Story of Śiva and Mádhava.
There is an excellent city rightly named Ratnapura,[7] and in it there were two rogues named Śiva and Mádhava. Surrounding themselves with many other rogues, they contrived for a long time to rob, by making use of trickery, all the rich men in the town. And one day those two deliberated together and said—“We have managed by this time to plunder this town thoroughly; so let us now go and live in the city of Ujjayiní; there we hear that there is a very rich man named Śankarasvámin, who is chaplain to the king. If we cheat him out of his money we may thereby enjoy the charms of the ladies of Málava. He is spoken of by Bráhmans as a miser, because he withholds[8] half their usual fee with a frowning face, though he possesses treasure enough to fill seven vessels; and that Bráhman has a pearl of a daughter spoken of as matchless, we will manage to get her too out of him along with the money.” Having thus determined, and having arranged beforehand what part each was to play, the two rogues Śiva and Mádhava went out of that town. At last they reached Ujjayiní, and Mádhava, with his attendants, disguised as a Rájpút, remained in a certain village outside the town. But Śiva, who was expert in every kind of deception, having assumed perfectly the disguise of a religious ascetic, first entered that town alone. There he took up his quarters in a hut on the banks of the Siprá, in which he placed, so that they could be seen, clay, darbha grass, a vessel for begging, and a deer-skin. And in the morning he anointed his body with thick clay, as if testing beforehand his destined smearing with the mud of the hell Avíchi. And plunging in the water of the river, he remained a long time with his head downward, as if rehearsing beforehand his future descent to hell, the result of his evil actions. And when he rose up from his bath, he remained a long time looking up towards the sun, as if shewing that he deserved to be impaled. Then he went into the presence of the god and making rings of Kuśa grass,[9] and muttering prayers, he remained sitting in the posture called Padmásana,[10] with a hypocritical cunning face, and from time to time he made an offering to Vishṇu, having gathered white flowers, even as he took captive the simple hearts of the good by his villainy; and having made his offering he again pretended to betake himself to muttering his prayers, and prolonged his meditations as if fixing his attention on wicked ways. And the next day, clothed in the skin of a black antelope, he wandered about the city in quest of alms, like one of his own deceitful leers intended to beguile it, and observing a strict silence he took three handfuls of rice from Bráhmans’ houses, still equipped with stick and deer-skin, and divided the food into three parts like the three divisions of the day, and part he gave to the crows, and part to his guest, and with the third part he filled his maw; and he remained for a long time hypocritically telling his beads, as if he were counting his sins at the same time, and muttering prayers; and in the night he remained alone in his hut, thinking over the weak points of his fellow-men, even the smallest; and by thus performing every day a difficult pretended penance he gained complete ascendancy over the minds of the citizens in every quarter. And all the people became devoted to him, and a report spread among them in every direction that Śiva was an exceedingly self-denying hermit.
And in the meanwhile his accomplice, the other rogue Mádhava, having heard from his emissaries how he was getting on, entered that city; and taking up his abode there in a distant temple, he went to the bank of the Siprá to bathe, disguised as a Rájpút, and after bathing, as he was returning with his retinue, he saw Śiva praying in front of the god, and with great veneration he fell at his feet, and said before all the people, “There is no other such ascetic in the world, for he has been often seen by me going round from one holy place to another.” But Śiva, though he saw him, kept his neck immoveable out of cunning, and remained in the same position as before, and Mádhava returned to his own lodging. And at night those two met together and ate and drank, and deliberated over the rest of their programme, what they must do next. And in the last watch of the night Śiva went back leisurely to his hut. And in the morning Mádhava said to one of his gang, “Take these two garments and give them as a present to the domestic chaplain of the king here, who is called Śankarasvámin, and say to him respectfully: ‘There is a Rájpút come from the Deccan of the name of Mádhava, who has been oppressed by his relations, and he brings with him much inherited wealth; he is accompanied by some other Rájpúts like himself, and he wishes to enter into the service of your king here, and he has sent me to visit you, O treasure-house of glory.’” The rogue, who was sent off by Mádhava with this message, went to the house of that chaplain with the present in his hand, and after approaching him, and giving him the present at a favourable moment, he delivered to him in private Mádhava’s message, as he had been ordered; he, for his part, out of his greed for presents, believed it all, anticipating other favours in the future, for a bribe is the sovereign specific for attracting the covetous. The rogue then came back, and on the next day Mádhava, having obtained a favourable opportunity, went in person to visit that chaplain, accompanied by attendants, who hypocritically assumed the appearance of men desiring service,[11] passing themselves off as Rájpúts, distinguished by the maces they carried; he had himself announced by an attendant preceding him, and thus he approached the family priest, who received him with welcomes which expressed his delight at his arrival. Then Mádhava remained engaged in conversation with him for some time, and at last being dismissed by him, returned to his own house. On the next day he sent another couple of garments as a present, and again approached that chaplain and said to him, “I indeed wish to enter into service to please my retainers, for that reason I have repaired to you, but I possess wealth.” When the chaplain heard that, he hoped to get something out of him, and he promised Mádhava to procure for him what he desired, and he immediately went and petitioned the king on this account, and, out of respect for the chaplain, the king consented to do what he asked. And on the next day the family priest took Mádhava and his retinue, and presented them to the king with all due respect. The king too, when he saw that Mádhava resembled a Rájpút in appearance, received him graciously and appointed him a salary. Then Mádhava remained there in attendance upon the king, and every night he met Śiva to deliberate with him. And the chaplain entreated him to live with him in his house, out of avarice, as he was intent on presents.
Then Mádhava with his followers repaired to the house of the chaplain; this settlement was the cause of the chaplain’s ruin, as that of the mouse in the trunk of the tree was the cause of its ruin. And he deposited a safe in the strong room of the chaplain, after filling it with ornaments made of false gems. And from time to time he opened the box and by cunningly half-shewing some of the jewels, he captivated the mind of the chaplain as that of a cow is captivated by grass. And when he had gained in this way the confidence of the chaplain, he made his body emaciated by taking little food, and falsely pretended that he was ill. And after a few days had passed, that prince of rogues said with weak voice to that chaplain, who was at his bedside; “My condition is miserable in this body, so bring, good Bráhman, some distinguished man of your caste, in order that I may bestow my wealth upon him for my happiness here and hereafter, for, life being unstable, what care can a wise man have for riches?” That chaplain, who was devoted to presents, when addressed in this way, said, “I will do so,” and Mádhava fell at his feet. Then whatever Bráhman the chaplain brought, Mádhava refused to receive, pretending that he wanted a more distinguished one. One of the rogues in attendance upon Mádhava, when he saw this, said—“Probably an ordinary Bráhman does not please him. So it will be better now to find out whether the strict ascetic on the banks of Siprá named Śiva pleases him or not?” When Mádhava heard that, he said plaintively to that chaplain: “Yes, be kind, and bring him, for there is no other Bráhman like him.”
The chaplain, thus entreated, went near Śiva, and beheld him immoveable, pretending to be engaged in meditation. And then he walked round him, keeping him on his right hand, and sat down in front of him: and immediately the rascal slowly opened his eyes. Then the family priest, bending before him, said with bowed head,—“My Lord, if it will not make you angry, I will prefer a petition to you. There is dwelling here a very rich Rájpút from the Deccan, named Mádhava, and he, being ill, is desirous of giving away his whole property: if you consent, he will give you that treasure which glitters with many ornaments made out of priceless gems.” When Śiva heard that, he slowly broke silence, and said,—“O Bráhman, since I live on alms, and observe perpetual chastity, of what use are riches to me?” Then that chaplain went on to say to him, “Do not say that, great Bráhman, do you not know the due order of the periods in the life of a Bráhman?[12] By marrying a wife, and performing in his house offerings to the Manes, sacrifices to the gods and hospitality to guests, he uses his property to obtain the three objects of life;[13] the stage of the householder is the most useful of all.” Then Śiva said, “How can I take a wife, for I will not marry a woman from any low family?” When the covetous chaplain heard that, he thought that he would be able to enjoy his wealth at will, and, catching at the opportunity, he said to him: “I have an unmarried daughter named Vinayasváminí, and she is very beautiful, I will bestow her in marriage on you. And I will keep for you all the wealth which you receive as a donation from Mádhava, so enter on the duties of a householder.” When Śiva heard this, having got the very thing he wanted, he said, “Bráhman, if your heart is set on this,[14] I will do what you say. But I am an ascetic who knows nothing about gold and jewels: I shall act as you advise; do as you think best.” When the chaplain heard that speech of Śiva’s, he was delighted, and the fool said, “Agreed”—and conducted Śiva to his house. And when he had introduced there that inauspicious guest named Śiva,[15] he told Mádhava what he had done and was applauded by him. And immediately he gave Śiva his daughter, who had been carefully brought up, and in giving her he seemed to be giving away his own prosperity lost by his folly. And on the third day after his marriage, he took him to Mádhava who was pretending to be ill, to receive his present. And Mádhava rose up and fell at his feet and said what was quite true, “I adore thee whose asceticism is incomprehensible.”[16] And in accordance with the prescribed form he bestowed on Śiva that box of ornaments made of many sham jewels, which was brought from the chaplain’s treasury. Śiva for his part, after receiving it, gave it into the hand of the chaplain, saying, “I know nothing about this, but you do.” And that priest immediately took it, saying, “I undertook to do this long ago, why should you trouble yourself about it?” Then Śiva gave them his blessing, and went to his wife’s private apartments, and the chaplain took the box and put it in his strong room. Mádhava for his part gradually desisted from feigning sickness, affecting to feel better the next day, and said that his disease had been cured by virtue of his great gift. And he praised the chaplain when he came near, saying to him, “It was by your aiding me in an act of faith that I tided over this calamity.” And he openly struck up a friendship with Śiva, asserting that it was due to the might of Śiva’s holiness that his life had been saved. Śiva, for his part, after some days said to the chaplain: “How long am I to feast in your house in this style? Why do you not take from me those jewels for some fixed sum of money? If they are valuable, give me a fair price for them.” When the priest heard that, thinking that the jewels were of incalculable value, he consented, and gave to Śiva as purchase-money his whole living. And he made Śiva sign a receipt for the sum with his own hand, and he himself too signed a receipt for the jewels, thinking that that treasure far exceeded his own wealth in value. And they separated, taking one another’s receipts, and the chaplain lived in one place, while Śiva kept house in another. And then Śiva and Mádhava dwelt together and remained there leading a very pleasant life consuming the chaplain’s wealth. And as time went on, that chaplain, being in need of cash, went to the town to sell one of the ornaments in the bazar.
Then the merchants, who were connoisseurs in jewels, said after examining it, “Ha! the man who made these sham jewels was a clever fellow, whoever he was. For this ornament is composed of pieces of glass and quartz coloured with various colours and fastened together with brass, and there are no gems or gold in it.” When the chaplain heard that, he went in his agitation and brought all the ornaments from his house, and showed them to the merchants. When they saw them, they said that all of them were composed of sham jewels in the same way; but the chaplain, when he heard that, was, so to speak, thunderstruck. And immediately the fool went off and said to Śiva, “Take back your ornaments and give me back my own wealth.” But Śiva answered him, “How can I possibly have retained your wealth till now? Why it has all in course of time been consumed in my house.” Then the chaplain and Śiva fell into an altercation, and went, both of them, before the king, at whose side Mádhava was standing. And the chaplain made this representation to the king: “Śiva has consumed all my substance, taking advantage of my not knowing that a great treasure, which he deposited in my house,[17] was composed of skilfully coloured pieces of glass and quartz fastened together with brass.” Then Śiva said, “King, from my childhood I have been a hermit, and I was persuaded by that man’s earnest petition to accept a donation, and when I took it, though inexperienced in the ways of the world, I said to him, ‘I am no connoisseur in jewels and things of that kind, and I rely upon you,’ and he consented saying, ‘I will be your warrant in the matter.’ And I accepted all the donation and deposited it in his hand. Then he bought the whole from me at his own price, and we hold from one another mutual receipts; and now it is in the king’s power to grant me help in my sorest need.” Śiva having thus finished his speech, Mádhava said, “Do not say this, you are honourable, but what fault have I committed in the matter? I never received anything either from you or from Śiva; I had some wealth inherited from my father, which I had long deposited elsewhere; then I brought that wealth and presented it to a Bráhman. If the gold is not real gold, and the jewels are not real jewels, then let us suppose that I have reaped fruit from giving away brass, quartz, and glass. But the fact that I was persuaded with sincere heart that I was giving something, is clear from this, that I recovered from a very dangerous illness.” When Mádhava said this to him without any alteration in the expression of his face, the king laughed and all his ministers, and they were highly delighted. And those present in court said, laughing in their sleeves, “Neither Mádhava nor Śiva has done anything unfair.” Thereupon that chaplain departed with downcast countenance, having lost his wealth. For of what calamities is not the blinding of the mind with excessive greed the cause? And so those two rogues Śiva and Mádhava long remained there, happy in having obtained the favour of the delighted king.
“Thus do rogues spread the webs of their tongue with hundreds of intricate threads, like fishermen upon dry land, living by the net. So you may be certain, my father, that this Bráhman is a case in point. By falsely asserting that he has seen the City of Gold, he wishes to deceive you, and to obtain me for a wife. So do not be in a hurry to get me married; I shall remain unmarried at present, and we will see what will happen.” When the king Paropakárin heard this from his daughter Kanakarekhá, he thus answered her: “When a girl is grown up, it is not expedient that she should remain long unmarried, for wicked people envious of good qualities, falsely impute sin. And people are particularly fond of blackening the character of one distinguished; to illustrate this, listen to the story of Harasvámin which I am about to tell you.”
Story of Harasvámin.[18]
There is a city on the banks of the Ganges named Kusumapura,[19] and in it there was an ascetic who visited holy places, named Harasvámin. He was a Bráhman living by begging; and constructing a hut on the banks of the Ganges, he became, on account of his surprisingly rigid asceticism, the object of the people’s respect.[20] And one day a wicked man among the inhabitants, who could not tolerate his virtue, seeing him from a distance going out to beg, said, “Do you know what a hypocritical ascetic that is? It is he that has eaten up all the children in this town.” When a second there who was like him, heard this, he said, “It is true, I also have heard people saying this.” And a third confirming it said, “Such is the fact.” The chain of villains’ conversation binds reproach on the good. And in this way the report spread from ear to ear, and gained general credence in the city. And all the citizens kept their children by force in their houses, saying, “Harasvámin carries off all the children and eats them.” And then the Bráhmans in that town, afraid that their offspring would be destroyed, assembled and deliberated about his banishment from the city. And as they did not dare to tell him face to face, for fear he might perhaps eat them up in his rage, they sent messengers to him. And those messengers went and said to him from a distance; “The Bráhmans command you to depart from this city.” Then in his astonishment he asked them “Why?” And they went on to say; “You eat every child as soon as you see it.” When Harasvámin heard that, he went near those Bráhmans, in order to reassure them, and the people fled before him for fear. And the Bráhmans, as soon as they saw him, were terrified and went up to the top of their monastery. People who are deluded by reports are not, as a rule, capable of discrimination. Then Harasvámin standing below called all the Bráhmans who were above, one by one, by name, and said to them, “What delusion is this, Bráhmans? Why do you not ascertain with one another how many children I have eaten, and whose, and how many of each man’s children.” When they heard that, the Bráhmans began to compare notes among themselves, and found that all of them had all their children left alive. And in course of time other citizens, appointed to investigate the matter, admitted that all their children were living. And merchants and Bráhmans and all said, “Alas in our folly we have belied a holy man; the children of all of us are alive; so whose children can he have eaten?” Harasvámin, being thus completely exonerated, prepared to leave that city, for his mind was seized with disgust at the slanderous report got up against him by wicked men. For what pleasure can a wise man take in a wicked place, the inhabitants of which are wanting in discrimination? Then the Bráhmans and merchants, prostrating themselves at his feet, entreated him to stay there, and he at last, though with reluctance, consented to do so.
“In this way evil men often impute crime falsely to good men, allowing their malicious garrulity full play on beholding their virtuous behaviour. Much more, if they obtain a slight glimpse of any opportunity for attacking them, do they pour copious showers of oil on the fire thus kindled. Therefore if you wish, my daughter, to draw the arrow from my heart, you must not, while this fresh youth of yours is developing, remain unmarried to please yourself, and so incur the ready reproach of evil men.” Such was the advice which the princess Kanakarekhá frequently received from her father the king, but she, being firmly resolved, again and again answered him: “Therefore quickly search for a Bráhman or Kshatriya who has seen that City of Gold and give me to him, for this is the condition I have named.” When the king heard that, reflecting that his daughter, who remembered her former birth, had completely made up her mind, and seeing no other way of obtaining for her the husband she desired, he issued another order to the effect that henceforth the proclamation by beat of drum was to take place every day in the city, in order to find out whether any of the newcomers had seen the Golden City. And once more it was proclaimed in every quarter of the city every day, after the drum had been beaten,—“If any Bráhman or Kshatriya has seen the Golden City, let him speak; the king will give him his own daughter, together with the rank of Crown-prince.” But no one was found who had obtained a sight of the Golden City.
[1] The elephant-headed god has his trunk painted with red lead like a tame elephant, and is also liable to become mast.
[2] Followers and attendants upon Śiva.
[3] The modern Burdwan.
[4] I. e. Gold-gleam.
[5] For an account of the wanderjahre of young Bráhman students, see Dr. Bühler’s introduction to the Vikramánkadevacharita.
[6] More literally—Those whose eyes do not wink. The epithet also means “worthy of being regarded with unwinking eyes.” No doubt this ambiguity is intended.
[7] I. e. the city of jewels.
[8] Áskandin is translated “granting” by Monier Williams and the Petersburg lexicographers.
[9] These are worn on the fingers when offerings are made.
[10] A particular posture in religious meditation, sitting with the thighs crossed, with one hand resting on the left thigh, the other held up with the thumb upon the heart, and the eyes directed to the tip of the nose.
[11] Kárpaṭika may mean a pilgrim, but it seems to be used in the K. S. S. to mean a kind of dependant on a king or great man, usually a foreigner. See chapters 38, 53, and 81 of this work.
[12] First he should be a Brahmachárin or unmarried religious student, next a Gṛihastha or householder, than a Vánaprastha or anchoret, lastly a Bhikshu or beggar.
[13] i. e. virtue, wealth, pleasure; dharma, artha, káma.
[14] Graha, also means planet, i. e. inauspicious planet. Śiva tells the truth here.
[15] i. e. the auspicious or friendly one.
[16] There is probably a double meaning in the word “incomprehensible.”
[17] Perhaps we ought to read dattvá for tatra.
[18] A report similar to that spread against Harasvámin was in circulation during the French Revolution. Taine in his history of the Revolution, Vol. I, p. 418 tells the following anecdote: “M. de Montlosier found himself the object of many unpleasant attentions when he went to the National Assembly. In particular a woman of about thirty used to sharpen a large knife when he passed and look at him in a threatening manner. On enquiry he discovered the cause—Deux enfants du quartier ont disparu enlevés par de bohémiens, et c’est maintenant un bruit répandu que M. de Montlosier, le marquis de Mirabeau, et d’autres députés du côté droit se rassemblent pour faire des orgies dans lesquelles ils mangent de petits enfants.”
[19] The city of flowers, i. g. Páṭaliputra.
[20] Perhaps we ought to read yayau for dadau. This I find is the reading of an excellent MS. in the Sanskrit college, for the loan of which I am deeply indebted to the Principal and the Librarian.