The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
"How comes it that you have neglected this child of mine that has lost
its mother?" She said to her husband, "Though I take affectionate
care of him, he is nevertheless the strange object you see; what am
I to do with him?" Whereupon the Bráhman thought, "No doubt it is the
child's nature to be like this." For who sees through the deceitfulness
of the speeches of women uttered with affected simplicity? Then that
child began to go by the name of Bálavinashtaka [194] in his father's
house, because they said this child (bála) is deformed (vinashta.) Then
Bálavinashtaka thought to himself--"This step-mother of mine is always
ill-treating me, therefore I had better be revenged on her in some
way"--for though the boy was only a little more than five years old,
he was clever enough. Then he said secretly to his father when he
returned from the king's court, with half suppressed voice--"Papa, I
have two Papas." So the boy said every day, and his father suspecting
that his wife had a paramour, would not even touch her. She for her
part thought--"Why is my husband angry without my being guilty; I
wonder whether Bálavinashtaka has been at any tricks?" So she washed
Bálavinashtaka with careful kindness, and gave him dainty food, and
taking him on her lap, asked him the following question: "My son why
have you incensed your father Rudrasarman against me?" When he heard
that, the boy said to his step-mother, "I will do more harm to you than
that, if you do not immediately cease ill-treating me. You take good
care of your own children; why do you perpetually torment me?" When
she heard that, she bowed before him, and said with a solemn oath,
"I will not do so any more; so reconcile my husband to me." Then the
child said to her--"Well, when my father comes home, let one of your
maids shew him a mirror, and leave the rest to me." She said, "Very
well," and by her orders a maid shewed a mirror to her husband as soon
as he returned home. Thereupon the child pointing out the reflection
of his father in the mirror, said, "There is my second father." When
he heard that, Rudrasarman dismissed his suspicions and was immediately
reconciled to his wife, whom he had blamed without cause.
"Thus even a child may do mischief if it is annoyed, and therefore
we must carefully conciliate all this retinue." Saying this,
Yaugandharáyana with the help of Rumanvat, carefully honoured all
the people on this the king of Vatsa's great day of rejoicing. [195]
And they gratified all the kings so successfully that each one of
them thought, "These two men are devoted to me alone." And the king
honoured those two ministers and Vasantaka with garments, unguents,
and ornaments bestowed with his own hand, and he also gave them
grants of villages. Then the king of Vatsa, having celebrated the
great festival of his marriage, considered all his wishes gratified,
now that he was linked to Vásavadattá. Their mutual love, having
blossomed after a long time of expectation, was so great, owing to
the strength of their passion, that their hearts continually resembled
those of the sorrowing Chakravákas, when the night, during which they
are separated, comes to an end. And as the familiarity of the couple
increased, their love seemed to be ever renewed. Then Gopálaka, being
ordered by his father to return to get married himself, went away,
after having been entreated by the king of Vatsa to return quickly.
In course of time the king of Vatsa became faithless, and secretly
loved an attendant of the harem named Virachitá, with whom he had
previously had an intrigue. One day he made a mistake and addressed
the queen by her name, thereupon he had to conciliate her by clinging
to her feet, and bathed in her tears he was anointed [196] a fortunate
king. Moreover he married a princess of the name of Bandhumatí, whom
Gopálaka had captured by the might of his arm, and sent as a present
to the queen; and whom she concealed, changing her name to Manjuliká;
who seemed like another Lakshmí issuing from the sea of beauty. Her
the king saw, when he was in the company of Vasantaka, and secretly
married her by the Gándharva ceremony in a summer-house. And that
proceeding of his was beheld by Vásavadattá, who was in concealment,
and she was angry, and had Vasantaka put in fetters. Then the king
had recourse to the good offices of a female ascetic, a friend of the
queen's, who had come with her from her father's court, of the name
of Sánkrityánaní. She appeased the queen's anger, and got Bandhumatí
presented to the king by the obedient queen, for tender is the heart of
virtuous wives. Then the queen released Vasantaka from imprisonment;
he came into the presence of the queen and said to her with a laugh,
"Bandhumatí did you an injury, but what did I do to you? You are
angry with adders [197] and you kill water-snakes." Then the queen,
out of curiosity, asked him to explain that metaphor, and he continued
as follows:
Story of Ruru.
Once on a time a hermit's son of the name of Ruru, wandering
about at will, saw a maiden of wonderful beauty, the daughter of
a heavenly nymph named Menaká by a Vidyádhara, and brought up by a
hermit of the name of Sthúlakesa in his hermitage. That lady, whose
name was Prishadvará, so captivated the mind of that Ruru when he
saw her, that he went and begged the hermit to give her to him in
marriage. Sthúlakesa for his part betrothed the maiden to him, and
when the wedding was nigh at hand, suddenly an adder bit her. Then
the heart of Ruru was full of despair, but he heard this voice in the
heaven--"O Bráhman raise to life with the gift of half thy own life,
[198] this maiden, whose allotted term is at an end." When he heard
that, Ruru gave her the half of his own life, as he had been directed;
by means of that she revived, and Ruru married her. Thenceforward he
was incensed with the whole race of serpents, and whenever he saw a
serpent he killed it, thinking to himself as he killed each one--"This
may have bitten my wife." One day a water snake said to him with human
voice, as he was about to slay it, "You are incensed against adders,
Bráhman, but why do you slay water-snakes? An adder bit your wife,
and adders are a distinct species from water-snakes; all adders
are venomous, water-snakes are not venomous." When he heard that,
he said in answer to the water-snake,--"My friend, who are you?" The
water-snake said, "Bráhman, I am a hermit fallen from my high estate
by a curse, and this curse was appointed to last till I held converse
with you." When he had said this he disappeared, and after that Ruru
did not kill water-snakes. So I said this to you metaphorically,
"My queen, you are angry with adders and you kill water-snakes." When
he had uttered this speech, full of pleasing wit, Vasantaka ceased,
and Vásavadattá sitting at the side of her husband was pleased with
him. Such soft and sweet tales in which Vasantaka displayed various
ingenuity, did the loving Udayana, king of Vatsa, continually make use
of to conciliate his angry wife, while he sat at her feet. That happy
king's tongue was ever exclusively employed in tasting the flavour of
wine, and his ear was ever delighting in the sweet sounds of the lute,
and his eye was ever riveted on the face of his beloved.
NOTE TO CHAPTER XIV.
The practice of walking round an object of reverence with the right
hand towards it, which is one of the ceremonies mentioned in our
author's account of Vásavadattá's marriage, has been exhaustively
discussed by Dr. Samuel Fergusson in his paper--"On the Ceremonial
turn called Desiul," published in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish
Academy for March 1877. (Vol. I. Ser. II. No. 12.) He shews it to
have existed among the ancient Romans as well as the Celts. One of
the most striking of his quotations is from the Curculio of Plautus
(I. 1. 69.) Phædromus says--Quo me vortam nescio. Palinurus jestingly
replies--Si deos salutas dextrovorsum censeo. Cp. also the following
passage of Valerius Flaceus (Argon VIII. 243).
Inde ubi sacrificas cum conjuge venit ad aras
Æsonides, unaque adeunt pariterque precari
Incipiunt. Ignem Pollux undamque jugalem
Prætulit ut dextrum pariter vertantur in orbem.
The above passage forms a striking comment upon our text. Cp. also
Plutarch in this life of Camillus Tauta eipôn, kathaper esti Rômaiois
ethos, epeuxamenois kai proskynêsasin, epi dexia exelittein, esphalê
peristrephomenos. It is possible that the following passage in
Lucretius alludes to the same practice--
Nec pietas ulla est velatum sæpe videri
Vertier ad lapidem atque omnes accedere ad aras.
Dr. Fergusson is of opinion that this movement was a symbol of the
cosmical rotation, an imitation of the apparent course of the sun
in the heavens. Cp. Hyginus Fable CCV. Arge venatrix, cum cervum
sequeretur, cervo dixisse fertur: Tu licet Solis cursum sequaris,
tamen te consequar. Sol, iratus, in cervam eam convertit. He quotes,
to prove that the practice existed among the ancient Celts, Athenæus
IV, p. 142, who adduces from Posidonius the following statement "Tous
theous proskynousin epi dexia strephomenoi." The above quotations are
but a few scraps from the full feast of Dr. Fergusson's paper. See
also the remarks of the Rev. S. Beal in the Indian Antiquary for
March 1880, p. 67.
See also Henderson's Folk-lore of the Northern Counties, p. 45. "The
vicar of Stranton was standing at the churchyard gate, awaiting the
arrival of a funeral party, when to his astonishment the whole group,
who had arrived within a few yards of him, suddenly wheeled and made
the circuit of the churchyard wall, thus traversing its west, north,
and east boundaries, and making the distance some five or six times
greater than was necessary. The vicar, astonished at this proceeding,
asked the sexton the reason of so extraordinary a movement. The reply
was as follows: 'Why, ye wad no hae them carry the dead again the sun;
the dead maun aye go with the sun.' This custom is no doubt an ancient
British or Celtic custom, and corresponds to the Highland usage of
making the deazil or walking three times round a person according to
the course of the sun. Old Highlanders will still make the deazil
around those to whom they wish well. To go round the person in the
opposite direction, or "withershins," is an evil incantation and
brings ill-fortune. Hunt in his Romances and Drolls of the West of
England, p. 418, says, "If an invalid goes out for the first time,
and makes a circuit, the circuit must be with the sun, if against
the sun, there will be a relapse. Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 322,
quotes from the Statistical Account of Scotland, Vol. V. p. 88 the
following statement of a Scottish minister, with reference to a
marriage ceremony: "After leaving the church, the whole company walk
round it, keeping the church walls always on the right hand."
Thiselton Dyer, in his English Folk-lore, p. 171, mentions a similar
custom as existing in the West of England. In Devonshire blackhead
or pinsoles are cured by creeping on one's hands and knees under
or through a bramble three times with the sun; that is from east to
west. See also Ralston's Songs of the Russian people, p. 299.
See also the extract from Sinclair's Statistical Account of Scotland in
Brand's Popular Antiquities, Vol. 1, p. 225; "When a Highlander goes to
bathe or to drink water out of a consecrated fountain, he must always
approach by going round the place from East to West on the South side,
in imitation of the apparent diurnal motion of the sun. This is called
in Gaelic going round the right, or the lucky way. The opposite course
is the wrong, or the unlucky way. And if a person's meat or drink
were to affect the wind-pipe, or come against his breath, they would