Chapter VII: Part 7

One day there came to the court of this King a minstrel from a strange land, in whose playing and singing the Khan took so great pleasure that he gave him many rich presents, and the man went about saying, "In all his dominions the King has no favourite in whom he takes so great delight as in me who am a stranger; neither is there any other who knows how to please him as I." When the keeper of the gold frog and the parrot heard him make this boast, he answered him saying, "Nay, much greater pleasure hath the Khan in his gold frog and his parrot, of whom I am keeper." And they strove together. In the end the minstrel said, "To-morrow we will both go up to the Khan together, and while your gold frog dances his most elaborate dance, and your parrot sings his most melodious songs, I also will play and sing my sagas to the Khan; and behold! to whichever the Khan gives ear while he regards not the other, he shall be accounted to have most pleased the Khan."

The next day they did even as the minstrel had said, and when the minstrel began to sing the Khan paid no more heed at all to the frog or the parrot, but listened only to the strange minstrel's words.

Then the tamer who had charge of the frog and the parrot, when he saw that the strange minstrel was preferred, lost heart and came no more before the Khan, but went and let fly the parrot, and threw the gold frog out of a window of the palace. As he threw the gold frog out of the window of the palace a crow was flying by, and seeing the frog thrown out, and that it knew not which way to turn, he caught it in his beak and flew away to a ledge of a rock. As he was about to devour her, the frog said,--

"O crow! if thou art minded to devour me, first wash me in water, and then come and devour me."

And the remark pleased the crow, and he said to the frog,--

"Well spoken, O frog! What is thy name?"

And the frog made answer,--

"Bagatur-Ssedkiltu (1). That is my name."

So the crow took her down to wash her in the streamlet which flowed ceaselessly out of a hole in the rock. But the frog had no sooner gained the water than she crept into the hole. The crow called after her,--

"Bagatur-Ssedkiltu! Bagatur-Ssedkiltu, come thou here!"

But the frog answered him,--

"I should be foolish indeed if I came of my own account to give up my sweet life to your voracity. The Three Precious Treasures (2) may decide whether I have so little courage and pride as that!"

So saying, she leapt into a cleft of the rock out of reach of the crow.

Meantime her former tamer had come up, and began searching about, trying to recover her, having bethought him he might incur the King's anger in having let her go. And when he saw her not he began digging up the earth and hewing the rock all round the streamlet.

When the frog saw him digging up the earth and breaking the rock all round the streamlet, she cried out to him,--

"Dig not up the source of this spring. The King of the same hath given me charge over it, and I will not that thou lay it bare by digging round it." She said further, "Though now thou art in sorrow and distress, I will presently render thee a gift that shall be a gift of wonder. Listen and I will tell thee. I am the daughter of the Serpent-king, reigning over the white mother-o'-pearl shells (3). One day I went out to see the King's daughter bathe, and she, seeing me, sent and had me fished out of the stream with a mother-o'-pearl pail, and took me with her."

Meantime, the King began to notice that the parrot and the frog came no more to entertain him, so he sent for the tamer, and inquired what had become of his charges.

"The frog is gone her way in the stream," answered the man, "and the parrot must have been taken by a hawk."

The Khan was wroth at this answer, and ordered that the man should be taken and put to death.

Then came the first of the thirty ministers to the Khan, saying,--

"If we put this man to death, no more dancers or singers will come any more to this court."

And the Khan answered,--

"It is well spoken; let him not be put to death." He sent him into banishment, however, with three men to see him over the border of his dominions, and a goat to carry his provisions. But he also had him shod with a pair of shoes made out of stone, forbidding him to return until the stone shoes should be worn through.

As soon as his guards had left him, the tamer sat down by the side of the stream, and after soaking the stone shoes with water, rubbed them with a piece of rough stone till they were all in holes. Then he came back to his own country, with the goat that had carried his provisions, and made him dig roots out of the earth for him to eat. And he lived upon the roots.

One day he saw an owl flying by, which held in its mouth a white serpent. The tamer knew him to be a serpent-prince, and to make the owl release him, took off his girdle and held it in his mouth, after the manner in which the owl held the serpent, and, standing over against the owl, he cried out, "The thing held in the mouth burns with fire!" at the same time dropping the girdle from his mouth suddenly, as if it scorched him.

When the owl had heard his words, she also let the serpent fall out of her beak.

Then the tamer took up the serpent, and put it on a piece of grass near, and covered it with his cap. He had hardly done so, when there came up out of the water a whole train of princes of the serpent-dæmons, riding on horses, on to the bank of the stream, where they dispersed themselves, searching about every where for the white serpent, which was a serpent-prince.

After they had searched long and found nothing, there came up out of the water, riding on a white horse, a white serpent, having on a white mantle and a white crown (4).

He, seeing the tamer, said to him,--

"I am the Serpent-king, reigning over the white mother-o'-pearl shells. I have lost my son. O man! say if thine eyes have lighted on him."

The tamer asked of him, "What was thy son like?"

And the Serpent-king answered,--

"Even a white serpent was my son."

"If that is so," answered the tamer, thy son is with me. Even now a mighty Garuda-bird had him in his beak and prepared to devour him. But I, who am a tamer of all living creatures, knew how to entreat him so that he should give the white serpent up to me."

Then he lifted his cap from off the grass and delivered the White Serpent-prince unto the Serpent-king, his father.

The Serpent-king was full of delight at getting back his son, and called a great feast of all his friends and acquaintance among the serpent-princes to celebrate his joy. And the tamer he took into his palace, and he dwelt with him.

After a time, however, the man desired to return to his own country, and spoke to the Serpent-king to let him go. Then said the White Serpent-king, who reigned over the white mother-o'-pearl shells--

"Behold, as thou hast dealt well with me, I will not let thee go without bestowing somewhat on thee, and telling thee what good fortune shall befall thee. Behold these two times hast thou served me well; and long time have I sought thee to reward thee, for first thou didst release my daughter, the Princess Goldfrog, from servitude, putting her out of the window of the palace, and now thou hast restored my son, even mine only son, to me. Know, therefore, that of thee shall be born four sons, every one of whom shall be a king in Gambudvîpa. Nevertheless, seeing it will befall that, ere that time come, thou shalt pass through a season of trial, and be in need, I give unto thee this Mirjalaktschi (5) and this wand. Whensoever thou wantest for food, touch but this Mirjalaktschi with the wand, and immediately every kind of viand shall be spread out before thee."

Then he brought him up to the edge of the water to let him depart, giving him a brightly painted Mirjalaktschi and a mother-o'-pearl wand; moreover, he gave him a red-coloured dog also.

Then the White Serpent-king went his way down under the water again to his palace, and the tamer turned him towards his own country, the red-coloured dog following behind him.

"Thus was the promise of Princess Goldfrog fulfilled," exclaimed the Khan.

And as he let these words escape him, the Siddhî-kür replied, "Forgetting his health, the Well-and-wise-walking Khan hath opened his lips." And with the cry, "To escape out of this world is good!" he sped him through the air, swift out of sight.

TALE XXIII.

Wherefore the Well-and-wise-walking Khan once more took the way of the cool grove; and having taken the Siddhî-kür, and bound him in his bag, as at other times, he brought him along to the great Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una. As they went along by the way, the Siddhî-kür told him this tale, of how it fell out with the red-coloured dog, saying,--

WHAT BECAME OF THE RED-COLOURED DOG.

When it was evening they went, the tamer and the red-coloured dog together, into a grove to sleep, and by day they journeyed on. One day, when they made their evening halt, the red-coloured dog laid aside her dog's form, and appeared as a beautiful maiden, clothed in shining robes of white, and with a crown of white flowers on her head; and, when the tamer saw her, he loved her.

Moreover, she said to him, "Me hath the Serpent-king given to thee to be thy wife." And he married her, and she was his wife. Every morning she put on the form of the red-coloured dog again, and they journeyed on. One morning, however, before she put on the dog form, she went down to bathe in the river, and while she was gone, the man burnt the dog form, saying, "Now must she always remain as a beautiful woman."

But when she came up from bathing, and found what he had done, she said, with many other moving and sorrowful words, "Now can I no more walk with thee, and share thy wanderings."

So they remained in that place.

Again, another day she went down to bathe in the river, and as she bathed some of her hairs falling off, were carried down the stream.

At a place near the mouth of the stream, a maid belonging to the service of the Khan had gone down to fetch water, and these hairs came out of the water clinging to her water-jar. And as the hairs were wonderful to behold, being adorned with the five colours and the seven precious things (1), she wondered at them, and brought them to the Khan for him to see.

The Khan had no sooner examined them than he came to this conclusion, saying,--

"Somewhere along the course of this stream it is evident there must be living a surpassingly beautiful woman. Only to such an one could these hairs belong."

Then he called the captain of his guard, and bid him take of armed men as many as ever he would, and by all means to bring unto him the woman to whom these hairs belonged. Thus he instructed him.

But the woman had knowledge of what was going forward, and she came weeping to her husband, and showed the thing to him, "And now," she said, "the Khan's soldiers will surround the place, neither is there any way of escape, nor any that can withstand the orders of the Khan. Hadst thou not burnt the red dog form, then had I had a means of refuge."

Then the man wept too, and would have persuaded her to escape, but she said,--

"It skills not, for they would pursue us and overtake us, and put you to death out of revenge. By going at their command without resistance, at least they will save you alive."

While they were speaking the captain of the Khan's guard came with his men-at-arms, and posted them about the place. Then, while they were taking their measures to completely surround the inclosure that the woman might by no means break through, she said to her husband,--

"The only remedy that remains is that thou wait quietly for the space of a year, and in the meantime I will arrange a stratagem. Then on the fifteenth day of the month Pushja (2), I will go up on to the edge of a mountain with the Khan. But thou, meantime, make to thyself a garment of magpie's feathers, then come and dance before us, in it; and I will invent some plan for escaping with thee."

Thus she advised him. And the soldiers came and took her to the Khan; the husband making no resistance, even as she had counselled him.

Also, he let a year pass according to her word; but being alone, and in distress for the loss of his wife, he neglected his work and his business, and came to poverty. Then bethought he him of the word of the White Serpent-king, saying, "There shall come a season when thou shalt be in poverty." So he took out his Mirjalaktschi, and touched it with the mother-o'pearl-wand, and it gave him all manner of food, and he lived in abundance. Then he set snares, and caught magpies, exceeding many, and made to himself a covering out of their feathers, and practised himself in dancing grotesque dances.

On the fifteenth day of the month Pushja, the Khanin arranged to go with the Khan to visit the mountain. On the same day the husband came there also, dressed even as she had directed him, in a costume made of magpie's feathers. Having first attracted the attention of the Khan by his extraordinary appearance, he began dancing and performing ludicrous antics.

The Khan, who was by this time tired of the songs of the foreign minstrel, nor had found any to replace the gold frog and the parrot, observed him with great attention. But the Khanin seeing how exact and expert her husband was in following out her advice for recovering her, felt quite happy as she had never done before since she was taken from him; and to encourage him to go on dancing she laughed loud and merrily.

The Khan was astonished, when he saw her laugh thus, and he said, "Although for a whole year past I have devised every variety of means to endeavour to make thee at least bear some appearance of cheerfulness, it has profited nothing; for thou hast sat and mourned all the day long, nor has any thing had power to divert thee. Yet now that this man, who is more like a monster than a man, has come and made all these ridiculous contortions, at this thou hast laughed!"

And she, having fixed in her own mind the part she had to play, continued laughing, as she answered him,--

"All this year, even as thou sayest, thou hast laboured to make me laugh; and now that I have laughed, it would seem almost that it pleaseth thee not."

And the Khan hasted to make answer, "Nay, for in that thou hast laughed thou hast given me pleasure; but in that it was at a diversion which another prepared for thee, and not I, this is what pleased me not. I would that thou hadst laughed at a sport devised for thee by me."

Then answered the Khanin, "Wouldst thou in very truth prepare for me a sport at which I would surely laugh?"

And the Khan hasted to make answer, "That would I in very truth; thou knowest that there is nothing I would not do to fulfil thy bidding and desire."

"If that be so," replied the Khanin. "Know that there is one thing at which I would laugh in right good earnest; and that is, if it were thou who worest this monstrous costume. That this fellow weareth it is well enough, but we know not how monstrous he may be by nature. But if thou, O Khan, who art so comely of form and stature, didst put it on, then would it be a sight to make one laugh indeed."

And her words pleased the Khan. So he called the man aside into a solitary place that the courtiers and people might not see what he did, and so become a laughing-stock to them. Then he made the man exchange his costume of magpie's feathers against his royal attire and mantle, and went to dance before the Khanin, bidding the man take his place by her side.

No sooner, however, did the Khanin see him thus caught in her snare than she returned with her own husband, habited in the Khan's royal habiliments, to the palace. She also gave strict charge to her guard, saying,--

"That juggler who was dancing just now upon the hill, dressed in a fantastic costume of magpie's feathers, has the design of giving himself out for being the Khan. Should he make the attempt, set dogs (3) on him and drive him forth out of the country. Of all things, on peril of your lives, suffer him not to enter the palace."

Scarcely had she made an end of speaking and conducted her husband into the palace, when the Khan appeared, still wearing the magpie costume, because the Khanin's husband had gone off with her, wearing his royal habiliments, and would have made his way to his own apartments; but the guards seeing him, and recognizing the man in the magpie disguise the Khanin had designated, ordered him out.

The Khan asserted his khanship, and paid no heed to the guards; but the more he strove to prove himself the Khan, the more were the guards convinced he was the man the Khanin had ordered them to eject, and they continued barring the way against him and preventing his ingress. Then he grew angry and began to strive against them till they, wearied with his resistance, called out the dogs and set them on him.

The dogs, taking him for a monstrous wild bird, eagerly ran towards him, so that he was forced to turn and flee that he might by any means save his life. But the dogs were swifter than he and overtook him, and, springing upon him, tore him in pieces and devoured him.

Thus the husband of the Khanin became installed in all his governments and possessions.

Moreover, that night there were born to the Khan four sons, who were every one exceeding great rulers in Gambudvîpa, even as the White Serpent-king, reigning over the white mother-o'-pearl shells, had foretold.

The eldest of these four was renowned as the spiritual ruler of all India (4). In one night he translated all the sacred books into a thousand different languages for the use of devas and men, and in one other night he erected a hundred thousand sacred temples all over his dominions.

The brother next to him was endowed with all kinds of power and strength in his earliest youth, and with every capacity. This Prince was renowned as ruler of the Mongols by the name of Barin Tochedaktschi Erdektu (5), for so expert and mighty was he in the use of the bow that if he shot his arrow at four men standing side by side together, every one of them was certain to fall to the earth, transfixed through the centre of the heart.

The next brother raised up to himself a mighty host of a hundred thousand men by pulling out a single hair of his head, and he led them forth to battle, and was known to the whole earth by the name of Gesser-Khan (6).

The fourth brother fitted out four caravans of merchandise all in one day, and sent them forth to the four quarters of heaven. By these means he obtained possession of the All-desire-supplying talisman, Tschin-tâmani, and was Ruler of the Treasures of the earth, with the title of Barss-Irbiss (7), Shah of Persia.

CONCLUSION OF THE ADVENTURES OF THE WELL-AND-WISE-WALKING KHAN.

The Well-and-wise-walking Khan listened till the Siddhî-kür had made an end of speaking, but opened never his lips. Though he heaped up wonders upon wonders as a man heaps up faggots on a funeral pile, yet spake he never a word.

Therefore the sack remained fast bound with the cord of a hundred threads of different colours, nor could the Siddhî-kür find means to escape out of the same; but the Well-and-wise-walking Khan bore him along to his journey's end, even to the feet of his great Master and Teacher Nâgârg'una.

And Nâgârg'una took the mighty dead, even him endowed with perfection of capacity and fulness of power, and laid him up in the cool grove on the shining mountain of Southern India, venerated by all men as the Siddhitu-Altan even unto this day.

By this means also great prosperity crowned the whole land of Gambudvîpa. To all the men thereof were given knowledge and length of days. The laws were obeyed and religion honoured, and happiness had her abode among them.

THE SAGA OF ARDSCHI-BORDSCHI AND VIKRAMÂDITJA'S THRONE.

HISTORICAL NOTICE OF VIKRAMÂDITJA.

The name of Vikramâditja is a household word in the epic mythology of India; and freely it seems to have been adopted by or conferred upon those who emulated the heroic acts of some first great bearer. But as the legendary chroniclers are more occupied with extolling the merits of their favourites, than with establishing their place in the page of history, it becomes a well-nigh impossible task for the modern investigator to trace out and fix the times and seasons of all those who, either in fact or in fiction, have borne the name, or even to distinguish with certainty how many there have been, still less, what are the peculiar deeds and attributes of each.

A writer (1), who has examined painstakingly into the matter, tells us that the popular mind is only conscious of one Vikramâditja, so that without troubling itself to consider the insufficiency of one life to embrace all the aggregate of wonderful works it has to tell of him, it supposes him rather to have had a prolonged or recurring existence as marvellous in itself as the events of which it is composed. On the other hand, he found that native writers made out the number variously from four to nine, though he could not find that they determined with precision the existence of more than two. An additional difficulty arises from this, that the very distinctive super-appellations derived from their deeds by heroes bearing the name seem to have passed over to others along with the name itself; as, for instance, Gardabharâpa = "donkey-form," given to one of them on account of his being temporarily transformed into a donkey by his father; the name of Sakjaditja is similarly given indiscriminately to others who lived at different periods, though the origin of the word can only be found in an exploit of one of them, who with the aid of Shêsa, the serpent-god, destroyed an oppressor named Sâkja (2). While the name Vikramaâditja itself seems rather a descriptive appellation than a name, being composed of the two Sanskrit words, vikrama and âditja--the sun, or bright exposition of heroic virtue.

You may form some idea of the uncertainty thus created if you imagine the Roman historians to have been silent, and suppose, that nothing remained to us of the lives of the Emperors, for instance, but certain panegyrics of bards and traditions of the people, eked out by a little scanty assistance from inscriptions and coins, and unsystematic and untrustworthy chronicles. You may then conceive, how with no fixed dates marked out for determining the period of the reign of each, and no literary criterion to distinguish incongruities, a fertile imagination, aiming rather at exciting admiration than conveying information, could run riot with the mass of the acts and adventures, the victories and achievements of the whole number, because the names or titles of "Augustus" and "Cæsar" could be applied to many or all.

There is also the further difficulty that the heroic myths of India have travelled on from tribe to tribe, and from province to province (3), the character of the hero and his exploits incurring many transformations and fresh identifications under the process (4).

Not to go into the elaborate discussion which the intricate study of the Indian dynasties has called forth, it may suffice in this place to observe that, in the absence of more regular records, the greatest aid we have in arriving at some fixed knowledge of the events of a remote age in India is derived from inscriptions and coins (5). And, as a specimen of the thought and care that has been brought to bear on the matter, to specify the interesting circumstance connected with this particular instance, that the nearest approach to a satisfactory determination of the date of the chief bearer of the name of Vikramâditja that is likely to be attained has been arrived at from the observation of the influence of Greek art on the execution of certain of the coins (6) which have been preserved and collected, connecting them with the period succeeding Alexander's invasion. A careful collation of these specimens with the most authentic list of the kings has given tolerable authority for asserting that the date of 57 B.C. may be assumed for the date of the first historic (7) Vikramâditja, whose chief honour lies in having overcome and superseded the descendants of the foreign race of rulers who had been in possession of his native country before his time. In pursuing the history of his dynasty, however, the help so far afforded by the coins ceases, and the only written records of him are the collections of popular fables of his deeds. Only one of these collections, and of that the date is unknown, has any pretension to rank as history; and even this is full of wonders and manifest exaggerations. Its author, Ravipati Gurumûrti by name, informs the reader, however, that he had brought together and compared many Sanskrit manuscripts, and sifted much oral tradition in its compilation.

According to this account, Vikramâditja was the son of a Brahman named Kandrasarman, the fourth son of Vishnusarman, inhabiting a city called Vedanârâjanapura, a name not found in any other writer. Dissatisfied with the ordinary occupations on which he was kept employed by his parents, he ran away from home and after many adventures came to Uggajini, where he married the daughter of Dhvagakîrti, the reigning sovereign of Malâva (8). His son Vikramâditja was the more celebrated hero, and according to another MS. (quoted in W. Taylor's Examination of the Mackenzie MSS.) the former of these two was not called Vikramâditja at all, but Govinda.

Feeling an interior conviction of his great destiny, Vikramâditja (the son) determined on obtaining supernatural aid in fulfilling it; and, with this view, he devoted himself to prayer and retirement, until he had obtained an apparition of the goddess Kali, the chosen wife of Shiva, who gave him the solemn promise that he should be invulnerable to all enemies with the exception of one who should be supernaturally born; and that he should rejoice in a happy reign of a thousand years (9). By the shrewd advice of his half-brother Bhatti, whom he made his minister, he contrived to obtain out of this promise double the length of years actually named, for he arranged to reign for only six months at a time, spending six months in contemplation in the jungle, so that it took two thousand years to make up a thousand years' reign (10). In another account, he is made to reign 949 years; and, on the other hand, in another (11) only a hundred and six years.

It might have been expected that a people who raised themselves at so remote a period to a comparatively high degree of civilization, and in other departments of mental exertion distinguished themselves in so marked a manner, should of all things have possessed a copious historical literature, but there are other things to take into account which explain why the contrary is the case (12). A German writer (13) has put the case very summarily. "Their religion," he says, "has destroyed all history for the Hindus. They are taught to look on life as a mere passing condition of probation and sorrow, and its incidents, consequently, as unworthy to be recorded." But this is a hardly fair statement, and only true to a certain extent. Benfey (14) perhaps reaches nearer the mark when he says,--"The life of man was for them but a small portion of the immense divine life pervading the whole universe. It lay, so to speak, rolled up in a fold of the mantle of the godhead. Viewed thus, history became a theme so vast that the infinitesimal human element of it was lost to view. Theosophies, idealisms, allegories, myths, filled up the place of the record of the doings of mortals." Troyer (15) takes nearly the same view, but further calls attention to the influence exercised by the religious teaching concerning re-births and transmigration of souls in working against history becoming a science. Historical characters lost their positive identity, and the effect a man's acts under a previous existence were taught to exercise on his fate diminished the responsibility and merit of, and consequently the interest in, his actions.

To arrive at a more exact view, however, it is necessary to distinguish between the parts which Brahman and Buddhist teaching have respectively to bear in the matter. The Brahmanical castes became subdivided into groups composed of many families, with no common founder, the preservation of whose name and deeds would have afforded an instigation to building up the materials of a national history. Only at a comparatively late period some traditions were kept up of the heads of these groups, but this in such a way as to serve rather to throw back attention on to the past and restrain it from the contemplation and record of contemporary events, Caste took the place of country, and the interest of the individual was drawn away from national to local interest.

Next, the history of the gods possessed a much higher importance in their eyes than that of the kings of the earth, while at the same time the humanistic conception of their character rendered the myths concerning them of a nature to clash with and supersede the records of earthly notabilities. Their wars and their loves and their undertakings were indeed often superhuman in scale, but they were yet for the most part no more exalted in nature, than the occupations of men. But from this habit of making their divinities actors in gigantic human incidents, their mind grew used to regard the marvellous and unreal as possible and true, and was at no pains to fix any data with exactness.

Then their contemplative mode of life kept them out of actual contact with what was going on in the world around them. Most Brahmans lived engrossed by the service of the temple, or else occupied with their families or their disciples. Very few are the examples of their acting as ministers or judges, or taking any part in public life.

Further, many elements of history may be said to have scarcely existed at all. All changes of manners and customs, all growth of arts and sciences, were impeded by the appointment of fixed laws, and remained pretty much the same for long periods.

Again, the subdivision of the country into multitudinous governments, and the comparatively short duration of any large union of them under one dynasty--as, for instance, the Maurja or the Gupta--further weakened any tendency to the formation of a national spirit. The best preserved attempts at history are those of Lankâ (Ceylon), Orissa, Cashmere, the Dekhan, and other kingdoms or provinces which have all along preserved their identity. Where one country fell under the empire of another its history naturally lapsed in that of the conquering state, or became altogether lost; and as such annexations were mostly effected by violence, it is only to be expected that the conqueror should discourage any thing that would keep up the memory of the rulers he had superseded. The Chronicle of Cashmere, called the Râga Taraginî, or "Stream of Kings," is perhaps the best written. It was compiled by Kalhana Pandita, who lived, however, as late as 1150 of our era, and is carried down to the year 1125. He appears to have laboured to make it as complete and reliable as the vague and scattered materials at his disposal admitted; yet so little was even he capable of appreciating the value of accuracy, that he ascribes to a reign (removed from his own date by no more remote period than 600 years) a length of 300 years. And this is but a small fable by comparison with others of his statements. This Chronicle possesses the peculiarity of being almost the only work of an historical nature compiled under Brahman influence.

The only work which has any pretension to universality in its scope is the Karnâtaka Râgakula. But though it begins with an account of the creation of the world and the incarnations of Vishnu, and narrates the deeds of typical heroes like Pandarva and Vikramâditja, it yet only contains the history of the Dekhan, and is, after all, a modern work edited at the bidding of English rulers. The only earlier work of the same character is one professing to give the general history of India from Ashokja to Pratîtasena, written in the fourteenth century. This, however, is believed not to have been compiled by a native Indian, and is, at any rate, not the work of a Brahman, though possibly of a Buddhist.

In the matter of historical compilation we have in general more to thank Buddhism than Brahmanism for. The simple Sûtra, or colloquies of Shâkjamuni with his disciples, written in masajja, a poetical prose pleasingly broken into a sort of cadence, themselves form a kind of history of the country contained in this sort of memoir of its great religionist. The simple Sûtra are of two classes. The first class consists of an account of Buddha's own wanderings and personal dealings both with his disciples and others, and were probably compiled (16) by the first great Sangha, or Synod, within 100 years after his death (17), though bearing marks in many places of having been reconstructed at a later period. The other class takes notice of events and persons belonging to a subsequent period. Besides these there are the Mâhajâna-Sûtra, a more detailed and developed continuation of the same species of chronicle, but bearing marks of having been compiled at a much more advanced date still, for they introduce ideas which do not belong to the early teaching of Buddhism, but to a very late development.

These writings possess great historical importance, but yet are by no means free from the faults of inaccuracy of date and arrangement; of idealizations of the persons treated of; the introduction of fabulous incidents, transmigrations, and such like. The very desire of the Buddhists to make their records more complete and useful than the Brahmans', often led to additional complications, because it induced all manner of interpolations--as for instance, whole series of kingly personages, the account of whose lives is not even to be set down to the exaggerations of ill-preserved tradition, but to pure fabrication of the imagination.

More reliance on the whole is to be placed on the great epic poems, and, chiefly, the Purâna and Mahâ Bhârata.

The works which we now find extant, with the title of Purâna (ancient)--eighteen in number,--are, however, at best but the reproduction of six older compilations, either collected from the recitations of Sûtas (bards), or themselves reproductions of still older compilations, which have probably perished for ever. They contain pretty well all that is known concerning the origin, mode of life, heroic deeds, and ways of theological thought, of those Indian nations who acknowledged either Vishnu or Shiva for their highest god; and traces are to be distinguished by which the statement of earlier and purer belief has been distorted or biassed according to the tenets of the later compiler.

The Mahâ Bhârata concerns itself more exclusively with the deeds of the gods and heroes, and is itself often referred to in the Purânas. Both of them bear witness that it was the frequent custom, on occasions of great gatherings of the people for public sacrifices and popular festivals, and also in the places of retirement of religious teachers round whom disciples gathered, that the stories of gods and heroes should be sung or told, and eagerly listened to. Such stories were collected into the Mahâ Bhârata by Vjâsa = "the Arranger" (who also occupied himself with the recompilation of the Vêda), son of Satjavati = "the truthful one," daughter to Vasu, king of Magadha. Vasu had conferred great benefits on his subjects, and was held in proportionate honour. His great work was the construction of a canal, of which mythology has thus preserved the memory. The mountain-god, Kôlâhola, fell in love with the stream-goddess, Shirktimatî. As she sported past the tower of Kêdi, he barred her further progress by here damming her course with a mountain. Vasu saw her distress, and came to rescue her by striking the mountain with his foot, and thus delivering her from her imprisonment. The goddess in gratitude devoted her twin children to his service. He made her son the leader of his armies, and married her daughter Girikâ, by whom he also had twins--a son, whom he made king of Matsja; and a daughter, Satjavati, who, as we have seen, married the father of Yjâsa. This was the Rishi Parâsara who obtained for her the name of Gandha, and the corresponding character of "sweet-scented," as heretofore, from the occupation to which she had been devoted by her father of ferrying people across the Jamuna, she had acquired a smell of fish. She is also called, Gandhahali = "the sweet-scented dark one," which latter appellation is explained by the story that she made Parâsara observe that the other Rishis were in the habit of watching her from the other side of the river, on which he constructed a mist to conceal her, or make her "dark" to them. Why "the Arranger" of legends should have "the truthful one" ascribed to him for his mother, is easy enough to see. Parâsra was reckoned his father because he was the inventor of chronology, which ought to precede any attempt to make chronicles out of traditions. The legend further says that Parasâra made acquaintance with Satjavati while on a pilgrimage, which may be taken as an embodiment of the fact that it was such gatherings which afforded opportunity for collecting Sagas.

Of somewhat similar nature is the Râmâjana--a collection of Sagas concerning Rama, sometimes called the brother, and sometimes an incarnation of Vishnu, but also containing stories of other gods, as well as a variety of quasi-religious episodes. While displaying the usual exaggerations common to the Sagas of all nations, these Indian Sagas have one leading peculiarity in the frequent Avatâra, or incorporation of Vishnu or Rama in the persons of their heroes (18).

Lassen (19) reckons both the Mahâ Bhârata and the Râmâjana to have been compiled about 300--50 B.C.; but it is impossible to fix the dates of any of them with absolute certainty. One theory for arriving at it is, that they possess strong inherent evidence of being Brahmanical productions; and as they contain no allusion to so great an event as the establishment of Buddhism, while they yet make allusions to certain predictions of the wane of Brahmanism (seemingly suggested by details of the mode of the sudden spread of the teaching of Shâkjamuni), it may be inferred that the latest date for their compilation (which in any case must have extended over a prolonged period) would be coeval with the period of the greatest development in Central India of the latter school.

It is evident, however, that none of these poems are of a nature to supply any sound basis for the historiographer. The very lists of the kings that they supply, carry with them inherent evidence of untrustworthiness in the readiness with which recourse is had to the introduction of supernatural means for supplying missing links in the fabulous periods of their chronology.

In the tenth century and later, several Muhammedan writers undertook the history of India; but they are very untrustworthy. For this place, it may suffice to mention that, by the most important of them, Vikramâditja is made out to be a grandson of Porus, and his name transformed into that of Barkamaris (20).

I will now give you a specimen of what are considered the purely legendary accounts of Vikramâditja's origin, and you will see that they are barely more extravagant than the historical one I have introduced above (21).

In a jungle (22) situated between the rivers Subhramatî and Mahi, in Gurgâramandala, lived the Rishi Tâmralipta, who gave his daughter Tamrasena for a wife to King Sadasvasena. They lived happily, and had a family of six sons, but only one daughter, Madanrekhâ. One day, when a servant of theirs named Devasarman was working in the forest, he heard the voice of some invisible being speaking to him, and bidding him go and demand for it the hand of Madanrekhâ in marriage. When he hesitated, not daring to ask so great a matter of his master, the voice threatened him with fearful penalties if he failed to obey its behest. As the voice continued day after day to admonish him, he at last begged his master to come and listen to it for himself; who, recognizing it for that of King Gandharva, whom Indra had transformed into an ass, he felt constrained to comply, and he accordingly bestowed his daughter on him. Though proud of the alliance of so great a king as Gandharva, Tâmrasena was nevertheless distressed that her daughter's husband should wear so ungainly an appearance. What was her joy when she one day discovered that, whenever he went to visit her, he left his donkey's form outside the door, and appeared like other men. She was not slow to take advantage of the circumstance by burning the donkey's form: the spell was thus destroyed, and Gandharva delivered from the operation of the curse. After a time they had a son, whom Gandharva desired his wife to call Vikramâditja, telling her at the same time that her handmaid would also have a son, who was to be called Bhartrihari, and who should devote himself to his service. Having uttered these counsels, he went up to the deva's paradise. Meantime, Madanrekhâ, having heard that her father designed to kill the infant, delivered it to the care of a gardener's wife, with the charge to conceal it, and then put an end to her own life. The gardener's wife fled with the young prince to Uggajini, where he passed his youth. The incidents of the burning of a form temporarily laid aside, of danger threatening the life of the infant, of a flight from his birthplace, and of a half-brother, in some way inferior to himself, yet devoted to him, pervade, not only both these accounts, but also the more detailed legend which is to follow in the text.

While all this uncertainty surrounds the circumstances of Vikramâditja's birth, his mode of attaining the throne, and the extent and even the locality of his dominions, are narrated with equal diversity; while, though an important era still in use is dated from him, extending from 57 B.C. to 319 A.C. when commences the Ballabhi-Gupta dynasty, the particular event by which he deserved so distinguished a commemoration has been by no means determined with certainty (23).

In a version of his story called Vikramakaritra, it is said simply, that King Prasena of Uggajinî dying without heirs, Vikramâditja was chosen king (24). According to another, the last king of the Greco-Indian dynasty abdicated in his favour out of disgust with life after the death of his wife. According to the legends a Vetâla (25) obtained possession of the throne and every night strangled the king, who had been raised to it in the course of the day by the ministers, until Vikramâditja undertook to maintain himself in power, and succeeded in propitiating the Vetâla. It is easy to read under cover of this imagery the original fact of a hero delivering his people from an oppressor.

What people or country it was that Vikramâditja delivered is difficult to decide, as he is named in the sagas of many nations as belonging to each (26). We have already seen him seated king in the capital of Malwa. The more legendary accounts ascribe to him the widest range of dominion. In the Ganamegaja-Râgavansâvali (27) we find him in possession of Bengal, Hindostan, the Dekhan, and Western India; and in the Bhogaprabandha (28) he is reckoned conqueror of the whole of India; while in the Bhavishja-Purâna (29) it is told that he had 800 kings tributaries under him, though whether the list could be authentically made out is more than questionable. What can be proved with some certainty is, that he reigned over Malwa, Cashmere, and Orissa, from which it may perhaps be inferred that he was also master of the intervening country--namely, the Punjaub and the eastern portion of Rajputana (30).

Besides his glories as a warrior and deliverer of his country, the honour is also ascribed to him of being the patron of science and art. There is reason to think he promoted the study of architecture, though no monuments actually remain which can with certainty be ascribed to his reign. He attracted to his court the most distinguished poets and learned men of his epoch, and an obscure poem concerning nine jewels said to have adorned his throne is generally understood to represent the votaries of a certain cycle of the arts and sciences whom he had under his protection. It is true some of those he is said to have protected are found to have actually lived at a subsequent period; but this is only one of the chronological inaccuracies to which I have already adverted as so common--the fact remains that he did actually promote the pursuit of letters, not only on the testimony of these exaggerated accounts, but also in the improvement which may be observed from his time forward in the condition of public muniments. One of the most fantastic stories about him, in which (31) Indra defers to him to decide between the respective claims to perfection in dancing of two apsarasas, or nymphs, shows at least that he was considered an authority in matters of taste. The oldest Sanskrit dictionary extant is reckoned the work of Amarasinha, or Amaradeva, his minister, and one of the six of the above-named nine jewels who are believed to have had an historical existence (32); in this dictionary the Ram and the Bull of the Zodiac are mentioned in such a way that it may be inferred he was familiar with the present nomenclature of the twelve signs, giving support to the theory that the Greeks received that terminology from the Chaldees, and did not originate it, as was long supposed (33). An inscription found at Buddha-Gaja, and copied by Wilmot in the year 1783, is preserved in As. Res. i. 284, though the original stone has since been lost, in which a curious legend is told of him, showing that as early as A.D. 948 (fixed by experts for the date of the inscription) an undisputed tradition taught that the oldest Sanskrit dictionary was written by one of the nine jewels of Vikramâditja's throne. This legend says, "This Amaradeva, one of the nine jewels of Vikramâditja's throne, and his first minister, was a man of great talent and learning. Once, when on a journey, this famous man found in the uninhabited forest the place where Vishnu was incarnate in the person of Buddha. Here, therefore, he determined to remain in prayer till Buddha should show himself to him. At the end of twelve years of austerities he heard a voice calling to him and asking what he desired. On his reply that he desired the god should appear to him, he was told that in the then degenerate condition of the world such a favour was impossible; but that he might set up an image of him, which would answer the same purpose as an apparition. In consequence of this communication he erected a stately temple, which he furnished with images of Vishnu and his avatars, or incarnations, Pândava, Brahma, Buddha, and the rest.

One of the earliest dramatists of India, Kâlidâsa, many of whose plays possess great literary merit,--though some ascribed to him are manifestly by inferior hands,--may have been, it is thought, one of those who wrote under Vikramâditja's protection. In a play called Maghadûta, he describes his capital of Uggajini with an enthusiasm which suggests it was his own favourite place of residence. His plays contain valuable pictures of the manners of the times. And from these, among other details, it appears it was not only considered an indispensable qualification of a well-bred man, that he should be conversant with the great heroic poems, but that they were commonly in the mouth of the people also. Other details imply the attainment of a degree of civilization and refinement, which it would probably surprise most of us to find existing at this date. His two most meritorious pieces are entitled Abhignana-Shukuntalâ ("The finding of Shukuntalâ"), and Vikramorvashi-Urvashi ("Urvashi won by Heroism.") We have also three hundred short poems by Vikramâditja's brother or by some courtier poet who gave him the honour of the composition; these poems display unusual powers of description and delicacy of sentiment. The first shataka, or hundred poems, is entitled shringâra, containing love-songs; the second, niti, on the government of the world; and the third, vairâgja, the suppression of human passions. It is probable that the writer of a justly celebrated drama named Mrikkhakatika, whose name has been merged in that of King Shûdraka, King of Bidisha (now Bhilsa), his patron to whose pen he modestly ascribed his work, lived also not long after this time.

The length of Vikramâditja's reign is as difficult to fix as any other circumstance of his history, and it is not clear whether the æra which dates from him was originally reckoned from the commencement or the end of his reign; we have already seen the duration which fable ascribes to it; to this may be added the further fabled promise which, it is told, the great gods Vishnu and Shiva made concerning him, that he should come back to earth in the latter times to deliver his people from the oppression of the Mussulman invaders, just as the Mongols expect Ghengis Khan and Timour (34), and just as in Europe similar promises of a future return as a deliverer linger round the memories of King Arthur, Charlemagne, and Frederick Barbarossa.

The legend of the Wisdom of Vikramâditja being so mysteriously connected with his throne, that whosoever sat on it was endowed with some measure of his excellences; and that the figures with which it was adorned guarded it from the approach of the unworthy, is brought forward in the story of more than one Indian sovereign. Travelling in the wake of Buddhist literature, the myth came to the far East, where Mongolian bards have worked out of it a saga connected with one of their own rulers (35), with such variations in the treatment as might be expected at their hands.

THE SAGA OF ARDSCHI-BORDSCHI AND VIKRAMÂDITJA'S THRONE.

THE BOY-KING.

Long ages ago there lived a mighty king called Ardschi-Bordschi (1).

In the neighbourhood of his residence was a hill where the boys who were tending the calves were wont to pass away the time by racing up and down. But they had also another custom, and it was, that whichever of them won the race was king for the day--an ordinary game enough, only that when it was played in this place the Boy-king thus constituted was at once endowed with such extraordinary importance and majesty that every one was constrained to treat him as a real king. He had not only ministers and dignitaries among his playfellows, who prostrated themselves before him and fulfilled all his behests, but whoever passed that way could not choose but pay him homage also.

At last the report of the matter filled all the land, and came also to the ears of the King himself.