Story of Rúpiṇiká.
There is in this country a city named Mathurá, the birthplace of Kṛishṇa, in it there was a hetæra known by the name of Rúpiṇiká; she had for a mother an old kuṭṭiní named Makaradanshṭrá, who seemed a lump of poison in the eyes of the young men attracted by her daughter’s charms. One day Rúpiṇiká went at the time of worship to the temple to perform her duty,[7] and beheld from a distance a young man. When she saw that handsome young fellow, he made such an impression upon her heart, that all her mother’s instructions vanished from it. Then she said to her maid, “Go and tell this man from me, that he is to come to my house to-day.” The maid said, “So I will,” and immediately went and told him. Then the man thought a little and said to her; “I am a Bráhman named Lohajangha[8]; I have no wealth; then what business have I in the house of Rúpiṇiká which is only to be entered by the rich.” The maid said,—“My mistress does not desire wealth from you,”—whereupon Lohajangha consented to do as she wished. When she heard that from the maid, Rúpiṇiká went home in a state of excitement, and remained with her eyes fixed on the path by which he would come. And soon Lohajangha came to her house, while the kuṭṭiní Makaradanshṭrá looked at him, and wondered where he came from. Rúpiṇiká, for her part, when she saw him, rose up to meet him herself with the utmost respect, and clinging to his neck in her joy, led him to her own private apartments. Then she was captivated with Lohajangha’s wealth of accomplishments, and considered that she had been only born to love him. So she avoided the society of other men, and that young fellow lived with her in her house in great comfort. Rúpiṇiká’s mother, Makaradanshṭrá, who had trained up many hetæræ, was annoyed when she saw this, and said to her in private; “My daughter, why do you associate with a poor man? Hetæræ of good taste embrace a corpse in preference to a poor man. What business has a hetæra like you with affection? How have you come to forget that great principle? The light of a red[9] sunset lasts but a short time, and so does the splendour of a hetæra who gives way to affection. A hetæra, like an actress, should exhibit an assumed affection in order to get wealth; so forsake this pauper, do not ruin yourself.” When she heard this speech of her mother’s, Rúpiṇiká said in a rage, “Do not talk in this way, for I love him more than my life. And as for wealth, I have plenty, what do I want with more? So you must not speak to me again, mother, in this way.” When she heard this, Makaradanshṭrá was in a rage, and she remained thinking over some device for getting rid of this Lohajangha. Then she saw coming along the road a certain Rájpút, who had spent all his wealth, surrounded by retainers with swords in their hands. So she went up to him quickly and taking him aside, said—“My house is beset by a certain poor lover. So come there yourself to-day, and take such order with him that he shall depart from my house, and do you possess my daughter.” “Agreed,” said the Rájpút, and entered that house. At that precise moment Rúpiṇiká was in the temple, and Lohajangha meanwhile was absent somewhere, and suspecting nothing, he returned to the house a moment afterwards. Immediately the retainers of the Rájpút ran upon him, and gave him severe kicks and blows on all his limbs, and then they threw him into a ditch full of all kinds of impurities, and Lohajangha with difficulty escaped from it. Then Rúpiṇiká returned to the house, and when she heard what had taken place, she was distracted with grief, so the Rájpút, seeing that, returned as he came.
Lohajangha, after suffering this brutal outrage by the machinations of the kuṭṭiní, set out for some holy place of pilgrimage, in order to leave his life there, now that he was separated from his beloved. As he was going along in the wild country,[10] with his heart burning with anger against the kuṭṭiní, and his skin with the heat of the summer, he longed for shade. Not being able to find a tree, he lighted on the body of an elephant, which had been stripped of all its flesh[11] by jackals making their way into it by the hind-quarters; accordingly Lohajangha being worn out crept into this carcase, which was a mere shell, as only the skin remained, and went to sleep in it, as it was kept cool by the breeze which freely entered. Then suddenly clouds arose from all sides, and began to pour down a pelting shower of rain; that rain made the elephant’s skin contract so that no aperture was left, and immediately a copious inundation came that way, and carrying off the elephant’s hide swept it into the Ganges; so eventually the inundation bore it into the sea. And there a bird of the race of Garuḍa saw that hide, and supposing it to be carrion, took it to the other side of the sea; there it tore open the elephant’s hide with its claws, and, seeing that there was a man inside it, fled away. But Lohajangha was awaked by the bird’s pecking and scratching, and came out through the aperture made by its beak. And finding that he was on the other side of the sea, he was astonished, and looked upon the whole thing as a day-dream; then he saw there to his terror two horrible Rákshasas, and those two for their part contemplated him from a distance with feelings of fear. Remembering how they were defeated by Ráma, and seeing that Lohajangha was also a man who had crossed the sea, they were once more alarmed in their hearts. So, after they had deliberated together, one of them went off immediately and told the whole occurrence to king Vibhíshaṇa; king Vibhíshaṇa too, as he had seen the prowess of Ráma, being terrified at the arrival of a man, said to that Rákshasa; “Go, my good friend, and tell that man from me in a friendly manner, that he is to do me the favour of coming to my palace.” The Rákshasa said, “I will do so,” and timidly approached Lohajangha, and told him that request of his sovereign’s. Lohajangha for his part accepted that invitation with unruffled calm, and went to Lanká with that Rákshasa and his companion. And when he arrived in Lanká, he was astonished at beholding numerous splendid edifices of gold, and entering the king’s palace, he saw Vibhíshaṇa. The king welcomed the Bráhman who blessed him in return, and then Vibhíshaṇa said, “Bráhman, how did you manage to reach this country?” Then the cunning Lohajangha said to Vibhíshaṇa—“I am a Bráhman of the name of Lohajangha residing in Mathurá; and I, Lohajangha being afflicted at my poverty, went to the temple of the god, and remaining fasting, for a long time performed austerities in the presence of Náráyaṇa.[12] Then the adorable Hari[12] commanded me in a dream, saying, ‘Go thou to Vibhíshaṇa, for he is a faithful worshipper of mine, and he will give thee wealth.’ Then, I said, ‘Vibhíshaṇa is where I cannot reach him’—but the lord continued, ‘To-day shalt thou see that Vibhíshaṇa.’ So the lord spake to me, and immediately I woke up and found myself upon this side of the sea. I know no more.” When Vibhíshaṇa heard this from Lohajangha, reflecting that Lanká was a difficult place to reach, he thought to himself—“Of a truth this man possesses divine power.” And he said to that Bráhman,—“Remain here, I will give you wealth.” Then he committed him to the care of the man-slaying Rákshasas as an inviolable deposit; and sent some of his subjects to a mountain in his kingdom called Swarṇamúla, and brought from it a young bird belonging to the race of Garuḍa; and he gave it to that Lohajangha, (who had to take a long journey to Mathurá,) to ride upon, in order that he might in the meanwhile break it in. Lohajangha for his part mounted on its back, and riding about on it in Lanká, rested there for some time, being hospitably entertained by Vibhíshaṇa.
One day he asked the king of the Rákshasas, feeling curiosity on the point, why the whole ground of Lanká was made of wood; and Vibhíshaṇa when he heard that, explained the circumstance to him, saying, “Bráhman, if you take any interest in this matter, listen, I will explain it to you. Long ago Garuḍa the son of Kaśyapa, wishing to redeem his mother from her slavery to the snakes, to whom she had been subjected in accordance with an agreement,[13] and preparing to obtain from the gods the nectar which was the price of her ransom, wanted to eat something which would increase his strength, and so he went to his father, who being importuned said to him, “My son, in the sea there is a huge elephant, and a huge tortoise. They have assumed their present forms in consequence of a curse: go and eat them.” Then Garuḍa went and brought them both to eat, and then perched on a bough of the great wishing-tree of paradise. And when that bough suddenly broke with his weight, he held it up with his beak, out of regard to the Bálakhilyas[14] who were engaged in austerities underneath it. Then Garuḍa, afraid that the bough would crush mankind, if he let it fall at random, by the advice of his father brought the bough to this uninhabited part of the earth, and let it drop. Lanká was built on the top of that bough, therefore the ground here is of wood.” When he heard this from Vibhíshaṇa, Lohajangha was perfectly satisfied.
Then Vibhíshaṇa gave to Lohajangha many valuable jewels, as he desired to set out for Mathurá. And out of his devotion to the god Vishṇu, who dwells at Mathurá, he entrusted to the care of Lohajangha a lotus, a club, a shell, and a discus all of gold, to be offered to the god; Lohajangha took all these, and mounted the bird given to him by Vibhíshaṇa, that could accomplish a hundred thousand yojanas,[15] and rising up into the air in Lanká, he crossed the sea and without any difficulty arrived at Mathurá. And there he descended from the air in an empty convent outside the town, and deposited there his abundant treasure, and tied up that bird. And then he went into the market and sold one of his jewels, and bought garments and scented unguents, and also food. And he ate the food in that convent where he was, and gave some to his bird; and he adorned himself with the garments, unguents, flowers and other decorations. And when night came, he mounted that same bird and went to the house of Rúpiṇiká, bearing in his hand the shell, discus and mace; then he hovered over it in the air, knowing the place well, and made a low deep sound, to attract the attention of his beloved, who was alone. But Rúpiṇiká, as soon as she heard that sound, came out, and saw hovering in the air by night a being like Náráyaṇa, gleaming with jewels. He said to her, “I am Hari come hither for thy sake;” whereupon she bowed with her face to the earth and said—“May the god have mercy upon me!” Then Lohajangha descended and tied up his bird, and entered the private apartments of his beloved hand in hand with her. And after remaining there a short time, he came out, and mounting the bird as before, went off through the air.[16] In the morning Rúpiṇiká remained observing an obstinate silence, thinking to herself—“I am the wife of the god Vishṇu, I must cease to converse with mortals.” And then her mother Makaradanshṭrá said to her,—“Why do you behave in this way, my daughter?” And after she had been perseveringly questioned by her mother, she caused to be put up a curtain between herself and her parent, and told her what had taken place in the night, which was the cause of her silence. When the kuṭṭiní heard that, she felt doubt on the subject, but soon after at night she saw that very Lohajangha mounted on the bird, and in the morning Makaradanshṭrá came secretly to Rúpiṇiká, who still remained behind the curtain, and inclining herself humbly, preferred to her this request; “Through the favour of the god, thou, my daughter, hast obtained here on earth the rank of a goddess, and I am thy mother in this world, therefore grant me a reward for giving thee birth; entreat the god that, old as I am, with this very body I may enter Paradise; do me this favour.” Rúpiṇiká consented and requested that very boon from Lohajangha, who came again at night disguised as Vishṇu. Then Lohajangha, who was personating the god, said to that beloved of his—“Thy mother is a wicked woman, it would not be fitting to take her openly to Paradise, but on the morning of the eleventh day the door of heaven is opened, and many of the Gaṇas, Śiva’s companions, enter into it before any one else is admitted. Among them I will introduce this mother of thine, if she assume their appearance. So, shave her head with a razor, in such a manner that five locks shall be left, put a necklace of sculls round her neck, and stripping off her clothes, paint one side of her body with lamp-black, and the other with red lead,[17] for when she has in this way been made to resemble a Gaṇa, I shall find it an easy matter to get her into heaven.” When he had said this, Lohajangha remained a short time, and then departed. And in the morning Rúpiṇiká attired her mother as he had directed; and then she remained with her mind entirely fixed on Paradise. So, when night came, Lohajangha appeared again, and Rúpiṇiká handed over her mother to him. Then he mounted on the bird, and took the kuṭṭiní with him naked, and transformed as he had directed, and he flew up rapidly with her into the air. While he was in the air, he beheld a lofty stone pillar in front of a temple, with a discus on its summit. So he placed her on the top of the pillar, with the discus as her only support,[18] and there she hung like a banner to blazon forth his revenge for his ill-usage. He said to her—“Remain here a moment while I bless the earth with my approach,” and vanished from her sight. Then beholding a number of people in front of the temple, who had come there to spend the night in devout vigils before the festive procession, he called aloud from the air—“Hear, ye people, this very day there shall fall upon you here the all-destroying goddess of Pestilence, therefore fly to Hari for protection.” When they heard this voice from the air, all the inhabitants of Mathurá who were there, being terrified, implored the protection of the god, and remained devoutly muttering prayers to ward off calamity. Lohajangha, for his part, descended from the air, and encouraged them to pray, and after changing that dress of his, came and stood among the people, without being observed. The kuṭṭiní thought, as she sat upon the top of the pillar,—“the god has not come as yet, and I have not reached heaven.” At last feeling it impossible to remain up there any longer, she cried out in her fear, so that the people below heard; “Alas! I am falling, I am falling.” Hearing that, the people in front of the god’s temple were beside themselves, fearing that the destroying goddess was falling upon them, even as had been foretold, and said, “O goddess, do not fall, do not fall.” So those people of Mathurá, young and old, spent that night in perpetual dread that the destroying goddess would fall upon them, but at last it came to an end; and then beholding that kuṭṭiní upon the pillar in the state described,[19] the citizens and the king recognized her at once; all the people thereupon forgot their alarm, and burst out laughing, and Rúpiṇiká herself at last arrived having heard of the occurrence. And when she saw it, she was abashed, and with the help of the people, who were there, she managed to get that mother of hers down from the top of the pillar immediately: then that kuṭṭiní was asked by all the people there, who were filled with curiosity, to tell them the whole story, and she did so. Thereupon the king, the Bráhmans, and the merchants, thinking that that laughable incident must have been brought about by a sorcerer or some person of that description, made a proclamation, that whoever had made a fool of the kuṭṭiní, who had deceived innumerable lovers, was to shew himself, and he would receive a turban of honour on the spot. When he heard that, Lohajangha made himself known to those present, and being questioned, he related the whole story from its commencement. And he offered to the god the discus, shell, club, and lotus of gold, the present which Vibhíshaṇa had sent, and which aroused the astonishment of the people. Then all the people of Mathurá, being pleased, immediately invested him with a turban of honour, and by the command of the king, made that Rúpiṇiká a free woman. And then Lohajangha, having wreaked upon the kuṭṭiní his wrath caused by her ill-usage of him, lived in great comfort in Mathurá with that beloved of his, being very well off by means of the large stock of jewels which he brought from Lanká.
Hearing this tale from the mouth of the transformed Vasantaka, Vásavadattá who was sitting at the side of the fettered king of Vatsa, felt extreme delight in her heart.
[1] They would not go near for fear of disturbing it. Wild elephants are timid, so there is more probability in this story, than in that of the Trojan horse. Even now scouts who mark down a wild beast in India, almost lose their heads with excitement.
[2] I. e., they sat in Dharna outside the door of the palace.
[3] Perhaps we should read samantataḥ one word.
[4] Sattva, when applied to the forest, means animal, when applied to wisdom, it means excellence.
[5] Vetála is especially used of a goblin that tenants dead bodies. See Colonel R. Burton’s Tales of Vikramáditya and the Vampire. They will be found in the 12th book of this work. In the Vth Chapter of Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales will be found much interesting information with regard to the Slavonic superstitions about Vampires. They resemble very closely those of the Hindus. See especially p. 311. “At cross-roads, or in the neighbourhood of cemeteries, an animated corpse of this description often lurks, watching for some unwary traveller whom it may be able to slay and eat.”
[6] Cp. the way in which the Ritter Malegis transmutes Reinold in the story of Die Heimonskinder (Simrock’s Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. II, p. 86). “He changed him into an old man, a hundred years of age, with a decrepit and misshapen body, and long hair.” See also p. 114. So Merlin assumes the form of an old man and disguises Uther and Ulfin, Dunlop’s History of Fiction, translated by Liebrecht, p. 66.
[7] Such people dance in temples I believe.
[8] Mr. Growse writes to me with reference to the name Lohajangha—“This name still exists on the spot, though probably not to be found elsewhere. The original bearer of the title is said to have been one of the demons whom Kṛishṇa slew, and a village is called Lohaban after him, where an ancient red sandstone image is supposed to represent him, and has offerings of iron made to it at the annual festival.
[9] Ráginí means affectionate and also red.
[10] Ataví is generally translated “forest.” I believe the English word “forest” does not necessarily imply trees, but it is perhaps better to avoid it here.
[11] For the vṛitam of the text I read kṛitam. Cp. this incident with Joseph’s adventure in the 6th story of the Sicilianische Märchen. He is sewn up in a horse’s skin, and carried by ravens to the top of a high mountain. There he stamps and finds a wooden trap-door under his feet. In the notes Dr. Köhler refers to this passage, Campbell No. 44, the Story of Sindbad and other parallels. Cp. also Veckenstedt’s Wendische Sagen, p. 124. See also the story of Heinrich der Löwe, Simrock’s Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I, p. 8. Dr. Köhler refers to the story of Herzog Ernst. The incident will be found in Simrock’s version of the story, at page 308 of the IIIrd Volume of his Deutsche Volksbücher.
[12] Names of Vishṇu, who became incarnate in the hero Kṛishṇa.
[13] See Chapter 22 śl. 181 and ff. Kaśyapa’s two wives disputed about the colour of the sun’s horses. They agreed that whichever was in the wrong should become a slave to the other. Kadrú, the mother of the snakes, won by getting her children to darken the horses. So Garuḍa’s mother Vinatá became a slave.
[14] Divine personages of the size of a thumb; sixty thousand were produced from Brahmá’s body and surrounded the chariot of the sun. The legend of Garuḍa and the Bálakhilyas is found in the Mahábhárata, see De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, p. 95.
[15] A yojana is probably 9 miles, some say 2–1/2, some 4 or 5. See Monier Williams s. v.
[16] Compare the 5th story in the first book of the Panchatantra, in Benfey’s translation.
Benfey shows that this story found its way into Mahometan collections, such as the Thousand and one Nights, and the Thousand and one Days, as also into the Decamerone of Boccaccio, and other European story-books, Vol. I, p. 159, and ff.
The story, as given in the Panchatantra, reminds us of the Squire’s Tale in Chaucer, but Josephus in Ant. Jud. XVIII, 3, tells it of a Roman knight named Mundus, who fell in love with Paulina the wife of Saturninus, and by corrupting the priestess of Isis was enabled to pass himself off as Anubis. On the matter coming to the ears of Tiberius, he had the temple of Isis destroyed, and the priests crucified. (Dunlop’s History of Fiction, Vol. II, p. 27. Liebrecht’s German translation, p. 232). A similar story is told by the Pseudo-Callisthenes of Nectanebos and Olympias. Cp. Coelho’s Contos Populares Portuguezes, No. LXXI, p. 155.
[17] Thus she represented the Arddhanáríśvara, or Śiva half male, and half female, which compound figure is to be painted in this manner.
[18] She held on to it by her hands.
[19] Wilson remarks that this presents some analogy to the story in the Decamerone (Nov. 7 Gior. 8) of the scholar and the widow “la quale egli poi, con un suo consiglio, di mezzo Luglio, ignuda, tutto un dì fa stare in su una torre.” It also bears some resemblance to the story of the Master Thief in Thorpe’s Yule-tide Stories, page 272. The Master thief persuades the priest that he will take him to heaven. He thus induces him to get into a sack, and then he throws him into the goose-house, and when the geese peck him, tells him that he is in purgatory. The story is Norwegian. See also Sir G. W. Cox’s Mythology of the Aryan Nations, Vol. 1. p. 127.