The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
hermit was eminent both in beauty and asceticism, entertained him,
and said to him--"Reverend sir, this daughter is mine by the nymph
Rambhá, and by my daughter's marriage I am to be re-united with
her in heaven; so Rambhá told me when she was returning to the sky;
consider, auspicious sir, how that is to be accomplished." When the
hermit heard that, he thought for a moment--"Did not the hermit Ruru,
when Pramadvará the daughter of Menaká was bitten by a snake, give
her the half of his life, and make her his wife? Was not the Chandála
Trisanku carried to heaven by Visvámitra? So why should not I do the
same by expending my asceticism upon it?" Having thus reflected, the
hermit said--"There is no difficulty in it," and exclaimed--"Hearken ye
gods, may this king mount with his body to heaven to obtain possession
of Rambhá by virtue of part of my asceticism." Thus the hermit spoke
in the hearing of the court, and a distinct answer was heard from
heaven--"So be it." Then the king gave his daughter Sulochaná to the
hermit Vatsa, the descendant of Kasyapa, and ascended to heaven. There
he obtained a divine nature, and lived happily with that Rambhá of
god-like dignity, appointed his wife by Indra.
"Thus, O king, Sushena obtained all his ends by means of a
daughter. For such daughters become incarnate in the houses of such as
you. And this daughter is surely some heavenly nymph, fallen from her
high estate owing to a curse, and born in your house, so do not grieve,
monarch, on account of her birth." When king Kalingadatta had heard
this tale from the Bráhman that had grown old in his house, he left
off being distressed, and was comforted. And he gave to his dear young
daughter, who gave pleasure to his eyes, as if she had been a digit
of the moon, the name of Kalingasená. And the princess Kalingasená
grew up in the house of her father amongst her companions. And she
sported in the palaces, and in the palace-gardens, like a wave of
the sea of infancy that is full of the passion [458] for amusement.
Once on a time the daughter of the Asura Maya, named Somaprabhá, as she
was journeying through the sky, saw her on the roof of a palace engaged
in play. And Somaprabhá, while in the sky, beheld her lovely enough
to bewilder with her beauty the mind even of a hermit, and feeling
affection for her, reflected--"Who is this? Can she be the form of the
moon? If so, how is it that she gleams in the day? But if she is Rati,
where is Káma? Therefore I conclude that she is a mortal maiden.
"She must be some celestial nymph that has descended into a king's
palace in consequence of a curse; and I am persuaded I was certainly a
friend of her's in a former life. For my mind's being full of exceeding
affection for her, tells me so. Therefore it is fitting that I should
again select her as my chosen friend." Thus reflecting Somaprabhá
descended invisible from heaven, in order not to frighten that
maiden; and she assumed the appearance of a mortal maiden to inspire
confidence, and slowly approached that Kalingasená. Then Kalingasená,
on beholding her, reflected--"Bravo! here is a princess of wonderful
beauty come to visit me of her own accord! she is a suitable friend for
me." So she rose up politely and embraced that Somaprabhá. And making
her take a seat, she asked her immediately her descent and name. And
Somaprabhá said to her; "Be patient, I will tell you all." Then in the
course of their conversation they swore friendship to each other with
plighted hands. Then Somaprabhá, said--"My friend, you are a king's
daughter, and it is hard to keep up friendship with the children of
kings. For they fly into an immoderate passion on account of a small
fault. Hear, with regard to this point, the story of the prince and
the merchant's son which I am about to tell you."
Story of the prince and the merchant's son who saved his life. [459]
In the city of Pushkarávatí there was a king named Gúdhasena, and to
him there was born one son. That prince was overbearing, and whatever
he did, right or wrong, his father acquiesced in, because he was an
only son. And once upon a time, as he was roaming about in a garden,
he saw the son of a merchant, named Brahmadatta, who resembled himself
in wealth and beauty. And the moment he saw him, he selected him for
his special friend, and those two, the prince and the merchant's son,
immediately became like one another in all things. [460] And soon
they were not able to live without seeing one another, for intimacy
in a former birth quickly knits friendship. The prince never tasted
food that was not first prepared for that merchant's son.
Once on a time the prince set out for Ahichchhatra in order to be
married, having first decided on his friend's marriage. And, as he was
journeying with his troops, in the society of that friend, mounted
on an elephant, he reached the bank of the Ikshuvatí, and encamped
there. There he had a wine-party, when the moon arose; and after he
had gone to bed, he began to tell a story at the solicitation of his
nurse. When he had begun his story, being tired and intoxicated he
was overcome by sleep, and his nurse also, but the merchant's son
kept awake out of love for him. And when the others were asleep, the
merchant's son, who was awake, heard in the air what seemed to be the
voices of women engaged in conversation. The first said--"This wretch
has gone to sleep without telling his tale, therefore I pronounce this
curse on him. To-morrow morning he shall see a necklace, and if he
take hold of it, it shall cling to his neck, and that moment cause
his death." Then the first voice ceased, and the second went on:
"And if he escape that peril, he shall see a mango-tree, and if he
eat the fruit of it, he shall then and there lose his life." Having
uttered this, that voice also ceased, and then the third said--"If
he escape this also, then, if he enter a house to be married, it
shall fall on him and slay him." Having said so much, that voice also
ceased, and the fourth said, "If he escape this also, when he enters
that night into his private apartments, he shall sneeze a hundred
times; and if some one there does not a hundred times say to him,
'God bless you,' he shall fall into the grasp of death. And if the
person, who has heard all this, shall inform him of it in order
to save his life, he also shall die," having said this, the voice
ceased. [461] And the merchant's son having heard all this, terrible
as a thunderstroke, being agitated on account of his affection for
the prince, reflected--"Beshrew this tale that was begun, and not
finished, for divinities have come invisible to hear it, and are
cursing him out of disappointed curiosity. And if this prince dies,
what good will my life do to me? So I must by some artifice deliver
my friend whom I value as my life. And I must not tell him what has
taken place, lest I too should suffer." Having thus reflected, the
merchant's son got through the night with difficulty.
And in the morning the prince set out with him on his journey, and he
saw a necklace in front of him, and wished to lay hold of it. Then
the merchant's son said, "Do not take the necklace, my friend, it
is an illusion, else why do not these soldiers see it?" When the
prince heard that, he let the necklace alone, but going on further
he saw a mango-tree, and he felt a desire to eat its fruit. But he
was dissuaded by the merchant's son, as before. He felt much annoyed
in his heart, and travelling on slowly he reached his father-in-law's
palace. And he was about to enter a building there for the purpose of
being married, but just as his friend had persuaded him not to do so,
the house fell down. So he escaped this danger by a hair's breadth,
and then he felt some confidence in his friend's prescience. Then
the prince and his wife entered at night another building. But the
merchant's son slipped in there unobserved. And the prince, when he
went to bed, sneezed a hundred times, but the merchant's son underneath
it said a hundred times--"God bless you"--and then the merchant's son,
having accomplished his object, of his own accord left the house in
high spirits. But the prince, who was with his wife, saw him going
out, and through jealousy, forgetting his love for him, he flew into
a passion and said to the sentinels at his gate: "This designing
wretch has entered my private apartments when I wished to be alone,
so keep him in durance for the present, and he shall be executed in
the morning." When the guards heard that, they put him under arrest,
and he spent the night in confinement, but as he was being led off
to execution in the morning, he said to them--"First take me into
the presence of the prince, in order that I may tell him a certain
reason, which I had for my conduct; and then put me to death." When
he said this to the guards, they went and informed the prince, and
on their information and the advice of his ministers, the prince
ordered him to be brought before him. When he was brought, he told
the prince the whole story, and he believed it to be true, for the
fall of the house carried conviction to his mind. So the prince was
satisfied, and countermanded the order for his friend's execution,
and he returned with him to his own city, a married man. And there
his friend the merchant's son married, and lived in happiness, his
virtues being praised by all men.
"Thus the children of kings break loose from restraint and slaying
their guides, disregard benefits, like infuriated elephants. And
what friendship can there be with those Vetálas, who take people's
lives by way of a joke. Therefore, my princess, never abandon your
friendship with me."
When Kalingasená heard this story in the palace from the mouth of
Somaprabhá, she answered her affectionate friend,--"Those of whom you
speak are considered Pisáchas, not the children of kings, and I will
tell you a story of the evil importunity of Pisáchas, listen!" [462]
Story of the Bráhman and the Pisácha.
Long ago there was a Bráhman dwelling on a royal grant, which was
called Yajnasthala. He once upon a time, being poor, went to the
forest to bring home wood. There, a piece of wood being cleft with the
axe, fell, as chance would have it, upon his leg, and piercing it,
entered deep into it. And as the blood flowed from him, he fainted,
and he was beheld in that condition by a man who recognised him, and
taking him up carried him home. There his distracted wife washed off
the blood, and consoling him, placed a plaster upon the wound. And
then his wound, though tended day by day, not only did not heal, but
formed an ulcer. Then the man, afflicted with his ulcerated wound,
poverty-stricken, and at the point of death, was thus advised in
secret by a Bráhman friend, who came to him; "A friend of mine, named
Yajnadatta, was long very poor, but he gained the aid of a Pisácha
by a charm, and so, having obtained wealth, lived in happiness. And
he told me that charm, so do you gain, my friend, by means of it, the
aid of a Pisácha; he will heal your wound." Having said this, he told
him the form of words and described to him the ceremony as follows:
"Rise up in the last watch of the night, and with dishevelled hair and
naked, and without rinsing your mouth, take two handfuls of rice as
large as you can grasp with your two hands, and muttering the form
of words go to a place where four roads meet, and there place the
two handfuls of rice, and return in silence without looking behind
you. Do so always until that Pisácha appears, and himself says to you,
'I will put an end to your ailment.' Then receive his aid gladly,
and he will remove your complaint."
When his friend had said this to him, the Bráhman did as he had been
directed. Then the Pisácha, being conciliated, brought heavenly herbs