The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
was grieved because he longed for a son. For a son, being embodied joy,
is far superior to a daughter, that is but a lump of grief. Then in his
affliction, the king went out of his palace to divert his mind, and he
entered a monastery full of many images of Buddha. In a certain part of
the monastery, he heard this speech being uttered by a begging hermit,
who was a religious preacher, as he sat in the midst of his hearers.
"They say that the bestowal of wealth in this world is great
asceticism; a man who gives wealth is said to give life, for life
depends on wealth. And Buddha, with mind full of pity, offered up
himself for another, as if he were worthless straw, much more should
one offer up sordid pelf. And it was by such resolute asceticism,
that Buddha, having got rid of desire, and obtained heavenly insight,
attained the rank of a Buddha. Therefore a wise man should do what
is beneficial to other beings, by abstaining from selfish aspirations
even so far as to sacrifice his own body, in order that he may obtain
perfect insight."
Story of the seven princesses.
Thus, long ago, there were born in succession to a certain king
named Krita seven very beautiful princesses, and even while they
were still youthful they abandoned, in disgust with life, the house
of their father, and went to the cemetery, and when they were asked
why they did it, they said to their retinue--"This world is unreal,
and in it this body, and such delights as union with the beloved
are the baseless fabric of a dream; only the good of others in this
revolving world is pronounced to be real; so let us with these bodies
of ours do good to our fellow creatures, let us fling these bodies,
while they are alive, to the eaters of raw flesh [452] in the cemetery;
what is the use of them, lovely though they be?"
Story of the prince who tore out his own eye.
For there lived in old time a certain prince who was disgusted with
the world, and he, though young and handsome, adopted the life of a
wandering hermit. Once on a time that beggar entered the house of a
certain merchant, and was beheld by his young wife with his eyes long
as the leaf of a lotus. She, with heart captivated by the beauty of his
eyes said to him, "How came such a handsome man as you to undertake
such a severe vow as this? Happy is the woman who is gazed upon with
this eye of yours!" When the begging hermit was thus addressed by the
lady, he tore out one eye, and holding it in his hand, said, "Mother,
behold this eye, such as it is; take the loathsome mass of flesh and
blood, if it pleases you. [453] And the other is like it; say, what is
there attractive in these?" When he said this to the merchant's wife,
and she saw the eye, she was despondent, and said, "Alas! I, unhappy
wretch that I am, have done an evil deed, in that I have become the
cause of the tearing out of your eye!" When the beggar heard that,
he said,--"Mother, do not be grieved, for you have done me a benefit;
hear the following example, to prove the truth of what I say."
Story of the ascetic who conquered anger.
There lived long ago, in a certain beautiful garden on the banks
of the Ganges, a hermit animated by the desire of experiencing all
asceticism. And while he was engaged in mortifying the flesh, it
happened that a certain king came there to amuse himself with the
women of his harem. And after he had amused himself, he fell asleep
under the influence of his potations, and while he was in this state,
his queens left him out of thoughtlessness and roamed about in the
garden. And beholding in a corner of the garden that hermit engaged
in meditation, they stood round him out of curiosity, wondering
what on earth he could be. And as they remained there a long time,
that king woke up, and not seeing his wives at his side, wandered all
round the garden. And then he saw the queens standing all round the
hermit, and being enraged, he slashed the hermit with his sword out
of jealousy. What crime will not sovereign power, jealousy, cruelty,
drunkenness, and indiscretion cause separately, much more deadly are
they when combined, like five fires. [454] Then the king departed,
and though the hermit's limbs were gashed, he remained free from wrath;
whereupon a certain deity appeared and said to him,--"Great-souled one,
if you approve I will slay by my power that wicked man who did this to
you in a passion." When the hermit heard that, he said, "O goddess,
say not so, for he is my helper in virtue, not a harmer of me. For
by his favour I have attained the grace of patience; to whom could
I have shown patience, O goddess, if he had not acted thus towards
me? What anger does the wise man shew for the sake of this perishing
body? To shew patience equally with regard to what is agreeable and
disagreeable is to have attained the rank of Brahmá." When the hermit
said this to the deity, she was pleased, and after healing the wounds
in his limbs, she disappeared.
"In the same way as that king was considered a benefactor by the
hermit, you, my mother, have increased my asceticism by causing
me to tear out my eye." Thus spake the self-subduing hermit to the
merchant's wife, who bowed before him, and being regardless of his
body, lovely though it was, he passed on to perfection.
"Therefore, though our youth be very charming, why should we cling to
this perishable body? But the only thing which, in the eye of the wise
man, it is good for, is to benefit one's fellow-creatures. So we will
lay down our bodies to benefit living creatures in this cemetery, the
natural home of happiness." Having said this to their attendants, those
seven princesses did so, and obtained therefrom the highest beatitude.
"Thus you see that the wise have no selfish affection even for their
own bodies, much less for such worthless things [455] as son, wife,
and servants."
When the king Kalingadatta had heard these and other such things from
the religious teacher in the monastery, having spent the day there, he
returned to his palace. And when he was there, he was again afflicted
with grief on account of the birth of a daughter to him, and a certain
Bráhman, who had grown old in his house, said to him--"King, why do
you despond on account of the birth of a pearl of maidens? Daughters
are better even than sons, and produce happiness in this world and the
next. Why do kings care so much about those sons that hanker after
their kingdom, and eat up their fathers like crabs? But kings like
Kuntibhoja and others, by the virtues of daughters like Kuntí and
others, have escaped harm from sages like the terrible Durvásas. And
how can one obtain from a son the same fruit in the next world, as
one obtains from the marriage of a daughter? Moreover I now proceed
to tell the tale of Sulochaná, listen to it."
Story of Sulochaná and Sushena.
There was a young king named Sushena on the mountain of Chitrakúta,
who was created like another god of love by the Creator to spite
Siva. He made at the foot of that great mountain a heavenly garden,
which was calculated to make the gods averse to dwelling in the garden
of Nandana. And in the middle of it he made a lake with full-blown
lotuses, like a new productive bed for the lotuses with which the
goddess of Fortune plays. This lake had steps leading down into
it made of splendid gems, and the king used to linger on its bank
without a bride, because there were no eligible matches for him. Once
on a time Rambhá, a fair one of heaven, came that way, wandering at
will through the air from the palace of Indra. She beheld the king
roaming in that garden like an incarnation of the Spring in the midst
of a garden of full-blown flowers. She said--"Can this be the moon,
that has swooped down from heaven in pursuit of the goddess of Fortune
fallen into a cluster of lotuses of the lake? But that cannot be, for
this hero's fortune in the shape of beauty never passes away. [456]
Surely this must be the god of the flowery arrows come to the garden
in quest of flowers. But where has Rati, his companion, gone?" Thus
Rambhá described him in her eagerness, and descending from heaven in
human form, she approached that king. And when the king suddenly beheld
her advancing towards him, he was astonished and reflected--"Who can
this be of incredible beauty? She cannot surely be a human being,
since her feet do not touch the dust, and her eye does not wink,
therefore she must be some divine person. But I must not ask her who
she is, for she might fly from me. Divine beings, who visit men for
some cause or other, are generally impatient of having their secrets
revealed." While such thoughts were passing in the monarch's mind,
she began a conversation with him, which led in due course to his
throwing his arms round her neck then and there. And he sported
long there with this Apsaras, so that she forgot heaven; love is
more charming than one's native home. And the land of that king was
filled with heaps of gold, by means of the Yakshinís, friends of
hers, who transformed themselves into trees, as the heaven is filled
with the peaks of Meru. And in course of time that excellent Apsaras
became pregnant, and bore to king Sushena an incomparably beautiful
daughter, and no sooner had she given her birth, than she said to the
king--"O king, such has been my curse, and it is now at an end; for I
am Rambhá, a heavenly nymph that fell in love with you on beholding
you: and as I have given birth to a child, I must immediately leave
you and depart. For such is the law that governs us heavenly beings;
therefore take care of this daughter; when she is married, we shall
again be united in heaven." When the Apsaras Rambhá had said this,
she departed, sorely against her will, and through grief at it, the
king was bent on abandoning life. But his ministers said to him, "Did
Visvámitra, though despondent, abandon life when Menaká had departed
after giving birth to Sakuntalá?" When the king had been plied by
them with such arguments, he took the right view of the matter, and
slowly recovered his self-command, taking to his heart the daughter
who was destined to be the cause of their re-union. And that daughter,
lovely in all her limbs, her father, who was devoted to her, named
Sulochaná, on account of the exceeding beauty of her eyes.
In time she grew up to womanhood, and a young hermit, named Vatsa,
the descendant of Kasyapa, as he was roaming about at will, beheld
her in a garden. He, though he was all compact of asceticism, the
moment he beheld that princess, felt the emotion of love, and he said
to himself then and there; "Oh! exceedingly wonderful is the beauty
of this maiden! If I do not obtain her as a wife, what other fruit of
my asceticism can I obtain?" While thinking thus, the young hermit was
beheld by Sulochaná, and he seemed to her all glorious with brightness,
like fire free from smoke. When she saw him with his rosary and water
vessel, she fell in love also and thought--"Who can this be that looks
so self-restrained and yet so lovely?" And coming towards him as if to
select him for her husband, she threw over his body the garland [457]
of the blue lotuses of her eyes, and bowed before that hermit. And
he, with mind overpowered by the decree of Cupid, hard for gods and
Asuras to evade, pronounced on her the following blessing--"Obtain a
husband." Then the excellent hermit was thus addressed by that lady,
whose modesty was stolen away by love for his exceeding beauty,
and who spoke with downcast face--"If this is your desire, and if
this is not jesting talk, then, Bráhman, ask the king, my father,
who has power to dispose of me." Then the hermit, after hearing of
her descent from her attendants, went and asked the king Sushena, her
father, for her hand. He, for his part, when he saw that the young