Volume 2 / Book 16 — Chapter CXII.

When the emperor heard this from his Commander-in-chief Hariśikha, he went in some perplexity to Gopálaka, and told him the story. Gopálaka said, “My dear nephew, I do not know about this; I know so much, that the lady was lately married to Pálaka’s son; so let the prince be summoned from Ujjayiní, together with the minister Bharataroha; then we shall get at the truth.” When the emperor received this advice from his uncle, he sent the Vidyádhara Dhúmaśikha to Pálaka his younger uncle, and summoned from Ujjayiní that prince, his son, and the minister. When they arrived and bowed before the emperor, he and Gopálaka received them with love and courtesy, and questioned them about the matter under consideration.

Long ago your father Chaṇḍamahásena propitiated the goddess Chaṇḍí with asceticism, in order to obtain a splendid sword and a wife. She gave him her own sword, and about a wife said to him, “Thou shalt soon slay, my son, the Asura called Angáraka, and obtain his beautiful daughter Angáravatí for a wife.” When the king had been favoured with this revelation from the goddess, he remained thinking on the Asura’s daughter.

Now, at this time, everybody that was appointed head police officer in Ujjayiní, was at once carried off by some creature at night and devoured. And this went on night after night. Then Chaṇḍamahásena roaming leisurely about the city at night, to investigate the matter for himself, found an adulterer. He cut off with his sword his oiled and curled head, and no sooner was his neck severed than a certain Rákshasa came and laid hold of him. The king exclaimed, “This is the gentleman that comes and eats the heads of the police at night,” and laying hold of that Rákshasa by the hair, he prepared to slay him.

Then the Rákshasa said “King, do not slay me under a false impression! There is another creature in this neighbourhood that eats the heads of the police.” The king said, “Tell me! who is it?” and the Rákshasa continued, “There is in this neighbourhood an Asura of the name of Angáraka, whose home is in Pátála. He it is that eats your police-officers at the dead of night, O smiter of your foes. Moreover, prince, he carries off by force the daughters of kings from every quarter, and makes them attend on his daughter Angáravatí. If you see him roaming about in the forest, slay him, and attain your object in that way.”

When the Rákshasa had said this, the king let him go, and returned to his palace. And one day he went out to hunt. And in the place where he was hunting he saw a monstrous boar, with eyes red with fury, looking like a piece of the mountain of Antimony fallen from heaven. The king said to himself, “Such a creature cannot be a real boar, I wonder whether it is the Asura Angáraka that has the power of disguising himself:” so he smote the boar with shafts. But the boar recked not of his shafts, and overturning his chariot, entered a wide opening in the earth.

But the heroic king entered after him, and did not see that boar, but saw in front of him a splendid castle. And he sat down on the bank of a lake, and saw there a maiden with a hundred others attending on her, looking like an incarnation of Rati. She came up to him and asked him the reason of his coming there, and having conceived an affection for him, said to him, looking at him with tearful eyes; “Alas! What a place have you entered! That boar that you saw, was really a Daitya, Angáraka by name, of adamantine frame and vast strength. At present he has abandoned the form of a boar and is sleeping, as he is tired, but when the time for taking food comes, he will wake up and do you a mischief. And I, fair sir, am his daughter, Angáravatí by name; and fearing that some misfortune may befall you, I feel as if my life were in my throat.”

When she said this to the king, he, remembering the boon that the goddess Chaṇḍí had given him, felt that he had now a good hope of accomplishing his object, and answered her, “If you have any love for me, do this which I tell you: when your father awakes, go and weep at his side, and when he asks you the reason, say, fair one, ‘Father, if any one were to kill you in your reckless daring, what would become of me?’ If you do this, you will ensure the happiness of both of us.”

Then the Daitya bathed and proceeded to worship Śiva. At that moment the king appeared with his bow strung, and challenged to mortal combat the Daitya, who was observing religious silence. The Daitya lifted up his left hand, his right hand being engaged, and made a sign to the king to wait a little. That very moment the king smote him in that hand, which was his vital point, with a well-aimed arrow, and the Daitya fell on the earth. And just before he expired, he said, “If that man who has thus slain me when thirsty, does not every year offer water to my manes, his five ministers shall perish.” The Daitya being thus slain, the king took his daughter Angáravatí, and returned to this city of Ujjayiní.

“And after that king, your father, had married that queen, he used every year to have an offering of water made to the manes of Angáraka; and all here celebrate the feast called the giving of water; and to-day it has come round; so do, king, what your father did before you.”

Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of the Mátanga who turned out to be a Vidyádharí.

And in the meanwhile the prince Avantivardhana, hearing of it, came out to see the wonderful sight, and beheld that maiden. As he gazed, the deer of his heart ran into that net of the hunter Love, and was entangled by it. She too, when she saw him, her heart being charmed by his beauty, came down from that swing, which she had put up on the elephant’s tusks, and took her upper garment. Then a driver mounted the elephant, and she went home, looking at the prince with an expression of shame and affection.

Long ago king Prasenajit, in a city named Supratishṭhita, had a very beautiful daughter named Kurangí. One day she went out into the garden, and an elephant, that had broken from its fastenings, charged her, and flung her up on his tusks litter and all. Her attendants dispersed shrieking, but a young Chaṇḍála snatched up a sword and ran towards the elephant. The brave fellow cut off the trunk of that great elephant with a sword-stroke, and killed it, and so delivered the princess. Then her retinue came together again, and she returned to her palace with her heart captivated by the great courage and striking good looks of the young Chaṇḍála. And she remained in a state of despondency at being separated from him, saying to herself, “Either I must have that man who delivered me from the elephant for a husband, or I must die.”

The young Chaṇḍála, for his part, went home slowly, and having his mind captivated by the princess, was tortured by thinking on her. He said to himself, “What a vast gulf is fixed between me, a man of the lowest caste, and that princess! How can a crow and a female swan ever unite? The idea is so ridiculous that I cannot mention it or consider it, so, in this difficulty, death is my only resource.” After the young man had gone through these reflections, he went at night to the cemetery, and bathed, and made a pyre, and lighting the flame thus prayed to it, “O thou purifying fire, Soul of the Universe, may that princess be my wife hereafter in a future birth, in virtue of this offering up of myself as a sacrifice to thee!” When he had said this, he prepared to fling himself into the fire, but the Fire-god, pleased with him, appeared in visible shape before him, and said to him, “Do not act rashly, for she shall be thy wife, for thou art not a Chaṇḍála by birth, and what thou art I will tell thee, listen!

When the god of fire had said this, he disappeared, and the Mátanga’s adopted child was delighted, and conceived hope, and so went home. Then king Prasenajit, having been urged by the god in a dream, investigated the case, and finding out the truth, gave his daughter to the son of the Fire-god.

“Thus, queen, there are always to be found heavenly beings in disguise upon the earth, and you may be assured Suratamanjarí is not a woman of the lowest caste, but a celestial nymph. For such a pearl, as she is, must belong to some other race than that of the Mátangas, and without doubt she was the beloved of my son in a former birth, and this is proved by his falling in love with her at first sight.” When king Pálaka said this in our presence, I proceeded to relate the following story about a man of the fisher-caste.

Story of the young fisher man who married a princess.

Long ago there lived in Rájagṛiha a king named Malayasinha, and he had a daughter named Máyávatí of matchless beauty. One day a young man of the fisher-caste, named Suprahára, who was in the bloom of youth and good looks, saw her as she was amusing herself in a spring-garden. The moment he saw her, he was overpowered by love; for destiny never considers whether a union is possible or impossible. So he went home, and abandoning his occupation of catching fish, he took to his bed, and refused to eat, thinking only on the princess. And when persistently questioned, he told his wish to his mother named Rakshitiká, and she said to her son, “My son, abandon your despondency, and take food; I will certainly compass this your end for you by my ingenuity.”

Then the fisher-wife begged that her boldness might be pardoned, and said in secret to the princess, “Royal lady, my son has seen you in a garden, and is tortured by the thought that he cannot be near you; and I can only manage to prevent his committing suicide by holding out hopes to him; so, if you feel any pity for me, restore my son to life by touching him.” When the princess was thus entreated by the fisher-wife, hesitating between shame and a desire to oblige, after reflection, she said to her, “Bring your son to my palace secretly at night.” When the fisher-wife heard this, she went in high spirits to her son.

And when night came, she deliberately adorned her son as well as she could, and brought him to the private apartments of the princess. There the princess took Suprahára, who had pined for her so long, by the hand, and affectionately welcomed him, and made him lie down on a sofa, and comforted him whose limbs were withered by the fire of separation, by shampooing him with her hand, the touch of which was cool as sandal-wood. And the fisher-boy was thereby, as it were, bedewed with nectar, and thinking that after long waiting he had attained his desire, he took his rest, and was suddenly seized by sleep. And when he was asleep, the princess escaped, and slept in another room, having thus pleased the fisher-boy, and having avoided being disgraced through him.

Then that son of the fisher-folk woke up, owing to the cessation of the touch of her hand, and not seeing his beloved, who had thus come within his grasp, and again vanished, like a pot of treasure in the case of a very poor man, who is despondent for its loss, he was reft of all hope, and his breath at once left his body. When the princess found that out, she came there, and blamed herself, and made up her mind to ascend the funeral pyre with him next morning.

Then her father, king Malayasinha, heard of it, and came there, and finding that she could not be turned from her resolve, he rinsed his mouth, and spake this speech; “If I am really devoted to the three-eyed god of gods, tell me, ye guardians of the world, what it is my duty to do.” When the king said this, a heavenly voice answered him, “Thy daughter was in a former life the wife of this son of the fisher-folk.

When the king had been thus addressed by the divine voice, he gave his daughter in marriage to that youth Suprahára, who recovered his life by the gift of half hers. And Suprahára became a king by means of the land, elephants, horses, and jewels, which his father-in-law gave him, and, having obtained his daughter as a wife, lived the life of a successful man.

“In this way a connexion in a former birth usually produces affection in embodied beings; moreover, in illustration of this truth, listen to the following story about a thief.”

In Ayodhyá there lived of old time a king named Vírabáhu, who always protected his subjects as if they were his own children. And one day the citizens of his capital came to him and said, “King, some thieves plunder this city every night, and though we keep awake for the purpose, we cannot detect them.” When the king heard that, he placed scouts in the city at night to keep watch. But they did not catch the thieves and the mischief did not abate. Accordingly the king went out himself at night to investigate the matter.

When the night had come to an end, the king ordered his execution; and he was led off to the place of execution through the middle of the market. And as he was being led along through that part of the town, a merchant’s daughter saw him, and fell in love with him at first sight, and she immediately said to her father, “Know that if this man, who is being led off to execution preceded by the drum of death, does not become my husband, I shall die myself.”

“So, you see, creatures are completely dependent upon connexions in previous births, and this being the case, who can avoid a destiny that is fated to him, and who can prevent such a destiny’s befalling anybody? Therefore, king, it is clear that this Suratamanjarí is some excellent being that was the wife of your son Avantivardhana in a previous birth, and is therefore destined to be his wife again; otherwise how could such a high-born prince have formed such an attachment for her, a woman of the Mátanga caste? So let this Mátanga, her father Utpalahasta, be asked to give the prince his daughter; and let us see what he says.”

When I had said this to king Pálaka, he at once sent messengers to Utpalahasta to ask for his daughter. And the Mátanga, when entreated by those messengers to give her in marriage, answered them, “I approve of this alliance, but I must give my daughter Suratamanjarí to the man who makes eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in this city, eat in my house.” When the messengers heard this speech of the Mátanga’s, that contained a solemn promise, they went back and reported it faithfully to king Pálaka.

And after they had eaten, Utpalahasta came to king Pálaka, in the presence of his subjects, and bowing before him, said to him, “There was an influential prince of the Vidyádharas, named Gaurímuṇḍa; I was a dependent of his, named Matangadeva; and when, king, that daughter of mine Suratamanjarí had been born, Gaurímuṇḍa secretly said to me, ‘The gods assert that this son of the king of Vatsa, who is called Naraváhanadatta, is to be our emperor: so go quickly, and kill that foe of ours by means of your magic power, before be has attained the dignity of emperor.’

“When the wicked Gaurímuṇḍa had sent me on this errand, I went to execute it, and while going along through the air, I saw Śiva in front of me. The god, being displeased, made an angry roar, and immediately pronounced on me this curse, ‘How is it, villain, that thou dost plot evil against a noble-minded man? So go, wicked one, and fall with this same body of thine into the midst of the Chaṇḍálas in Ujjayiní, together with thy wife and daughter. And when some one shall make eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in that city, eat in thy house by way of a gift to purchase thy daughter; then thy curse shall come to an end, and thou must marry thy daughter to the man who bestows on thee that gift.’

“When Śiva had said this, he disappeared, and I, that very Matangadeva, assuming the name of Utpalahasta, fell among men of the lowest caste, but I do not mix with them. However, my curse is now at an end, owing to the favour of your son, so I give him my daughter Suratamanjarí. And now I will go to my own dwelling-place among the Vidyádharas, in order to pay my respects to the emperor Naraváhanadatta.” When Matangadeva had said this, he solemnly gave the prince his daughter, and flying up into the air with his wife, repaired, king, to thy feet.

“And king Pálaka, having thus ascertained the truth, celebrated with great delight the marriage of Suratamanjarí and his son. And his son Avantivardhana, having obtained that Vidyádharí for a wife, felt himself fortunate in having gained more than he had ever hoped for.

“Now, one day, that prince went to sleep on the top of the palace with her and at the end of the night he woke up, and suddenly discovered that his beloved was nowhere to be seen. He looked for her, but could not find her anywhere, and then he lamented, and was so much afflicted that his father the king came, and was exceedingly discomposed. We all, being assembled there at that time, said, ‘This city is well-guarded, no stranger could enter it during the night; no doubt she must have been carried off by some evilly disposed wanderer of the air;’ and even while we were saying that, your servant the Vidyádhara Dhúmaśikha descended from the sky. He brought here this prince Avantivardhana, and king Pálaka also was asked to part with me, in order that I might state the facts of the case. Here too is Suratamanjarí with her father, and the facts concerning her are such as I have said: your Majesty is the best judge of what ought to be done now.”

When Bharataroha the minister of Pálaka had told this tale, he stopped speaking; and the assessors put this question to Matangadeva in the presence of Naraváhanadatta, “Tell us, to whom did you give this daughter of yours Suratamanjarí?” He answered, “I gave her to Avantivardhana.” Then they put this question to Ityaka, “Now do you tell us why you carried her off?” He answered, “Her mother promised her to me originally.” The assessors said to Ityaka, “While the father is alive, what authority has the mother? Moreover, where is your witness to prove the fact of the mother having promised her to you? So she is with regard to you the wife of another, villain!” When Ityaka was thus put to silence by the assessors, the emperor Naraváhanadatta, being angry with him, ordered his immediate execution on the ground of his misconduct. But the good hermits, with Kaśyapa at their head, came and entreated him, saying, “Forgive now this one fault of his: for he is the son of Madanavega, and therefore your brother-in-law.” So the king was at last induced to spare his life, and let him off with a severe reprimand.

And he reunited that son of his maternal uncle, Avantivardhana, to his wife, and sent them off with their ministers to their own city, in the care of Váyupatha.