Note 12 — PART II.

Having told this tale,12 the sage Jābāli said with a scornful smile to his son Hārīta and the other ascetics: ‘Ye have seen how this story has had power to hold us long, and to charm our hearts. And this is the love-stricken being who by his own fault fell from heaven, and became on earth Vaiçampāyana, son of Çukanāsa. He it is who, by the curse of his own wrathful father, and by Mahāçvetā’s appeal to the truth of her heart, has been born as a parrot.’ (612) As he thus spoke, I awoke, as it were, out of sleep, and, young as I was, I had on the tip of my tongue all the knowledge gained in a former birth; I became skilled in all arts; I had a clear human voice, memory, and all but the shape of a man. My affection for the prince, my uncontrolled passion, my devotion to Mahāçvetā, all returned. A yearning arose in me to know about them and my other friends, and though in deepest shame, I faintly asked Jābāli: ‘Now, blessed saint, that thou hast brought back my knowledge, my heart breaks for the prince who died in grief for my death. (613) Vouchsafe to tell me of him, so that I may be near him; even my birth as an animal will not grieve me.’ With mingled scorn and pity he replied: ‘Wilt thou not even now restrain thine old impatience? Ask, when thy wings are grown.’ Then to his son’s inquiry how one of saintly race should be so enslaved by love, he replied that this weak and unrestrained nature belonged to those born, like me, from a mother only. For the Veda says, ‘As a man’s parents are, so is he,’ (614) and medical science, too, declares their weakness. And he said my life now would be but short, but that when the curse was over, I should win length of years. I humbly asked by what sacrifices I should gain a longer life, but he bade me wait, and as the whole night had passed unobserved in his story, (615) he sent the ascetics to offer the morning oblation, while Hārīta took me, and placed me in his own hut near his couch, and went to his morning duties. (616) During his absence, I sorrowfully thought how hard it would be to rise from being a bird to being a Brahman, not to say a saint, who has the bliss of heaven. Yet if I could not be united to those I loved in past lives why should I yet live? But Hārīta then returned, and told me that Kapiñjala was there. (617–618) When I saw him weary, yet loving as ever, I strove to fly to him, and he, lifting me up, placed me in his bosom, and then on his head. (619) Then he told me, ‘Thy father Çvetaketu knew by divine insight of thy plight, and has begun a rite to help thee. As he began it I was set free from my horse’s shape; (620) but he kept me till Jābāli had recalled the past to thee, and now sends me to give thee his blessing, and say that thy mother Lakshmī is also helping in the rite.’ (621) Then, bidding me stay in the hermitage, he rose to the sky, to take part in the rite. (622) After some days, however, my wings were grown, and I resolved to fly to Mahāçvetā, so I set off towards the north; (623) but weariness soon overtook me, and I went to sleep in a tree, only to wake in the snare of a terrible Caṇḍāla. (624) I besought him to free me, for I was on the way to my beloved, but he said he had captured me for the young Caṇḍāla princess, who had heard of my gifts. With horror I heard that I, the son of Lakshmī and of a great saint, must dwell with a tribe shunned even by barbarians; (625) but when I urged that he could set me free without danger, for none would see him, he laughed, and replied: ‘He, for whom there exist not the five guardians of the world,13 witnesses of right and wrong, dwelling within his own body to behold his actions, will not do his duty for fear of any other being.’ (626) So he carried me off, and as I looked out in hope of getting free from him, I beheld the barbarian settlement, a very market-place of evil deeds. It was surrounded on all sides by boys engaged in the chase, unleashing their hounds, teaching their falcons, mending snares, carrying weapons, and fishing, horrible in their attire, like demoniacs. Here and there the entrance to their dwellings, hidden by thick bamboo forests, was to be inferred, from the rising of smoke of orpiment. On all sides the enclosures were made with skulls; (627) the dustheaps in the roads were filled with bones; the yards of the huts were miry with blood, fat, and meat chopped up. The life there consisted of hunting; the food, of flesh; the ointment, of fat; the garments, of coarse silk; the couches, of dried skins; the household attendants, of dogs; the animals for riding, of cows; the men’s employment, of wine and women; the oblation to the gods, of blood; the sacrifice, of cattle. The place was the image of all hells. (628) Then the man brought me to the Caṇḍāla maiden, who received me gladly, and placed me in a cage, saying: ‘I will take from thee all thy wilfulness.’ What was I to do? Were I to pray her to release me, it was my power of speech that had made her desire me; were I silent, anger might make her cruel; (629) still, it was my want of self-restraint that had caused all my misery, and so I resolved to restrain all my senses, and I therefore kept entire silence and refused all food.