The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
sent by Padmávatí, with its great horses also put at her disposal by
her, went secretly in the rear of the army, making the transformed
Vasantaka precede her. At last the king of Vatsa reached Lávánaka,
and entered his own house, together with his bride, but thought all
the time only of the queen Vásavadattá. The queen also arrived and
entered the house of Gopálaka at night, making the chamberlains wait
round it. There she saw her brother Gopálaka who shewed her great
attention, and she embraced his neck weeping, while his eyes filled
with tears; and at that moment arrived Yaugandharáyana, true to his
previous agreement, together with Rumanvat, and the queen shewed him
all due courtesy. And while he was engaged in dispelling the queen's
grief caused by the great effort she had made, and her separation
from her husband, those chamberlains repaired to Padmávatí, and said,
"Queen, Ávantiká has arrived, but she has in a strange way dismissed
us, and gone to the house of prince Gopálaka." When Padmávatí heard
that representation from her chamberlains, she was alarmed and in the
presence of the king of Vatsa answered them, "Go and say to Ávantiká,
'The queen says--You are a deposit in my hands, so what business
have you where you are? Come where I am.'" When they heard that, they
departed and the king asked Padmávatí in private who made for her the
unfading garlands and forehead-streaks. Then she said, "It is all the
product of the great artistic skill of the lady named Ávantiká who
was deposited in my house by a certain Bráhman." No sooner did the
king hear that, then he went off to the house of Gopálaka, thinking
that surely Vásavadattá would be there. And he entered the house, at
the door of which eunuchs were standing, [220] and within which were
the queen, Gopálaka, the two ministers, and Vasantaka. There he saw
Vásavadattá returned from banishment, like the orb of the moon freed
from its eclipse. Then he fell on the earth delirious with the poison
of grief, and trembling was produced in the heart of Vásavadattá. Then
she too fell on the earth with limbs pale from separation, and lamented
aloud, blaming her own conduct. And that couple, afflicted with grief,
lamented so that even the face of Yaugandharáyana was washed with
tears. And then Padmávatí too heard that wailing, which seemed so
little suited to the occasion, and came in a state of bewilderment to
the place whence it proceeded. And gradually finding out the truth with
respect to the king and Vásavadattá, she was reduced to the same state,
for good women are affectionate and tender-hearted. And Vásavadattá
frequently exclaimed with tears, "What profit is there in my life that
causes only sorrow to my husband?" Then the calm Yaugandharáyana said
to the king of Vatsa: "King, I have done all this in order to make you
universal emperor, by marrying you to the daughter of the sovereign
of Magadha, and the queen is not in the slightest degree to blame;
moreover this, her rival wife, is witness to her good behaviour during
her absence from you." Thereupon Padmávatí, whose mind was free from
jealousy, said, "I am ready to enter the fire on the spot to prove
her innocence." And the king said, "I am in fault, as it was for my
sake that the queen endured this great affliction." And Vásavadattá
having firmly resolved, said, "I must enter the fire to clear from
suspicion the mind of the king." Then the wise Yaugandharáyana, best
of right-acting men, rinsed his mouth, with his face towards the east,
and spoke a blameless speech; "If I have been a benefactor to this
king, and if the queen is free from stain, speak, ye guardians of
the world; if it is not so, I will part from my body." Thus he spoke
and ceased, and this heavenly utterance was heard: "Happy art thou, O
king, that hast for minister Yaugandharáyana, and for wife Vásavadattá,
who in a former birth was a goddess; not the slightest blame attaches
to her." Having uttered this, the Voice ceased. All who were present,
when they heard that sound, which resounded though all the regions,
delightful as the deep thunder-roar at the first coming of the
rain-clouds, having endured affliction for a long time, lifted up their
hands and plainly imitated peafowl in their joy. Moreover the king
of Vatsa and Gopálaka praised that proceeding of Yaugandharáyana's,
and the former already considered that the whole earth was subject
to him. Then that king possessing those two wives, whose affection
was every day increased by living with him, like joy and tranquillity
come to visit him in bodily form, was in a state of supreme felicity.
CHAPTER XVII.
The next day, the king of Vatsa, sitting in private with Vásavadattá,
and Padmávatí, engaged in a festive banquet, sent for Yaugandharáyana,
Gopálaka, Rumanvat and Vasantaka, and had much confidential
conversation with them. Then the king, in the hearing of them all,
told the following tale with reference to the subject of his separation
from his beloved.
Story of Urvasí. [221]
Once on a time there was a king of the name of Purúravas, who was a
devoted worshipper of Vishnu; he traversed heaven as well as earth
without opposition, and one day, as he was sauntering in Nandana,
the garden of the gods, a certain Apsaras of the name of Urvasí,
who was a second stupefying weapon [222] in the hands of Love, cast
an eye upon him. The moment she beheld him, the sight so completely
robbed her of her senses, that she alarmed the timid minds of Rambhá
and her other friends. The king too, when he saw that torrent
of the nectar of beauty, was quite faint with thirst, because he
could not obtain possession of her. Then Vishnu, who knoweth all,
dwelling in the sea of milk, gave the following command to Nárada,
an excellent hermit, who came to visit him--"O Divine sage, [223]
the king Purúravas, at present abiding in the garden of Nandana,
having had his mind captivated by Urvasí, remains incapable of bearing
the pain of separation from his love. Therefore go, O hermit, and
informing Indra as from me, cause that Urvasí to be quickly given to
the king." Having received this order from Vishnu, Nárada undertook
to execute it, and going to Purúravas who was in the state described,
roused him from his lethargy and said to him;--"Rise up, O king, for
thy sake I am sent here by Vishnu, for that god does not neglect the
sufferings of those who are unfeignedly devoted to him." With these
words, the hermit Nárada cheered up Purúravas, and then went with
him into the presence of the king of the gods.
Then he communicated the order of Vishnu to Indra, who received it
with reverent mind, and so the hermit caused Urvasí to be given to
Purúravas. That gift of Urvasí deprived the inhabitants of heaven
of life, but it was to Urvasí herself an elixir to restore her to
life. Then Purúravas returned with her to the earth, exhibiting
to the eyes of mortals the wonderful spectacle of a heavenly
bride. Thenceforth those two, Urvasí and that king, remained, so to
speak, fastened together by the leash of gazing on one another, so
that they were unable to separate. One day Purúravas went to heaven,
invited by Indra to assist him, as a war had arisen between him and
the Dánavas. In that war the king of the Asuras, named Máyádhara,
was slain, and accordingly Indra held a great feast, at which all
the nymphs of heaven displayed their skill. And on that occasion
Purúravas, when he saw the nymph Rambhá performing a dramatic dance
called chalita, [224] with the teacher Tumburu standing by her,
laughed. Then Rambhá said to him sarcastically--"I suppose, mortal,
you know this heavenly dance, do you not?" Purúravas answered,
"From associating with Urvasí, I knew dances which even your teacher
Tumburu does not know." When Tumburu heard that, he laid this curse
on him in his wrath, "Mayest thou be separated from Urvasí until thou
propitiate Krishna." When he heard that curse, Purúravas went and told
Urvasí what had happened to him, which was terrible as "a thunderbolt
from the blue." Immediately some Gandharvas swooped down, without the
king's seeing them, and carried off Urvasí, whither he knew not. Then
Purúravas, knowing that the calamity was due to that curse, went and
performed penance to appease Vishnu in the hermitage of Badariká.
But Urvasí, remaining in the country of the Gandharvas, afflicted at
her separation, was as void of sense as if she had been dead, asleep,
or a mere picture. She kept herself alive with hoping for the end
of the curse, but it is wonderful that she did not lose her hold on
life, while she remained like the female chakraváka during the night,
the appointed time of her separation from the male bird. And Purúravas
propitiated Vishnu by that penance, and, owing to Vishnu's having been
gratified, the Gandharvas surrendered Urvasí to him. So that king,
re-united to the nymph whom he had recovered at the termination of
the curse, enjoyed heavenly pleasures, though living upon earth.
The king stopped speaking, and Vásavadattá felt an emotion of shame
at having endured separation, when she heard of the attachment of
Urvasí to her husband.
Then Yaugandharáyana, seeing that the queen was abashed at having
been indirectly reproved by her husband, said, in order to make him
feel in his turn,--"King, listen to this tale, if you have not already
heard it.
Story of Vihitasena.
There is on this earth a city of the name of Timirá, the dwelling
of the goddess of Prosperity; in it there was a famous king named
Vihitasena; he had a wife named Tejovatí, a very goddess upon
earth. That king was ever hanging on her neck, devoted to her embraces,
and could not even bear that his body should be for a short time
scratched with the coat of mail. And once there came upon the king a
lingering fever with diminishing intensity; and the physicians forbade
him to continue in the queen's society. But when he was excluded from
the society of the queen, there was engendered in his heart a disease
not to be reached by medicine or treatment. The physicians told the
ministers in private that the disease might relieve itself by fear or
the stroke of some affliction. The ministers reflected--"How can we
produce fear in that brave king, who did not tremble when an enormous
snake once fell on his back, who was not confused when a hostile
army penetrated into his harem? It is useless thinking of devices to
produce fear; what are we ministers, to do with the king?" Thus the
ministers reflected, and after deliberating with the queen, concealed
her, and said to the king, "The queen is dead." While the king was
tortured with that exceeding grief, in his agitation that disease
in his heart relieved itself. [225] When the king had got over the
pain of the illness, the ministers restored to him that great queen,
who seemed like a second gift of ease, and the king valued her highly
as the saviour of his life, and was too wise to bear anger against
her afterwards for concealing herself.
For it is care for a husband's interests that entitles a king's wife
to the name of queen; by mere compliance with a husband's whims the
name of queen is not obtained. And discharging the duty of minister
means undivided attention to the burden of the king's affairs, but
the compliance with a king's passing fancies is the characteristic of
a mere courtier. Accordingly we made this effort in order to come to
terms with your enemy, the king of Magadha, and with a view to your
conquering the whole earth. So it is not the case that the queen, who,
through love for you, endured intolerable separation, has done you a
wrong; on the contrary she has conferred on you a great benefit." When
the king of Vatsa heard this true speech of his prime-minister's,
he thought that he himself was in the wrong, and was quite satisfied.