Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí.
In the city of Kośala there was a king, named Vimalákara, and he had a son named Kamalákara, who was made by the Creator admirable in respect of the qualities of courage, beauty and generosity, as if to outdo Skanda, Kandarpa, and the wishing-tree of heaven. Then one day a bard, whom he had known before, came and recited a certain stanza in the presence of that prince, who deserved to be praised by bards in all the regions of the world. “Where can the row of swans[5] obtain satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed,[6] round which sings a host of many noisy birds[7] delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower[8]?” When the bard, named Manorathasiddhi, had frequently recited this stanza, prince Kamalákara questioned him, and he said to him: “Prince, as I was roaming about, I reached the city of king Meghamálin, named Vidiśá, the pleasure-ground of the goddess of prosperity. There I was staying in the house of a professor of singing, named Dardura, and one day he happened to say to me, ‘To-morrow the daughter of the king, named Hansávalí, will exhibit in his presence her skill in dancing, which she has lately been taught.’ When I heard that, I was filled with curiosity, and managed to enter the king’s palace with him the following day, and went into the dancing-hall. There I saw the slender-waisted princess Hansávalí dancing before her father, to the music of a great tabor, looking like a creeper of the tree of Love agitated by the wind of youth, shaking her ornaments like flowers, curving her hand like a shoot. Then I thought, ‘There is no one fitted to be the husband of this fawn-eyed one, except the prince Kamalákara; so, if she, being such, is not joined to him, why has the god of love taken the trouble of stringing his bow of flowers thus fruitlessly? So I will adopt some expedient in this matter.’ Thus minded I went, after I had seen the spectacle, to the door of the king’s court, and I put up a notice with this inscription on it; ‘If there is any painter here, who is a match for me, let him paint a picture.’ When no one else dared to tear it down, the king coming to hear of it, appointed me to paint his daughter’s bower. Then I painted you and your servants, prince Kamalákara, on the wall of the bower of that Hansávalí.
“I thought to myself, ‘If I declare the matter openly, she will know that I am scheming, so I will let the princess know it by means of an artifice.’ So I persuaded a handsome fellow, who was an intimate friend of mine, to come near the palace, and pretend to be mad, and I arranged with him beforehand how he was to behave. Now he was seen a long way off by the princes, as he was roaming about singing and dancing, and they had him brought into their presence to make game of him. Then Hansávalí saw him, and had him brought by way of a joke into her bower, and, when he saw the picture of you, which I had painted there, he began to praise you, saying, ‘I am fortunate in beholding this Kamalákara, who is, like Vishṇu, an endless store of virtues, with his hand marked with the lotus and conch, the object of the favour of the goddess of Fortune.’ When the princess heard him singing such songs, as he danced, she said to me, ‘What does this fellow mean? Who is it that you have painted here?’ When she asked me this persistently, I said, ‘This mad fellow must have previously seen this prince, whom I have painted here out of regard for his beauty.’ And then I told her your name, and described to her your good qualities. Then the young tree of passion grew up in the heart of Hansávalí, which was irrigated by the overflowing streams of gushing love for you. Then the king her father came and saw what was going on, and in wrath had the pretended madman, who was dancing, and myself, both turned out of doors. After that she pined away day by day with longing, and was reduced to such a state that, like a streak of the moon during the wane, she had only her beauty left. And on the pretence of illness she went to a temple of Vishṇu that dispels calamity, and so managed to live a solitary life by the permission of her father. And being unable to sleep, owing to thinking on you, she could not endure the cruel moonlight, and remained there ignorant of the changes of day and night. Then she saw me one day from a window, as I was entering there, and she summoned me, and honoured me respectfully with dresses and ornaments.[9] And then I went out, and saw this stanza which I have repeated to you written on the border of a garment that she had given me: hear it again; ‘Where can the row of swans obtain satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed, round which sings a host of many noisy birds delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower.’ And when I read it, I knew for certain how she felt towards you, and I came here to inform you and recited the stanza in your presence, and here is the garment on which she wrote the stanza.” When Kamalákara heard the speech of the bard, and saw the stanza, he joyed exceedingly, thinking on Hansávalí, who had entered his heart, he knew not whether by eye or ear.
Now it happened that, while he was thinking with eager longing about the best means of obtaining this princess, his father summoned him and said to him; “My son, unenterprising kings perish like snakes arrested by a charm, and how can kings rise up again when they have once perished? But you have been addicted to pleasures, and up to the present time you have not been visited by any longing for conquest; so arouse yourself, and fling off sloth; advance and conquer that enemy of mine the king of Anga, who has left his own country on an enterprise against me, and I will remain at home. When the brave Kamalákara heard this, he agreed to undertake the enterprise, being desirous of marching towards the country of his beloved. Then he set out with the forces which his father assigned him, making the earth and the hearts of his enemies tremble. And he reached in a few marches the army of the king of Anga, and when that prince turned round to make a counter-attack, he fought with him. And the brave hero drank up his army, as Agastya did the water of the sea, and being victorious, captured the king alive. And he sent that enemy in chains to his father, committing him to the care of the principal warder in accordance with a letter, which he sent with him. But he commissioned the warder to give the following message by word of mouth to the king, “I now leave this place, my father, to conquer other enemies.” So he went on conquering other enemies, and with his army augmented by their forces, he at last arrived in the vicinity of the city of Vidiśá.
And encamping there he sent an ambassador to Meghamálin the father of Hansávalí, to ask for her in marriage. When that king learnt from the ambassador that he had come, not as an enemy, but for the sake of his daughter, he paid a friendly visit to him in person. The prince welcomed him; and Meghamálin, after he had complimented the prince, said to him, “Why did you take the trouble of coming in person about a business which might have been negotiated by an ambassador? For I desire this marriage; hear the reason. Seeing that this Hansávalí was even in her childhood devoted to the worship of Vishṇu, and that she had a frame delicate as a śirísha, I became anxious about her, and kept saying to myself, ‘Who will be a fitting husband for this girl.’ And, as I could not think of a suitable husband for her, I was deprived of sleep by my anxiety about the matter, and contracted a violent fever. And in order to allay it, I worshipped and petitioned Vishṇu, and one night, when I was only able to sleep a little on account of pain, Vishṇu said to me in a dream, ‘Let that Hansávalí, on account of whom you have contracted this fever, touch you with her hand, my son, then your fever will be allayed. For her hand is so holy from worshipping me, that whenever she touches any one with it, his fever, even though incurable, will certainly pass away. And you need have no more anxiety about her marriage, since prince Kamalákara is destined to be her husband. But she will endure some misery for a short time.’ When I had been thus instructed by Vishṇu in a dream, I woke up at the end of the night. Then my fever was removed by the touch of Hansávalí’s hand. And so the union of you two is appointed by the god. Accordingly I bestow on you Hansávalí.” When he had said this, he had an auspicious moment fixed for the marriage and returned to his capital.
There he told all that he had done, and when Hansávalí had heard it, she said in secret to her confidante, named Kanakamanjarí, “Go and see with your own eyes whether that prince, to whom I am to be given, is the same as he, who, when painted here by the artist, captivated my heart. For it is just possible that my father may wish, out of fear, to bestow me as a gift on some prince of the same name, that has come here with an army.” With these words she sent off Kanakamanjarí, acting in accordance with her own will only.
And the confidante, having assumed the complete disguise of an ascetic, with rosary of Aksha beads, deer-skin, and matted hair, went to the camp of that prince, and entered introduced by his attendants, and beheld him looking like the god that presides over the weapon with which the god of love conquers the world. And her heart was fascinated by his beauty, and she remained a moment looking as if she were in profound meditation. And full of longing she said to herself, “If I am not united with this charming prince, I shall have been born in vain. So I will take the necessary steps to ensure that, whatever comes of it.” Then she went up to him, and gave him her blessing, and bestowed on him a jewel, and he received the gem politely and sat down; then she said to him, “This is an excellent jewel of which I have often seen the properties tested. By holding it in your hand you can render ineffectual the best weapon of your enemy. And I give it you out of regard for your excellence, for it is not of so much use to me, prince, as it is to you.” When she said this, the prince began to speak to her, but she forbade him, on the ground that she had vowed an exclusive devotion to the life of a beggar, and departed thence.
Then she laid aside the dress of a female ascetic, and assumed a downcast expression of face, and went into the presence of Hansávalí, and when questioned by her, made the following false statement; “I must out of love for you reveal the king’s secret, although it is a matter which ought to be concealed. When I went from here to the camp of the prince dressed as a female ascetic, a man came up to me of his own accord and said in a low voice, ‘Reverend madam, do you know the rites for exorcising demons?’ When I heard that, I said to him, looking upon him as the warder, ‘I know them very well. This is a trifling matter for me.’ Then I was immediately introduced into the presence of that prince Kamalákara. And I saw him crouching, possessed by a demon, having horns on his head, and his attendants were trying to restrain him; besides he had herbs and a talismanic jewel on him. I performed certain pretended ceremonies to avert evil, and went out immediately, saying, ‘To-morrow I will come and take away his affliction.’ Accordingly, being exceedingly grieved with the sight of such an unexpected calamity, I have come here to tell you; it is for you to decide what you will do next.”
When the unsuspecting Hansávalí heard this trumped-up tale of her maid’s, terrible as a thunderstroke, she was distracted and said to her, “Out on the spite of destiny! she brings trouble on her handiwork, even when full of excellences; indeed the spot on the moon is a disgrace to him who created it. As for this prince, I chose him as my husband, but I cannot see him, so it is best for me to die or to retire into some forest. So tell me what I had better do in this matter.” When the guileless lady said this, the treacherous Kanakamanjarí answered, “Have some maid of yours, dressed in your clothes, married to him, and we will escape to some place of refuge; for the people of the palace will be all in a state of excitement at that time.” When the princess heard that, she said to her wicked confidante, “Then do you put on my clothes, and marry that prince; who else is as faithful to me as you?” The wicked Kanakamanjarí answered, “Cheer up, I will manage to effect this by a stratagem, happen to me what may. But when the time comes, you must do as I direct you.” When she had consoled her with these words, she went and told an intimate friend of hers, named Aśokakarí, her secret object. And with her she waited during three days on the desponding Hansávalí, who agreed with them on the measures to he taken.
And when the wedding-day came, the bridegroom Kamalákara arrived at night, with a train of elephants, horses, and footmen. While all the people of the palace were occupied with festal rejoicing, Kanakamanjarí, keeping by an artifice the other maids out of the way, quickly took Hansávalí into her chamber, ostensibly for the purpose of decking her, and put the princess’s dress on herself, and clothed her in the dress of Aśokakarí, and put her own dress on her accomplice Aśokakarí, and when night came, said to Hansávalí, “If you go out only the distance of a cos from the western gate of this city, you will find an old hollow Śalmali-tree. Go and hide inside it, and await my arrival. And after the business is accomplished, I will certainly come there to you.” When Hansávalí heard these words of her treacherous friend, she agreed, and went out from the female apartments at night clad in her garments, and she passed out unperceived by the western gate of the city, which was crowded with the bridegroom’s attendants, and reached the foot of that Śalmali-tree. But when she saw that the hollow of it was black with thick darkness, she was afraid to go into it, so she climbed up a banyan-tree near it. There she remained hidden by the leaves, watching for the arrival of her treacherous friend, for she did not see through her villainy, being herself of a guileless nature.[10]
In the palace meanwhile, the auspicious moment having arrived, the king brought Kanakamanjarí, who was dressed as Hansávalí, and placed her on the sacrificial platform, and Kamalákara married that fair-hued maid, and on account of its being night nobody detected her. And the moment the marriage was over, the prince set out for his own camp at full speed by that same western gate of the city, in order to gain the benefit of propitious constellations, and he took with him the supposed Hansávalí, together with Aśokakarí, who was personating Kanakamanjarí. And as he went along, he came near that Śalmali-tree, in the banyan-tree near which was concealed Hansávalí, who had been so cruelly deceived. And when he arrived there, the supposed Hansávalí, who was on the back of the elephant, which the king had mounted, embraced him, as if she were terrified. And he asked her eagerly the reason of that terror, whereupon she artfully replied with gushing tears; “My husband, I remember that, last night, in a dream, a woman like a Rákshasí rushed out from this tree, and seized me to eat me. Then a certain Bráhman ran forward and delivered me, and after he had consoled me, he said, ‘My daughter, you should have this tree burnt, and if this woman should come out of it, she must be thrown back into it. So all will turn out well.’ When the Bráhman had said this, he disappeared. And I woke up. Now that I have seen this tree I remember it. That is why I am frightened.” When she said this, Kamalákara immediately ordered his servants to burn the tree and the woman too. So they burned the tree; and the pretended Hansávalí thought that her mistress was burned in it, as she did not come out of it. Then she was satisfied, and Kamalákara returned with her to the camp, thinking that he had got the real Hansávalí. And the next morning he returned rapidly from that place to his city of Kośala, and he was anointed king by his father, who was pleased at his success. And after his father had gone to the forest, he ruled the earth, having for his wife Kanakamanjarí the pretended Hansávalí. But the bard Manorathasiddhi kept at a distance from the palace, because he feared for his own safety in case she were to find out who he was.
But when Hansávalí, who remained that night in the banyan-tree, heard and saw all that, she perceived that she had been tricked. And she said to herself, as soon as Kamalákara had departed; “Alas! my wicked confidante has robbed me of my lover by treachery. Alas! she even desires to have me burned in order to ensure her own peace of mind. But to whom is reliance upon treacherous people not a source of calamity? So I will throw my unlucky self into the glowing ashes of the Śalmali-tree, that was burnt for me, and so pay my debt to the tree.” After these reflections she descended from the tree, determined to destroy herself, but as fate would have it, she returned to her sober reason, and thought thus within herself; “Why should I destroy myself without reason? If I live, I shall soon be revenged on that betrayer of her friend. For when my father was seized with that fever, Vishṇu appeared to him in a dream, and after saying that he was to be healed by the touch of my hand, said this to him, ‘Hansávalí shall obtain Kamalákara, who will be a suitable husband for her, but she shall endure calamity for a short time.’ So I will go somewhere and wait a little.” When she had formed this resolution, she set out for an uninhabited forest.
And after she had gone a long distance, and was weary, and her steps began to falter, the night disappeared, as if out of pity, in order to let her see her way. And the heaven being, as it were, moved with compassion at beholding her, let fall a flood of tears in the form of drops of dew. And the sun, the friend of the virtuous, rose up so as to comfort her, by revealing to her both hopes and the face of the country, and stretched out the fingers of his rays to wipe away her tears. Then the princess, being a little consoled, went on slowly by by-paths, avoiding the sight of men; and wounded by the spikes of kuśa grass, she at last reached with difficulty a certain forest, full of birds which seemed to be singing, “Come here, come here!” She entered the wood fatigued, and was, as it were, courteously fanned by the trees with their creepers waving in the wind. So she, full of longing for her beloved, beheld that wood in all the pomp of spring, where the cuckoos cooed sweetly on fragrant mango-trees in full blossom. And in her despondency she said to herself; “Although this breeze from the Malaya mountain, red with the pollen of flowers, scorches me like a fire, and these showers of flowers falling from the trees, while the bees hum, strike me like showers of the arrows of Love, still I will remain here worshipping with these flowers the husband of Ramá,[11] and by so doing purge away my sin.” Having formed this resolution, she remained bathing in tanks and living on fruit, devoted to the worship of Vishṇu, in order to gain Kamalákara.
In the meanwhile it happened that Kamalákara was seized with a chronic quartan fever. Then the wicked Kanakamanjarí, who personated Hansávalí, was terrified, and thought thus in her heart, “I have always one fear in my heart, lest Aśokakarí should reveal my secret, and now a second has come on the top of it. For the father of Hansávalí said to my husband, in the presence of a large number of persons, that the touch of his daughter’s hand removed fever; and as soon as in his present attack he shall call that to mind, I shall be exposed, as not having that power, and ruined. So I will perform on his behalf with all due rites an incantation for obtaining control over an imp of the fever-demon, who has the power of removing fever, and who was mentioned to me long ago by a certain witch. And I will by a stratagem kill this Aśokakarí, in front of the imp, in order that the offering to him may be made with human flesh, and so he may be enlisted in my service and bring about the desired result. So the king’s fever will be cured and Aśokakarí removed at the same time, and both my fears will be ended; I do not see any chance of a prosperous issue in any other way.”
Having formed this resolution, she told Aśokakarí all the harmless points of her plan, taking care to omit the necessity of slaying a human being. Then Aśokakarí consented, and brought the necessary utensils, and Kanakamanjarí by an artifice dismissed her attendants, and, accompanied by Aśokakarí only, went out from the women’s apartments secretly at night by a postern-door, and sword in hand,[12] made for a deserted temple of Śiva in which there was one linga. There she killed with the sword a goat, and anointed the linga with its blood, and made an offering to it of its flesh, and threw the animal’s entrails round it by way of a garland, and honoured it by placing on its summit the goat’s lotus-like heart, and fumigated it with the smoke of its eyes, and lastly presented to it the animal’s head by way of oblation. Then she smeared the front of the sacrificial platform with blood and sandalwood, and painted on it with yellow paint a lotus, having eight leaves, and on its pericarp she traced with crushed mango a representation of the demon of fever, with three feet and three mouths, and with a handful of ashes by way of weapon; and she represented on the leaves the fever’s attendant imps in proper form, and summoned them with a spell which she knew.[13] And then she wished to make an offering to them, preparatory to bathing, with human flesh, as I said before, so she said to Aśokakarí, “Now, my friend, prostrate yourself flat on the earth before the god, for thus you will obtain prosperous fortune.” Then she consented, and flung herself flat on the earth, and the wicked Kanakamanjarí gave her a cut with the sword. As it happened, the sword only wounded her slightly on the shoulder, and she rose up terrified, and ran away, and seeing Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, she exclaimed again and again, “Help, help!” And thereupon some policemen, who happened to be near, ran to her assistance. When they saw Kanakamanjarí pursuing her, sword in hand, with a ferocious expression of countenance, they thought she was a Rákshasí, and slashed her with their swords till she was almost dead. But when they heard from the lips of Aśokakarí the real state of the case, they took both the women to the king’s court, with the governor of the town at their head. When king Kamalákara heard their story, he had that wicked wife and her confidante brought into his presence. And when they were brought, what with fear and the severe pain of her wounds, Kanakamanjarí died on the spot.
Then the king, in great despondency, said to Aśokakarí, who was wounded, “What is the meaning of this? Tell me without fear.” Then Aśokakarí related from the very beginning the history of the daring treachery accomplished by Kanakamanjarí. Then king Kamalákara, having found out the truth, thus bewailed his lot on that occasion, “Alas! I have been deceived by this supposed Hansávalí into burning the real Hansávalí with my own hand, fool that I was! Well! this wicked woman has met the just reward of her actions, in that, after becoming the wife of a king, she has been thus put to death. But how came I to permit cruel Destiny to deceive me with mere outward appearances, like a child, and so to rob me by taking away my jewel and giving me glass instead. Moreover, I did not remember that touch of the hand of Hansávalí, of which Vishṇu spoke to her father, which has given evidence of its power to remove fever.” While Kamalákara was thus lamenting, he suddenly recollected the words of Vishṇu and said to himself, “Her father Meghamálin told me that Vishṇu said that she should obtain a husband, but that she should suffer some little affliction, and that word of the god, made known to men, will not have been spoken in vain. So it is quite possible that she may have gone somewhere else, and be still alive, for who knows the mysterious ways of a woman’s heart, any more than those of destiny? So in this matter the bard Manorathasiddhi must once more be my refuge.”
Thus reflecting, the king sent for that excellent bard, and said to him, “How is it, my good friend, that you are never seen in the palace?” But how can those obtain their wishes, who are deceived by rogues? When the bard heard that, he said, “My excuse is that this Aśokakarí was well nigh slain, out of fear that she would reveal the secret. But you must not be despondent about Hansávalí, for Vishṇu revealed that she would suffer calamity for a short time. And he certainly protects her, because she is ever intent on worshipping him; for virtue prevails; has it not been seen in the present instance? So I will go, king, to obtain tidings of her.” When the bard said this to the king, he answered him, “I myself will go in search of her with you. For otherwise my mind cannot be at rest even for a moment.”
When the king had said this, he resolved on the course to be taken, and next day he entrusted his kingdom to the care of his minister Prajnáḍhya. And though the minister did all he could to dissuade him, the king left the town unobserved with Manorathasiddhi. And he went round to many holy places, hermitages, and forests in search of her, disregarding physical suffering, for weighty is the command of Love. And it happened that he and Manorathasiddhi at last reached the wood, where Hansávalí was performing austerities. There he saw her at the foot of a red Aśoka-tree, thin and pale, but yet charming, like the last digit of the gleaming moon. And he said to the bard; “Who is this silent and motionless, engaged in meditation? Can she be a goddess, for her beauty is more than human?” When the bard heard that, he looked and said, “You are fortunate, my sovereign, in finding Hansávalí; for it is she herself that is standing there.” When Hansávalí heard that, she looked at them, and recognising that bard, she cried out with renewed grief; “Alas! my father, I am ruined! alas my husband, Kamalákara! alas Manorathasiddhi! alas, Destiny, source of untoward events!” Thus lamenting, she fell on the ground in a faint, and when Kamalákara heard and saw her, he too fell on the earth overpowered with grief. Then they were both brought round by Manorathasiddhi; and when they had recognised one another for certain, they were much delighted, and, having crossed the ocean of separation, they experienced indescribable joy, and they told one another in due course all their adventures. Then Kamalákara returned with Hansávalí and that bard to the city of Kośala. There he received in marriage her hand that had the power of removing disease, after summoning her father the famous Meghamálin. Then Kamalákara shone exceedingly bright, being united with Hansávalí, both whose wings were pure.[14] And having attained his object in life, he lived happily with her whose endurance had borne fruit, ruling the earth, inseparable from Manorathasiddhi.
“So you see those who do not lose heart, even in calamity, obtain all they desire, and on the same principle you should abstain from suicide, for, if you live, you will be reunited to that lord.” With these words the old traveller closed his tale, and after dissuading me from death, departed whither he would.
After Bhímaparákrama had told all this to Mṛigánkadatta at night in the house of Chaṇḍaketu, he went on to say: