Story of Udayana king of Vatsa.
There is a land famous under the name of Vatsa, that appears as if it had been made by the Creator as an earthly rival to dash the pride of heaven. In the centre of it is a great city named Kauśámbí, the favourite dwelling-place of the goddess of prosperity; the ear-ornament, so to speak, of the earth. In it dwelt a king named Śatáníka, sprung from the Páṇḍava family, he was the son of Janamejaya, and the grandson of king Paríkshit, who was the great-grandson of Abhimanyu. The first progenitor of his race was Arjuna, the might of whose strong arms was tested in a struggle with the mighty arms of Śiva;[2] his wife was the earth, and also Vishṇumatí his queen; the first produced jewels, but the second did not produce a son. Once on a time, as that king was roaming about in his passion for the chase, he made acquaintance in the forest with the hermit Śándilya. That worthy sage finding out that the king desired a son, came to Kauśámbí and administered to his queen an artfully prepared oblation[3] consecrated with mystic verses. Then he had a son born to him called Sahasráníka. And his father was adorned by him as excellence is by modesty. Then in course of time Śatáníka made that son crown-prince and though he still enjoyed kingly pleasures, ceased to trouble himself about the cares of government. Then a war arose between the gods and Asuras, and Indra sent Mátali as a messenger to that king begging for aid. Then he committed his son and his kingdom to the care of his principal minister, who was called Yogandhara, and his Commander-in-chief, whose name was Supratíka, and went to Indra with Mátali to slay the Asuras in fight. That king, having slain many Asuras, of whom Yamadanshṭra was the chief, under the eyes of Indra, met death in that very battle. The king’s body was brought back by Mátali, and the queen burnt herself with it, and the royal dignity descended to his son Sahasráníka. Wonderful to say, when that king ascended his father’s throne, the heads of the kings on every side of his dominions were bent down with the weight. Then Indra sent Mátali, and brought to heaven that Sahasráníka, as being the son of his friend, that he might be present at the great feast which he was holding to celebrate his victory over his foes. There the king saw the gods, attended by their fair ones, sporting in the garden of Nandana, and desiring for himself a suitable wife, fell into low spirits. Then Indra, perceiving this desire of his, said to him; “King, away with despondency, this desire of thine shall be accomplished. For there has been born upon the earth one, who was long ago ordained a suitable match for thee. For listen to the following history, which I now proceed to relate to thee.
“Long ago I went to the court of Brahmá in order to visit him, and a certain Vasu named Vidhúma followed me. While we were there, an Apsaras[4] named Alambushá came to see Brahmá, and her robe was blown aside by the wind. And the Vasu, when he beheld her, was overpowered by love, and the Apsaras too had her eyes immediately attracted by his form. The lotus-sprung god,[5] when he beheld that, looked me full in the face, and I, knowing his meaning, in wrath cursed those two, ‘Be born, you two, shameless creatures, into the world of mortals, and there become man and wife.’ That Vasu has been born as thou, Sahasráníka, the son of Śatáníka, an ornament to the race of the moon. And that Apsaras too has been born in Ayodhyá as the daughter of king Kṛitavarman, Mṛigávatí by name, she shall be thy wife.” By these words of Indra the flame of love was fanned in the passionate[6] heart of the king and burst out into full blaze; as a fire when fanned by the wind. Indra then dismissed the king from heaven with all due honour in his own chariot, and he set out with Mátali[7] for his capital. But as he was starting, the Apsaras Tilottamá said to him out of affection, “King I have somewhat to say to thee, wait a moment.” But he, thinking on Mṛigávatí, went off without hearing what she said, then Tilottamá in her rage cursed him; “King, thou shalt be separated for fourteen years from her who has so engrossed thy mind that thou dost not hear my speech.” Now Mátali heard that curse, but the king, yearning for his beloved, did not. In the chariot he went to Kauśámbí but in spirit he went to Ayodhyá. Then the king told with longing heart, all that he had heard from Indra with reference to Mṛigávatí, to his ministers, Yogandhara and the others: and not being able to endure delay, he sent an ambassador to Ayodhyá to ask her father Kṛitavarman for the hand of that maiden. And Kṛitavarman having heard from the ambassador his commission, told in his joy the queen Kalávatí, and then she said to him—“King we ought certainly to give Mṛigávatí to Sahasráníka, and, I remember, a certain Bráhman told me this very thing in a dream”; then in his delight the king showed to the ambassador Mṛigávatí’s wonderful skill in dancing, singing, and other accomplishments, and her matchless beauty; so the king Kṛitavarman gave to Sahasráníka that daughter of his who was unequalled as a mine of graceful arts, and who shone like an incarnation of the moon; that marriage of Sahasráníka and Mṛigávatí was one in which the good qualities of either party supplemented those of the other, and might be compared to the union of learning and intelligence.
Not long after sons were born to the king’s ministers; Yogandhara had a son born to him named Yaugandharáyaṇa; and Supratíka had a son born to him named Rumaṇvat. And to the king’s master of the revels was born a son named Vasantaka. Then in a few days Mṛigávatí became slightly pale and promised to bear a child to king Sahasráníka. And then she asked the king, who was never tired of looking at her, to gratify her longing by filling a tank full of blood for her to bathe in. Accordingly the king, who was a righteous man, in order to gratify her desire, had a tank filled with the juice of lac and other red extracts, so that it seemed to be full of blood.[8] And while she was bathing in that lake, and covered with red dye, a bird of the race of Garuḍa[9] suddenly pounced upon her and carried her off thinking she was raw flesh. As soon as she was carried away in some unknown direction by the bird, the king became distracted, and his self-command forsook him as if in order to go in search of her. His heart was so attached to his beloved that it was in very truth carried off by that bird, and thus he fell senseless upon the earth. As soon as he had recovered his senses, Mátali, who had discovered all by his divine power, descended through the air and came where the king was. He consoled the king, and told him the curse of Tilottamá with its destined end, as he had heard it long ago, and then he took his departure. Then the king tormented with grief lamented on this wise; “Alas my beloved, that wicked Tilottamá has accomplished her desire.” But having learned the facts about the curse, and having received advice from his ministers, he managed, though with difficulty, to retain his life through hope of a future reunion.
But that bird, which had carried off Mṛigávatí, as soon as it found out that she was alive, abandoned her, and as fate would have it, left her on the mountain where the sun rises. And when the bird let her drop and departed, the queen, distracted with grief and fear, saw that she was left unprotected on the slope of a trackless mountain. While she was weeping in the forest, alone, with one garment only to cover her, an enormous serpent rose up and prepared to swallow her. Then she, for whom prosperity was reserved in the future, was delivered by some heavenly hero that came down and slew the serpent, and disappeared almost as soon as he was seen. Thereupon she, longing for death, flung herself down in front of a wild elephant, but even he spared her as if out of compassion. Wonderful was it that even a wild beast did not slay her when she fell in his way! Or rather it was not to be wondered at. What cannot the will of Śiva effect?
Then the girl tardy with the weight of her womb, desiring to hurl herself down from a precipice, and thinking upon that lord of hers, wept aloud; and a hermit’s son, who had wandered there in search of roots and fruits, hearing that, came up, and found her looking like the incarnation of sorrow. And he, after questioning the queen about her adventures, and comforting her as well as he could, with a heart melted with compassion led her off to the hermitage of Jamadagni. There she beheld Jamadagni, looking like the incarnation of comfort, whose brightness so illumined the eastern mountain that it seemed as if the rising sun ever rested on it. When she fell at his feet, that hermit who was kind to all that came to him for help, and possessed heavenly insight, said to her who was tortured with the pain of separation; “Here there shall be born to thee, my daughter, a son that shall uphold the family of his father, and thou shalt be reunited to thy husband, therefore weep not.” When that virtuous woman heard that speech of the hermit’s, she took up her abode in that hermitage, and entertained hope of a reunion with her beloved. And some days after, the blameless one gave birth to a charmingly beautiful son, as association with the good produces good manners. At that moment a voice was heard from heaven; “an august king of great renown has been born, Udayana by name, and his son shall be monarch of all the Vidyádharas.” That voice restored to the heart of Mṛigávatí joy which she had long forgotten. Gradually that boy grew up to size and strength in that grove of asceticism, accompanied by his own excellent qualities as playmates. And the heroic child had the sacraments appropriate to a member of the warrior-caste performed for him by Jamadagni, and was instructed by him in the sciences, and the practice of archery. And out of love for him Mṛigávatí drew off from her own wrist, and placed on his, a bracelet marked with the name of Sahasráníka. Then that Udayana roaming about once upon a time in pursuit of deer, beheld in the forest a snake that had been forcibly captured by a Śavara.[10] And he, feeling pity for the beautiful snake, said to that Śavara, “Let go this snake to please me.” Then that Śavara said, “My lord, this is my livelihood, for I am a poor man, and I always maintain myself by exhibiting dancing snakes. The snake I previously had having died, I searched through this great wood, and, finding this one, overpowered him by charms and captured him.” When he heard this, the generous Udayana gave that Śavara the bracelet which his mother had bestowed on him, and persuaded him to set the snake at liberty. The Śavara took the bracelet and departed, and then the snake being pleased with Udayana bowed before him and said as follows, “I am the eldest brother of Vásuki,[11] called Vasunemi: receive from me, whom thou hast preserved, this lute, sweet in the sounding of its strings, divided according to the division of the quarter-tones; and betel leaf, together with the art of weaving unfading garlands, and adorning the forehead with marks that never become indistinct.” Then Udayana furnished with all these, and dismissed by the snake, returned to the hermitage of Jamadagni, raining nectar, so to speak, into the eyes of his mother.
In the meanwhile that Śavara who had lighted on this forest, and while roaming about in it had obtained the bracelet from Udayana by the will of fate, was caught attempting to sell this ornament marked with the king’s name in the market, and was arrested by the police, and brought up in court before the king. Then king Sahasráníka himself asked him in sorrow whence he had obtained the bracelet. Then that Śavara told him the whole story of his obtaining possession of the bracelet, beginning with his capture of the snake upon the eastern mountain. Hearing that from the Śavara, and beholding that bracelet of his beloved, king Sahasráníka ascended the swing of doubt.
Then a divine voice from heaven delighted the king who was tortured with the fire of separation, as the rain-drops delight the peacock when afflicted with the heat, uttering these words—“Thy curse is at an end, O king, and that wife of thine Mṛigávatí is residing in the hermitage of Jamadagni together with thy son.” Then that day at last came to an end, though made long by anxious expectation, and on the morrow that king Sahasráníka, making the Śavara show him the way, set out with his army for that hermitage on the eastern mountain, in order quickly to recover his beloved wife.
[1] I. e., Durgá.
[2] I believe this refers to Arjuna’s combat with the god when he had assumed the form of a Kiráta or mountaineer. Śiva is here called Tripurári, the enemy or destroyer of Tripura. Dr. Brockhaus renders it quite differently.
[3] Composed of rice, milk, sugar and spices.
[4] Certain female divinities who reside in the sky and are the wives of the Gandharvas. Monier Williams, s. v.
[5] Brahmá. He emerges from a lotus growing from the navel of Vishṇu.
[6] In the word sasnehe there is probably a pun; sneha meaning love, and also oil.
[7] The charioteer of Indra.
[8] For illustrations of this bath of blood see Dunlop’s Liebrecht, page 135, and the note at the end of the book. The story of Der arme Heinrich, to which Liebrecht refers, is to be found in the VIth Volume of Simrock’s Deutsche Volksbücher. Cp. the story of Amys and Amylion, Ellis’s Early English Romances, pp. 597 and 598, the Pentamerone of Basile, Vol. I, p. 367; Prym and Socin’s Syrische Märchen, p. 73; Grohmann’s Sagen aus Böhmen, p. 268; Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen, p. 354, with Dr. Köhler’s notes.
[9] This is the Roc or Rokh of Arabian romance, agreeing in the multiplicity of individuals as well as their propensity for raw flesh.
(See Sindbad’s Voyages ed. Langlès, p. 149.) The latter characteristic, to the subversion of all poetical fancies, has acquired, it may be supposed, for the Adjutant (Ardea Argila) the name of Garuḍa. A wundervogel is the property of all people, and the Garuḍa of the Hindoos is represented by the Eorosh of the Zend, Simoorgh of the Persians, the Anka of the Arabs, the Kerkes of the Turks, the Kirni of the Japanese, the sacred dragon of the Chinese, the Griffin of Chivalry, the Phœnix of classical fable, the wise and ancient bird that sits upon the ash Yggdrasil of the Edda, and according to Faber with all the rest is a misrepresentation of the holy cherubim that guarded the gate of Paradise. Some writers have even traced the twelve knights of the round table to the twelve Rocs of Persian story. (Wilson’s Essays, Vol. I, pp. 192, 193, note.)
Gigantic birds that feed on raw flesh are mentioned by the Pseudo-Callisthenes, Book II, ch. 41. Alexander gets on the back of one of them, and is carried into the air, guiding his bird by holding a piece of liver in front of it. He is warned by a winged creature in human shape to proceed no further, and descends again to earth. See also Liebrecht’s Dunlop, p. 143 and note. See also Birlinger, Aus Schwaben, pp. 5, 6, 7. He compares Pacolet’s horse in the story of Valentine and Orson.
[10] A wild mountaineer. Dr. Bühler observes that the names of these tribes are used very vaguely in Sanskrit story-books.
[11] Sovereign of the snakes.