Volume 2 / Book 9 — Chapter LVI.

Then the prince Naraváhanadatta, with his beloved by his side, being much pleased at the tale of Gomukha, but seeing that Marubhúti was quite put out, in order to pay him a compliment, said to him, attempting to conciliate him; “Marubhúti, why do you not tell a tale also?” Then he said, “Well, I will tell one,” and with pleased soul began to relate the following story.

Story of the Bráhman Chandrasvámin, his son Mahípála, and his daughter Chandravatí.

There once lived in a town called Devakamalapura, belonging to the king Kamalavarman, an excellent Bráhman, named Chandrasvámin. And that wise man had a wife like himself, distinguished for modesty, and she was a worthy match for Sarasvatí and Lakshmí. And to that Bráhman was born a son with auspicious marks, and when he was born, this voice was heard from heaven:

Then a famine, caused by want of rain, sprang up in that country, the corn having been scorched up by the rays of the sun. And owing to that, the king began to play the bandit, leaving the right path, and taking wealth from his subjects unlawfully. Then, as that land was going rapidly to ruin, Chandrasvámin’s wife said to her husband: “Come to my father’s house, let us leave this city, for our children will perish here some day or other.” When Chandrasvámin heard this, he said to his wife—“By no means, for flight from one’s own country in time of famine is a great sin. So I will take these children and deposit them in your father’s house, and do you remain here; I will return soon. She agreed, and then Chandrasvámin left her in his house, and taking those two children, the boy Mahípála and the girl Chandravatí, set out from that city for his father-in-law’s house. And in course of time, as he roamed on, he reached a great wilderness, with sands heated by the rays of the sun, and with but a few parched up trees in it. And there he left his two children, who were exhausted with thirst, and went to a great distance to look for water for them. Then there met him a chief of the Śavaras, named Sinhadanshṭra, with his followers, going somewhere or other for his own ends. The Bhilla saw him and questioned him, and finding out that he was in search of water, said to his followers, “Take him to some water,” at the same time making a sign to them. When they heard it, two or three of the Śavara king’s followers, perceiving his intention, took the innocent Chandrasvámin to the village, and fettered him. And he, learning from them that he was fettered in order to be offered as a victim, lamented for his two children that he had left in the wild:

And in the meanwhile the boy Mahípála, left in the wilderness with his sister, as his father did not return, remained lamenting bitterly, supposing that some calamity had befallen him. And in this state he was beheld by a great merchant, of the name of Sárthadhara, who came that way, and the merchant asked him what had happened to him. And feeling compassion, he consoled the boy, and observing that he had auspicious marks, he took him and his sister to his own country. There that Mahípála lived in the house of that merchant, who looked upon him with all the affection of a father for his son; and though a boy, he was occupied in the rites of the sacred fire.

But one day the minister of the king Tárávarman, who lived in the city of Tárápura, the excellent Bráhman Anantasvámin, came that way on business, with his elephants, horses and foot-soldiers, and entered the house of that merchant, being a friend of his. After he had rested, he saw the handsome boy Mahípála, engaged in muttering prayers and in sacrificing to the fire, and asked his story; then the Bráhman minister, finding that the boy was of his own caste, as he had no children, begged the boy and his sister from the merchant. Then the merchant, who was a Vaiśya, gave him the children, and Anantasvámin went with them to Tárápura. There Mahípála remained in the house of that minister, which abounded in wealth on account of its master’s knowledge, and was treated by him as a son.

And in the meanwhile Sinhadanshṭra, the king of the Bhillas, came to Chandrasvámin, who was in captivity in that village, and said to him; “Bráhman, I have been ordered in a dream by the Sun-god not to slay you but to set you free, after doing you honour. So rise up, and go where you please.” After saying this, he let him go, giving him pearls and musk, and supplying him with an escort through the forest. And Chandrasvámin, being thus set at liberty, not finding his son and his younger sister in the wood, wandered in search of them, and as he wandered he found a city named Jalapura on the shore of the sea, and entered as a guest the house of a certain Bráhman. There, after he had taken refreshment, and then told his story, the Bráhman, the master of the house, said to him; “A merchant named Kanakavarman came here some days ago; he found in the forest a Bráhman boy with his sister, and he has gone off with those two very handsome children to the great island of Nárikela, but he did not tell his name.” When Chandrasvámin heard that, he made up his mind that those children were his, and he determined to go to that beautiful island. And after he had spent the night, and looked about him, he made acquaintance with a merchant, named Vishṇuvarman, who was about to go to the isle of Nárikela. And with him he embarked in a ship, and went across the sea to the island, out of love for his children. When he began to enquire there, the merchants, who lived there, said to him; “It is true that a merchant named Kanakavarman did come here, with two beautiful Bráhman children, whom he found in a wood. But he has now gone with them to the island of Kaṭáha. When the Bráhman heard that, he went in a ship with the merchant Dánavarman to the island of Kaṭáha. There he heard that the merchant Kanakavarman had gone from that island to an island named Karpúra. In the same way he visited in turn the islands of Karpúra, Suvarṇa, and Sinhala with merchants, but he did not find the merchant whom he was in search of. But from the people of Sinhala he heard that that merchant Kanakavarman had gone to his own city, named Chitrakúṭa. Then Chandrasvámin went with a merchant, named Koṭíśvara, to Chitrakúṭa, crossing the sea in his ship. And in that city he found the merchant Kanakavarman, and longing for his children, he told him the whole story. Then Kanakavarman, when he knew the cause of his grief, showed him the children, whom he had found in the forest and brought away. But when Chandrasvámin looked at those two children, he saw that they were not his, but some other children. Then he, being afflicted with tears and grief, lamented in desperate mood—“Alas! though I have wandered so far, I have not found my son or my daughter. Malignant Providence, like a wicked master, has held out hopes to me but has not fulfilled them, and has made me wander far and wide on a false surmise.” While he was indulging in such lamentations, he was at last, though with difficulty, consoled by Kanakavarman, and exclaimed in his grief, “If I do not find those children in a year, by wandering over the earth, I will abandon the body by austerities on the bank of the river Ganges. When he said this, a certain seer there said to him, “Go, you will recover your children by the favour of Náráyaṇí. When he heard that, he was delighted, remembering the compassion shown him by the sun, and he departed from that city, honoured by the merchants.

And while Chandrasvámin was surveying that from the summit of a tree, he saw a slave belonging to Náráyaṇí, and she saw him. And as chance would have it, they fell in love with one another, and the goddess Náráyaṇí perceived their feelings. And when Bhairava had departed, accompanied by the witches, she, lingering behind, summoned Chandrasvámin who was on the tree. And when he came down, she said to him and her slave: “Are you in love with one another?” And they confessed the truth, and said they were, and thereupon she dismissed her anger and said to Chandrasvámin, “I am pleased with thee for confessing the truth, so I will not curse thee, but I will give thee this slave, live in happiness.” When the Bráhman heard this, he said—“Goddess, though my mind is fickle, I hold it in check, I do not touch a strange woman. For this is the nature of the mind, but bodily sin should be avoided.” When that firm-souled Bráhman said this, the goddess said to him—“I am pleased with thee and I give thee this boon: thou shalt quickly find thy children. And receive from me this unfading lotus that destroys poison.” When the goddess had said this, she gave the Bráhman Chandrasvámin a lotus, and disappeared from his eyes.

Then the king Tárávarman, being highly pleased with the virtues of Mahípála, gave him his daughter Bandhumatí. Then that king, after giving him the half of the kingdom, being pleased with him, laid the whole burden of the kingdom upon him, as he had no other son. And Mahípála, after he had obtained the kingdom, acknowledged his father, and gave him a position next to his, and so lived in happiness.

One day his father Chandrasvámin said to him, “Come, let us go to our own country to bring your mother. For if she hears that you are the occupant of a throne, having been long afflicted, she might think, ‘How comes it that my son has forgotten me,’ and might curse you in her anger. But one who is cursed by his father and mother does not long enjoy prosperity. In proof of this hear this tale of what happened long ago to the merchant’s son.”

In the city of Dhavala there was a merchant’s son, named Chakra. He went on a trading voyage to Svarṇadvípa against the will of his parents. There he gained great wealth in five years, and in order to return embarked on the sea in a ship laden with jewels. And when his voyage was very nearly at an end, the sea rose up against him, troubled with a great wind, and with clouds and rain. And the huge billows broke his vessel, as if angry because he had come against the wish of his parents. Some of the passengers were whelmed in the waves, others were eaten by sea-monsters. But Chakra, as his allotted term of life had not run out, was carried to the shore and flung up there by the waves. While he was lying there in a state of exhaustion, he saw as if in a dream, a man of black and terrible appearance come to him, with a noose in his hand. Chakra was caught in the noose by that man, who took him up and dragged him a long distance to a court presided over by a man on a throne. By the order of the occupant of the throne, the merchant’s son was carried off by that noose-bearer, and flung into a cell of iron.

There he remained without disobeying again the orders of his parents: but Chakra put that wheel upon his head, and then spake thus—“May other sinners also on the earth be released from the result of their sins; until all sins are cancelled, may this wheel revolve on my head.” When the resolute Chakra said this, the gods in heaven, being pleased, rained flowers and thus addressed him: “Bravo! Bravo! man of noble spirit, this compassion has cancelled thy sin, go; thou shalt possess inexhaustible wealth.” When the gods said this, that iron wheel fell from the head of Chakra, and disappeared somewhere. Then a Vidyádhara youth descended from heaven, and gave him a valuable treasure of jewels, sent by Indra pleased with his self-abnegation, and taking Chakra in his arms, carried him to his city named Dhavala, and departed as he had come. Then Chakra delighted his relations by his arrival at the house of his parents, and, after telling his adventures, remained there without falling away from virtue.

When Chandrasvámin had told this story, he said again to Mahípála, “Such evil fruits does opposition to one’s parents produce, my son, but devotion to them is a wishing-cow of plenty: in illustration of this hear the following tale.”

Story of the hermit and the faithful wife.

There was in old time a hermit of great austerity, who roamed in the forest. And one day a hen-crow, as he was sitting under the shade of a tree, dropped dirt upon him, so he looked at the crow with angry eyes. And the crow, as soon as he looked at it, was reduced to ashes; and so the hermit conceived a vain-glorious confidence in the might of his austerities.

The next day he went in search of that Dharmavyádha, and approached him, as he was selling flesh in his shop. And as soon as Dharmavyádha saw the hermit, he said, “Have you been sent here, Bráhman, by that faithful wife?” When the hermit heard that, he said to Dharmavyádha in his astonishment,—“How come you to have such knowledge, being a seller of flesh?” When the hermit said this, Dharmavyádha answered him—“I am devoted to my father and mother, that is my only object in life. I bathe after I have provided them with the requisites for bathing, I eat after I have fed them, I lie down after I have seen them to bed; thus it comes to pass that I have such knowledge. And being engaged in the duties of my profession, I sell only for my subsistence the flesh of deer and other animals slain by others, not from desire of wealth. And I and that faithful wife do not indulge self-consciousness, the impediment of knowledge, so the knowledge of both of us is free from hindrance. Therefore do you, observing the vow of a hermit, perform your own duties, without giving way to self-consciousness, with a view to acquiring purity, in order that you may quickly attain the supreme brightness.” When he had been thus instructed by Dharmavyádha, he went to his house and observed his practice, and afterwards he returned satisfied to the forest. And by his advice he became perfected, and the faithful wife and Dharmavyádha also attained perfection by such performance of their duties.

“Such is the power of those who are devoted to husband or father and mother. So come, visit that mother who longs for a sight of you.” When thus addressed by his father Chandrasvámin, Mahípála promised to go to his native land to please his mother. And he disclosed that of his own accord to Anantasvámin his spiritual father, and when he took upon him the burden of his kingdom, the king set out with his natural father by night. And at last he reached his own country, and refreshed his mother Devamati with a sight of him, as the spring refreshes the female cuckoo. And Mahípála stayed there some time with his mother, being welcomed by his relations, together with his father who related their adventures.

In the meanwhile in Tárápura the princess, his wife Bandhumatí, who was sleeping within the house, woke up at the close of night. And discovering that her husband had gone somewhere, she was distressed at her lonely state, and could not find solace in the palace, the garden, or any other place. But she remained weeping, shedding tears that seemed to double her necklace, intent on lamentation only, desiring relief by death. But the minister Anantasvámin came and comforted her with hope-inspiring words, saying, “Before your husband went, he said to me, ‘I am going away on some business and I will quickly return,’ so do not weep, my daughter.” Then she recovered self-control, though with difficulty. Then she remained continually honouring with gifts excellent Bráhmans, that came from a foreign country, in order to obtain news of her husband. And she asked a poor Bráhman, named Sangamadatta, who came for a gift, for tidings of her husband, having told him his name and the signs by which to recognize him. Then the Bráhman said, “I have never beheld a man of that kind; but, queen, you must not give way to excessive anxiety on this account. Doers of righteous actions eventually obtain reunion with loved ones, and in proof of that I will tell you a wonder which I saw, listen.”

Story of the treacherous Páśupata ascetic.

Story of the king Tribhuvana.

I am a king named Tribhuvana in the city of Tribhuvana. There a certain Páśupata ascetic for a long time paid me court. And being asked the reason by me, he at once asked me to be his ally in obtaining a sword concealed in a cavern, and I agreed to that. Then the Páśupata ascetic went with me at night, and having by means of a burnt-offering and other rites discovered an opening in the earth, the ascetic said to me, “Hero! enter thou first, and after thou hast obtained the sword, come out, and cause me also to enter; make a compact with me to do this.” When he said this, I made that compact with him, and quickly entered the opening, and found a palace of jewels. And the chief of the Asura maidens who dwelt there came out from the palace, and out of love led me in, and there gave me a sword. She said, “Keep this sword which confers the power of flying in the air, and bestows all magical faculties.” Then I remained there with her. But I remembered my compact, and going out with the sword in my hand, I introduced that ascetic into the palace of the Asuras by that opening. There I dwelt with the first Asura lady who was surrounded by her attendants, and he dwelt with the second. One day when I was stupefied with drinking, the ascetic treacherously took away from my side the sword, and grasped it in his own hand. When he had it in his grasp, he possessed great power, and with his hand he seized me and flung me out of the cavern. Then I searched for him for twelve years at the mouths of caverns, hoping that some time I might find him outside. And this very day the scoundrel has presented himself to my eyes, sporting with that very Asura lady who belongs to me.

While the king Tribhuvana was relating this to me, O queen, that ascetic, stupefied with drink, went to sleep. And while he was asleep, the king went and took the sword from his side, and by its operation he recovered celestial might. Then the hero woke up that ascetic with a kick, and reproached the unfortunate man, but did not kill him. And then he entered the palace with the Asura lady and her attendants, recovered again like his own magic power. But the ascetic was much grieved at having lost his magic power. For the ungrateful, though long successful, are sure to fail at last.

“Having seen this with my own eyes, I have now arrived here in the course of my wanderings; so be assured, queen, that you shall eventually be reunited to your beloved, like Tribhuvana, for the righteous does not sink.” When Bandhumatí heard that from the Bráhman, she was highly delighted, and made him successful by giving him much wealth.

Story of Nala and Damayantí.

Of old time there lived a king named Nala, whose beauty, I fancy, so surpassed that of the god of Love, that in disgust he offered his body as a burnt-offering in the fire of the eye of the enraged Śiva. He had no wife, and when he made enquiries, he heard that Damayantí, the daughter of Bhíma the king of Vidarbha, would make him a suitable wife. And Bhíma, searching through the world, found that there was no king except Nala fit to marry his daughter.

Now Damayantí was longing for Nala; so, by way of a device to obtain him, she sent her mother to ask her father to appoint for her the ceremony of the Svayamvara. And her father Bhíma consented, and sent messengers to all the kings on the earth, to invite them to the Svayamvara. And all the kings, when they had received the summons, set out for Vidarbha, and Nala went also eagerly, mounted on his chariot.

And in the meanwhile, Indra and the other Lokapálas heard from the hermit Nárada of the Svayamvara of Damayantí, and of her love for Nala. And of them Indra, the Wind, the god of Fire, Yama and Varuṇa, longing for Damayantí, deliberated together, and went to Nala, and they found Nala setting off on the journey, and when he prostrated himself before them, they said to him “Go, Nala, and tell Damayantí this from us—‘Choose one of us five; what is the use of choosing Nala who is a mortal? Mortals are subject to death, but the gods are undying.’ And by our favour, thou shalt enter where she is, unperceived by the others.” Nala said “So be it,” and consented to do the errand of the gods. And he entered the apartments of Damayantí without being seen, and delivered that command of the gods, exactly as it was given. But when the virtuous woman heard that, she said “Suppose the gods are such, nevertheless Nala shall be my husband, I have no need of gods.” When Nala had heard her utter this noble sentiment, and had revealed himself, he went and told it, exactly as it was said, to Indra and the others; and they, pleased with him, gave him a boon, saying, “We are thy servants from this time forth, and will repair to thee as soon as thought of, truthful man.”

And in the meanwhile Kali, who was resolved on effecting what he had promised, was seeking an occasion against Nala, who lived according to the Śástras. Then, one day, Nala lost his senses from drunkenness, and went to sleep without saying the evening prayer and without washing his feet. After Kali had obtained this opportunity, for which he had been watching day and night, he entered into the body of Nala. When Kali had entered his body, king Nala abandoned righteous practices and acted as he pleased. The king played dice, he loved female slaves, he spoke untruths, he slept in the day, he kept awake at night, he became angry without cause, he took wealth unjustly, he despised the good, and he honoured the bad.

Moreover Dvápara entered into his brother Pushkara, having obtained an opportunity, and made him depart from the true path. And one day Nala saw, in the house of his younger brother Pushkara, a fine white bull, named Dánta. And Pushkara would not give the bull to his elder brother, though he wanted it and asked for it, because his respect for him had been taken away by Dvápara. And he said to him, “If you desire this bull, then win it from me at once at play.” When Nala heard that challenge, in his infatuation he accepted it, and then those two brothers began to play against each other. Pushkara staked the bull, Nala staked elephants and other things, and Pushkara continually won, Nala as continually lost. In two or three days Nala had lost his army and his treasure, but he still refused to desist from gambling, though entreated to desist, for he was distracted by Kali. Damayantí, thinking that the kingdom was lost, put her children in a splendid chariot, and sent them to the house of her father. In the mean-while Nala lost his whole kingdom; then the hypocritical Pushkara said, “Since you have lost everything else, now stake Damayantí on the game against that bull of mine.”

This windy speech of Pushkara’s, like a strong blast, made Nala blaze like fire; but he did not say anything unbecoming, nor did he stake his wife. Then Pushkara said to him, “If you will not stake your wife, then leave this country of mine with her.” When Nala heard this, he left that country with Damayantí, and the king’s officers saw him as far as the frontier. Alas! when Kali reduced Nala to such a state, say, what will be the lot of other mortals, who are like worms compared with him? Curse on this gambling, the livelihood of Kali and Dvápara, without law, without natural affection, such a cause of misfortunes even to royal sages.

When the spy heard this, he surmised that the supposed cook was really Nala transformed by misfortune, and he departed thence, and when he reached Vidarbha, he told king Bhíma and his queen and Damayantí all that he had heard and seen.

Then Damayantí, of her own accord, said to her father, “Without doubt that man is my husband disguised as a cook. So let this amusing artifice be employed to bring him here. Let a messenger be sent to king Ṛituparṇa, and the moment he arrives let him say to that king, ‘Nala has gone off somewhere or other, no tidings are heard of him; accordingly to-morrow morning Damayantí will again make her Svayamvara; so come quickly to Vidarbha this very day;’ and the moment the king hears his speech, he will certainly come here in one day, together with that husband of mine who is skilled in chariot-driving.” Having thus debated with her father, Damayantí sent off that very moment a messenger to the city of Kośala with exactly this message. He went and told it, as it was given him to Ṛituparṇa, and the king thereupon, being excited, said affectionately to his attendant Nala, who was disguised as a cook: “Hrasvabáhu, you said—‘I possess skill in chariot-driving.’ So take me this very day to Vidarbha if you have sufficient endurance.” When Nala heard that, he said, “Good! I will take you there,” and thereupon he yoked swift horses, and made ready the splendid chariot. He said to himself; “Damayantí has spread this report of a Svayamvara in order to recover me, otherwise, I know, she would not have behaved in this way even in her dreams. So I will go there and see what happens.” With such reflections he brought to Ṛituparṇa the chariot ready. And as soon as the king had mounted it, Nala proceeded to drive on that chariot with a speed exceeding even that of Garuḍa. Then Ṛituparṇa dropped his garment, and wished to stop the chariot in order to recover it, but Nala said to him,—“King, where is that garment of yours? Why the chariot has in this moment left it many yojanas behind.” When Ṛituparṇa heard this, he said:—“Well, give me this skill in chariot-driving, and I will give you my skill in dice, so that the dice shall obey your command and you shall acquire skill in numbers. And now look; I will give you a proof of the truth of what I say. You see this tree in front of us; I will tell you the number of its leaves and fruits, and then do you count them for yourself and see.” When he had said this, he told him the number of the leaves and fruits on that tree, and Nala counted them and found them exactly as many as he had said. Then Nala gave to Ṛituparṇa his skill in driving, and Ṛituparṇa gave to Nala his skill in dice and numbers.

And Nala tested that skill on another tree, and found the number of leaves and fruits to be exactly what he had guessed. And while he was rejoicing, a black man issued from his body, and he asked him who he was. Then he said, “I am Kali; when you were chosen by Damayantí, I entered your body out of jealousy, so you lost your fortune at play. And when Kárkoṭaka bit you in the forest, you were not consumed, but I was burnt, as you see, being in your body. For to whom is a treacherous injury done to another likely to be beneficial? So I depart, my friend, for I have opportunities against others.” After saying this, Kali vanished from his sight, and Nala at once became well-disposed as before, and recovered his former splendour. And he returned and remounted the chariot; and in the course of the same day he drove king Ṛituparṇa into Vidarbha, so rapidly did he get over the ground, and there the king was ridiculed by the people, who asked the cause of his coming; and he put up near the palace.

And early the next day she gave her maid this order; “Go and tell that cook of Ṛituparṇa’s from me; ‘I hear that there is no cook like you in the world, so come and prepare curry for me to-day.’” When the maid communicated to Nala this politic request, he got leave from Ṛituparṇa and came to Damayantí. And she said, “Tell me the truth; are you the king Nala disguised as a cook? I am drowned in a sea of anxiety, and you must to-day bring me safe to shore.” When Nala heard that, he was full of joy, love, grief and shame, and with downcast face, he spoke, in a voice faltering from tears, this speech suited to the occasion,—“I am in truth that wicked Nala, hard as adamant, who in his madness behaved like fire in afflicting you.” When he said this, Damayantí asked him—“If it is so, how did you become deformed?” Then Nala told her the whole of his adventures, from his making friends with Kárkoṭaka to the departure of Kali from him. And immediately he put on the pair of garments called the “fire-bleached,” given him by Kárkoṭaka, and recovered on the spot his own original shape.

When the Bráhman Sumanas had told this story to the princess Bandhumatí in Tárápura, whose husband was away, he went on to say to her—“Even thus, queen, do great ones, after enduring separation, enjoy prosperity, and following the example of the sun, after suffering a decline, they rise again. So you also, blameless one, shall soon recover your husband returning from his absence; use patient self-control, banish grief, and console yourself with the approaching gratification of your wishes in the return of your husband.” When the virtuous Bráhman had spoken these appropriate words, she honoured him with much wealth, and taking refuge in patience, she remained there awaiting her beloved. And in a few days her husband Mahípála returned, with his father, bringing that mother of his from a distant land. And when he returned, furnishing a feast to all eyes, he gladdened Bandhumatí, as the full moon gladdens the lovely water of the ocean. Then Mahípála, on whom her father had already devolved the burden of the kingdom, enjoyed as a king desired pleasures with her.

When prince Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard in the company of his wife, from the mouth of his minister Marubhúti, this matchless romantic story, pleasing on account of its picture of affection, he was exceedingly pleased.