Chapter LII.
Then Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, being united to Alaṅkáravatí his new wife, remained in the house of his father, pleased with the heavenly dancing and singing of her maids, and enjoying banquets with his ministers.
And one day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá, the mother of Alaṅkáravatí, came to him and said, after he had hospitably entertained her—“Come to our palace, behold that city of Sundarapura, and take your delight in its gardens with Alaṅkáravatí.” When he heard this, he consented, and he informed his father, and by his advice took Vasantaka with him, and with his wife and his minister, he ascended a splendid chariot created by his mother-in-law by her science, and set out through the air, and while in the chariot, he looked down from heaven, and beheld the earth of the size of a mound, and the seas small as ditches, and in due course he reached the Himálayas with his mother-in-law, wife, and attendants, and it resounded with the songs of the Kinnarís, and was adorned with the companies of heavenly nymphs. There he saw a great many wonderful sights, and then he reached the city of Sundarapura. It was adorned with many palaces of gold and jewels, and, thus, though it was on the Himálayas, it made the beholder suppose that he was looking on the peaks of mount Meru.[1] And he descended from the heaven, and getting out of the carriage entered that city, which, as it were, danced with the waving silk of its banners, in its joy at having once more a king. And he entered that palace, with the auspicious ceremony performed for him by his mother-in-law, accompanied by Alaṅkáravatí, and with his favourites and Vasantaka. There the fortunate prince spent the day in his father-in-law’s palace, in enjoyments which were provided for him by the power of his mother-in-law. And on the next day his mother-in-law Kánchanaprabhá said to him; “There is in this city an image of the holy self-existent husband of Umá.[2] He, if visited and worshipped, gives enjoyment and even salvation. Around it the father of Alaṅkáravatí made a great garden, and brought down to it a holy water, rightly named the Ganges-pool: go there to-day to worship the god and to amuse yourselves.” When his mother-in-law said this to him, Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by his wife Alaṅkáravatí, and followed by his attendants, went to that garden of Śiva. It looked lovely with its golden-trunked trees, which were charming with their branches of jewels, the clear white flowers of which were clusters of pearls, and the shoots of which were coral.[3] There he bathed in the Ganges-pool and worshipped Śiva, and wandered round the tanks that were adorned with ladders of jewels and lotuses of gold. And, accompanied by his attendants, he amused himself with Alaṅkáravatí on their charming banks, and in bowers of the wish-granting creeper. And in those he delighted his soul with heavenly banquets and concerts, and amusing jokes caused by the simplicity of Marubhúti. And so Naraváhanadatta dwelt a month there, amusing himself in gardens, thanks to the resources of his mother-in-law. Then that Kánchanaprabhá bestowed on him, his wife, and his ministers, garments and ornaments fit for gods, and with his mother-in-law and his attendants, he returned in that same chariot to Kauśámbí, accompanied by his wife, and he gladdened the eyes of his parents.
There Alaṅkáravatí was thus addressed by her mother in the presence of the king of Vatsa; “You must never by jealous anger make your husband unhappy, for the fruit of that fault, my daughter, is separation that causes great affliction. Because I was jealous in old time and afflicted my husband, I am now consumed with remorse, as he has gone to the forest.” After saying this, she embraced her daughter with eyes blinded with tears, and flying up into the air went to her own city.
Then, that day having come to an end, the next morning Naraváhanadatta, having performed the appropriate duties, was sitting with his ministers, when a woman rushed into the presence of Alaṅkáravatí and said—“Queen, I am a woman in the utmost terror, protect me, protect me! For there is a Bráhman come to slay me, and he is standing outside; through fear of him I have fled and come in here to implore protection.” The queen said, “Do not fear. Tell your tale. Who is he? Why does he wish to slay you?” When thus questioned, the woman began to say:—