The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
There lived long ago in a city called Vardhamána, [370] the ornament
of the earth, a king the terror of his foes, called Paropakárin. And
this exalted monarch possessed a queen of the name of Kanakaprabhá,
[371] as the cloud holds the lightning, but she had not the fickleness
of the lightning. And in course of time there was born to him by that
queen a daughter, who seemed to have been formed by the Creator to
dash Lakshmí's pride in her beauty. And that moon of the eyes of the
world was gradually reared to womanhood by her father, who gave her the
name of Kanakarekhá suggested by her mother's name Kanakaprabhá. Once
on a time, when she had grown up, the king, her father, said to the
queen Kanakaprabhá, who came to him in secret: "A grown up daughter
cannot be kept in one's house, accordingly Kanakarekhá troubles my
heart with anxiety about a suitable marriage for her. For a maiden of
good family, who does not obtain a proper position, is like a song
out of tune; when heard of by the ears even of one unconnected with
her, she causes distress. But a daughter, who through folly is made
over to one not suitable, is like learning imparted to one not fit to
receive it, and cannot tend to glory or merit but only to regret. So I
am very anxious as to what king I must give this daughter of mine to,
and who will be a fit match for her." When Kanakaprabhá heard this,
she laughed and said,--"You say this, but your daughter does not
wish to be married; for to-day when she was playing with a doll and
making believe it was a child, I said to her in fun, 'My daughter,
when shall I see you married?' When she heard that, she answered
me reproachfully: 'Do not say so, you must not marry me to any one;
and my separation from you is not appointed, I do well enough as a
maiden, but if I am married, know that I shall be a corpse; there is
a certain reason for this.' As she has said this to me I have come
to you, O king, in a state of distress; for, as she has refused to be
married, what use is there in deliberating about a bridegroom?" When
the king heard this from the queen, he was bewildered, and going
to the private apartments of the princess he said to his daughter:
"When the maidens of the gods and Asuras practise austerities in
order to obtain a husband, why, my daughter, do you refuse to take
one?' When the princess Kanakarekhá heard this speech of her father's,
she fixed her eyes on the ground and said, Father, I do not desire to
be married at present, so what object has my father in it, and why does
he insist upon it?" That king Paropakárin, when his daughter addressed
him in that way, being the discreetest of men, thus answered her:
"How can sin be avoided unless a daughter is given in marriage? And
independence is not fit for a maiden who ought to be in dependence on
relations? For a daughter in truth is born for the sake of another
and is kept for him. The house of her father is not a fit place for
her except in childhood. For if a daughter reaches puberty unmarried,
her relations go to hell, and she is an outcast, and her bridegroom is
called the husband of an outcast." When her father said this to her,
the princess Kanakarekhá immediately uttered a speech that was in her
mind, "Father, if this is so, then whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya has
succeeded in seeing the city called the Golden City, to him I must
be given, and he shall be my husband, and if none such is found,
you must not unjustly reproach me." When his daughter said that to
him, that king reflected: "It is a good thing at any rate that she
has agreed to be married on a certain condition, and no doubt she
is some goddess born in my house for a special reason, for else how
comes she to know so much though she is a child?" Such were the king's
reflections at that time: so he said to his daughter, "I will do as you
wish," and then he rose up and did his day's work. And on the next day,
as he was sitting in the hall of audience, he said to his courtiers,
"Has any one among you seen the city called the Golden City? Whoever
has seen it, if he be a Bráhman or a Kshatriya, I will give him
my daughter Kanakarekhá, and make him crown-prince." And they all,
looking at one another's faces, said, "We have not even heard of it,
much less have we seen it." Then the king summoned the warder and
said to him, "Go and cause a proclamation to be circulated in the
whole of this town with the beating of drums, and find out if any
one has really seen that city." When the warder received this order,
he said, "I will do so," and went out; and after he had gone out, he
immediately gave orders to the police, and caused a drum to be beaten
all round the city, thus arousing curiosity to hear the proclamation,
which ran as follows: "Whatever Bráhman or Kshatriya youth has seen the
city called the Golden City, let him speak, and the king will give him
his daughter and the rank of crown-prince." Such was the astounding
announcement proclaimed all about the town after the drum had been
beaten. And the citizens said, after hearing that proclamation:
"What is this Golden City that is to-day proclaimed in our town,
which has never been heard of or seen even by those among us who are
old?" But not a single one among them said, "I have seen it."
And in the meanwhile a Bráhman living in that town, Saktideva by
name, the son of Baladeva, heard that proclamation; that youth,
being addicted to vice, had been rapidly stripped of his wealth at the
gaming-table, and he reflected, being excited by hearing of the giving
in marriage of the king's daughter: "As I have lost all my wealth by
gambling, I cannot now enter the house of my father, nor even the house
of a hetæra, so, as I have no resource, it is better for me to assert
falsely to those who are making the proclamation by beat of drum,
that I have seen that city. Who will discover that I know nothing
about it, for who has ever seen it? And in this way I may perhaps
marry the princess." Thus reflecting Saktideva went to the police, and
said falsely, "I have seen that city." They immediately said to him,
"Bravo! then come with us to the king's warder." So he went with them
to the warder. And in the same way he falsely asserted to him that he
had seen that city, and he welcomed him kindly, and took him to the
king. And without wavering he maintained the very same story in the
presence of the king: what indeed is difficult for a blackleg to do
who is ruined by play? Then the king, in order to ascertain the truth,
sent that Bráhman to his daughter Kanakarekhá, and when she heard of
the matter from the mouth of the warder, and the Bráhman came near,
she asked him: "Have you seen that Golden City?" Then he answered her,
"Yes, that city was seen by me when I was roaming through the earth
in quest of knowledge." [372] She next asked him, "By what road did
you go there, and what is it like?" That Bráhman then went on to say:
"From this place I went to a town called Harapura, and from that I
next came to the city of Benares; and from Benares in a few days to the
city of Paundravardhana, thence I went to that city called the Golden
City, and I saw it, a place of enjoyment for those who act aright,
like the city of Indra, the glory of which is made for the delight
of gods. [373] And having acquired learning there, I returned here
after some time; such is the path by which I went, and such is that
city." After that fraudulent Bráhman Saktideva had made up this story,
the princess said with a laugh;--"Great Bráhman, you have indeed seen
that city, but tell me, tell me again by what path you went." When
Saktideva heard that, he again displayed his effrontery, and then
the princess had him put out by her servants. And immediately after
putting him out, she went to her father, and her father asked her:
"Did that Bráhman speak the truth?"--And then the princess said to
her father: "Though you are a king you act without due consideration;
do you not know that rogues deceive honest people? For that Bráhman
simply wants to impose on me with a falsehood, but the liar has never
seen the golden city. And all kinds of deceptions are practised on the
earth by rogues; for listen to the story of Siva and Mádhava, which I
will tell you." Having said this, the princess told the following tale:
Story of Siva and Mádhava.
There is an excellent city rightly named Ratnapura, [374] and in it
there were two rogues named Siva and Mádhava. Surrounding themselves
with many other rogues, they contrived for a long time to rob, by
making use of trickery, all the rich men in the town. And one day
those two deliberated together and said--"We have managed by this
time to plunder this town thoroughly; so let us now go and live in
the city of Ujjayiní; there we hear that there is a very rich man
named Sankarasvámin, who is chaplain to the king. If we cheat him
out of his money we may thereby enjoy the charms of the ladies of
Málava. He is spoken of by Bráhmans as a miser, because he withholds
[375] half their usual fee with a frowning face, though he possesses
treasure enough to fill seven vessels; and that Bráhman has a pearl
of a daughter spoken of as matchless, we will manage to get her too
out of him along with the money." Having thus determined, and having
arranged beforehand what part each was to play, the two rogues Siva
and Mádhava went out of that town. At last they reached Ujjayiní,
and Mádhava, with his attendants, disguised as a Rájpút, remained
in a certain village outside the town. But Siva, who was expert in
every kind of deception, having assumed perfectly the disguise of a
religious ascetic, first entered that town alone. There he took up
his quarters in a hut on the banks of the Siprá, in which he placed,
so that they could be seen, clay, darbha grass, a vessel for begging,
and a deer-skin. And in the morning he anointed his body with thick
clay, as if testing beforehand his destined smearing with the mud of
the hell Avíchi. And plunging in the water of the river, he remained
a long time with his head downward, as if rehearsing beforehand his
future descent to hell, the result of his evil actions. And when he
rose up from his bath, he remained a long time looking up towards
the sun, as if shewing that he deserved to be impaled. Then he went
into the presence of the god and making rings of Kusa grass, [376]
and muttering prayers, he remained sitting in the posture called
Padmásana, [377] with a hypocritical cunning face, and from time to
time he made an offering to Vishnu, having gathered white flowers,
even as he took captive the simple hearts of the good by his villainy;
and having made his offering he again pretended to betake himself to
muttering his prayers, and prolonged his meditations as if fixing his
attention on wicked ways. And the next day, clothed in the skin of a
black antelope, he wandered about the city in quest of alms, like one
of his own deceitful leers intended to beguile it, and observing a
strict silence he took three handfuls of rice from Bráhmans' houses,
still equipped with stick and deer-skin, and divided the food into
three parts like the three divisions of the day, and part he gave to
the crows, and part to his guest, and with the third part he filled
his maw; and he remained for a long time hypocritically telling his
beads, as if he were counting his sins at the same time, and muttering
prayers; and in the night he remained alone in his hut, thinking over
the weak points of his fellow-men, even the smallest; and by thus
performing every day a difficult pretended penance he gained complete
ascendancy over the minds of the citizens in every quarter. And all
the people became devoted to him, and a report spread among them in
every direction that Siva was an exceedingly self-denying hermit.