The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
not without cause, Dhanapálita, [469] for he was the richest of
the rich. And there was born to him a daughter, named Kírtisená,
who was incomparably beautiful, and dearer to him than life. And
he took his daughter to Magadha and married her to a rich merchant,
named Devasena. And though Devasena was himself very virtuous, he had a
wicked mother as mistress in his house, for his father was dead. She,
when she saw that her daughter-in-law Kírtisená was beloved by her
husband, being inflamed with anger, ill-treated her in her husband's
absence. But Kírtisená was afraid to let her husband know it, for
the position of a bride in the power of a treacherous mother-in-law
is a difficult one.
Once upon a time her husband Devasena, instigated by his relations,
was preparing to go to the city of Vallabhí for the sake of trade. Then
that Kírtisená said to her husband,--"I have not told you for this long
time what I am now going to say: your mother ill-treats me though you
are here, but I do not know what she will do to me when you are in a
foreign country." When Devasena heard that, he was perplexed, and being
alarmed on account of his affection for his wife, he went and humbly
said to his mother--"Kírtisená is committed to your care, mother, now
that I am going to a foreign land; you must not treat her unkindly, for
she is the daughter of a man of good family." When Devasena's mother
heard that, she summoned Kírtisená, and elevating her eyes, said to
him then and there,--"What have I done? ask her. This is the way in
which she eggs you on, my son, trying to make mischief in the house,
but both of you are the same in my eyes." When the good merchant heard
that, he departed with his mind easy on her account. For who is not
deceived by the hypocritically affectionate speeches of a mother? But
Kírtisená stood there silent, smiling in bewilderment, and the next day
the merchant set out for Vallabhí. Then, when Kírtisená began to suffer
torture at being separated from her husband, the merchant's mother
gradually forbade the female slaves to attend on her. And making an
agreement with a handmaid of her own, that worked in the house, she
took Kírtisená inside and secretly stripped her. And saying to her,
"Wicked woman, you rob me of my son," she pulled her hair, and with the
help of her servant, mangled her with kicks, bites, and scratches. And
she threw her into a cellar that was closed with a trap-door and
strongly fastened, after first taking out all the things that were
in it previously. And the wretch put in it every day half a plate of
rice, in the evening, for the girl who was in such a state. And she
thought, "I will say in a few days 'she died of herself during her
husband's absence in a distant land, take her corpse away.'" [470]
Thus Kírtisená, who deserved all happiness, was thrown into a cellar
by that cruel mother-in-law, and while there she reflected with tears,
"My husband is rich, I was born in a good family, I am fortunately
endowed and virtuous, nevertheless I suffer such calamity, thanks
to my mother-in-law. And this is why relations lament the birth of a
daughter, exposed to the terrors of mother-in-law, and sister-in-law,
marred with inauspiciousness of every kind." While thus lamenting,
Kírtisená suddenly found a small shovel in that cellar, like a
thorn extracted from her heart by the Creator. So she dug a passage
underground with that iron instrument, until by good luck she rose up
in her own private apartment. And she was able to see that room by
the light of a lamp that had been left there before, as if she were
lighted by her own undiminished virtue. And she took out of it her
clothes and her gold, and leaving it secretly at the close of the
night, she went out of the city. She reflected--"It is not fitting
that I should go to my father's house after acting thus; what should I
say there, and how would people believe me? So I must manage to repair
to my husband by means of my own ingenuity; for a husband is the only
refuge of virtuous women in this world and the next." Reflecting thus,
she bathed in the water of a tank, and put on the splendid dress of
a prince. Then she went into the bazar and after exchanging some gold
for money, she sojourned that day in the house of a certain merchant.
The next day she struck up a friendship with a merchant named
Samudrasena who wished to go to Vallabhí. And wearing the splendid
dress of a prince, she set out for Vallabhí with the merchant
and his servants in order to catch up her husband who had set out
beforehand. And she said to that merchant, "I am oppressed by my
clansmen, [471] so I will go with you to my friends in Vallabhí."
Having heard that, the merchant's son waited upon her on the journey,
out of respect, thinking to himself that she was some distinguished
prince or other; and that caravan preferred for its march the forest
road, which was much frequented by travellers, who avoided the other
routes because of the heavy duties they had to pay. In a few days
they reached the entrance of the forest, and while the caravan was
encamped in the evening, a female jackal, like a messenger of death,
uttered a terrific howl. Thereupon the merchants, who understood
what that meant, became apprehensive of an attack by bandits, and
the guards on every side took their arms in hand; and the darkness
began to advance like the vanguard of the bandits; then Kírtisená,
in man's dress, beholding that, reflected, "Alas! the deeds of those
who have sinned in a former life seem to propagate themselves with
a brood of evils! Lo! the calamity which my mother-in-law brought
upon me has borne fruit here also! First I was engulphed by the wrath
of my mother-in-law as if by the mouth of death, then I entered the
cellar like a second prison of the womb. By good fortune, I escaped
thence, being, as it were, born a second time, and having come here,
I have again run a risk of my life. If I am slain here by bandits,
my mother-in-law, who hates me, will surely say to my husband, 'She
ran off somewhere being attached to another man.' But if some one
tears off my clothes and recognises me for a woman, then again I run
a risk of outrage, and death is better than that. So I must deliver
myself, and disregard this merchant my friend. For good women must
regard the duty of virtuous wives, not friends and things of that
kind." Thus she determined, and searching about, found a hollow like
a house in the middle of a tree, as it were, an opening made for her
by the earth out of pity. There she entered and covered her body with
leaves and such like things; and remained supported by the hope of
reunion with her husband. Then, in the dead of night, a large force
of bandits suddenly fell upon the caravan with uplifted weapons,
and surrounded it on all sides. And there followed a storm of fight,
with howling bandits for thunder-clouds, and the gleam of weapons for
long-continued lightning-flashes, and a rain of blood. At last the
bandits, being more powerful, slew the merchant-prince Samudrasena
and his followers, and went off with all his wealth.
In the meanwhile Kírtisená was listening to the tumult, and that
she was not forcibly robbed of breath is to be ascribed to fate
only. Then the night departed, and the keen-rayed sun arose, and she
went out from that hollow in the middle of the tree. Surely the gods
themselves preserve in misfortune good women exclusively devoted to
their husbands, and of unfailing virtue; for not only did a lion
beholding her in the lonely wood spare her, but a hermit that had
come from somewhere or other, when she asked him for information,
comforted her and gave her a drink of water from his vessel, and then
disappeared in some direction or other, after telling her the road to
take. Then satisfied as if with nectar, free from hunger and thirst,
that woman, devoted to her husband, set out by the road indicated
by the hermit. Then she saw the sun mounted on the western mountain,
stretching forth his rays like fingers, as if saying--"Wait patiently
one night"--and so she entered an opening in the root of a forest
tree which looked like a house, and closed its mouth with another
tree. And in the evening she saw through the opening of a chink in
the door of her retreat a terrible Rákshasí approaching, accompanied
by her young sons. She was terrified, thinking to herself--"Lo! I
shall be devoured by this Rákshasí after escaping all my other
misfortunes"--and in the meanwhile the Rákshasí ascended that tree. And
her sons ascended after her, and immediately said to that Rákshasí,
[472]--"Mother, give us something to eat." Then the Rákshasí said to
her children,--"To-day, my children, I went to a great cemetery, but
I did not obtain any food, and though I entreated the congregation of
witches, they gave me no portion; then grieved thereat I appealed to
Siva in his terrific form and asked him for food. And the god asked
me my name and lineage, and then said to me--'Terrible one, thou
art of high birth as belonging to the race of Khara and Dúshana;
[473] so go to the city of Vasudatta, not far from here. In that
city there lives a great king named Vasudatta addicted to virtue;
he defends this whole forest, dwelling on its border, and himself
takes duties and chastises robbers. Now, one day, while the king was
sleeping in the forest, fatigued with hunting, a centipede quickly
entered his ear unobserved. And in course of time it gave birth to
many others inside his head. That produced an illness which now dries
up all his sinews. And the physicians do not know what is the cause
of his disease, but if some one does not find out, he will die in a
few days. When he is dead, eat his flesh; for by eating it, you will,
thanks to your magic power, remain satiated for six months!' In these
words Siva promised me a meal, that is attended with uncertainty,
and cannot be obtained for a long time, so what must I do, my
children?" When the Rákshasí said this to her children, they asked
her, "If the disease is discovered and removed, will that king live,
mother? And tell us how such a disease can be cured in him?" When
the children said this, the Rákshasí solemnly said to them, "If the
disease is discovered and removed, the king will certainly live. And
hear how his great disease may be taken away. First his head must be
anointed by rubbing warm butter on it, and then it must be placed
for a long time in the heat of the sun intensified by noonday. And
a hollow cane-tube must be inserted into the aperture of his ear,
which must communicate with a hole in a plate, and this plate must
be placed above a pitcher of cool water. Accordingly the centipedes
will be annoyed by heat and perspiration, and will come out of his
head, and will enter that cane-tube from the aperture of the ear,
and desiring coolness will fall into the pitcher. In this way the
king may be freed from that great disease." Thus spake the Rákshasí
to her sons on the tree, and then ceased; and Kírtisená, who was in
the trunk of the tree, heard it. And hearing it, she said to herself,
"If ever I get safe away from here, I will go and employ this artifice
to save the life of that king. For he takes but small duties, and
dwells on the outskirts of this forest; and so all the merchants come
this way because it is more convenient. This is what the merchant,
Samudrasena, who is gone to heaven, told me; accordingly that husband
of mine will be sure to return by this very path. So I will go to the
city of Vasudatta, which is on the borders of the forest, and I will
deliver the king from his sickness, and there await the arrival of my
husband." Thus reflecting, she managed, though with difficulty, to get
through the night: in the morning, the Rákshasas having disappeared,
she went out from the trunk of the tree.