The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
stops my eyes with tears, and will not allow me to behold thee for
long together, even in a picture." When the princess had said this,
she began to weep with teardrops that were so large that it appeared
as if her necklace were broken, and great pearls were falling from it.
At that moment her friend Manoháriká advanced towards her, and the
princess concealed the picture and said to her, "My friend, I have not
seen you for ever so long; where have you been?" When Manoháriká heard
this, she laughed and said, "I have been wandering about, my friend,
for a long time to look for you; so, why do you hide the picture? I
saw a moment ago a wonderful picture." [697]
When Padmávatí's friend said this to her, she seized her hand, and
said to her with a face cast down from shame, and a voice choked
with tears, "My friend, you knew it all long ago; why should I try to
conceal it? [698] The fact is, that prince, though on that occasion,
in the sacred enclosure of Gaurí, he delivered me from the terrible
fire of the Rákshasí's wrath, plunged me nevertheless in the fire
of love, with its intolerable flame of separation. So I do not know,
where to go, whom to speak to, what to do, or what expedient I must
have recourse to, since my heart is fixed on one hard to obtain."
When the princess said this, her friend answered her, "My dear,
this attachment of your mind is quite becoming and suitable; your
union would certainly be to the enhancement of one another's beauty,
as the union of the digit of the new moon with the hair of Siva matted
into the form of a diadem. And do not be despondent about this matter:
of a truth he will not be able to live without you; did you not see
that he was affected in the same way as yourself? Even women, who
see you, [699] are so much in love with your beauty that they desire
to become men; so what man would not be a suitor for your hand? Much
more will he be, who is equal to you in beauty. Do you suppose that
Siva, who declared that you should be man and wife, can say what
is false? However, what afflicted one feels quite patient about an
object much desired, even though it is soon to be attained? So cheer
up! He will soon become your husband. It is not hard for you to win
any husband, but all men must feel that you are a prize hard to win."
When the princess's attendant said this to her, she answered her,
"My friend, though I know all this, what am I to do? My heart cannot
endure to remain for a moment without that lord of my life, to whom it
is devoted, and Cupid will not bear to be trifled with any further. For
when I think of him, my mind is immediately refreshed, [700] but my
limbs burn, and my breath seems to leave my body with glowing heat."
Even as the princess was saying this, she, being soft as a flower, fell
fainting with distraction into the arms of that friend of hers. Then
her weeping friend gradually brought her round by sprinkling her with
water and fanning her with plantain-leaves. Her friend employed with
her the usual remedies of a necklace and bracelet of lotus-fibres, a
moist anointing with sandal-wood unguent, and a bed of lotus-leaves;
but these contracted heat by coming in contact with her body,
and seemed by their heating and withering to feel the same pain as
she felt.
Then Padmávatí, in her agitation, said to that friend, "Why do you
weary yourself in vain? My suffering cannot be alleviated in this
way. It would be a happy thing, if you would take the only step
likely to alleviate it." When she said this in her pain, her friend
answered her, "What would not I do for your sake? Tell me, my friend,
what that step is."
When the princess heard this, she said with difficulty, as if ashamed,
"Go, my dear friend, and bring my beloved here quickly; for in no other
way can my suffering be allayed, and my father will not be angry; on
the contrary, as soon as he comes here, he will give me to him." When
her friend heard that, she said to her in a tone of decision, "If it be
so, recover your self-command. This is but a little matter. Here am I,
my friend, setting out for Chandrapura the famous and splendid city of
Chandraketu the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of your beloved,
to bring your beloved to you. Be comforted! What is the use of grief?"
When the princess had been thus comforted by Manoháriká, she said,
"Then rise up, my friend, may your journey be prosperous! Go at
once! And you must say courteously from me to that heroic lord
of my life, who delivered the three worlds, 'When you delivered
me so triumphantly in that temple of Gaurí from the danger of the
Rákshasís, how is that you do not deliver me now, when I am being
slain by the god Cupid, the destroyer of women? Tell me, my lord,
what kind of virtue is this in persons like yourself able to deliver
the worlds--to neglect in calamity one whom you formerly saved,
though she is devoted to you.' [701] This is what you must say,
auspicious one, or something to this effect as your own wisdom may
direct." When Padmávatí had said this, she sent that friend on her
errand. And she mounted a bird which her magic knowledge brought to
her, to carry her, and set out for that city of the Vidyádharas.
And then Padmávatí, having to a certain extent recovered her spirits
by hope, took the painting-tablet, and entered the palace of her
father. There she went into her own apartment surrounded by her
servants, and bathed and worshipped Siva with intense devotion, and
thus prayed to him, "Holy one, without thy favouring consent no wish,
great or small, is fulfilled for any one in these three worlds. So if
thou wilt not give me for a husband that noble son of the emperor of
the Vidyádharas, on whom I have set my heart, I will abandon my body
in front of thy image."
When she addressed this prayer to Siva, her attendants were filled
with grief and astonishment, and said to her, "Why do you speak
thus, princess, regardless of your body's weal? Is there anything in
these three worlds difficult for you to obtain? Even Buddha would
forget his self-restraint, if loved by you. So he must be a man of
exceptional merit, whom you thus love." When the princess heard this,
carried away by the thought of his virtues, she said, "How can I help
loving him, who is the only refuge of Indra and the rest of the gods,
who alone destroyed the army of the Asuras, as the sun destroys the
darkness, and who saved my life?" Saying such things, she remained
there full of longing, engaged in conversation about her beloved with
her confidential attendants.
In the meanwhile her friend Manoháriká, travelling at full speed,
reached Chandrapura, that city of the king of the Vidyádharas; which
Visvakarman made wonderful, and of unparalleled magnificence, as if
dissatisfied with the city of the gods, though of that also he was the
architect. There she searched for Muktáphalaketu, but could not find
him, and then, riding on her bird, she went to the garden belonging
to that city. She derived much pleasure from looking at that garden,
the magic splendour of which was inconceivable; the trees of which
were of glittering jewels, and had this peculiarity that one tree
produced a great many flowers of different kinds; which was rendered
charming by the blending of the notes of various birds with the sound
of heavenly songs; and which was full of many slabs of precious stone.
And then, various gardeners, in the form of birds, saw her, and came
up to her, speaking with articulate voice, and addressing her kindly,
and they invited her to sit down on a slab of emerald at the foot of
a párijáta-tree, and when she was seated, served her with appropriate
luxuries. And she received that attention gratefully, and said to
herself, "Wonderful are the magic splendours of the princes of the
Vidyádharas, since they possess such a garden in which enjoyments
present themselves unlooked for, in which the servants are birds,
and the nymphs of heaven keep up a perpetual concert." When she had
said this to herself, she questioned those attendants, and at last,
searching about, she found a thicket of párijáta and other trees of
the kind, and in it she saw Muktáphalaketu appearing to be ill, [702]
lying on a bed of flowers sprinkled with sandal-wood juice. And she
recognized him, as she had become acquainted with him in the hermitage
of Gaurí, and she said to herself, "Let me see what his illness is,
that he is lying here concealed."
In the meanwhile Muktáphalaketu began to say to his friend Samyataka,
who was attempting to restore him with ice, and sandal-wood, and
fanning, "Surely this god of love has placed hot coals in the ice for
me, and in the sandal-wood juice a flame of chaff, and in the air of
the fan a fire as of a burning forest, since he produces a scorching
glow on every side of me, who am tortured with separation. So why,
my friend, do you weary yourself in vain? In this garden, which
surpasses Nandana, even the delightful songs and dances and other
sports of heavenly nymphs afflict my soul. And without Padmávatí,
the lotus-faced, the daughter of Padmasekhara, this fever produced
by the arrows of love cannot be alleviated. But I do not dare to say
this, and I do not find a refuge in any one; indeed I know only of one
expedient for obtaining her. I will go to the temple of Gaurí, where
I saw my beloved, and where she tore out my heart with the arrows of
her sidelong glances, and carried it away. There Siva, who is united
with the daughter of the king of mountains, will, when propitiated
with penance, shew me how to become united with my beloved."
When the prince had said this, he was preparing to rise up, and then
Manoháriká, being much pleased, shewed herself; and Samyataka,
delighted, said to that prince, "My friend, you are in luck;
your desire is accomplished. Look! here is that beloved's female
attendant come to you. I beheld her at the side of the princess in
the hermitage of the goddess Ambiká." Then the prince, beholding the
friend of his beloved, was in a strange state, a state full of the
bursting forth of joy, astonishment, and longing. And when she came
near him, a rain of nectar to his eyes, he made her sit by his side,
and asked her about the health of his beloved.
Then she gave him this answer, "No doubt my friend will be well enough,
when you become her husband; but at present she is afflicted. For
ever since she saw you, and you robbed her of her heart, she has been
despondent, and neither hears nor sees. The maiden has left off her
necklace, and wears a chain of lotus-fibres; and has abandoned her
couch, and rolls on a bed of lotus-leaves. Best of conquerors, I tell
you, her limbs, now white with the sandal-wood juice which is drying
up with their heat, seem laughingly [703] to say, 'That very maiden,
who formerly was too bashful to endure the mention of a lover [704],
is now reduced to this sad condition by being separated from her dear
one.' And she sends you this message." Having said so much, Manoháriká
recited the two verses which Padmávatí had put into her mouth.
When Muktáphalaketu heard all that, his pain departed, and he joyfully
welcomed Manoháriká, and said to her, "This my mind has been irrigated
by your speech, as by nectar, and is refreshed; and I have recovered
my spirits, and got rid of my languor: my good deeds in a former life
have to-day borne fruit, in that that daughter of the Gandharva king
is so well-disposed towards me. But, though I might possibly be able
to endure the agony of separation, how could that lady, whose body
is as delicate as a sirísha-flower, endure it? So I will go to that
very hermitage of Gaurí; and do you bring your friend there, in order
that we may meet at once. And go quickly, auspicious one, and comfort
your friend, and give her this crest-jewel, which puts a stop to all