Chapter VII.
Then, having taken a vow of silence, I came into the presence of the sovereign, and there a certain Bráhman recited a śloka he had composed, and the king himself addressed him correctly in the Sanskrit language; and the people who were present in court were delighted when they witnessed that. Then the king said deferentially to Śarvavarman—“Tell me thyself after what fashion the god shewed thee favour.” Hearing that, Śarvavarman proceeded to relate to the king the whole story of Kártikeya’s favourable acceptance of him.
“I went, O king, on that occasion fasting and silent from this place, so when the journey came to an end, being very despondent, and emaciated with my severe austerities, worn out I fell senseless on the ground. Then, I remember, a man with a spear in his hand came and said to me in distinct accents, ‘Rise up, my son, everything shall turn out favourably for thee.’ By that speech I was, as it were, immediately bedewed with a shower of nectar, and I woke up, and seemed free from hunger and thirst and in good ease. Then I approached the neighbourhood of the god’s temple, overpowered with the weight of my devotion, and after bathing I entered the inner shrine of the god in a state of agitated suspense. Then that Lord Skanda[1] gave me a sight of himself within, and thereupon Sarasvatí in visible shape entered my mouth. So that holy god, manifested before me, recited the sútra beginning ‘the traditional doctrine of letters.’ On hearing that, I, with the levity which is so natural to mankind, guessed the next sútra and uttered it myself. Then that god said to me, ‘if thou hadst not uttered it thyself, this grammatical treatise would have supplanted that of Páṇini. As it is, on account of its conciseness, it shall be called Kátantra, and Kálápaka, from the tail (kalápa) of the peacock on which I ride.’ Having said this, that god himself in visible form revealed to me that new and short grammar,[2] and then added this besides; ‘That king of thine in a former birth was himself a holy sage, a pupil of the hermit Bharadvája, named Kṛishṇa, great in austerity: and he, having beheld a hermit’s daughter who loved him in return, suddenly felt the smart of the wound which the shaft of the flowery-arrowed god inflicts. So, having been cursed by the hermits, he has now become incarnate here, and that hermit’s daughter has become incarnate as his queen.
So this king Sátaváhana, being an incarnation of a holy sage,[3] when he beholds thee, will attain a knowledge of all the sciences according to thy wish. For the highest matters are easily acquired by great-souled ones, having been learnt in a former birth, the real truth of them being recalled by their powerful memories.’[4] When the god had said this, he disappeared, and I went out, and there grains of rice were presented me by the god’s servants. Then I proceeded to return, O king, and wonderful to say, though I consumed those grains on my journey day after day, they remained as numerous as ever.” When he had related his adventure, Śarvavarman ceased speaking, and king Sátaváhana in cheerful mood rose up and went to bathe.
Then I, being excluded from business by my vow of silence, took leave, with a low bow only, of that king who was very averse to part with me, and went out of that town, accompanied by only two disciples, and, with my mind bent on the performance of austerities, came to visit the shrine of the dweller in the Vindhya hills, and having been directed by the goddess in a dream to visit thee, I entered for that purpose this terrible Vindhya forest. A hint given by a Pulinda enabled me to find a caravan, and so somehow or other, by the special favour of destiny, I managed to arrive here, and beheld this host of Piśáchas, and by hearing from a distance their conversation with one another, I have contrived to learn this Paiśácha language, which has enabled me to break my vow of silence; I then made use of it to ask after you, and, hearing that you had gone to Ujjayiní, I waited here until your return; on beholding you I welcomed you in the fourth language, (the speech of the Piśáchas), and then I called to mind my origin; this is the story of my adventures in this birth.
When Guṇáḍhya had said this, Káṇabhúti said to him,—“hear, how your arrival was made known to me last night. I have a friend, a Rákshasa of the name of Bhútivarman, who possesses heavenly insight; and I went to a garden in Ujjayiní, where he resides. On my asking him when my own curse would come to an end, he said, we have no power in the day, wait, and I will tell you at night. I consented and when night came on, I asked him earnestly the reason why goblins[5] delighted in disporting themselves then, as they were doing. Then Bhútivarman said to me, ‘Listen, I will relate what I heard Śiva say in a conversation with Brahmá. Rákshasas, Yakshas, and Piśáchas have no power in the day, being dazed with the brightness of the sun, therefore they delight in the night. And where the gods are not worshipped, and the Bráhmans, in due form, and where men eat contrary to the holy law, there also they have power. Where there is a man who abstains from flesh, or a virtuous woman, there they do not go. They never attack chaste men, heroes, and men awake.’[6] When he said this on that occasion Bhútivarman continued, ‘Go, for Guṇáḍhya has arrived, the destined means of thy release from the curse.’ So hearing this, I have come, and I have seen thee, my lord; now I will relate to thee that tale which Pushpadanta told; but I feel curiosity on one point; tell me why he was called Pushpadanta and thou Mályaván.”