Story of Sundaraka.
But listen, king, to a story which is a digression from my main tale. That Kálarátri had for husband a Bráhman of the name of Vishṇusvámin, and he, being an instructor in that country, taught many pupils who came from different lands, as he was skilful in the exposition of the Vedas. And among his pupils he had one young man of the name of Sundaraka, the beauty of whose person was set off by his excellent character; one day the teacher’s wife Kálarátri being love-sick secretly courted him, her husband having gone away to some place or other. Truly Love makes great sport with ugly people as his laughing-stocks, in that she, not considering her own appearance, fell in love with Sundaraka. But he, though tempted, detested with his whole soul the crime; however women may misbehave, the mind of the good is not to be shaken. Then, he having departed, Kálarátri in a rage tore her own body with bites and scratches, and she remained weeping,[12] with dress and locks disordered, until the teacher Vishṇusvámin entered the house. And when he had entered, she said to him,—“Look, my Lord, to this state has Sundaraka reduced me, endeavouring to gain possession of me by force.” As soon as the teacher heard that, he was inflamed with anger, for confidence in women robs even wise men of their power of reflection; and when Sundaraka returned home at night, he ran upon him, and he and his pupils kicked him, and struck him with fists, and sticks; moreover when he was senseless with the blows, he ordered his pupils to fling him out in the road by night, without regard to his safety, and they did so. Then Sundaraka was gradually restored to consciousness by the cool night breeze, and seeing himself thus outraged he reflected, “Alas! the instigation of a woman troubles the minds even of those men whose souls are not under the dominion of passion, as a storm disturbs the repose of lakes which are not reached by dust.[13] This is why that teacher of mine in the excess of his anger, though old and wise, was so inconsiderate as to treat me so cruelly. But the fact is, lust and wrath are appointed in the dispensation of fate, from the very birth even of wise Bráhmans, to be the two bolts on the door of their salvation.[14] For were not the sages long ago angry with Śiva in the devadáru-wood, being afraid that their wives would go astray? And they did not know that he was a god, as he had assumed the appearance of a Buddhist mendicant, with the intention of shewing Umá that even Ṛishis do not possess self-restraint. But after they had cursed him, they discovered that he was the ruling god, that shakes the three worlds, and they fled to him for protection. So it appears that even hermits injure others, when beguiled by the six faults that are enemies of man,[15] lust, wrath, and their crew, much more so Bráhmans learned in the Vedas.” Thinking thus, Sundaraka from fear of robbers during the night, climbed up and took shelter in a neighbouring cow-house. And while he was crouching unobserved in a corner of that cow-house, Kálarátri came into it with a drawn sword in her hand,[16] terrible from the hissing she uttered, with wind and flames issuing from her mouth and eyes, accompanied by a crowd of witches. Then the terrified Sundaraka, beholding Kálarátri arriving in such a guise, called to mind the spells that drive away Rákshasas, and bewildered by these spells Kálarátri did not see him crouching secretly in a corner, with his limbs drawn together from fear. Then Kálarátri with her friends recited the spells that enable witches to fly, and they flew up into the air, cow-house and all.
And Sundaraka heard the spell and remembered it;[17] but Kálarátri with the cow-house quickly flew through the air to Ujjayiní: there she made it descend by a spell in a garden of herbs, and went and sported in the cemetery among the witches: and immediately Sundaraka being hungry went down into the garden of herbs, and made a meal on some roots which he dug up, and after he had allayed the pangs of hunger, and returned as before to the cow-house, Kálarátri came back in the middle of the night from her meeting. Then she got up into the cow-house, and, just as before, she flew through the air with her pupils by the power of her magic, and returned home in the night. And after she had replaced the cow-house, which she made use of as a vehicle, in its original situation, and had dismissed those followers of hers, she entered her sleeping apartment. And Sundaraka, having thus passed through that night, astonished at the troubles he had undergone, in the morning left the cow-house and went to his friends; there he related what had happened to him, and, though desirous of going to some other country, he was comforted by those friends and took up his abode among them, and leaving the dwelling of his teacher, and taking his meals in the almshouse for Bráhmans, he lived there enjoying himself at will in the society of his friends. One day Kálarátri, having gone out to buy some necessaries for her house, saw Sundaraka in the market. And being once more love-sick, she went up to him and said to him a second time—“Sundaraka, shew me affection even now, for my life depends on you.” When she said this to him, the virtuous Sundaraka said to her, “Do not speak thus, it is not right; you are my mother, as being the wife of my teacher.” Then Kálarátri said; “If you know what is right, then grant me my life, for what righteousness is greater than the saving of life?” Then Sundaraka said—“Mother, do not entertain this wish, for what righteousness can there be in approaching the bed of my preceptor.” Thus repulsed by him, and threatening him in her wrath, she went home, after tearing her upper garment with her own hand, and shewing the garment to her husband, she said to him, “Look, Sundaraka ran upon me, and tore this garment of mine in this fashion;” so her husband went in his anger and stopped Sundaraka’s supply of food at the almshouse, by saying that he was a felon who deserved death. Then Sundaraka in disgust, being desirous of leaving that country, and knowing the spell for flying up into the air which he had learnt in the cow-house, but being conscious that he had forgotten, after hearing it, the spell for descending from the sky, which he had been taught there also, again went in the night to that deserted cow-house, and while he was there, Kálarátri came as before, and flying up in the cow-house in the same way as on the former occasion, travelled through the air to Ujjayiní, and having made the cow-house descend by a spell in the garden of herbs, went again to the cemetery to perform her nightly ceremonies.
And Sundaraka heard that spell again, but failed again to retain it; for how can magic practices be thoroughly learnt without explanation by a teacher? Then he ate some roots there, and put some others in the cow-house to take away with him, and remained there as before; then Kálarátri came, and climbing up into the cow-house, flew through the air by night, and stopping the vehicle, entered her house. In the morning Sundaraka also left that house, and taking the roots with him he went to the market in order to procure money with which to purchase food. And while he was selling them there, some servants of the king’s, who were natives of Málava, took them away without paying for them, seeing that they were the produce of their own country. Then he began to remonstrate angrily, so they manacled him, and took him before the king on a charge of throwing stones at them, and his friends followed him. Those villains said to the king—“This man, when we asked him how he managed continually to bring roots from Málava and sell them in Ujjayiní, would not give us any answer, on the contrary he threw stones at us.”
When the king heard this, he asked him about that marvel,[18] then his friends said—“If he is placed on the palace with us, he will explain the whole wonder, but not otherwise.” The king consented, and Sundaraka was placed on the palace, whereupon by the help of the spell he suddenly flew up into the heaven with the palace. And travelling on it with his friends, he gradually reached Prayága,[19] and being now weary he saw a certain king bathing there, and after stopping the palace there, he plunged from the heaven into the Ganges, and, beheld with wonder by all, he approached that king. The king inclining before him, said to him, “Who art thou, and why hast thou descended from heaven?” Sundaraka answered, “I am an attendant of the god Śiva, named Murajaka, and by his command I have come to thee desiring human pleasures.” When the king heard this, he supposed it was true, and gave him a city, rich in corn, filled with jewels, with women and all the insignia of rank. Then Sundaraka entered that city and flew up into the heaven with his followers, and for a long time roamed about at will, free from poverty. Lying on a golden bed, and fanned with chowries by beautiful women, he enjoyed happiness like that of Indra. Then once on a time a Siddha, that roamed in the air, with whom he had struck up a friendship, gave him a spell for descending from the air, and Sundaraka, having become possessed of this spell enabling him to come down to earth, descended from the sky-path in his own city of Kányakubja. Then the king hearing that he had come down from heaven, possessed of full prosperity, with a city, went in person to meet him out of curiosity, and Sundaraka, when recognized and questioned, knowing what to say on all occasions, informed the king of all his own adventures brought about by Kálarátri. Then the king sent for Kálarátri and questioned her, and she fearlessly confessed her improper conduct, and the king was angry and made up his mind to cut off her ears, but she, when seized, disappeared before the eyes of all the spectators. Then the king forbade her to live in his kingdom, and Sundaraka having been honourably treated by him returned to the air.
Having said this to her husband the king Ádityaprabha, the queen Kuvalayávalí went on to say; “King, such magic powers, produced by the spells of witches, do exist, and this thing happened in my father’s kingdom, and it is famous in the world, and, as I told you at first, I am a pupil of Kálarátri’s, but because I am devoted to my husband, I possess greater power even than she did. And to-day you saw me just at the time when I had performed ceremonies to ensure your welfare, and was endeavouring to attract by a spell a man to offer as a victim. So do you enter now into our practice, and set your foot on the head of all kings, conquering them by magic power. When he heard this proposal, the king at first rejected it, saying, “What propriety is there in a king’s connecting himself with the eating of human flesh, the practice of witches?” But when the queen was bent on committing suicide, he consented, for how can men who are attracted by the objects of passion remain in the good path? Then she made him enter into the circle previously consecrated, and said to the king, after he had taken an oath; “I attempted to draw hither as a victim that Bráhman named Phalabhúti, who is so intimate with you, but the drawing him hither is a difficult task, so it is the best way to initiate some cook in our rites, that he may himself slay him and cook him. And you must not feel any compunction about it, because by eating a sacrificial offering of his flesh, after the ceremonies are complete, the enchantment will be perfect, for he is a Bráhman of the highest caste.” When his beloved said this to him, the king, though afraid of the sin, a second time consented. Alas! terrible is compliance with women! Then that royal couple had the cook summoned, whose name was Sáhasika, and after encouraging him, and initiating him, they both said to him,—“Whoever comes to you to-morrow morning and says—‘The king and queen will eat together to-day, so get some food ready quickly,’ him you must slay, and make for us secretly a savoury dish of his flesh.” When the cook heard this, he consented, and went to his own house. And the next morning, when Phalabhúti arrived, the king said to him, “Go and tell the cook Sáhasika in the kitchen, ‘the king together with the queen will eat to-day a savoury mess, therefore prepare as soon as possible a splendid dish.’” Phalabhúti said, “I will do so” and went out. When he was outside, the prince whose name was Chandraprabha, came to him, and said—“Have made for me this very day with this gold a pair of earrings, like those you had made before for my noble father.” When the prince said this, Phalabhúti, in order to please him, went that moment, as he was commissioned, to get the earrings made, and the prince readily went with the king’s message, which Phalabhúti told him, alone to the kitchen; when he got there and told the king’s message, the cook Sáhasika, true to his agreement, immediately killed him with a knife, and made a dish of his flesh, which the king and queen, after performing their ceremonies, ate, not knowing the truth;[20] and after spending that night in remorse, the next morning the king saw Phalabhúti arrive with the earrings in his hand.
So, being bewildered, he questioned him about the earrings immediately; and when Phalabhúti had told him his story, the king fell on the earth, and cried out; “Alas my son!” blaming the queen and himself, and when his ministers questioned him, he told them the whole story, and repeated what Phalabhúti had said every day—”‘The doer of good will obtain good, and the doer of evil, evil.’ Often the harm that one wishes to do to another, recoils on one’s self, as a ball thrown against a wall rebounding frequently; thus we, wicked ones, desiring to slay a Bráhman, have brought about our own son’s death, and devoured his flesh.” After the king had said this and informed his ministers, who stood with their faces fixed on the earth, of the whole transaction, and after he had anointed that very Phalabhúti as king in his place, he made a distribution of alms and then, having no son, entered the fire with his wife to purify himself from guilt, though already consumed by the fire of remorse: and Phalabhúti, having obtained the royal dignity, ruled the earth; thus good or evil done by a man is made to return upon himself.
Having related the above tale in the presence of the king of Vatsa, Yaugandharáyaṇa again said to that king; “If Brahmadatta therefore were to plot against you, O great king, who, after conquering him, treated him kindly, he ought to be slain.” When the chief minister had said this to him, the king of Vatsa approved of it, and rising up went to perform the duties of the day, and the day following he set out from Lávánaka to go to his own city Kauśámbí, having accomplished his objects in effecting the conquest of the regions; in course of time the lord of earth accompanied by his retinue reached his own city, which seemed to be dancing with delight, imitating with banners uplifted the taper arms[21] of the dancing girl. So he entered the city, producing, at every step, in the lotus-garden composed of the eyes of the women of the city, the effect of the rising of a breeze. And the king entered his palace, sung by minstrels, praised by bards, and worshipped by kings. Then the monarch of Vatsa laid his commands on the kings of every land, who bowed before him, and triumphantly ascended that throne, the heirloom of his race, which he had found long ago in the deposit of treasure. And the heaven was filled with the combined high and deep echoes of the sound of the drums, which accompanied the auspicious ceremonies on that occasion, like simultaneous shouts of applause uttered by the guardians of the world, each in his several quarter, being delighted with the prime minister of the king of Vatsa. Then the monarch, who was free from avarice, distributed to the Bráhmans all kinds of wealth acquired by the conquest of the world, and after great festivities, satisfied the desires of the company of kings and of his own ministers. Then in that city filled with the noise of drums resembling the thunder of the clouds, while the king was raining benefits on the fields[22] according to each man’s desert, the people, expecting great fruit in the form of corn, kept high festival in every house. Having thus conquered the world, that victorious king devolved on Rumaṇvat and Yaugandharáyaṇa the burden of his realm, and lived at ease there with Vásavadattá and Padmávatí. So he, being praised by excellent bards, seated between those two queens as if they were the goddesses of Fame and Fortune, enjoyed the rising of the moon white as his own glory, and continually drank wine as he had swallowed the might of his foes.
[1] For the worship of trees and tree-spirits, see Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology, p. 75 and ff., and Tylor’s Primitive Culture, Vol. II, p. 196 and ff.
[2] I here read durdaśáḥ for the durdarśáḥ of Dr. Brockhaus’ text. It must be a misprint. A MS. in the Sanskrit College reads durdaśáḥ.
[3] The Guhyakas are demi-gods, attendants upon Kuvera and guardians of his wealth.
[4] Literally—having the cardinal points as her only garment.
[5] For the circle cp. Henry VI. Part II, Act I, Sc. IV, line 25 and Henry V. Act V, Sc. 2, line 420. “If you would conjure, you must make a circle.” See also Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, p. 272. Veckenstedt’s Wendische Sagen, pp. 292, 302, 303. See also Wirt Sikes, British Goblins, pp. 200, and 201; Henderson’s Northern Folk-lore, p. 19, Bartsch’s Sagen, Märchen, und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, pp. 128, 213. Professor Jebb, in his notes on Theophrastus’ Superstitious man, observes “The object of all those ceremonies, in which the offerings were carried round the person or place to be purified, was to trace a charmed circle within which the powers of evil should not come.” Cp. also Grössler’s Sagen aus der Grafschaft Mansfeld, p. 217, Brand’s Popular Antiquities, Vol. III, p. 56; Grohmann’s Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 226.
[6] i. e. by the fire of Śiva’s eye.
[7] Perhaps we ought to read sadehasya. I find this rending in a MS. lent to me by the librarian of the Sanskrit College with the kind permission of the Principal.
[8] i. e. Śiva.
[9] In this wild legend, resembling one in the first book of the Rámáyaṇa, I have omitted some details for reasons which will be obvious to those who read it in the original.
[10] i. e. the six Pleiades.
[11] Mr. Tylor (in his Primitive Culture, Vol. II, p. 176) speaking of Slavonian superstitions, says, “A man whose eyebrows meet as if his soul were taking flight to enter some other body, may be marked by this sign either as a were-wolf or a vampire.” In Icelandic Sagas a man with meeting eyebrows is said to be a werewolf. The same idea holds in Denmark, also in Germany, whilst in Greece it is a sign that a man is a Brukolak or Vampire. (Note by Baring-Gould in Henderson’s Folk-lore of the Northern Counties). The same idea is found in Bohemia, see Grohmann’s Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 210. Cp. Grimm’s Irische Märchen, p. cviii.
[12] I read ásta for áśu.
[13] rajas in Sanskrit means dust and also passion.
[14] i. e. immunity from future births.
[15] i. e. desire, wrath, covetousness, bewilderment, pride and envy.
[16] Cp. the Æthiopica of Heliodorus, Book VII, ch. 15, where the witch is armed with a sword during her incantations; and Homer’s Odyssey, XI, 48. See also for the magic virtues of steel Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, pp. 312, 313.
[17] See Veckenstedt’s Wendische Sagen, p. 289, where a young man overhears a spell with similar results. See also Bartsch’s Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, Vol. I, p. 115.
[18] I read tan tad.
[19] Called more usually by English people Allahabad.
[20] This incident reminds one of Schiller’s ballad—Der Gang nach dem Eisenhammer. (Benfey Panchatantra, Vol. I, p. 320.)
The story of Fridolin in Schiller’s ballad is identical with the story of Fulgentius which is found in the English Gesta Romanorum, see Bohn’s Gesta Romanorum, Introduction, page 1. Douce says that the story is found in Scott’s Tales from the Arabic and Persian, p. 53 and in the Contes devots or Miracles of the Virgin. (Le Grand, Fabliaux, v. 74.) Mr. Collier states upon the authority of M. Boettiger that Schiller founded his ballad upon an Alsatian tradition which he heard at Mannheim. Cp. also the 80th of the Sicilianische Märchen which ends with these words, “Wer gutes thut, wird gutes erhalten.” There is a certain resemblance in this story to that of Equitan in Murie’s lays. See Ellis’s Early English Metrical Romances, pp. 46 and 47. It also resembles the story of Lalitánga extracted from the Kathá Kosha by Professor Nilmani Mukerjea in his Sáhitya Parichaya, Part II, and the conclusion of the story of Damannaka from the same source found in his Part I. The story of Fridolin is also found in Schöppner’s Sagenbuch der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, p. 204.
[21] Literally creeper-like.
[22] There is a double meaning here; kshetra means fit recipients as well as field. The king no doubt distributed corn.