The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
proved by his falling in love with her at first sight." When king
Pálaka said this in our presence, I proceeded to relate the following
story about a man of the fisher-caste.
Story of the young fisher man who married a princess.
Long ago there lived in Rájagriha a king named Malayasinha, and he had
a daughter named Máyávatí of matchless beauty. One day a young man of
the fisher-caste, named Suprahára, who was in the bloom of youth and
good looks, saw her as she was amusing herself in a spring-garden. The
moment he saw her, he was overpowered by love; for destiny never
considers whether a union is possible or impossible. So he went home,
and abandoning his occupation of catching fish, he took to his bed, and
refused to eat, thinking only on the princess. And when persistently
questioned, he told his wish to his mother named Rakshitiká, and she
said to her son, "My son, abandon your despondency, and take food;
I will certainly compass this your end for you by my ingenuity."
When she said this to him, he was consoled, and cherished hopes,
and took food; and his mother went to the palace of the princess
with fish from the lake. [623] There that fisher-wife was announced
by the maids, and went in, on the pretext of paying her respects,
and gave the princess that present of fish. And in this way she
came regularly day after day, and made the princess a present, and
so gained her goodwill, and made her desirous of speaking. And the
pleased princess said to the fisher-wife, "Tell me what you wish me
to do; I will do it, though it be ever so difficult."
Then the fisher-wife begged that her boldness might be pardoned, and
said in secret to the princess, "Royal lady, my son has seen you in
a garden, and is tortured by the thought that he cannot be near you;
and I can only manage to prevent his committing suicide by holding
out hopes to him; so, if you feel any pity for me, restore my son to
life by touching him." When the princess was thus entreated by the
fisher-wife, hesitating between shame and a desire to oblige, after
reflection, she said to her, "Bring your son to my palace secretly
at night." When the fisher-wife heard this, she went in high spirits
to her son.
And when night came, she deliberately adorned her son as well as she
could, and brought him to the private apartments of the princess. There
the princess took Suprahára, who had pined for her so long, by the
hand, and affectionately welcomed him, and made him lie down on a
sofa, and comforted him whose limbs were withered by the fire of
separation, by shampooing him with her hand, the touch of which was
cool as sandal-wood. And the fisher-boy was thereby, as it were,
bedewed with nectar, and thinking that after long waiting he had
attained his desire, he took his rest, and was suddenly seized by
sleep. And when he was asleep, the princess escaped, and slept in
another room, having thus pleased the fisher-boy, and having avoided
being disgraced through him.
Then that son of the fisher-folk woke up, owing to the cessation of
the touch of her hand, and not seeing his beloved, who had thus come
within his grasp, and again vanished, like a pot of treasure in the
case of a very poor man, who is despondent for its loss, he was reft
of all hope, and his breath at once left his body. When the princess
found that out, she came there, and blamed herself, and made up her
mind to ascend the funeral pyre with him next morning.
Then her father, king Malayasinha, heard of it, and came there, and
finding that she could not be turned from her resolve, he rinsed his
mouth, and spake this speech; "If I am really devoted to the three-eyed
god of gods, tell me, ye guardians of the world, what it is my duty
to do." When the king said this, a heavenly voice answered him, "Thy
daughter was in a former life the wife of this son of the fisher-folk.
"For, long ago, there lived in a village, called Nágasthala, a virtuous
Bráhman of the name of Baladhara, the son of Mahídhara. When his father
had gone to heaven, he was robbed of his wealth by his relations,
and being disgusted with the world, he went with his wife to the
bank of the Ganges. While he was remaining there without food, in
order to abandon the body, he saw some fishermen eating fish, and
his hunger made him long for it in his heart. So he died with his
mind polluted by that desire, but his wife kept her aspirations pure,
and continuing firm in penance, followed him in death. [624]
"That very Bráhman, owing to that pollution of his desires, has
been born in the fisher-caste. But his wife, who remained firm in
her asceticism, has been born as thy daughter, O king. So let this
blameless daughter of thine, by the gift of half her life, [625] raise
up this dead youth, who was her husband in a former life. For, owing
to the might of her asceticism, this youth, who was thus purified by
the splendour of that holy bathing-place, shall become thy son-in-law,
and a king."
When the king had been thus addressed by the divine voice, he gave
his daughter in marriage to that youth Suprahára, who recovered his
life by the gift of half hers. And Suprahára became a king by means
of the land, elephants, horses, and jewels, which his father-in-law
gave him, and, having obtained his daughter as a wife, lived the life
of a successful man.
Story of the Merchant's daughter who fell in love with a thief. [626]
"In this way a connexion in a former birth usually produces affection
in embodied beings; moreover, in illustration of this truth, listen
to the following story about a thief."
In Ayodhyá there lived of old time a king named Vírabáhu, who always
protected his subjects as if they were his own children. And one
day the citizens of his capital came to him and said, "King, some
thieves plunder this city every night, and though we keep awake for
the purpose, we cannot detect them." When the king heard that, he
placed scouts in the city at night to keep watch. But they did not
catch the thieves and the mischief did not abate. Accordingly the
king went out himself at night to investigate the matter.
And as he was wandering about in every direction, alone, sword in hand,
he saw a man going along on the top of the rampart; he seemed to tread
lightly out of fear; his eyes rolled rapidly like those of a crow;
and he looked round like a lion, frequently turning his neck. He was
rendered visible by the steel-gleams that flashed from his naked
sword, which seemed like binding ropes sent forth to steal those
jewels which men call stars. [627] And the king said to himself;
"I am quite certain that this man is a thief; no doubt he sallies
out alone and plunders this my city."
Having come to this conclusion, the wily monarch went up to the
thief; and the thief said to him with some trepidation, "Who are you,
Sir?" Then the king said to him, "I am a desperate robber, whose many
vices make him hard to keep; [628] tell me in turn, who you are." The
thief answered, "I am a robber, that goes out to plunder alone; and
I have great wealth; so come to my house: I will satisfy your longing
for riches." When the thief made him this promise, the king said, "So
be it," and went with him to his dwelling, which was in an underground
excavation. It was inhabited by beautiful women, it gleamed with many
jewels, it was full of ever new delights, and seemed like the city of
the snakes. [629] Then the thief went into the inner chamber of his
dwelling, and the king remained in the outer room; and while he was
there, a female servant, compassionating him, came and said to him,
"What kind of place have you entered? Leave it at once, for this man is
a treacherous assassin, and as he goes on his expeditions alone, will
be sure to murder you, to prevent his secrets being divulged." [630]
When the king heard that, he went out at once, and quickly repaired
to his palace; and summoning his commander-in-chief, returned with
his troops. And he came and surrounded the thief's dwelling, and made
the bravest men enter it, and so brought the thief back a prisoner,
and carried off all his wealth.
When the night had come to an end, the king ordered his execution;
and he was led off to the place of execution through the middle of the
market. And as he was being led along through that part of the town,
a merchant's daughter saw him, and fell in love with him at first
sight, and she immediately said to her father, "Know that if this
man, who is being led off to execution preceded by the drum of death,
does not become my husband, I shall die myself."
Then her father, seeing that she could not be dissuaded from her
resolution, went and tried to induce the king to spare that thief's
life by offering ten millions of coins. But the king, instead of
sparing the thief's life, ordered him to be immediately impaled, [631]
and was very angry with the merchant. Then the merchant's daughter,
whose name was Vámadattá, took the corpse of that robber, and out of
love for him entered the fire with it.
"So, you see, creatures are completely dependent upon connexions in
previous births, and this being the case, who can avoid a destiny
that is fated to him, and who can prevent such a destiny's befalling
anybody? Therefore, king, it is clear that this Suratamanjarí is
some excellent being that was the wife of your son Avantivardhana in
a previous birth, and is therefore destined to be his wife again;
otherwise how could such a high-born prince have formed such an
attachment for her, a woman of the Mátanga caste? So let this Mátanga,
her father Utpalahasta, be asked to give the prince his daughter;
and let us see what he says."
When I had said this to king Pálaka, he at once sent messengers to
Utpalahasta to ask for his daughter. And the Mátanga, when entreated
by those messengers to give her in marriage, answered them, "I approve
of this alliance, but I must give my daughter Suratamanjarí to the
man who makes eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in this
city, eat in my house." When the messengers heard this speech of
the Mátanga's, that contained a solemn promise, they went back and
reported it faithfully to king Pálaka.
Thinking that there was some reason for this, [632] the king called
together all the Bráhmans in the city of Ujjayiní, and telling them
the whole story, said to them, "So you must eat here in the house of
the Mátanga Utpalahasta, eighteen thousand of you; I will not have
it otherwise." When the Bráhmans had been thus commanded by the king,
being at the same time afraid of touching the food of a Chandála, and
therefore at a loss what to do, they went to the shrine of Mahákála
and performed self-torture. Then the god Siva, who was present there
in the form of Mahákála, commanded those Bráhmans in a dream, saying,
"Eat food here in the house of the Mátanga Utpalahasta, for he is
a Vidyádhara; neither he nor his family are Chandálas." Then those
Bráhmans rose up and went to the king, and told him the dream, and
went on to say, "So let this Utpalahasta cook pure food for us in some
place outside the quarter of the Chandálas, and then we will eat it at
his hands." When the king heard this, he had another house made for
Utpalahasta, and being highly delighted, he had food cooked for him
there by pure cooks: and then eighteen thousand Bráhmans ate there,
while Utpalahasta stood in front of them, bathed, and clothed in a
pure garment.
And after they had eaten, Utpalahasta came to king Pálaka, in the
presence of his subjects, and bowing before him, said to him, "There
was an influential prince of the Vidyádharas, named Gaurímunda; I was
a dependent of his, named Matangadeva; and when, king, that daughter
of mine Suratamanjarí had been born, Gaurímunda secretly said to me,