Chapter III: Part 3

(69) 'But my father, seeing on a sudden this great, destructive, remediless, overwhelming calamity that had come on us, trembled doubly, and, with pupils quivering and wandering from fear of death, cast all round a glance that grief had made vacant and tears had dimmed; his palate was dry, and he could not help himself, but he covered me with his wing, though its joints were relaxed by fear, and bethought himself of what help could avail at such a moment. Swayed wholly by love, bewildered how to save me, and puzzled what to do, he stood, holding me to his breast. That miscreant, however, wandering among the boughs, came to the entrance of the hollow, and stretched out his left arm, dreadful as the body of an old black snake, with its hand redolent of the raw fat of many boars, and its forearm marked with weals from ceaseless drawing of the bowstrings, like the wand of death; and though my father gave many a blow with his beak, and moaned piteously, that murderous wretch dragged him down and slew him. (70) Me, however, he somehow did not notice, though I was within the wings, from my being small and curled into a ball from fear, and from my not having lived my fated life, but he wrung my father's neck and threw him dead upon the ground. Meanwhile I, with my neck between my father's feet, clinging quietly to his breast, fell with him, and, from my having some fated life yet to live, I found that I had fallen on a large mass of dry leaves, heaped together by the wind, so that my limbs were not broken. While the Çabara was getting down from the tree-top, I left my father, like a heartless wretch, though I should have died with him; but, from my extreme youth, I knew not the love that belongs to a later age, and was wholly swayed by the fear that dwells in us from birth; I could hardly be seen from the likeness of my colour to the fallen leaves; I tottered along with the help of my wings, which were just beginning to grow, thinking that I had escaped from the jaws of death, and came to the foot of a very large tamala tree close by. Its shoots were fitted to be the earrings of Çabara women, as if it mocked the beauty of Vishnu's body by the colour of Balarama's dark-blue robe, (71) or as if it were clad in pure strips of the water of Yamuna; its twigs were watered by the ichor of wild elephants; it bore the beauty of the tresses of the Vindhya Forest; the space between its boughs was dark even by day; [138] the ground round its root was hollow, and unpierced by the sun's rays; and I entered it as if it were the bosom of my noble father. Then the Çabara came down and gathered up the tiny parrots scattered on the ground; he bound them hastily in a basket of leaves with a coil of creepers, and going off with hasty steps by the path trodden by his leader, he made for that region. I meanwhile had begun to hope for life, but my heart was dried up with grief for my father's recent death; my body was in pain from my long fall, and I was possessed by a violent thirst, caused by fright, which tortured all my limbs. Then I thought, "The villain has now gone some way," so I lifted my head a little and gazed around with eyes tremulous with fear, thinking even when a blade of grass moved that the wretch was coming back. I watched him go step by step, and then, leaving the root of the tamala tree, I made a great effort to creep near the water. (72) My steps were feeble, because my wings were not yet grown, and again and again I fell on my face; I supported myself on one wing; I was weak with the weariness [139] of creeping along the ground, and from my want of practice; after each step I always lifted my head and panted hard, and as I crept along I became gray with dust. "Truly even in the hardest trials," I reflected, "living creatures never become careless of life. Nothing in this world is dearer to all created beings than life, seeing that when my honoured father, of well-chosen name, is dead, I still live with senses unimpaired! Shame on me that I should be so pitiless, cruel, and ungrateful! For my life goes on shamefully in that the grief of my father's death is so easily borne. I regard no kindness; truly my heart is vile! I have even forgotten how, when my mother died, my father restrained his bitter grief, and from the day of my birth, old as he was, reckoned lightly in his deep love the great toil of bringing me up with every care. And yet in a moment I have forgotten how I was watched over by him! (73) Most vile is this breath of mine which goes not straightway forth to follow my father on his path, my father, that was so good to me! Surely there is none that thirst of life does not harden, if the longing for water can make me take trouble in my present plight. Methinks this idea of drinking water is purely hardness of heart, because I think lightly of the grief of my father's death. Even now the lake is still far off. For the cry of the kalahamsas, like the anklets of a water-nymph, is still far away; the cranes' notes are yet dim; the scent of the lotus-bed comes rarely through the space it creeps through, because the distance is great; noontide is hard to bear, for the sun is in the midst of heaven, and scatters with his rays a blazing heat, unceasing, like fiery dust, and makes my thirst worse; the earth with its hot thick dust is hard to tread; my limbs are unable to go even a little way, for they are weary with excessive thirst; I am not master of myself; (74) my heart sinks; my eyes are darkened. O that pitiless fate would now bring that death which yet I desire not!" Thus I thought; but a great ascetic named Jabali dwelt in a hermitage not far from the lake, and his son Harita, a youthful hermit, was coming down to the lotus-lake to bathe. He, like the son of Brahma, had a mind purified with all knowledge; he was coming by the very path where I was with many holy youths of his own age; like a second sun, his form was hard to see from its great brightness; he seemed to have dropped [140] from the rising sun, and to have limbs fashioned from lightning and a shape painted with molten gold; he showed the beauty of a wood on fire, or of day with its early sunlight, by reason of the clear tawny splendour of his form flashing out; he had thick matted locks hanging on his shoulders red as heated iron, and pure with sprinkling from many a sacred pool; his top-knot was bound as if he were Agni in the false guise of a young Brahman in his desire to burn the Khandava Wood; [141] he carried a bright crystal rosary hanging from his right ear, like the anklets of the goddesses of the hermitage, and resembling the circle of Dharma's commandments, made to turn aside all earthly joys; (75) he adorned his brow with a tripundraka [142] mark in ashes, as if with threefold truth; [143] he laid his left hand on a crystal pitcher with its neck held ever upwards as if to look at the path to heaven, like a crane gazing upwards to the sky; he was covered by a black antelope skin hanging from his shoulders, like thick smoke that was coming out again after being swallowed [144] in thirst for penance, with pale-blue [145] lustre; he wore on his left shoulder a sacrificial thread, which seemed from its lightness to be fashioned from very young lotus-fibres, and wavered in the wind as if counting the framework of his fleshless ribs; he held in his right hand an ashadha [146] staff, having on its top a leafy basket full of creeper-blossoms gathered for the worship of Çiva; he was followed by a deer from the hermitage, still bearing the clay of the bathing-place dug up by its horns, quite at home with the hermits, fed on mouthfuls of rice, and letting its eyes wander on all sides to the kuça grass flowers and creepers. Like a tree, he was covered with soft bark; [147] like a mountain, he was surrounded by a girdle; [148] like Rahu, he had often tasted Soma; [149] like a day lotus-bed, he drank the sun's rays; (76) like a tree by the river's side, his tangled locks were pure with ceaseless washing; like a young elephant, his teeth were white as [150] pieces of moon-lotus petals; like Drauni, he had Kripa [151] ever with him; like the zodiac, he was adorned by having the hide [152] of the dappled deer; like a summer day, he was free from darkness; [153] like the rainy season, he had allayed the blinding dust of passion; [154] like Varuna, he dwelt on the waters; [155] like Krishna, he had banished the fear of hell; [156] like the beginning of twilight, he had eyes tawny as the glow of dawn; [157] like early morn, he was gilded with fresh sunlight; like the chariot of the sun, he was controlled in his course; [158] like a good king, he brought to nought the secret guiles of the foe; [159] (77) like the ocean, his temples were cavernous with meditation; [160] like Bhagiratha, he had often beheld the descent of Ganges; [161] like a bee, he had often tasted life in a water-engirt wood; [162] though a woodsman, he yet entered a great home; [163] though unrestrained, he longed for release; [164] though intent on works of peace, he bore the rod; [165] though asleep, he was yet awake; [166] though with two well-placed eyes, he had his sinister eye abolished. [167] Such was he who approached the lotus-lake to bathe.

'Now the mind of the good is ever wont to be compassionate and kind instinctively. Wherefore he, seeing my plight, was filled with pity, and said to another young ascetic standing near: (78) "This little half-fledged parrot has somehow fallen from the top of that tree, or perhaps from a hawk's mouth. For, owing to his long fall, he has hardly any life left; his eyes are closed, and he ever falls on his face and pants violently, and opens his beak, nor can he hold up his neck. Come, then, take him before his breath deserts him. Carry him to the water." So saying, he had me taken to the edge of the lake; and, coming there, he laid down his staff and pitcher near the water, and, taking me himself, just when I had given up all effort, he lifted up my head, and with his finger made me drink a few drops of water; and when I had been sprinkled with water and had gained fresh breath, he placed me in the cool wet shade of a fresh lotus-leaf growing on the bank, and went through the wonted rites of bathing. After that, he purified himself by often holding his breath, and murmuring the cleansing aghamarshana [168], and then he arose and, with upraised face, made an offering to the sun with freshly-plucked red lotuses in a cup of lotus-leaves. Having taken a pure white robe, so that he was like the glow of evening sunlight accompanied by the moon's radiance, he rubbed his hair with his hands till it shone, and, (79) followed by the band of ascetic youths, with their hair yet wet from recent bathing, he took me and went slowly towards the penance grove.

'And after going but a short way, I beheld the penance grove, hidden in thick woods rich in flowers and fruit.

(80) 'Its precincts were filled by munis entering on all sides, followed by pupils murmuring the Vedas, and bearing fuel, kuça grass, flowers, and earth. There the sound of the filling of the pitchers was eagerly heard by the peacocks; there appeared, as it were, a bridge to heaven under the guise of smoke waving to exalt to the gods the muni race while yet in the body by fires satisfied with the ceaseless offering of ghee; all round were tanks with their waves traversed by lines of sunbeams stainless as though from contact with the hermits they rested upon, plunged into by the circle of the Seven Rishis who had come to see their penance, and lifting by night an open moon-lotus-bed, like a cluster of constellations descending to honour the rishis; the hermitage received homage from woodland creepers with their tops bent by the wind, and from trees with their ever-falling blossoms, and was worshipped by trees with the añjali of interlaced boughs; parched grain was scattered in the yards round the huts, and the fruit of the myrobalan, lavali, jujube, banana, bread-tree, mango, panasa, [169] and palm pressed on each other; (81) the young Brahmans were eloquent in reciting the Vedas; the parrot-race was garrulous with the prayer of oblation that they learnt by hearing it incessantly; the subrahmanya [170] was recited by many a maina; the balls of rice offered to the deities were devoured by the cocks of the forest, and the offering of wild rice was eaten by the young kalahamsas of the tanks close by. The eating-places of the sages were protected from pollution by ashes cast round them. (82) The fire for the munis' homa sacrifice was fanned by the tails of their friends the peacocks; the sweet scent of the oblation prepared with nectar, the fragrance of the half-cooked sacrificial cake was spread around; the crackling of flames in the offering of a stream of unbroken libations made the place resonant; a host of guests was waited upon; the Pitris were honoured; Vishnu, Çiva, and Brahma were worshipped. The performance of çraddha rites was taught; the science of sacrifice explained; the çastras of right conduct examined; good books of every kind recited; and the meaning of the çastras pondered. Leafy huts were being begun; courts smeared with paste, and the inside of the huts scrubbed. Meditation was being firmly grasped, mantras duly carried out, yoga practised, and offerings made to woodland deities. Brahmanical girdles of muñja grass were being made, bark garments washed, fuel brought, deer-skins decked, grass gathered, lotus-seed dried, rosaries strung, and bamboos laid in order for future need. [171] Wandering ascetics received hospitality, and pitchers were filled.

(84) 'There defilement is found in the smoke of the oblations, not in evil conduct; redness of face in parrots, not in angry men; sharpness in blades of grass, not in dispositions; wavering in plantain-leaves, not in minds; red eyes [172] in cuckoos alone; clasping of necks with pitchers only; binding of girdles in vows, not in quarrels; pakshapata [173] in cocks, not in scientific discussions; wandering in making the sunwise turn round the soma fire, but not error in the çastras; mention of the Vasus in legends, but not longing for wealth; counting of beads for Rudra, but no account made of the body; loss of locks by the saints in the practice of sacrifice, but not loss of their children [174] by death; propitiation of Rama by reciting the Ramayana, not of women [175] by youth; wrinkles brought on by old age, not by pride of riches; the death of a Çakuni [176] in the Mahabharata only; only in the Purana windy talk; [177] in old age only loss of teeth; [178] coldness only in the park sandal-trees; [179] (85) in fires only turning to ashes; [180] only deer love to hear song; only peacocks care for dancing; only snakes wear hoods; [181] only monkeys desire fruit; [182] only roots have a downward tendency.

(85-89, condensed) 'There, beneath the shade of a red açoka-tree, beauteous with new oblations of flowers, purified with ointment of fresh gomaya, garlanded with kuça grass and strips of bark tied on by the hermitage maidens, I saw the holy Jabali surrounded by most ascetic sages, like time by æons, the last day by suns, the sacrifice by bearers of the three fires, [183] the golden mountain by the noble hills, or the earth by the oceans.

(89) 'And as I looked on him I thought: "Ah! how great is the power of penance! His form, calm as it is, yet pure as molten gold, overpowers, like lightning, the brightness of the eye with its brilliance. Though ever tranquil, it inspires fear at first approach by its inherent majesty. The splendour of even those ascetics who have practised but little asceticism is wont to be easily provoked, like fire swiftly falling on dry reeds, kaça grass, or flowers. (90) How much more, then, that of holy men like these, whose feet are honoured by the whole world, whose stains are worn away by penance, who look with divine insight on the whole earth as if it were a myrobalan [184] in the hand, and who purge away all sin. For even the mention of a great sage has its reward; much more, then, the sight of him! Happy is the hermitage where dwells this king of Brahmans! Nay, rather, happy is the whole world in being trodden by him who is the very Brahma of earth! Truly these sages enjoy the reward of their good deeds in that they attend him day and night with no other duty, hearing holy stories and ever fixing on him their steady gaze, as if he were another Brahma. Happy is Sarasvati, who, encircled by his shining teeth, and ever enjoying the nearness of his lotus-mouth, dwells in his serene mind, with its unfathomable depths and its full stream of tenderness, like a hamsa on the Manasa lake. The four Vedas, that have long dwelt in the four lotus-mouths of Brahma, find here their best and most fitting home. (91) All the sciences, which became turbid in the rainy season of the Iron Age, become pure when they reach him, as rivers coming to autumn. Of a surety, holy Dharma, having taken up his abode here after quelling the riot of the Iron Age, no longer cares to recall the Golden Age. Heaven, seeing earth trodden by him, no longer takes pride in being dwelt in by the Seven Rishis. How bold is old age, which fears not to fall on his thick matted locks, moonbeam-pale as they are, and hard to gaze on as the rays of the sun of doom. [185] For it falls on him as Ganges, white with flecks of foam, on Çiva, or as an offering of milk on Agni. Even the sun's rays keep far from the penance-grove, as if terrified by the greatness of the saint whose hermitage is darkened by the thick smoke of many an oblation. These fires, too, for love of him, receive oblations purified by hymns, for their flames are pressed together by the wind, like hands reverently raised. (92) The wind itself approaches him timidly, just stirring the linen and bark dresses, fragrant with the sweet creeper blossoms of the hermitage, and gentle in motion. Yet the glorious might of the elements is wont to be beyond our resistance! But this man towers above [186] the mightiest! The earth shines as if with two suns, being trodden by this noble man. In his support the world stands firm. He is the stream of sympathy, the bridge over the ocean of transient existence, and the home of the waters of patience; the axe for the glades of the creepers of desire, the ocean of the nectar of content, the guide in the path of perfection, the mountain behind which sets the planet of ill, [187] the root of the tree of endurance, the nave of the wheel of wisdom, the staff of the banner of righteousness, the holy place for the descent of all knowledge, the submarine fire of the ocean of craving, the touch-stone of the jewels of the çastras, the consuming flame of the buds of passion, the charm against the snake of wrath, the sun to dispel the darkness of delusion, the binder of the bolts of hell's gates, the native home of noble deeds, the temple of propitious rites, the forbidden ground for the degradation of passion, the sign-post to the paths of good, the birthplace of holiness, the felly of the wheel of effort, the abode of strength, the foe of the Iron Age, the treasury of penance, the friend of truth, the native soil of sincerity, the source of the heaping up of merit, the closed gate for envy, the foe of calamity. (93) Truly he is one in whom disrespect can find no place; for he is averse from pride, unclaimed by meanness, unenslaved by wrath, and unattracted by pleasure. Purely by the grace of this holy man the hermitage is free from envy and calm from enmity. Great is the power of a noble soul. Here, ceasing their constant feud, the very animals are quiet, and learn the joy of a hermitage life. For here a snake, wearied by the sun, fearlessly enters, as if into fresh grass, into the peacock's tail, like an interwoven grove of open lotuses, with its hundred beauteous eyes, changing in hue as the eyes of a deer. Here a young antelope, leaving his mother, makes friends with the lion-cubs whose manes are not yet grown, and drinks at the bounteous breast of the lioness. Here a lion closes his eyes, and is pleased to have his moon-white mane pulled by the young elephants that mistake it for lotus-fibres. Here the monkey-tribe loses its capriciousness and brings fruit to the young munis after their bath. There the elephants, too, though excited, are tender-hearted, and do not drive away by their flapping the bees that dwell round their frontal bones, and stay motionless to drink their ichor. (94) But what need of more? There even the senseless trees, with roots and fruits, clad in bark, and adorned with outer garments of black antelope skin perpetually made for them by the upward creeping lines of sacrificial smoke, seem like fellow ascetics of this holy man. How much more, then, living beings, endowed with sense!"

'And while I was thus thinking, Harita placed me somewhere in the shade of the açoka tree, and embracing his father's feet and saluting him, sat down not far from him on a seat of kuça grass.

'But the hermits, looking on me, asked him as he rested: "Whence was this little parrot brought?" "When I went hence to bathe," replied he, "I found this little parrot fallen from its nest in a tree on the bank of the lotus-lake, faint with the heat, lying in hot dust, and shaken by the fall, with little life left in him. And as I could not replace him in his nest (for that tree was too hard for an ascetic to climb), I brought him hither in pity. So, while his wings are not grown, and he cannot fly into the sky, let him live in the hollow of some hermitage tree, (95) fed on the juice of fruits and on handfuls of rice brought to him by us and by the young hermits. For it is the law of our order to protect the weak. But when his wings are grown, and he can fly into the sky, he shall go where he likes. Or perhaps, when he knows us well, he will stay here." The holy Jabali, hearing this and other remarks about me, with some curiosity bent his head slightly, and, with a very calm glance that seemed to purify me with holy waters, he gazed long upon me, and then, looking again and again as if he were beginning to recognise me, said: "He is reaping the fruit of his own ill-conduct." For by the potency of penance the saint with divine insight beholds the past, present, and future, and sees the whole world as though placed on the palm of his hand. He knows past births. He tells things yet to come. He declares the length of days of beings within his sight.

'At these words the whole assemblage of hermits, aware of his power, became curious to know what was my crime, and why committed, and where, and who I was in a former birth; and implored the saint, saying: (96) "Vouchsafe, sir, to tell us of what kind of misconduct he is reaping the fruits. Who was he in a former birth, and how was he born in the form of a bird? How is he named? Do thou satisfy our curiosity, for thou art the fountain-head of all marvels."

'Thus urged by the assemblage, the great saint replied: "The story of this wonder is very long, the day is almost spent, our bathing-time is near, while the hour for worshipping the gods is passing. Arise, therefore; let each perform his duties as is meet. In the afternoon, after your meal of roots and fruits, when you are resting quietly, I will tell you the whole story from beginning to end--who he is, what he did in another birth, and how he was born in this world. Meanwhile, let him be refreshed with food. He will certainly recall, as it were, the vision of a dream when I tell the whole story of his former birth." So saying, he arose, and with the hermits bathed and performed their other daily duties.

(97) 'The day was now drawing to a close. When the hermits rose from their bathing, and were offering a sacrifice, the sun in the sky seemed to bear upwards before our eyes the offering cast on the ground, with its unguent of red sandal-wood. Then his glow faded and vanished; the effluence of his glory was drunk by the Ushmapas [188] with faces raised and eyes fixed on his orb, as if they were ascetics; and he glided from the sky pink as a dove's foot, drawing in his rays as though to avoid touching the Seven Rishis as they rose. His orb, with its network of crimson rays reflected on the Western Ocean, was like the lotus of Vishnu on his couch of waters pouring forth nectar; his beams, forsaking the sky and deserting the lotus-groves, lingered at eve like birds on the crest of hill and tree; the splashes of crimson light seemed for a moment to deck the trees with the red bark garments hung up by the ascetics. And when the thousand-rayed sun had gone to rest, twilight sprang up like rosy coral from the Western Ocean. (98) Then the hermitage became the home of quiet thought, as the pleasant sound of milking the sacred cows arose in one quarter, and the fresh kuça grass was scattered on the altar of Agni, and the rice and oblations to the goddesses of space were tossed hither and thither by the hermitage maidens. And red-starred eve seemed to the hermits as the red-eyed cow of the hermitage roaming about, tawny in the fall of day. And when the sun had vanished, the lotus-bed, in the grief of bereavement, seemed to perform a vow in the hopes of rejoining the lord of day, for she lifted the goblets of her buds, and wore the fine white vesture of her hamsas, and was girt with the sacrificial thread of white filaments, and bore a circle of bees as her rosary. And the starry host leapt up and filled the sky, like a splash of spray when the sun fell into the Western Ocean; and for a brief space the star-bespangled sky shone as though inlaid with flowers offered by the daughters of the Siddhas [189] in honour of twilight; but in a moment the whole glory of the gloaming vanished as though washed away by the libations which the hermits, with faces upraised, cast towards the sky; (99) and at its departure, night, as sorrowing for its loss, wore a deeper darkness, like a black antelope's skin--a blackness which darkened all save the hearts of the hermits.

'Learning that the sun had gone to rest, the lord of rays ambrosial, in pure severity of light, arrayed in the whiteness of clear gossamer, dwelling in the palace of his wives with Tara, [190] mounted the sky which, in that it was outlined with the darkness of tamala-trees, presided over by the circle of Seven Rishis, purified by the wanderings of Arundhati, [191] surrounded by Ashadha, [192] showing its Mula [193] with its soft-eyed white deer, [194] was a very hermitage of heaven. White as a hamsa, moonlight fell on the earth, filling the seas; falling, as Ganges from the head of Çiva, from the sky which was decked with the moon, and inlaid with the shattered potsherds of the stars. (100) And in the moon-lake, white as an opening lotus, was seen the motionless deer, which went down in eagerness to drink the water of the moonbeams, and was caught, as it were, in the mud of ambrosia. The lakes of the night-lotus were fondly visited by the moonbeams, like hamsas, falling on the ocean white as sinduvara flowers in their fresh purity after the rains. At that moment the globe of the moon lost all the glow of its rising, like the frontal bone of the elephant Airavata when its red lead is washed away by plunging into the heavenly stream; and his highness the cold-shedder had gradually risen high in the sky, and by his light had whitened the earth as with lime-dust; the breezes of early night were blowing, slackened in their course by the cold dew, aromatic with the scent of opening moon-lotuses, (101) and gladly welcomed by the deer, who, with eyes weighed down by the approach of sleep, and eyelashes clinging together, were beginning to ruminate and rest in quiet.

'Only half a watch of the night was spent, when Harita took me after my meal and went with the other holy hermits to his father, who, in a moonlit spot of the hermitage, was sitting on a bamboo stool, gently fanned by a pupil named Jalapada, who held a fan of antelope skin white as dharba grass, and he spake, saying: "Father, the whole assemblage of hermits is in a circle round thee, with hearts eager to hear this wonder; the little bird, too, has rested. Tell us, therefore, what he has done, who was he, and who will he be in another birth?" Thus addressed, the great saint, looking at me, and seeing the hermits before him intently listening, slowly spake: "Let the tale be told, if ye care to hear it.

'"(102) There is a city named Ujjayini, the proudest gem of earth, the very home of the golden age, created by Mahakala, [195] creator, preserver, and destroyer of the three worlds, and lord of Pramathas, as a habitation meet for himself, as it were a second earth. There the sun is daily seen paying homage to Mahakala, for his steeds vail their heads at the charm of the sweet chant of the women singing in concert in the lofty white palace, and his pennon droops before him.

(109) '"There darkness never falls, and the nights bring no separation to the pairs of cakravakas; nor need they any lamps, for they pass golden as with morning sunshine, from the bright jewels of women, as though the world were on fire with the flame of love. (110) There the only unending life is in jewelled lamps, the only wavering in pearl necklaces, the only variations in the sound of drum and song, the only disunion of pairs in cakravakas, the only testing of colour [196] in gold pieces, the only unsteadiness in banners, the only hatred of the sun [197] in night-lotuses, the only concealment of metal in the sheathing of the sword. (111) Why should I say more? For he whose bright feet are kissed by the rays of the jewelled crests of gods and demons, who hath the river of heaven wandering lost in his locks tawny with a wreath of flame for the burning of the world; he the foe of Andhaka; he the holy one; he who hath given up his love for his home on Kailasa; even he whose name is Mahakala hath there made a habitation for himself. And in this city was a king named Tarapida. He was like unto the great kings Nala, Nahusha, Yayati, Dundhumara, Bharata, Bhagiratha, and Daçaratha; by the might of his arm he conquered the whole world; he reaped the fruits of the three powers; [198] wise and resolute, with an intellect unwearied in political science, and a deep study of the law books, he made in light and glory a third with the sun and moon. (112) His form was purified by many a sacrifice; by him the calamities of the whole world were set at rest; to him Lakshmi openly clung, deserting her lotus-woods and despising the happiness of her home in the breast of Narayana, she the lotus-handed, who ever joys in the contest of heroes. He was the source of truth, ever honoured by the race of saints, as the foot of Vishnu was of the stream of the heavenly Ganges.

'"From him arose glory, as from the ocean of the moon, for his brightness, free from heat, consumed his foes; constant, ever roamed; stainless, darkened the brightness of the lotus-faced widows of his foes; white, made all things gay. (113) He was the incarnation of justice, the very representative of Vishnu and the destroyer of all the sorrows of his people.

(115) '"When he approached the throne that blossomed with the rays of many gems and was hung with clusters of pearls, like the elephant of space approaching the tree of desire, all the wide quarters of space, like creepers weighed down by bees, bowed down before his majesty; and of him, I think, even Indra was envious. From him, too, proceeded a host of virtues, like a flock of hamsas from Mount Krauñca, brightening the earth's surface, and gladdening the hearts of all mankind. His fame wandered, so that the world echoed with it throughout the ten regions, making fair the world of gods and demons, like a streak of foam of the stream of milk tossed by Mandara, ambrosial sweet. His royal glory never for a moment laid aside the shade of her umbrella, as though scorched by the heat of a splendour hard to bear. (116) His achievements were heard by the people like news of good fortune, were received like the teaching of a guru, were valued like a good omen, were murmured like a hymn, and were remembered like a sacred text. And while he was king, though the flight of the mountains was stayed, the flight of thought was free; suffixes alone were dependent, and the people feared no foe; nought dared to face him but his mirror; the pressure of Durga [199] was given to Çiva's image alone; the bow was only borne by the clouds; there was no uprising save of banners, no bending save of bows, no shaft sped home save the bee's on the bamboo, no enforced wandering save of the images of gods in a procession, no imprisonment save of flowers in their calyx, no restraint save of the senses; wild elephants entered the pale, but none paled before the water-ordeal; the only sharpness was in the edge of the sword; the only endurance of the flame [200] was by ascetics; the only passing the Balance [201] was by the stars; the only clearing of baneful [202] waters was in the rising of Agastya; the only cutting short was of hair and nails; the only stained garb was of the sky on stormy days; the only laying bare was of gems, and not of secret counsels; the only mysteries [203] were those of religion; (117) none ceased to behold the light save slaughtered Taraka [204] in the praises of Kumara; none dreaded eclipse save the sun; none passed over the First-born [205] save the moon; none heard of the Disobedient save in the Mahabharata; none grasped the rod [206] save in the decline of life; none clung to a sinister object save the sword-sheath; no stream of liberality was interrupted save the elephant's ichor; no squares were deserted save those on the dice-board.

'"That king had a minister, by name Çukanasa, a Brahman, whose intelligence was fixed on all the affairs of the kingdom, whose mind had plunged deeply into the arts and çastras, and whose strong affection for the king had grown up in him from childhood. Skilled in the precepts of political science, pilot of the world's government, unshaken in resolve by the greatest difficulties, he was the castle of constancy, the station of steadfastness, the bridge of bright truth, the guide to all goodness, the conductor in conduct, the ordainer of all ordered life. Like the serpent Çesha, enduring the weight of the world; like the ocean, full of life; like Jarasandha, shaping war and peace; [207] (118) like Çiva, at home with Durga [208]; like Yuddhishthira, a dayspring of Dharma, he knew all the Vedas and Vedangas, and was the essence of the kingdom's prosperity. He was like Brihaspati [209] to Sunasira; like Çukra to Vrishaparvan; like Vaçishtha to Daçaratha; like Viçvamitra to Rama; like Dhaumya to Ajataçatru; like Damanaka to Nala. He, by the force of his knowledge, thought that Lakshmi was not hard to win, resting though she were on the breast of Narayana, terrible with the scars of the weapons of the demons of hell, and a strong shoulder hardened by the pitiless pressure of Mount Mandara as it moved to and fro. Near him knowledge spread wide, thick with many a tendril, and showed the fruits gained from conquered realms like a creeper near a tree. (119) To him throughout the earth's surface, measured by the circumference of the four oceans, and filled with the goings to and fro of many thousands of spies, every whisper of the kings was known as though uttered in his own palace.

'"Now, Tarapida while yet a child had conquered the whole earth ringed by the seven Dvipas by the might of his arm, thick as the trunk of Indra's elephant, and he devolved the weight of the empire on that councillor named Çukanasa, and having made his subjects perfectly contented, he searched for anything else that remained to be done.

'"And as he had crushed his enemies and had lost all cause for fear, and as the strain of the world's affairs had become a little relaxed, for the most part he began to pursue the ordinary pleasures of youth.

(124) '"And some time passed while the king pursued the pleasures of youth, and entrusted the affairs of state to his minister; and after a time he came to the end of all the other pleasures of life, and the only one he did not get was the sight of a son born to him; so that his zenana was like reeds showing only flowers without fruit; and as youth went by there arose in him a regret produced by childlessness, and his mind was turned away from the desire of the pleasures of sense, and he felt himself alone, though surrounded by a thousand princes; blind, though possessed of sight; without support, though supporting the world.

(125) '"But the fairest ornament of this king was his queen Vilasavati; as the moon's digit to the braided hair of Çiva, as the splendour of the Kaustubha gem to the breast of the foe [210] of Kaitabha, as the woodland garland to Balarama, as the shore to the ocean, as the creeper to the tree, as the outburst of flowers to the spring, as the moonlight to the moon, as the lotus-bed to the lake, as the array of stars to the sky, as the circling of hamsas to Lake Manasa, as the line of sandal-woods to Mount Malaya, as the jewelled crest to Çesha, so was she to her lord; she reigned peerless in the zenana, and created wonder in the three worlds, as though she were the very source of all womanly grace.

'"And it chanced once that, going to her dwelling, he beheld her seated on a stately [211] couch, weeping bitterly, surrounded by her household mute in grief, their glances fixed in meditation, and attended by her chamberlains, who waited afar with eyes motionless in anxious thought, while the old women of the zenana were trying to console her. Her silken robes were wet with ceaseless tears; her ornaments were laid aside; her lotus-face rested on her left hand; and her tresses were unbound and in disorder. As she arose to welcome him, the king placed her on the couch again, and sitting there himself, ignorant of the cause of her weeping, and in great alarm, wiped away with his hand the tears from her cheeks, saying: (126) 'My queen, what means this weeping, voiceless and low with the weight of the heavy sorrow concealed in thy heart? For these eyelashes of thine are stringing, as it were, a network of pearls of dropping tears. Why, slender one, art thou unadorned? and why has not the stream of lac fallen on thy feet like early sunlight on rosy lotus-buds? And why are thy jewelled anklets, with their murmur like teals on the lake of love, not graced with the touch of thy lotus-feet? And why is this waist of thine bereft of the music of the girdle thou hast laid aside? And why is there no device painted on thy breast like the deer on the moon? and why is that slender neck of thine, fair-limbed queen, not adorned with a rope of pearls as the crescent on Çiva's brow by the heavenly stream? And why dost thou, erst so gay, wear in vain a face whose adornment is washed away with flowing tears? And why is this hand, with its petal-like cluster of soft fingers, exalted into an ear-jewel, as though it were a rosy lotus? (127) And why, froward lady, dost thou raise thy straight brow undecked with the mark of yellow pigment, and surrounded by the mass of thine unbound tresses? For these flowing locks of thine, bereft of flowers, grieve my eyes, like the loss of the moon in the dark fortnight, clouded in masses of thickest gloom. Be kind, and tell me, my queen, the cause of thy grief. For this storm of sighs with which the robe on thy breast is quivering bows my loving heart like a ruddy tendril. Has any wrong been done by me, or by any in thy service? Closely as I examine myself, I can truly see no failure of mine towards thee. For my life and my kingdom are wholly thine. Let the cause of thy woe, fair queen, be told.' But Vilasavati, thus addressed, made no reply, and turning to her attendants, he asked the cause of her exceeding grief. Then her betel-nut bearer, Makarika, who was always near her, said to the king: 'My lord, how could any fault, however slight, be committed by thee? (128) And how in thy presence could any of thy followers, or anyone else, offend? The sorrow of the queen is that her union with the king is fruitless, as though she were seized by Rahu, and for a long time she has been suffering. For at first our lady was like one in heavy grief, was only occupied with difficulty by the persuasion of her attendants in the ordinary duties of the day, however fitting they might be, such as sleeping, bathing, eating, putting on of ornaments, and the like, and, like a Lakshmi of the lower world, ceaselessly upbraided divine love. [212] But in her longing to take away the grief of my lord's heart, she did not show her sad change. Now, however, as it was the fourteenth day of the month, she went to worship holy Mahakala, and heard in a recitation of the Mahabharata, "No bright abodes await the childless, for a son is he who delivers from the sunless shades"; and when she heard this, she returned to her palace, and now, though reverently entreated thereto by her attendants, she takes no pleasure in food, nor does she busy herself in putting on her jewels, nor does she vouchsafe to answer us; (129) she only weeps, and her face is clouded with a storm of ever-flowing tears. My lord has heard, and must judge.' So saying, she ceased; and, with a long and passionate sigh, the king spoke thus:

'"'My queen, what can be done in a matter decreed by fate? Enough of this weeping beyond measure! For it is not on us that the gods are wont to bestow their favours. In truth, our heart is not destined to hold the bliss of that ambrosial draught, the embrace of a child of our own. In a former life no glorious deed was done; for a deed done in a former life brings forth fruit in man's life on earth; even the wisest man cannot change destiny. Let all be done that may be done in this mortal life. Do more honour to the gurus; redouble thy worship of the gods; let thy good works be seen in thy reverence to the rishis; for the rishis are a powerful deity, and if we serve them with all our might, they will give boons that fulfil our heart's desire, hard though it be to gain. (130) For the tale is an old one how King Brihadratha in Magadha won by the power of Candakauçika a son Jarasandha, victor of Vishnu, peerless in prowess, fatal to his foes. Daçaratha, too, when very old, received by the favour of Rishyaçringa, son of the great saint Vibhandaka, four sons, unconquerable as the arms of Narayana, and unshaken as the depths of the oceans. [213] And many other royal sages, having conciliated ascetics, have enjoyed the happiness of tasting the ambrosia of the sight of a son. For the honour paid to saints is never without its reward.

'"'And for me, when shall I behold my queen ready to bear a child, pale as the fourteenth night when the rising of the full moon is at hand; and when will her attendants, hardly able to bear the joy of the great festival of the birth of my son, carry the full basket of gifts? When will my queen gladden me wearing yellow robes, and holding a son in her arms, like the sky with the newly-risen sun and the early sunlight; and when will a son give me joy of heart, with his curly hair yellow with many a plant, a few ashes mixed with mustard-seed on his palate, which has a drop of ghi on it as a talisman, (131) and a thread bright with yellow dye round his neck, as he lies on his back and smiles with a little toothless mouth; when will this baby destroy all the darkness of sorrow in my eyes like an auspicious lamp welcomed by all the people, handed from one to another by the zenana attendants, shining tawny with yellow dye; and when will he adorn the courtyard, as he toddles round it, followed by my heart and my eyes, and gray with the dust of the court; and when will he walk from one place to another and the power of motion be formed in his knees, so that, like a young lion, he may try to catch the young tame deer screened behind the crystal walls? And when, running about at will in the courtyard, will he run after the tame geese, accompanied by the tinkling of the anklets of the zenana, and weary his nurse, who will hasten after him, following the sound of the bells of his golden girdle; (132) and when will he imitate the antics of a wild elephant, and have his cheeks adorned with a line of ichor painted in black aloe, full of joy at the sound of the bell held in his mouth, gray with the dust of sandal-wood scattered by his uplifted hand, shaking his head at the beckoning of the hooked finger; and when will he disguise the faces of the old chamberlains with the juice of handfuls of lac left after being used to colour his mother's feet; and when, with eyes restless in curiosity, will he bend his glance on the inlaid floors, and with tottering steps pursue his own shadow; and when will he creep about during the audience in front of me as I stand in my audience-hall, with his eyes wandering bewildered by the rays of the gems, and have his coming welcomed by the outstretched arms of a thousand kings? Thinking on a hundred such desires, I pass my nights in suffering. Me, too, the grief arising from our want of children burns like a fire day and night. The world seems empty; I look on my kingdom as without fruit. But what can I do towards Brahma, from whom there is no appeal? Therefore, my queen, cease thy continual grief. Let thy heart be devoted to endurance and to duty. For increase of blessings is ever nigh at hand for those who set their thoughts on duty.' (133) Thus saying, with a hand like a fresh tendril, he took water and wiped her tear-stained face, which showed as an opening lotus; and having comforted her again and again with many a speech sweet with a hundred endearments, skilled to drive away grief, and full of instruction about duty, he at last left her. And when he was gone, Vilasavati's sorrow was a little soothed, and she went about her usual daily duties, such as putting on of her adornments. And from that time forth she was more and more devoted to propitiating the gods, honouring Brahmans, and paying reverence to all holy persons; whatever recommendation she heard from any source she practised in her longing for a child, nor did she count the fatigue, however great; she slept within the temples of Durga, dark with smoke of bdellium ceaselessly burnt, on a bed of clubs covered with green grass, fasting, her pure form clothed in white raiment; (134) she bathed under cows endued with auspicious marks, adorned for the occasion by the wives of the old cowherds in the herd-stations, with golden pitchers laden with all sorts of jewels, decorated with branches of the pipal, decked with divers fruits and flowers and filled with holy water; every day she would rise and give to Brahmans golden mustard-leaves adorned with every gem; she stood in the midst of a circle drawn by the king himself, in a place where four roads meet, on the fourteenth night of the dark fortnight, and performed auspicious rites of bathing, in which the gods of the quarters were gladdened by the various oblations offered; she honoured the shrines of the siddhas and sought the houses of neighbouring Matrikas, [214] in which faith was displayed by the people; she bathed in all the celebrated snake-ponds; with a sun-wise turn, she worshipped the pipal and other trees to which honour was wont to be shown; after bathing, with hands circled by swaying bracelets, she herself gave to the birds an offering of curds and boiled rice placed in a silver cup; she offered daily to the goddess Durga a sacrifice consisting of parched grain of oblation, boiled rice, sesamum sweetmeats, cakes, unguents, incense, and flowers, in abundance; (135) she besought, with a mind prostrate in adoration, the naked wandering ascetics, bearing the name of siddhas, and carrying their begging-bowls filled by her; she greatly honoured the directions of fortune-tellers; she frequented all the soothsayers learned in signs; she showed all respect to those who understood the omens of birds; she accepted all the secrets handed down in the tradition of a succession of venerable sages; in her longing for the sight of a son, she made the Brahmans who came into her presence chant the Veda; she heard sacred stories incessantly repeated; she carried about little caskets of mantras filled with birch-leaves written over in yellow letters; she tied strings of medicinal plants as amulets; even her attendants went out to hear passing sounds and grasped the omens arising from them; she daily threw out lumps of flesh in the evening for the jackals; she told the pandits the wonders of her dreams, and at the cross-roads she offered oblation to Çiva.