Volume 2 / Book 10 — Chapter LVII.

Story of the porter who found a bracelet.

Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, remained in Kauśámbí in happiness, with his wives, and his ministers. And one day, when he was present, a merchant living in the city, came to make a representation to his father, as he was sitting on his throne. That merchant, of the name of Ratnadatta, entered, announced by the warder, and bowing before the king, said as follows: “O king, there is a poor porter here, of the name of Vasundhara; and suddenly he is found of late to be eating, drinking, and bestowing alms. So, out of curiosity, I took him to my house, and gave him food and drink to his heart’s content, and when I had made him drunk. I questioned him, and he gave me this answer, ‘I obtained from the door of the king’s palace a bracelet with splendid jewels, and I picked out one jewel and sold it. And I sold it for a lakh of dínárs to a merchant named Hiraṇyagupta; this is how I come to be living in comfort at present.” When he had said this, he shewed me that bracelet, which was marked with the king’s name, and therefore I have come to inform your majesty of the circumstance.” When the king of Vatsa heard that, he had the porter and the merchant of precious jewels summoned with all courtesy, and when he saw the bracelet, he said of himself; “Ah! I remember, this bracelet slipped from my arm when I was going round the city.” And the courtiers asked the porter, “Why did you, when you had got hold of a bracelet marked with the king’s name, conceal it?” He replied, “I am one who gets his living by carrying burdens, and how am I to know the letters of the king’s name? When I got hold of it, I appropriated it, being burnt up with the misery of poverty.” When he said this, the jewel-merchant, being reproached for keeping the jewel, said—“I bought it in the market, without putting any pressure on the man, and there was no royal mark upon it, though now it is said that it belongs to the king. And he has taken five thousand of the price, the rest is with me.” When Yaugandharáyaṇa, who was present, heard this speech of Hiraṇyagupta’s, he said—“No one is in fault in this matter. What can we say against the porter who does not know his letters? Poverty makes men steal, and who ever gave up what he had found? And the merchant who bought it from him cannot be blamed.” The king when he heard this decision of his prime minister’s, approved it. And he took back his jewel from the merchant, paying him the five thousand dínárs, which had been spent by the porter, and he set the porter at liberty, after taking back his bracelet, and he, having consumed his five thousand, went free from anxiety to his own house. And the king, though in the bottom of his heart he hated that merchant Ratnadatta, as being a man who ruined those that reposed confidence in him, honoured him for his service. When they had all departed, Vasantaka came before the king, and said, “Ah! when men are cursed by destiny, even the wealth they obtain departs, for the incident of the inexhaustible pitcher has happened to this porter.”

For you must know that there lived long ago, in the city of Páṭaliputra, a man of the name of Śubhadatta, and he every day carried in a load of wood from the forest, and sold it, and so maintained his household. Now one day he went to a distant forest, and, as it happened, he saw there four Yakshas with heavenly ornaments and dresses. The Yakshas, seeing he was terrified, kindly asked him of his circumstances, and finding out that he was poor, they conceived pity for him, and said—“Remain here as a servant in our house, we will support your family for you without trouble on your part.” When Śubhadatta heard that, he agreed, and remained with them, and he supplied them with requisites for bathing and performed other menial offices for them. When the time for eating came, those Yakshas said to him—“Give us food from this inexhaustible pitcher.” But he hesitated, seeing that it was empty, and then the Yakshas again said to him, smiling—“Śubhadatta, do you not understand? Put your hand in the pitcher, and you will obtain whatever you want, for this is a pitcher that supplies whatever is required.” When he heard that, he put his hand in the pitcher, and immediately he beheld all the food and drink that could be required. And Śubhadatta out of that store supplied them and ate himself.

“So you see that these unfortunate persons, whose intellects are destroyed with the vice of drinking, and other vices, and with infatuation, cannot keep wealth, even when they have obtained it.” When the king of Vatsa had heard this amusing story of the inexhaustible pitcher, he rose up, and bathed, and set about the other duties of the day. And Naraváhanadatta also bathed, and took food with his father, and at the end of the day went with his friends to his own house. There he went to bed at night, but could not sleep, and Marubhúti said to him in the hearing of the ministers: “I know, it is love of a slave-girl that prevents your summoning your wives, and you have not summoned the slave-girl, so you cannot sleep. But why in spite of your better knowledge do you still fall in love with hetæræ? For they have no goodness of character; in proof that they have not, hear the following tale:”

Story of the merchant’s son, the hetæra, and the wonderful ape Ála.

Then his friend, named Arthadatta, of his own accord came to him and said—“Friend, has all that training of yours, though painfully acquired from the kuṭṭiní, proved useless, now that the occasion has presented itself, as skill in the use of weapons does to a coward, in that you believe that there is sincerity in this love of a hetæra? Is water ever really found in desert-mirages? So let us go before all your wealth is consumed, for, if your father were to hear of it, he would be very angry.” When his friend said this to him, the merchant’s son said, “It is true that no reliance can be placed upon hetæræ as a rule, but Sundarí is not like the rest of her class, for, if she were to lose sight of me for a moment, my friend, she would die. So do you break it to her, if we must in any case go.”

When he said this to Arthadatta, Arthadatta said to Sundarí, in the presence of Íśvaravarman and her mother Makarakaṭí, “You entertain extraordinary affection for Íśvaravarman, but he must certainly go on a trading expedition to Svarṇadvípa immediately. There he will obtain so much wealth, that he will come and live with you in happiness all his life, consent to it, my friend.” When Sundarí heard this, she gazed on the face of Íśvaravarman with tears in her eyes and assumed despondency, and said to Arthadatta, “What am I to say? you gentlemen know best. Who can rely on any one before seeing the end? Never mind! Let fate deal with me as it will!” When she said this, her mother said to her, “Do not be grieved, control yourself; your lover will certainly return when he has made his fortune; he will not abandon you.” In these words her mother consoled her, but made an agreement with her, and had a net secretly prepared in a well, that lay in the road they must take. And then Íśvaravarman’s mind was in a state of tremulous agitation about parting, and Sundarí, as if out of grief, took but little food and drink. And she shewed no inclination for singing, music, or dancing, but she was consoled by Íśvaravarman with various affectionate attentions.

Then, on the day named by his friend, Íśvaravarman set out from the house of Sundarí, after the kuṭṭiní had offered a prayer for his success. And Sundarí followed him weeping, with her mother, outside the city, as far as the well in which the net had been stretched. There he made Sundarí turn back, and he was proceeding on his journey, when she flung herself into the well on the top of the net. Then a loud cry was heard from her mother, from the female slaves, and all the attendants, “Ah! my daughter! Ah! mistress!” That made the merchant’s son and his friend turn round, and when he heard that his beloved had thrown herself into a well, he was for a moment stupefied with grief. And Makarakaṭí, lamenting with loud cries, made her servants, who were attached to her, and in the secret, go down into the well. They let themselves down by means of ropes, and exclaiming, “Thank heaven, she is alive, she is alive,” they brought up Sundarí from the well. When she was brought up, she assumed the appearance of one nearly dead, and after she had mentioned the name of the merchant’s son, who had returned, she slowly began to cry. But he, being comforted, took her to her house in great delight, accompanied by his attendants, returning there himself. And having made up his mind that the love of Sundarí was to be relied on, and considering that, by obtaining her, he had obtained the real end of his birth, he once more gave up the idea of continuing his journey. And when he had taken up his abode there, determined to remain, his friend said to him once more, “My friend, why have you ruined yourself by infatuation? Do not rely on the love of Sundarí simply because she flung herself into a well, for the treacherous schemes of a kuṭṭiní are not to be fathomed even by Providence. And what what will you say to your father, when you have spent all your property, or where will you go? So leave this place even at this eleventh hour, if your mind is sound.” When the merchant’s son heard this speech of his friend’s, he paid no attention to it, and in another month he spent those other three crores. Then he was stripped of his all; and the kuṭṭiní Makarakaṭí had him seized by the back of the neck and turned out of Sundarí’s house.

But Arthadatta and the others quickly returned to their own city, and told the whole story, as it happened, to his father. His father Ratnavarman, that prince of merchants, was much grieved when he heard it, and in great distress went to the kuṭṭiní Yamajihvá, and said to her, “Though you received a large salary, you taught my son so badly, that Makarakaṭí has with ease stripped him of all his wealth.” When he had said this, he told her all the story of his son. Then the old kuṭṭiní Yamajihvá said: “Have your son brought back here; I will enable him to strip Makarakaṭí of all her wealth.” When the kuṭṭiní Yamajihvá made this promise, Ratnavarman quickly sent off that moment his son’s well-meaning friend Arthadatta with a message, to bring him, and to take at the same time means for his subsistence.

After Yamajihvá had said this, she gave that ape to Íśvaravarman, and his father gave him two crores by way of capital. And with the ape and the money he went once more to Kánchanapura, and despatching a messenger on in front, he entered the house of Sundarí. Sundarí welcomed him as if he were an incarnation of perseverance, which includes in itself all means for attaining an end, and his friend with him, embracing him round the neck, and making other demonstrations. Then Íśvaravarman, having gained her confidence, said to Arthadatta in her presence in the house: “Go, and bring Ála.” He said, “I will,” and went and brought the monkey. And as the monkey had before swallowed a thousand dínárs, he said to him, “Ála, my son, give us to-day three hundred dínárs for our eating and drinking, and a hundred for betel and other expenses, and give one hundred to our mother Makarakaṭí, and a hundred to the Bráhmans, and give the rest of the thousand to Sundarí.” When Íśvaravarman said this, the monkey brought up the dínárs he had before swallowed, to the amounts ordered, and gave them for the various objects required.

“When Naraváhanadatta heard, from the mouth of Marubhúti, the above story, word for word, of Ála and the net, he and Gomukha approved it, and laughed heartily.