Chapter XXXIII.
Then the princess Kalingasená, who had deserted her own country and relations, remembering her dear friend Somaprabhá who had left her, and finding the great festival of her marriage with the king of Vatsa delayed, remained in Kauśámbí like a doe that had strayed from the forest.
And the king of Vatsa, feeling a little bitter against the astrologers, who were so dexterous in deferring the marriage of Kalingasená, being despondent with love-longing, went that day to divert his mind, to the private apartments of Vásavadattá. There the queen, who had been tutored beforehand by the excellent minister, let fall no sign of anger, but shewed especial sedulity in honouring her husband with her usual attentions. And the king, wondering how it was that, even though she knew the episode of Kalingasená, the queen was not angry, being desirous of knowing the cause, said to her; “Do you know, queen, that a princess named Kalingasená has come here to choose me for her husband?” The moment she heard it, she answered, without changing the hue of her countenance, “I know it; I am exceedingly delighted, for in her the goddess of Fortune has come to our house; for by gaining her you will also get her father Kalingadatta under your influence, and the earth will be more completely in your power. Now I am delighted on account of his great power and your pleasure, and long ago did I know this circumstance with regard to you. So am I not fortunate, since I have such a husband as you, whom princesses fall in love with, that are themselves sought by other kings?” When thus addressed by queen Vásavadattá, who had been previously tutored by Yaugandharáyaṇa, the king rejoiced in his heart. And after enjoying a drinking-bout with her, he slept that night in her apartments, and waking up in the morning he reflected—“What, does the magnanimous queen obey me so implicitly as even to acquiesce in having Kalingasená for a rival? But how could this same proud woman endure her, since it was owing to the special favour of destiny that she did not yield her breath, even when I married Padmávatí? So, if anything were to happen to her, it would be utter ruin; upon her hang the lives of my son, my brother-in-law, my father-in-law, and Padmávatí, and the welfare of the kingdom; what higher tribute can I pay her? So how can I marry that Kalingasená?” Thus reflecting the king of Vatsa left her chamber at the close of night, and the next day went to the palace of queen Padmávatí. She too, having been taught her lesson by Vásavadattá, shewed him attentions after the very same fashion, and when questioned by him, gave a similar answer. The next day the king, thinking over the sentiments and speeches of the queens, which were completely in unison, commended them to Yaugandharáyaṇa. And the minister Yaugandharáyaṇa, who knew how to seize the right moment, seeing that the king was plunged in doubt, spake slowly to him as follows—“I know well, the matter does not end where you think, there is a terrible resolve here. For the queens spoke thus, because they are steadfastly bent on surrendering their lives. Chaste women, when their beloved is attached to another, or has gone to heaven, become careless about all enjoyments, and determined to die, though their intentions are inscrutable on account of the haughtiness of their character. For matrons cannot endure the interruption of a deep affection; and in proof of this hear now, O king, this story of Śrutasena.”