Volume 2 / Book 12 — Chapter XCI. (Vetála 17.)

Then the brave king Trivikramasena went back once more to the aśoka-tree, and taking the Vetála from it, carried him off on his shoulder. And when he had set out, the Vetála said to him from his perch on his shoulder, “Listen, king; to cheer your toil, I will tell you the following tale.”

In that capital of that sovereign there was a great merchant, and he had an unmarried daughter, named Unmádiní. Whoever there beheld her, was at once driven mad by the wealth of her beauty, which was enough to bewilder even the god of love himself. And when she attained womanhood, her politic father, the merchant, went to king Yaśodhana, and said to him, “King, I have a daughter to give in marriage, who is the pearl of the three worlds; I dare not give her away to any one else, without informing your Majesty. For to your Majesty belong all the jewels of the whole earth, so do me the favour of accepting or rejecting her.”

Then, by the king’s orders, the merchant, the father of the maiden Unmádiní, gave her in marriage to the commander of the king’s forces, named Baladhara. And she lived happily with her husband in his house, but she thought that she had been dishonoured by the king’s abandoning her on account of her supposed inauspicious marks.

And as time went on, the lion of spring came to that place, slaying the elephant of winter, that, with flowering jasmine-creepers for tusks, had ravaged the thick-clustering lotuses. And it sported in the wood, with luxuriant clusters of flowers for mane, and with mango-buds for claws. At that season king Yaśodhana, mounted on an elephant, went out to see the high festival of spring in that city of his. And then a warning drum was beaten, to give notice to all matrons to retire, as it was apprehended that the sight of his beauty might prove their ruin.

When Unmádiní heard that drum, she shewed herself to the king on the roof of her palace, to revenge the insult he had offered her by refusing her. And when the king saw her, looking like a flame shooting up from the fire of love, when fanned by spring and the winds from the Malaya mountain, he was sorely troubled. And gazing on her beauty, that pierced deep into his heart, like a victorious dart of Cupid, he immediately swooned. His servants managed to bring him round, and when he had entered his palace, he found out from them, by questioning them, that this was the very beauty who had been formerly offered to him, and whom he had rejected. Then the king banished from his realm those who reported that she had inauspicious marks, and thought on her with longing, night after night, saying to himself, “Ah! how dull of soul and shameless is the moon, that he continues to rise, while her spotless face is there, a feast to the eyes of the world!” Thinking thus in his heart, the king, being slowly wasted by the smouldering fires of love, pined away day by day. But through shame he concealed the cause of his grief, and with difficulty was he induced to tell it to his confidential servants, who were led by external signs to question him. Then they said; “Why fret yourself? Why do you not take her to yourself, as she is at your command?” But the righteous sovereign would not consent to follow their advice.

When the Vetála, sitting on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena, had told this wonderful tale, he again said to him, “So tell me, king, which of these two was superior in loyalty, the general or the king; and remember, the previous condition still holds.” When the Vetála said this, the king broke silence, and answered him, “Of these two the king was superior in loyalty.” When the Vetála heard this, he said to him reproachfully, “Tell me, king, how can you make out that the general was not his superior? For, though he knew the charm of his wife’s society by long familiarity, he offered such a fascinating woman to the king out of love for him; and when the king was dead, he burnt himself; but the king refused the offer of his wife without knowing anything about her.”

When the Vetála said this to the king, the latter laughed, and said, “Admitting the truth of this, what is there astonishing in the fact, that the commander-in-chief, a man of good family, acted thus for his master’s sake, out of regard for him? For servants are bound to preserve their masters even by the sacrifice of their lives. But kings are inflated with arrogance, uncontrollable as elephants, and when bent on enjoyment, they snap asunder the chain of the moral law. For their minds are overweening, and all discernment is washed out of them, when the waters of inauguration are poured over them, and is, as it were, swept away by the flood. And the breeze of the waving chowries fans away the atoms of the sense of scripture taught them by old men, as it fans away flies and mosquitoes. And the royal umbrella keeps off from them the rays of truth, as well as the rays of the sun; and their eyes, smitten by the gale of prosperity, do not see the right path. And so even kings, that have conquered the world, like Nahusha and others, have had their minds bewildered by Mára, and have been brought into calamity. But this king, though his umbrella was paramount in the earth, was not fascinated by Unmádiní, fickle as the goddess of Fortune; indeed, sooner than set his foot on the wrong path, he renounced life altogether; therefore him I consider the more self-controlled of the two.”

When the Vetála heard this speech of the king’s, he again rapidly quitted his shoulder by the might of his delusive power, and returned to his own place; and the king followed him swiftly, as before, to recover him: for how can great men leave off in the middle of an enterprise, which they have begun, even though it be very difficult?

Note.

Oesterley states that this tale is No. 26, in the Persian Tútínámah, in Iken, p. 109. The deliberations about carrying off the wife of the commander-in-chief are, in this form of the story, carried on in the presence of the counsellors only; and the king is the only one that dies. From the Persian Tútínámah the story has passed in a very similar form into the Turkish Tútínámah. Compare Malespíní, 1, No. 102, (Oesterley’s Baitál Pachísí, pp. 207, 208.) The story, as told by Śivadása, will be found in Bezzenberger’s Beiträge zur Kunde der Indo-germanischen Sprachen, Vol. IV, p. 360. Dr. Zachariæ, the author of the paper, gives a reference to the Rajataranginí, IV, 17–37, which Professor Bühler pointed out to him. He tells us that the story is the 14th in Jambhaladatta’s recension. The story is also found in the parables of Buddhaghosha; in a form based upon the Ummadantíjátaka. Dr. Zachariæ gives the Pali text of this Játaka in an Appendix, and the corresponding Sanskrit version of the tale from the Játakamálá of Aryaśúra. He also refers his readers to Upham’s Mahávanso, pp. 212–213; Beal, Texts from the Buddhist canon, commonly known as Dhammapada, Section XXIII, Advantageous Service; Bigandet, The life or legend of Gaudama, the Buddha of the Burmese, pp. 220–221; and Mary Summer, Histoire du Bouddha Sákya-Mouni, (Paris, 1874,) p. 145.

In the Pali version the Bráhmans are so bewildered at the sight of the girl that they cannot eat, but put their rice on their heads &c. instead of putting it in their mouths; so she has them driven out by her servants. Out of revenge they tell the king that she is a kálakaṇṇi, which according to Childers means “a hag.” In the Játakamálá they are too much bewildered to stand, much less to eat; but the report which they make is much the same as in our text, and made from the same motives.