Chapter XII.
In the meanwhile the ambassador, sent by the king of Vatsa in answer to Chaṇḍamahásena’s embassy, went and told that monarch his master’s reply. Chaṇḍamahásena for his part, on hearing it, began to reflect—“It is certain that that proud king of Vatsa will not come here. And I cannot send my daughter to his court, such conduct would be unbecoming; so I must capture him by some stratagem and bring him here as a prisoner.” Having thus reflected and deliberated with his ministers, the king had made a large artificial elephant like his own, and, after filling it with concealed warriors, he placed it in the Vindhya forest. There the scouts kept in his pay by the king of Vatsa, who was passionately fond of the sport of elephant-catching, discerned it from a distance;[1] and they came with speed and informed the king of Vatsa in these words: “O king, we have seen a single elephant roaming in the Vindhya forest, such that nowhere else in this wide world is his equal to be found, filling the sky with his stature, like a moving peak of the Vindhya range.”
Then the king rejoiced on hearing this report from the scouts, and he gave them a hundred thousand gold pieces by way of reward. The king spent that night in thinking; “If I obtain that mighty elephant, a fit match for Naḍágiri, then that Chaṇḍamahásena will certainly be in my power, and then he will of his own accord give me his daughter Vásavadattá.” So in the morning he started for the Vindhya forest, making these scouts shew him the way, disregarding, in his ardent desire to capture the elephant, the advice of his ministers. He did not pay any attention to the fact, that the astrologers said, that the position of the heavenly bodies at the moment of his departure portended the acquisition of a maiden together with imprisonment. When the king of Vatsa reached the Vindhya forest, he made his troops halt at a distance through fear of alarming that elephant, and accompanied by the scouts only, holding in his hand his melodious lute, he entered that great forest boundless as his own kingly vice. The king saw on the southern slope of the Vindhya range that elephant looking like a real one, pointed out to him by his scouts from a distance. He slowly approached it, alone, playing on his lute, thinking how he should bind it, and singing in melodious tones. As his mind was fixed on his music, and the shades of evening were setting in, that king did not perceive that the supposed wild elephant was an artificial one. The elephant too for its part, lifting up its ears and flapping them, as if through delight in the music, kept advancing and then retiring, and so drew the king to a great distance. And then, suddenly issuing from that artificial elephant, a body of soldiers in full armour surrounded that king of Vatsa. When he beheld them, the king in a rage drew his hunting knife, but while he was fighting with those in front of him, he was seized by others coming up behind. And those warriors with the help of others, who appeared at a concerted signal, carried that king of Vatsa into the presence of Chaṇḍamahásena. Chaṇḍamahásena for his part came out to meet him with the utmost respect, and entered with him the city of Ujjayiní. Then the newly arrived king of Vatsa was beheld by the citizens, like the moon, pleasing to the eyes, though spotted with humiliation. Then all the citizens, suspecting that he was to be put to death, through regard for his virtues assembled and determined to commit suicide.[2] Then the king Chaṇḍamahásena put a stop to the agitation of the citizens, by informing them that he did not intend to put the monarch of Vatsa to death, but to win him over. So the king made over his daughter Vásavadattá on the spot to the king of Vatsa, to be taught music, and said to him—“Prince, teach this lady music; in this way you will obtain a happy issue to your adventure, do not despond.” But when he beheld that fair lady, the mind of the king of Vatsa was so steeped in love that he put out of sight his anger: and her heart and mind turned towards him together; her eye was then averted through modesty, but her mind not at all. So the king of Vatsa dwelt in the concert-room of Chaṇḍamahásena’s palace, teaching Vásavadattá to sing, with his eyes ever fixed on her. In his lap was his lute, in his throat the quarter-tone of vocal music, and in front of him stood Vásavadattá delighting his heart. And that princess Vásavadattá was devoted in her attentions to him, resembling the goddess of Fortune in that she was firmly attached to him, and did not leave him though he was a captive.
In the meanwhile the men who had accompanied the king returned to Kauśámbí, and the country, hearing of the captivity of the monarch, was thrown into a state of great excitement. Then the enraged subjects, out of love for the king of Vatsa, wanted to make a general[3] assault on Ujjayiní. But Rumaṇvat checked the impetuous fury of the subjects by telling them that Chaṇḍamahásena was not to be overcome by force, for he was a mighty monarch, and besides that an assault was not advisable, for it might endanger the safety of the king of Vatsa; but their object must be attained by policy. Then the calm and resolute Yaugandharáyaṇa, seeing that the country was loyal, and would not swerve from its allegiance, said to Rumaṇvat and the others; “All of you must remain here, ever on the alert; you must guard this country, and when a fit occasion comes you must display your prowess; but I will go accompanied by Vasantaka only, and will without fail accomplish by my wisdom the deliverance of the king and bring him home. For he is a truly firm and resolute man whose wisdom shines forth in adversity, as the lightning flash is especially brilliant during pelting rain. I know spells for breaking through walls, and for rending fetters, and receipts for becoming invisible, serviceable at need.” Having said this, and entrusted to Rumaṇvat the care of the subjects, Yaugandharáyaṇa set out from Kauśámbí with Vasantaka. And with him he entered the Vindhya forest, full of life[4] like his wisdom, intricate and trackless as his policy. Then he visited the palace of the king of the Pulindas, Pulindaka by name, who dwelt on a peak of the Vindhya range, and was an ally of the king of Vatsa. He first placed him, with a large force at his heels, in readiness to protect the king of Vatsa when he returned that way, and then he went on accompanied by Vasantaka and at last arrived at the burning-ground of Mahákála in Ujjayiní, which was densely tenanted by vampires[5] that smelt of carrion, and hovered hither and thither, black as night, rivalling the smoke-wreaths of the funeral pyres. And there a Bráhman-Rákshasa of the name of Yogeśvara immediately came up to him, delighted to see him, and admitted him into his friendship; then Yaugandharáyaṇa by means of a charm, which he taught him, suddenly altered his shape. That charm immediately made him deformed, hunchbacked, and old, and besides gave him the appearance of a madman, so that he produced loud laughter in those who beheld him. And in the same way Yaugandharáyaṇa, by means of that very charm, gave Vasantaka a body full of outstanding veins, with a large stomach, and an ugly mouth with projecting teeth;[6] then he sent Vasantaka on in front to the gate of the king’s palace, and entered Ujjayiní with such an appearance as I have described. There he, singing and dancing, surrounded by Bráhman boys, beheld with curiosity by all, made his way to the king’s palace. And there he excited by that behaviour the curiosity of the king’s wives, and was at last heard of by Vásavadattá. She quickly sent a maid and had him brought to the concert-room. For youth is twin-brother to mirth. And when Yaugandharáyaṇa came there and beheld the king of Vatsa in fetters, though he had assumed the appearance of a madman, he could not help shedding tears. And he made a sign to the king of Vatsa, who quickly recognized him, though he had come in disguise. Then Yaugandharáyaṇa by means of his magic power made himself invisible to Vásavadattá and her maids. So the king alone saw him, and they all said with astonishment, “that maniac has suddenly escaped somewhere or other.” Then the king of Vatsa hearing them say that, and seeing Yaugandharáyaṇa in front of him, understood that this was due to magic, and cunningly said to Vásavadattá; “Go my good girl, and bring the requisites for the worship of Sarasvatí.” When she heard that, she said, “So I will,” and went out with her companions. Then Yaugandharáyaṇa approached the king and communicated to him, according to the prescribed form, spells for breaking chains; and at the same time he furnished him with other charms for winning the heart of Vásavadattá, which were attached to the strings of the lute; and informed him that Vasantaka had come there and was standing outside the door in a changed form, and recommended him to have that Bráhman summoned to him; at the same time he said—“When this lady Vásavadattá shall come to repose confidence in you, then you must do what I tell you, at the present remain quiet.” Having said this, Yaugandharáyaṇa quickly went out, and immediately Vásavadattá entered with the requisites for the worship of Sarasvatí. Then the king said to her, “There is a Bráhman standing outside the door, let him be brought in to celebrate this ceremony in honour of Sarasvatí, in order that he may obtain a sacrificial fee.” Vásavadattá consented, and had Vasantaka, who wore a deformed shape, summoned from the door into the music-hall. And when he was brought and saw the king of Vatsa, he wept for sorrow, and then the king said to him, in order that the secret might not be discovered, “O Bráhman, I will remove all this deformity of thine produced by sickness; do not weep, remain here near me.” And then Vasantaka said—“It is a great condescension on thy part, O king.” And the king seeing how he was deformed could not keep his countenance. And when he saw that, Vasantaka guessed what was in the king’s mind, and laughed so that the deformity of his distorted face was increased; and thereupon Vásavadattá, beholding him grinning like a doll, burst out laughing also, and was much delighted; then the young lady asked Vasantaka in fun the following question: “Bráhman, what science are you familiar with, tell us?” So he said, “Princess, I am an adept at telling tales.” Then she said, “Come, tell me a tale.” Then in order to please that princess, Vasantaka told the following tale, which was charming by its comic humour and variety.