The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
the furious elephant Kálamegha, and Sinhaparákrama Sangrámasiddhi,
and the hero Vikramanidhi Ripurákshasa, and Jayaketu Pavanajava,
and Vallabhasakti Samudrakallola, and Báhu and Subáhu the two horses
Saravega and Garudavega, and Kírtivarman the black Konkan mare
Kuvalayamálá, and Samarasinha the white mare Gangálaharí of pure
Sindh breed."
When that king, the supreme sovereign of all the dvípas, had started
on his journey, the earth was covered with soldiers, the quarters
were full of nothing but the shouts that they raised, even the heaven
was obscured with the dust that was diffused by the trampling of his
advancing army, and all men's voices were telling of the wonderful
greatness of his might.
CHAPTER CXXII.
Then king Vikramáditya reached that victorious army commanded by that
Vikramasakti his general, and he entered it at the head of his forces,
accompanied by that general, who came to meet him, eager and with
loyal mind, together with the vassal kings.
The kings were thus announced by the warders in the tent of assembly,
"Your Majesty, here is Saktikumára the king of Gauda come to pay
you his respects, here is Jayadhvaja the king of Karnáta, here is
Vijayavarman of Láta, here is Sunandana of Kasmíra, here is Gopála
king of Sindh, here is Vindhyabala the Bhilla, and here is Nirmúka the
king of the Persians." And when they had been thus announced, the king
honoured them, and the feudal chiefs, and also the soldiers. And he
welcomed in appropriate fashion the daughter of the king of Sinhala,
and the heavenly maidens, and the golden deer, and Vikramasakti. And
the next day the successful monarch Vikramáditya set out with them
and his forces, and reached the city of Ujjayiní.
Then, the kings having been dismissed with marks of honour [778]
to their own territories, and the world-gladdening festival of the
spring season having arrived, when the creepers began, so to speak, to
adorn themselves with flowers for jewels, and the female bees to keep
up a concert with their humming, and the ranges of the wood to dance
embraced by the wind, and the cuckoos with melodious notes to utter
auspicious prayers, king Vikramáditya married on a fortunate day that
daughter of the king of Sinhala, and those two heavenly maidens. And
Sinhavarman, the eldest brother of the princess of Sinhala, who had
come with her, bestowed at the marriage-altar a great heap of jewels.
And at that moment the Yakshiní Madanamanjarí appeared, and gave
those two heavenly maidens countless heaps of jewels. The Yakshí said,
"How can I ever, king, recompense you for your benefits? But I have
done this unimportant service to testify my devotion to you. So you
must shew favour to these maidens, and to the deer." When the Yakshí
had said this, she departed honoured by the king.
Then the successful king Vikramáditya, having obtained those wives
and the earth with all its dvípas, ruled a realm void of opponents;
and he enjoyed himself roaming in all the garden grounds; during
the hot season living in the water of tanks and in artificial
fountain-chambers, during the rains in inner apartments charming on
account of the noise of cymbals that arose in them, during the autumn
on the tops of palaces, joyous with banquets under the rising moon,
during the winter in chambers where comfortable couches were spread,
and which were fragrant with black aloes, being ever surrounded by
his wives.
Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden.
Now this king, being such as I have described, had a painter named
Nagarasvámin, who enjoyed the revenues of a hundred villages, and
surpassed Visvakarman. That painter used every two or three days
to paint a picture of a girl, and give it as a present to the king,
taking care to exemplify different types of beauty.
Now, once on a time, it happened that that painter had, because a
feast was going on, forgotten to paint the required girl for the
king. And when the day for giving the present arrived, the painter
remembered and was bewildered, saying to himself, "Alas! what can
I give to the king?" And at that moment a traveller come from afar
suddenly approached him and placed a book in his hand, and went off
somewhere quickly. The painter out of curiosity opened the book,
and saw within a picture of a girl on canvas. Inasmuch as the girl
was of wonderful beauty, no sooner did he see her picture then he
took it and gave it to the king, rejoicing that, so far from having
no picture to present that day, he had obtained such an exceedingly
beautiful one. But the king, as soon as he saw it, was astonished,
and said to him, "My good fellow, this is not your painting, this is
the painting of Visvakarman: for how could a mere mortal be skilful
enough to paint such beauty?" When the painter heard this, he told
the king exactly what had taken place.
Then the king kept ever looking at the picture of the girl, and
never took his eyes off it, and one night he saw in a dream a girl
exactly like her, but in another dvípa. But as he eagerly rushed to
embrace her, who was eager to meet him, the night came to an end,
and he was woke up by the watchman. [779] When the king awoke, he was
so angry at the interruption of his delightful interview with that
maiden, that he banished that watchman from the city. And he said to
himself, "To think that a traveller should bring a book, and that in
it there should be the painted figure of a girl, and that I should
in a dream behold this same girl apparently alive! All this elaborate
dispensation of destiny makes me think that she must be a real maiden,
but I do not know in what dvípa she lives; how am I to obtain her?"
Full of such reflections, the king took pleasure in nothing, [780]
and burnt with the fever of love so that his attendants were full
of anxiety. And the warder Bhadráyudha asked the afflicted king in
private the cause of his grief, whereupon he spake as follows:
"Listen, I will tell you, my friend. So much at any rate you know,
that that painter gave me the picture of a girl. And I fell asleep
thinking on her, and I remember that in my dream I crossed the sea,
and reached and entered a very beautiful city. There I saw many
armed maidens in front of me, and they, as soon as they saw me,
raised a tumultuous cry of 'Kill, kill.' [781] Then a certain female
ascetic came and with great precipitation made me enter her house,
and briefly said to me this, 'My son, here is the man-hating princess
Malayavatí come this way, diverting herself as she pleases. And the
moment she sees a man, she makes these maidens of hers kill him:
so I brought you in here to save your life.' [782]
"When the female ascetic had said this, she immediately made me put
on female attire; and I submitted to that, knowing that it was not
lawful to slay those maidens. But, when the princess entered into
the house with her maidens, I looked at her, and lo! she was the
very lady that had been shewn me in a picture. And I said to myself,
'Fortunate am I in that, after first seeing this lady in a picture,
I now behold her again in flesh and blood, dear as my life.'
"In the meanwhile the princess, at the head of her maidens, said to
that female ascetic, 'We saw some male enter here.' The ascetic shewed
me, and answered, 'I know of no male; here is my sister's daughter,
who is with me as a guest.' Then the princess seeing me, although
I was disguised as a woman, forgot her dislike of men, and was at
once overcome by love. She remained for a moment, with every hair
on her body erect, motionless as if in thought, being, so to speak,
nailed to the spot at once with arrows by Love, who had spied his
opportunity. And in a moment the princess said to the ascetic, 'Then,
noble lady, why should not your sister's daughter be my guest also? Let
her come to my palace; I will send her back duly honoured.' Saying
this, she took me by the hand, and led me away to her palace. And I
remember, I discerned her intention, and consented, and went there,
and that sly old female ascetic gave me leave to depart.
"Then I remained there with that princess, who was diverting herself
with the amusement of marrying her maidens to one another, and so
forth. Her eyes were fixed on me, and she would not let me out of her
sight for an instant, and no occupation pleased her in which I did not
take part. Then those maidens, I remember, made the princess a bride,
and me her husband, and married us in sport. And when we had been
married, we entered at night the bridal chamber, and the princess
fearlessly threw her arms round my neck. And then I told her who I
was, and embraced her, and delighted at having attained her object,
she looked at me and then remained a long time with her eyes bashfully
fixed on the ground. And at that moment that villain of a watchman
woke me up. So, Bhadráyudha, the upshot of the whole matter is that
I can no longer live without that Malayavatí, whom I have seen in a
picture and in a dream."
When the king said this, the warder Bhadráyudha perceived that it
was a true dream, and he consoled the monarch, and said to him,
"If the king remembers it all exactly, let him draw that city on a
piece of canvas in order that some expedient may be devised in this
matter." The moment the king heard this suggestion of Bhadráyudha's,
he proceeded to draw that splendid city on a piece of canvas, and
all the scene that took place there. Then the warder at once took
the drawing, and had a new monastery [783] made, and hung it up
there on the wall. And he directed that in relief-houses attached to
the monastery, a quantity of food, with pairs of garments and gold,
should be given to bards coming from distant countries. And he gave
this order to the dwellers in the monastery, "If any one comes here,
who knows the city represented here in a picture, let me be informed
of it."
In the meanwhile the fierce elephant of the rainy season with
irresistible loud deep thunder-roar and long ketaka tusks came down
upon the forest of the heats, a forest the breezes of which were
scented with the perfume of the jasmine, in which travellers sat
down on the ground in the shade, and trumpet-flowers bloomed. At
that time the forest-fire of separation of that king Vikramáditya
began to burn more fiercely, fanned by the eastern breeze. [784]
Then the following cries were heard among the ladies of his court,
"Háralatá, bring ice! Chitrángí, sprinkle him with sandal-wood
juice! Patralekhá, make a bed cool with lotus-leaves! Kandarpasená,
fan him with plantain-leaves!" And in course of time the cloudy season
terrible with lightning passed away for that king, but the fever of
love burning [785] with the sorrow of separation did not pass away.
Then the autumn with her open lotus-face, and smile of unclosed
flowers, came, vocal with the cries of swans, [786] seeming to
utter this command, "Let travellers advance on their journey; let
pleasant tidings be brought about absent dear ones; happy may their
merry meetings be!" On a certain day in that season a bard, who had
come from a distance, of the name of Sanvarasiddhi, having heard
the fame of that monastery, built by the warder, entered it to get
food. After he had been fed, and presented with a pair of garments,
he saw that painting on the wall of the monastery. When the bard
had carefully scanned the city delineated there, he was astonished,
and said, "I wonder who can have drawn this city? For I alone have
seen it, I am certain, and no other; and here it is drawn by some
second person." When the inhabitants of the monastery heard that,
they told Bhadráyudha; then he came in person, and took that bard to
the king. The king said to Sanvarasiddhi, "Have you really seen that
city?" Then Sanvarasiddhi gave him the following answer.