He conquered by his great valour all his enemies; and as Indra has Vrihaspati for a minister, he had Dirghadarsin. Now, in course of time, this king, infatuated with his youth and beauty, entrusted to that minister his realm, from which all enemies had been eradicated, and became devoted to pleasure only. He remained continually in the harem instead of the judgment-hall; he listened to delightful songs in the womens' apartments, instead of hearkening to the voice of his well-wishers; in his thoughtlessness, he was devoted to latticed windows and not to the affairs of his kingdom, though the latter also were full of holes.

But the great minister Dirghadarsin continued unweariedly upholding the burden of his kingdom's cares, day and night. And a general rumour spread to the following effect, "Dirghadarsin has plunged in dissipation the sovereign, who is satisfied with the mere name of king, and so he manages now to enjoy himself all his master's power." Then the minister Dirghadarsin said of himself to his wife Medhavati, "My dear, as the king is addicted to pleasure, and I do his work, a calumny has been circulated among the people against me, to the effect that I have devoured the realm. And a general rumour, though false, injures even great men in this world; was not Rama compelled by a slanderous report to abandon his wife Sita? So what course must I adopt in this emergency?" When the minister said this, his firm-souled wife Medhavati, [322] who was rightly named, said to him; "Take leave of the king on the pretext of a pilgrimage to holy bathing-places; it is expedient, great-minded Sir, that you should go to a foreign land for a certain time. So you will be seen to be free from ambition, and the calumny against you will die out; and while you are absent, the king will bear the burden of the kingdom himself, and then this vicious tendency of his will gradually diminish, and when you return, you will be able to discharge your office of minister without blame."

When Dirghadarsin's wife said this to him, he said, "I will do so," and he went and said to the king Yasahketu in the course of conversation, "Give me leave to depart, king, I am going on a pilgrimage for some days, for my heart is set on that religious duty." When the king heard that, he said, "Do not do so! Cannot you, without going on pilgrimages, perform in your house n.o.ble religious duties, such as charity and so on, which will procure you heaven?" When the minister heard this, he said, "King, that purity which comes of wealth is sought by charity and so on, but holy bathing-places have an everlasting purity. And a wise man must visit them, while he is young; for otherwise how can he be sure of reaching them, as this body cannot be relied on?" While he was saying this, and the king was still trying to dissuade him, a warder entered, and said to the king, "King, the sun is plunging into the middle of the lake of heaven, so rise up, this is the hour appointed for you to bathe in, and it is rapidly pa.s.sing away." When the king heard this, he immediately rose up to bathe, and the minister, whose heart was set on pilgrimage, bowed before him, and went home to his own house.

There he left his wife, whom he forbade to follow him, and managed cunningly to set out in secret, without even his servants suspecting his departure. And alone he wandered from country to country with resolute perseverance, and visited holy bathing-places, and at last he reached the land of Paundra. In a certain city in that country not far from the sea, he entered a temple of Siva, and sat down in a courtyard attached to it. There a merchant, named Nidhidatta, who had come to worship the G.o.d, saw him exhausted with the heat of the sun's rays, dusty with his long journey. The merchant, being a hospitable man, seeing that the traveller, who was in such a state, wore a Brahmanical thread, and had auspicious marks, concluded that he was a distinguished Brahman, and took him home to his own house. There he honoured him with a bath, food, and other refreshments in the most luxurious style, and when his fatigue was removed, he said to him, "Who are you, whence do you come, and where are you going?" And the Brahman gave him this reserved answer; "I am a Brahman of the name of Dirghadarsin; I have come here on pilgrimage from the land of Anga." Then the merchant prince Nidhidatta said to him, "I am about to go on a trading expedition to the Island of Gold; so you must live in my house, until I return; and then you will have recovered from the fatigue which you have incurred by roaming to holy places, and you can go home." When Dirghadarsin heard that, he said, "Why should I remain here? I will go with you, great merchant, if you like." The good man said, "So be it," and then the minister, who had long discarded the use of beds, spent that night in his house.

The next day he went with that merchant to the sea, and embarked on a ship laden with his merchandise. He travelled along in that ship, and beheld the awful and wonderful ocean, and in course of time reached the Isle of Gold. What had a man holding the office of prime minister to do with sea-voyages? But what will not men of honour do to prevent their fame from being sullied? So he remained some time in that island with that merchant Nidhidatta, who was engaged in buying and selling.

And as he was returning with him on the ship, he suddenly saw a wave rise up, and then a wishing-tree arise out of the sea; it was adorned with boughs glittering with gold, which were embellished with sprays of coral, and bore lovely fruits and flowers of jewels. And he beheld on its trunk a maiden, alluring on account of her wonderful beauty, reclining on a gem-bestudded couch. He reflected for a moment, "Dear me! What can this be?" And thereupon the maiden, who had a lyre in her hand, began to sing this song, "Whatever seed of works any man has sown in a former life, of that he, without doubt, eats the fruit; for even fate cannot alter what has been done in a previous state of existence." When the heavenly maiden had sung this song, she immediately plunged into that sea, with the wishing-tree, and the couch on which she was reclining. Then Dirghadarsin reflected, "I have to-day seen a wonderful sight; one would never have expected to find in the sea a tree, with a heavenly maiden singing on it, appearing and disappearing as soon as beheld. Or rather, this admirable treasure-house of the sea is ever the same; did not Lakshmi, and the moon, and the Parijata tree, and other precious things come out of it?" But the steersman and the rest of the crew, perceiving that Dirghadarsin was astonished and puzzled, said to him, "This lovely woman always appears here in the same way, and sinks down again at once; but this sight is new to you."

This is what they said to the minister, but he still continued in a state of wonder, and so he reached in course of time on the ship, with that Nidhidatta, the coast for which they were making. There the merchant disembarked his wares, gladdening the hearts of his servants, and the minister went in high spirits with him to his house, which was full of mirth at his arrival. And after he had remained there a short time, he said to Nidhidatta, "Merchant prince, I have long reposed comfortably in your house, now I wish to return to my own land; I wish you all happiness." With these words he took leave of the merchant prince, who was sorely unwilling to let him go, and with his virtue for his only companion he set out thence, and having in course of time accomplished the long journey, he reached his own native land of Anga.

There the spies, who had been placed by king Yasahketu to watch for his return, saw him coming, before he entered the city, and informed the king; and then the king, who had been much afflicted by his absence, went out from the city to meet him; and came up to him and welcomed him with an embrace. Then the king conducted into the palace his minister, who was emaciated and begrimed with his long journey, and said to him, "Why did you leave me, bringing your mind to this cruel heartless step, and your body into this squalid state from its being deprived of unguents? [323] But who knows the way of the mighty G.o.d Fate, in that you suddenly fixed your mind on pilgrimage to holy waters and other sacred places? So tell me, what lands have you wandered through, and what novel sights have you seen?" Then Dirghadarsin described his journey to the Island of Gold, in all its stages, and so was led to tell the king of that maiden, the jewel of the three worlds, whom he had seen rise out of the sea, and sit on the wishing-tree singing. All this he narrated exactly as it took place.

The moment the king heard all this, he fell so deeply in love with her, that he considered his kingdom and life valueless without her. And taking his minister aside, he said to him, "I must certainly see that maiden, otherwise I cannot live. I will go by the way which you have described, after worshipping Fate. And you must not dissuade, and you must by no means follow me, for I will travel alone incognito, and in the meanwhile you must take care of my kingdom. Do not disobey my order, otherwise my death will lie at your door." Thus spake the king, and refused to hear his minister's answer, and then dismissed him to his own house to see his relations, who had long been wishing for his return. There, in the midst of great rejoicing Dirghadarsin remained despondent; how can good ministers be happy, when their lord's vices are incurable?

And the next night the king Yasahketu set out, disguised as an ascetic, having entrusted his kingdom to the care of that minister. And on the way, as he was going along, he saw a hermit, named Kusanabha, and he bowed before him. The hermit said to the king who was disguised as an ascetic, "Go on your way boldly; by going to sea in a ship with the merchant Lakshmidatta you shall obtain that maiden whom you desire." This speech delighted the king exceedingly, and bowing again before the hermit, he continued his journey; and after crossing many countries, rivers, and mountains, he reached the sea, which seemed to be full of eagerness to entertain him. Its eddies looked like eyes expanded to gaze at him, eyes of which waves were the curved brows, and which were white with shrill-sounding conchs for pupils. On the sh.o.r.e he met the merchant Lakshmidatta spoken of by the hermit, who was on the point of setting out for the Isle of Gold. The merchant prostrated himself before him, when he saw the signs of his royal birth, such as the discus-marked foot-print and so on; and the king embarked on the ship with him, and set out with him on the sea. And when the ship had reached the middle of the ocean, that maiden arose from the water, seated on the trunk of the wishing-tree, and while the king was gazing at her, as a partridge at the moonlight, she sang a song which the accompaniment of her lyre made more charming; "Whatever seed of works any man has sown in a former life, of that he, without doubt, eats the fruit, for even Fate cannot alter what has been done in a previous state of existence. So a man is helplessly borne along to experience precisely that lot which Fate has appointed for him, in that place and in that manner which Fate has decreed; of this there can be no doubt." When the king heard her singing this song, and thus setting forth the thing that must be, he was smitten with the arrow of love, and remained for some time motionless, gazing at her. Then he began, with bowed head, to praise the sea in the following words, "Hail, to thee, store-house of jewels, of unfathomable heart, since by concealing this lovely nymph thou hast cheated Vishnu out of Lakshmi. So I throw myself on thy protection, thou who canst not be sounded even by G.o.ds, the refuge of mountains [324] that retain their wings; grant me to obtain my desire." While he was uttering this, the maiden disappeared in the sea, with the tree, and when the king saw that, he flung himself into the sea after her, as if to cool the flames of love's fire.

When the merchant Lakshmidatta saw that unexpected sight, the good man thought the king had perished, and was so afflicted that he was on the point of committing suicide, but he was consoled by the following utterance, that came from the heavens, "Do not act rashly; he is not in danger, though he has plunged into the sea; this king, Yasahketu by name, has come, disguised as an ascetic, to obtain this very maiden, for she was his wife in a former state of existence, and as soon as he has won her, he shall return to his realm of Anga." Then the merchant continued his intended voyage, to accomplish his purposes.

But when king Yasahketu plunged into the sea, he suddenly beheld to his astonishment a splendid city. It gleamed with palaces that had bright pillars of precious stone, walls flashing with gold, and latticed windows of pearl. It was adorned with gardens in which were tanks with flights of steps composed of slabs of every kind of gem, and wishing-trees that granted every desire. He entered house after house in that city, which, though opulent, was uninhabited, but he could not find his beloved anywhere. Then, as he was looking about, he beheld a lofty jewelled palace, and going up to it he opened the door and went in. And when he had entered it, he beheld a solitary human form stretched out upon a gem-bestudded couch, with its whole length covered with a shawl. Wondering whether it could be that very lady, he uncovered its face with eager expectation, and saw his lady-love. Her beautiful moon-like countenance smiled, when the black robe fell from it like darkness; and she seemed like a night, illumined with moonlight, gone to visit Patala in the day. At sight of her the king was in a state of ecstasy, like that which a man, travelling through a desert in the season of heat, experiences on beholding a river. She, for her part, opened her eyes, and when she saw that hero of auspicious form and bodily marks thus suddenly arrived, sprang from her couch in a state of excitement. She welcomed him, and with downcast countenance, seemed to honour him by flinging on his feet the full-blown lotuses of her wide-expanded eyes; and then she slowly said to him, "Who are you, and why have you come to this inaccessible lower region? And why, though your body is marked with the signs of royalty, have you undertaken the vow of an ascetic? Condescend to tell me this, distinguished Sir, if I have found favour in your sight." When the king had heard this speech of hers, he gave her this answer; "Fair one, I am the king of Anga, by name Yasahketu, and I heard from a friend on whom I can rely, that you were to be seen here every day in the sea. So I a.s.sumed this disguise, and abandoned my kingdom for your sake, and I have come here and followed you down through the sea. So tell me who you are." When he said this, she answered him with mixed feelings of shame, affection, and joy; "There is a fortunate king of the Vidyadharas named Mrigankasena; know that I am his daughter, Mrigankavati by name. That father of mine, for some reason unknown to me, has left me alone in this city of his, and has gone somewhere or other with his subjects. So I, feeling melancholy in my solitary abode, rise up out of the sea on a moveable [325] wishing-tree, and sing of the decrees of Fate." When she had said this, the brave king, remembering the speech of the hermit, courted her so a.s.siduously with speeches tender with love, that she was overpowered with affection, and promised to become his wife at once, but insisted on the following condition; "My husband, for four days in every month, the fourteenth and eighth of the white and black fortnights, I am not my own mistress; [326] and whithersoever I may go on those days, you must not question me on the subject nor forbid me, for there is a reason for it." [327]

When the heavenly maiden had stated in these words the only condition on which she would consent to marry the king, he agreed to it, and married her by the Gandharva form of marriage.

And one day, while the king was living happily with Mrigankavati, she said to him, "You must stop here, while I go somewhere for a certain business, for to-day is the fourteenth day of the black fortnight of which I spoke to you. And while you are waiting here, my husband, you must not enter this crystal pavilion, lest you should fall into a lake there and go to the world of men." When she had said this, she took leave of him, and went out of that city, and the king took his sword and followed her secretly, determined to penetrate the mystery.

Then the king saw a terrible Rakshasa approaching, looking like Hades embodied in a human shape, with his cavernous mouth, black as night, opened wide. That Rakshasa uttered an appalling roar, and swooping down on Mrigankavati, put her in his mouth and swallowed her. When the mighty king saw that, he was at once, so to speak, on fire with excessive anger, and rushing forward with his great sword, black as a snake that has cast its slough, [328] drawn from the sheath, he cut off with it the head of the charging Rakshasa, the lips of which were firmly pressed together. Then the burning fire of the king's anger was quenched by the stream of blood that poured forth from the trunk of the Rakshasa, but not the fire of his grief at the loss of his beloved. Then the king was blinded with the darkness of bewilderment, and at a loss what to do, when suddenly Mrigankavati cleft asunder the body of that Rakshasa, which was dark as a cloud, and emerged alive and uninjured, illuminating all the horizon like a spotless moon. When the king saw his beloved thus delivered from danger, he rushed eagerly forward and embraced her, exclaiming, "Come! Come!" And he said to her, "My beloved, what does all this mean? Is it a dream or a delusion?" When the king asked the Vidyadhari this question, she remembered the truth, and said: "Listen, my husband! This is no delusion, nor is it a dream; but such was the curse imposed upon me by my father, a king of the Vidyadharas. For my father, who formerly lived in this city, though he had many sons, was so fond of me, that he would never take food when I was not present. But I, being devoted to the worship of Siva, used always to come to this uninhabited place on the fourteenth and eighth days of the two fortnights.

"And one fourteenth day I came here and worshipped Gauri for a long time; and, as fate would have it, so ardent was my devotion that the day came to an end before my worship was finished. That day my father ate nothing and drank nothing, though he was hungry and thirsty, as he waited for me, but he was very angry with me. And when I returned in the evening with downcast countenance, conscious of my fault, his love for me was so completely overpowered by the force of Destiny, that he cursed me in the following words; 'As owing to your arrogance I was devoured to-day by hunger, so on the eighth and fourteenth days of the two fortnights of every month, and on those days only, a Rakshasa named Kritantasantrasa shall swallow you, when you go to that place outside the city to worship Siva; and on every occasion you shall make your way through his heart and come out alive. But you shall not remember the curse, nor the pain of being swallowed; and you shall remain alone here.' [329] When my father had uttered this curse, I managed gradually to propitiate him, and after thinking a little he appointed this termination to my curse; 'When a king named Yasahketu, lord of the land of Anga, shall become your husband, and shall see you swallowed by the Rakshasa, and shall slay him, then you shall issue from his heart, and shall be delivered from your curse, and you shall call to mind your curse and the other circ.u.mstances, and all your supernatural sciences.'

"When he had appointed this end of my curse, he left me alone here, and went with his retinue to the mountain of Nishada in the world of men. And I remained here, thus engaged, bewildered by the curse. But that curse has now come to an end, and I remember all. So I will immediately go to my father on the Nishada mountain; the law, that governs us celestial beings, is, that when our curse is at an end we return to our own place. You are perfectly free to remain here or go to your kingdom, as you like." When she had said this, the king was sorry, and he made this request to her; "Fair one, do me the favour not to go for seven days. Let us in the meanwhile cheat the pain of parting by amusing ourselves here in the garden. After that you shall go to your father's abode, and I will return to mine." When he made this proposal, the fair one agreed to it. Then the king diverted himself with her for six days in the gardens, and in tanks, the lotus-eyes of which were full of tears, and that seemed to toss aloft their waves like hands, and in the cries of their swans and cranes to utter this plaintive appeal, "Do not leave us!" And on the seventh day he artfully decoyed his darling to that pavilion, where was the tank that served as a magic gate [330] conducting to the world of men; and throwing his arms round her neck, he plunged into that tank, and rose up with her from a tank in the garden of his own city. When the gardeners saw that he had arrived with his beloved, they were delighted, and they went and told his minister Dirghadarsin. And the minister came and fell at his feet, and seeing that he had brought with him the lady of his aspirations, he and the citizens escorted him into the palace. And he thought to himself, "Dear me! I wonder how the king has managed to obtain this celestial nymph, of whom I caught a transient glimpse in the ocean, as one sees in the heaven a lightning-flash. But the fact is, whatever lot is written for a man by the Disposer in the inscription on his forehead, infallibly befalls him, however improbable."

Such were the reflections of the prime minister; while the rest of his subjects were full of joy at the return of the king, and of astonishment at his having won the celestial nymph. But Mrigankavati, seeing that the king had returned to his own kingdom, longed, as the seven days were completed, to return to the home of the Vidyadharas. But the science of flying up into the air did not appear to her, though she called it to mind. Then she felt as one robbed of a treasure, and was in the deepest despondency. And the king said to her, "Why do you suddenly appear despondent, tell me, my darling?" Then the Vidyadhari answered him, "Because I remained so long, after I had been released from my curse, out of love for you, my science has abandoned me, and I have lost the power of returning to my heavenly home." When king Yasahketu heard this, he said, "Ha! I have now won this Vidyadhari," and so his rejoicing was complete.

When the minister Dirghadarsin saw this, he went home, and at night, when he was in bed, he suddenly died of a broken heart. And Yasahketu, after he had mourned for him, remained long bearing the burden of empire himself, with Mrigankavati for his consort.

When the Vetala, seated on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena, had told him this story on the way, he went on to say to him, "So tell me, king; why did the heart of that great minister suddenly break, when his master had thus succeeded so completely? Did his heart break through grief at not having won the nymph himself? Or was it because he longed for the sovereign power, and thus was disappointed at the king's return? And if you know this, king, and do not tell me on the spot, your merit will at once disappear, and your head will fly in pieces." When king Trivikramasena heard that, he said to the Vetala; "Neither of these two feelings actuated that excellent and virtuous minister. But he said to himself; 'This king neglected his kingdom out of devotion to mere human females, much more will he do so now, that he is attached to a heavenly nymph. So, though I have gone through much suffering, the disease has been aggravated by it, instead of being cured, as I had hoped.' It was under the influence of such reflections that the minister's heart broke." When the king had said this, that juggling Vetala returned to his own place, and the resolute king ran swiftly after him, to bring him back again by force.

CHAPTER Lx.x.xVII.

(Vetala 13.)

Then the king went back to the asoka-tree, [331] and taking the Vetala from it, placed him on his shoulder, and brought him along, and as he was going along with him, the Vetala again said to the king, "Listen, king, I will tell you a short story."

The story of Harisvamin, who first lost his wife, and then his life.

There is a city of the name of Varanasi, the abode of Siva. In it there lived a Brahman, named Devasvamin, honoured by the king. And that rich Brahman had a son named Harisvamin; and he had an exceedingly lovely wife, named Lavanyavati. I think the Disposer must have made her after he had acquired skill by making Tilottama and the other nymphs of heaven, for she was of priceless beauty and loveliness.

Now, one night Harisvamin fell asleep, as he was reposing with her in a palace cool with the rays of the moon. At that very moment a Vidyadhara prince, by name Madanavega, roaming about at will, came that way through the air. He saw that Lavanyavati sleeping by the side of her husband, and her robe, that had slipped aside, revealed her exquisitely moulded limbs. His heart was captivated by her beauty; and blinded by love, he immediately swooped down, and taking her up in his arms asleep, flew off with her through the air.

Immediately her husband, the young man Harisvamin, woke up, and not seeing his beloved, he rose up in a state of distraction. He said to himself, "What can this mean? Where has she gone? I wonder if she is angry with me. Or has she hidden herself to find out my real feelings, and is making fun of me?" Distracted by many surmises of this kind, he wandered hither and thither that night, looking for her on the roof, and in the turrets of the palace. He even searched in the palace-garden, and when he could not find her anywhere, being scorched with the fire of grief, he sobbed and lamented, "Alas! my beloved with face like the moon's...o...b.. fair as the moonlight; did this night grudge your existence, hating your charms that rival hers [332]? That very moon, that, vanquished by your beauty, seemed to be in fear, and comforted me with its rays cool as sandalwood, now that I am bereaved of you, seems to have seen its opportunity, and smites me with them, as if with burning coals, or arrows dipped in poison." While Harisvamin was uttering these laments, the night at last slowly pa.s.sed away, not so his grief at his bereavement.

The next morning the sun dispelled with his rays the deep darkness that covered the world, but could not dispel the dense darkness of despondency that had settled on him. The sound of his bitter lamentations, that seemed to have been reinforced by wailing power bestowed on him by the chakravakas, whose period of separation was at an end with the night, was magnified a hundredfold. The young Brahman, though his relations tried to comfort him, could not recover his self-command, now that he was bereaved of his beloved, but was all inflamed with the fire of separation. And he went from place to place, exclaiming with tears, "Here she stood, here she bathed, here she adorned herself, and here she amused herself."

But his friends and relations said to him, "She is not dead, so why do you kill yourself? If you remain alive, you will certainly recover her somewhere or other. So adopt a resolute tone, and go in search of your beloved; there is nothing in this world that a resolute man, who exerts himself, cannot obtain." When Harisvamin had been exhorted in these terms by his friends and relations, he managed at last, after some days, to recover his spirits by the aid of hope. And he said to himself, "I will give away all that I have to the Brahmans, and visit all the holy waters, and wash away all my sins. For if I wipe out my sin, I may perhaps, in the course of my wanderings, find that beloved of mine." After going through these reflections suitable to the occasion, he got up and bathed, and performed all his customary avocations, and the next day he bestowed on the Brahmans at a solemn sacrifice various meats and drinks, and gave away to them all his wealth without stint.

Then he left his country, with his Brahman birth as his only fortune, and proceeded to go round to all the holy bathing-places in order to recover his beloved. And as he was roaming about, there came upon him the terrible lion of the hot season, with the blazing sun for mouth, and with a mane composed of his fiery rays. And the winds blew with excessive heat, as if warmed by the breath of sighs furnaced forth by travellers grieved at being separated from their wives. And the tanks, with their supply of water diminished by the heat, and their drying white mud, appeared to be shewing their broken hearts. And the trees by the roadside seemed to lament [333] on account of the departure of the glory of spring, making their wailing heard in the shrill moaning of their bark, [334] with leaves, as it were lips, parched with heat. At that season Harisvamin, wearied out with the heat of the sun, with bereavement, hunger and thirst, and continual travelling, disfigured, [335] emaciated and dirty, and pining for food, reached in the course of his wanderings, a certain village, and found in it the house of a Brahman called Padmanabha, who was engaged in a sacrifice. And seeing that many Brahmans were eating in his house, he stood leaning against the door-post, silent and motionless. And the good wife of that Brahman named Padmanabha, seeing him in this position, felt pity for him, and reflected; "Alas! mighty is hunger! Whom will it not bring down? For here stands a man at the door, who appears to be a householder, desiring food, with downcast countenance; evidently come from a long journey, and with all his senses impaired by hunger. So is not he a man to whom food ought to be given?" Having gone through these reflections, the kind woman took up in her hands a vessel full of rice boiled in milk, with ghee and sugar, and brought it, and courteously presented it to him, and said; "Go and eat this somewhere on the bank of the lake, for this place is unfit to eat in, as it is filled with feasting Brahmans."

He said, "I will do so," and took the vessel of rice, and placed it at no great distance under a banyan-tree on the edge of the lake; and he washed his hands and feet in the lake, and rinsed his mouth, and then came back in high spirits to eat the rice. But while he was thus engaged, a kite, holding a black cobra with its beak and claws, came from some place or other, and sat on that tree. And it so happened that poisonous saliva issued from the mouth of that dead snake, which the bird had captured and was carrying along. The saliva fell into the dish of rice which was placed underneath the tree, and Harisvamin, without observing it, came and ate up that rice. [336] As soon as in his hunger he had devoured all that food, he began to suffer terrible agonies produced by the poison. He exclaimed, "When fate has turned against a man, everything in this world turns also; accordingly this rice dressed with milk, ghee and sugar, has become poison to me."

Thus speaking, Harisvamin, tortured with the poison, tottered to the house of that Brahman, who was engaged in the sacrifice, and said to his wife; "The rice, which you gave me, has poisoned me; so fetch me quickly a charmer who can counteract the operation of poison; otherwise you will be guilty of the death of a Brahman." When Harisvamin had said this to the good woman, who was beside herself to think what it could all mean, his eyes closed, and he died.

Accordingly the Brahman, who was engaged in a sacrifice, drove out of his house his wife, though she was innocent and hospitable, being enraged with her for the supposed murder of her guest. The good woman, for her part, having incurred groundless blame from her charitable deed, and so become branded with infamy, went to a holy bathing-place to perform penance.

Then there was a discussion before the superintendent of religion, as to which of the four parties, the kite, the snake, and the couple who gave the rice, were guilty of the murder of a Brahman, but the question was not decided. [337]

"Now you, king Trivikramasena, must tell me, which was guilty of the murder of a Brahman; and if you do not, you will incur the before-mentioned curse."

When the king heard this from the Vetala, he was forced by the curse to break silence, and he said, "No one of them could be guilty of the crime; certainly not the serpent, for how could he be guilty of anything, when he was the helpless prey of his enemy, who was devouring him? To come to the kite; what offence did he commit in bringing his natural food which he had happened to find, and eating it, when he was hungry? And how could either of the couple, that gave the food, be in fault, since they were both people exclusively devoted to righteousness, not likely to commit a crime? Therefore I think the guilt of slaying a Brahman would attach to any person, who should be so foolish as, for want of sufficient reflection, to attribute it to either of them."

When the king had said this, the Vetala again left his shoulder, and went to his own place, and the resolute king again followed him.

CHAPTER Lx.x.xVIII.

(Vetala 14.)

Then king Trivikramasena went to the asoka-tree, and again got hold of the Vetala, and took him on his shoulder; and when the king had set out, the Vetala again said to him, "King, you are tired; so listen, I will tell you an interesting tale.

Story of the Merchant's daughter who fell in love with a thief.

There is a city of the name of Ayodhya, which was the capital of Vishnu, when he was incarnate as Rama, the destroyer of the Rakshasa race. In it there lived a mighty king, of the name of Viraketu, who defended this earth, as a rampart defends a city. During the reign of that king there lived in that city a great merchant, named Ratnadatta, who was the head of the mercantile community. And there was born to him, by his wife Nandayanti, a daughter named Ratnavati, who was obtained by propitiating the deities. And that intelligent girl grew up in her father's house, and as her body grew, her innate qualities of beauty, gracefulness, and modesty developed also. And when she attained womanhood, not only great merchants, but even kings asked her in marriage from her father. But she disliked the male s.e.x so much that she did not desire even Indra for a husband, and would not even hear of marriage, being determined to die, sooner than consent to it. That made her father secretly sorrow much, on account of his affection for her, and the report of her conduct spread all over the city of Ayodhya.

At that time all the citizens were continually being plundered by thieves, so they a.s.sembled together, and made this complaint to king Viraketu; "Your Majesty, we are continually being robbed by thieves every night, and we cannot detect them, so let your Highness take the necessary steps." When the king had received this pet.i.tion from the citizens, he stationed watchmen in plain clothes all round the city, in order to try and discover the thieves.