Part 17

As soon as Mahaushadha heard these things, he sent for Mahākarṇa, asked him if it was a Brahman’s business to lay hands on the property of others, and ordered him to restore what he had stolen. Mahākarṇa said he thought that Mahaushadha ought to make himself easy, as he, Mahākarṇa, knew nothing at all about the matter. Thereupon Mahaushadha gave orders that the evil-doer should be thrown into prison, and left there until his bones became visible. At this threat Mahākarṇa was so terrified that he begged for mercy with a contrite heart, promising to repay all. Going home, he fetched the money, tied up just as it had been, and handed it over to Mahaushadha, who gave it to the Brahman. The Brahman rejoiced greatly, and seeing that his having recovered what he had lost was entirely due to Mahaushadha’s powerful assistance, he wished to make manifest his gratitude to him, so he brought him half of the money as a present. Mahaushadha accepted the present and then returned it to him. When the news of all this became spread throughout the city, the king, the ministers, and the citizens praised Mahaushadha highly on account of his wisdom, and esteemed themselves fortunate in having such a minister.

After a time it happened that a certain man who had gone on business into another land came back to his own country. Having come to the edge of a tank, he opened his meal-pouch, took out some of the meal, and mixed it with water and partook thereof. After feeding he tied up his pouch and went his way. Now while he was sitting there a snake had crept into the pouch, one of those snakes which emit poison when disturbed. But when the man turned to his pouch after his repast, he tied it up without examining it. Then he flung it across his shoulder and went on to the capital. There a soothsayer informed him that he was in imminent danger of losing his life.

Some time after he had received this information, he regretted that he had not asked the soothsayer on what ground it was based. Having thus reflected, he determined not to go home till he had consulted the minister Mahaushadha. When he had gone to him and had told him the whole story, Mahaushadha came to the conclusion that the soothsayer must certainly have given him this piece of information because his pouch contained one of the snakes which emit poison when disturbed. Therefore he bade him open his pouch with a piece of wood, in the presence of witnesses, but in some retired place. In that case he would soon learn the ground in question. The man did so, and when the poisonous snake lifted up its head, breathed furiously, and made its outstretched tongue vibrate, Mahaushadha said, “That is the danger by which you were threatened.”

After a time Mahaushadha equipped a complete army and went out to take a survey of the land. Whenever he asked to whom the different villages, towns, and cities belonged, the inhabitants replied that they belonged to this or that minister. Then Mahaushadha perceived that the six ministers had in this manner taken possession of the whole country, and that King Janaka’s rule was restricted to his own food and drink. He asked the king who really was the master of the villages, hill-towns, and cities. The king related to him how the merciful gods had informed him that in the village Pūrṇakatshtshha a son named Mahaushadha was about to be born to Pūrṇa, and that he, the king, would make Mahaushadha his first minister, who would recover for him all his power, by which means he would become possessed of complete regal authority.

“Therefore [continued the king] have I provided you with all things necessary while you were still in your mother’s womb, and from that time forth, and have raised you to the rank of first minister. Now by the force of your intelligence shall you fulfil the words of the deity and help me to gain my supremacy.”

Thereupon Mahaushadha paid honour to the king, and bade him take courage, saying that he would act in such a way that the king would be well pleased. Accordingly he sent for the head-men of the villages, towns, and cities one after another, and assured them that he would arrange matters in such a way that they would be satisfied with him. Much harm had been done to them by those ministers, who had levied out of covetousness immoderate rates and taxes. If they would act in accordance with his instructions, he would be mindful thereof, and would fix moderate taxes, set all other things in order, and help them to secure their welfare. In any case, they ought to revolt, and when the king came with the other ministers, they ought to say that they would not submit until the minister Mahaushadha should come, but that when he came, they would obey him but no one else.

When he had given them these instructions, and had stirred up the people in all those parts and instigated them to rebellion, so that they recalled their allegiance, the other ministers petitioned the king, and King Janaka sent forth those six ministers together with a great army; but they did not succeed in getting possession of a single village or hill-town. So they sent a messenger to the king with the statement that they could not enforce submission unless the king came himself; but the king also could not obtain the submission of a single hill-town. So, as many men had fallen in battle, the king and the ministers became dejected. Then said the inhabitants of the hill-villages, “If the first minister Mahaushadha were to come, we would obey him and submit ourselves to him. We have not rebelled against King Janaka, but we have behaved as we have done because the ministers have wrought us injury.”

Thereupon the king sent a messenger to Mahaushadha, saying, “As we cannot reduce the land to submission, do you come hither.” When Mahaushadha had looked at the king’s letter, he went at once to the king. When the people of that land saw him, they all paid reverence to him, and he spoke words of encouragement to them, and fixed their taxes according to law, and succoured the poor and lowly and helpless. To the townspeople and the country-folk he gave presents, greeting and embracing them as if they were his parents, brothers, and kinsmen. The old men of the land, and the young people and the women, looked upon him as a son or a brother. To all of them he gave great satisfaction; and then, after he had finally united all the lands together, he went back to the seat of royalty, together with King Janaka. By means of these deeds he gained an honoured reputation among other kings also. King Janaka was so highly pleased that he gave his daughter in marriage to Mahaushadha, who lived with her happily.

After a time there came unto King Janaka a king [106] who had lost his possessions. As King Janaka did not care for him, he betook himself to Mahaushadha, who received him with compassion and supplied him with means of subsistence.

Some time afterwards a Brahman came to Mahaushadha and asked him for a measure of barley. Mahaushadha promised it to him, but intrusted the delivery of it to the overseer of the granary, who kept putting the matter off from day to day and gave nothing.

Now it came to pass one day that the king was sitting surrounded by the ministers and the town and country folk at a certain spot where many people paid reverence to him. He asked the ministers to what person a secret might be intrusted, on whom it might be safe to rely. The ministers began to consider. One of them said that a man might intrust a secret to his friend; another, to his wife; a third, to his mother; a fourth, to his sister; a fifth, to his brother. When Mahaushadha was asked by the king why he did not in his turn express an opinion, he replied, “O king, my opinion is that a man ought not to intrust a secret to any one, but least of all to his wife. This will I prove unto you, O king.”

Some time after this the king’s peacock was missing. Mahaushadha found it but hid it away. Then he took another which resembled it and said to his wife, “Have you heard that the king’s peacock up at the palace is missing?” She replied that she had heard about it. Then Mahaushadha said to her, “Say nothing about it to any one, but cook it quickly, and I will eat it.” [107] She said to herself, “See now, this man from the hill-village wants to eat the king’s peacock. My father places the utmost confidence in him, and he acts to the king’s hurt.”

Some time afterwards, Mahaushadha dressed in full array a courtesan who bore a likeness to one of the king’s wives, and brought her to his wife. And he said to his wife, “This is such and such a wife of the king’s. As I am very intimate with her, and you are dear to me, do not mention it to any one.” Thinking that she and Mahaushadha were living together, the king’s daughter became very angry. And she considered that as he was dishonouring her father, who was quite unaware thereof, it was not right to appoint as first minister a man sprung from a lowly family in a hill-village, and to intrust the whole of the king’s affairs to him, the shameful one. So with a view to seeing that he was put back again into his former place, she went to her father and said, “O father, you have unadvisedly appointed this miscreant first minister, and you placed reliance upon him in an unbecoming manner. He has sinned against the king’s wife, having had to do with such and such a wife of yours. And besides, it is he who has eaten the king’s peacock. Moreover, he has received in a friendly manner and has supplied with all necessaries men coming from a foreign land. But you, O father, have always held him dearer than all others, and no one save him has pleased you.”

In order to sift this matter thoroughly, the king ordered his executioners to put Mahaushadha to death. Accordingly these men of low caste fastened a karavīra wreath around his neck, beat a drum, the sound of which resembles the voice of an ass, abused him with coarse language and threatened him. Like unto the servants of the god of death, with sharpened weapons in their hands, they led him away to the cemetery. But no man believed that he would be put to death. The townspeople and villagers had their eyes full of tears, and they uttered cries of sorrow and despair, and prayed to the gods, just as if a child of their own were going to be killed; and the poor Kshatriyas whom Mahaushadha had received kindly and provided with means of subsistence said to the king’s men, “As we will put this man to death, do ye turn back.”

As he passed out of the city, the Brahman’s wife Ātmavīrā laid hold of the skirt of his robe and said, “You who were to have given me the measure of barley, give it and go,” But Mahaushadha uttered this śloka: “A king does not become a friend, a hangman has no acquaintances; to women ought no secret to be intrusted; peacock’s flesh ought no one to eat; to the Brahman’s wife Ātmavīrā a man ought not to admit that he possesses a measure of barley.”

As he walked along uttering these words, the executioners said, “Have you, who are endowed with knowledge and excellent wisdom, anything to set forth?”

Mahaushadha replied, “O king, I have nothing to set forth; but in the despair of anguish I said what was needful.”

“What is that?”

He replied, “A king does not become a friend,” and so forth. And he continued, “O king, I beseech you to listen to me a little. When I said, ‘A king does not become a friend,’ could you not perceive that I said so with reference to earlier times, when you had absolutely no influence over villages, towns, and cities?”

When they had gone somewhat farther, it was suggested to King Janaka that he should again ask Mahaushadha what he had to set forth. Then the king called to him and questioned him. He replied, “O king, from being one who had merely food, drink, and service, you have by my means become a king ruling the earth, with a realm, an army, and treasures. But you, without recognising what I did for you in early days, are sending me to death, on which account I uttered the words, ‘A king does not become a friend.’ I said also, ‘A hangman has no acquaintances.’ This hangman, if he were to go without bed and clothing to the king in order to obtain the means of living from the king, when he had drawn nigh unto the king, would not be received by him; but I have bestowed land on the hungry fugitive, by means of which he has by this time become prosperous. Now he conducts me to my death, on which account I said, ‘A hangman has no acquaintances.’ As regards the words, ‘To women ought no secret to be intrusted,’ I uttered them for the following reason. When you, O king, sitting one day in the midst of your court, asked whom one might venture to trust, and the ministers replied one’s father, or mother, or sister, or comrades, but you, O king, said that a man should intrust a secret to his wife, because a man’s wife is the half of his body, then did I entertain the idea of bringing the whole matter before the eyes of the king. In order to provide a test, I hid away the king’s peacock, and took another peacock, which I ate. Then I took from the chamber of the women the ornaments belonging to a certain woman, and hung them around the neck of a certain courtesan, and led her into my house. Be pleased, O king, to look upon that courtesan.”

When the king had placed side by side the courtesan and the designated inmate of his women’s chamber, and had looked upon them both, and had found that there was a remarkable similarity in their appearance, figure, behaviour, and characteristics, so that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other, then the king, after some consideration, perceived that Mahaushadha was innocent.

“As to the words [continued Mahaushadha], ‘To the Brahman’s wife Ātmavīrā a man ought not to admit that he possesses a measure of barley,’ I uttered them for this reason. When you had sentenced me to death, and the executioners were leading me away, she called out, ‘Give me the measure of barley,’ and on its account seized me by the skirt of my robe.”

When all this was made clear to the eyes of the king, he rejoiced, and gave orders that Mahaushadha should be released, and he heaped upon him tokens of honour. Mahaushadha made obeisance to the king, and then said, “O king, have you learnt what the secrecy of wives is? I have no longer any need of your daughter. I will seek me a wife like unto myself in race, beauty, character, and wisdom.”

When the king had granted him permission, he went to the mountain forest Kaksha, [108] in order to find for himself a maiden. He had put on the dress of a Brahman, and carried a water-jug in his right hand, his body being adorned with the string of sacrifice and covered with the skin of a gazelle, and his face marked with three lines of ointment. When he had gone half-way, darkness came on. A Brahman asked him whence he came.

“From the Videha land,” he replied.

“Whither do you intend to go?”

“To the Kaksha forest.”

“Do you know any one in whose house you can find shelter?”

Mahaushadha said that he did not. Then the Brahman took him into his own house and entertained him in a becoming manner. But Mahaushadha suspected that his host’s wife, who loved another man, was a worthless woman. When he took his departure next day the Brahman said to him, “Consider this house as your own when you come here on your journeyings to and fro.”

“That will I do,” replied Mahaushadha, and went his way.

About half-way there was a barley-field, and in it he saw a very beautiful maiden, of high race and of great modesty.

As soon as he saw her a longing after her entered into his mind.

“Good maiden,” he asked, “who are you? Whose daughter are you? What is your name?”

“I am Viśākhā,” she replied.

“Whose daughter are you?”

“His who works in wood for all the village.”

Then thought Mahaushadha, “Her form is fair, but I will now test her intelligence a little.”

He went into a wheat-field, lifted up his hands, and while he flourished his hands on high, he trampled on the wheat with his feet. Then said Viśākhā, “O Pundit, as you have flourished your hands on high, so also ought you to flourish on high your feet.”

“This maiden is clever,” he thought. Then he said with a smile, “You are very brilliant, O maiden, seeing that you have earrings and armlets.”

“The reason is, O Pundit, that both have little oxen,” said Viśākhā. [109]

Then said Mahaushadha, “The maiden is of fair form and charming appearance.”

“That is through the favour of the village elder,” replied Viśākhā.

“Where has your father gone?” he asked after a time.

“He has gone to make two roads out of one. After collecting the twigs of the thorn-bushes, he uses them for making the road. In this manner he gives men two roads.”

“Where has your mother gone?”

“To fetch seeds from the fruits of the field.”

“Maiden, shall I take you to be my wife?”

“If the head of the village gives permission,” said the maiden.

“Show me the way,” he said, “by which one can go straight and safely to the Kaksha forest.”

She pointed out to him a crooked road, and then set out herself along another road. There she took off her clothes beside a tank, shut one eye, and while waiting to see if he would recognise her or not, bowed down upon one side and said, “In the direction of the hand which is used in eating should one go. From the direction of the hand which is not used in eating should one deviate, and so go to the Rice-Soup forest.”

When Mahaushadha had gone some way along the road indicated to him, he perceived her from afar off, and said, “Fair one with the roguish eyes, having on no garment woven of cotton, but being clothed with the unspun and unweaved, show me how it is possible to go to Kusumagrāma.”

Thereupon said the maiden, slightly smiling, “Here leave on one side the left-hand road, where there is corn and the palāsa blossoms display themselves; there, O Brahman, must you take your way.” [110]

He set forth. Coming to the house of Viśākhā’s father, he found that her parents were not at home. So he said to the village head-men, “If you allow it, I will take this woman to be my wife.”

When the head-men of the village heard these words, they immediately with one accord began to upbraid him, saying, “You wretched mendicant Brahman, are not you ashamed to want such a maiden as our Viśākhā? Get away with you at once from this spot. Or must we hand you over to be devoured by fierce dogs?”

Driven away by them, he returned to Viśākhā. While he was still at a distance, she bade him welcome. When he told her of his interview with the village head-men, who had been on the point of beating him, she said, “How and in what manner did you speak?”

When he had told her everything, Viśākhā said to him, “O Brahman, you are not expert in such matters. Have you behaved in the way in which a man ought to propose for a maiden?”

“How else, then, ought one to act?” asked the Brahman.

“First of all,” replied the maiden, “the man must draw near. Then he must gain favour. And if that is granted, he must offer hospitality and organise an entertainment, after which he may bring forward his desire.”

He went away and acted in accordance with this advice, entertaining the village head-men at an excellent banquet. Then he arose and asked for Viśākhā. This time they gave their assent. Just as this point was reached her parents arrived. Then Mahaushadha and the village head-men asked her parents for her. The parents were of opinion that the matter required consideration.

Then said the village head-men, “What is there to consider about? He is a young, shapely, handsome, learned Brahman, perfectly versed in the Vedas and Vedāngas. So give him your daughter without further consideration.”

Thereupon Mahaushadha offered hospitality to the Brahmans, and he received the maiden as his wife. The next day he invited his wife’s parents, paid them honour, bestowed upon them raiment and gifts in return for the bride, and then went his way to King Janaka in Videha.

On the way a Brahman entertained him at the festival of the fourteenth day of the half-moon, and gave him as a present a measure of barley, which he poured into a corner of his robe. When he came to the house of his friend he knocked at the door. The Brahman’s wife said, “Who is there?” He replied, “It is I, your husband’s friend.” She replied, “My husband is not at home, and as there is no one else here, I cannot admit any man during his absence. Seek for shelter elsewhere.”

Soon afterwards, while Mahaushadha was considering how it was that she did not admit him, he saw another man admitted. Then said Mahaushadha, “There was a reason for my not being admitted.”

While he was still thinking the matter over, the Brahman himself came up from a village and called aloud at the door. When his wife heard her husband’s voice, she considered what she should do, and with some misgivings hid her visitor away in a basket.

After this the two men who were outside entered in and sat down. Then said Mahaushadha to the Brahman’s wife, “Where shall I put this barley?”

“On the floor,” she replied.

The Brahman said, “Mice might come and eat it.”

He looked under the bed and searched all the ends and corners of the house, but nothing came to light. All at once he saw a basket laid aside, into which he thought the corn might be put.

“Into this basket will I pour the barley,” said Mahaushadha.

“That basket contains a treasure of mine,” said the Brahman’s wife. “How can barley be put into it?”

“Set aside the treasure in some pot,” said the husband, “then we can pour the barley in here.”

Mahaushadha also said, “In order that the mice may not render the barley useless, it must be poured in here.”

Then said the Brahman’s wife, who became terrified at the thought of the consequences, “The basket is damp; the barley will get spoilt inside it.”

“You need not be uneasy,” replied Mahaushadha to the Brahman’s wife. “I will take care that no dampness remains in it, and that the barley is not spoilt.”

Then he stood up, reversed his gazelle skin, and tied the string of sacrifice twice round his neck. Then he went out to fetch wood and water, with the intention of cleansing the basket.

The Brahman’s wife, experiencing the pain of parting from her lover, and fearing that he would be killed, sent a messenger with all speed to his house, in order that, things being so, some one might come from thence immediately. As soon as his father heard the news, he came to Mahaushadha and said, “I want to purchase this basket.”

“Be of good cheer and take it,” was the reply.

“On what terms?”

“On payment of five hundred gold pieces, not otherwise.”

While thus speaking, Mahaushadha lighted a lamp close by the basket. But the father, thinking that it would not be well to let the matter become known, opened the door of the house, and had the basket taken up by a strong man and conveyed to his own house.

On the following day Mahaushadha gave a hundred gold pieces to the man to whom the house belonged, told him what his wife’s character was like, and advised him, after such an occurrence as this, to be on his guard. The remaining four hundred pieces he made over to that Brahman, in order that he might go with them to the Kaksha forest, and present them to Viśākhā, the maiden whom he had asked in marriage.

“Tell them [he said] that I am no Brahman, but Mahaushadha, the chief minister of the king of Videha, and that I came in that guise only to carry out my quest. Therefore must they watch carefully over the maiden.”

Having in this way sent the gold pieces and a missive along with them, he himself went to King Janaka.

The Brahman went to the Kaksha forest, and delivered to Viśākhā the missive and three hundred of the pieces of gold. When Viśākhā perceived that she had not received the fourth hundred, she at once began looking under the bed.

“What are you looking for there?” he asked.