Chapter VIII: Mahaushadha and Viśākhā. 101 (1)

In olden times Janaka ruled as king in the land of Videhā. He took unto himself a beautiful spouse, who bore him a son, to whom, as food and drink were abundant in the land, the name of Annapāna [Food-Drink] was given. When he had grown up, he proved strong, resolute, and irascible. The queen became arrogant on account of her son, and no longer complied with the king’s wishes. This greatly troubled the king, and he, by the advice of his ministers, determined to choose another wife. The ministers called his attention to the daughter of the king of Aparāntaka. Although he was not on friendly terms with that king, his ministers gave him encouragement, and undertook to arrange the matter. The king of Aparāntaka granted his daughter, on the condition that if she gave birth to a son, that son was to be recognised as the heir to the throne. Her loveliness made her very agreeable to the king, and he promised her the fulfilment of her wishes. So she likewise demanded that the son whom she expected should enjoy the succession to the throne. To the king this was as it were a stab in the heart, and he suffered great disquiet at the thought of how he should pass over Annapāna, his bold and comely son, the fruit of a marriage with one of equal birth. The ministers remarked his anxiety, and he informed them of its cause. They stated that as the king of Aparāntaka had granted his daughter only on this condition, and as it was as yet uncertain whether she would give birth to a son or a daughter, King Janaka ought to grant her the desired promise.

A son was born, to whom the name of Rājyābhinanda was given, on account of the longing for royal power which had been entertained even before his birth. He grew up, but still his father did not proclaim him his successor. At length the youth’s grandfather sent a message to King Janaka, and threatened to make his appearance with a mighty army. The ministers recommended that Rājyābhinanda should be proclaimed successor, and that Annapāna should be put to death. Janaka refused to comply with such a demand. Murderers of fathers, it was true, had been met with, but it was an unheard of thing that a father should kill his son. Nor would he consent to his being mutilated, that being equivalent to death. As little would he agree to his being banished; but he invested the younger prince with the right of succession.

When Annapāna heard of this, he went to his mother, informed her of the evil tidings, and told her that he was about to go to Panchāla. And thither he went. With wearied limbs he lay down to rest in the shade of a tree. There the king’s people found him. Astonished by his beauty, they brought him to the king, to whom he told the story of his fortunes. The king gave him the hand of his daughter, and bestowed lands upon him. The son who was born of this marriage was named Bahvannapāna.

Annapāna fell ill and died, and the king gave his daughter, along with her son, to the Purohita, with whom she lived happily. One day a cock crowed near the house. A Brahman who happened to be there, and who was skilled in omens, heard it crow and said, “He who eats the flesh of this cock will become king.” [102] The Purohita heard these words, and, after asking the Brahman some questions, took the cock and killed it. Then he said to his wife, “Have this cock cooked immediately. I will eat it when I come back from the king’s palace.” Then he betook himself to the palace.

While he was there, the boy Bahvannapāna came back from school hungry, and could not find his mother. He said to himself, “What has been cooked for us? what sort of food?” In his mother’s absence he looked about, and saw the cock in a saucepan with its head uppermost. So he cut off the head and ate it. His mother came in presently and said, “Who has eaten the head?” The boy replied that he had eaten it. His mother gave him some food and sent him to school.

After a time the Purohita also came and asked for food. When he saw that the cock’s head had disappeared, he asked where it was. His wife said, “The boy has eaten it.” He ate up the rest of the cock, but remained in doubt as to which of the two would become king, he who had eaten the bird’s whole body, or he who had eaten only a bird incomplete as to the parts of its body. In order to remove this doubt, he called in for the second time the Brahman who was skilled in omens. The Brahman asserted that he who had eaten the head would become king, but that he also would become king who should kill him who had eaten the head, and should eat his head.

Therefore the Purohita determined to put the boy to death. But as he saw that he could not do this without the boy’s mother remarking it, he resolved to take her opinion about the matter. With many friendly words he addressed her in a cajoling manner: “O good one, is it better that your husband or your son should become king?” Quickly recognising the complicated nature of the situation, she reflected that if she said it would be better for her son to become king, she would be at variance with her husband. So she said, in accordance with his view of the matter, that it would be better for her husband to become king. But as she was very shrewd and intelligent, she perceived that he wished to kill her son on account of the cock’s head, and she determined to save her son at any rate. So she told her son that, as he had acted wrongly in eating the cock’s head, he must leave the country with all speed, and betake himself to his grandfather’s land, where he had relatives. The son fled to Videha, and there, tormented with hunger and thirst, he lay down one day in order to sleep under a tree in a park.

A little before that time Rājyābhinanda had been attacked by a malady of which, in spite of the efforts of the physicians, he could not be cured. He succumbed to it, and thereby was the reigning family brought to an end.

Now it was part of the royal statutes that until a new king had been chosen the corpse of the late king could not be honoured with funeral ceremonies. Accordingly the ministers, the other officials of the court, the Brahmans, and the interpreters of signs, set out to look for a person distinguished by the force of his virtuous merits. Under a tree outside the city, a tree the shadow of which never moved from his body, they found an extremely handsome youth with a lion-like breast. When the six ministers had looked at him, they exclaimed in astonishment, “Never have we seen any one who equalled this man in force of virtuous merit. As he is extremely handsome, and is well provided with signs, we will invest him with the sovereignty.” Having thus spoken, and having agreed thereupon, they aroused him from his sleep. He awoke and asked, “Why must I get up?” They replied, “In order to be proclaimed king.” He said, “Ought a slumbering king to be awakened in this manner?” The ministers said, “How then ought he to be awakened?” The youth replied, “He ought to be awakened with song and cymbals and beat of drum.” On hearing this, they came to the conclusion that he truly sprang, not from an inferior, but from a noble family, and they asked him, “Who are you? whose noble son are you?” Then the youth rose up lion-like and said, “Annapāna was the son of Janaka, king of Videha, and I am Annapāna’s son, Bahvannapāna.” Thereupon the six ministers smiled and said, “We have actually lighted upon our own prince.”

In the midst of a great multitude, with conjurations, and with song and cymbals and beat of drum, they conducted him into the city, and there they consecrated him as king. As the extinct royal family was renewed in him, he also received the name of Janaka, and his former name of Bahvannapāna fell into disuse. After they had thus invested him with the sovereignty, they came to the conclusion that he was of a simple nature, and they despised him to such a degree that he had no power at all.

King Bahvannapāna once went forth in order to inspect his realm. Whenever he asked to whom villages, towns, and hill-places belonged, he was always told that they belonged to the six ministers. Thereupon he perceived that he could command only food and clothing, but that beyond that he had no power. When he had plunged into a sea of thought, trying to think out what he should do, a deity consoled him, saying that he ought not to be sorrowful. In his own country, in the hill-village Pūrṇakatshtshha, a son named Mahaushadha was about to be born to the head-man, Pūrṇa. This son he ought to make his minister, who would gain possession of the realm and restore it to him, and turn out fortunate and advantageous to him. The king sent forth men to seek out this Pūrṇa, and to learn whether his wife had a son or not. The men returned with the information that the village head-man really existed, and that his wife was with child. Then the king wrote to him and made him come to him, conferred upon him the village, and bade him henceforth carefully watch over the child, which was as yet in its mother’s womb, so that none of its limbs might suffer any injury. When the boy came into the world and his birth-feast was celebrated, the name of Mahaushadha (Great Remedy) was given to him at the request of his mother, inasmuch as she, who had long suffered from illness, and had been unable to obtain any relief from the time of the boy’s conception, had been cured by him.

As the boy was sitting on his father’s shoulder one day, and was being carried for a bath from the middle of the street to a tank, the father saw a piece of fish lying before him. Taking it for a precious stone, he tried to lift it up with his toes. Then said Mahaushadha, “Dear father Pūrṇa, you think that a precious stone has been dropped here. Gazing with open eyes at the piece of fish, you fancy that it is a precious stone. Test it, dear father Pūrṇa. It is no precious stone; only a piece of red fish crushed underfoot. Vaiśravaṇa [103] is not accustomed to be so careless.”

When they had come to the tank, and Pūrṇa and Mahaushadha had laid their clothes on the bank and had gone into the water to bathe, the father wanted to lay hold of a crane which was resting on a lotus, but when he drew near the bird flew away. Then Mahaushadha said, “From the lotus flew the crane away. The crane flew away, the lotus remained. Only see, father dear, how the crane flies away from the lotus.”

On another occasion the father went to the river Ganges to bathe, carrying his son as before on his shoulder. When they had left their clothes on the shore and had gone into the water, they saw a metal basin floating on the water with a goose sitting upon it. Then said Mahaushadha, “The river Ganges supports the metal basin, on the metal basin rests a goose. Look, O father dear, at the metal basin with the goose carried along by the river Ganges.”

Another time, when Mahaushadha had gone to the shore to bathe, he saw how a pot, on which was a water-hen, was borne along by the current of the river Ganges. Then he said, “The river Ganges bears along the pot, on the pot sits a water-hen. Only look, father dear, at the pot with the water-hen and the Ganges.”

Again, on another occasion, he saw a ram carried along by the current of the river Ganges with a heron standing upon it, and he said, “The river Ganges bears along a ram, and likewise the heron which stands upon it. Look, father dear, at the ram and the heron borne along by the river Ganges.”

After this it happened one day that Mahaushadha was at play with the children, and they chose him as their king. [104] He named some of the boys as his ministers, and they went on playing together. There came along the road an old Brahman with his young wife, on their way to another country. The Brahman stepped aside for a time, and during his absence a rogue, full of desire for the wife, came up to her and said, “Good woman, whither has your father gone?”

“Who?” said the wife.

“He is apparently your grandfather,” replied the rogue.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“He is apparently your great-grandfather,” said the rogue.

“He is not my father, nor my grandfather, nor yet my great-grandfather, but my husband,” said the wife.

Thereupon the rogue said with a smile, “O foolish woman, are you not ashamed to say in the presence of your friends or any other decorous person that this man is your husband? Have you not on this stately earth seen men of divine beauty?”

“Such men are no more to be found.”

“Take me as your husband, and we will live together. Should the old Brahman put in a claim for you, then say to the great assembly, ‘This man is my husband.’”

After the rogue had said this she went off with him. When the Brahman came back, he could not see his wife. He climbed a height, and saw her walking off with another man. He ran after her, and seized one of her hands, the rogue holding on to the other. The Brahman said, “Why are you taking away my wife?”

“She is my wife; do not trouble yourself about her,” replied the rogue.

As the Brahman persisted in saying that she was his wife, a quarrel arose between the two men on the highway, and they pulled the woman this way and that way. But as the rogue was younger and stronger than the Brahman, he dragged her away from him. Being overcome, the Brahman called out in that lonely place for help. At that time Mahaushadha and the other children were at play in the forest, and they heard his cries for help. The children said to Mahaushadha, “As you wish to be called the king, and that Brahman is shouting for help, why do not you save him from danger?” So he bade the children bring the parties before him, and he asked them what had occurred. The Brahman said that the other man had forcibly torn away his wife from him, the weaker of the two. On the other hand, the rogue declared that the Brahman lied, and that the woman was his own wife. The woman herself affirmed that the rogue was her husband. Mahaushadha, who perceived that the Brahman had not become excited without due cause, determined to apply a test. [105]

“Say, O man, where do you come from along with your wife?”

“From my father-in-law’s,” replied the rogue.

“What did you eat and drink there?”

“We had meat, cakes, sorrel, and wine,” replied the rogue.

“Vomit then, if that be so,” said Mahaushadha; “we shall see then if that be true or not.”

The rogue put his finger down his throat and vomited, but no such food came to light. Then Mahaushadha asked the Brahman whence he had come.

“From my father-in-law’s,” replied the Brahman.

“What did you eat there?”

“Curdled milk, porridge, and radishes.”

Him likewise Mahaushadha ordered to bring up what he had eaten, and the result was that he produced the food in question. As Mahaushadha now perceived that the rogue had deluded and carried off the Brahman’s wife, he gave orders that he should be chastised by blows from sticks and fists, and that he should then be set fast up to the neck in a hole a man’s stature in depth, and that there should be written on his forehead with peacock’s gall these words—

“He who thus steals a wife, him does Mahaushadha punish in this wise. He who, like unto the wife-stealer, has stolen a child, an ox, a coverlet, yarn, or the like, such thieves as this shall be arrested up to the number of five hundred, and shall be chastised by blows from sticks and fists, and shall be set up to their necks in a pit, and their names shall be written on their foreheads with peacock’s gall, indicating that Mahaushadha will thus punish others also who shall commit thefts.”

Now, when the six ministers had exhausted the land, and the king became aware of the fact, the idea came into his mind of finding out of what nature Mahaushadha really was. He told the ministers that he was going to the chase, and he went with a great following to the hill-villages. When the five hundred rogues who had been set in the pit saw the king, most of them cried out, “O king!” The king heard the cry, and looked around on all sides, but he saw no man, though the cry again resounded. One of the rogues perceived this, and repeated it. The king caught sight of him, and read on his forehead the words written with peacock’s gall: “Whoever has stolen a wife, a child, an ox, a coverlet, and so forth, him does Mahaushadha punish in this wise.” When Mahaushadha and the other children heard that the king had seen these things, his heart rejoiced within him, and he thought that although Mahaushadha was a child, yet in regard to such deeds he had done no wrong. However, he ordered the rogues to be drawn out of the pit, and set them at liberty.

When Pūrṇa heard that the king had come to Pūrṇakatshtshha, he went to meet him, bearing a jar full of water, a canopy, banners, and standards. The king said to him, “Pūrṇa, be not afraid. Bring hither your son that I may see him.” Pūrṇa replied, “O king, as the boy is still very young, I will not bring him before the face of the king.” However the king ordered the father to fetch his boy. Then the king gazed upon the exceedingly handsome and spirited boy; but as he was still a child, and had not come to man’s estate, the king let him go back to his father’s house.

Some time later King Janaka wished to test the nature of Mahaushadha’s intelligence. So he sent a messenger to Pūrṇa, the head-man of the hill-village Pūrṇakatshtshha, with an order to send a rope made of sand one hundred ells long. When the messenger had arrived and communicated the order, Pūrṇa was greatly alarmed. From his birth upwards he had never seen or heard of such a thing, and he would therefore have to expect a reprimand. He became so depressed that Mahaushadha asked him why he was so ill at ease. The father replied that he was not sure that the king did not mean to punish him, the demand being of such an unheard of kind. Mahaushadha asked him to send for the messenger, saying that he would reply to the king. Thereupon he said to the messenger, “Make known to the king this my request, without forgetting it. As the people of our country are slow-witted, unintelligent, and stupid, may it please the king to send an ell of that kind of rope as a pattern, like unto which we will twine a hundred, nay, a thousand ells, and will send them to him.” When the messenger had reported this to the king, the king asked whether it was Pūrṇa or his son who had given this answer. The messenger said that it was Mahaushadha. The king was astonished, and perceived that the commands of the deity were being executed, and that Mahaushadha would re-establish his power.

As the king wished to put Mahaushadha a second time to the test, he sent to Pūrṇa, and ordered him to supply some rice which had not been crushed with a pestle, and yet was not uncrushed, and which had been cooked neither in the house nor out of the house, neither with fire nor yet without fire; sending it neither along the road nor yet away from the road, without its being shone upon by the daylight, but yet not in the shade, not together with a woman, but also not with a man, by one not riding, but also not on foot. The messenger came to Pūrṇakatshtshha, sent for Pūrṇa, and, after holding merry converse with him on various subjects, informed him of the king’s orders. Pūrṇa was greatly discomfited. But Mahaushadha, having found out the cause of his dejection, comforted him, declaring that he would manage the whole affair himself.

Having dried some rice in the sun, he sent for a number of women, and made a man give each of them a handful of grains. These they shelled with their nails, picking out the kernel of each grain without breaking it. When the women had done this, he threw the rice into a pot, and cooked it on the threshold of the house. As he was to cook it without fire and yet not without fire, he cooked it in the sun. In order that it might be conveyed neither along the road nor yet away from the road, he ordered the man who carried it to walk with one foot on the road and the other foot by the side of the road. As it was to be brought neither in the sunlight nor in the shade, he bade the man fasten the pot which held it to the end of a stick, and cover it over with a thin cloth. As the bearer was neither to ride nor to go afoot, he told him to put a shoe on one of his feet and leave the other unshod. And as the bearer was to be neither a man nor a woman, he sent a hermaphrodite.

When the messenger presented himself before the king, and, on being questioned by King Janaka, gave him a full account of the whole matter, the king was greatly pleased, and asked if he had been sent by Pūrṇa or by Mahaushadha. The messenger replied that he had been sent by the latter, whereupon the king said, “Mahaushadha is clever, resolute, sharp-witted, and ingenious.”

Some time afterwards the king sent to Pūrṇa, and ordered him to supply a park with kitchen-gardens, fruit-trees, and tanks. When the messenger came to Pūrṇa and told him what were the king’s orders, Pūrṇa again fell into very low spirits. Mahaushadha begged his father not to distress himself, promising to arrange everything to the king’s satisfaction. Then he sent for the messenger, and told him to give the following reply to the king:—

“As no one among the mountains knows anything about a park of that kind, and therefore no one can construct one, may it please the king to send hither one of the parks belonging to his palace. When my father has seen it, and learnt of what nature it is, he will send one like unto it.”

When the messenger returned with this reply, the king was highly pleased, and when he learnt that it was again Mahaushadha who had sent it, he perceived that he was very intelligent.

Some time later the king again sent a messenger to Pūrṇa, ordering him to plant a tree, and to send it to him at the end of a year, bearing blossoms and fruits. When the messenger had executed his commission, Pūrṇa again became dejected, but Mahaushadha comforted him, saying that the matter would not be a difficult one to manage. And he sent a Ricinus shrub, which at the end of a year bore blossoms and fruits. When the king saw it, he asked whether the idea was Pūrṇa’s or Mahaushadha’s. The messenger named the latter, and the king found nothing more to say in the matter.

Some time later the king sent five hundred oxen to Pūrṇa. These he was to feed and to milk, and he was to send to the king milk, curdled milk, butter, cream, and cheese. When the messenger came to Pūrṇa with these orders, Pūrṇa was greatly troubled, and said to the villagers, “Surely in this matter the king wishes to punish me, seeing that he requires me to milk oxen.” When Mahaushadha perceived his distress, he comforted him, saying that he would contrive a reply with which the king would be pleased without this thing being accomplished. Then Mahaushadha gave full directions to a father and son, ordering them to betake themselves to the capital, near the king’s palace. He told the father to wrap up a wooden bowl in a cloth and fasten it over his belly, and then to roll to and fro on the ground and pretend to be crying. And he told the son to utter fervent prayers, to scatter flowers, food, and incense towards the ten parts of the world, and to cry aloud, “May this, my father, propitiously bring forth his child!”

When the father and son, in accordance with these instructions, had drawn nigh unto King Janaka, they did all that they had been told to do. When the king heard the words, “May he who in the world protects the world preserve my father, and let him propitiously give birth to his child!” he sent some of his men to find out what that meant. They came, and saw a big-bellied man rolling to and fro on the ground and crying, and his son invoking Yama, Vaiśravaṇa, Vasu, and the other kings of the gods. The men reported this to the king, and he sent for the father and son. The son begged that his father might be allowed to bring forth his child. Thereat the king laughed, and said that he had never seen or heard of a man who gave birth to a child.

Then said the youth, “Are things as you say they are?”

“Yes!”

“In that case, I ask you wherefore you sent five hundred oxen to Pūrṇakatshtshha, with orders that milk, sour milk, curdled milk, and fresh butter should be obtained from them. Have you ever seen or heard of oxen big with young and producing calves?”

Then the king laughed, and asked who was the originator of this idea, Pūrṇa or Mahaushadha, or someone else. When the messenger stated that it was Mahaushadha, the king and his ministers were greatly astonished.

Some time later, the king, in order to apply another test, sent a messenger to Pūrṇakatshtshha with a mule, and ordered Pūrṇa to keep watch over it without tying it up, and to feed it without placing it under a roof. The messenger brought the mule to Pūrṇa, and warned him that he would forfeit his life and limbs in case the mule escaped. When Pūrṇa heard that, he was terrified and fell into very low spirits, as he did not think he was equal to the task. But Mahaushadha bade him be of good cheer. By day the mule was to be allowed to graze at its will, but at night it was to be guarded by twenty men, five of whom were to look after it during each of the night-watches, one of them sitting on its back, the others holding a leg apiece. After this fashion the twenty men watched it without taking it under a roof.

After a time King Janaka sent a messenger to see how Pūrṇa was treating the mule. He reported to the king the precautions which had been taken. The king perceived that the mule could not escape while it was guarded in that way, so he said that he wished one of the men to be sent for. The minister asked which man was to be summoned. The king said that they were to send for the man who was sitting on the mule’s back. For while the others were asleep he could ride off with the mule. So the king had the watcher sent for who sat on the mule, and the man came away together with the beast.

When Pūrṇa was told next morning that the mule had gone off, he saw that his life was forfeited, and he took to wailing from fear. When Mahaushadha saw how miserable Pūrṇa was, he began to reflect that hitherto he had found a means of escape on each occasion, but that this time there was none. Of this, however, he said nothing. Although he was much alarmed, yet he devised a plan, and said to his father, “There is still one expedient left for settling this business.” His father asked what it was, and Mahaushadha replied that he could manage the affair provided Pūrṇa could endure being jeered at. Pūrṇa declared that he was ready to do anything which would prevent his life being taken. Thereupon Mahaushadha cut the hair of his father’s head so as to form seven strips, and he daubed the head itself with red, black, brown, white, and other paints. Then he and his father mounted an ass and betook themselves to the capital.

When they arrived there, the news spread abroad that Mahaushadha had come riding upon an ass, and that he had cut his father’s hair into seven strips. When the king and the ministers heard this, they asked, “Why has he, who has the reputation of being so discreet and intelligent, performed so unbecoming an action?” The king and the ministers went out to see if Mahaushadha had really come in the manner alleged, or if the report was false. When the king and his followers saw that it was really so with him, the ministers said, “Wherefore is Mahaushadha praised for his judgment, intelligence, and wisdom? In spite of all that, how unbecomingly he has acted!”

The king asked Mahaushadha why he had thus dishonoured his father. He replied, “I have not dishonoured him, but have honoured him. As I stand much higher than my father on account of my great knowledge, I have shown him honour.”

The king asked, “Are you the better of the two, or is your father the better?”

He replied, “I am the better, my father is the worse.”

The king said, “Never have I seen or heard that the son is better than the father. As it is the father through whom the son becomes known, while the mother feeds him, takes care of him, and brings him up, therefore we hold that the father is altogether the better of the two.”

Then said Mahaushadha to the king, “Test the matter thoroughly to see if the father is really so or not.”

As the king and the ministers affirmed that it was so, and not otherwise, Mahaushadha fell at the king’s feet and said, “O king, this being the case, as the mule which you sent us to watch over has run away, but as according to the testimony of the king and the ministers the father is considered better than the offspring, and the father of the mule is the ass, accept this ass as a set-off.”

When the king and the ministers had heard his speech, and perceived the cunning contrivance which it carried out, they were astonished. Whether he had acted becomingly or unbecomingly, it was clear that he was clever. Having thought the matter over, the king was much pleased, and he arrayed Mahaushadha in fine robes of various kinds, and bestowed upon him the power of a minister, and on the father he conferred that village.

After Mahaushadha had been appointed a minister, his fame spread abroad throughout the whole city as that of a wise and intelligent man.

Now a very learned Brahman had gone abroad in order to increase his property, after he and his wife had spent all that she had brought along with her; and he returned home with five hundred gold pieces of ancient date. Before entering his house he was desirous of disposing of his money, for none could tell whether his wife might not have taken up with another man during his absence. His wife was of remarkable beauty, and therefore he considered that she might have found favour in the eyes of other men during his absence. So in the evening twilight he went to the cemetery, dug a hole under a Nyagrodha tree, put the money into it, and then went to his home.

Now the wife had a lover, the Brahman Mahākarṇa (Great Ear). The pair had about that time partaken of delicate food, and she had anointed herself with fragrant ointment, and was reposing upon the couch of enjoyment. Just then came the Brahman and called to her to open the door. The woman asked who was there. When he had pronounced his name, she uttered a joyful cry, aroused Mahākarṇa, and hid him under the bed, and then went to open the door. With thorough dissimulation she wept and flung her arms round her husband’s neck, showed him honour and respect, and placed savoury food before him. After partaking of it, he came to the conclusion that the reason of her having provided such a supper must certainly be that she had given herself up to another man. As he was of an ingenuous nature, he asked her, “O good wife, how comes it that you have such food, seeing that this is not a holiday, a festival, or day of public rejoicing?” She replied, “A deity made me aware that you were coming to-day, so I provided this meal on your account.” The Brahman said, “Then it is not I alone who am fortunate. My wife also, it seems, receives tidings from the deity in dreams.”

After he had eaten and washed, he lay down upon the bed to rest, and conversed with his wife about her welfare. Presently she asked him if he had brought anything with him. He said that he had. Thereupon the wife intimated by signs, “Mahākarṇa, let thine ear listen to what is being said.” Then she said, “Where have you put the five hundred gold pieces, as you have not shown them to me?” He replied, “I will show them to you to-morrow.” Then said the wife, “Why have you kept the matter from me, though I am the half of your body?” The honest Brahman said, “I have hidden the money outside the city.” The wife said, “Hear, O Great Ear, where the money has been put.” The Brahman said that he had hidden the money under a Nyagrodha tree in the cemetery. Then said the Brahman’s wife, “As you, my lord, are fatigued and exhausted by the journey and on my account, now go to sleep.”

When she saw that he had gone to sleep, she bade Mahākarṇa act in accordance with what he had heard. Mahākarṇa slipped quietly out of the house, went to the cemetery, dug up the money, and then betook himself to his own house.

When the Brahman went to the cemetery the next day, and found that his money was no longer there, he beat himself on the head and breast, and returned home. His wife, his friends, his brothers, and his relatives asked him what had happened, and he told them everything. They advised him to have recourse to Mahaushadha. Then the Brahman went wailing to Mahaushadha, his face streaming with tears, and told him his misfortune. Mahaushadha remained silent for a moment. Then he asked, “Brahman, at what spot and at what time did you hide the money? Did any one see it? or have you talked about it to any one?” The Brahman gave a full account of the whole affair. Mahaushadha came to the conclusion that the Brahman’s wife had some other man as a lover, and that what had taken place was due to that man’s contrivance. But he spoke words of comfort to the Brahman, saying that if the money was not found he would pay it to him out of his own purse. Then he asked him if there was a dog in his house. The Brahman replied that there was. Then said Mahaushadha, “Go and invite eight Brahmans to your house. Invite four of them yourself, and let your wife invite the other four. Tell her that you have made a vow to the god Śiva that if you should accomplish your return prosperously you would entertain eight Brahmans.”

The Brahman followed these instructions, and when the Brahmans had been invited, he went to Mahaushadha in order to acquaint him with the fact. Then said Mahaushadha, “When you are about to receive the Brahmans into your house, call this man of mine, and station him at the door when they enter. And during the meal let him stand inside without being occupied in any way.” And to his man he said, “Take note of everything significant. When the Brahmans come in, see which of them the dog barks at, and before whom it wags its tail; for such is the nature of dogs.” Moreover, he ordered the Brahman not to set the food before his guests with his own hands, but to leave that to his wife. He told his man also to pay heed to the Brahman’s wife while she was serving the food, and see to whom she made a sign, at whom she gazed without changing countenance, whom she addressed with a smile, and to whom she served the best fare, and to make him acquainted with all this.

These instructions having been given, the Brahman took the servant home with him and stationed him at the door. Then he told his wife to summon the guests whom she had invited, while he summoned those whom he had invited. As the other guests entered the house one after another, the dog barked. But when Mahākarṇa came in, the dog looked at him, drooped its ears, wagged its tail, and followed after him. When he had entered in and called the dog, the servant learnt that he was Mahākarṇa. Afterwards the servant saw the food distributed, and remarked that the Brahman’s wife, while taking part in the distribution, made a sign with her eyebrows to Mahākarṇa, smiled slightly, fixed her eyes upon him, and supplied him with the best of the food. All that he saw he afterwards reported to Mahaushadha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is that?”

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

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