Note 4 — Chapter XXXIX

And one day, as the king’s sons were practising with their weapons of war, they all saw an enormous crane in front of the palace. And while they were looking with astonishment at that misshapen bird, a Buddhist mendicant, who possessed supernatural knowledge, came that way and said to them—“Princes, this is not a crane, it is a Rákshasa named Agniśikha, who wanders about in an assumed shape destroying towns. So pierce him with an arrow, that being smitten he may depart hence.” When they heard this speech of the mendicant’s, the ninety-nine elder brothers shot their arrows, but not one struck the crane. Then that naked mendicant again said to them—“This younger brother of yours, named Śṛingabhuja, is able to strike this crane, so let him take a bow suitable for the purpose.” When Nirvásabhuja heard that, the treacherous one remembered the injunction of his mother, an opportunity for carrying out which had now arrived, and reflected—“This will be a means of getting Śṛingabhuja out of the country.4 So let us give him the bow and arrow belonging to our father. If the crane is pierced and goes off with our father’s golden arrow sticking in it, Śṛingabhuja will follow it, while we are searching for the arrow. And when he does not find, in spite of his search, that Rákshasa transformed into a crane, he will continue to roam about hither and thither, he will not come back without the arrow.” Thus reflecting, the treacherous one gave to Śṛingabhuja his father’s bow with the arrow, in order that he might smite the crane. The mighty prince took it and drew it, and pierced that crane with the golden arrow, the notch of which was made of a jewel. The crane, as soon as it was pierced, went off with the arrow sticking in its body, and flying away departed with drops of blood falling from the wound. Then the treacherous Nirvásabhuja and the other brothers, instigated by his hints, said to the brave Śṛingabhuja—“Give us back the golden arrow that belongs to our father, otherwise we will abandon our bodies before your eyes. For unless we produce it, our father will banish us from this country, and its fellow is not to be made or obtained.” When Śṛingabhuja heard that, he said to those crafty ones—“Be of good cheer! Do not be afraid—Abandon your terror! I will go and slay that miserable Rákshasa and bring back the arrow.” Having said this, Śṛingabhuja took his own bow and arrows, and went in the same direction in which the Rákshasa had gone, quickly following up the track of the drops of blood, that had fallen on the ground. The other sons returned delighted to their mothers, and Śṛingabhuja, as he went on step by step, at last reached a distant forest. Seeking about in it, he found in the wood a great city, like the fruit of his own tree of merit fallen to him in due time for enjoyment. There he sat down at the root of a tree to rest, and as if in a moment beheld a maiden of wonderful beauty coming there, appearing to have been made by the Creator in some strange way of ambrosia and poison; since by her absence she deprived of life, and by her presence she bestowed it. And when the maiden slowly approached him, and looked at him with an eye raining love, the prince fell in love with her and said to her—“Gazelle-eyed one, what is the name of this city, and to whom does it belong? Who are you, and why have you come here? tell me.” Then the pearly-toothed maid turned her face sideways, and fixed her eye on the ground, and spake to him with sweet and loving voice—“This city is Dhúmapura, the home of all felicity; in it lives a mighty Rákshasa by name Agniśikha; know that I am his matchless daughter, Rúpaśikhá by name, who have come here with mind captivated by your unparalleled beauty. Now you must tell me who you are, and why you have come here.” When she said this, he told her who he was, and of what king he was the son, and how he had come to Dhúmapura for the sake of an arrow. Then Rúpaśikhá, having heard the whole story, said—“There is no archer like you in the three worlds, since you pierced even my father with a great arrow, when he was in the form of a crane. And I took that golden arrow for my own, by way of a plaything. But my father’s wound was at once healed by the minister Mahádanshṭra, who excels all men in knowledge of potent drugs for curing wounds. So I will go to my father, and after I have explained the whole matter, I will quickly introduce you into his presence, my husband; so I call you, for my heart is now fully set upon you.”