Chapter VIII: Mahaushadha and Viśākhā. 101 (2)

When the king had placed side by side the courtesan and the designated inmate of his women’s chamber, and had looked upon them both, and had found that there was a remarkable similarity in their appearance, figure, behaviour, and characteristics, so that it was impossible to distinguish one from the other, then the king, after some consideration, perceived that Mahaushadha was innocent.

“As to the words [continued Mahaushadha], ‘To the Brahman’s wife Ātmavīrā a man ought not to admit that he possesses a measure of barley,’ I uttered them for this reason. When you had sentenced me to death, and the executioners were leading me away, she called out, ‘Give me the measure of barley,’ and on its account seized me by the skirt of my robe.”

When all this was made clear to the eyes of the king, he rejoiced, and gave orders that Mahaushadha should be released, and he heaped upon him tokens of honour. Mahaushadha made obeisance to the king, and then said, “O king, have you learnt what the secrecy of wives is? I have no longer any need of your daughter. I will seek me a wife like unto myself in race, beauty, character, and wisdom.”

When the king had granted him permission, he went to the mountain forest Kaksha, [108] in order to find for himself a maiden. He had put on the dress of a Brahman, and carried a water-jug in his right hand, his body being adorned with the string of sacrifice and covered with the skin of a gazelle, and his face marked with three lines of ointment. When he had gone half-way, darkness came on. A Brahman asked him whence he came.

“From the Videha land,” he replied.

“Whither do you intend to go?”

“To the Kaksha forest.”

“Do you know any one in whose house you can find shelter?”

Mahaushadha said that he did not. Then the Brahman took him into his own house and entertained him in a becoming manner. But Mahaushadha suspected that his host’s wife, who loved another man, was a worthless woman. When he took his departure next day the Brahman said to him, “Consider this house as your own when you come here on your journeyings to and fro.”

“That will I do,” replied Mahaushadha, and went his way.

About half-way there was a barley-field, and in it he saw a very beautiful maiden, of high race and of great modesty.

As soon as he saw her a longing after her entered into his mind.

“Good maiden,” he asked, “who are you? Whose daughter are you? What is your name?”

“I am Viśākhā,” she replied.

“Whose daughter are you?”

“His who works in wood for all the village.”

Then thought Mahaushadha, “Her form is fair, but I will now test her intelligence a little.”

He went into a wheat-field, lifted up his hands, and while he flourished his hands on high, he trampled on the wheat with his feet. Then said Viśākhā, “O Pundit, as you have flourished your hands on high, so also ought you to flourish on high your feet.”

“This maiden is clever,” he thought. Then he said with a smile, “You are very brilliant, O maiden, seeing that you have earrings and armlets.”

“The reason is, O Pundit, that both have little oxen,” said Viśākhā. [109]

Then said Mahaushadha, “The maiden is of fair form and charming appearance.”

“That is through the favour of the village elder,” replied Viśākhā.

“Where has your father gone?” he asked after a time.

“He has gone to make two roads out of one. After collecting the twigs of the thorn-bushes, he uses them for making the road. In this manner he gives men two roads.”

“Where has your mother gone?”

“To fetch seeds from the fruits of the field.”

“Maiden, shall I take you to be my wife?”

“If the head of the village gives permission,” said the maiden.

“Show me the way,” he said, “by which one can go straight and safely to the Kaksha forest.”

She pointed out to him a crooked road, and then set out herself along another road. There she took off her clothes beside a tank, shut one eye, and while waiting to see if he would recognise her or not, bowed down upon one side and said, “In the direction of the hand which is used in eating should one go. From the direction of the hand which is not used in eating should one deviate, and so go to the Rice-Soup forest.”

When Mahaushadha had gone some way along the road indicated to him, he perceived her from afar off, and said, “Fair one with the roguish eyes, having on no garment woven of cotton, but being clothed with the unspun and unweaved, show me how it is possible to go to Kusumagrāma.”

Thereupon said the maiden, slightly smiling, “Here leave on one side the left-hand road, where there is corn and the palāsa blossoms display themselves; there, O Brahman, must you take your way.” [110]

He set forth. Coming to the house of Viśākhā’s father, he found that her parents were not at home. So he said to the village head-men, “If you allow it, I will take this woman to be my wife.”

When the head-men of the village heard these words, they immediately with one accord began to upbraid him, saying, “You wretched mendicant Brahman, are not you ashamed to want such a maiden as our Viśākhā? Get away with you at once from this spot. Or must we hand you over to be devoured by fierce dogs?”

Driven away by them, he returned to Viśākhā. While he was still at a distance, she bade him welcome. When he told her of his interview with the village head-men, who had been on the point of beating him, she said, “How and in what manner did you speak?”

When he had told her everything, Viśākhā said to him, “O Brahman, you are not expert in such matters. Have you behaved in the way in which a man ought to propose for a maiden?”

“How else, then, ought one to act?” asked the Brahman.

“First of all,” replied the maiden, “the man must draw near. Then he must gain favour. And if that is granted, he must offer hospitality and organise an entertainment, after which he may bring forward his desire.”

He went away and acted in accordance with this advice, entertaining the village head-men at an excellent banquet. Then he arose and asked for Viśākhā. This time they gave their assent. Just as this point was reached her parents arrived. Then Mahaushadha and the village head-men asked her parents for her. The parents were of opinion that the matter required consideration.

Then said the village head-men, “What is there to consider about? He is a young, shapely, handsome, learned Brahman, perfectly versed in the Vedas and Vedāngas. So give him your daughter without further consideration.”

Thereupon Mahaushadha offered hospitality to the Brahmans, and he received the maiden as his wife. The next day he invited his wife’s parents, paid them honour, bestowed upon them raiment and gifts in return for the bride, and then went his way to King Janaka in Videha.

On the way a Brahman entertained him at the festival of the fourteenth day of the half-moon, and gave him as a present a measure of barley, which he poured into a corner of his robe. When he came to the house of his friend he knocked at the door. The Brahman’s wife said, “Who is there?” He replied, “It is I, your husband’s friend.” She replied, “My husband is not at home, and as there is no one else here, I cannot admit any man during his absence. Seek for shelter elsewhere.”

Soon afterwards, while Mahaushadha was considering how it was that she did not admit him, he saw another man admitted. Then said Mahaushadha, “There was a reason for my not being admitted.”

While he was still thinking the matter over, the Brahman himself came up from a village and called aloud at the door. When his wife heard her husband’s voice, she considered what she should do, and with some misgivings hid her visitor away in a basket.

After this the two men who were outside entered in and sat down. Then said Mahaushadha to the Brahman’s wife, “Where shall I put this barley?”

“On the floor,” she replied.

The Brahman said, “Mice might come and eat it.”

He looked under the bed and searched all the ends and corners of the house, but nothing came to light. All at once he saw a basket laid aside, into which he thought the corn might be put.

“Into this basket will I pour the barley,” said Mahaushadha.

“That basket contains a treasure of mine,” said the Brahman’s wife. “How can barley be put into it?”

“Set aside the treasure in some pot,” said the husband, “then we can pour the barley in here.”

Mahaushadha also said, “In order that the mice may not render the barley useless, it must be poured in here.”

Then said the Brahman’s wife, who became terrified at the thought of the consequences, “The basket is damp; the barley will get spoilt inside it.”

“You need not be uneasy,” replied Mahaushadha to the Brahman’s wife. “I will take care that no dampness remains in it, and that the barley is not spoilt.”

Then he stood up, reversed his gazelle skin, and tied the string of sacrifice twice round his neck. Then he went out to fetch wood and water, with the intention of cleansing the basket.

The Brahman’s wife, experiencing the pain of parting from her lover, and fearing that he would be killed, sent a messenger with all speed to his house, in order that, things being so, some one might come from thence immediately. As soon as his father heard the news, he came to Mahaushadha and said, “I want to purchase this basket.”

“Be of good cheer and take it,” was the reply.

“On what terms?”

“On payment of five hundred gold pieces, not otherwise.”

While thus speaking, Mahaushadha lighted a lamp close by the basket. But the father, thinking that it would not be well to let the matter become known, opened the door of the house, and had the basket taken up by a strong man and conveyed to his own house.

On the following day Mahaushadha gave a hundred gold pieces to the man to whom the house belonged, told him what his wife’s character was like, and advised him, after such an occurrence as this, to be on his guard. The remaining four hundred pieces he made over to that Brahman, in order that he might go with them to the Kaksha forest, and present them to Viśākhā, the maiden whom he had asked in marriage.

“Tell them [he said] that I am no Brahman, but Mahaushadha, the chief minister of the king of Videha, and that I came in that guise only to carry out my quest. Therefore must they watch carefully over the maiden.”

Having in this way sent the gold pieces and a missive along with them, he himself went to King Janaka.

The Brahman went to the Kaksha forest, and delivered to Viśākhā the missive and three hundred of the pieces of gold. When Viśākhā perceived that she had not received the fourth hundred, she at once began looking under the bed.

“What are you looking for there?” he asked.

“Men have come from the court of the king,” she replied, “with orders to seize the malefactor, and have gone away. Therefore do I look for him who has not gone.”

Then she took some clay and said to that Brahman, “As I do not know who it is who has thus come here, I should like to try if a foot can go in here or not. So put your foot in here for a while.”

When the Brahman, to avoid being suspected, had inserted his foot into the clay, she suddenly drove a peg [111] into it.

“Why do you arrest me?” asked the Brahman.

“Because that man sent me four hundred pieces, but you have abstracted a hundred of them,” she replied.

The Brahman was astounded, and thought: “This woman and Mahaushadha are two demons. Two great demons have combined together.” And he paid her the residue. Then her parents came in, and he said, showing them the gold, “The man is no Brahman. He is the king of Videha’s principal minister, Mahaushadha.”

When the maiden’s parents and kinsmen heard that, they said that they were allied with a man of power, that they were in that respect very fortunate, and that their family would be made famous by means of Mahaushadha.

When Mahaushadha arrived in the city, and the king heard of that, he and the old ministers were greatly pleased.

“How have you fared?” asked the king.

“I have chosen me a wife,” he replied.

“What kind of wife?”

“A very beautiful one,” replied Mahaushadha, “of perfect intelligence, suitable for me.”

And he asked the king if, as she was of such a nature, he might now marry her.

“Except me,” said the king, “is there any man equal to you? And why? Because you are my chief minister. Therefore marry her to my great pleasure.”

“O king, I will do so.”

Surrounded by the band of ministers, Mahaushadha invited the Brahmans, householders, and populace to be his guests. Collecting together the rest in great numbers, the elephant-drivers, the horse-drivers, the chariot-drivers, and the goers on foot, he went to the house of his father-in-law in the mountain forest Kaksha. Having arrived there, he celebrated a great wedding-feast, and after a time he returned to the city with his wife, and lived with her there in love’s delights.

After this there came from the north to King Janaka in Videha five hundred merchants with goods and horses. In that city lived many courtesans, who were wont, by means of their wiles, to despoil of their goods the merchants who came thither. As soon as they heard that merchants had come from the north, they fastened upon them. But the chief of the merchants was very cautious. The most attractive of the women took him in hand, but with no success. Then she called the merchants together, and requested them to render their chief well disposed towards her. But although the merchants and the women took great pains day after day, yet he did not yield to enticement. Then that courtesan went to the chief and joked and laughed.

“Why do you trouble yourself?” said the chief. “You will not entice me.”

“What will you give me,” she asked, “if I do entice you?”

“I will give you five of our best horses. But if you fail to entice me, and you have no money, then you must follow after me.”

Thus ran their talk. But in spite of all her efforts she could not attain her end.

One day the merchants said to their chief, “Do as other people do?”

“I have enjoyed the woman by night in a dream,” replied the chief. [112]

The merchants repeated this to the woman, who called upon the king’s men to arrest the merchant, saying, “As you have enjoyed my love, pay me five first-rate horses.”

“You lie, disreputable female,” replied the merchant.

So they two carried up their dispute to the palace.

The king and his court attempted to settle the question. Evening came, but still they did not succeed. Worn and fretted by hunger, they resolved to postpone the decision of the question, and went to their homes.

When Mahaushadha came home that evening, Viśākhā said, “My lord, why have you tarried so long to-day?”

He gave her a full account of the whole question which they had not been able to settle.

“If a question remains unsettled by all of you,” she said, “after being thus considered and discussed, how comes it that you hold such a position?”

“Such being the state of affairs,” said Mahaushadha, “can you, perchance, decide the question?”

“I can,” she replied. “See how great is my judgment! Go and order the five good horses to be placed at the edge of a piece of water. Then let the king and the ministers meet together at that place and give their opinions on the matter. If it turns out that, as the woman says, the merchant has really enjoyed her, then let the five good horses be given to her. But if it be proved that he did so only in a dream, then let her be shown the image of the horses in the water. If she says that she can neither grasp nor use them, then let her be told that, just as it is impossible to grasp that image, so is it also with the fruition of love in a dream.”

All this was carried out. All were astonished at this decision, and the king asked who had been the discoverer of this way of escape. Whereupon Mahaushadha replied that Viśākhā had discovered it. Then all perceived that the carpenter’s daughter was exceedingly clever, and her fame spread abroad throughout all lands.

After that a merchant from the north made a present of two mares [113] to the king, and said, “These two mares, O king, are dam and foal, but which the dam is and which the foal, nobody knows.” When in this case also the king and his court were in difficulties, the carpenter’s daughter Viśākhā settled the question as before, saying that the thick-haired mare was the dam and the soft-haired the foal.

Another time a snake-catcher brought two serpents, one of which was male and the other female, but nobody knew which was which. When Mahaushadha consulted Viśākhā, she laughed, and wondered how it was that the king’s ministers were unable to solve such a problem. What was needed was to fasten the leaf of a cotton plant to the end of a reed, and to stroke the backs of the serpents with the cotton. The serpent which was unable to endure that stroking would be the male.

On another occasion, a merchant from the south brought a stem of sandal-wood, [114] of which no one knew the upper end from the lower. Mahaushadha again consulted his wife, who told him to throw the stem into a pool. The root end would then sink downwards.

Once King Janaka was pleased to try which of his ministers was capable of recognising precious stones. With this intent he caused a gem to be fastened to the top of a standard upon the belvedere, underneath which was a tank. The king promised to give the gem to him who should recognise it; but no one who went into the water, intending to grasp at the light he saw there, was considered entitled to obtain it. When Viśākhā was consulted by her husband, she said that he must look upwards, for that light was only the reflection of the gem attached to the standard, and that it was necessary to go in the direction of the standard in order to obtain the gem.

As Viśākhā was very handsome, the six ministers tried, by means of all sorts of presents of gold, silver, and precious stones, to entice her into making an assignation, but they could not succeed in doing so. As they did not desist, she asked her husband if it was really the custom of the country that every young and handsome woman should be cajoled by other men. He replied that this took place everywhere, for men were greedy after all women, and they were instructed by the women themselves; but that if a woman was prudent, she did not give her consent. Then said Viśākhā, “If I were to bring a man of that kind to harm or disgrace, would any danger arise out of it?” Mahaushadha said, “Do so, and fear not.” So she told him that he was to feign an illness, and she would turn it to good account. He did so. Then she sent messengers to inform the ministers, who had become acquainted with his indisposition, that she would grant them the fulfilment of their desires. Having caused an image of Mahaushadha to be made of wood, she dressed it and laid it in his bed. To each of the ministers she sent word to come to her at a certain hour, without letting the others know anything about it. She had also caused six chests to be made, and had distributed them in six of her rooms. Each of the ministers, on his arrival, she hid away in one of the chests. Next day she let the report spread abroad that Mahaushadha was dead. Thereupon the king and his court, as well as the rest of the people, broke forth into lamentation. But Viśākhā locked the chests and took them to the king, and said, “Now that Mahaushadha is dead, here are his treasures of gold, silver, and precious stones, sealed with his own signet.” While the king was grieving that these presents should have been made to him on the very day of their owner’s death, Mahaushadha came into the palace by another way, laughing and adorned with flowers. Having made obeisance to the king, he said, “Do you mean now to take possession of my property, O king, although you have never shadowed me with the canopy of your grace?”

“I have not taken it,” said the king. “It was brought here from your own house.”

“Great king and Mahaushadha,” said Viśākhā, “there is another world besides this. These are precious stones from it. Take them as a pledge. Great king, these are the men who have dishonoured me, the widow separated from her husband, and have stolen from me my treasure.”

Thereupon Mahaushadha pointed out the excellent intentions in the minds of the first ministers. When the king had looked in, and had seen the six ministers with their hair and beards shorn, and their hands and feet drawn together, he laughed and said to Mahaushadha, “Tell me, whose contrivance is this?”

“It is Viśākhā’s contrivance,” he replied, and then he proceeded to tell the whole story. The king marvelled at the acuteness and resolution shown by Viśākhā, and the cleverness of the carpenter’s daughter Viśākhā obtained praise in all lands.

The king resolved that Mahaushadha should try to find him a wife of similar discretion, in which case everything would be placed on a good footing both at home and as regards affairs exterior to the palace.

“Where shall I look for her?” asked Mahaushadha.

“The king of Panchāla has an exceedingly beautiful daughter called Aushadhī,” replied King Janaka. “She is endowed with knowledge and memory, and I have heard that in acuteness she resembles Viśākhā. Obtain her for me as my wife.”

“O king,” said Mahaushadha, “in this matter must some stratagem be employed, for there is enmity between you and him.”

Then King Janaka sent his ministers and his Purohita in order to make proposals of marriage. The king of Panchāla called his ministers together and asked them what he should do. They said, “As King Janaka formerly refused to listen to your orders, we must manage so that they may fall into our power. Tell them that you will give your daughter, and that an appointment must be made for the purpose of receiving her, at a certain hour, on such and such a day of the half-moon, at such and such a place.”

Having thus spoken, they went forth and announced that King Janaka was to receive the Princess Aushadhī.

“When and where?” asked the envoys.

“On such and such a day, at an appointed hour,” was the reply.

Thereupon the king of Panchāla sent forth invitations to the wedding. And he prepared food and drink, and infused into it divers kinds of poisons. When all was ready, he sent out messengers to the people to come forthwith.

When Mahaushadha heard that, he said to King Janaka, “It is not fitting that we should act hastily.”

“For what reason?”

“This king is a neighbour who has always been opposed to us, at variance with us. We must send a spy in advance.”

“Whom shall we send?” said the king.

“O king,” said Mahaushadha, “be at ease. I have a parrot called Charaka, [115] who is clever and honest. Him will I send. He will return after he has held converse with all.”

“Do so,” said the king.

The parrot flew off, and considered to whom he should draw nigh, with whom he should make friends and hold converse. In spite of looking around on all sides, he could detect nothing, and he had to consider how he should begin the usual style of business. Entering the palace, and there looking about him, he saw a maina [116] sitting on some timber-work, and flew up to her, and the two birds took pleasure in each other’s company.

She asked him where he came from. He replied, “I come from King Śibi in the north. I was the guardian of a park, and I had as wife an excellent, beautiful, clever, devoted, and sweet-spoken maina. Having flown to a distance one day, she was carried off by a falcon. Full of grief and trouble on this account, I have gone wandering hither and thither, and so have come to where you are. Will not you, O good one, be my wife?”

“Never has it been heard or seen,” she replied, “that a maina became the wife of a parrot. I have heard that really the wife of a parrot is a parrot too.”

Thereupon the parrot tried by other flights in this and that direction to draw nigh unto her, and to render her well disposed towards him, whereby he entered into loving relations with her.

When the parrot saw in the king’s palace many kinds of food, such as honey-puffs and other dainties, being cooked in pans, and many cates made of sugar, he said to the maina, “Wherefore are these things being cooked? Is it likely that we shall get any?” Then he said to the maina in verse, “Of this plentiful fresh oil which is being cooked in the pan, shall we partake? Answer softly, O maina.”

“That which is being cooked in the pan,” replied the maina, “shall not be your food, O clever parrot Charaka. With this food is poison mixed for the benefit of Janaka.”

Then the parrot, employing wisdom, artfully said to the maina, “As it is said that the king of Panchāla is about to give his daughter to Janaka, and the news of this has been spread abroad in all the land, I ask whose words are truthful? on whose words can reliance be placed?”

“Clever parrot Charaka,” said the maina, “this evil one is not going to give him his daughter. The men of evil purpose seek only to slay him.”

When the parrot Charaka had heard this, having seen and heard, sought and learnt, he returned home, like a merchant who has succeeded in obtaining gains. But to the maina he said, referring to King Śibi, “Now must I go, O good one, in order to let King Śibi know that I have found a soft-spoken maina like unto my wife.”

“O lord,” said the maina, “when you have gone away, and have informed King Śibi, let it be made known after a space of seven days, after no longer lapse of time. Let King Śibi know what are my descent, my family, and my means. For my sake be not lost.”

The parrot flew away, and gave a full account of all these things to Mahaushadha, who made King Janaka acquainted therewith.

When the king of Panchāla saw that Janaka was not coming, he equipped a complete army, and went forth against King Janaka, and besieged his capital. The first minister, Mahaushadha, perceived that there was no withstanding him in fight, so he considered how he could excite discord. By means of sending divers presents to King Śibi’s five hundred ministers he produced dissension. When this had been brought about, Janaka sent envoys to the king of Panchāla with a message to the effect that, although he was in a position to fight the king of Panchāla, yet he wished to be reconciled with him, and not to fight with him who was his father-in-law. The king of Panchāla should know that in King Janaka’s hands lay life and death. But though he could fight with him, yet he would rather not do so. If the king of Panchāla was in doubt, let him consider that Janaka had sent such and such presents to such and such ministers.

The king of Panchāla laid hands on those ministers with the presents, and that same evening he returned home. On his arrival there, he ordered the five hundred ministers to be executed, and made their sons ministers in their stead, and he became reconciled with King Janaka.

When Mahaushadha learnt that the ministers had been put to death, he rejoiced at having brought this about. They being dead, he said to the king, “Now will I go myself to see if I can obtain the princess or not.”

When he had arrived in the land of Panchāla, the king invited him to enter the city. But he replied that he would stay where he was in the park, or in case he entered the city, he would go to the house of a certain minister. The king of Panchāla was alarmed at these words, thinking that Mahaushadha might be wishing again to sow discord between him and his ministers, so he sent to tell him that he might stay where he was if he wished it.

Now the ministers reflected that Mahaushadha had deprived their fathers of life, and they thought, remembering the old grudge, that if they brought the matter energetically before the king, Mahaushadha would never return home. So, after they had met together, they said to the king, “It is Mahaushadha in whom King Janaka has such a source of mental power. When he is at home by the king’s side, no one can injure the king, but while he is here, we might well go forth again to attack King Janaka.”

The king consented thereto, and they set out for King Janaka’s capital with a fully equipped army. King Janaka also made himself ready. Now Mahaushadha learnt that the king of Panchāla had invaded King Janaka’s country by such and such a road. After remaining a little longer where he was, he learnt that the treasures of the king of Panchāla were kept in a certain place, and that the king’s daughter, Aushadhī by name, lived there also. So he went thither with a small troop of trusty adherents and surrounded the treasury. Entering therein, he emptied it of its contents and carried off the princess along with the gold and precious things. Then he got his army ready, and entered King Janaka’s country from a different side. Thereat King Janaka rejoiced, and so did the ministers, the villagers, and the rest of the people, saying that he had accomplished a great work, and they made him many demonstrations of honour.

When the king of Panchāla’s ministers heard that Mahaushadha had arrived with the maiden and the treasure, they abandoned the siege of the capital and returned to their own country; and King Janaka, having obtained the maiden as his wife, lived with her in happiness and love.

After a while, the king of Panchāla sent a messenger to his daughter, and asked for information as to who it was by whose coming the matter had been found out, and who it was who had brought about the dissensions. She sent word back that it was Mahaushadha’s parrot named Charaka, which, being endowed with human speech, had spied the matter out. Then the king of Panchāla desired that it should at any rate be delivered up to him. So with great difficulty she contrived to catch it in a net, and she sent it to her father. The king flew into a passion, upbraided the bird in divers ways, and then ordered it to be killed. The parrot Charaka fell at the king’s feet, and besought him to allow it to die as its father and grandfather had died. The king gave his consent, and asked in what manner its father and grandfather had been put to death. When its tail had been wrapped in cotton and drenched with mustard-oil, and when all this had been set on fire, and the bird was let go to fly up into the air, it set the whole of the royal palace in a blaze, [117] and then dived under water. When it had returned home, and King Janaka and Mahaushadha asked it whence it came, it gave them a full account of everything which had taken place, whereat they rejoiced. But the king of Panchāla, being full of wrath, sent a letter to say that as the parrot had after such a fashion brought about injury, it must be again sent to him without fail. His daughter laid hands on the bird and sent it. The king of Panchāla in his rage plucked it quite bare, made a mere lump of flesh of it, and with the words, “Go and get eaten,” flung it out of the window. Thereupon a falcon snapped it up. But it besought the falcon, saying, “If you eat me, you will have food for one day only; but if you will let me go, I will take care that you shall receive every day much food and whatever else you need.”

The falcon gave heed to its words, and after the parrot had confirmed them by an oath, it was released. Charaka said, “At such and such a spot is the king’s temple, convey me thither.” The falcon did so. The parrot went inside and crept into a hole.

Next day the Brahmans came to offer sacrifices to the deity. As they were preparing to offer perfumes, incense, food, gifts, and oblations, Charaka cried out, “O Brahmans, to the sinful king of Panchāla shall ye convey these words of mine: ‘As you have committed such and such a sin, I have inflicted injury upon you. If you do not act in obedience to my words, I will do the same again. You must bring day by day as an offering of food a whole measure full of red raw meat, sesamum, and rice porridge. After that I will consider what is to be done.’”

The Brahman went to the king and told him this. Thereupon the king ordered food-offerings and oblations to be prepared, and came every day with the ministers and the Purohita in order to beseech the deity to say if he were forgiven or not, and to promise that he would act in accordance with the divine commands.

When, after some time, the wings of the parrot Charaka had grown again, it became capable of flying, and felt a desire to take to flight. Then it said, “You, O king, together with the commander of the army, the queen, the prince, and the ministers, must appear before me with heads shorn as smooth as pestles. If ye do so, then will I vouchsafe forgiveness.”

The king took this to heart and behaved accordingly, and the whole party, with heads shorn like pestles, proceeded to the abode of the deity, fell at its feet and begged for pardon. Then the parrot flew aloft, uttering this verse:—

“The doer of the deed is requited. See how the plucker in his turn is plucked! Now he who by himself was plucked has thoroughly well plucked the enemy and all the rest.”

Having thus spoken, Charaka flew away to Mahaushadha, who asked it whence it came, as he had not seen it for so long a time. It gave a full account of what kind of trick it had played. Mahaushadha was delighted therewith, and he reported it to King Janaka, who likewise rejoiced greatly, and considered himself fortunate in having so intelligent a minister.

At another time the king, in order to see which of his ministers was the cleverest, took it into his head to summon them, and to give to each of them a dog, with directions to train it to speak with a human voice within a given time. The ministers took the dogs home with them, and managed to rear them properly, but not to teach them to speak.

Mahaushadha took his dog home, and gave it a place at a little distance from the table, fastening it to a peg. The dog was accustomed to see various kinds of meats, drinks, and soups prepared for Mahaushadha, but could not get at them. By means of giving it little food and that bad, Mahaushadha brought it about that the dog was neither dead nor alive, and was lean and gaunt with exhaustion.

After a time the king ordered the dogs to be brought, whether instructed or not instructed. The other ministers, who were not versed in the sciences, had not been able to teach their dogs to speak. Then the king ordered Mahaushadha to bring the dog which had been handed over to him. When the gaunt, famished dog appeared before the king, he asked why it was so thin. Mahaushadha replied, “O king, I have given it the same kind of food that I ate myself.” But the dog exclaimed, “O king, that is not true. I am all but dead with hunger.” Thereupon Mahaushadha said, “After this fashion have I taught the dog to speak.” Whereat the king was highly pleased.

Another time, when the king wished to make a similar trial, he ordered each of the ministers to feed and water a sheep in such a manner that the sheep should become strong without waxing fat. [118] Five hundred of the ministers were unaware how to set about this matter. They reared their sheep, but the sheep became fat. But Mahaushadha, while he placed delicate food before his sheep, set up in front of it a wooden wolf which he had provided for the purpose. The sight of the wolf frightened the sheep so much that it grew up strong without becoming fat. When the king saw that the sheep of the other ministers were flourishing and very fat, but that Mahaushadha’s sheep had become strong without growing fat, he highly commended his wisdom.

On another occasion the king was again desirous of finding out who was possessed of wisdom. The five hundred sons of the ministers were holding a feast in the park. As they sat there eating and drinking, they took to describing marvellous things, each one being called upon to state whatever wondrous thing he had either himself experienced or had heard described while tarrying at home. Then out of friendship they told one another the marvels they had witnessed at home and elsewhere. Along with the rest Mahaushadha’s son was called upon by the young men to relate something. He said that there was a stone in his father’s house which, although it formed the base of a column, would yet, if thrown into water, swim to and fro, and lend itself to rubbing and kneading, and so forth. The youths expressed their opinion that no such marvel existed in any of their houses. As he would not give way, and they doubted his word, he said that he would stake upon it five hundred pieces of gold. He told this to his father, who said, “Son, do not show them the stone.” So when the youths came, he did not show them the stone, and his five hundred gold pieces were forfeited.

After a time Mahaushadha took some monkeys and gave them a musical training. Then he said to his son, “Go to your comrades and tell them, in reference to your former undertaking about marvels seen at home, that you are willing to stake twice as much money as before on the fact that you can show in your house musical monkeys, capable of dancing and singing and playing on the drum.” In accordance with these instructions the young man, after speaking of other things, passed on to that subject, and said that he had seen such creatures. They declared that they had never either seen or heard of monkeys which performed musically. “What will you give me if I show you some?” he said. They replied, “You have already lost five hundred pieces of gold, and now you will lose a thousand if you cannot show us these monkeys, but have been talking nonsense as before. But if you do show them to us, then we will pay you that sum.” When they had settled this wager, the monkeys were brought into the royal palace, where they played and sang and danced before the king. So the young men were obliged to pay the thousand pieces of gold. The king was greatly astonished; he had never seen or heard of anything like it before. Thereupon the king, the ministers, and the inhabitants of the city all paid great honour to Mahaushadha, in that he was wise and clever above all other men.

It happened that there was born unto a very learned Brahman in the land of Videha a very beautiful daughter, whom he determined he would give in marriage to him only who equalled himself in acuteness and knowledge. She received the name of Udumbarikā.

Unto another Brahman there was born a bad-looking son, unlike his father, and marked with eighteen signs of ugliness. On account of his ugliness his parents, at the time of his birth, gave him the name of Virūpa. As he was so hideous, and his parents were ashamed of his ugliness, they thought it would be of no use to have so bad-looking a creature educated. But when he had grown up, being desirous of instruction, he determined to go to another country in order to study. There he was accepted as a pupil by a Brahman, and he soon made himself master of all the knowledge his teacher possessed.

In consequence of this, Udumbarikā’s father determined, in spite of Virūpa’s ugliness, to give him his daughter to wife. However Virūpa did not dare to draw nigh unto her, but resolved to go back to his own home, in order to live with her there.

When Udumbarikā set eyes upon this paragon of ugliness, she being herself beautiful, she felt ashamed of him. Virūpa set out with her for his own country. On the way their stock of travelling provisions came to an end. Arriving at the edge of a piece of water, they threw themselves down upon the ground, feeling very hungry. A fellow-traveller, having stirred up some meal and water with a bit of wood, began to partake of it, and the woman, tormented by hunger, begged to have some too. Then Virūpa took a handful of meal and partook of it by himself.

“As I also am sorely tormented by hunger,” said Udumbarikā, “I would fain partake of that water.”

“As the early Rishis and law-teachers have forbidden women to partake of such water, I will not give you any,” replied Virūpa.

While they were suffering from hunger in a desert during a time of drought, Virūpa found some dog’s flesh, which he roasted and ate. When Udumbarikā wanted some too, he would not give her any, because the Rishis had forbidden women to partake of such food. Thereupon she gave way to all kinds of wailing, lamenting that she, unhappy one that she was, should be tormented by the pangs of hunger, and asking wherefore, on account of what fault of hers, had her parents wedded her to such a man.

They proceeded farther, and saw a ripe Udumbara tree. Virūpa climbed it and feasted on its fruit. Udumbarikā said he ought not to eat it all himself, but ought to give some to her also. He ate the ripe fruit and threw down to her only what was unripe. She told him he ought not to fling her the unripe fruit only, but ought to give her the ripe fruit also. He replied, “If you want ripe fruit, climb the tree yourself and pluck and eat.”

Tormented by hunger, she climbed up into the tree with difficulty, and there ate some fruit. But Virūpa thought, “What can such a wretched man as I am do with such a wife—I, who can scarcely support myself? She will not so much as look at me.”

Coming down from the tree, he surrounded it with thorns and then went his way.

Now it happened that just at that time King Janaka went out hunting, and he heard in the forest the wailing of Udumbarikā deserted by her husband. Following the sound, he caught sight of the bright-eyed one, who seemed to him like a goddess of the forest. When she had come down from the tree he reposed by her side, and then set her in his chariot, conveyed her to the city, and gave himself up to pleasure with her.

Meanwhile Virūpa, as he walked along by himself, repented of having deserted his wife. So he returned to the Udumbara tree, but found that his wife was not there, and learnt that King Janaka had taken her away with him, and had made her one of his wives. Thereat he was sorely grieved.

He went to the gate of the palace, but he was not admitted within. Then he saw that there were men at work in the courtyard of the palace, and he resolved to carry stone along with them. By this means he gained access to the palace, where he saw his wife and the king in loving converse. He hit upon a plan of speaking with his wife, and he and she discoursed in verse as follows:—

He. “Golden is the corner-stone. Dost thou rejoice in blaming? Fair one, lovest thou me not? Take, O carpenter, the stone!”

She. “At that spot did I beseech thee. In my memory dwell the words, ‘To women meat is forbidden.’ Me didst thou forsake.”

He. “Beside the Udumbara tree, O fair one, hast thou asked me, born beside the river Ganges. Take, O carpenter, the stone.”

She. “When I asked for meal and water, thus was I answered: ‘It is not right that a woman should partake thereof.’ Therefore have I hither come.”

He. “Much has the learned mouth spoken. Speak of the countless golden glitter. Fair one, lovest thou me not? Take, O master, the stone!”

She. “Unripe was what thou didst give me. The ripe didst thou eat thyself. Mindful of harsh speech do I now sit dallying here.”

He. “Down from the mountain will I dash, poison also will I drink, O Brahman woman. Wailing for thee am I here. Take, O carpenter, the stone!”

She. “Dash thyself down from the mountain, drink thy poison, O Brahman! In love’s time thou didst not love. At home must dalliance take place.”

While they two thus held converse, the king became suspicious, and said, “O queen, as I do not understand what ye are saying to each other, speak to me without fear, that I may hearken to your words.” As the king was completely under her influence, she gave him a full account of everything. The king asked her if she wished to go away with her husband. She did not like to say openly that her husband was repulsive to her, for she was afraid that he, as he was a Brahman, might bring a curse upon her by means of evil spells. Then the king asked Mahaushadha what was to be done. Mahaushadha promised to arrange so that the king would not have to part with her.

“How so?” asked the king.

“As this Brahman,” replied Mahaushadha, “is a man of very small means, but these women are exceedingly grand, I will speak to him after such and such a fashion. If I suggest it to him, he will look for his wife among your women, without identifying her.”

The Brahman was summoned, and was asked what he was looking for, and why he had entered the palace. He replied that he was looking for his wife, whom the king had brought there.

“Shall you be able to identify your wife?” asked Mahaushadha.

“Yes,” replied Virūpa.

“I will bring the five hundred women before you,” said Mahaushadha. “If you pick out from among them one who does not belong to you, your body shall be cut to pieces with weapons.”

Then the king ordered all his wives to appear arrayed in all their bravery, and to make the greatest possible display of ornaments. And the king caused Udumbarikā to be placed at the head of all the women, looking like the spouse of Indra, and surrounded as it were by Apsarases, and situated on a highroad, where sacrifices were brought. Mahaushadha called the Brahman to the front, and told him to take away his wife if he recognised her. But when Virūpa saw Udumbarikā and the other women adorned with all their bravery, he stood still like a snake charmed by a spell. Like one unable to gaze at the light of day looked the Brahman at the women. Then he saw a female slave, a carrier of water, like unto a Piśāchī [or female demon] in appearance, standing at the back behind one of the king’s wives, and he seized her by the hand and said, “This is my wife.”

“If that be so, then take her away with you,” said Mahaushadha.

The Brahman took her and said, “The excellent loves the excellent, and the mediocre the mediocre; to the crooked one is my heart attached. O fair one, I am like unto a Piśācha, and you too are a Piśāchī. Come unto me, O Piśāchī. As I am like unto a Piśācha, we will take pleasure together.”

Therefore King Janaka forgave Mahaushadha all the faults which he had ever committed.

One day the king went into the park with his wives, and enjoyed himself there together with them. One of them took off a string of pearls worth a hundred thousand pieces of money and hung it on a spray of an aśoka tree. While sporting with the king she forgot about it and left it there. At midnight, after she had gone back to the palace with the king, she remembered that she had left her necklace in the forest. Meanwhile it had been carried off to the top of a tree by a female monkey.

The king ordered his men to hasten to the forest and bring back the necklace. They went there, but they did not find it. Now a beggar had gone there in search of the remnants of the food of which other men had made a meal. As he came forth from the forest after partaking of such food, the king’s men arrested him. As no one else was to be seen there, they called on him to render up the necklace. Although he protested that he had not taken it, had not even seen it, yet he was beaten with fists and stakes, and then thrown into prison.

Tormented by hunger, he reflected that, unless he contrived some cunning way of escape, he would die there of starvation. So he said to the jailer that he had, it was true, taken the pearl necklace, but that he had given it to such and such a young merchant. Him also the king’s men summoned, and the two men were set fast connected by wooden fetters.

The merchant used to receive from home dainty food. While he was partaking of it the beggar asked him for some. But the merchant reviled him, saying, “It is all very well for you to accuse me of theft in order that I may nourish you with my food. I will give you none of it.” And having thus spoken, he ate it all up.

After this, when the merchant wished to change his place, and said, “Let us stand up and move,” the beggar replied, “I will not listen to your words; I shall not get up.” Then said the merchant, “Henceforward will I behave so that you will be contented.” Thus with friendly words and with an oath he won over the beggar, and was able to do as he wished.

The next day the merchant sent home orders to provide in future food enough for two persons. Thereat the beggar was highly pleased, and he reflected that in former times he used to wander about the whole city without being able to find the means of filling his belly, but now food and drink in plenty were at hand, and it would be well to call in a courtesan. Accordingly, he accused one of a share in the theft, and the king’s men set her also in the prison. When the beggar was sitting in company with these two prisoners and enjoying food and drink, he said, “Good is it if we get free from here after the space of a dozen years.”