Story of the woman who escaped from the monkey and the cowherd.
A certain woman set out alone to go to another village. And on the way a monkey suddenly came and tried to lay hold of her, but she avoided it by going to a tree and dodging round it. The foolish monkey threw its arms round the tree, and she laid hold of its arms with her hands, and pressed them against the tree.
The monkey, which was held tight, became furious, but at that moment the woman saw a cowherd coming that way, and said to him; “Sir, hold this ape by the arms a moment, until I can arrange my dress and hair, which are disordered.” He said, “I will do so, if you promise to grant me your love,” and she consented. And he held the monkey. Then she drew his dagger and killed the monkey, and said to the cowherd, “Come to a lonely spot,” and so took him a long distance. At last they fell in with some travellers, so she left him and went with them to the village that she wished to reach, having avoided outrage by her wisdom.
“So you see that wisdom is in this world the principal support of men; the man who is poor in wealth lives, but the man who is poor in intellect does not live. Now hear, prince, this romantic wonderful tale.”
Story of the two thieves, Ghaṭa and Karpara.[2]
There were in a certain city two thieves, named Ghaṭa and Karpara. One night Karpara left Ghaṭa outside the palace, and breaking through the wall, entered the bedchamber of the princess. And the princess, who could not sleep, saw him there in a corner, and suddenly falling in love with him, called him to her. And she gave him wealth, and said to him; “I will give you much more if you come again.” Then Karpara went out, and told Ghaṭa what had happened, and gave him the wealth, and having thus got hold of the king’s property, sent him home. But he himself again entered the women’s apartments of the palace; who, that is attracted by love and covetousness, thinks of death? There he remained with the princess, and bewildered with love and wine, he fell asleep, and did not observe that the night was at an end. And in the morning the guards of the women’s apartments entered, and made him prisoner, and informed the king, and he in his anger ordered him to be put to death. “While he was being led to the place of execution, his friend Ghaṭa came to look for him, as he had not returned in the course of the night. Then Karpara saw Ghaṭa, and made a sign to him that he was to carry off and take care of the princess. And he answered by a sign that he would do so. Then Karpara was led away by the executioners, and being at their mercy, was quickly hanged up upon a tree, and so executed.
Then Ghaṭa went home, sorrowing for his friend, and as soon as night arrived, he dug a mine and entered the apartment of the princess. Seeing her in fetters there alone, he went up to her and said; “I am the friend of Karpara, who was to-day put to death on account of you. And out of love for him I am come here to carry you off, so come along, before your father does you an injury.” Thereupon she consented joyfully, and he removed her bonds. Then he went out with her, who at once committed herself to his care, by the underground passage he had made, and returned to his own house.
And next morning the king heard that his own daughter had been carried off by some one, who had dug a secret mine, and that king thought to himself, “Undoubtedly that wicked man whom I punished has some audacious friend, who has carried off my daughter in this way.” So he set his servants to watch the body of Karpara, and he said to them, “You must arrest any one who may come here lamenting, to burn the corpse and perform the other rites, and so I shall recover that wicked girl who has disgraced her family.” When those guards had received this order from the king, they said, “We will do so,” and remained continually watching the corpse of Karpara.
Then Ghaṭa made enquiries, and found out what was going on, and said to the princess; “My dear, my comrade Karpara was a very dear friend to me, and by means of him I gained you and all these valuable jewels; so until I have paid to him the debt of friendship, I cannot rest in peace. So I will go and see his corpse, and by a device of mine manage to lament over it, and I will in due course burn the body, and scatter the bones in a holy place. And do not be afraid, I am not reckless like Karpara.” After he had said this to her, he immediately assumed the appearance of a Páśupata ascetic, and taking boiled rice and milk in a pot, he went near the corpse of Karpara, as if he were a person passing that way casually, and when he got near it, he slipped, and let fall from his hand and broke that pot of milk and rice, and began lamenting, “O Karpara full of sweetness,”[3] and so on. And the guards thought that he was grieving for his pot full of food, that he had got by begging. And immediately he went home and told that to the princess. And the next day he made a servant, dressed as a bride, go in front of him, and he had another behind him, carrying a vessel full of sweetmeats, in which the juice of the Dhattúra had been infused. And he himself assumed the appearance of a drunken villager, and so in the evening he came reeling along past those guards, who were watching the body of Karpara. They said to him, “Who are you, friend, and who is this lady, and where are you going?” Then the cunning fellow answered them with stuttering accents, “I am a villager; this is my wife; I am going to the house of my father-in-law; and I am taking for him this complimentary present of sweetmeats. But you have now become my friends by speaking to me, so I will take only half of the sweetmeats there; take the other half for yourselves.” Saying this, he gave a sweetmeat to each of the guards. And they received them, laughing, and all of them partook of them. Accordingly Ghaṭa, having stupefied the guards with Dhattúra, at night brought fuel[4] and burnt the body of Karpara.
The next morning, after he had departed, the king hearing of it, removed those guards who had been stupefied, and placed others there, and said; “You must guard these bones, and you must arrest whoever attempts to take them away, and you must not accept food from any outsider.” When the guards were thus instructed by the king, they remained on the lookout day and night, and Ghaṭa heard of it. Then he, being acquainted with the operation of a bewildering charm granted him by Durgá, made a wandering mendicant his friend, in order to make them repose confidence in him. And he went there with that wandering mendicant, who was muttering spells, and bewildered those guards, and recovered the bones of Karpara. And after throwing them into the Ganges, he came and related what he had done, and lived happily with the princess, accompanied by the mendicant. But the king, hearing that the bones had been carried off, and the men guarding them stupefied, thought that the whole exploit, beginning with the carrying off of his daughter, was the doing of a magician. And he had the following proclamation made in his city; “If that magician, who carried off my daughter, and performed the other exploits connected with that feat, will reveal himself, I will give him half my kingdom.” When Ghaṭa heard this, he wished to reveal himself, but the princess dissuaded him, saying, “Do not do so, you cannot repose any confidence in this king, who treacherously puts people to death.”[5] Then, for fear that, if he remained there, the truth might come out, he set out for another country with the princess and the mendicant.
And on the way the princess said secretly to the mendicant, “The other one of these thieves seduced me, and this one made me fall from my high rank. The other thief is dead, as for this, Ghaṭa, I do not love him, you are my darling.” When she had said this, she united herself to the mendicant, and killed Ghaṭa in the dead of night. Then, as she was journeying along with that mendicant, the wicked woman fell in with a merchant on the way, whose name was Dhanadeva. So she said, “Who is this skull-bearer? You are my darling,” and she left that mendicant, while he was asleep, and went off with that merchant. And in the morning the mendicant woke up, and reflected, “There is no love in women, and no courtesy free from fickleness, for, after lulling me into security, the wicked woman has gone off, and robbed me too. However, I ought perhaps to consider myself lucky, that I have not been killed like Ghaṭa.” After these reflections, the mendicant returned to his own country.