Story of the handsome king Pṛithvírúpa.
There is in the Dekhan a city named Pratishṭhána, in it lived a very handsome king, named Pṛithvírúpa. Once on a time two discerning Buddhist hermits came to him, and seeing that that king was very handsome, they said to him, “King, we have travelled through the world, and we have nowhere seen a man or woman equal to you in beauty, except the daughter of king Rúpadhara and queen Hemalatá, in the isle of Muktipura, Rúpalatá by name, and that maiden alone is a match for you, and you alone are a match for her; if you were to be united in marriage, it would be well.” With these words of the hermit, which entered by his ears, the arrows of Love entered also and stuck in his heart. Then king Pṛithvírúpa, being full of longing, gave this order to his admirable painter, Kumáridatta by name; “Take with you my portrait, accurately painted on canvas, and with these two mendicants go to the isle of Muktipura, and there shew it by some artifice to the king Rúpadhara and his daughter Rúpalatá. Find out if that king will give me his daughter or not, and take a likeness of Rúpalatá, and bring it back.” When the king had said this, he made the painter take his likeness on canvas, and sent him with the mendicants to that island. And so the painter and the mendicants set out, and in course of time reached a city named Putrapura on the shore of the sea. There they embarked on a ship, and going across the sea, they reached in five days that island of Muktipura. There the painter went and held up at the gate of the palace a notice, to the effect that there was no painter like him in the world. When the king Rúpadhara heard of that, he summoned him, and the painter entered the palace, and bowing, he said: “O king, though I have travelled all over the earth, I have never seen my match as a painter, so tell me, whom I am to paint of gods, mortals, and Asuras.” When the king heard that, he summoned his daughter Rúpalatá into his presence, and gave him the following order: “Make a portrait of this daughter of mine, and shew it me.” Then the painter Kumáridatta made a portrait of the princess on canvas and shewed it, and it was exactly like the original. Then king Rúpadhara was pleased, and thinking him clever, he asked that painter, in his desire to obtain a son-in-law, “My good fellow, you have travelled over the earth: so tell me if you have anywhere seen a woman or a man equal to my daughter in beauty.” When the king said this, the painter answered him, “I have nowhere in the world seen a woman or a man equal to her, except a king in Pratishṭhána, named Pṛithvírúpa, who is a match for her; if she were married to him, it would be well. Since he has not found a princess equal in beauty, he remains, though in his fresh youth, without a wife. And I, your majesty, having beheld that king, dear to the eyes, took a faithful likeness of him, out of admiration of his beauty.” When the king heard that, he said: “Have you that portrait with you?” And the painter said, “I have,” and showed the portrait. Thereupon the king Rúpadhara, beholding the beauty of that king Pṛithvírúpa, found his head whirl round with astonishment. And he said, “Fortunate are we to have beheld that king even in a picture; I felicitate those who behold him in the flesh. When Rúpalatá heard this speech of her father’s, and saw the king in the picture, she was full of longing, and could neither hear nor see anything else. Then the king Rúpadhara, seeing that his daughter was distracted with love, said to that painter Kumáridatta, “Your pictures exactly correspond to the original, so that king Pṛithvírúpa must be an appropriate husband for my daughter. So take this portrait of my daughter, and set off immediately, and shew my daughter to king Pṛithvírúpa; and tell the whole incident as it took place, and if he pleases, let him come here quickly, to marry her.” Thus the king spake, and honoured the painter with gifts, and sent him off with his ambassador, in the company of the mendicants.
The painter, the ambassador, and the mendicants crossed the sea, and all reached the court of Pṛithvírúpa in Pratishṭhána. There they gave the present to that king, and told him the whole transaction, as it took place, and the message of Rúpadhara. And then that painter Kumáridatta shewed to that king his beloved Rúpalatá in a painting. As the king gazed,[7] his eye was drowned in that sea of beauty her person, so that he could not draw it out again. For the king, whose longing was excessive, could not be satisfied with devouring her form, which poured forth a stream of the nectar of beauty, as the partridge cannot be satisfied with devouring the moonlight. And he said to the painter, “My friend, worthy of praise is the Creator who made this beauty, and yourself who copied it. So I accept the proposal of king Rúpadhara; I will go to the island of Muktipura and marry his daughter.” After saying this, the king honoured the painter, the ambassador, and the hermits, and remained looking at the picture.
And afflicted with the sorrow of absence, the king spent that day in gardens and other places, and set out the next day on his expedition, after ascertaining a favourable moment. And the king mounted the great elephant Mangalaghaṭa, and proceeded on his way with many horses and elephants, with chiefs and Rájpúts, and with the painter and the hermits, together with the ambassador of Rúpadhara, and in a few days he reached the entrance of the Vindhya forest, and encamped there in the evening. The next day, the king Pṛithvírúpa mounted an elephant named Śatrumardana, and going on entered that forest. And as he was slowly proceeding, he beheld his army, which was marching in front of him, suddenly fleeing. And while he was perplexed as to what it could mean, a Rájpút named Nirbhaya, mounted on an elephant, came up and said to him, “King, a very large army of Bhillas attacked us in front there; in the fight that ensued those Bhillas slew with their arrows just fifty of our elephants, and a thousand of our footmen, and three hundred horses; but our troops laid low two thousand Bhillas, so that for every single corpse seen in our host two were seen in theirs. Then our forces were routed, galled with their arrows, which resemble thunderbolts.” When the king heard that, he was angry, and advancing he slew the army of the Bhillas, as Arjuna slew that of the Kauravas. Then the other bandits were slain by Nirbhaya and his comrades,[8] and the king cut off with one crescent-headed arrow the head of the commander of the Bhillas. The king’s elephant Śatrumardana, with the blood flowing from arrow-wounds, resembled a mountain of collyrium pouring forth streams coloured with cinnabar. Then his whole army, that had been dispersed, returned, finding themselves victorious, and those Bhillas, that had escaped slaughter, fled in all directions. And the king Pṛithvírúpa, having brought the fight to an end, had his might extolled by the ambassador of Rúpadhara, and being victorious, encamped in that very forest district, on the bank of a lake, to recruit the strength of his wounded troops.
And in the morning the king set out thence, and slowly advancing he reached that city of Putrapura on the shore of the sea. There he rested for a day, being entertained in becoming fashion by the king of that place, named Udáracharita. And he crossed the sea in ships supplied by him, and in eight days reached the isle of Muktipura.
And the king Rúpadhara, hearing of it, came to meet him delighted, and the two kings met and embraced one another. Then the king Pṛithvírúpa entered his city with him, being, so to speak, drunk in by the eyes of the ladies of the city. Then the queen Hemalatá and the king Rúpadhara, seeing that he was a suitable husband for their daughter, rejoiced. And that king Pṛithvírúpa remained there, and Rúpadhara honoured him with entertainment in accordance with his own magnificence.
And the next day, the long-desiring Rúpalatá ascended the altar in an auspicious moment, and he with exultation received her hand in marriage. And when they beheld one another’s beauty, the expanded eye of each was extended to the ear, as if to inform that organ that the report it had heard before was true. When the parched grain was thrown, Rúpadhara gave jewels in such abundance to the happy couple, that men thought he was a perfect mine of jewels. And after his daughter’s marriage had taken place, he honoured the painter and the two mendicants with dresses and ornaments, and bestowed gifts on all the others. Then that king Pṛithvírúpa, remaining in that city with his attendants, enjoyed the best meat and drink the isle could produce. The day was spent in singing and dancing, and at night the eager king entered the private apartments of Rúpalatá, in which jewelled couches were spread, which was adorned with jewelled pavement, the circuit of which was propped on jewelled pillars, and which was lit up with jewel-lamps. And in the morning he was woke up by the bards and heralds reciting, and he rose up and remained as the moon in heaven.
Thus king Pṛithvírúpa remained ten days in that island, amusing himself with ever-fresh enjoyments furnished by his father-in-law. On the eleventh day, the king, with the consent of the astrologers, set out with Rúpalatá, after the auspicious ceremony had been performed for him. And he was escorted by his father-in-law as far as the shore of the sea, and accompanied by his retainers, he embarked on the ships with his wife. He crossed the sea in eight days, and his army, that was encamped on the shore, joined him, and the king Udáracharita came to meet him, and then he went to Putrapura. There king Pṛithvírúpa rested some days, and was entertained by that king, and then he set out from that place. And he mounted his beloved Rúpalatá on the elephant Jayamangala, and he himself mounted an elephant named Kalyáṇagiri. And the king, proceeding by continual stages, in due course reached his good city of Pratishṭhána, where flags and banners were waving. Then, after beholding Rúpalatá, the ladies of the city lost at once all pride in their own beauty, and gazed on her with eyes unwinking from wonder. Then king Pṛithvírúpa entered his palace, making high festival, and he gave to that painter villages and wealth, and he honoured those two hermits with wealth as they deserved, and gave complimentary presents to the chiefs, ministers and Rájpúts. Then that king, having attained his object, enjoyed there this world’s happiness in the society of Rúpalatá.
After the minister Gomukha had told Naraváhanadatta this tale with the object of amusing him, he went on to say to the impatient prince,—“Thus the resolute endure painful separation for a long time, but how is it that you cannot endure it even for one night, O king? For to-morrow your Highness shall marry Alankáravatí.” When Gomukha had said this, Marubhúti the son of Yaugandharáyaṇa came up at that instant, and said, “What stuff will you not prate, being ungalled, and never having felt the agony of love? A man possesses firmness and discernment and morality, only so long as he does not come within the range of the arrows of Love. Happy in the world are Sarasvatí, Skanda, and Buddha, these three, who have brushed off and flung away love, like a blade of grass clinging to the skirt of the robe.” When Marubhúti said this, Naraváhanadatta, perceiving that Gomukha was distressed, said in order to comfort him,—“What Gomukha said to me was appropriate, and it was said to amuse me, for what loving friend exults over one in the agony of separation? One afflicted by the pain of separation should be comforted by his friends to the best of their ability, and the sequel should be left to the disposal of the five-arrowed god.” Talking in this style, and hearing various tales from his attendants, Naraváhanadatta somehow managed to get through that night. And when morning came, he rose up and performed his necessary duties, and saw Kánchanaprabhá descending from heaven, accompanied by her husband Alankáraśíla, and her son Dharmaśíla, and that Alankáravatí her daughter; and they all descended from the chariot and came near him, and he welcomed them as was fitting, and they saluted him in like manner. And in the meanwhile thousands of other Vidyádharas descended from heaven, carrying loads of gold, jewels, and other valuables; and after hearing of this occurrence, the king of Vatsa came there with his ministers and his queens, delighted at the advancement of his son. After the king of Vatsa had performed the rites of hospitality duly, the king Alankáraśíla said to him, bowing graciously,—“King, this is my daughter Alankáravatí, and when she was born, she was declared by a voice, that came from heaven, to be destined to be the wife of this thy son Naraváhanadatta, the future emperor of all the Vidyádhara kings. So I will give her to him, for this is a favourable moment for them; for this reason I have come here with all these.” The king of Vatsa welcomed that speech of the Vidyádhara sovereign’s, saying, “It is a great favour that you do me.” Then the ruler of the Vidyádharas sprinkled with water, produced in the hollow of his hand by virtue of his science, the ground of the courtyard. Immediately there was produced there an altar of gold, covered with a heavenly cloth, and a pavilion, not made with hands, for the preliminary ceremony, composed of various jewels. Then the successful king Alankáraśíla said to Naraváhanadatta—“Rise up, the favourable moment has arrived—bathe.” After he had bathed, and had the marriage-thread put on, the king Alankáraśíla, being delighted, gave him with all his heart his daughter, after bringing her to the altar in her bridal dress. And when the grain was thrown into the fire, he and his son gave to his daughter thousands of loads of jewels, gold, garments and ornaments, and heavenly nymphs. And after the marriage was over, he honoured them all, and then took his leave of them, and with his wife and son departed, as he came, through the air. Then the king of Vatsa, seeing his son destined to advancement, being honoured by the bending kings of the Vidyádharas, was delighted, and prolonged that feast to a great length. And Naraváhanadatta, having obtained Alaṅkáravatí, charming on account of her good conduct, and of noble virtues, like a skilful poet who has obtained a style, charming on account of its excellent metre, and of splendid merits, remained delighted with her.[9]
[1] i. e., connected in some way with Buddha. See Böhtlingk and Roth s. v.
[2] i. e., the Himálaya.
[3] This seems to agree with the story as told in the Bhágavata Puráṇa. For various forms of the Ráma legend, see the translation of the Uttara Ráma Charita by M. Félix Nève.
[4] The story of Genovefa in Simrock’s Deutsche Volksbücher, Vol. I, p. 371, bears a striking resemblance to that of Sítá. The way in which Schmerzensreich and his father retire to the forest at the end of the story is quite Indian. In the Greek novel of Hysminias and Hysmine the innocence of the heroine is tested by the fountain of Diana (Scriptores Erotici, p. 595). For parallels to the story of Genoveva or Genovefa see Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, LII, and the Introduction, p. xxii.
[5] One of the five trees of Paradise. For the golden lotuses, see [Chapter XXV]. In [Ch. LII] we find trees with trunks of gold and leaves and fruit of jewels. A similar tree is found in the mediæval romance of king Alexander. Dunlop compares the golden vine carried away by Pompey. Liebrecht remarks that there was also a golden vine over the gate of the temple at Jerusalem, and compares the golden lotus made by the Chinese emperor Tunghwan. He refers also to Huon of Bordeaux, Ysaie le Triste, and Grimm’s Kindermärchen 130 and 133. (Liebrecht’s Dunlop, p. 184). See also Milton’s Paradise Lost, IV. 220 and 256. Cp. Thalaba the Destroyer, Book I, 30. The passage in the Pseudo-Callisthenes will be found in III, 28, Karl Mueller’s Edition.
[7] Cp. the story of Seyf ul Mulk in the Persian Tales, and the Bahar-Danush, c. 35 (Dunlop, Vol. II, p. 208, Liebrecht’s translation, p. 335) see also Dunlop’s remarks upon the Polexandre of Gomberville. In this romance Abdelmelec, son of the emperor of Morocco, falls in love with Alcidiana by seeing her portrait (Vol. II, p. 276, Liebrecht’s translation, p 372.) A similar incident is found in the romanco of Agesilaus of Colchos, (Liebrecht’s Dunlop, p. 157.) See Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 3; Rohde, Der Griechische Roman, p. 49; Coelho, Contos Populares Portuguezes, p. 109.
[8] For the vidruteshu of Brockhaus’s edition I read nihateshu, which I find in the Sanskrit College MS.
[9] An elaborate pun. Rasika also means “full of (poetical) flavour.”