Note 190 — KĀDAMBARĪ.

‘“As the days thus passed on, the king, eager for the anointing of Candrāpīḍa as crown prince, (206) appointed chamberlains to gather together all things needful for it; and when it was at hand, Çukanāsa, desirous of increasing the prince’s modesty, great as it already was, spoke to him at length during one of his visits: ‘Dear Candrāpīḍa, though thou hast learnt what is to be known, and read all the çāstras, no little remains for thee to learn. For truly the darkness arising from youth is by nature very thick, nor can it be pierced by the sun, nor cleft by the radiance of jewels, nor dispelled by the brightness of lamps. The intoxication of Lakshmī is terrible, and does not cease even in old age. There is, too, another blindness of power, evil, not to be cured by any salve. The fever of pride runs very high, and no cooling appliances can allay it. The madness that rises from tasting the poison of the senses is violent, and not to be counteracted by roots or charms. The defilement of the stain of passion is never destroyed by bathing or purification. The sleep of the multitude of royal pleasures is ever terrible, and the end of night brings no waking. Thus thou must often be told at length. Lordship inherited even from birth, fresh youth, peerless beauty, superhuman talent, all this is a long succession of ills. (207) Each of these separately is a home of insolence; how much more the assemblage of them! For in early youth the mind often loses its purity, though it be cleansed with the pure waters of the çāstras. The eyes of the young become inflamed, though their clearness is not quite lost. Nature, too, when the whirlwind of passion arises, carries a man far in youth at its own will, like a dry leaf borne on the wind. This mirage of pleasure, which captivates the senses as if they were deer, always ends in sorrow. When the mind has its consciousness dulled by early youth, the characteristics of the outer world fall on it like water, all the more sweetly for being but just tasted. Extreme clinging to the things of sense destroys a man, misleading him like ignorance of his bearings. But men such as thou art the fitting vessels for instruction. For on a mind free from stain the virtue of good counsel enters easily, as the moon’s rays on a moon crystal. The words of a guru, though pure, yet cause great pain when they enter the ears of the bad, as water does; (208) while in others they produce a nobler beauty, like the ear-jewel on an elephant. They remove the thick darkness of many sins, like the moon in the gloaming.190 The teaching of a guru is calming, and brings to an end the faults of youth by turning them to virtue, just as old age takes away the dark stain of the locks by turning them to gray. This is the time to teach thee, while thou hast not yet tasted the pleasures of sense. For teaching pours away like water in a heart shattered by the stroke of love’s arrow. Family and sacred tradition are unavailing to the froward and undisciplined. Does a fire not burn when fed on sandal-wood? Is not the submarine fire the fiercer in the water that is wont to quench fire? But the words of a guru are a bathing without water, able to cleanse all the stains of man; they are a maturity that changes not the locks to gray; they give weight without increase of bulk; though not wrought of gold, they are an ear-jewel of no common order; without light they shine; without startling they awaken. They are specially needed for kings, for the admonishers of kings are few. (209) For from fear, men follow like an echo the words of kings, and so, being unbridled in their pride, and having the cavity of their ears wholly stopped, they do not hear good advice even when offered; and when they do hear, by closing their eyes like an elephant, they show their contempt, and pain the teachers who offer them good counsel. For the nature of kings, being darkened by the madness of pride’s fever, is perturbed; their wealth causes arrogance and false self-esteem; their royal glory causes the torpor brought about by the poison of kingly power. First, let one who strives after happiness look at Lakshmī. For this Lakshmī, who now rests like a bee on the lotus-grove of a circle of naked swords, has risen from the milk ocean, has taken her glow from the buds of the coral-tree, her crookedness from the moon’s digit, her restlessness from the steed Uccaiḥçrava, her witchery from Kālakūṭa poison, her intoxication from nectar, and from the Kaustubha gem her hardness. (210) All these she has taken as keepsakes to relieve her longing with memory of her companions’ friendship. There is nothing so little understood here in the world as this base Lakshmī. When won, she is hard to keep; when bound fast by the firm cords of heroism, she vanishes; when held by a cage of swords brandished by a thousand fierce champions, she yet escapes; when guarded by a thick band of elephants, dark with a storm of ichor, she yet flees away. She keeps not friendships; she regards not race; she recks not of beauty; she follows not the fortunes of a family; she looks not on character; she counts not cleverness; she hears not sacred learning; she courts not righteousness; she honours not liberality; she values not discrimination; she guards not conduct; she understands not truth; she makes not auspicious marks her guide; like the outline of an aërial city, she vanishes even as we look on her. She is still dizzy with the feeling produced by the eddying of the whirlpool made by Mount Mandara. As if she were the tip of a lotus-stalk bound to the varying motion of a lotus-bed, she gives no firm foothold anywhere. Even when held fast with great effort in palaces, she totters as if drunk with the ichor of their many wild elephants. (211) She dwells on the sword’s edge as if to learn cruelty. She clings to the form of Nārāyaṇa as if to learn constant change of form. Full of fickleness, she leaves even a king, richly endowed with friends, judicial power, treasure, and territory, as she leaves a lotus at the end of day, though it have root, stalk, bud, and wide-spreading petals. Like a creeper, she is ever a parasite.191 Like Gangā, though producing wealth, she is all astir with bubbles; like the sun’s ray, she alights on one thing after another; like the cavity of hell, she is full of dense darkness. Like the demon Hiḍambā, her heart is only won by the courage of a Bhīma; like the rainy season, she sends forth but a momentary flash; like an evil demon, she, with the height of many men,192 crazes the feeble mind. As if jealous, she embraces not him whom learning has favoured; she touches not the virtuous man, as being impure; she despises a lofty nature as unpropitious; she regards not the gently-born, as useless. She leaps over a courteous man as a snake; (212) she avoids a hero as a thorn; she forgets a giver as a nightmare; she keeps far from a temperate man as a villain; she mocks at the wise as a fool; she manifests her ways in the world as if in a jugglery that unites contradictions. For, though creating constant fever,193 she produces a chill;194 though exalting men, she shows lowness of soul; though rising from water, she augments thirst; though bestowing lordship,195 she shows an unlordly196 nature; though loading men with power, she deprives them of weight;197 though sister of nectar, she leaves a bitter taste; though of earthly mould,198 she is invisible; though attached to the highest,199 she loves the base; like a creature of dust, she soils even the pure. Moreover, let this wavering one shine as she may, she yet, like lamplight, only sends forth lamp-black. For she is the fostering rain of the poison-plants of desire, the hunter’s luring song to the deer of the senses, the polluting smoke to the pictures of virtue, the luxurious couch of infatuation’s long sleep, the ancient watch-tower of the demons of pride and wealth. (213) She is the cataract gathering over eyes lighted by the çāstras, the banner of the reckless, the native stream of the alligators of wrath, the tavern of the mead of the senses, the music-hall of alluring dances, the lair of the serpents of sin, the rod to drive out good practices. She is the untimely rain to the kalahaṃsas200 of the virtues, the hotbed of the pustules of scandal, the prologue of the drama of fraud, the roar of the elephant of passion, the slaughter-house of goodness, the tongue of Rāhu for the moon of holiness. Nor see I any who has not been violently embraced by her while she was yet unknown to him, and whom she has not deceived. Truly, even in a picture she moves; even in a book she practises magic; even cut in a gem she deceives; even when heard she misleads; even when thought on she betrays.