Volume 2 / Book 12 — Chapter LXXIII.

Then Guṇákara’s wounds healed, and he recovered his health, so Mṛigánkadatta took leave of his friend the king of the Śavaras, and set out from his town on a lucky day for Ujjayiní, to find Śaśánkavatí.

But his friend followed him a long way with his retinue, accompanied by his ally Durgapiśácha king of the Mátangas, and made a promise to come to his assistance. And as he was going along with his friends Śrutadhi, and Vimalabuddhi, and Guṇákara, and Bhímaparákrama, and searching for his other friends in that Vindhya forest, it happened that he slept one day on the road with his ministers at the foot of a certain tree. And he suddenly awoke, and got up, and looked about him, and beheld there another man asleep. And when he uncovered his face, he recognised him as his own minister Vichitrakatha, who had arrived there. And Vichitrakatha too woke up, and saw his master Mṛigánkadatta, and joyfully embraced his feet. And the prince embraced him, with eyes wide open with delight at seeing him so unexpectedly, and all his ministers woke up and welcomed him. Then all in turn told him their adventures, and asked him to tell his, and Vichitrakatha began to relate his story as follows:

Story of Vichitrakatha’s adventures after his separation from the prince.

Story of Śrídarśana.

Story of Saudáminí.

There is on the confines of the southern region a range of tamála forests, dark with clouds that obscure the sun, looking like the home of the monsoon. In it dwells a famous Yaksha of the name of Pṛithúdara, and I am his only daughter, Saudáminí by name. My loving father led me from one mighty mountain to another, and I was for ever amusing myself in heavenly gardens.

“You are Aṭṭahása born again as a Bráhman, and I am that Yakshiṇí, and we have been thus united here, so we shall soon have a son born to us. When the Bráhman Pavitradhara’s wise wife Saudáminí said this to him, he conceived the hope that he would have a son, and was much delighted. And in course of time a son was born to him by that Yakshiṇí, whose birth cheered up their house and his mind. And when Pavitradhara saw the face of that son, he immediately assumed a celestial shape and became again the Yaksha Aṭṭahása. And he said to that Yakshiṇí, “My dear, our curse is at an end. I have become Aṭṭahása as before, come let us return to our own place.”

When he said this, his wife said to him, “Think what is to become of the child your brother, who through a curse has been born as your son.” When Aṭṭahása heard that, he saw what was to be done by means of his powers of contemplation, and said to her; “My dear, there is in this town a Bráhman of the name of Devadarśana. He is poor in children and in wealth, and, though he keeps up five fires, hunger makes two others burn more fiercely, namely, the fire of digestion in his own stomach and in that of his wife. And one day, as he was engaged in asceticism to obtain wealth and a son, the holy god of fire, whom he was propitiating, said to him in a dream, ‘You have not a son of your own, but you shall have an adopted son, and by means of him, Bráhman, your poverty shall come to an end.’ On account of this revelation of the god of fire, the Bráhman is at the present moment expecting that son, so we must give him this child of ours, for this is the decree of fate.” After Aṭṭahása had said this to his beloved, he placed the child on the top of a pitcher full of gold, and fastened round its neck a garland of heavenly jewels, and deposited it in the house of that Bráhman at night when he and his wife were asleep, and then went with his beloved to his own place.

The brave Śrídarśana grew up in his father’s house, and acquired great skill in the Vedas and other branches of learning, and in the use of weapons. But in course of time, when he had grown up, his father Devadarśana, who had gone on a pilgrimage to sacred bathing-places, died at Prayága. His mother, hearing of that, entered the fire, and then Śrídarśana mourned for them, and performed on their behalf the ceremonies enjoined in the sacred treatises. But in course of time his grief diminished, and as he was not married, and had no relations, he became, though well educated, devoted to gambling. And in a short time his wealth was consumed by means of that vice, and he had difficulty in obtaining even food.

Story of Bhúnandana.

Once on a time, on the twelfth day of the month, the king, after duly worshipping Vishṇu, saw in a dream a Daitya maiden approach him. When he woke up, he could not see her, and in his astonishment he said to himself, “This is no mere dream; I suspect she is some celestial nymph by whom I have been cajoled.” Under this impression he remained thinking of her, and so grieved at being deprived of her society, that gradually he neglected all his duties as a king. Then that king, not seeing any way of recovering her, said to himself; “My brief union with her was due to the favour of Vishṇu, so I will go into a solitary place and propitiate Vishṇu with a view to recovering her, and I will abandon this clog of a kingdom, which without her is distasteful.” After saying this, king Bhúnandana informed his subjects of his resolution, and gave the kingdom to his younger brother named Sunandana.

But after he had resigned the kingdom, he went to a holy bathing-place named Kramasaras; which arose from the footfall of Vishṇu, for it was made by him long ago in his Dwarf incarnation. It is attended by the three gods Brahmá, Vishṇu, and Śiva, who have settled on the top of the neighbouring mountains in the form of peaks. And the foot of Vishṇu created here in Kaśmíra another Ganges, named Ikshuvatí, as if in emulation of the Vitastá. There the king remained, performing austerities, and pining, without desire for any other enjoyment, like the chátaka in the hot season longing for fresh rainwater.

’Go; after you have married a Daitya maiden and enjoyed pleasures in the regions below the earth, you shall return to me; and listen; I will tell you an expedient for obtaining those delights. There are on this earth many openings leading to the lower regions; but there is one great and famous one in Kaśmíra made by Maya, by which Ushá the daughter of Báṇa introduced her lover Aniruddha into the secret pleasure-grounds of the Dánavas, and made him happy there. And Pradyumna, in order to deliver his son, laid it open, making a door in one place with the peak of a mountain, and he placed Durgá there, under the name of Śáriká, to guard that door, after propitiating her with hundreds of praises. Consequently even now the place is called by the two names of Peak of Pradyumna and Hill of Śáriká. So go and enter Pátála with your followers by that famous opening, and by my favour you shall succeed there.’

And immediately there issued from those doors lovely women with heavenly ornaments and dresses, who were the attendants of those Daitya maidens. They approached separately all there present, the ascetic among them, and invited them in the name of their mistresses into their respective palaces. And the ascetic, having now succeeded in his enterprise, said to all the others,—“You must none of you disobey the command of your beloved after entering her palace.” Then he entered with a few of those attendants a splendid palace, and obtained a lovely Daitya maiden and the happiness he desired. And the others singly were introduced into magnificent palaces by other of the attendants, and were blessed with the love of Daitya maidens.

And it happened that, at that very time, there came a young hermit that way, who, finding the king in this state, and being of a merciful disposition, went up to him and quickly drove away the bees, and after asking him his story, said to him—“King, as long as we retain this body, how can woes come to an end? So the wise should always pursue without distraction the great object of human existence. And until you perceive that Vishṇu, Śiva, and Brahmá are really one, you will always find the successes, that are gained by worshipping them separately, short-lived and uncertain. So meditate on Brahmá, Vishṇu, and Śiva, in the light of their unity, and patiently perform asceticism here for another twelve years. Then you shall obtain that beloved, and eventually everlasting salvation; and observe, you have already attained a body possessing heavenly fragrance. Now receive from me this skin of a black antelope, to which a charm is attached, and if you wrap yourself up in it, you will not be annoyed here by bees.” When the hermit had said this, he gave him the deer-skin and the charm, and departed; and the king accepted his advice, and taking to himself patience, so lived in that place. And after the king had lived there twelve years, and propitiated Śiva by penance, that Daitya maiden, named Kumudiní, came to him of her own accord. And the king went with that beloved to Pátála, and after he had lived with her a long time in happiness, he attained salvation.

And as he was going along the road at night, it happened that the two Yakshas, Aṭṭahása and Saudáminí, his father and mother, who had deposited him, as soon as he was born, in the house of the Bráhman, saw him while they were roaming through the air. When they saw him in distress, impoverished by the vice of gambling, and on his way to a foreign country, affection made them say to him, while still remaining invisible, the following words; “Śrídarśana, your mother, the wife of Devadarśana, buried in her house some jewels. Take those, and do not omit to go with them to Málava, for there is a magnificent prince there of the name of Śrísena. And since he was much afflicted in his youth by miseries arising from gambling, he has made a large and glorious asylum for gamblers. There gamblers live, and are fed with whatever food they desire. So go there, darling, and you shall be prosperous.”

When Śrídarśana heard this speech from heaven, he went back to his house with his friend, and found those ornaments in it, in a hole in the ground. Then he set out delighted for Málava, with his friend, thinking that the gods had shewn him favour. So in that night and the succeeding day he went a long distance, and the next evening he reached with his friend a village named Bahusasya. And being weary, he sat down with his friend on the bank of a translucent lake, not far from that village. While he remained for a brief period on the bank of that lake, after washing his feet and drinking water, there came there a certain maiden, matchless in beauty, to fetch water. Her body resembled a blue lotus in colour, and she seemed like Rati left alone, and blackened by the smoke from the body of the god of Love, when he had just been consumed by Śiva. Śrídarśana was delighted to behold her, and she went up to him, and looked at him with an eye full of love, and said to him and his friend, “Worthy sirs, why have you come hither to your death? Why, through ignorance, have you fallen like moths into burning fire?” When Mukharaka heard this, he said to the maiden, without the least trepidation, “Who are you? And what is the meaning of what you say? Tell us.” Then she said, “Listen both of you! I will tell you the whole story in few words.

“There is a large and famous royal grant to Bráhmans, named Sughosha. In it there dwelt a Bráhman named Padmagarbha, who possessed a thorough knowledge of the Vedas. He had a wife of very good family, named Śasikalá. And the Bráhman had two children by that wife, a son of the name of Mukharakha, and myself a daughter of the name of Padmishṭhá. My brother Mukharaka was ruined by the vice of gambling in early youth, and left his home and went off to some other country. My mother died of grief on that account, and my father, afflicted with two sorrows, abandoned the state of a householder. And he roamed about from place to place, with no other companion than myself, to look for that son, and, as it happened, he reached this village. Now in this village there lives a great bandit, the chief of a gang of robbers, called Vasubhúti, a Bráhman only by name. When my father arrived here, that ruffian, with the help of his servants, killed him, and took away the gold that he had about his person. And he made me a prisoner and carried me off to his house, and he has made arrangements to give me in marriage to his son Subhúti. But his son has gone off somewhere to plunder a caravan, and, owing to my good fortune, the result of good deeds in a former birth, he has not yet returned; now it remains for Destiny to dispose of me. But, if this bandit were to see you, he would certainly do you some violence: so think of some artifice by which you may escape him.”

When the maiden said this, Mukharaka recognized her, and at once clasping her round the neck, said to her, “Alas, my sister Padmishṭhá! I am that very brother of yours Mukharaka, the murderer of his relations. Alas! wretched that I am, I am ruined.” When Padmishṭhá heard this, and saw her elder brother, pity caused her to be, as it were, suddenly encircled with all sorrows. Then Śrídarśana comforted the brother and sister, who were lamenting their parents, and addressed a timely admonition and encouragement to them. He said, “This is not the time for lamentation, we must now save our lives even at the cost of our wealth, and by means of it we must protect ourselves against this bandit.” When Śrídarśana said this, they checked their grief with self-control, and all three agreed together what each was to do.

Then Śrídarśana, being thin by reason of his former fasts, flung himself down on the bank of that tank, and pretended to be ill. And Mukharaka remained holding his feet and weeping: but Padmishṭhá immediately repaired to that bandit chief, and said, “A traveller has arrived, and is lying ill on the border of the tank, and there is another there who is his servant.” When the bandit chief heard that, he sent some of his followers there. They went, and seeing the two men as had been described, asked Mukharaka why he wept so much for his companion. When Mukharaka heard this, he said with affected sorrow, “This Bráhman, who is my elder brother, left his native land to visit holy bathing-places, but was attacked by disease, and slowly travelling along he has arrived here, accompanied by me. And the moment he got here, he became incapable of movement, and he said to me, ‘Rise up, my dear brother, and quickly prepare for me a bed of darbha-grass. And fetch me some virtuous Bráhman from this village. On him I will bestow all my wealth, for I cannot live through this night.’ When he said this to me in this foreign country after sunset, I felt quite puzzled as to what I ought to do, and, being afflicted, I had recourse to weeping. So bring here some Bráhman while he is alive, in order that he may bestow on him with his own hand whatever wealth we possess. For he will certainly not live through the night, and I shall not be able to survive the sorrow of his loss, so to-morrow I shall enter the fire. So do for us this which we ask, since we have met with you here as compassionate men and friends without any cause.”

When the bandits heard that, pity arose in their minds, and they went and told the story, exactly as they had heard it, to their master Vasubhúti, and went on to say, “So come and receive, as a pious gift, from this Bráhman, who is eager to bestow it on you, the wealth which ordinarily is to be obtained only by killing its possessor.” When they said this to Vasubhúti, he said, “What course is this which you suggest? It is highly impolitic for us to take wealth without killing its possessor, for, if he is deprived of his wealth, without being killed, he will certainly do us an injury.” When the villain said this, those servants answered him, “What is there to fear in this? There is some difference between taking wealth by force, and receiving it as a pious gift from a dying man. Besides, to-morrow morning we will kill those two Bráhmans, if they are still alive. Otherwise, what is the use of incurring needlessly the guilt of killing a Bráhman?” When Vasubhúti heard this, he consented, and in the night he came to Śrídarśana to receive his pious gift, and Śrídarśana concealed a part of his mother’s ornaments, and gave him the rest, assuming a faltering voice. Then the bandit, having got what he wanted, returned home with his followers.

When the old lady said this, Śrídarśana answered her, “Agreed! I am able to accomplish this, so lead me quickly to that asylum.” When she heard this, she took him, and Padmishṭhá, and Mukharaka, to that asylum, and there said to the superintendent, “Here is a Bráhman gambler arrived from a foreign land, a hero who is able to assist that enchanter in performing incantations for the good of the king.” When the superintendent heard this, he questioned Śrídarśana, and when he confirmed the words of the old lady, he treated him with great respect, and led him quickly into the presence of the king.

And Śrídarśana, being introduced by him, beheld the king, who was thin and pale as the new moon. And the king Śrísena observed that Śrídarśana, who bowed before him and sat down, was of a taking appearance, and pleased with his look, he felt comforted, and said to him, “I know that your exertions will certainly put an end to my disease; my body tells me this, for the mere sight of you has quieted its sufferings. So aid the enchanter in this matter.” When the king said this, Śrídarśana said to him “The enterprise is a mere trifle.” Then the king summoned the enchanter and said to him, “This hero will aid you; do what you said.” When that enchanter heard that, he said to Śrídarśana,

“My good sir, if you are able to assist me in raising a Vetála, come to me in the cemetery at night-fall this very day, the fourteenth of the black fortnight.” When the ascetic, who practised magic, had said this, he went away, and Śrídarśana took leave of the king and returned to that asylum.

When Śrídarśana saw that, he lifted up his sword and attacked the Vetála, but the Vetála said to him, “Śrídarśana, I am pleased with this courage of yours, so take these mustard-seeds produced in my mouth. If you place these on the head and hands of the king, the malady of consumption will immediately leave him, and you in a short time will become the king of the whole earth.” When Śrídarśana heard this, he said, “How can I leave this place without that sorcerer? The king is sure to say that I killed him out of a selfish regard to my own interests.” When Śrídarśana said this to the Vetála, he answered, “I will tell you a convincing proof, which will clear you. Cut open the body of this corpse, and shew inside it this sorcerer dead, whom I have swallowed.” When the Vetála had said this, he gave him the mustard-seeds, and went off somewhere or other, leaving that corpse, and the corpse fell on the ground.

Then Śrídarśana went off, taking with him the mustard-seeds, and he spent that night in the asylum in which his friend was. And the next morning he went to the king, and told him what had happened in the night, and took and shewed to the ministers that sorcerer in the stomach of the corpse. Then he placed the mustard-seeds on the head and the hand of the king, and that made the king quite well, as all his sickness at once left him. Then the king was pleased, and, as he had no son, he adopted as his son Śrídarśana, who had saved his life. And he immediately anointed that hero crown-prince; for the seed of benefits, sown in good soil, produces abundant fruit. Then the fortunate Śrídarśana married there that Padmishṭhá, who seemed like the goddess of Fortune that had come to him in reward for his former courting of her, and the hero remained there in the company of her brother Mukharaka, enjoying pleasures and ruling the earth.

One day a great merchant, named Upendraśakti, found an image of Gaṇeśa, carved out of a jewel, on the border of a tank, and brought it and gave it to that prince. The prince, seeing that it was of priceless value, out of his fervent piety, set it up in a very splendid manner in a temple. And he appointed a thousand villages there for the permanent support of the temple, and he ordained in honour of the idol a festive procession, at which all Málava assembled. And Gaṇeśa, being pleased with the numerous dances, songs, and instrumental performances in his honour, said to the Gaṇas at night, “By my favour this Śrídarśana shall be a universal emperor on the earth. Now there is an island named Hansadvípa in the western sea; and in it is a king named Anangodaya, and he has a lovely daughter named Anangamanjarí. And that daughter of his, being devoted to me, always offers to me this petition after she has worshipped me, “Holy one, give me a husband who shall be the lord of the whole earth.” So I will marry her to this Śrídarśana, and thus I shall have bestowed on both the meet reward of their devotion to me. So you must take Śrídarśana there, and after you have contrived that they should see one another, bring him back quickly; and in course of time they shall be united in due form; but it cannot be done immediately, for such is the will of destiny. Moreover I have determined by these means to recompense Upendraśakti, the merchant, who brought my image to the prince.”

The Gaṇas, having received this order from Gaṇeśa, took Śrídarśana that very night, while he was asleep, and carried him to Hansadvípa by their supernatural power. And there they introduced him into the chamber of Anangamanjarí, and placed him on the bed on which that princess was lying asleep. Śrídarśana immediately woke up, and saw Anangamanjarí. She was reclining on a bed covered with a coverlet of pure white woven silk, in a splendid chamber in which flashed jewel-lamps, and which was illuminated by the numerous priceless gems of the canopy and other furniture, and the floor of which was dark with the rájávarta stone. As she lay there pouring forth rays of beauty like the lovely effluence of a stream of nectar, she seemed like the orb of the autumn moon lapped in a fragment of a white cloud, in a sky adorned with a host of bright twinkling stars, gladdening the eyes. Immediately he was delighted, astonished, and bewildered, and he said to himself, “I went to sleep at home and I have woke up in a very different place. What does all this mean? Who is this woman? Surely it is a dream! Very well, let it be so. But I will wake up this lady and find out.” After these reflections he gently nudged Anangamanjarí on the shoulder with his hand. And the touch of his hand made her immediately awake and roll her eyes, as the kumudvatí opens under the rays of the moon, and the bees begin to circle in its cup. When she saw him, she reflected for a moment, “Who can this being of celestial appearance be? Surely he must be some god that has penetrated into this well-guarded room?” So she rose up, and asked him earnestly and respectfully who he was, and how and why he had entered there. Then he told his story, and the fair one, when questioned by him, told him in turn her country, name, and descent. Then they both fell in love with one another, and each ceased to believe that the other was an object seen in a dream, and in order to make certain, they exchanged ornaments.

In the meanwhile the princess Anangamanjarí, in Hansadvípa, was awakened in the morning by the sound of music. When she remembered what had taken place in the night, and saw her body adorned with Śrídarśana’s ornaments, longing love made her melancholy. And she reflected, “Alas I am brought into a state, in which my life is in danger, by these ornaments, which prove that I cannot have been deluded by a dream, and fill me with love for an unattainable object.” While she was engaged in these reflections, her father Anangodaya suddenly entered, and saw her wearing the ornaments of a man. The king, who was very fond of her, when he saw her covering her body with her clothes, and downcast with shame, took her on his lap and said to her, “My daughter, what is the meaning of these masculine decorations, and why this shame? Tell me. Do not shew a want of confidence in me, for my life hangs on you.” These and other kind speeches of her father’s allayed her feeling of shame, and she told him at last the whole story.

Then her father, thinking that it was a piece of supernatural enchantment, felt great doubt as to what steps he ought to take. So he went and asked an ascetic of the name of Brahmasoma, who possessed superhuman powers, and observed the rule of the Páśupatas, and who was a great friend of his, for his advice. The ascetic by his powers of contemplation penetrated the mystery, and said to the king; “The truth is that the Gaṇas brought here prince Śrídarśana from Málava, for Gaṇeśa is favourably disposed both to him and your daughter, and by his favour he shall become a universal monarch. So he is a capital match for your daughter.” When that gifted seer said this, the king bowed and said to him,—“Holy seer, Málava is far away from this great land of Hansadvípa. The road is a difficult one, and this matter does not admit of delay. So in this matter your ever propitious self is my only stay.”

When the ascetic, who was so kind to his admirers, had been thus entreated by the king, he said, “I myself will accomplish this,” and he immediately disappeared. And he reached in a moment the city of king Śrísena in Málava. There he entered the very temple built by Śrídarśana, and after bowing before Gaṇeśa, he sat down and began to praise him, saying “Hail to thee of auspicious form, whose head is crowned with a garland of stars, so that thou art like the peak of mount Meru! I adore thy trunk flung up straight in the joy of the dance, so as to sweep the clouds, like a column supporting the edifice of the three worlds. Destroyer of obstacles, I worship thy snake-adorned body, swelling out into a broad pitcher-like belly, the treasure-house of all success.” While the ascetic was engaged in offering these praises to Gaṇeśa in the temple, it happened that the son of the merchant-prince Upendraśakti, who brought his image, entered the temple as he was roaming about. His name was Mahendraśakti, and he had been rendered uncontrollable by long and violent madness, so he rushed forward to seize the ascetic. Then the ascetic struck him with his hand. The merchant’s son, as soon as he was struck by the charm-bearing hand of that ascetic, was freed from madness and recovered his reason. And, as he was naked, he felt shame, and left the temple immediately, and covering himself with his hand, he made for his home. Immediately his father Upendraśakti, hearing of it from the people, met him full of joy and led him to his house. There he had him bathed, and properly clothed and adorned, and then he went with him to the ascetic Brahmasoma. And he offered him much wealth as the restorer of his son, but the ascetic, as he possessed godlike power, would not receive it.

In the meanwhile king Śrísena himself, having heard what had taken place, reverently approached the ascetic, accompanied by Śrídarśana. And the king bowed before him, and praised him, and said, “Owing to your coming, this merchant has received a benefit, by having his son restored to health, so do me a benefit also by ensuring the welfare of this son of mine Śrídarśana.” When the king craved this boon of the ascetic, he smiled and said, “King, why should I do anything to please this thief, who stole at night the heart and the ornaments of the princess Anangamanjarí in Hansadvípa, and returned here with them? Nevertheless I must obey your orders.” With these words the ascetic seized Śrídarśana by the fore-arm, and disappeared with him. He took him to Hansadvípa, and introduced him into the palace of king Anangodaya, with his daughter’s ornaments on him. When Śrídarśana arrived, the king welcomed him gladly, but first he threw himself at the feet of the ascetic and blessed him. And on an auspicious day he gave Śrídarśana his daughter Anangamanjarí, as if she were the earth garlanded with countless jewels. And then by the power of that ascetic he sent his son-in-law, with his wife, to Málava. And when Śrídarśana arrived there, the king welcomed him gladly, and he lived there in happiness with his two wives.

In course of time king Śrísena went to the next world, and that hero took his kingdom and conquered the whole earth. And when he had attained universal dominion, he had two sons by his two wives Padmishṭhá and Anangamanjarí. And to one of them the king gave the name of Padmasena, and to the other of Anangasena, and he reared them up to manhood.

When the king saw that sudden calamity, terrible as the stroke of a thunderbolt, he exclaimed in his grief, “Alas! Alas! what means this?” and fell on the ground wailing. And when he fell, his attendants picked him up, and carried him to another place, and Mukharaka took the bodies of the queens, and performed the ceremony of burning them. At last the king came to his senses, and after mourning long for the queens, he completed out of affection their funeral ceremonies. And after he had spent a day darkened by a storm of tears, he divided the empire of the earth between his two sons. Then, having conceived the design of renouncing the world, he left his city, and turning back his subjects who followed him, he went to the forest to perform austerities.

There he lived on roots and fruits, and one day, as he was wandering about at will, he came near a banyan-tree. As soon as he came near it, two women of celestial appearance suddenly issued from it with roots and fruits in their hands, and they said to him, “King, take these roots and fruits which we offer.” When he heard that, he said, “Tell me now who you are.” Then those women of heavenly appearance said to him, “Well come into our house and we will tell you the truth.” When he heard that, he consented, and entering with them, he saw inside the tree a splendid golden city. There he rested and ate heavenly fruits, and then those women said to him, “Now, king, hear.”

“Long ago there dwelt in Pratishṭhána a Bráhman, of the name of Kamalagarbha, and he had two wives, the name of the one was Pathyá, and the name of the other Abalá. Now in course of time all three, the husband and the wives, were worn out with old age, and at last they entered the fire together, being attached to one another. And at that time they put up a petition to Śiva from the fire, ‘May we be connected together as husband and wives in all our future lives!’ Then Kamalagarbha, owing to the power of his severe penances, was born in the Yaksha race as Díptaśikha, the son of the Yaksha Pradíptáksha, and the younger brother of Aṭṭahása. His wives too, Pathyá and Abalá, were born as Yaksha maidens, that is to say, as the two daughters of the king of the Yakshas named Dhúmaketu, and the name of the one was Jyotirlekhá, and the name of the other Dhúmalekhá.

“Now in course of time those two sisters grew up, and they went to the forest to perform asceticism, and they propitiated Śiva with the view of obtaining husbands. The god was pleased and he appeared to them and said to them, ‘That man with whom you entered the fire in a former birth, and who you asked might be your husband in all subsequent births, was born again as a Yaksha named Díptaśikha, the brother of Aṭṭahása, but he has become a mortal owing to the curse of his master, and has been born as a man named Śrídarśana, so you too must go to the world of men and be his wives there, but as soon as the curse terminates, you shall all become Yakshas, husband and wives together.’ When Śiva said this, those two Yaksha maidens were born on the earth as Padmishṭhá and Anangamanjarí. They became the wives of Śrídarśana, and after they had been his wives for some time, that Aṭṭahása, as fate would have it, came there in the form of a Bráhman, and by the device of employing an ambiguous speech, he managed to utter their names and remind them of their former existence, and this made them abandon that body and become Yakshiṇís. “Know that we are those wives of yours, and you are that Díptaśikha.” When Śrídarśana had been thus addressed by them, he remembered his former birth, and immediately became the Yaksha Díptaśikha, and was again duly united to those two wives of his.

“Know therefore, Vichitrakatha, that I am that Yaksha, and that these wives of mine are Jyotirlekhá and Dhúmalekhá. So, if creatures of godlike descent, like myself, have to endure such alternations of joy and sorrow, much more then must mortals. But do not be despondent, my son, for in a short time you shall be reunited to your master Mṛigánkadatta. And I remained here to entertain you, for this is my earthly dwelling, so stay here, I will accomplish your desire. Then I will go to my own home in Kailása.” When the Yaksha had in these words told me his story, he entertained me for some time. And the kind being, knowing that you had arrived here at night, brought me and laid me asleep in the midst of you who were asleep. So I was seen by you, and you have been found by me. This, king, is the history of my adventures during my separation from you.”

So, after he had spent that night on the turf of the forest, he went on with those companions of his towards Ujjayiní, having his mind fixed on obtaining Śaśánkavatí, and he kept searching for those other companions of his, who were separated by the curse of the Nága, and whom he had not yet found.