Story of Keśaṭa and Kandarpa.
There lived in the city of Páṭaliputra a wealthy young Bráhman, the son of a Bráhman; his name was Keśaṭa, and he was in beauty like a second god of love. He wished to obtain a wife like himself, and so he went forth secretly[14] from his parents’ house, and wandered through various lands on the pretext of visiting holy bathing-places. And in the course of his wanderings he came once on a time to the bank of the Narmadá, and he saw a numerous procession of bridegroom’s friends coming that way. And a distinguished old Bráhman, belonging to that company, when he saw Keśaṭa in the distance, left his companions, and coming up to him accosted him, and respectfully said to him in private, “I have a certain favour to ask of you, and it is one which you can easily do for me, but the benefit conferred on me will be a very great one; so, if you will do it, I will proceed to say what it is.” When Keśaṭa heard this, he said, “Noble sir, if what you say is possible, I must certainly do it: let the benefit be conferred on you.”
When the Bráhman heard that, he said, “Listen, my good young man; I have a son, who is the prince of ugly, as you are of good-looking, men. He has projecting teeth, a flat nose, a black colour, squinting eyes, a big belly, crooked feet, and ears like winnowing baskets. Though he is such, I, out of my love for him, described him as handsome, and asked a Bráhman, named Ratnadatta, to give him his daughter, named Rúpavatí, and he has agreed to do it. The girl is as beautiful as her name expresses, and to-day they are to be married. For this reason we have come, but I know that, when that purposed connexion of mine sees my son, he will refuse to give him his daughter, and this attempt will be fruitless. And while thinking how I could find some way out of the difficulty, I have met you here, courteous sir; so quickly perform for me my desire, as you have pledged your word to do. Come with us, and marry that maiden, and hand her over to my son to-day, for you are as good-looking as the bride.”
When Keśaṭa heard this, he said, “Agreed,” and so the old Bráhman took Keśaṭa with him, and they crossed the Narmadá in boats and landed on the opposite bank. And so he reached the city, and rested outside it with his followers, and at that time the sun also, the traveller of the sky, went to his rest on the mountain of setting. Then the darkness began to diffuse itself abroad, and Keśaṭa, having gone to rinse his mouth, saw a terrible Rákshasa rise up near the water; and the Rákshasa said, “Where will you go from me,[15] Keśaṭa? I am about to devour you.” Thereupon Keśaṭa said to the Rákshasa, “Do not devour me now; I will certainly come back to you presently, when I have done the Bráhman the service I promised.” When the Rákshasa heard this, he made Keśaṭa take an oath to this effect, and then let him go; and he returned to the company of the bridegroom’s friends.
Then the old Bráhman brought Keśaṭa adorned with the ornaments of a bridegroom, and entered that city with all the bridegroom’s party. And then he made him enter the house of Ratnadatta, in which an altar-platform was ready prepared, and which was made to resound with the music of various instruments. And Keśaṭa married there with all due ceremonies that fair-faced maiden Rúpavatí, to whom her father gave great wealth. And the women there rejoiced, seeing that the bride and bridegroom were well-matched; and not only Rúpavatí, when she saw that such a bridegroom had arrived, but her friends also, fell in love with him. But Keśaṭa at that time was overpowered with despondency and astonishment.
And at night Rúpavatí seeing that her husband, as he lay on the bed, was plunged in thought, and kept his head turned away, pretended to be asleep. And in the dead of night Keśaṭa, thinking that she was asleep, went out to that Rákshasa to keep his promise. And that faithful wife Rúpavatí also gently rose up unobserved, and followed her husband, full of curiosity. And when Keśaṭa arrived where the Rákshasa was, the latter said to him, “Bravo! you have kept your promise faithfully, Keśaṭa; you are a man of noble character. You sanctify your city of Páṭaliputra and your father Deśaṭa by your virtue, so approach, that I may devour you.” When Rúpavatí heard that, she came up quickly and said, “Eat me, for, if my husband is eaten, what will become of me?” The Rákshasa said, “You can live on alms.” She replied, “Who, noble sir, will give alms to me who am a woman?” The Rákshasa said, “If any one refuses to give you alms, when asked to do so, his head shall split in a hundred pieces.”[16] Then she said, “This being so, give me my husband by way of alms.” And, as the Rákshasa would not give him, his head at once split asunder, and he died. Then Rúpavatí returned to her bridal-chamber, with her husband, who was exceedingly astonished at her virtue, and at that moment the night came to an end.
And the next morning the bridegroom’s friends took food and set out from that city, and reached the bank of the Narmadá with the newly married pair. Then the old Bráhman, who was their leader, put the wife Rúpavatí with her attendants on board one boat, and went on board a second himself, and cunningly made Keśaṭa embark on a third, having previously made an agreement with the boatmen; and before he went on board took from him all the ornaments he had lent him. Then the Bráhman was ferried across with the wife and the bridegroom’s party, but Keśaṭa was kept out in the middle of the stream by the boatmen, and carried to a great distance. Then those boatmen pushed the boat and Keśaṭa into a place where the current ran full and strong, and swam ashore themselves, having been bribed by the old Bráhman.
But Keśaṭa was carried with the boat, by the river which was lashed into waves by the wind, into the sea, and at last a wave flung him up on the coast. There he recovered strength and spirits, as he was not doomed to die just yet, and he said to himself, “Well, that Bráhman has made me a fine recompense. But was not the fact that he married his son by means of a substitute, in itself sufficient proof that he was a fool and a scoundrel?”
While he remained there, buried in such thoughts, the night came on him, when the companies of air-flying witches begin to roam about. He remained sleepless through it, and in the fourth watch he heard a noise in the sky, and saw a handsome[17] man fall from heaven in front of him. Keśaṭa was terrified at first, but after some time he saw that he had nothing uncanny about him, so he said to him, “Who are you, Sir?” Then the man said, “First tell me who you are; and then I will tell you who I am.” Hearing that, Keśaṭa told him his history. Then the man said, “My friend, you are exactly in the same predicament as myself, so I will now tell you my history, listen.
“There is on the bank of the river Veṇá a city named Ratnapura; I am a Bráhman householder in that city, the son of a rich man, and my name is Kandarpa. One evening I went down to the river Veṇá to draw water, and I slipped and fell into it, and was carried away by the current. The current carried me a long way during that night, and when the morning came, as I was not doomed to die yet, it brought me to the foot of a tree that grew on the bank. I climbed up the bank by the help of the tree, and when I had recovered breath, I saw in front of me a great empty temple dedicated to the Mothers. I entered it, and when I saw before me the Mothers flashing, as it were, with brightness and power, my fear was allayed, and I bowed before them, and praised them and addressed this prayer to them, ‘Venerable ones, deliver me a miserable man; for I have to-day come here as a suppliant for your protection.’ When I had uttered this prayer, being exhausted with my struggles in the current of the river, I rested, my friend, till my fatigue gradually disappeared, and the day disappeared also. And then there appeared the horrible female ascetic called night, furnished with many stars by way of a bone-necklace, white with moonlight instead of ashes, and carrying the moon for a gleaming seull.
“And then, I remember, a band of witches came out from the company of the Mothers, and they said to one another, ‘To night we must go to the general assembly of the witches in Chakrapura,[18] and how can this Bráhman be kept safe in this place which is full of wild beasts? So let us take him to some place where he will be happy: and afterwards we will bring him back again; he has fled to us for protection.’ When they had said this, they adorned me, and carrying me through the air, placed me in the house of a rich Bráhman in a certain city, and went away.
“And when I looked about me there, lo! the altar was prepared for a marriage, and the auspicious hour had arrived, but the procession of bridegroom’s friends was nowhere to be seen. And all the people, seeing me in front of the door arrayed in bridegroom’s garments of heavenly splendour, said, ‘Here is the bridegroom at any rate arrived.’ Then the Bráhman of the house took me to the altar, and led his daughter there adorned, and gave her to me with the usual ceremonies. And the women said to one another, ‘Fortunate is it that the beauty of Sumanas has borne fruit by winning her a bridegroom like herself!’ Then, having married Sumanas, I slept with her in a palace, gratified by having every want supplied in the most magnificent style.
“Then those witches came back from their assembly in this last watch of the night, and by their supernatural power carried me off, and flew up into the air with me. And while they were flying through the air, they had a fight with another set of witches, who came, wishing to carry me off, and they let me go and I fell down here. And I do not know the city where I married that Sumanas; and I cannot tell what will become of her now. This succession of misfortunes, which Destiny has brought upon me, has now ended in happiness by my meeting with you.”
When Kandarpa had given this account of his adventure, Keśaṭa said to him, “Do not be afraid, my friend; the witches will have no power over you henceforth; since I possess a certain irresistible charm, which will keep them at a distance: now let us roam about together: Destiny will bestow on us good fortune.” And while they were engaged in this conversation, the night came to an end.
In the morning Keśaṭa and Kandarpa set out from that place together, and crossing the sea, reached in due course a city named Bhímapura near the river called Ratnanadí. There they heard a great noise on the bank of that river, and when they went to the place whence it came, they saw a fish that filled the channel of the stream from bank to bank. It had been thrown up by the tide of the sea, and got fast in the river owing to the vastness of its bulk, and men with various weapons in their hands were cutting it up to procure flesh. And while they were cutting it open, there came out of its belly a woman, and being beheld by the people with astonishment, she came terrified to the bank.
Then Kandarpa looked at her, and said exultingly to Keśaṭa, “My friend, here is that very Sumanas, whom I married. But I do not know how she came to be living in the belly of a fish. So let us remain here in silence, until the whole matter is cleared up.” Keśaṭa consented, and they remained there. And the people said to Sumanas, “Who are you, and what is the meaning of this?” Then she said very reluctantly,
“I am the daughter of a crest-jewel of Bráhmans, named Jayadatta, who lived in the city of Ratnákara. My name is Sumanas, and one night I was married to a certain handsome young Bráhman, who was a suitable match for me. That very night, my husband went away somewhere, while I was asleep; and though my father made diligent search for him, he could not find him anywhere. Then I threw myself into the river to cool the fire of grief at separation from him, and I was swallowed by this fish; and now Destiny has brought me here.”
While she was saying this, a Bráhman named Yajnasvámin rushed out of the crowd, and embraced her and said this to her, “Come, come with me, niece; you are the daughter of my sister; for I am Yajnasvámin, your mother’s own brother.” When Sumanas heard that, she uncovered her face and looked at him, and recognising her uncle, she embraced his feet weeping. But after a moment she ceased weeping, and said to him, “Do you give me fuel, for, as I am separated from my husband, I have no other refuge but the fire.”
Her uncle did all he could to dissuade her, but she would not abandon her intention; and then Kandarpa, having thus seen her real feelings tested, came up to her. When the wise Sumanas saw him near her, she recognised him, and fell weeping at his feet. And when the discreet woman was questioned by the people, and by that uncle of hers, she answered, “He is my husband.” Then all were delighted, and Yajnasvámin took her husband Kandarpa to his house, together with Keśaṭa. There they told their adventures, and Yajnasvámin and his family lovingly waited on them with many hospitable attentions.
After some days had passed, Keśaṭa said to Kandarpa, “You have gained all you want by recovering your longed-for wife; so now go with her to Ratnapura your own city; but, as I have not attained the object of my desire, I will not return to my own country: I, my friend, will make a pilgrimage to all the holy bathing-places and so destroy my body.” When Yajnasvámin, in Bhímapura, heard this, he said to Keśaṭa, “Why do you utter this despondent speech? As long as people are alive, there is nothing they cannot get: in proof of this hear the story of Kusumáyudha, which I am about to tell you.”