Story of the clever deformed child.
Once on a time there was a certain Bráhman named Rudraśarman, and he, when he became a householder, had two wives, and one of his wives gave birth to a son and died; and then the Bráhman entrusted that son to the care of his step-mother; and when he grew to a tolerable stature, she gave him coarse food; the consequence was, the boy became pale, and got a swollen stomach. Then Rudraśarman said to that second wife, “How comes it that you have neglected this child of mine that has lost its mother?” She said to her husband, “Though I take affectionate care of him, he is nevertheless the strange object you see; what am I to do with him?” Whereupon the Bráhman thought, “No doubt it is the child’s nature to be like this.” For who sees through the deceitfulness of the speeches of women uttered with affected simplicity? Then that child began to go by the name of Bálavinashṭaka[7] in his father’s house, because they said this child (bála) is deformed (vinashṭa.) Then Bálavinashṭaka thought to himself—“This step-mother of mine is always ill-treating me, therefore I had better be revenged on her in some way”—for though the boy was only a little more than five years old, he was clever enough. Then he said secretly to his father when he returned from the king’s court, with half suppressed voice—“Papa, I have two Papas.” So the boy said every day, and his father suspecting that his wife had a paramour, would not even touch her. She for her part thought—“Why is my husband angry without my being guilty; I wonder whether Bálavinashṭaka has been at any tricks?” So she washed Bálavinashṭaka with careful kindness, and gave him dainty food, and taking him on her lap, asked him the following question: “My son why have you incensed your father Rudraśarman against me?” When he heard that, the boy said to his step-mother, “I will do more harm to you than that, if you do not immediately cease ill-treating me. You take good care of your own children; why do you perpetually torment me?” When she heard that, she bowed before him, and said with a solemn oath, “I will not do so any more; so reconcile my husband to me.” Then the child said to her—“Well, when my father comes home, let one of your maids shew him a mirror, and leave the rest to me.” She said, “Very well,” and by her orders a maid shewed a mirror to her husband as soon as he returned home. Thereupon the child pointing out the reflection of his father in the mirror, said, “There is my second father.” When he heard that, Rudraśarman dismissed his suspicions and was immediately reconciled to his wife, whom he had blamed without cause.
“Thus even a child may do mischief if it is annoyed, and therefore we must carefully conciliate all this retinue.” Saying this, Yaugandharáyaṇa with the help of Rumaṇvat, carefully honoured all the people on this the king of Vatsa’s great day of rejoicing.[8] And they gratified all the kings so successfully that each one of them thought, “These two men are devoted to me alone.” And the king honoured those two ministers and Vasantaka with garments, unguents, and ornaments bestowed with his own hand, and he also gave them grants of villages. Then the king of Vatsa, having celebrated the great festival of his marriage, considered all his wishes gratified, now that he was linked to Vásavadattá. Their mutual love, having blossomed after a long time of expectation, was so great, owing to the strength of their passion, that their hearts continually resembled those of the sorrowing Chakravákas, when the night, during which they are separated, comes to an end. And as the familiarity of the couple increased, their love seemed to be ever renewed. Then Gopálaka, being ordered by his father to return to get married himself, went away, after having been entreated by the king of Vatsa to return quickly.
In course of time the king of Vatsa became faithless, and secretly loved an attendant of the harem named Virachitá, with whom he had previously had an intrigue. One day he made a mistake and addressed the queen by her name, thereupon he had to conciliate her by clinging to her feet, and bathed in her tears he was anointed[9] a fortunate king. Moreover he married a princess of the name of Bandhumatí, whom Gopálaka had captured by the might of his arm, and sent as a present to the queen; and whom she concealed, changing her name to Manjuliká; who seemed like another Lakshmí issuing from the sea of beauty. Her the king saw, when he was in the company of Vasantaka, and secretly married her by the Gándharva ceremony in a summer-house. And that proceeding of his was beheld by Vásavadattá, who was in concealment, and she was angry, and had Vasantaka put in fetters. Then the king had recourse to the good offices of a female ascetic, a friend of the queen’s, who had come with her from her father’s court, of the name of Sánkrityánaní. She appeased the queen’s anger, and got Bandhumatí presented to the king by the obedient queen, for tender is the heart of virtuous wives. Then the queen released Vasantaka from imprisonment; he came into the presence of the queen and said to her with a laugh, “Bandhumatí did you an injury, but what did I do to you? You are angry with adders[10] and you kill water-snakes.” Then the queen, out of curiosity, asked him to explain that metaphor, and he continued as follows: