The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
were renewed. And so the monarch established himself in that city of
Ayodhyá with his ministers, and kings came from various quarters to
worship the lotus of his foot, and he long enjoyed with his beloved
Sasánkavatí pleasures the joy of which no enemy marred. [501]
When the hermit Pisangajata had told this story in the wood on the
Malaya mountain to Naraváhanadatta, who was separated from his beloved,
he went on to say to him, "So, my son, as Mrigánkadatta in old time
gained Sasánkavatí after enduring affliction, you also will regain
your Madanamanchuká." When Naraváhanadatta had heard this nectarous
utterance of the mighty hermit Pisangajata, he conceived in his heart
the hope of regaining Madanamanchuká. And with his mind fixed on her,
he took leave of that good hermit, and roamed about on the Malaya
mountain, looking for Lalitalochaná, whom he had lost, the fair one
that originally brought him there.
BOOK XIII.
CHAPTER CIV.
May that Ganesa, whom, when dancing in the twilight intervals between
the Yugas, all the worlds seem to imitate by rising and falling,
protect you!
May the blaze of the eye in the forehead of Siva, who is smeared with
the beautiful red dye used by Gaurí for adorning her feet, befriend
you for your happiness!
We adore the goddess Sarasvatí, taking form as speech to our heart's
delight, the bee that dwells in the lotus on the lake of the mighty
poet's mind. [502]
Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, afflicted with
separation, being without Madanamanchuká, roamed about on those lower
slopes of mount Malaya, and in its bordering forests, which were
in all the beauty of spring, but found joy nowhere. The cluster of
mango-blossoms, though in itself soft, yet seeming, on account of the
bees [503] that settled on it, like the pliant bow of the god of Love,
cleft his heart. And the song of the cuckoo, though sweet in itself,
was hard to bear, and gave pain to his ears, as it seemed to be harsh
with the reproachful utterances of Mára. [504] And the wind of the
Malaya mountain, though in itself cool, yet being yellow with the
pollen of flowers, and so looking like the fire of Cupid, seemed to
burn him, when it fell on his limbs. So he slowly left that region,
being, so to speak, drummed out of it by those groves that were all
resonant with the hum of bees.
And gradually, as he journeyed on, with the deity for his guide, by a
path that led towards the Ganges, he reached the bank of a lake in a
neighbouring wood. And there he beheld two young Bráhmans of handsome
appearance, sitting at the foot of a tree, engaged in unrestrained
conversation. And when they saw him, they thought he was the god of
Love, and they rose up, and bowing before him, said, "All hail to thee,
adorable god of the flowery bow! Tell us why thou wanderest here alone
without that fragrant artillery of thine, and where is that Rati thy
constant companion?" When the son of the king of Vatsa heard that,
he said to those Bráhmans, "I am not the god Káma, I am a mere mortal;
but I have indeed lost my Rati." [505] When the prince had said this,
he told his history, and said to those Bráhmans, "Who are you, and of
what kind is this talk that you two are carrying on here?" Then one
of those young Bráhmans said to him respectfully, "King, how can we
tell our secret in the presence of a man of your worth? Nevertheless,
out of respect for your command, I will tell our history; give ear!"
The first Bráhman's story.
There is in the territory of Kalinga a city of the name of Sobhávatí,
which has never been entered by the demon Kali, nor touched by
evildoers, nor seen by a foreign foe: such has it been made by the
Creator. In it there was a wise and rich Bráhman, of the name of
Yasaskara, who had offered many sacrifices, and he had an excellent
wife named Mekhalá. I was born to them as an only son, when they were
already in middle life, and I was in due course reared up by them,
and invested with the sacrificial thread.
Then, while as a boy I was studying the Vedas, there arose a mighty
famine in that land, owing to drought. So my father and my mother went
off with me to a city named Visálá, taking with them their wealth and
their servants. In that city, in which fortune and learning dwelt
together, having laid aside their long feud, my father established
himself, having had a house given him by a merchant, who was a friend
of his. And I dwelt there in the house of my preceptor, engaged in
the acquisition of learning, in the society of my fellow-students of
equal age.
And among them I had a friend, a promising young man of the military
caste, Vijayasena by name, the son of a very rich Kshatriya. And
one day the unmarried sister of that friend of mine, whose name was
Madirávatí, came with him to my teacher's house. So beautiful was
she that I feel convinced that the Creator made the orb of the moon,
that is like nectar to the eyes of men, out of the overflowing of
the perfect loveliness of her face. I ween, the god of Love, when
he beheld her form, which was to him a sixth weapon, bewildering the
world, valued but little his other five shafts. When I saw her, and
heard from that friend her name and descent, I was at once overpowered
by Love's potent sway, and my mind was altogether fixed upon her. And
she, for her part, looked askance at me with modest loving eye, and
the down standing erect on her cheeks told that love had begun to
sprout. And after she had remained there a long time on the pretext of
play, she at last tore herself away and went home, sending to me from
the reverted corner of her eye a look that was a messenger of love.
Then I went home, grieved at having to part with her, and throwing
myself flat, I tossed up and down convulsively like a fish on dry
land. I said to myself, "Shall I ever again behold her face, which
is the Creator's storehouse of all the nectar of beauty? Happy are
her companions [506] whom she looks at with that laughing eye, and
talks freely to with that mouth." Engaged in such thoughts as these,
I with difficulty got through that day and night, and on the second
day I went to the house of my teacher.
There my friend Vijayasena approached me courteously, and in the course
of a confidential conversation, said to me joyfully, "My mother has
heard from my sister Madirávatí that you are so great a friend of mine,
and being full of love for you, she wishes to behold you; so, if you
have any regard for me, come with me to our house; let it be adorned
for us with the dust of your lotus-like foot." This speech of his was
a sudden refreshment to me, as an unexpected heavy shower of rain is
to a traveller in the desert. So I consented, and went to his house,
and there I had an interview with his mother, and was welcomed by her,
and remained there gladdened by beholding my beloved.
Then Vijayasena, having been summoned by his father, left me, and the
foster-sister of Madirávatí came to me, and said, bowing before me,
"Prince, the princess Madirávatí trained up to maturity in our garden
a jasmine creeper; and it has recently produced a splendid crop of
flowers, which laugh and gleam with joyous exultation at being united
with the spring. To-day the princess herself has gathered its buds, in
defiance of the bees that settled on the flowers; and she has threaded
them, like pearls, into a necklace, and she sends this to you her old
friend as a new present." When that dexterous girl had said this, she
gave me the garland, and with it leaves of the betel, together with
camphor and the five fruits. So I threw round my neck the garland,
which my beloved had made with her own hand, and I enjoyed exceeding
pleasure, surpassing the joy of many embraces. [507] And putting
the betel into my mouth, I said to that dear companion of hers,
"What can I say more than this, my good girl? I have in my heart
such intense love for your companion, that, if I could sacrifice
my life for her, I should consider that it had not been given me in
vain; for she is the sovereign of my being." When I had said this,
I dismissed her, and I went to my teacher's house with Vijayasena,
who had that moment come in.
The next day Vijayasena came with Madirávatí to our house, to the great
delight [508] of my parents. So the love of myself and Madirávatí,
though carefully concealed, increased every day from being in one
another's society.
And one day a servant of Madirávatí's said to me in secret, "Listen,
noble sir, and lay up [509] in your heart what I am going to tell
you. Ever since my darling Madirávatí beheld you there in your
teacher's house, she has no appetite for her food, she does not adorn
herself, she takes no pleasure in music, she does not play with her
parrots and other pets; she finds that fanning with plantain leaves,
and moist anointings with sandal-wood ointment, and the rays of the
moon, though cool as snow, torture her with heat; and every day she
grows perceptibly thinner, like the streak of the moon in the black
fortnight, and the only thing that seems to give her any relief is
conversation about you; this is what my daughter told me, who knows
all that she does, who attends her like a shadow, and never leaves
her side. Moreover, I drew Madirávatí herself into a confidential
conversation, and questioned her, and she confessed to me that her
affections were fixed on you. So now, auspicious sir, if you wish
her life to be saved, take steps to have her wishes fulfilled." This
nectarous speech of hers delighted me, and I said, "That altogether
depends on you, I am completely at your disposal." When she heard
this, she returned delighted, and I, relying on her, conceived hopes,
and went home with my mind at ease.
The next day an influential young Kshatriya came from Ujjayiní and
asked Madirávatí's father for her hand. And her father promised to
give him his daughter; and I heard that news, terrible to my ears,
from her attendants. Then I was for a long time amazed, as if fallen
from heaven, as if struck with a thunderbolt, as if possessed by
a demon. But I recovered, and said to myself, "What is the use of
bewilderment now? I will wait and see the end. It is the self-possessed
man that gains his desire."
Buoyed up by such hopes I passed some days, and my beloved one's
companions came to me and supported me by telling me what she said;
but at last Madirávatí was informed that the auspicious moment had
been fixed, and the day of her marriage arrived celebrated with
great rejoicings. So she was shut up in her father's house, and
prevented from roaming about at will, and the processional entry of
the bridegroom's friends drew nigh, heralded by the sound of drums.
When I saw that, I considered that my miserable life had lost all its
zest, and came to the conclusion that death was to be preferred to
separation; so I went outside the city, and climbed up a banyan-tree,
and fastened a noose to it, and I let myself drop from the tree
suspended by that noose, and let go at the same time my chimerical
hope of obtaining my beloved. And a moment afterwards I found myself,
having recovered the consciousness which I had lost, lying in the
lap of a young man who had cut the noose; and perceiving that he had
without doubt saved my life, I said to him, "Noble sir, you have to-day
shewn your compassionate nature; but I am tortured by separation from
my beloved and I prefer death to life. The moon is like fire to me,
food is poison, songs pierce my ear like needles, a garden is a prison,
a wreath of flowers is a series of envenomed shafts, and anointing
with sandal-wood ointment and other unguents is a rain of burning
coals. Tell me, friend, what pleasure can wretched bereaved ones,
like myself, to whom everything in the world is turned upside down,
find in life?"