The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
them Vinítamati; and all her treasure was whelmed in the ocean.
But the sea lifted up the princess with a wave, as it were with an arm,
and flung her up alive in a forest on the shore, near the scene of
the shipwreck. To think that she should have fallen into the sea, and
that a towering wave should have landed her in a forest! Behold now,
how nothing is impossible to Destiny! Then she, in such a situation,
terrified and confused, seeing that she was alone in a solitary wood,
was again plunged in a sea, but this time it was the sea of grief. She
exclaimed, "Where have I arrived? Surely it is a very different place
from that for which I set out! Where too are those attendants of
mine? Where is Vinítamati? Why has this suddenly happened to me? Where
shall I go, ill-starred as I am? Alas! I am undone! What shall I
do? Cursed Fate, why did you rescue me from the sea? Ah! father! Ah,
mother! Ah, husband, son of the king of Alaká! Look; I am perishing
before I reach you; why do you not deliver me?" While uttering these
and similar exclamations, Mandáravatí wept copiously with tears that
resembled the pearls of a broken necklace.
And at that very time a hermit, named Matanga, came there from his
hermitage, which was not far off, to bathe in the sea. That sage,
who was accompanied by his daughter, named Yamuná, who had observed a
vow of virginity from her childhood, heard the sound of Mandáravatí's
weeping. And with his daughter he approached her kindly, and he saw
her, looking like a doe separated from a herd of deer, casting her
sorrowing eyes in every direction. And the great sage said to her with
an affectionate voice, "Who are you, and how did you get into this
wood, and why do you weep?" Then Mandáravatí, seeing that he was a
compassionate man, slowly recovered herself, and told him her story,
with face dejected from shame.
Then the hermit Matanga, after meditating, said to her, "Princess,
cease to despair; recover your composure! Though you are delicate
of body as a sirísha-flower, the calamity of sorrow afflicts you;
do misfortunes ever consider whether their victim is tender or
not? But you shall soon obtain the husband you desire; so come to
this hermitage of mine, which is at no great distance from this
place; and remain there with this daughter of mine as in your own
house." When the great hermit had comforted her with these words,
he bathed, and accompanied by his daughter, led Mandáravatí to his
hermitage. There she remained leading an ascetic life, longing to
meet her husband, delighting herself with waiting upon that sage,
accompanied by his daughter.
And in the meanwhile Sundarasena, who was emaciated with long
expectation, remained killing the time in Alaká, continually counting
the days, eager for his marriage with Mandáravatí, and his friend
Chandaprabha and the rest were trying to console him. And in course
of time, as the auspicious day drew nigh, his father, the king, made
preparations for his journey to Hansadvípa. And after prayers had
been offered for a prosperous journey, prince Sundarasena started
from his home on an auspicious day, shaking the earth with his armies.
And as he was marching along with his ministers, he reached in course
of time, to his delight, that city Sasánkapura, which adorned the
shore of the sea. There king Mahendráditya, hearing of his approach,
came to meet him, bowing humbly, and the prince entered the city with
his followers, and mounted on an elephant, he reached the palace
of the king. And as he went along, the splendour of his beauty
fluttered the hearts of the ladies of the city, as the hurricane
flutters the lotus-bed. In the palace, king Mahendráditya shewed him
every attention, and promised to accompany him: and so he rested
there that day. And he spent the night in such thoughts as these,
"Shall I ever get across the sea, and win that blushing bride?"
And next morning he left his army in that very city, and went with king
Mahendráditya to the shore of the sea. There he and his ministers,
together with that king, embarked on a large ship, that was well
supplied with food and water. And the prince made the small retinue,
that he could not help taking, embark on a second ship. Then the ship
was let go, and its flag fluttered in the wind, and those two kings,
who were in it, shaped their course towards the south-western quarter.
And after two or three days had passed, as they were sailing on the
sea, there suddenly arose a great hurricane. And the ranges of forest
on the shores of the sea shook to and fro, as if in astonishment at
the unprecedented character of the gale. And the waters of the sea,
inverted by the wind, were turned upside down, again and again, as
affections are by lapse of time. And an offering of jewels was made to
the sea accompanied by a loud cry of woe; and the pilots let loose the
sail and relaxed their efforts at the same time; and all excitedly
flung out very heavy stones on all sides, fastened by chains, and
flung away their hopes of life at the same time; and the two vessels,
driven to and fro by the waves, as elephants by elephant-drivers,
[443] wandered about in the sea, as if in the mêlée of a battle.
Then Sundarasena, beholding that, was moved from his seat, as if
from his self-command, [444] and said to king Mahendráditya, "It
is through my demerits in former births that this day of doom has
suddenly come upon you. So I cannot endure to witness it; I will fling
myself into the sea." When the prince had said this, he quickly girt
his upper garment round his loins, and flung himself then and there
into the sea. And when his five friends, Chandaprabha and the others,
saw that, they too flung themselves in, and Mahendráditya did the
same. And while, having recovered their presence of mind, they were
swimming across the ocean, they all went in different directions,
being separated by the force of the waves. And immediately the wind
fell, and the sea became hushed and calm, and bore the semblance of
a good man whose wrath is appeased. [445]
And in the meanwhile Sundarasena, with whom was Dridhabuddhi, found
a ship that had been driven from somewhere or other by the wind,
and with that minister of his as his only companion he climbed up on
it, as it were on a second swing of incertitude oscillating between
rescue and destruction. Then, having lost all courage, he drifted,
not knowing his bearings, looking on the whole world as made of water,
confiding in his god: and the ship, which was wafted along by a gentle
and favourable breeze, as if by a deity, carried him to the shore in
three days. There it stuck fast, and he and his companion sprang to
shore and to a hope of life at the same moment.
And when there, he recovered breath, and said to Dridhabuddhi; "I
have escaped even from the sea, from the infernal regions, though I
went below; but since I have not been able to do so without causing
the death of my ministers Vikramasakti, and Vyághraparákrama, and
Chandaprabha and Bhímabhuja, such fine fellows as they were, and also
of king Mahendráditya, who became without cause so good a friend to
me,--of all these,--how can I now live with honour?" When he said
this, his minister Dridhabuddhi said to him, "Prince, recover your
composure; I am persuaded that we shall have good fortune; for they
may perhaps make their way across the sea, as we have done. Who can
discern the mysterious way of Destiny?"
While Dridhabuddhi was saying this and other things of the same
kind, two hermits came there to bathe. The good men, seeing that the
prince was despondent, came up to him, and asked him his story, and
said kindly to him; "Wise sir, even the gods are not able to alter
the mighty influence of actions in a previous state of existence,
that bestow joy and sorrow. So a resolute man, who wishes to take
leave of sorrow, should practise right doing; for right doing is
the true remedy for it, not regrets, nor emaciation of the body. So
abandon despondency, and preserve your body by resolute endurance;
as long as the body is preserved, what object of human endeavour
cannot be attained? Moreover, you possess auspicious marks; you are
certain to enjoy prosperity." Saying this the hermits consoled him,
and took him to their hermitage.
And prince Sundarasena remained waiting there for some days,
accompanied by Dridhabuddhi.
And in the meanwhile his ministers Bhímabhuja and Vikramasakti,
having swum across the sea, reached the shore in a separate place. And
hoping that perhaps the prince might have escaped from the sea like
themselves, they entered that great forest, and searched for him
bewildered with grief. And his other two ministers, Chandaprabha and
Vyághraparákrama, and king Mahendráditya, in the same way escaped
from the sea, and sorrowfully sought for Sundarasena, and when they
did not find him, were afflicted; and at last they found their ship
unharmed and went to Sasánkapura. Then those two ministers, and the
army that had been left in that city, hearing what had happened,
[446] went weeping to their own city Alaká. And when they arrived
without the prince, lamenting their loss, the citizens wept, and
one universal wail was heard in the city. When king Mahásena and
his queen heard that news of their son, they were in such a state
that they would have died, if it were not that their allotted term
of life had not yet expired. And when the king and the queen were
bent on suicide, the ministers dissuaded them with various speeches,
which gave them reasons for entertaining hope. Then the king remained
in a temple of Svayambhú [447] outside the town, engaged in asceticism
with his attendants, enquiring for news of his son.
And in the meanwhile king Mandáradeva, in Hansadvípa, heard the
news of the shipwreck of his daughter, and of that of his proposed
son-in-law. And he also came to know that his son-in-law's two
ministers had arrived in Alaká, and that king Mahásena there
was keeping himself alive by hope, being engaged in practising
austerities. Then that king also, who was afflicted by grief for the
loss of his daughter, and was only prevented by his ministers from
committing suicide, entrusted to them the care of his kingdom, and
with the queen Kandarpasená went to the city of Alaká to visit king
Mahásena, who was his partner in misfortune. And he made up his mind
that he would do whatever that king did, as soon as he had trustworthy
intelligence with regard to the fate of his son. And so he came to
king Mahásena, who was still more grieved when he heard of the fate
of Mandáravatí, and sorrowed in sympathy with him. Then that king of
Hansadvípa remained practising austerities with the king of Alaká,
restraining his senses, eating little, sleeping on darbha-grass.
When they had been all scattered in this way in different directions
by the Disposer, as leaves by a wind, it happened that Sundarasena set
forth from the hermitage in which he was, and reached that hermitage
of Matanga, in which Mandáravatí was staying. There he beheld a lake
of clear water, the bank of which was thickly planted with trees bent
down with the weight of many ripe fruits of various flavours. As he was
weary, he bathed in that lake, and ate sweet fruits, and then walked
on with Dridhabuddhi, and reached a forest stream. And going along
its bank, he saw some hermit maidens engaged in gathering flowers
near a temple containing a Linga. And in the midst of them he beheld
one hermit maiden, who seemed to be the peerless beauty of the world,
illuminating the whole wood with her loveliness, as if with moonlight,
making all the regions full of blown blue lilies with her glance,
and sowing with her foot-falls a thicket of lotuses in the forest.
Then the prince said to Dridhabuddhi, "Who can this be? Can she be a