The Katha Sarit Sagara or Ocean of the Streams of Story Part 60

CHAPTER XCV.

(Vetala 21.)

Then king Trivikramasena again went and took the Vetala from the asoka-tree, and carried him along on his shoulder. And as he was going along, the Vetala again said to the king, "Listen, king, I will tell you a story of violent attachment."

Story of Anangamanjari, her husband Manivarman, and the Brahman Kamalakara.

There is a city called Visala, which is like a second city of Indra, made by the Creator on earth, for the sake of virtuous people who have fallen from heaven. In it there lived a fortunate king, named Padmanabha, who was a source of joy to good men, and excelled king Bali. In the reign of that king there lived in that city a great merchant, named Arthadatta, who surpa.s.sed in opulence the G.o.d of wealth. And to him there was born a daughter named Anangamanjari, who was exhibited on earth by the Creator as a likeness of a heavenly nymph. And that merchant gave her to the son of a distinguished merchant, dwelling in Tamralipti, and named Manivarman. But as he was very fond of his daughter Anangamanjari, because she was his only child, he would not let her leave his house, but kept her there with her husband. But Anangamanjari's husband Manivarman was as distasteful to her, as a biting bitter medicine to a sick man. But that lovely one was dearer than life to her husband, as wealth hardly won and long h.o.a.rded is to a miser.

Now once on a time that Manivarman, longing to see his parents, went to his home in Tamralipti to visit them. After some days had pa.s.sed, the hot season descended upon the land, impeding the journey of men absent from home with the sharp shafts of the sun's rays. The winds blew laden with the fragrance of the jasmine and trumpet-flower, and seemed like the hot [394] sighs of the cardinal points on account of the departure of spring. Lines of dust raised by the wind flew up to heaven, like messengers sent by the heated earth to hasten the approach of the clouds. The days pa.s.sed slowly, like travellers exhausted by the severe heat, and longing for the shade of the trees. The nights, pale-gleaming with moonbeams, became exceedingly [395] reduced owing to the loss of the spring with all its happy meetings.

One day in that season, that merchant's daughter Anangamanjari was sitting with her intimate friend in a lofty window of her house, white with sandal-wood ointment, and elegantly dressed in a thin garment of silk. While there, she saw a young Brahman, named Kamalakara, the son of the king's chaplain, pa.s.sing by, and he looked like the G.o.d of Love, risen from his ashes, going to find Rati. And when Kamalakara saw that lovely one overhead, like the orb of the moon, [396] he was full of joy, and became like a cl.u.s.ter of k.u.muda-flowers. The sight of those two young persons became to one another, by the mighty command of Cupid, a priceless [397] fascination of the mind. And the two were overcome by pa.s.sion, which rooted up their modesty and carried away by a storm of love-frenzy, which flung their minds to a distance. And Kamalakara's companion, as soon as he saw that his friend was love-smitten, dragged him off, though with difficulty, to his own house.

As for Anangamanjari, she enquired what his name was, and having no will of her own, slowly entered the house with that confidante of hers. There she was grievously afflicted with the fever of love, and thinking on her beloved, she rolled on the bed, and neither saw nor heard anything. After two or three days had pa.s.sed, being ashamed and afraid, unable to bear the misery of separation, thin and pale, and despairing of union with her beloved, which seemed a thing impossible, she determined on suicide. So, one night, when her attendants were asleep, she went out, drawn as it were, by the moon, which sent its rays through the window, like fingers, and made for a tank at the foot of a tree in her own garden. There she approached an image of the G.o.ddess Chandi, her family deity, that had been set up with much magnificence by her father, and she bowed before the G.o.ddess, and praised her, and said, "Though I have not obtained Kamalakara for a husband in this life, let him be my husband in a future birth!" When the impa.s.sioned woman had uttered these words in front of the G.o.ddess, she made a noose with her upper garment, and fastened it to an asoka-tree.

In the meanwhile it happened that her confidante, who was sleeping in the same room, woke up, and not seeing her there, went to the garden to look for her. And seeing her there engaged in fastening a noose round her neck, she cried out, "Stop! stop!" and running up, she cut that noose which she had made. Anangamanjari, when she saw that her confidante had come and cut the noose, fell on the ground in a state of great affliction. Her confidante comforted her, and asked her the cause of her grief, and she at once told her, and went on to say to her, "So you see, friend Malatika, as I am under the authority of my parents and so on, and have little chance of being united to my beloved, death is my highest happiness." While Anangamanjari was saying these words, she was exceedingly tortured with the fire of Love's arrows, and being overpowered with despair, she fainted away.

Her friend Malatika exclaimed, "Alas! the command of Cupid is hard to resist, since it has reduced to this state this friend of mine, who was always laughing at other misguided women, who shewed a want of self-restraint. [398]" Lamenting in these words, she slowly brought Anangamanjari round with cold water, fanning, and so on, and in order to allay her heat, she made her a bed of lotus-leaves, and placed on her heart a necklace cool as snow. Then Anangamanjari, with her eyes gus.h.i.+ng with tears, said to her friend, "Friend, the necklace and the other applications do not allay my internal heat. But do you by your cleverness accomplish something which will really allay it. Unite me to my beloved, if you wish to preserve my life." When she said this, Malatika lovingly answered her, "My friend, the night is now almost at an end, but to-morrow I will make an arrangement with your beloved, and bring him to this very place. So in the meanwhile control yourself, and enter your house." When she said this, Anangamanjari was pleased, and drawing the necklace from her neck, she gave it to her as a present. And she said to her, "Now go to your house, and early to-morrow go thence to the house of my beloved, and may you prosper!" Having dismissed her confidante in these words, she entered her own apartments.

And early next morning, her friend Malatika went, without being seen by any one, to the house of Kamalakara; and searching about in the garden, she saw him at the foot of a tree. He was rolling about, burning with the fire of love, on a bed composed of lotus-leaves moistened with sandal-wood juice, and a confidential friend of his was trying to give him relief by fanning him with a plantain-leaf. She said to herself, "Is it possible that he has been reduced to this stage of love's malady by separation from her?" So she remained there in concealment, to find out the truth about it.

In the meanwhile that friend of Kamalakara's said to him, "Cast your eye, my friend, for a moment round this delightful garden, and cheer up your heart. Do not give way to despondency." When the young Brahman heard this, he answered his friend, "My friend, my heart has been taken from me by Anangamanjari the merchant's daughter, and my breast left empty; so how can I cheer up my heart. Moreover Love, finding me robbed of my heart, has made me a quiver for his arrows; so enable me to get hold of that girl, who stole it."

When the young Brahman said that, Malatika's doubts were removed, and she was delighted, and showed herself, and went up to him, and said, "Happy man, Anangamanjari has sent me to you, and I hereby give you her message, the meaning of which is clear, 'What sort of conduct is this for a virtuous man, to enter a fair one's bosom by force, and after stealing away her heart, to go off without showing himself.' It is strange too, that though you have stolen the lady's heart, she now wishes to surrender to you herself and her life. For day and night she furnaces forth from her hot sighs, which appear like smoke rising from the fire of love in her burning heart. And her tear-drops, black with collyrium, fall frequently, looking like bees attracted by the fragrance of her lotus-like face. So if you like, I will say what will be for the good of both of you."

When Malatika said this, Kamalakara answered her, "My good lady, this speech of yours, though it comforts me by shewing that my beloved loves me, terrifies me, as it tells that the fair one is in a state of unhappiness. So you are our only refuge in this matter; do as you think best." When Kamalakara said this, Malatika answered, "I will to-night bring Anangamanjari secretly into the garden belonging to her house, and you must take care to be outside. Then I will manage by some device of mine to let you in, and so you will be able to see one another in accordance with your wishes." When Malatika had by these words delighted the young Brahman, she went away, having accomplished her object, and delighted Anangamanjari also.

Then the sun, in love with the twilight, departed somewhere or other, together with the day, and the heaven adorned itself, placing the moon on its western quarter, like a patch on the forehead. And the pure white k.u.muda-cl.u.s.ter laughed joyously with the cheerful faces of its opened flowers, as if to say, "Fortune has left the lotus-cl.u.s.ter and come to me." Thereupon the lover Kamalakara also adorned himself, and full of impatience, slowly approached the outside of the door that led into the garden of Anangamanjari's house. Then Malatika managed to bring into that garden Anangamanjari, who had with difficulty got through the day. And she made her sit in the middle of it, in a bower of mango-trees, and went out, and brought in Kamalakara also. And when he entered, he beheld Anangamanjari in the midst of dense-foliaged trees, as gladly as the traveller beholds the shade.

While he was advancing towards her, she saw him, and as the violence of her pa.s.sion robbed her of shame, she eagerly ran forward, and threw her arms round his neck. She faltered out, "Where are you going? I have caught you," and immediately her breath was stopped by the weight of excessive joy, and she died. And she fell on the ground, like a creeper broken by the wind. Alas! strange is the course of love, that is terrible in its consequences. When Kamalakara beheld that misfortune, which was terrible as a thunder-stroke, he said, "Alas! what is this?" and fell senseless on the ground. In a moment he recovered consciousness; and then he took his beloved up in his arms, and embraced and kissed her, and lamented much. And then he was so violently oppressed by excessive weight of sorrow, that his heart burst asunder at once, with a crack. And when Malatika was lamenting over their corpses, the night, seeing that both these lovers had met their end, came to an end, as if out of grief. And the next day, the relations of both, hearing from the gardeners what had happened, came there distracted with shame, wonder, grief, and bewilderment. And they remained for a long time doubtful what to do, with faces downcast from distress; bad women are a grievous affliction, and a source of calamity to their family.

At this moment Manivarman, the husband of Anangamanjari, came, full of longing to see her, from his father's house in Tamralipti. When he reached his father-in-law's house, and heard what had taken place, he came running to that garden, with his eyes blinded with tears. There, beholding his wife lying dead by the side of another man, the pa.s.sionate man at once yielded up his breath, that was heated with the fire of grief. Then the people there began to cry out, and to make an uproar, and all the citizens heard what had taken place, and came there in a state of astonishment.

Then the G.o.ddess Chandi, who was close at hand, having been called down into that garden long ago by the father of Anangamanjari, was thus supplicated by her Ganas; "G.o.ddess, this merchant Arthadatta, who has established an image of thee in his garden, has always been devoted to thee, so have mercy upon him in this his affliction." When the beloved of Siva, the refuge of the distressed, heard this prayer of her Ganas, she gave command that the three should return to life, free from pa.s.sion. So they all, by her favour, immediately arose, as if awaking from sleep, free from the pa.s.sion of love. Then all the people were full of joy, beholding that marvel; and Kamalakara went home, with his face downcast from shame; and Arthadatta, having recovered his daughter [399] Anangamanjari, who looked thoroughly ashamed of herself, together with her husband, returned to his house in high spirits.

When the Vetala had told this story that night on the way, he again put a question to king Trivikramasena. He said, "King, tell me, which of those three, who were blinded by pa.s.sion, was the most infatuated? And remember, the curse before-mentioned will take effect, if you know and do not say." When the king heard this question of the Vetala's, he answered him, "It seems to me that Manivarman was the most infatuated with pa.s.sion of the three. For one can understand those two dying, as they were desperately in love with one another, and their amorous condition had been fully developed by lapse of time. But Manivarman was terribly infatuated, for when he saw his wife dead of love for another man, and the occasion called for indignation, he was so far from being angry that, in his great love, he died of grief." When the king had said this, the mighty Vetala again left his shoulder, and departed to his own place, and the king again went in pursuit of him.

NOTE.

Oesterley, page 217, gives a story which resembles this in its conclusion. A king finds a girl being carried off by robbers. He delivers her and places her in a temple, promising to bring her food. But on his way he meets a kuttini, who conducts him to another girl, with whom he falls desperately in love, and so forgets the girl he rescued. She is found by a merchant. He takes her to his house and sets food before her. He then kills a rat, and boasts of his valour; (see page 16 of this volume.) This conduct, contrasted with that of the king, makes the girl die of disgust. The merchant kills himself. The king, not finding the first girl where he left her, commits suicide. The kuttini considers that she has caused the death of three persons, and kills herself in a fit of remorse. The Vetala asks, "Which of these four deaths was the most extraordinary?" The king answers, "That of the kuttini, for the others died of excess of pa.s.sion."

CHAPTER XCVI.

(Vetala 22.)

Then king Trivikramasena again fetched the Vetala from the top of the asoka-tree, and put him on his shoulder, and as he was going along, the Vetala said to him on the way, "King, you are good and brave, so hear this matchless tale."

Story of the four Brahman brothers who resuscitated the tiger.

There lived once on the earth a king, named Dharanivaraha, who was lord of the town of Pataliputra. [400] In his realm, which abounded in Brahmans, there was a royal grant to Brahmans named Brahmasthala; and on it there lived a Brahman of the name of Vishnusvamin. He had a wife that was as well-suited to him as the oblation to the fire. And in course of time he had four sons by her. And when they had learnt the Vedas, and pa.s.sed their childhood, Vishnusvamin went to heaven, and his wife followed him.

Then all his sons there, being in a miserable state, as they had no protectors, and having had all their property taken from them by their relations, deliberated together, and said, "We have no means of support here, so why should we not go hence to the house of our maternal grandfather in the village named Yajnasthala?" Having determined on this, they set out, living on alms, and after many days they reached the house of their maternal grandfather. Their grandfather was dead, but their mother's brothers gave them shelter and food, and they lived in their house, engaged in reading the Vedas. But after a time, as they were paupers, their uncles came to despise them, and neglected to supply them with food, clothes, and other necessaries.

Then their hearts were wounded by the manifest contempt shewn for them by their relations, and they brooded over it in secret, and then the eldest brother said to the rest; "Well! brothers, what are we to do? Destiny performs every thing, no man can do anything in this world at any place or time. For to-day, as I was wandering about in a state of distraction, I reached a cemetery; and in it I saw a man lying dead upon the ground, with all his limbs relaxed. And when I saw him, I envied his state, and I said to myself; 'Fortunate is this man, who is thus at rest, having got rid of his burden of grief.' Such was the reflection that then occurred to me; so I determined to die: and I tried to hang myself by means of a rope fastened to the branch of a tree. I became unconscious, but my breath did not leave my body; and while I was in this state, the rope broke, and I fell to the earth. And as soon as I recovered consciousness, I saw that some compa.s.sionate man was fanning me with his garment. He said to me, 'Friend, say, why do you allow yourself to be thus afflicted, though you are wise? For joy springs from good deeds, and pain from evil deeds, these are their only sources. If your agitation is due to pain, then perform good deeds; how can you be so foolish as to desire to incur the pains of h.e.l.l by suicide?' With these words that man consoled me, and then departed somewhere or other, but I have come here, having abandoned my design of committing suicide. So, you see that, if Destiny is adverse, it is not even possible to die. Now I intend to go to some holy water, and there consume my body with austerities, in order that I may never again endure the misery of poverty."

When the eldest brother said this, his younger brothers said to him, "Sir, why are you, though wise, afflicted with pain merely because you are poor? Do you not know that riches pa.s.s away like an autumn cloud. Who can ever count on retaining Fortune or a fickle woman, though he carry them off and guard them carefully, for both are insincere in their affection and secretly hostile to their possessor? So a wise man must acquire by vigorous exertion some eminent accomplishment, which will enable him frequently to bind [401] and lead home by force riches which are like bounding deer." When the eldest brother was addressed in this language by his brothers, he at once recovered his self-control, and said, "What accomplishment of this kind should we acquire?" Then they all considered and said to one another, "We will search through the earth and acquire some magic power." So having adopted this resolution, and fixed upon a trysting-place at which to meet, the four separated, going east, west, north and south.

And in course of time they met again at the appointed spot, and asked one another what each had learned. Then one of them said, "I have learned this magic secret; if I find a bit of a bone of any animal, I can immediately produce on it the flesh of that animal." When the second heard this speech of his brother's, he said, "When the flesh of any animal has been superinduced upon a piece of bone, I know how to produce the skin and hair appropriate to that animal." Then the third said, "And when the hair and flesh and skin have been produced, I am able to create the limbs of the animal to which the bone belonged." And the fourth said, "When the animal has its limbs properly developed, I know how to endow it with life."

When they had said this to one another, the four brothers went into the forest to find a piece of bone, on which to display their skill. There it happened that they found a piece of a lion's bone, and they took it up without knowing to what animal it belonged. Then the first covered it with the appropriate flesh, and the second in the same way produced on it all the requisite skin and hair, and the third completed the animal by giving it all its appropriate limbs, and it became a lion, and then the fourth endowed it with life. Then it rose up a very terrible lion, furnished with a dense s.h.a.ggy mane, having a mouth formidable with teeth, [402] and with hooked claws at the end of its paws. And charging the four authors of its being, it slew them on the spot, and then retired glutted to the forest. So those Brahmans perished by making the fatal mistake of creating a lion: for who can give joy to his own soul by raising up a noisome beast?

So, if Fate be not propitious, an accomplishment, though painfully acquired, not only does not bring prosperity, but actually brings destruction. For the tree of valour only bears fruit, as a general rule, when the root, being uninjured, [403] is watered with the water of wisdom, and when it is surrounded with the trench of policy.

When the Vetala, sitting on the shoulder of the king, had told this tale on the way, that night, to king Trivikramasena, he went on to say to him, "King, which of these four was guilty in respect of the production of the lion, that slew them all? Tell me quickly, and remember that the old condition is still binding on you." When the king heard the Vetala say this, he said to himself, "This demon wishes me to break silence, and so to escape from me. Never mind, I will go and fetch him again." Having formed this resolution in his heart, he answered that Vetala, "That one among them, who gave life to the lion, is the guilty one. For they produced the flesh, the skin, the hair, and the limbs, by magic power, without knowing what kind of animal they were making: and therefore no guilt attaches to them on account of their ignorance. But the man, who, when he saw that the animal had a lion's shape, gave life to it, in order to display his skill, was guilty of the death of those Brahmans."

When the mighty Vetala heard this speech of the king's, he again left his shoulder by magic power and went back to his own place, and the king again went in pursuit of him.

NOTE.

The story, as given in the Panchatantra (Benfey, Vol. II, p. 332), is somewhat different. Here we have four brothers of whom three possess all knowledge, but one only possesses common sense. The first brother joins together the bones of the lion, the second covers them with skin, flesh, and blood, the third is about to give the animal life, when the brother, who possesses common sense, says "If you raise him to life, he will kill us all." Finding that the third brother will not desist from his intention, he climbs up a tree and so saves his life, while his three brothers are torn to pieces.

In the Bahar-Da.n.u.sh (Scott) Vol. II, p. 290, the bones of a cow are joined together by being sprinkled with water. See Benfey, Vol. I, p. 489. (Oesterley's Baital Pachisi, pp. 211-212.)