Volume 2 / Book 10 — Chapter LXIII.

The next morning Naraváhanadatta woke up, and thinking on his beloved Śaktiyaśas, became distracted. And thinking that the rest of the month, until he married her, was as long as an age, he could not find pleasure in anything, as his mind was longing for a new wife. When the king, his father, heard that from the mouth of Gomukha, out of love for him, he sent him his ministers, and Vasantaka was among them. Then, out of respect for them, the prince of Vatsa managed to recover his composure. And the discreet minister Gomukha said to Vasantaka; “Noble Vasantaka, tell some new and romantic tale to delight the mind of the crown-prince. Then the wise Vasantaka began to tell this tale.

Story of Yaśodhara and Lakshmídhara and the two wives of the water-genius.

Story of the water-genius in his previous birth.

There is a region in the south of the Himálaya, called Kaśmíra; which Providence seems to have created in order to prevent mortals from hankering after Heaven; where Śiva and Vishṇu, as self-existent deities, inhabit a hundred shrines, forgetting their happy homes in Kailása and Śvetadvípa; which is laved by the waters of the Vitastá, and full of heroes and sages, and proof against treacherous crimes and enemies, though powerful. There I was born in my former life, as an ordinary villager of the Bráhman caste, with two wives, and my name was Bhavaśarman. There I once struck up a friendship with some Buddhist mendicants, and undertook the vow, called the fast Uposhaṇa, prescribed in their scriptures. And when this vow was almost completed, one of my wives wickedly came and slept in my bed. And in the fourth watch of the night, bewildered with sleep, I broke my vow. But as it fell only a little short of completion, I have been born as a water-genius, and these two wives of mine have been born as my present wives here. That wicked woman was born as that unfaithful wife, the second as this faithful one. So great was the power of my vow, though it was rendered imperfect, that I remember my former birth, and enjoy such luxuries every night. If I had not rendered my vow imperfect, I should never have been born as what I am.

When he had told his story in these words, he honoured those two brothers as guests, with delicious food and heavenly garments. Then his faithful wife, having heard of her former life, knelt on the ground, and looking at the moon, uttered this prayer, “O guardians of the world, if I am in truth virtuous and devoted to my husband, may this husband of mine be at once delivered from the necessity of dwelling in the water and go to heaven.” The moment she had said this, a chariot descended from heaven, and the husband and wife ascended it and went to heaven. Nothing in the three worlds is unattainable by really chaste women. And the two Bráhmans, when they saw that, were greatly astonished. And Yaśodhara and Lakshmídhara, after spending the rest of the night there, set out in the morning. And in the evening they reached the foot of a tree in a lonely wilderness. And while they were longing to get water, they heard this voice from the tree, “Wait a little, Bráhmans! I will entertain you to-day with a bath and food, for you are come to my house.” Then the voice ceased, and there sprang up there a tank of water, and meats and drinks of every kind were provided on its bank. The two Bráhman youths said with astonishment to one another,—“What does this mean?” And after bathing in the tank, they ate and drank. Then they said the evening prayer and remained under the tree, and in the meanwhile a handsome man appeared from it. They saluted him, and he welcomed them, and he sat down. Thereupon the two Bráhman youths asked him who he was. Then the man said—

Story of the Bráhman who became a Yaksha.

Long ago I was a Bráhman in distress, and when I was in this condition, I happened to make friends with some Buddhist ascetics. But while I was performing the vow called Uposhaṇa, which they had taught me, a wicked man made me take food in the evening by force. That made my vow incomplete, so I was born as a Guhyaka; if I had only completed it, I should have been born as a god in heaven.

“So I have told you my story, but now do you two tell me, who you are, and why you have come to this desert.” When Yaśodhara heard this, he told him their story. Thereupon the Yaksha went on to say; “If this is the case, I will by my own power bestow on you the sciences. Go home with a knowledge of them. What is the use of roaming about in foreign countries?” When he had said this, he bestowed on them the sciences, and by his power they immediately possessed them. Then the Yaksha said to them, “Now I entreat you to give me a fee as your instructor. You must perform, on my behalf, this Uposhaṇa vow, which involves the speaking of the truth, the observing of strict chastity, the circumambulating the images of the gods with the right side turned towards them, the eating only at the time when Buddhist mendicants do, restraint of the mind, and patience. You must perform this for one night, and bestow the fruit of it on me, in order that I may obtain that divinity, which is the proper fruit of my vow, when completely performed.” When the Yaksha said this, they bowed before him and granted his request, and he disappeared in that very same tree.

And the two brothers, delighted at having accomplished their object without any toil, after they had passed the night, returned to their own home. There they told their adventures and delighted their parents, and performed that vow of fasting for the benefit of the Yaksha. Then that Yaksha, who taught them, appeared in a sky-chariot, and said to them; “Through your kindness I have ceased to be a Yaksha and have become a god. So now you must perform this vow for your own advantage, in order that at your death you may attain divinity. And in the meanwhile I give you a boon, by which you will have inexhaustible wealth.” When the deity, who roamed about at will, had said this, he went to heaven in his chariot. Then the two brothers, Yaśodhara and Lakshmídhara, lived happily, having performed that vow, and having obtained wealth and knowledge.

“So you see that, if men are addicted to righteousness, and do not, even in emergencies, desert their principles, even the gods protect them and cause them to attain their objects.” Naraváhanadatta, while longing for his beloved Śaktiyaśas, was much delighted with this marvellous story told by Vasantaka; but having been summoned by his father at the dinner hour, he went to his palace with his ministers. There he took the requisite refreshment, and returned to his palace, with Gomukha and his other ministers. Then Gomukha, in order to amuse him, again said,—“Listen, prince, I will tell you another string of tales.”

There lived in a certain forest a lion, who had a jackal for a minister. A certain king, who had gone to hunt, once found him, and wounded him so sorely with his weapons, that he with difficulty escaped to his den alive. When the king was gone, the lion still remained in the den, and his minister, the jackal, who lived on his leavings, being exhausted for want of food, said to him; “My lord, why do you not go out and seek for food to the best of your ability, for your own body is being famished as well as your attendants?” When the jackal said this to the lion, he answered; “My friend, I am exhausted with wounds, and I cannot roam about outside my den. If I could get the heart and ears of a donkey to eat, my wounds would heal, and I should recover my former health. So go and bring me a donkey quickly from somewhere or other.” The jackal agreed to do so and sallied out. As he was wandering about, he found a washerman’s ass in a solitary place, and he went up to him, and said in a friendly way; “Why are you so exhausted?” The donkey answered, “I am reduced by perpetually carrying this washerman’s load.” The jackal said, “Why do you endure all this toil? Come with me and I will take you to a forest as delightful as Heaven, where you may grow fat in the society of she-asses.” When the donkey, who was longing for enjoyment, heard this, he went to the forest, in which that lion ranged, in the company of that jackal. And when the lion saw him, being weak from impaired vitality, he only gave him a blow with his paw behind, and the donkey, being wounded by the blow, was terrified and fled immediately, and did not come near the lion again, and the lion fell down confused and bewildered. And then the lion, not having accomplished his object, hastily returned to his den. Then the jackal, his minister, said to him reproachfully; “My lord, if you could not kill this miserable donkey, what chance is there of your killing deer and other animals?” Then the lion said to him, “If you know how, bring that donkey again. I will be ready and kill him.”

When the ape had told this tale, he said again to the porpoise; “I will not come again, why should I behave like the jackass.” When the porpoise heard this from the monkey, he returned home, grieving that he had through his folly failed to execute his wife’s commission, while he had lost a friend. But his wife recovered her former tranquillity, on account of the termination of her husband’s friendship with the ape. And the ape lived happily on the shore of the sea.

“So a wise person should place no confidence in a wicked person. How can he, who confides in a wicked person or a black cobra, enjoy prosperity?” When Gomukha had told this story, he again said to Naraváhanadatta, to amuse him; “Now hear in succession about the following ridiculous fools. Hear first about the fool who rewarded the minstrel.”

A certain musician once gave great pleasure to a rich man, by singing and playing before him. He thereupon called his treasurer, and said in the hearing of the musician, “Give this man two thousand paṇas.” The treasurer said, “I will do so,” and went out. Then the minstrel went and asked him for those paṇas. But the treasurer, who had an understanding with his master, refused to give them.

Then the musician came and asked the rich man for the paṇas, but he said; “What did you give me, that I should make you a return? You gave a short-lived pleasure to my ears by playing on the lyre, and I gave a short-lived pleasure to your ears by promising you money.” When the musician heard that, he despaired of his payment, laughed, and went home.

“Would not that speech of the miser’s make even a stone laugh? And now, prince, hear the story of the two foolish pupils.”

A certain teacher had two pupils who were jealous of one another. And one of those pupils washed and anointed every day the right foot of his instructor, and the other did the same to the left foot. Now it happened that one day the pupil, whose business it was to anoint the right foot, had been sent to the village, so the teacher said to the second pupil, whose business it was to anoint the left foot,—“To-day you must wash and anoint my right foot also.” When the foolish pupil received this order, he coolly said to his teacher; “I cannot anoint this foot that belongs to my rival.” When he said this, the teacher insisted. Then that pupil, who was the very opposite of a good pupil, took hold of his teacher’s foot in a passion, and exerting great force, broke it. Then the teacher uttered a cry of pain, and the other pupils came in and beat that wicked pupil, but he was rescued from them by that teacher, who felt sorry for him.

The next day, the other pupil came back from the village, and when he saw the injury that had been done to his teacher’s foot, he asked the history of it, and then he was inflamed with rage, and he said, “Why should I not break the foot that belongs to that enemy of mine?” So he laid hold of the teacher’s second leg, and broke it. Then the others began to beat that wicked pupil, but the teacher, both of whose legs were broken, in compassion begged him off too. Then those two pupils departed, laughed to scorn by the whole country, but their teacher, who deserved so much credit for his patient temper, gradually got well.

Thus foolish attendants, by quarrelling with one another, ruin their master’s interests, and do not reap any advantage for themselves. Hear the story of the two-headed serpent.

Story of the fool who was nearly choked with rice.

“So those foolish people, many in number, who are quite at home in a small accomplishment, through their attachment to this unimportant accomplishment, are brought to ruin.”

“Hear now about the fool who ate the grains of rice.”

“Thus a fool does an unseemly act, and does not know how to conceal it.”

Certain foolish boys, having observed the process of milking in the case of cows, got a donkey, and having surrounded it, proceeded to milk it vigorously. One milked and another held the milk-pail, and there was great emulation among them, as to who should first drink the milk. And yet they did not obtain milk, though they laboured hard.

“The fact is, prince, a fool, who spends his labour on a chimera, makes himself ridiculous.”

Story of the foolish boy that went to the village for nothing.

There was a certain foolish son of a Bráhman, and his father said to him one evening, “My son, you must go to the village early to-morrow.” Having heard this, he set out in the morning, without asking his father what he was to do, and went to the village without any object, and came back in the evening fatigued. He said to his father, “I have been to the village.” “Yes, but you have not done any good by it,” answered his father.

“So a fool, who acts without an object, becomes the laughing-stock of people generally; he suffers fatigue, but does not do any good.” When the son of the king of Vatsa had heard from Gomukha, his chief minister, this series of tales, rich in instruction, and had declared that he was longing to obtain Śaktiyaśas, and had perceived that the night was far spent, he closed his eyes in sleep, and reposed surrounded by his ministers.