Volume 2 / Book 6 — Chapter XXX.

Then Kalingasená out of love went to the top of a palace on the high road, to follow with her eyes the course of Somaprabhá, who had set out for her own home, and by chance a young king of the Vidyádharas, named Madanavega, travelling through the air, had a near view of her. The youth beholding her, bewildering the three worlds with her beauty, like the bunch of peacock feathers of the conjuror Cupid, was much troubled. He reflected—“Away with the Vidyádhara beauties! Not even the Apsarases deserve to be mentioned in presence of the surpassing loveliness of this mortal lady. So if she will not consent to become my wife, what is the profit of my life? But how can I associate with a mortal lady, being a Vidyádhara?” Thereupon he called to mind the science named Prajnapti, and that science, appearing in bodily form, thus addressed him, “She is not really a mortal woman, she is an Apsaras, degraded in consequence of a curse, and born in the house of the august king Kalingadatta.” When the Vidyádhara had been thus informed by the science, he went off delighted and distracted with love; and averse from all other things, reflected in his palace; “It is not fitting for me to carry her off by force; for the possession of women by force is, according to a curse, fated to bring me death. So in order to obtain her, I must propitiate Śiva by asceticism, for happiness is procurable by asceticism, and no other expedient presents itself.” Thus he resolved, and the next day he went to the Ṛishabha mountain, and standing on one foot, performed penance without taking food. Then the husband of Ambiká was soon won over by Madanavega’s severe asceticism, and appearing to him, thus enjoined him, “This maiden, named Kalingasená, is famous for beauty on the earth, and she cannot find any husband equal to her in the gift of loveliness. Only the king of Vatsa is a fitting match for her, and he longs to possess her, but through fear of Vásavadattá, does not dare to court her openly. And this princess, who is longing for a handsome husband, will hear of the king of Vatsa from the mouth of Somaprabhá, and repair to him to choose him as her husband. So, before her marriage takes place, assume the form of the impatient king of Vatsa, and go and make her your wife by the Gándharva ceremony. In this way, fair sir, you will obtain Kalingasená.” Having received this command from Śiva, Madanavega prostrated himself before him, and returned to his home on the slope of the Kálakúṭa mountain.

Then Kalingasená went on enjoying herself in the city of Takshaśilá, in the society of Somaprabhá, who went every night to her own home, and came back every morning to her friend, in her chariot that travelled through the air: and one day she said to Somaprabhá in private; “My friend, you must not tell any one what I tell you. Listen, and I will give you a reason that makes me think the time of my marriage has arrived. Ambassadors have been sent here by many kings to ask me in marriage. And they, after an interview with my father, have always hitherto been dismissed by him as they came. But now the king of the name of Prasenajit, who lives in Śrávastí, has sent a messenger, and he alone has been received with honourable distinction by my father. And that course has been recommended by my mother, so I conjecture, the king, my suitor, has been approved of by my father and mother, as of sufficiently noble lineage. For he is born in that family, in which were born Ambá and Ambáliká, the paternal grandmothers of the Kurus and Páṇḍus. So, my friend, it is clear that they have now determined to bestow me in marriage on this king Prasenajit in the city of Śrávastí.” When Somaprabhá heard this from Kalingasená, she suddenly shed from grief a copious shower of tears, creating, as it were, a second necklace. And when her friend asked her the cause of her tears, that daughter of the Asura Maya, who had seen all the terrestrial world, said to her—“Of the desirable requisites in a suitor, youth, good looks, noble birth, good disposition, and wealth, youth is of the greatest importance; high birth, and so on, are of subordinate importance. But I have seen that king Prasenajit, and he is an old man; who cares about his high lineage, as he is old, any more than about the birth of the jasmine-flower? You will be to be pitied when linked to him who is white as snow, as the lotus-bed, when linked to the winter, and your face will be a withered lotus. For this reason despondency has arisen in me, but I should be delighted if Udayana, the king of Vatsa, were to become your husband, O auspicious lady. For there is no king upon the earth equal to him in form, beauty, lineage, daring and riches. If, fair one, you should be married to that fitting mate, the display which the Creator has made in your case of his power to create beauty, would have brought forth fruit.” By means of these speeches, artfully framed by Somaprabhá, the mind of Kalingasená was impelled as if by engines, and flew towards the king of Vatsa. And then the princess asked the daughter of Maya, “Friend, how is it that he is called the king of Vatsa? In what race was he born? And whence was he named Udayana? Tell me.” Then Somaprabhá said—“Listen, friend, I will tell you that. There is a land, the ornament of the earth, named Vatsa. In it there is a city named Kauśámbí, like a second Amarávatí; and he is called the king of Vatsa because he rules there. And hear his lineage, my friend, related by me. Arjuna of the Páṇḍava race had a son named Abhimanyu, and he, skilled in breaking the close rings of the hostile army, destroyed the force of the Kauravas. From him there sprang a king named Paríkshit, the head of the race of Bharata, and from him sprang Janamejaya, who performed the snake-sacrifice. His son was Śatáníka who settled in Kauśámbí, and he was slain in a war between the gods and Asuras after slaying many giants. His son was king Sahasráníka, an object of praise to the world, to whom Indra sent his chariot, and he went to heaven and returned thence. To him was born this Udayana by the queen Mṛigávatí, the ornament of the race of the Moon, a king that is a feast to the eyes of the world. Hear too the reason of his name. That Mṛigávatí, the mother of this high-born king, being pregnant, felt a desire to bathe in a lake of blood, and her husband, afraid of committing sin, had a lake made of liquid lac and other coloured fluids in which she plunged. Then a bird of the race of Garuḍa pounced upon her, thinking she was raw flesh, and carried her off, and, as fate would have it, left her alive on the mountain of the sunrise. And there the hermit Jamadagni saw her, and comforted her, promising her reunion with her husband, and she remained there in his hermitage. For such was the curse inflicted upon her husband by Tilottamá jealous on account of his neglecting her, which caused him separation from his wife for a season. And in some days she brought forth a son in the hermitage of Jamadagni on that very mountain of the sunrise, as the sky brings forth the new moon. And because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise, the gods then and there gave him the name of Udayana, uttering from heaven this bodiless voice—‘This Udayana, who is now born, shall be sovereign of the whole earth, and there shall be born to him a son, who shall be emperor of all the Vidyádharas.’

“Sahasráníka, for his part, who had been informed of the real state of the case by Mátali, and had fixed his hope on the termination of his curse, with difficulty got through the time without that Mṛigávatí. But when the curse had expired, the king obtained his token from a Śavara who, as fate would have it, had come from the mountain of the sunrise. And then he was informed of the truth by a voice that came from heaven, and making that Śavara his guide, he went to the mountain of the sunrise. There he found his wife Mṛigávatí like the success of his wishes, and her son Udayana like the realm of fancy. With them he returned to Kauśámbí, and appointed his son crown-prince, pleased with the excellence of his qualities; and he gave him the sons of his ministers, Yaugandharáyaṇa and others. When his son took the burden of the kingdom off his shoulders, he enjoyed pleasures for a long time in the society of Mṛigávatí. And in time the king established his son, that very Udayana, on the throne, and being old, went with his wife and ministers on the long journey. So, Udayana has obtained that kingdom that belonged to his father, and having conquered all his enemies, rules the earth with the help of Yaugandharáyaṇa.”

Having in these words quickly told her in confidence the story of Udayana, she again said to her friend Kalingasená—“Thus that king is called the king of Vatsa, fair one, because he rules in Vatsa, and since he comes of the Páṇḍava lineage, he is also descended from the race of the sun. And the gods gave him the name of Udayana, because he was born on the mountain of the sunrise, and in this world even the god of love is not a match for him in beauty. He alone is a husband fit for you, most beautiful lady of the three worlds, and he, being a lover of beauty, no doubt longs for you, who are famous for it. But, my friend, his head-wife is Vásavadattá, the daughter of Chaṇḍamahásena. And she selected him herself, deserting her relations in the ardour of her passion, and so sparing the blushes of Ushá, Śakuntalá and other maidens. And a son has been born to him by her, called Naraváhanadatta, who is appointed by the gods as the future emperor of the Vidyádharas. So it is through fear of her that the king of Vatsa does not send here to ask for your hand, but she has been seen by me, and she does not vie with you in the gift of beauty.” When her friend Somaprabhá said this, Kalingasená, being in love with the king of Vatsa, answered her—“I know all this, but what can I do, as I am under the power of my parents? But in this, you, who know all things and possess magic power, are my refuge.” Somaprabhá then said to her—“The whole matter depends on destiny; in proof of it hear the following tale.”

Story of Tejasvatí.

Once on a time there lived in Ujjayiní a king named Vikramasena, and he had a daughter named Tejasvatí, matchless in beauty. And she disapproved of every king who sued for her hand. But one day, while she was on the roof of her palace, she saw a man, and as fate would have it, she felt a desire to meet him as he was very handsome, and she sent her confidante to him, to communicate to him her desire. The confidante went and entreated the man, who shrank from such an audacious step, and at last with much difficulty she made him against his will agree to an assignation, saying, “Await, good sir, the arrival of the princess at night in this retired temple which you see here.” After saying this, she took leave of him, and went and told the princess Tejasvatí, who for her part remained watching the sun. But that man, though he had consented, fled somewhere else out of fear; a frog is not capable of relishing the fibres of a bed of red lotuses.

Story of the Bráhman Hariśarman.

“Thus good objects are brought about by fate for those whose actions in a former life have been good. Accordingly fate made that daughter of yours, Tejasvatí, approach Somadatta a man of equal birth, and kept away one who was unsuited to her.” Hearing this from the mouth of his minister, the king Vikramasena gave his daughter to that prince as if she were the goddess of fortune. Then the prince went and overcame his enemies by the help of his father-in-law’s host, and being established in his own kingdom, lived happily in the company of his wife.

“So true is it that all this happens by the special favour of fate; who on earth would be able to join you, lovely as you are, with the king of Vatsa, though a suitable match for you, without the help of fate? What can I do in this matter, friend Kalingasená?” Kalingasená, hearing this story in private from the mouth of Somaprabhá, became eager in her soul for union with the king of Vatsa, and, in her aspirations after him, began to feel in a less degree the fear of her relations and the warnings of modesty. Then, the sun, the great lamp of the three worlds, being about to set, Somaprabhá the daughter of the Asura Maya, having with difficulty taken leave, until her morning return, of her friend, whose mind was fixed upon her proposed attempt, went through the air to her own home.

Note on the story of Hariśarman.

The story of Hariśarman resembles closely that of Doctor Allwissend in Grimm’s Tales. It is shown by Benfey to exist in various forms in many countries. It is found in the Siddhikür, the Mongolian form of the Sanskrit Vetálapanchavinśati. In this form of the story the incident of the frog in the pot is omitted, and the other incidents are considerably altered. Instead of the king’s treasure we find a magic gem, on which the prosperity of the country depends; it is not stolen but lost by the king’s daughter. Instead of the horse we have the cure of a sick Khán who had been driven mad by evil spirits. The folly of the man who represents the Bráhman consists in his choosing worthless presents for his reward. (The story is the IVth in Sagas from the Far East.) Benfey considers the fullest form of the story to be that in Schleicher’s Lithuanian Legends. In this form of the story we have the stealing of the horse. In other points it resembles the Mongolian version. The Bráhman is represented by a poor cottager, who puts up over his door a notice saying that he is a Doctor, who knows everything and can do everything. The third exploit of the cottager is the finding of a stolen treasure which is the second in the Indian story, but his second is a miraculous cure which is in accordance with the Siddikür. The latter is probably a late work; and we may presume that the Mongols brought the Indian story to Europe, in a form resembling that in the Kathá Sarit Ságara more nearly than the form in the Siddikür does. In the third exploit of the cottager in the Lithuanian tale, which corresponds to the second in the Indian, the treasure has been stolen by three servants. They listen outside while the Doctor is alone in his room. When the clock strikes one,—he says, “We have one.” When it strikes two, he says—“We have two.” When it strikes three, he says,—“We have now three.” In their terror they go to the doctor and beg him not to betray them. He is richly rewarded.

But after all, Grimm’s form of the tale is nearest to the Sanskrit. The dish with crabs in it, the contents of which the Doctor has to guess, makes him exclaim—”Ach ich armer Krebs.” This might almost have been translated from the Sanskrit; it is so similar in form. The guilty servants, who stole the gold are detected by the Doctor’s saying to his wife—“Margaret, that is the first”—meaning the first who waited at table, and so on.

The story is also found in the Facetiæ of Henricus Bebelius, 1506. Here a poor charcoal-burner represents the Bráhman. He asks three days to consider. The king gives him a good dinner, and while the first thief is standing at the window, he exclaims “Jam unus accessit” meaning “one day is at an end.” The next day the second thief comes to listen. The charcoal-burner exclaims “Secundus accessit” and so with the third, whereupon they all confess.

Benfey conceives himself to have found the incident of the horse in Poggii Facetiæ (LXXXVI ed. Cracov. 1592, p. 59). Here a doctor boasts a wonder-working pill. A man who has lost his ass takes one of these pills. It conducts him to a bed of reeds where he finds his ass. (The article from which I have taken these parallels is found in Benfey’s Orient und Occident, Vol. I, p. 371 and ff.)