Part 27

Then the king ordered proclamation to be made in the different lands and cities that his daughter was going to choose herself a husband. He also gave orders that his own city should be cleared of stones, potsherds, and rubble, sprinkled with sandalwood water, and perfumed with odours, and that canopies, standards, and flags, should be set up, and numerous silken hangings displayed, together with flowers of many kinds, giving the appearance of a grove of the gods, and that joy-inspiring proclamation should be made to this effect: “O honourable dwellers in town and country, and crowds of men assembled from various lands, give ear! To-morrow the king’s daughter will choose herself a husband. So do ye assemble as is fitting.”

Next morning the king’s daughter, adorned with many ornaments and surrounded by numerous maidens, came to a grove made bright with flowers by the deity of the grove, rendered extremely beautiful by the dispensation of great good fortune. And when several thousand men had assembled in the midst of the city, she came into the assembly in order to choose herself a husband. Somewhat removed sat Ksheman·kara playing on the lute.

As men by their deeds are reciprocally connected, and the force of effect is constrained by the great power of cause, so it came to pass that the king’s daughter, when her feelings were moved by the sound of the lute, became closely attached to Ksheman·kara’s playing, and she threw him the crown of flowers, crying, “This man is my husband.”

The assembled people were discontented, and some of them in bitterness of heart began to find fault with her, saying, “What sense is there in this, that the royal princess, who has so much beauty, and who is so supremely young and accomplished, should slight the sons of kings, ministers, and purohitas, who have come from many lands, besides excellent householders, and should choose a blind man to be her husband?”

With reluctance and discontent did the officials convey the tidings to the king, saying, “O king, the princess has completed the choice of a husband.” The king said, “What manner of man has she chosen?” They replied, “O king, a blind man.” The king also was displeased when he heard this, and he sent for his daughter and said, “O daughter, wherefore have you chosen such a man as your husband, in spite of there being extremely young, rich and handsome sons of kings, proprietors, merchants, caravan leaders, ministers, and purohitas?” She replied, “O father, this is the man I want.” The king said, “O daughter, if that be so, then go to him. Wherefore do you delay?” She went to him and said, “I have chosen you as my husband.” He replied, “Therein you have not acted well. Perhaps you have thought, ‘as such is the case and this man is blind, I can give myself to another.’” She replied, “I am not one who does such things.” He said, “What proof is there of this?” She replied, commencing an asseveration—

“If it be true, and my asseveration is righteous, that I have been in love only with Prince Ksheman·kara and with you, but with none else, then through the power of this truth and my asseveration shall one of your two eyes become sound as before.”

So soon as this asseveration was uttered, one of his eyes came again just as it was before. Then he said, “I am Ksheman·kara. My brother Pāpan·kara reduced me to the state I was in.” She said, “What proof is there that you are Prince Ksheman·kara?” Then he too began to asseverate, saying—

“If it be true, and my asseveration righteous, that although Pāpan·kara put out my eyes, I do not in the least bear him malice, then in consequence of the truth and affirmation may my other eye become sound as before.”

So soon as he had pronounced this asseveration, his other eye also became as it had been originally. Then the royal princess betook herself to the king, along with Ksheman·kara, who was no longer imperfect in any part of his body, and said, “O father, this is Ksheman·kara himself.” As the king was incredulous, she told him how everything had come about. The king was exceedingly astonished, but with great joy did he give his daughter to Ksheman·kara as his wife. Then he set forth with a great army for that city, and drove Pāpan·kara from power, and set Ksheman·kara as king upon his father’s throne.

XIX.

THE PUNISHMENT OF AVARICE. [149]

In long past times a hunter wounded an elephant with a poisoned arrow. Perceiving that he had hit it, he followed after the arrow and killed the elephant. Five hundred robbers who had plundered a hill-town were led by an evil star to that spot, where they perceived the elephant. As it was just then a time of hunger with them, they said, “Now that we have found this meat, let two hundred and fifty of us cut the flesh off the elephant and roast it, while two hundred and fifty go to fetch water.”

Then those among them who had cut the flesh off the elephant and cooked it, said among themselves, “Honoured sirs, now that we have accomplished such a task and collected so much stolen property, wherefore should we give away part of it to the others? Let us eat as much of the meat as we please, and then poison the rest. The others will eat the poisoned meat and die, and then the stolen goods will be ours.”

So after they had eaten their fill of the meat, they poisoned what remained over. Those who had gone to fetch water, likewise, when they had drunk as much water as they wanted, poisoned what was left. So when they came back, and those who had eaten the flesh drank the water, and those who had drunk the water ate the flesh, they all of them died.

Now there came to that spot a jackal, fettered by the ties of time, and it saw all those dead bodies. With a joy that sprang from greediness it thought, “As an extremely large amount of booty has accrued to me, I will take each part of it in its turn.” So it seized the bow with its jaws, and began to gnaw at the knots of the bowstring. The string snapped, and the end of the bow struck the jackal in the roof of the mouth so hard, that it died. The jackal uttered this śloka—

“It is good to accumulate, but not to accumulate immoderately. See how the jackal, infatuated by greed after the accumulated, was killed by the bow.”

XX.

THE MAGICIAN’S PUPIL. [150]

In long past times, King Brahmadatta lived in Vārāṇasī. There also a Chaṇḍāla [151] lived, who was versed in spells and magic lore, and who, employing the Gāndhāra-Mantra, was wont to obtain by spells from the Gandhamādana mountain [152] such fruits and flowers as were not in season, and to present them to king Brahmadatta. The King who was highly pleased thereby, made him presents. Now there was a Brahman youth who longed after a knowledge of spells. And in his search after them, in accordance with what he heard spoken thereof, he came from his own country to Vārāṇasī. After he had recovered from the fatigues of his journey, he betook himself to the Brahman who was versed in spells and magic lore. And when he came before him, he said—

“I wish to serve the Paṇḍit.”

“Why?”

“For the sake of learning magic.”

The Chaṇḍāla replied in verse, “Magic lore is communicated to no man. It dies with its possessor. Or it is vouchsafed to him who has knowledge and means and renders service.”

The youth said, “O Paṇḍit, if such is the case, and I have to render service, I ask for how long a time must that be.”

“When you have served twelve years,” was the reply, “it will be seen whether I shall communicate it to you or not.”

As the youth had a great craving after magic lore, he agreed to this, and after he had with the greatest joy testified his respect, he entered upon his service.

It happened once that the Chaṇḍāla came home drunk, and the Brahman youth said to himself, “As the master has drunk so much more than is befitting, I will lie down to sleep beside him.” The Chaṇḍāla took to tossing about on his bed, and as he did so one side of the bed gave way. The noise this made awoke the Brahman youth, who said to himself: “As the master is so restless in his sleep, I will support the bed with my back.” Accordingly he propped up the bed with his back, and patiently held out all night [in spite of much discomfort,] [153] thinking that if he moved his body, or uttered a word, the teacher would hear the noise he made, and would awake, and be unable to go to sleep again.

When the Chaṇḍāla awoke of his own accord, and saw the youth, he asked who was there. The youth replied, “O teacher, it is I, the companion of your fortunes,” and he told him all that had occurred. The Chaṇḍāla was greatly delighted, and said, “O son, as I am exceedingly pleased, I will teach you the art of magic.”

As Brahmans are of a conceited nature, the youth could not restrain himself, but must needs immediately make a trial of his magic art on the spot, and then depart. So he employed his magic power, and soared into the sky. When he came to Gandhamādana, he there plucked fruits and flowers which were out of season on earth, and gave them to the king’s purohita, who gave them to King Brahmadatta. The king asked where he had got them. The purohita replied—

“There is a Brahman youth here from a distant country. He it is who gave them to me. As he is extremely well versed in spells and magic lore, and as the Brahman is of a better nature than the Chaṇḍāla, who is despised by the whole world, the question arises of what is to be done with the Chaṇḍāla. Be pleased to take away his employment from the Chaṇḍāla, and to confer it upon the Brahman youth.”

The king replied, “Do so.” Accordingly the Chaṇḍāla was deprived of his employment by the purohita, who conferred it upon the Brahman youth. But in consequence of the youth’s ingratitude his magic power deserted him.

XXI.

HOW A WOMAN REQUITES LOVE. [154]

In lost past times, in a palace in a land every way blest, there reigned a king to whom his wife bore four sons, named Śākha, Gulma, Anugulma, and Viśākha. After having all grown up, and taken to themselves as wives kings’ daughters from other lands, they began to behave disrespectfully to the king. The king banished them, and they departed, along with their wives, and came to a desert place, where their means of sustenance ran short. So they made an agreement among themselves to put their wives to death one after another, and by feeding on their flesh to make their own way through the desert. Viśākha, however, was of opinion that it would be better to sacrifice his own life than to take away another’s, and instead of waiting to see who was to die he determined to escape along with his wife. So he fled away with her. But after a time she said, being exhausted by the want of food and drink, and by the fatigue of the journey, “O lord, I am dying.” Viśākha thought that it would be sad if she were to die now, after he had saved her from the hands of the Rākshasas (or cannibals). So he sliced some flesh off his hams and gave it to her to eat, and then he opened the veins of both his arms and gave her the blood to drink. In this way they made their way to a mountain, on which they supported themselves with roots and berries.

At the foot of this mountain ran a river, into which a man happened to fall, whose hands and feet had been cut off. Carried away by the stream he uttered cries of despair. Viśākha, who was gathering roots and berries somewhere thereabouts, heard his cries for help. His mind being stirred with compassion he climbed the mountain, and began looking about on all sides. As soon as he saw the man being swept away by the waters, he ran swiftly down from the mountain, sprang into the river, seized the man, and conveyed him ashore. Affected by the sight of his misery he said to him, “O son, whence do you come?” When the man had told him the whole story, Viśākha spoke words of solace to him, satisfied his hunger with roots and berries, and then handed him over to his wife, thanks to whose care he recovered entirely. With this care there was associated pleasure, which induced her to pay him frequent visits, passing the time in varied talk.

It is part of the nature of things that Bodisats are not remarkably addicted to the passion of love, and so it happened that Viśākha indulged only from time to time in amorous pleasure. As, in consequence of the Bodisat’s power, trees, roots, and berries possessed a special force, living upon them excited the desires of the wife, and she began to allure the man who had no hands or feet. The cripple was unwilling to respond to her advances, pointing out that he, when as good as dead, had been saved and restored to life by her husband; and that if he were to behave in such a way he would be putting himself into a position like unto that of a murderer. But as she repeatedly tempted him, and it was hard for him to master passion, he finally acceded to her request.

Although in the fruition of love passion increased, yet he reflected that, as she was now so possessed by passion, and as of all enmities that of the woman is the worst, he was going to ruin. In accordance with these ideas, he began to take counsel with her, saying, “If your husband finds out that we have lived together, he will undoubtedly do you some injury and put me to death.” She was of opinion that these words were true, and that precautions must be taken. As women are adroit, even without being taught, she wrapped a cloth round her head and lay down on a rock to sleep. When Viśākha saw her sleeping there, as he returned home with roots and berries, he asked her, “Good wife, what is the matter with you?” She replied, “O lord, as my head aches, I feel very unwell.” Viśākha said, “What can be done?” As she had seen wolf’s-milk [155] growing in a ravine, she said, “O lord, when I once before suffered from this pain in the head, the physician ordered me wolf’s-milk, by means of which I was cured.” Viśākha replied, “I will seek for wolf’s-milk.” She said, “As it grows in this ravine, I will let you down with a rope and you shall fetch it up.” As august beings are simple and upright, he suspected no guile, and said, “Let us do so; you hold the rope and I will fetch the wolf’s-milk.” When he had let himself down with the rope, she let go of the rope with her hand, whereby he also lost hold of it and fell into the water at the bottom.

As the Bodisat was destined to long life and the exercise of regal power, he did not die, but was carried along by the stream, and so he reached a royal city. The king of that city had died without leaving any heirs, and the ministers and the towns-people and the country-folk were holding counsel as to whom, seeing there was no king, they should invest with the sovereignty. They chose men well versed in omens, and they ordered them to seek out a man provided with virtuous merit, in order that they might invest him with the sovereignty. As the deeds which were to secure sovereignty for Viśākha were now approaching maturity, he emerged from the water and sat down on a spot which, through the power of the Bodisat, appeared as though decked with ornaments. To this spot came the diviners, and when they saw the august being provided with the marks of sovereignty, they betook themselves to the ministers, full of joy and bliss, and told them that they had found in their researches a being provided with much virtuous merit, whom the sovereignty would befit. Thereupon the ministers caused the road and the city to be cleansed, and prosperously conducted him into the city, and installed him as king on the fitting day, at the fitting hour, under the fitting constellation.

As he had no wife, the ministers, the purohitas, and the kings of other lands, as well as other people, proprietors, merchants, and caravan leaders, all brought their daughters to that city, adorned with all sorts of ornaments, in order that they might be received into the palace. But the king, who had been so shamefully treated by his wife, did not consent to that. The ministers said, “O king, it is not customary for kings to be without wives, princes, ministers, and inhabitants of town and country; so be pleased to nominate a spouse. Kings and grandees living in all manner of districts, and grandees from foreign lands, have their daughters in readiness to be exhibited to you.” But he was not to be induced to consent thereto, and he reviled women without ceasing.

Now as all things good for fruition derive their force and completeness from the power of the virtuous merits of beings, it came to pass that, after the Bodisat was thrown down from the mountain through the misdeed of his wife, the roots and berries of that mountain shrivelled and lost their power. Thereupon the woman, fearing to perish in the hour of hunger, having taken the cripple on her back, betook herself to the villages, and asked for alms in the streets, market-places, cross-roads, and by-roads. When she was questioned she always replied, “My husband has never found fault with me.” And as a wife, with whom her husband has never found fault, is wont to be highly respected in the world, she obtained alms wherever she went. When she arrived at the capital, and the inhabitants heard of her, they were seized with astonishment. Some of them went forth full of wonder to see her. And the dwellers in the city took to asking if that king, who always had something to say against all women, ought not to look upon this excellent female wanderer, whose husband had never found fault with her, and who carried on her back the handless and footless cripple. When the purohita had made the king acquainted with these sayings the king thought the matter over, and gave orders that this woman should be summoned, as he wished to see her. When she had been sent for, and he had seen her, he laughingly uttered this verse—

“Thou who hast eaten the flesh of my loins, who hast drunk my blood, and hast taken the cripple on thy back, wilt thou not now be blamed by thy husband?

“After having, for the sake of wolf’s-milk, flung me down the precipice, after having taken the cripple on thy back, wilt thou not now be blamed by thy husband?”

She stood still with drooping countenance and heart full of shame. When the ministers had asked the king about this matter, and he had given them a full account of all that had taken place, they drove the woman out of the city with contumely.

XXII.

THE FLIGHT OF THE BEASTS. [156]

At a long distant period there stood on the shore of a lake a vilva [157] forest. In this forest dwelt six hares. [158] Now a vilva tree in that forest fell into the lake, thereby producing a great noise. When the six hares heard this noise, they began, as they had but small bodies, to run away full of fear. The jackals saw them running, and asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The hares replied, “There was a great noise.” Thereupon the jackals also took to flight. When the monkeys saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The jackals replied, “There was a great noise.” Thereupon the monkeys also took to flight. When the gazelles saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The monkeys replied, “There was a great noise.” Thereupon the gazelles also took to flight. When the boars saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The gazelles replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the boars also took to flight. When the buffaloes saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The boars replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the buffaloes also took to flight. When the rhinoceroses saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The buffaloes replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the rhinoceroses also took to flight. When the elephants saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The rhinoceroses replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the elephants also took to flight. When the bears saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The elephants replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the bears also took to flight. When the hyænas saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The bears replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the hyænas also took to flight. When the panthers saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The hyænas replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the panthers also took to flight. When the tigers saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The panthers replied, “There was a noise.” Thereupon the tigers also took to flight. When the lions saw them running they asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye run?” The tigers replied, “There was a loud noise.” Thereupon the lions also took to flight. At the foot of the mountain there dwelt a maned lion, which likewise seemed to wear a diadem. When it saw the lions running it asked, “O honoured ones, wherefore do ye all run, although each of you is strong in claws and strong in teeth?” The lions replied, “There was a loud noise.” “O honoured ones, whence did the noise come?” it asked. “We do not know,” they replied. Then said that lion, “O honoured ones, do not run. Inquiry must be made as to where the noise came from.” It asked the tigers, “Who told you about it?” The tigers replied, “The panthers.” It asked the panthers, “Who was it told you?” The panthers replied, “The hyænas.” It asked the hyænas, “Who was it told you?” The hyænas replied, “The bears.” It asked the bears, “Who was it told you?” The bears replied, “The elephants.” It asked the elephants, “Who was it told you?” The elephants replied, “The rhinoceroses.” It asked the rhinoceroses, “Who was it told you?” The rhinoceroses replied, “The buffaloes.” It asked the buffaloes, “Who was it told you?” The buffaloes replied, “The boars.” It asked the boars, “Who was it told you?” The boars replied, “The gazelles.” It asked the gazelles, “Who was it told you?” The gazelles replied, “The monkeys.” It asked the monkeys, “Who was it told you?” The monkeys replied, “The jackals.” It asked the jackals, “Who was it told you?” The jackals replied, “The hares.” It asked the hares, “Who was it told you?” The hares replied, “We saw the terrible thing with our own eyes. Come, we will show you whence the noise came.” So they guided the lion, and showed it the vilva forest, saying, “That is where the noise came from.” Inasmuch as the noise was caused by the fall of a vilva tree out of that forest into the lake, the lion said: “O honoured ones, be not afraid, for that was only an empty sound.” Consequently they were all tranquillised. And a deity uttered this verse: “Let not men believe in words. They ought to see everything for themselves. Observe how, through the fall of a vilva, the forest lost its beasts.”

XXIII.

THE FIVE LOVERS. [159]