to the speech of Siva, [438] the great
Indra, and other gods, much less to the words of wretched men."
When the ascetic had said this, Sundarasena, being full of curiosity,
called her to him, and bent before her and propitiated her. And being
anxious to question her, he sent her under the care of his servants
to rest in the house of his minister Vikramasakti. Then the prince
went off, and after he had enjoyed the sport of hunting, he returned
to his palace, and said his daily prayers, and took his food, and
then he sent for the ascetic, and put the following question to her,
"Reverend mother, who is this maiden named Mandáravatí, that you
spoke of to-day? Tell me, for I feel great curiosity about her."
When the ascetic heard this, she said to him, "Listen, I will tell you
the whole story. I am in the habit of wandering about the whole of this
earth and the islands, for the sake of visiting sacred bathing-places
and other holy spots. And in the course of my travels I happened
to visit Hansadvípa. There I saw the daughter of king Mandáradeva,
a suitable match for the sons of gods, not to be beheld by those
who have done evil works; she bears the name of Mandáravatí, and
has a form as charming as the presiding goddess of the garden of the
gods; the sight of her kindles love, and she seems like another moon
all composed of nectar, created by the Disposer. There is no other
beauty on the earth equal to hers; [439] only you, prince, I think,
emulate her wealth of loveliness. As for those who have not seen her,
their eyes are useless, and they have been born in vain."
When the prince heard this from the mouth of the female ascetic, he
said, "Mother, how are we to get a sight of her beauty, which is so
surpassing?" When the female ascetic heard this speech of his, she
said, "I took such interest in her on that occasion that I painted
a picture of her on canvas; and I have it with me in a bag; if you
feel any curiosity about it, look at it." When she had said this,
she took the picture of the lady out of the bag, and shewed it to
the gratified prince. And Sundarasena, when he beheld that maiden,
who, though she was present there only in a picture, seemed to be of
romantic beauty, and like a flowing forth of joy, immediately felt
his limbs covered all over with hairs erect from horripilation, as if
he had been pierced with the dense arrows of the god of the flowery
bow. [440] He remained motionless, hearing nothing, speaking nothing,
seeing nothing; and with his whole heart fixed on her, was for a long
time as if painted in a picture.
When the prince's ministers saw that, they said to that female ascetic,
"Reverend mother, paint prince Sundarasena on this piece of canvas,
and let us have a specimen of your skill in catching likenesses." The
moment she heard that, she painted the prince on canvas. And when they
saw that it was a striking likeness, all, who were present there, said,
"The reverend lady's likenesses exactly resemble the originals, for
when one looks at this picture, one thinks that one sees the prince
himself; so the beauty of the princess Mandáravatí is sure to be such
as it is represented in the picture."
When the ministers had said this, prince Sundarasena took the two
pictures, and being pleased, honoured that female ascetic. And he
dismissed with appropriate honours that dweller in a lonely spot. And
he entered the inner part of the palace, carrying with him the picture
of his beloved. He flung himself on a bed and said to himself "Can
this be my charmer's face, or a moon that has purged away the spot
that defiles its beauty?" [441] In this way he remained examining
Mandáravatí, limb by limb, though he had only her painted form before
him: and in this state he continued every day, abstaining from meat and
drink; and so in the course of a few days he was completely exhausted
by the pain of love's fever.
When his parents, Sasiprabhá and Mahásena, found that out, they
came of their own accord and asked his friends the cause of his
indisposition. And his companions told them the whole story, as it had
happened, how the daughter of the king of Hansadvípa had come to be the
cause of his complaint. Then Mahásena said to Sundarasena, "My son, why
do you so improperly conceal this attachment of yours? For Mandáravatí
is a pearl of maidens, and she will be a good match for you. Besides,
her father Mandáradeva is a great friend of mine. So why do you torment
yourself about a matter of this kind, which is quite becoming, and
can be easily arranged by an ambassador?" When king Mahásena had said
this, he deliberated, and sent off an ambassador named Surathadeva
to Hansadvípa, to ask for the daughter of king Mandáradeva. And he
put into his hand the portrait of Sundarasena, executed on canvas by
that female ascetic, which shewed how wonderfully handsome he was.
The ambassador travelled quickly, and reached the city of king
Mahendráditya on the shore of the sea, named Sasánkapura. There
he embarked on a ship, and after some days he reached the palace
of king Mandáradeva in Hansadvípa. He was announced by the wardens
and entered the palace, and saw that king, and after he had in due
form delivered to him the present, he said to him, "Great monarch,
king Mahásena sends you this message, 'Give your daughter to my son
Sundarasena; for a female ascetic, of the name of Kátyáyaní, made a
portrait of her, and brought it here, and shewed it to my son, as the
picture of a pearl of maidens. And as Sundarasena's beauty so nearly
resembled hers, I felt a desire to have his form painted on canvas
also, and herewith I send the picture. Look at it. Moreover, my son,
who is of such astonishing beauty, does not wish to be married,
unless he can find a wife that resembles him, and nobody but your
daughter is a match for him in appearance.' This is the message the
king entrusted to me, when he put this portrait into my hand; look
at it, king, let the spring-flower creeper be united to the spring."
When the king heard this speech of the ambassador's, he was delighted,
and he sent for his daughter Mandáravatí and the queen her mother. And
in their company he opened and looked at that portrait, and immediately
he ceased to cherish the proud thought, that there was no fitting match
for his daughter on the earth. And he said, "My daughter's beauty will
not have been created in vain, if she is united to this prince. She
does not look her best without him, nor is he complete without her;
what is the lotus-bed without the swan, and what is the swan without
the lotus-bed?"
When the king said this, and the queen expressed her complete
approbation of it, Mandáravatí suddenly became bewildered with
love. She remained with her wide expanded eyes immoveably fixed on the
picture, as if possessed, as if asleep, (though she was wide awake,)
as if herself a painting. Then Mandáradeva, seeing his daughter in
that state, consented to give her in marriage, and he honoured that
ambassador.
And on the next day the king sent off his counter-ambassador, who was
a Bráhman named Kumáradatta, to king Mahásena. And he said to the two
ambassadors, "Go quickly to that king Mahásena, the lord of Alaká,
and say to him from me, 'I give you my daughter out of friendship;
so tell me, will your son come here, or shall I send my daughter to
you?'" When the two ambassadors had received this message from the
king, they immediately started off together on the sea in a ship;
and they reached Sasánkapura, and thence they travelled by land, and
reached that opulent city of Alaká, which seemed like the original
Alaká. [442] They went to the king's palace, and entered it with
the usual courtesies, and saw king Mahásena who welcomed them. And
they told that king the answer which Mandáradeva entrusted to them;
and when the king heard it, he was pleased, and shewed both of them
great honour.
Then the king found out the star, under which the princess was born,
from her father's ambassador; and he asked his astrologers when a
favourable time would arrive for the marriage of his son. And they
answered that an auspicious time would present itself in three months
for bridegroom and bride, on the fifth day of the white fortnight
of the month Kártika. And so the king of Alaká informed Mandáradeva
that the marriage ought to take place on that day, and that he would
send his son, and this he wrote in a letter, and committed it to the
care of the ambassador Kumáradatta, and another ambassador of his own
named Chandrasvámin. So the ambassadors departed, and gave the letter
as they were directed, and told the king of Hansadvípa all that had
taken place. The king approved, and after honouring Chandrasvámin,
the ambassador of Mahásena, he sent him back to his master. And he
returned to Alaká, and reported that the business was satisfactorily
settled; and then all on both sides remained eagerly expecting the
auspicious day.
And in the meanwhile Mandáravatí in Hansadvípa, who had long ago
fallen in love with the prince from seeing his picture, thought
that the auspicious day for the marriage was a long way off, and
felt unable to endure so much delay; and being affectionate, she
became desperately enamoured, and was grievously tormented with the
fire of love. And in the eager longing of her heart for Sundarasena,
even the anointing with sandal-wood ointment became a shower of hot
coals on her body, and a bed of lotus-leaves was to her a bed of hot
sand, and the rays of the moon seemed like the scorching points of
flame of a forest conflagration. She remained silent, avoiding food,
adopting a vow of loneliness; and when her confidante questioned
her in her anxiety, she was at last, with difficulty, induced to
make the following avowal; "My friend, my marriage is far off, and I
cannot bear to wait for the time, separated from my intended husband,
the son of the king of Alaká. Distant is the time, and the place, and
various is the course of Fate; so who knows what will happen to any one
here in the meantime? So I had better die." Saying this, Mandáravatí,
being sick with separation, passed immediately into a miserable state.
When her father and mother heard that from the mouth of her confidante,
and saw her in such a condition, they deliberated with the ministers,
and came to the following conclusion, "That king Mahásena, the
sovereign of Alaká, is on good terms with us, and the princess
Mandáravatí is unable to endure the delay here, so why should we feel
any delicacy about it? Happen what will, let us send her to Alaká,
for when she is near her beloved, she will be able patiently to endure
the delay." When king Mandáradeva had gone through these deliberations,
he comforted his daughter Mandáravatí, and made her embark on a ship
with wealth and attendants, and after her mother had recited a prayer
for her good fortune, he sent her off from Hansadvípa by sea on an
auspicious day, to travel to Alaká, in order that she might be married
there; and he sent with her a minister of his own, named Vinítamati.
And after the princess, travelling in a ship on the ocean, had left
Hansadvípa some days' sail behind her, there suddenly rose up against
her a roaring cloud, as it were a bandit, showering raindrops like
arrows, that sang terribly in the whistling wind. And the gale, like
mighty fate, in a moment dragged her ship to a distance, and smote it,
and broke it in pieces. And those attendants were drowned, and among