Story of Arthalobha and his beautiful wife.
That king of Kánchí, Báhubala, whom I mentioned to you, had a rich door-keeper, rightly named Arthalobha.[7] He had a beautiful wife named Mánapará. That Arthalobha, being by profession a merchant, and on account of his avarice distrusting his servants, appointed that wife of his to look after his business in preference to them. She, though she did not like it, being obedient to him, made bargains with merchants and captivated all men by her sweet form and speech. And Arthalobha, seeing that all the sales of elephants, horses, jewels, and garments that she made, brought in a profit, rejoiced exceedingly. And once on a time there came there from a distant foreign land a merchant, named Sukhadhana, having a large stock of horses and other commodities. The moment Arthalobha heard that he had come, he said to his wife—“My dear, a merchant named Sukhadhana has arrived from a foreign land, he has brought twenty thousand horses, and innumerable pairs of excellent garments made in China, so please, go and purchase from him five thousand horses and ten thousand pairs of garments, in order that with the thousands of horses I already possess and those other five, I may pay a visit to the king, and carry on my commerce. When commissioned in these words by that villain Arthalobha, Mánapará went to Sukhadhana; whose eyes were captivated by her beauty, and who welcomed her gladly. And she demanded from him for a price those horses and garments. The merchant, overpowered with love, took her aside and said to her—“I will not give you one horse or garment for money, but if you will remain one night with me, I will give you five hundred horses and five thousand garments.” After saying this, he solicited that fair one with even a larger amount; who does not fall in love with women, who are allowed to go about without restraint? Then she answered him—“I will ask my husband about this, for I know he will send me here out of excessive cupidity.[8]” After saying this, she went home, and told her husband what the merchant Sukhadhana had said to her secretly. And that wicked covetous husband Arthalobha said to her; “My dear, if you obtain five hundred horses and five thousand pairs of garments for one night, what is the harm in it. So go to him now; you shall return quickly in the morning.” When Mánapará heard this speech of her mean-spirited husband’s, she began to debate in her heart, and thus reflected—“Out on this base spiritless husband of mine that sells his honour! By continually meditating on gain he has become all made up of the desire of gain. It is better that the generous man, who buys me for one night with hundreds of horses and thousands of pieces of China silk, should be my husband.” Thus reflecting, she took leave of her base husband, saying; “It is not my fault,” and went to the house of that Sukhadhana. And he, when he saw that she had come, after questioning her and hearing the whole story from her, was astonished, and considered himself fortunate in obtaining her. And he sent off immediately to her husband Arthalobha the horses and garments that were to purchase her, as agreed upon. And he remained that night with her, having all his wishes attained, for she seemed like the fortune which was the fruit of his own wealth, incarnate in bodily form, at last obtained by him. And in the morning the base Arthalobha sent, in his shamelessness, servants to summon her, whereupon Mánapará said to them, “How can I again return to be the wife of that man who sold me to another? I am not as shameless as he is. Tell me yourselves if this would be becoming now. So depart, the man that bought me is my husband.” When the servants were thus addressed by her, they went and repeated her words to Arthalobha with downcast faces. The mean fellow, when he heard it, wanted to recover her by force; then a friend of the name of Harabala said to him; “You cannot recover her from that Sukhadhana, for he is a hero, and I do not behold in you manliness corresponding to his. For he is moved to heroism by a woman that loves him on account of his generosity, and he is mighty, and surrounded with other mighty men that have come with him. But you have been deserted by your wife, who separated from you because you sold her out of meanness, and scorn makes you timid, and being reproached you have become effeminate. Moreover you are not mighty, and you are not surrounded by mighty friends, so how can you possibly be capable of vanquishing that rival? And the king will be angry with you, when he hears of your crime of selling your wife; so keep quiet, and do not make a ridiculous blunder.” Though his friend tried to dissuade him with these words, Arthalobha went and beset, in his anger, the house of Sukhadhana with his retainers. While he was thus engaged, Sukhadhana sallied out with his friends and retainers, and in a moment easily defeated the whole of Arthalobha’s force.
Then Arthalobha fled, and went into the presence of the king. And concealing his own wicked conduct, he said to the king,—“O king, the merchant Sukhadhana has carried off my wife by force.” And the king, in his rage, wished to arrest that Sukhadhana. Then a minister of the name of Sandhána said to the king—“In any case, my lord, you cannot arrest him, for when his force is increased by that of the eleven friends who have come with him, he will be found to have more than a hundred thousand excellent horses. And you have not discovered the truth about the matter, for his conduct will turn out to be not altogether without cause. So you had better send a messenger, and ask what it is that this fellow here is chattering about.” When king Báhubala heard this, he sent a messenger to Sukhadhana to ask about the matter. The messenger went, and asked about the matter by the king’s order, and thereupon Mánapará told him her story. When Báhubala heard that wonderful tale, he came to the house of Sukhadhana to behold the beauty of Mánapará, being filled with excessive curiosity. There he beheld, while Sukhadhana bent before him, Mánapará, who with the wealth of her beauty would astonish even the Creator. She prostrated herself at his feet, and he questioned her, and heard from her own mouth how the whole thing happened, Arthalobha being present and listening. When he heard it, he thought it was true, because Arthalobha was speechless, and he asked that fair one what was to be done now. Then she said decidedly, “How can I return to that spiritless avaricious man, who sold me to another man without the excuse of distress?” When the king heard this, he said, “Well said,” and then Arthalobha bewildered with desire, wrath, and shame, exclaimed,—“King, let him and me fight with our own retainers, without any auxiliary forces; then let it be seen who is spirited and who is spiritless.” When Sukhadhana heard this, he said—“Then let us fight in single combat, what need is there of retainers? Mánapará shall be the prize of the victor.” When the king heard this, he said, “Good! so let it be!” Then, before the eyes of Mánapará and the king, they both entered the lists mounted. And in the course of the combat, Sukhadhana laid Arthalobha on the plain, by his horse’s rearing on account of a lance-wound. Then Arthalobha fell three times more on the earth, on account of his horse being killed, but Sukhadhana, who was a fair fighter, restrained himself and would not slay him. But the fifth time Arthalobha’s horse fell upon him, and bruised him, and he was carried off by his servants motionless. Then Sukhadhana was cheered by all the spectators with shouts of applause, and the king Báhubala honoured him as he deserved. And he immediately bestowed a gift of honour upon the lady, and he confiscated the property of Arthalobha, which had been acquired by unlawful means; and appointing another to his office, he departed pleased to his palace. For good men derive satisfaction from breaking off their connection with the bad. And Sukhadhana, having maintained his claim by force, remained enjoying himself in the society of Mánapará his loving wife.
“Thus wives and wealth leave the mean-spirited man, and of their own accord come to the high-spirited man from every quarter. So dismiss anxiety! Go to sleep! in a short time, my lord, you will obtain that princess Karpúriká.” When Naraváhanadatta heard that sound advice of Rájyadhara’s, he and Gomukha went off to sleep.
And in the morning, while the prince was waiting awhile after his meal, the wise Gomukha addressed Rájyadhara as follows: “Make such an ingenious chariot for my master, as that he shall be able by means of it to reach the city of Karpúrasambhava, and obtain his beloved.” When thus supplicated, that carpenter offered Naraváhanadatta the chariot with a pneumatic contrivance, that he had made before. He ascended that sky-travelling chariot, swift as thought, together with Gomukha, and crossed the deep, the home of monsters, that agitated its waves as if exulting to behold his valour, and reached the city of Karpúrasambhava on its shore. There the chariot descended from the sky, and he and Gomukha left it, and out of curiosity wandered about inside the town. And by questioning the people he found out that he had indeed without doubt reached the desired city, and delighted he went to the neighbourhood of the palace. There he found a splendid house occupied by an old woman, and he entered it to stay there, and she received him with respect. And eager to hit upon an artifice, he immediately asked that woman, “Noble lady, what is the name of the king here, and what children has he? And tell us of their appearance, for we are foreigners.” When he said this to the old woman, she, seeing that he was of excessively noble form, answered—“Listen, illustrious sir, I will tell you all. In this city of Karpúrasambhava there is a king named Karpúraka. And he, having no children, performed penance, with his wife Buddhikárí, fasting, in honour of Śiva, in order to obtain offspring. After he had fasted for three nights, the god Śiva commanded him in a dream—‘Rise up, a daughter shall be born to you, who shall be superior to a son, and whose husband shall obtain the sovereignty of the Vidyádharas.’ After receiving this order from Śiva, the king woke up in the morning; and, after communicating this dream to his wife Buddhikárí, he rose up and went off delighted, and with his queen broke his fast. And then in a short time that queen conceived by the king, and when the period was completed, she brought forth a daughter beautiful in all her limbs. She surpassed in splendour the lights in the lying-in chamber,[9] and they, as it were, heaved sighs by discharging lamp-black. And her father made great rejoicings, and gave her the name of Karpúriká, which is his own name made feminine. And gradually that moonlight of the eyes of the people, the princess Karpúriká, has grown up, and is now in the full bloom of youth. And her father, the king here, desires to have her married, but the haughty girl detests men, and will not consent. And when my daughter, who is her friend, put this question to her ‘My dear, why do you not desire marriage, the only fruit of a daughter’s birth?’ she answered, ’My dear, I remember my former birth, and the cause is something which happened then; hear it.”