The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story
duties, told him she had inauspicious marks. So she was married to his
prime minister. [494] And once on a time she showed herself to the king
at a window. And the king, struck by her with a poisonous look from a
distance, as if she had been a female snake, [495] fainted again and
again, enjoyed no pleasure, and took no food. And the righteous king,
though entreated over and over again to marry her by the ministers,
with her husband at their head, refused to do so, and devoted to her,
yielded up his breath.
"Accordingly I have come to-day and told you this wonderful tale,
thinking that if a similar distraction were to come upon you, I should
be guilty of conspiring against your life."
When king Srutasena heard from that Bráhman this speech, which was
like the command of the god of love, he became ardently attached to
Vidyuddyotá, so he immediately sent off the Bráhman and took steps to
have her brought quickly and married her. Then the princess Vidyuddyotá
became inseparable from the person of that king, as the daylight from
the orb of the sun.
Then a maiden of the name of Mátridattá, the daughter of a very rich
merchant, intoxicated with the pride of her beauty, came to select that
king for her husband. Through fear of committing unrighteousness, the
king married that merchant's daughter; then Vidyuddyotá, coming to hear
of it, died of a broken heart. And the king came and beheld that dearly
loved wife lying dead, and took her up in his arms, and lamenting,
died on the spot. Thereupon Mátridattá, the merchant's daughter,
entered the fire. And so the whole kingdom perished with the king.
"So you see, king, that the breaking off of long love is
difficult to bear, especially would it be so to the proud queen
Vásavadattá. Accordingly, if you were to marry this Kalingasená, the
queen Vásavadattá would indubitably quit her life, and queen Padmávatí
would do the same, for their life is one. And then how would your son
Naraváhanadatta live? And, I know, the king's heart would not be able
to bear any misfortune happening to him. And so all this happiness
would perish in a moment, O king. But as for the dignified reserve,
which the queens displayed in their speeches, that sufficiently
shews that their hearts are indifferent to all things, being firmly
resolved on suicide. So you must guard your own interests, for even
animals understand self-protection, much more wise men like yourself,
O king." The king of Vatsa, when he heard this at length from the
excellent minister Yaugandharáyana, having now become quite capable
of wise discrimination, said--"It is so; there can be no doubt about
it; all this fabric of my happiness would be overthrown. So what is
the use of my marrying Kalingasená? Accordingly the astrologers did
well in mentioning a distant hour as auspicious for the marriage:
and there cannot after all be much sin in abandoning one who had
come to select me as her husband." When Yaugandharáyana heard this,
he reflected with joy, "Our business has almost turned out according
to our wishes. Will not that same great plant of policy, watered with
the streams of expedient, and nourished with due time and place, truly
bring forth fruit?" Thus reflecting, and meditating upon fitting
time and place, the minister Yaugandharáyana went to his house,
after taking a ceremonious farewell of the king.
The king too went to the queen Vásavadattá, who had assumed to welcome
him a manner which concealed her real feelings, and thus spoke to her
to console her: "Why do I speak? you know well, O gazelle-eyed one,
that your love is my life, even as the water is of the lotus. Could I
bear even to mention the name of another woman? But Kalingasená came
to my house of her own impetuous motion. And this is well known, that
Rambhá, who came to visit Arjuna of her own impetuous will, having
been rejected by him, as he was engaged in austerities, inflicted on
him a curse which made him a eunuch. That curse was endured by him
to the end, living in the house of the king of Viráta in the garb
of a eunuch, though he displayed miraculous valour. So I did not
reject this Kalingasená when she came, but I cannot bring myself to
do anything without your wish." Having comforted her in these words,
and having perceived by the flush of wine which rose to her cheek, as
if it were her glowing passionate heart, that her cruel design was a
reality, the king of Vatsa spent that night with the queen Vásavadattá,
delighted at the transcendent ability of his prime minister.
And in the meanwhile that Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogesvara, who was
a friend of Yaugandharáyana, and whom he had commissioned beforehand
to watch day and night the proceedings of Kalingasená, came that very
night of his own accord and said to the prime minister: "I remain
ever at Kalingasená's house, either without it or within it, and I
have never seen man or god come there. But to-day I suddenly heard an
indistinct noise in the air, at the commencement of the night, as I was
lying hid near the roof of the palace. Then my magic science was set
in motion to ascertain the cause of the sound, but prevailed not; so
I pondered over it, and came to this conclusion: 'This must certainly
be the voice of some being of divine power, enamoured of Kalingasená,
who is roaming in the sky. Since my science does not succeed, I must
look for some opening, for clever people who remain vigilant, find
little difficulty in discovering holes in their opponents' armour. And
I know that the prime minister said--"Divine beings are in love with
her"--moreover I overheard her friend Somaprabhá saying the same. After
arriving at this conclusion I came here to make my report to you. This
I have to ask you by the way, so tell me so much I pray you. By my
magic power I heard, without being seen, what you said to the king,
'Even animals understand self-protection.' Now tell me, sagacious
man, if there is any instance of this."--When Yogesvara asked him
this question, Yaugandharáyana answered. "There is, my friend, and
to prove it, I will tell you this tale. Listen!"
The tale of the ichneumon, the owl, the cat, and the mouse.
Once on a time there was a large banyan tree outside the city of
Vidisá. In that vast tree dwelt four creatures, an ichneumon, an owl,
a cat, and a mouse, [496] and their habitations were apart. The
ichneumon and the mouse dwelt in separate holes in the root, the
cat in a great hollow in the middle of the tree: but the owl dwelt
in a bower of creepers on the top of it, which was inaccessible
to the others. Among these the mouse was the natural prey of all
three, three out of the four of the cat. The mouse, the ichneumon,
and the owl ranged for food during the night, the two first through
fear of the cat only, the owl partly because it was his nature to
do so. But the cat fearlessly wandered night and day through the
neighbouring barley-field, in order to catch the mouse, while the
others went there by stealth at a suitable time out of desire for
food. One day a certain hunter of the Chandála caste came there. He
saw the track of the cat entering that field, and having set nooses
all round the field in order to compass its death, departed. So the
cat came there at night to slay the mouse, and entering the field
was caught in one of the hunter's nooses. The mouse, for his part,
came there secretly in search of food, and seeing the cat caught
in the noose, danced for joy. While it was entering the field, the
owl and ichneumon came from afar by the same path, and seeing the
cat fast in the noose, desired to capture the mouse. And the mouse,
beholding them afar off, was terrified and reflected--"If I fly to
the cat, which the owl and the ichneumon are afraid of, that enemy,
though fast in the noose, may slay me with one blow, but if I keep
at a distance from the cat, the owl and the ichneumon will be the
death of me. So being compassed about with enemies, where shall I go,
what shall I do? Ah! I will take refuge with the cat here, for it is
in trouble, and may save me to preserve its own life, as I shall be
of use to gnaw through the noose." Thus reflecting the mouse slowly
approached the cat, and said to it, "I am exceedingly grieved at your
being caught, so I will gnaw through your noose; the upright come to
love even their enemies by dwelling in their neighbourhood. But I do
not feel confidence in you, as I do not know your intentions." When
the cat heard that, he said "Worthy mouse, be at rest, from this day
forth you are my friend as giving me life." The moment he heard this
from the cat, he crept into his bosom; when the owl and ichneumon saw
that, they went away hopeless. Then the cat, galled with the noose,
said to the mouse, "My friend, the night is almost gone, so quickly
gnaw through my bonds." The mouse for its part, waiting for the
arrival of the hunter, slowly nibbled the noose, and protracted the
business, making a continual munching with its teeth, which was all
pretence. Soon the night came to an end, and the hunter came near;
then the mouse, at the request of the cat, quickly gnawed through the
noose which held it. So the cat's noose was severed, and it ran away,
afraid of the hunter; and the mouse, delivered from death, fled into
its hole. But when called again by the cat, it reposed no confidence
in him, but remarked, "The truth is, an enemy is occasionally made
a friend by circumstances, but does not remain such for ever."
"Thus the mouse, though an animal, saved its life from many foes,
much more ought the same thing to take place among men. You heard that
speech which I uttered to the king on that occasion, to the effect
that by wisdom he should guard his own interests by preserving the
life of the queen. And wisdom is in every exigency the best friend, not
valour, Yogesvara; in illustration of this hear the following story."
The story of king Prasenajit and the Bráhman who lost his treasure.
There is a city named Srávastí, and in it there lived in old time a
king of the name of Prasenajit, and one day a strange Bráhman arrived
in that city. A merchant, thinking he was virtuous, because he lived
on rice in the husk, provided him a lodging there in the house of
a Bráhman. There he was loaded by him every day with presents of
unhusked rice and other gifts, and gradually by other great merchants
also, who came to hear his story. In this way the miserly fellow
gradually accumulated a thousand dínárs, and, going to the forest,
he dug a hole and buried it in the ground, [497] and he went every
day and examined the spot. Now one day he saw that the hole, in which
he had hidden his gold, had been re-opened, and that all the gold had
gone. When he saw that hole empty, his soul was smitten, and not only
was there a void in his heart, but the whole universe seemed to him to
be void also. And then he came crying to the Bráhman, in whose house
he lived, and when questioned, he told him his whole story: and he
made up his mind to go to a holy bathing-place, and starve himself to
death. Then the merchant, who supplied him with food, hearing of it,
came there with others, and said to him, "Bráhman, why do you long to
die for the loss of your wealth? Wealth, like an unseasonable cloud,
suddenly comes and goes." Though plied by him with these and similar
arguments, he would not abandon his fixed determination to commit
suicide, for wealth is dearer to the miser than life itself. But when
the Bráhman was going to the holy place to commit suicide, the king
Prasenajit himself, having heard of it, came to him and asked him,
"Bráhman, do you know of any mark by which you can recognize the place
where you buried your dínárs?" When the Bráhman heard that, he said:
"There is a small tree in the wood there, I buried that wealth at its