Story of the young fisher man who married a princess.
Long ago there lived in Rájagṛiha a king named Malayasinha, and he had a daughter named Máyávatí of matchless beauty. One day a young man of the fisher-caste, named Suprahára, who was in the bloom of youth and good looks, saw her as she was amusing herself in a spring-garden. The moment he saw her, he was overpowered by love; for destiny never considers whether a union is possible or impossible. So he went home, and abandoning his occupation of catching fish, he took to his bed, and refused to eat, thinking only on the princess. And when persistently questioned, he told his wish to his mother named Rakshitiká, and she said to her son, “My son, abandon your despondency, and take food; I will certainly compass this your end for you by my ingenuity.”
When she said this to him, he was consoled, and cherished hopes, and took food; and his mother went to the palace of the princess with fish from the lake.[14] There that fisher-wife was announced by the maids, and went in, on the pretext of paying her respects, and gave the princess that present of fish. And in this way she came regularly day after day, and made the princess a present, and so gained her goodwill, and made her desirous of speaking. And the pleased princess said to the fisher-wife, “Tell me what you wish me to do; I will do it, though it be ever so difficult.”
Then the fisher-wife begged that her boldness might be pardoned, and said in secret to the princess, “Royal lady, my son has seen you in a garden, and is tortured by the thought that he cannot be near you; and I can only manage to prevent his committing suicide by holding out hopes to him; so, if you feel any pity for me, restore my son to life by touching him.” When the princess was thus entreated by the fisher-wife, hesitating between shame and a desire to oblige, after reflection, she said to her, “Bring your son to my palace secretly at night.” When the fisher-wife heard this, she went in high spirits to her son.
And when night came, she deliberately adorned her son as well as she could, and brought him to the private apartments of the princess. There the princess took Suprahára, who had pined for her so long, by the hand, and affectionately welcomed him, and made him lie down on a sofa, and comforted him whose limbs were withered by the fire of separation, by shampooing him with her hand, the touch of which was cool as sandal-wood. And the fisher-boy was thereby, as it were, bedewed with nectar, and thinking that after long waiting he had attained his desire, he took his rest, and was suddenly seized by sleep. And when he was asleep, the princess escaped, and slept in another room, having thus pleased the fisher-boy, and having avoided being disgraced through him.
Then that son of the fisher-folk woke up, owing to the cessation of the touch of her hand, and not seeing his beloved, who had thus come within his grasp, and again vanished, like a pot of treasure in the case of a very poor man, who is despondent for its loss, he was reft of all hope, and his breath at once left his body. When the princess found that out, she came there, and blamed herself, and made up her mind to ascend the funeral pyre with him next morning.
Then her father, king Malayasinha, heard of it, and came there, and finding that she could not be turned from her resolve, he rinsed his mouth, and spake this speech; “If I am really devoted to the three-eyed god of gods, tell me, ye guardians of the world, what it is my duty to do.” When the king said this, a heavenly voice answered him, “Thy daughter was in a former life the wife of this son of the fisher-folk.
“For, long ago, there lived in a village, called Nágasthala, a virtuous Bráhman of the name of Baladhara, the son of Mahídhara. When his father had gone to heaven, he was robbed of his wealth by his relations, and being disgusted with the world, he went with his wife to the bank of the Ganges. While he was remaining there without food, in order to abandon the body, he saw some fishermen eating fish, and his hunger made him long for it in his heart. So he died with his mind polluted by that desire, but his wife kept her aspirations pure, and continuing firm in penance, followed him in death.[15]
“That very Bráhman, owing to that pollution of his desires, has been born in the fisher-caste. But his wife, who remained firm in her asceticism, has been born as thy daughter, O king. So let this blameless daughter of thine, by the gift of half her life,[16] raise up this dead youth, who was her husband in a former life. For, owing to the might of her asceticism, this youth, who was thus purified by the splendour of that holy bathing-place, shall become thy son-in-law, and a king.”
When the king had been thus addressed by the divine voice, he gave his daughter in marriage to that youth Suprahára, who recovered his life by the gift of half hers. And Suprahára became a king by means of the land, elephants, horses, and jewels, which his father-in-law gave him, and, having obtained his daughter as a wife, lived the life of a successful man.
Story of the Merchant’s daughter who fell in love with a thief.[17]
“In this way a connexion in a former birth usually produces affection in embodied beings; moreover, in illustration of this truth, listen to the following story about a thief.”
In Ayodhyá there lived of old time a king named Vírabáhu, who always protected his subjects as if they were his own children. And one day the citizens of his capital came to him and said, “King, some thieves plunder this city every night, and though we keep awake for the purpose, we cannot detect them.” When the king heard that, he placed scouts in the city at night to keep watch. But they did not catch the thieves and the mischief did not abate. Accordingly the king went out himself at night to investigate the matter.
And as he was wandering about in every direction, alone, sword in hand, he saw a man going along on the top of the rampart; he seemed to tread lightly out of fear; his eyes rolled rapidly like those of a crow; and he looked round like a lion, frequently turning his neck. He was rendered visible by the steel-gleams that flashed from his naked sword, which seemed like binding ropes sent forth to steal those jewels which men call stars.[18] And the king said to himself; “I am quite certain that this man is a thief; no doubt he sallies out alone and plunders this my city.”
Having come to this conclusion, the wily monarch went up to the thief; and the thief said to him with some trepidation, “Who are you, Sir?” Then the king said to him, “I am a desperate robber, whose many vices make him hard to keep;[19] tell me in turn, who you are.” The thief answered, “I am a robber, that goes out to plunder alone; and I have great wealth; so come to my house: I will satisfy your longing for riches.” When the thief made him this promise, the king said, “So be it,” and went with him to his dwelling, which was in an underground excavation. It was inhabited by beautiful women, it gleamed with many jewels, it was full of ever new delights, and seemed like the city of the snakes.[20] Then the thief went into the inner chamber of his dwelling, and the king remained in the outer room; and while he was there, a female servant, compassionating him, came and said to him, “What kind of place have you entered? Leave it at once, for this man is a treacherous assassin, and as he goes on his expeditions alone, will be sure to murder you, to prevent his secrets being divulged.”[21] When the king heard that, he went out at once, and quickly repaired to his palace; and summoning his commander-in-chief, returned with his troops. And he came and surrounded the thief’s dwelling, and made the bravest men enter it, and so brought the thief back a prisoner, and carried off all his wealth.
When the night had come to an end, the king ordered his execution; and he was led off to the place of execution through the middle of the market. And as he was being led along through that part of the town, a merchant’s daughter saw him, and fell in love with him at first sight, and she immediately said to her father, “Know that if this man, who is being led off to execution preceded by the drum of death, does not become my husband, I shall die myself.”
Then her father, seeing that she could not be dissuaded from her resolution, went and tried to induce the king to spare that thief’s life by offering ten millions of coins. But the king, instead of sparing the thief’s life, ordered him to be immediately impaled,[22] and was very angry with the merchant. Then the merchant’s daughter, whose name was Vámadattá, took the corpse of that robber, and out of love for him entered the fire with it.
“So, you see, creatures are completely dependent upon connexions in previous births, and this being the case, who can avoid a destiny that is fated to him, and who can prevent such a destiny’s befalling anybody? Therefore, king, it is clear that this Suratamanjarí is some excellent being that was the wife of your son Avantivardhana in a previous birth, and is therefore destined to be his wife again; otherwise how could such a high-born prince have formed such an attachment for her, a woman of the Mátanga caste? So let this Mátanga, her father Utpalahasta, be asked to give the prince his daughter; and let us see what he says.”
When I had said this to king Pálaka, he at once sent messengers to Utpalahasta to ask for his daughter. And the Mátanga, when entreated by those messengers to give her in marriage, answered them, “I approve of this alliance, but I must give my daughter Suratamanjarí to the man who makes eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in this city, eat in my house.” When the messengers heard this speech of the Mátanga’s, that contained a solemn promise, they went back and reported it faithfully to king Pálaka.
Thinking that there was some reason for this,[23] the king called together all the Bráhmans in the city of Ujjayiní, and telling them the whole story, said to them, “So you must eat here in the house of the Mátanga Utpalahasta, eighteen thousand of you; I will not have it otherwise.” When the Bráhmans had been thus commanded by the king, being at the same time afraid of touching the food of a Chaṇḍála, and therefore at a loss what to do, they went to the shrine of Mahákála and performed self-torture. Then the god Śiva, who was present there in the form of Mahákála, commanded those Bráhmans in a dream, saying, “Eat food here in the house of the Mátanga Utpalahasta, for he is a Vidyádhara; neither he nor his family are Chaṇḍálas.” Then those Bráhmans rose up and went to the king, and told him the dream, and went on to say, “So let this Utpalahasta cook pure food for us in some place outside the quarter of the Chaṇḍálas, and then we will eat it at his hands.” When the king heard this, he had another house made for Utpalahasta, and being highly delighted, he had food cooked for him there by pure cooks: and then eighteen thousand Bráhmans ate there, while Utpalahasta stood in front of them, bathed, and clothed in a pure garment.
And after they had eaten, Utpalahasta came to king Pálaka, in the presence of his subjects, and bowing before him, said to him, “There was an influential prince of the Vidyádharas, named Gaurímuṇḍa; I was a dependent of his, named Matangadeva; and when, king, that daughter of mine Suratamanjarí had been born, Gaurímuṇḍa secretly said to me, ‘The gods assert that this son of the king of Vatsa, who is called Naraváhanadatta, is to be our emperor: so go quickly, and kill that foe of ours by means of your magic power, before be has attained the dignity of emperor.’
“When the wicked Gaurímuṇḍa had sent me on this errand, I went to execute it, and while going along through the air, I saw Śiva in front of me. The god, being displeased, made an angry roar, and immediately pronounced on me this curse, ‘How is it, villain, that thou dost plot evil against a noble-minded man? So go, wicked one, and fall with this same body of thine into the midst of the Chaṇḍálas in Ujjayiní, together with thy wife and daughter. And when some one shall make eighteen thousand of the Bráhmans, that dwell in that city, eat in thy house by way of a gift to purchase thy daughter; then thy curse shall come to an end, and thou must marry thy daughter to the man who bestows on thee that gift.’
“When Śiva had said this, he disappeared, and I, that very Matangadeva, assuming the name of Utpalahasta, fell among men of the lowest caste, but I do not mix with them. However, my curse is now at an end, owing to the favour of your son, so I give him my daughter Suratamanjarí. And now I will go to my own dwelling-place among the Vidyádharas, in order to pay my respects to the emperor Naraváhanadatta.” When Matangadeva had said this, he solemnly gave the prince his daughter, and flying up into the air with his wife, repaired, king, to thy feet.
“And king Pálaka, having thus ascertained the truth, celebrated with great delight the marriage of Suratamanjarí and his son. And his son Avantivardhana, having obtained that Vidyádharí for a wife, felt himself fortunate in having gained more than he had ever hoped for.
“Now, one day, that prince went to sleep on the top of the palace with her and at the end of the night he woke up, and suddenly discovered that his beloved was nowhere to be seen. He looked for her, but could not find her anywhere, and then he lamented, and was so much afflicted that his father the king came, and was exceedingly discomposed. We all, being assembled there at that time, said, ‘This city is well-guarded, no stranger could enter it during the night; no doubt she must have been carried off by some evilly disposed wanderer of the air;’ and even while we were saying that, your servant the Vidyádhara Dhúmaśikha descended from the sky. He brought here this prince Avantivardhana, and king Pálaka also was asked to part with me, in order that I might state the facts of the case. Here too is Suratamanjarí with her father, and the facts concerning her are such as I have said: your Majesty is the best judge of what ought to be done now.”
When Bharataroha the minister of Pálaka had told this tale, he stopped speaking; and the assessors put this question to Matangadeva in the presence of Naraváhanadatta, “Tell us, to whom did you give this daughter of yours Suratamanjarí?” He answered, “I gave her to Avantivardhana.” Then they put this question to Ityaka, “Now do you tell us why you carried her off?” He answered, “Her mother promised her to me originally.” The assessors said to Ityaka, “While the father is alive, what authority has the mother? Moreover, where is your witness to prove the fact of the mother having promised her to you? So she is with regard to you the wife of another, villain!” When Ityaka was thus put to silence by the assessors, the emperor Naraváhanadatta, being angry with him, ordered his immediate execution on the ground of his misconduct. But the good hermits, with Kaśyapa at their head, came and entreated him, saying, “Forgive now this one fault of his: for he is the son of Madanavega, and therefore your brother-in-law.” So the king was at last induced to spare his life, and let him off with a severe reprimand.
And he reunited that son of his maternal uncle, Avantivardhana, to his wife, and sent them off with their ministers to their own city, in the care of Váyupatha.
[1] For supád No 1182 reads pumán and No. 2166 sumán.
[2] Two of the India Office MSS. have sunámávantivaráhanaḥ in śl. 13. In the third there is a lacuna.
[3] In Sanskrit the moon is masculine and the night feminine.
[4] This story is found in Vol. I, pp. 69–71; where see notes. Some additional notes will be found on p. 572 of the same volume. Cp. also Schöppner, Sagen der Bayerischen Lande, Vol. I, p. 258.
[5] So, in this story of Ohimé, No. 23, in Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen, Maruzza says to Ohimé, “Tell me, dear master, if by ill luck any one wished to kill you, how ought he to set about it?” The Indian story is much less clumsy than the Sicilian, which is, no doubt, derived from it.
[6] The moon hates the kamala and loves the kumuda.
[7] I read stimitasthiteḥ which I find in MS. No. 2166, and in the Sanskrit College MS.
[8] Cp. Vol. I, p. 328 and ff. The story in the Gesta Romanorum to which reference is there made, bears a close resemblance to the present story; but in the present case it appears as if beauty had more to do with fascinating the elephant than modesty.
[9] The Petersburg lexicographers explain this as a Chaṇḍála, a man of the lowest rank, a kind of Kiráta.
[10] The word “good” is used in a sense approximating to that in which it is used by Theognis, and the patricians in Coriolanus.
[11] I read antyajám̱ which I find in two of the Indian Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. In No. 3003 there is, apparently, a lacuna.
[12] Cp. the Sigálujátaka, Fausböll, Vol. II, p. 5. A barber’s son dies of love for a Lichchhavi maiden. The Buddha then tells the story of a jackal whose love for a lioness cost him his life.
[13] Compare the story of the birth of Servius Tullius, as told by Ovid. The following are Ovid’s lines:
Namque pater Tulli Vulcanus, Ocresia mater
Præsignis facie Corniculana fuit.
Hanc secum Tanaquil sacris de more peractis
Jussit in ornatum fundere vina focum.
Hic inter cineres obscæni forma virilis
Aut fuit aut visa est, sed fuit illa magis.
Jussa loco captiva sedet. Conceptus ab illa
Servius a cælo semina gentis habet.
[14] All the India Office MSS. and the Sanskrit College MS. read kṛidyán “delicious fish.”
[15] See Vol. I, p. 241.
[16] See Vol. I, p. 98. In śloka 143 the India Office MSS. Nos. 2166 and 1882 and the Sanskrit College MS give pramayát for prabhayá. I suppose it means “from dying in that holy place.”
[17] This is another version of the story which begins on page 297 of this volume. I have not omitted it, as my object is to reproduce the original faithfully, with the exception of a few passages repugnant to modern European taste. In the same way in Játaka No. 318, beginning on page 58 of Fausböll’s third Volume, a lady falls in love with a criminal who is being led to execution.
[18] I read iva seraṇa: I suppose seraṇa comes from si. Dr. Kern would read ahrasva-saṇa: (the former word hesitatingly). But iva is required. Preraṇa would make a kind of sense. See Taranga 48, śl. 26, a. The śloka is omitted in all the three India Office MSS. and in the Sanskrit College MS.
[19] The Petersburg lexicographers translate durbharaḥ by Schwer beladen. I think it means that the supposed thief had many costly vices, which he could not gratify without stealing. Of course it applies to the king in a milder sense.
[20] In the realms below the earth.
[21] I read after Dr. Kern viśvastaghátakaḥ a slayer of those who confide in him. I also read kvási for kvápi; as the three India Office MSS. give kvási.
[22] The three India Office MSS. give tu for tam̱.
[23] I take sakáranam as one word.