Story of Nala and Damayantí.
Of old time there lived a king named Nala, whose beauty, I fancy, so surpassed that of the god of Love, that in disgust he offered his body as a burnt-offering in the fire of the eye of the enraged Śiva. He had no wife, and when he made enquiries, he heard that Damayantí, the daughter of Bhíma the king of Vidarbha, would make him a suitable wife. And Bhíma, searching through the world, found that there was no king except Nala fit to marry his daughter.
In the meanwhile Damayantí went down into a tank in her own city, to amuse herself in the water. There the girl saw a swan that had fed on blue and white lotuses, and by a trick she threw over it her robe and made it a prisoner in sport. But the celestial swan, when captured, said to her in accents that she could understand: “Princess, I will do you a good turn, let me go. There is a king of the name of Nala, whom even the nymphs of heaven bear on their hearts, like a necklace strung with threads of merit.[13] You are a wife fitted for him and he is a husband suited for you, so I will be an ambassador of Love to bring like to like.” When she heard that, she thought that the celestial swan was a polished speaker, and so she let him go, saying—“So be it.”—And she said, “I will not choose any husband but Nala,” having her mind captivated by that prince, who had entered by the channel of her ear.
And the swan departed thence, and quickly repaired to a tank resorted to by Nala, when bent on sporting in the water. And Nala, seeing that the swan was beautiful, took it captive out of curiosity by throwing his robe over it in sport. Then the swan said—“Set me free, O king, for I have come to benefit you; listen, I will tell you. There is in Vidarbha one Damayantí, the daughter of king Bhíma, the Tilottamá of the earth, to be desired even by gods. And she has chosen you as her future husband, having fallen in love with you on account of my description of your virtues; and I have come here to tell you. Nala was at the same time pierced with the words of that excellent swan, that were brightened by the splendid object they had in view,[14] and with the sharp arrows of the god of the flowery shafts. And he said to that swan, “I am fortunate, best of birds, in that I have been selected by her, as if by the incarnate fulfilment of my wishes.” When the swan had been thus addressed by him and let go, it went and related the whole occurrence to Damayantí, as it took place, and then went whither it would.
Now Damayantí was longing for Nala; so, by way of a device to obtain him, she sent her mother to ask her father to appoint for her the ceremony of the Svayamvara. And her father Bhíma consented, and sent messengers to all the kings on the earth, to invite them to the Svayamvara. And all the kings, when they had received the summons, set out for Vidarbha, and Nala went also eagerly, mounted on his chariot.
And in the meanwhile, Indra and the other Lokapálas heard from the hermit Nárada of the Svayamvara of Damayantí, and of her love for Nala. And of them Indra, the Wind, the god of Fire, Yama and Varuṇa, longing for Damayantí, deliberated together, and went to Nala, and they found Nala setting off on the journey, and when he prostrated himself before them, they said to him “Go, Nala, and tell Damayantí this from us—‘Choose one of us five; what is the use of choosing Nala who is a mortal? Mortals are subject to death, but the gods are undying.’ And by our favour, thou shalt enter where she is, unperceived by the others.” Nala said “So be it,” and consented to do the errand of the gods. And he entered the apartments of Damayantí without being seen, and delivered that command of the gods, exactly as it was given. But when the virtuous woman heard that, she said “Suppose the gods are such, nevertheless Nala shall be my husband, I have no need of gods.” When Nala had heard her utter this noble sentiment, and had revealed himself, he went and told it, exactly as it was said, to Indra and the others; and they, pleased with him, gave him a boon, saying, “We are thy servants from this time forth, and will repair to thee as soon as thought of, truthful man.”
Then Nala went delighted to Vidarbha, and Indra and the other gods assumed the form of Nala, with intent to deceive Damayantí. And they went to the court of Bhíma, assuming the attributes of mortals, and, when the Svayamvara began, they sat near Nala. Then Damayantí came, and leaving the kings who were being proclaimed one by one by her brother, gradually reached Nala. And when she saw six Nalas, all possessing shadows and the power of winking,[15] she thought in her perplexity, while her brother stood amazed, “Surely these five guardians of the world have produced this illusion to deceive me, but I think that Nala is the sixth here, and so I cannot go in any other direction.” When the virtuous one had thus reflected, she stood facing the sun, with mind fixed on Nala alone, and spoke thus—“O guardians of the world, if even in sleep I have never fixed my heart on any but Nala, on account of that loyal conduct of mine shew me your real forms. And to a maiden any other men than her lover previously chosen are strangers, and she is to them the wife of another, so how comes this delusion upon you?” When the five, with Indra at their head, heard that, they assumed their own forms, and the sixth, the true Nala, preserved his true form. The princess in her delight cast upon the king her eye, beautiful as a blown blue lotus, and the garland of election. And a rain of flowers fell from heaven. Then king Bhíma performed the marriage ceremony of her and Nala. And the kings and the gods, Indra and the others, returned by the way that they came, after due honour had been done to them by the king of Vidarbha.
But Indra and his companions saw on the way Kali and Dvápara,[16] and knowing that they had come for Damayantí, they said to them, “It is of no use your going to Vidarbha; we come thence; and the Svayamvara has taken place; Damayantí has chosen king Nala. When the wicked Kali and Dvápara heard that, they exclaimed in wrath, “Since she has chosen that mortal in preference to gods like thyself, we will certainly separate that couple.” After making this vow they turned round and departed thence. And Nala remained seven days in the house of his father-in-law, and then departed, a successful man, for Nishada, with his wife Damayantí. There their love was greater than that of Śiva and Párvatí. Párvatí truly is half of Śiva, but Damayantí was Nala’s self. And in due time Damayantí brought forth to Nala a son named Indrasena, and after that a daughter named Indrasená.
And in the meanwhile Kali, who was resolved on effecting what he had promised, was seeking an occasion against Nala, who lived according to the Śástras. Then, one day, Nala lost his senses from drunkenness, and went to sleep without saying the evening prayer and without washing his feet. After Kali had obtained this opportunity, for which he had been watching day and night, he entered into the body of Nala. When Kali had entered his body, king Nala abandoned righteous practices and acted as he pleased. The king played dice, he loved female slaves, he spoke untruths, he slept in the day, he kept awake at night, he became angry without cause, he took wealth unjustly, he despised the good, and he honoured the bad.
Moreover Dvápara entered into his brother Pushkara, having obtained an opportunity, and made him depart from the true path. And one day Nala saw, in the house of his younger brother Pushkara, a fine white bull, named Dánta. And Pushkara would not give the bull to his elder brother, though he wanted it and asked for it, because his respect for him had been taken away by Dvápara. And he said to him, “If you desire this bull, then win it from me at once at play.” When Nala heard that challenge, in his infatuation he accepted it, and then those two brothers began to play against each other. Pushkara staked the bull, Nala staked elephants and other things, and Pushkara continually won, Nala as continually lost. In two or three days Nala had lost his army and his treasure, but he still refused to desist from gambling, though entreated to desist, for he was distracted by Kali. Damayantí, thinking that the kingdom was lost, put her children in a splendid chariot, and sent them to the house of her father. In the mean-while Nala lost his whole kingdom; then the hypocritical Pushkara said, “Since you have lost everything else, now stake Damayantí on the game against that bull of mine.”
This windy speech of Pushkara’s, like a strong blast, made Nala blaze like fire; but he did not say anything unbecoming, nor did he stake his wife. Then Pushkara said to him, “If you will not stake your wife, then leave this country of mine with her.” When Nala heard this, he left that country with Damayantí, and the king’s officers saw him as far as the frontier. Alas! when Kali reduced Nala to such a state, say, what will be the lot of other mortals, who are like worms compared with him? Curse on this gambling, the livelihood of Kali and Dvápara, without law, without natural affection, such a cause of misfortunes even to royal sages.
So Nala, having been deprived of his sovereignty by his brother, started to go to another land with Damayantí, and as he was journeying along, he reached the centre of a forest, exhausted with hunger. There, as he was resting with his wife, whose soft feet were pierced with darbha grass, on the bank of a river, he saw two swans arrive. And he threw his upper garment over them, to capture them for food, and those two swans flew away with it. And Nala heard a voice from heaven,—“These are those two dice in the form of swans, they have descended and flown off with your garment also.” Then the king sat down despondent, with only one garment on, and providently shewed to Damayantí the way to her father’s house; saying, “This is the way to Vidarbha, my beloved, to your father’s house, this is the way to the country of the Angas, and this is the way to Kośala.” When Damayantí heard this, she was terrified, thinking to herself—“Why does my husband tell me the way, as if he meant to abandon me?” Then the couple fed on roots and fruits, and when night came on, lay down both of them, wearied, in the wood, on a bed of kuśa grass. And Damayantí, worn out with the journey, gradually dropt off to sleep, but Nala, desiring to depart, kept awake, deluded by Kali. So he rose up with one garment, deserting that Damayantí, and departed thence, after cutting off half her upper garment and putting it on. But Damayantí woke up at the end of the night, and when she did not see in the forest her husband, who had deserted her and gone, she thought for some time, and then lamented as follows: “Alas, my husband, great of heart, merciful even to your enemy! You that used to love me so well, what has made you cruel to me? And how will you be able to go alone on foot through the forests, and who will attend on you to remove your weariness? How will the dust defile on the journey your feet, that used to be stained with the pollen of the flowers in the garlands worn on the heads of kings! How will your body, that could not endure to be anointed with the powder of yellow sandal-wood, endure the heat of the sun in the middle of the day? What do I care for my young son? What for my daughter? What for myself? May the gods, if I am chaste, procure good fortune for you alone!” Thus Damayantí lamented, in her loneliness, and then set out by the path, which her husband had shewn her beforehand. And with difficulty she crossed the woods, forests, rivers, and rocks, and never did she depart from her devotion to her husband in, any point. And the might of her chastity preserved her on the way,[17] so that the hunter, who, after delivering her from the serpent, fell in love with her for a moment, was reduced to ashes. Then she joined a caravan of merchants, which she met on the way, and with them she reached the city of a king named Subáhu. There the daughter of the king saw her from her palace, and pleased with her beauty, had her brought and gave her as a present to her mother. Then she remained in attendance on the queen, respected by her, and when questioned, she answered only—“My husband has abandoned me.”
And in the meanwhile her father Bhíma, having heard the tidings of Nala’s misfortune, sent trustworthy men in every direction, to make search for the royal couple. And one of them, his minister named Suveṇa, as he was wandering about disguised as a Bráhman, reached that palace of Subáhu. There he saw Damayantí, who always examined guests, and she saw with sorrow her father’s minister. And having recognized one another, they wept together so violently, that Subáhu’s queen heard it. And the queen had them summoned, and asked them the truth of the matter, and then she found out that the lady was Damayantí, the daughter of her sister. Then she informed her husband, and after shewing her honour, she sent her to the house of her father with Suveṇa and an army. There Damayantí remained, reunited with her two children, enquiring under her father’s guidance for news of her husband. And her father sent out spies to look for her husband, who was distinguished by preternatural skill in cooking and driving. And king Bhíma commanded the spies to say; “Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?”[18] This he told them to utter wherever they suspected the presence of Nala.
And in the meanwhile king Nala travelled a long way at night in that forest, clothed with the half-garment, and at last he saw a jungle-fire. And he heard some one exclaim—“Great-hearted one, take me away from the neighbourhood of this fire, in order that I, being helpless, may not be burned up by it.”[19] When Nala heard this, he looked round, and beheld a snake coiled up near the fire, having his head encircled with the rays of the jewels of his crest,[20] as if seized on the head by the jungle-fire, with terrible flaming weapons in its hand. He went up to it, and in compassion put it on his shoulder, and carried it a long distance, and when he wished to put it down, the snake said to him—“Carry me ten steps further, counting them as you go.” Then Nala advanced, counting the steps, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven—listen, snake—eight, nine, ten, and when he said ten (daśa),[21] the snake took him at his word, and bit him in the front of the forehead, as he lay on his shoulder. That made the king small in the arms, deformed and black. Then the king took down the snake from his shoulder, and said to him—“Who art thou, and what kind of a return for my kindness is this which thou hast made?” When the snake heard this speech of Nala’s, he answered him,—“King, know that I am a king of the snakes named Kárkoṭaka, and I gave you the bite for your good; that you will come to learn; when great ones wish to live concealed, a deformed appearance of body furthers their plans. Receive also from me this pair of garments, named the ‘fire-bleached,’[22] you need only put them on and you will recover your true form.” When Kárkoṭaka had said this, and had departed after giving those garments, Nala left that wood, and in course of time reached the city of Kośala.
And going by the name of Hrasvabáhu, he took service as a cook in the family of king Ṛituparṇa, the sovereign of Kośala. And he acquired renown by making dishes of exquisite flavour, and by his skill in chariot-driving. And while Nala was living there, under the name of Hrasvabáhu, it happened that once upon a time one of the spies of the king of Vidarbha came there. And the spy heard men there saying,—“In this place there is a new cook, of the name of Hrasvabáhu, equal to Nala in his own special art and also in the art of driving.” The spy suspected that the cook was Nala himself, and hearing that he was in the judgment-hall of the king, he went there and repeated the following Áryá verse, taught him by his master, “Moon, where have you hid yourself so cruelly, deserting your young bride asleep in the forest, dear as a cluster of white lotuses, having taken a piece of her robe?” The people present in the judgment-hall, when they heard that, thought that his words were those of a madman, but Nala, who stood there disguised as a cook, answered him, “What cruelty was there in the moon’s becoming invisible to the lotus-cluster, when it reached and entered another region, after one part of the heaven[23] had become exhausted?”
When the spy heard this, he surmised that the supposed cook was really Nala transformed by misfortune, and he departed thence, and when he reached Vidarbha, he told king Bhíma and his queen and Damayantí all that he had heard and seen.
Then Damayantí, of her own accord, said to her father, “Without doubt that man is my husband disguised as a cook. So let this amusing artifice be employed to bring him here. Let a messenger be sent to king Ṛituparṇa, and the moment he arrives let him say to that king, ‘Nala has gone off somewhere or other, no tidings are heard of him; accordingly to-morrow morning Damayantí will again make her Svayamvara; so come quickly to Vidarbha this very day;’ and the moment the king hears his speech, he will certainly come here in one day, together with that husband of mine who is skilled in chariot-driving.” Having thus debated with her father, Damayantí sent off that very moment a messenger to the city of Kośala with exactly this message. He went and told it, as it was given him to Ṛituparṇa, and the king thereupon, being excited, said affectionately to his attendant Nala, who was disguised as a cook: “Hrasvabáhu, you said—‘I possess skill in chariot-driving.’ So take me this very day to Vidarbha if you have sufficient endurance.” When Nala heard that, he said, “Good! I will take you there,” and thereupon he yoked swift horses, and made ready the splendid chariot. He said to himself; “Damayantí has spread this report of a Svayamvara in order to recover me, otherwise, I know, she would not have behaved in this way even in her dreams. So I will go there and see what happens.” With such reflections he brought to Ṛituparṇa the chariot ready. And as soon as the king had mounted it, Nala proceeded to drive on that chariot with a speed exceeding even that of Garuḍa. Then Ṛituparṇa dropped his garment, and wished to stop the chariot in order to recover it, but Nala said to him,—“King, where is that garment of yours? Why the chariot has in this moment left it many yojanas behind.” When Ṛituparṇa heard this, he said:—“Well, give me this skill in chariot-driving, and I will give you my skill in dice, so that the dice shall obey your command and you shall acquire skill in numbers. And now look; I will give you a proof of the truth of what I say. You see this tree in front of us; I will tell you the number of its leaves and fruits, and then do you count them for yourself and see.” When he had said this, he told him the number of the leaves and fruits on that tree, and Nala counted them and found them exactly as many as he had said. Then Nala gave to Ṛituparṇa his skill in driving, and Ṛituparṇa gave to Nala his skill in dice and numbers.
And Nala tested that skill on another tree, and found the number of leaves and fruits to be exactly what he had guessed. And while he was rejoicing, a black man issued from his body, and he asked him who he was. Then he said, “I am Kali; when you were chosen by Damayantí, I entered your body out of jealousy, so you lost your fortune at play. And when Kárkoṭaka bit you in the forest, you were not consumed, but I was burnt, as you see, being in your body. For to whom is a treacherous injury done to another likely to be beneficial? So I depart, my friend, for I have opportunities against others.” After saying this, Kali vanished from his sight, and Nala at once became well-disposed as before, and recovered his former splendour. And he returned and remounted the chariot; and in the course of the same day he drove king Ṛituparṇa into Vidarbha, so rapidly did he get over the ground, and there the king was ridiculed by the people, who asked the cause of his coming; and he put up near the palace.
And when he arrived, Damayantí knew of it, having heard the wonderful noise of the chariot, and she inly rejoiced, as she suspected that Nala had come too. And she sent her own maid to find out the truth, and she enquired into it, and came back and said to her mistress, who was longing for her beloved lord; “Queen, I have enquired into the matter; this king of Kośala heard a false report of your Svayamvara and has come here, and he has been driven here in one day by Hrasvabáhu his charioteer and cook, who is famous for his skill in managing chariots. And I went into the kitchen and saw that cook. And he is black and deformed, but possesses wonderful powers. It is miraculous that water gushed up in his pots and pans, without being put in, and wood burst into flames of its own accord, without having been lighted,[24] and various cates were produced in a moment. After I had seen this great miracle, I came back here.” When Damayantí heard this from the maid, she reflected—“This cook, whom the fire and the water obey, and who knows the secret of chariot-driving, can be no other than my husband, and I suspect he has become changed and deformed on account of separation from me, but I will test him.” When she had formed this resolve, she sent, by way of stratagem, her two children with that same maid, to shew them to him. And Nala, when he had seen his children and taken them on his knees after a long separation, wept silently with a flood of tears. And he said to the maid—“I have two children like these in the house of their maternal grandfather, I have been moved to sorrow by recollecting them.” The maid returned with the children and told all to Damayantí, and then she conceived much hope.
And early the next day she gave her maid this order; “Go and tell that cook of Ṛituparṇa’s from me; ‘I hear that there is no cook like you in the world, so come and prepare curry for me to-day.’” When the maid communicated to Nala this politic request, he got leave from Ṛituparṇa and came to Damayantí. And she said, “Tell me the truth; are you the king Nala disguised as a cook? I am drowned in a sea of anxiety, and you must to-day bring me safe to shore.” When Nala heard that, he was full of joy, love, grief and shame, and with downcast face, he spoke, in a voice faltering from tears, this speech suited to the occasion,—“I am in truth that wicked Nala, hard as adamant, who in his madness behaved like fire in afflicting you.” When he said this, Damayantí asked him—“If it is so, how did you become deformed?” Then Nala told her the whole of his adventures, from his making friends with Kárkoṭaka to the departure of Kali from him. And immediately he put on the pair of garments called the “fire-bleached,” given him by Kárkoṭaka, and recovered on the spot his own original shape.
When Damayantí saw that Nala had resumed his own charming form, the lotus of her face quickly expanded, and she quenched, as it were, with the waters of her eyes the forest-fire of her grief, and attained indescribable unequalled happiness. And Bhíma, the king of Vidarbha, quickly heard that intelligence from his joyful attendants, and coming there he welcomed Nala, who showed him becoming respect, and he made his city full of rejoicing. Then king Ṛituparṇa was welcomed with the observance of all outward courtesy and every hospitable rite[25] by king Bhíma, who in his heart could not help laughing, and after he had in return honoured Nala, he returned to Kośala. Then Nala lived there happily with his wife, describing to his father-in-law his outburst of wickedness due to the influence of Kali. And in a few days he returned to Nishada with the troops of his father-in-law, and he humbled his younger brother Pushkara, beating him by his knowledge of dice, but, righteous as he was, he gave him a share of the kingdom again, after Dvápara had left his body, and glad at having recovered Damayantí, he enjoyed his kingdom lawfully.
When the Bráhman Sumanas had told this story to the princess Bandhumatí in Tárápura, whose husband was away, he went on to say to her—“Even thus, queen, do great ones, after enduring separation, enjoy prosperity, and following the example of the sun, after suffering a decline, they rise again. So you also, blameless one, shall soon recover your husband returning from his absence; use patient self-control, banish grief, and console yourself with the approaching gratification of your wishes in the return of your husband.” When the virtuous Bráhman had spoken these appropriate words, she honoured him with much wealth, and taking refuge in patience, she remained there awaiting her beloved. And in a few days her husband Mahípála returned, with his father, bringing that mother of his from a distant land. And when he returned, furnishing a feast to all eyes, he gladdened Bandhumatí, as the full moon gladdens the lovely water of the ocean. Then Mahípála, on whom her father had already devolved the burden of the kingdom, enjoyed as a king desired pleasures with her.
When prince Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, had heard in the company of his wife, from the mouth of his minister Marubhúti, this matchless romantic story, pleasing on account of its picture of affection, he was exceedingly pleased.
[1] I. e. earth-protector, king.
[2] Compare for the idea Richard II. Act III, Sc. 2. line 41 and ff.
[3] Here I have omitted a short story.
[4] He seems to correspond to the Junker Voland or Herr Urian of the Walpurgisnacht; (see Bayard Taylor’s notes to his translation of Goethe’s Faust). See also, for the assembly of witches and their uncanny president, Birlinger, Aus Schwaben, pp. 323 and 372. In Bartsch’s Sagen &c. aus Meklenburg, pp. 11—44, will be found the recorded confessions of many witches, who deposed to having danced with the Teutonic Bhairava on the Blocksberg. The Mothers of the second part of Faust probably come from Greece.
[5] Mukta for yukta, which is clearly a misprint.
[6] This story is identical with the story of “The merchant who struck his mother,” as given by the Rev. S. Beal in the Antiquary for September 1880. It is also found in the Avadána Śataka: see Dr. R. L. Mitra’s Buddhist Literature of Nepal, p. 28, where the above MS. is described. See also Dr. R. Morris’s remarks in the Academy of the 27th of August, 1881.
[7] A similar transferable wheel is found in the Panchatantra, Vth Book, 3rd Story. Benfey’s Panchatantra, Vol. II, p. 331.
[8] Cp. Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, p. 358. “Great stress is laid in the skazkas and legends upon the terrible power of a parent’s curse. The hasty word of a father or mother will condemn even an innocent child to slavery among devils and when it is once uttered, it is irrevocable.” Throughout the present work curses appear to be irrevocable but susceptible of modification and limitation. See Waldau’s Böhmische Märchen, p. 537, and the remarks of Preller in his Griechische Mythologie, Vol. II, p. 345.
[9] Perhaps we should read mṛishyatám, forgive me, be patient.
[10] This character is probably taken from the Mahábhárata (see Dowson’s Classical Dictionary of Hindu Mythology, p. 90).
[11] I have followed the Sanskrit College MS. which gives ádarśa.
[12] I. e. Benevolent, and also satisfied at heart.
[13] Sadguṇa means good quality, also “good thread.”
[14] The epithet refers also to the arrows and means “bright with excellent heads.”
[15] So in Heliodorus, Æthiopica, Lib. III, cap. XIII.
ἀλλά το͂ις τ’ ἀφθάλμοις ἄν γνωσθε͂ιεν ἀτενὲς διόλου βλέποντες καὶ τὸ βλέφαρον οὔ ποτ’ ἐπιμύοντες.—In the third canto of the Purgatorio Dante is much troubled at finding that Virgil, being a disembodied spirit, casts no shadow.
[16] Kali is the side of the die marked with one point. Dvápara is the side marked with two. They are personified here as demons of gambling. They are also the present, i. e., the fourth and the third Yugas or ages of the world.
[17] Cp. Milton’s Comus, v. 421 and ff. The word “might” also means “fire”. This “fire” burnt up the hunter.
The pun in the previous sentence cannot be rendered in English.
[18] Here there is a pun. Ambara also means the sky.
[19] Preller in his Griechische Mythologie, Vol. II, p. 475, refers to a Servian story, in which a shepherd saves the life of a snake in a forest fire. In return for this service, the snake’s father gives him endless treasures, and teaches him the language of birds.
[20] For the jewels in the heads of reptiles see the long note in Benfey’s Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 214. The passage in “As you like it” will occur to every one. Snakes’ crowns are mentioned in Grössler, Sagen der Grafschaft Mansfeld, p. 178, in Veckenstedt’s Wendische Märchen, pp. 403–405, and in Grohmann, Sagen aus Böhmen, pp. 219 and 223.
[21] Daśa means “ten,” and also “bite.”
[22] In Prester John’s letter quoted by Baring Gould, Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, New Edition, p. 43, we find, “In one of our lands, hight Zone, are worms called in our tongue Salamanders. These worms can only live in fire, and they build cocoons like silkworms, which are unwound by the ladies of our palace, and spun into cloth and dresses, which are worn by our Exaltedness. These dresses, in order to be cleansed and washed, are cast into flames.”
[23] Or robe. The pun is obvious.
[24] Cp. the 28th story in the 1st Part of Sicilianische Märchen by Laura Gonzenbach, “Von der Tochter der Sonne.” Here Lattughina says “Fire, be lighted,” and immediately a clear fire burned upon the hearth. Then she said “Come along, pan,” and a golden pan came and placed itself upon the fire. “Come along oil,” and the oil came and poured itself into the pan. In “The story of Shams ul dín and his son,” Hasan Badr ul dín is discovered by his skill in cooking (Lane’s Arabian Nights, Vol. I, p. 266.) De Gubernatis (Zoological Mythology, Vol. I, p. 158,) remarks that service in the kitchen is especially dear to the young hero. Bhíma disguises himself as a cook in the Viráta parvan of the Mahábhárata. Pausanias tells us, Book I, ch. 16, Σελεύκῳ γὰρ, ὅς ὡρμᾶτο ἐκ Μακεδονίας σὺν Ἀλεξάνδρῳ, Θύοντι ἐν Πέλλῃ τῷ Διὶ, τὰ ξύλα ἐπὶ τοῦ βωμοῦ κείμενα προύβη τε αὐτόματα πρὸς τὸ ἄγαλμα, καὶ ἄνευ πυρὸς ἥφθη.
[25] The Petersburg lexicographers think that sam̱vṛitti should be sadvṛitti.