Story of prince Avantivardhana and the daughter of the Mátanga who turned out to be a Vidyádharí.
“When king Pálaka heard this speech of his subjects’, he proceeded to set going in that city the festival of the giving of water. When the festival had begun, and the people had their attention occupied by it, and were engaged in shouting, suddenly an infuriated elephant, that had broken its fastenings, rushed in among them. That elephant, having got the better of its driving-hook, and shaken off its driver, roamed about in the city, and killed very many men in a short time. Though the elephant-keepers ran forward, accompanied by professional elephant-drivers, and the citizens also, no man among them was able to control that elephant. At last, in the course of its wanderings, the elephant reached the quarter of the Chaṇḍálas, and there came out from it a Chaṇḍála maiden. She illuminated the ground with the beauty of the lotus that seemed to cling to her feet, delighted because she surpassed with the loveliness of her face the moon its enemy.[6] She looked like the night that gives rest to the eyes of the world, because its attention is diverted from other objects, and so it remains motionless at that time.[7]
That maiden struck that mighty elephant, that came towards her, with her hand, on its trunk; and smote it with those sidelong looks askance of hers. The elephant was fascinated with the touch of her hand and penetrated with her glance, and remained with head bent down, gazing at her, and never moved a step.[8] Then that fair lady made a swing with her upper garment, which she fastened to its tusks, and climbed up and got into it, and amused herself with swinging. Then the elephant, seeing that she felt the heat, went into the shade of a tree; and the citizens, who were present, seeing this great wonder, exclaimed, “Ah! This is some glorious heavenly maiden, who charms even animals by her power, which is as transcendent as her beauty.”
And in the meanwhile the prince Avantivardhana, hearing of it, came out to see the wonderful sight, and beheld that maiden. As he gazed, the deer of his heart ran into that net of the hunter Love, and was entangled by it. She too, when she saw him, her heart being charmed by his beauty, came down from that swing, which she had put up on the elephant’s tusks, and took her upper garment. Then a driver mounted the elephant, and she went home, looking at the prince with an expression of shame and affection.
And Avantivardhana, for his part, the disturbance caused by the elephant having come to an end, went home to his palace with his bosom empty, his heart having been stolen from it by her. And when he got home, he was tortured by no longer seeing that lovely maiden, and forgetting the feast of the giving of water, which had begun, he said to his companions, “Do you know whose daughter that maiden is, and what her name is?” When his friends heard that, they said to him, “There is a certain Mátanga[9] in the quarter of the Chaṇḍálas, named Utpalahasta, and she is his daughter, Suratamanjarí by name. Her lovely form can give pleasure to the good[10] only by being looked at, like that of a pictured beauty, but cannot be touched without pollution.” When the prince heard that from his friends, he said to them, “I do not think she can be the daughter of a Mátanga, she is certainly some heavenly maiden; for a Chaṇḍála maiden would never possess such a beautiful form. Lovely as she is, if she does not become my wife, what is the profit of my life?” So the prince continued to say, and his ministers could not check him, but he was exceedingly afflicted with the fire of separation from her.
Then queen Avantivatí and king Pálaka, his parents, having heard that, were for a long time quite bewildered. The queen said, “How comes it that our son, though born in a royal family, has fallen in love with a girl of the lowest[11] caste?” Then king Pálaka said, “Since the heart of our son is thus inclined, it is clear that she is really a girl of another caste, who for some reason or other has fallen among the Mátangas. The minds of the good tell them by inclination or aversion what to do and what to avoid. In illustration of this, queen, listen to the following tale, if you have not already heard it.”
Story of the young Chaṇḍála who married the daughter of king Prasenajit.[12]
Long ago king Prasenajit, in a city named Supratishṭhita, had a very beautiful daughter named Kurangí. One day she went out into the garden, and an elephant, that had broken from its fastenings, charged her, and flung her up on his tusks litter and all. Her attendants dispersed shrieking, but a young Chaṇḍála snatched up a sword and ran towards the elephant. The brave fellow cut off the trunk of that great elephant with a sword-stroke, and killed it, and so delivered the princess. Then her retinue came together again, and she returned to her palace with her heart captivated by the great courage and striking good looks of the young Chaṇḍála. And she remained in a state of despondency at being separated from him, saying to herself, “Either I must have that man who delivered me from the elephant for a husband, or I must die.”
The young Chaṇḍála, for his part, went home slowly, and having his mind captivated by the princess, was tortured by thinking on her. He said to himself, “What a vast gulf is fixed between me, a man of the lowest caste, and that princess! How can a crow and a female swan ever unite? The idea is so ridiculous that I cannot mention it or consider it, so, in this difficulty, death is my only resource.” After the young man had gone through these reflections, he went at night to the cemetery, and bathed, and made a pyre, and lighting the flame thus prayed to it, “O thou purifying fire, Soul of the Universe, may that princess be my wife hereafter in a future birth, in virtue of this offering up of myself as a sacrifice to thee!” When he had said this, he prepared to fling himself into the fire, but the Fire-god, pleased with him, appeared in visible shape before him, and said to him, “Do not act rashly, for she shall be thy wife, for thou art not a Chaṇḍála by birth, and what thou art I will tell thee, listen!
“There is in this city a distinguished Bráhman of the name of Kapilaśarman; in his fire-chamber I dwell in visible bodily shape. One day his maiden daughter came near me, and smitten with her beauty, I made her my wife, inducing her to forego her objections by promising her immunity from disgrace. And thou, my son, wert immediately born to her by virtue of my power, and she thereupon, out of shame, flung thee away in the open street; there thou wast found by some Chaṇḍálas and reared on goat’s milk.[13] So thou art my son, born to me by a Bráhman lady. Therefore thou canst not be deemed impure, as thou art my son; and thou shalt obtain that princess Kurangí for a wife.”
When the god of fire had said this, he disappeared, and the Mátanga’s adopted child was delighted, and conceived hope, and so went home. Then king Prasenajit, having been urged by the god in a dream, investigated the case, and finding out the truth, gave his daughter to the son of the Fire-god.
“Thus, queen, there are always to be found heavenly beings in disguise upon the earth, and you may be assured Suratamanjarí is not a woman of the lowest caste, but a celestial nymph. For such a pearl, as she is, must belong to some other race than that of the Mátangas, and without doubt she was the beloved of my son in a former birth, and this is proved by his falling in love with her at first sight.” When king Pálaka said this in our presence, I proceeded to relate the following story about a man of the fisher-caste.