The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
Rákshasa came and laid hold of him. The king exclaimed, "This is
the gentleman that comes and eats the heads of the police at night,"
and laying hold of that Rákshasa by the hair, he prepared to slay him.
Then the Rákshasa said "King, do not slay me under a false
impression! There is another creature in this neighbourhood that eats
the heads of the police." The king said, "Tell me! who is it?" and
the Rákshasa continued, "There is in this neighbourhood an Asura of
the name of Angáraka, whose home is in Pátála. He it is that eats your
police-officers at the dead of night, O smiter of your foes. Moreover,
prince, he carries off by force the daughters of kings from every
quarter, and makes them attend on his daughter Angáravatí. If you see
him roaming about in the forest, slay him, and attain your object in
that way."
When the Rákshasa had said this, the king let him go, and returned
to his palace. And one day he went out to hunt. And in the place
where he was hunting he saw a monstrous boar, with eyes red with
fury, looking like a piece of the mountain of Antimony fallen from
heaven. The king said to himself, "Such a creature cannot be a real
boar, I wonder whether it is the Asura Angáraka that has the power
of disguising himself:" so he smote the boar with shafts. But the
boar recked not of his shafts, and overturning his chariot, entered
a wide opening in the earth.
But the heroic king entered after him, and did not see that boar,
but saw in front of him a splendid castle. And he sat down on the bank
of a lake, and saw there a maiden with a hundred others attending on
her, looking like an incarnation of Rati. She came up to him and asked
him the reason of his coming there, and having conceived an affection
for him, said to him, looking at him with tearful eyes; "Alas! What a
place have you entered! That boar that you saw, was really a Daitya,
Angáraka by name, of adamantine frame and vast strength. At present
he has abandoned the form of a boar and is sleeping, as he is tired,
but when the time for taking food comes, he will wake up and do you
a mischief. And I, fair sir, am his daughter, Angáravatí by name;
and fearing that some misfortune may befall you, I feel as if my life
were in my throat."
When she said this to the king, he, remembering the boon that the
goddess Chandí had given him, felt that he had now a good hope of
accomplishing his object, and answered her, "If you have any love for
me, do this which I tell you: when your father awakes, go and weep
at his side, and when he asks you the reason, say, fair one, 'Father,
if any one were to kill you in your reckless daring, what would become
of me?' If you do this, you will ensure the happiness of both of us."
When the king said this to her, she went, bewildered with love,
and sat down and wept at the side of her father who had woke up;
and when he asked her the cause of her weeping, she told him how she
was afraid that some one would slay him. [614] Then the Daitya said
to her, "Why, who can slay me who am of adamantine frame? the only
vulnerable and vital point I have is in my left hand, and that the
bow protects." This speech of his was heard by the king, who was at
the time concealed near.
Then the Daitya bathed and proceeded to worship Siva. At that moment
the king appeared with his bow strung, and challenged to mortal combat
the Daitya, who was observing religious silence. The Daitya lifted
up his left hand, his right hand being engaged, and made a sign to
the king to wait a little. That very moment the king smote him in
that hand, which was his vital point, with a well-aimed arrow, and
the Daitya fell on the earth. And just before he expired, he said,
"If that man who has thus slain me when thirsty, does not every year
offer water to my manes, his five ministers shall perish." The Daitya
being thus slain, the king took his daughter Angáravatí, and returned
to this city of Ujjayiní.
"And after that king, your father, had married that queen, he used
every year to have an offering of water made to the manes of Angáraka;
and all here celebrate the feast called the giving of water; and to-day
it has come round; so do, king, what your father did before you."
Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of the Mátanga who
turned out to be a Vidyádharí.
"When king Pálaka heard this speech of his subjects', he proceeded
to set going in that city the festival of the giving of water. When
the festival had begun, and the people had their attention occupied
by it, and were engaged in shouting, suddenly an infuriated elephant,
that had broken its fastenings, rushed in among them. That elephant,
having got the better of its driving-hook, and shaken off its
driver, roamed about in the city, and killed very many men in a
short time. Though the elephant-keepers ran forward, accompanied by
professional elephant-drivers, and the citizens also, no man among
them was able to control that elephant. At last, in the course of
its wanderings, the elephant reached the quarter of the Chandálas,
and there came out from it a Chandála maiden. She illuminated the
ground with the beauty of the lotus that seemed to cling to her feet,
delighted because she surpassed with the loveliness of her face the
moon its enemy. [615] She looked like the night that gives rest to
the eyes of the world, because its attention is diverted from other
objects, and so it remains motionless at that time. [616]
That maiden struck that mighty elephant, that came towards her,
with her hand, on its trunk; and smote it with those sidelong looks
askance of hers. The elephant was fascinated with the touch of her
hand and penetrated with her glance, and remained with head bent down,
gazing at her, and never moved a step. [617] Then that fair lady made
a swing with her upper garment, which she fastened to its tusks, and
climbed up and got into it, and amused herself with swinging. Then
the elephant, seeing that she felt the heat, went into the shade of a
tree; and the citizens, who were present, seeing this great wonder,
exclaimed, "Ah! This is some glorious heavenly maiden, who charms
even animals by her power, which is as transcendent as her beauty."
And in the meanwhile the prince Avantivardhana, hearing of it,
came out to see the wonderful sight, and beheld that maiden. As he
gazed, the deer of his heart ran into that net of the hunter Love,
and was entangled by it. She too, when she saw him, her heart being
charmed by his beauty, came down from that swing, which she had put
up on the elephant's tusks, and took her upper garment. Then a driver
mounted the elephant, and she went home, looking at the prince with
an expression of shame and affection.
And Avantivardhana, for his part, the disturbance caused by the
elephant having come to an end, went home to his palace with his
bosom empty, his heart having been stolen from it by her. And when
he got home, he was tortured by no longer seeing that lovely maiden,
and forgetting the feast of the giving of water, which had begun, he
said to his companions, "Do you know whose daughter that maiden is,
and what her name is?" When his friends heard that, they said to him,
"There is a certain Mátanga [618] in the quarter of the Chandálas,
named Utpalahasta, and she is his daughter, Suratamanjarí by name. Her
lovely form can give pleasure to the good [619] only by being looked
at, like that of a pictured beauty, but cannot be touched without
pollution." When the prince heard that from his friends, he said
to them, "I do not think she can be the daughter of a Mátanga,
she is certainly some heavenly maiden; for a Chandála maiden would
never possess such a beautiful form. Lovely as she is, if she does
not become my wife, what is the profit of my life?" So the prince
continued to say, and his ministers could not check him, but he was
exceedingly afflicted with the fire of separation from her.
Then queen Avantivatí and king Pálaka, his parents, having heard that,
were for a long time quite bewildered. The queen said, "How comes it
that our son, though born in a royal family, has fallen in love with
a girl of the lowest [620] caste?" Then king Pálaka said, "Since the
heart of our son is thus inclined, it is clear that she is really
a girl of another caste, who for some reason or other has fallen
among the Mátangas. The minds of the good tell them by inclination
or aversion what to do and what to avoid. In illustration of this,
queen, listen to the following tale, if you have not already heard it."
Story of the young Chandála who married the daughter of king
Prasenajit. [621]
Long ago king Prasenajit, in a city named Supratishthita, had a very
beautiful daughter named Kurangí. One day she went out into the garden,
and an elephant, that had broken from its fastenings, charged her,
and flung her up on his tusks litter and all. Her attendants dispersed
shrieking, but a young Chandála snatched up a sword and ran towards
the elephant. The brave fellow cut off the trunk of that great elephant
with a sword-stroke, and killed it, and so delivered the princess. Then
her retinue came together again, and she returned to her palace with
her heart captivated by the great courage and striking good looks
of the young Chandála. And she remained in a state of despondency at
being separated from him, saying to herself, "Either I must have that
man who delivered me from the elephant for a husband, or I must die."
The young Chandála, for his part, went home slowly, and having his
mind captivated by the princess, was tortured by thinking on her. He
said to himself, "What a vast gulf is fixed between me, a man of the
lowest caste, and that princess! How can a crow and a female swan ever
unite? The idea is so ridiculous that I cannot mention it or consider
it, so, in this difficulty, death is my only resource." After the
young man had gone through these reflections, he went at night to
the cemetery, and bathed, and made a pyre, and lighting the flame
thus prayed to it, "O thou purifying fire, Soul of the Universe, may
that princess be my wife hereafter in a future birth, in virtue of
this offering up of myself as a sacrifice to thee!" When he had said
this, he prepared to fling himself into the fire, but the Fire-god,
pleased with him, appeared in visible shape before him, and said to
him, "Do not act rashly, for she shall be thy wife, for thou art not
a Chandála by birth, and what thou art I will tell thee, listen!
"There is in this city a distinguished Bráhman of the name of
Kapilasarman; in his fire-chamber I dwell in visible bodily shape. One
day his maiden daughter came near me, and smitten with her beauty, I
made her my wife, inducing her to forego her objections by promising
her immunity from disgrace. And thou, my son, wert immediately born
to her by virtue of my power, and she thereupon, out of shame, flung
thee away in the open street; there thou wast found by some Chandálas
and reared on goat's milk. [622] So thou art my son, born to me by
a Bráhman lady. Therefore thou canst not be deemed impure, as thou
art my son; and thou shalt obtain that princess Kurangí for a wife."
When the god of fire had said this, he disappeared, and the Mátanga's
adopted child was delighted, and conceived hope, and so went home. Then
king Prasenajit, having been urged by the god in a dream, investigated
the case, and finding out the truth, gave his daughter to the son of
the Fire-god.
"Thus, queen, there are always to be found heavenly beings in disguise
upon the earth, and you may be assured Suratamanjarí is not a woman of
the lowest caste, but a celestial nymph. For such a pearl, as she is,
must belong to some other race than that of the Mátangas, and without
doubt she was the beloved of my son in a former birth, and this is