The story of Devasena and Unmádiní.
Once on a time, in the realm of king Devasena, there was a merchant’s daughter, a maiden that bewildered the world with her beauty. Her father told the king about her, but the king did not take her in marriage, for the Bráhmans, who wished to prevent his neglecting his duties, told him she had inauspicious marks. So she was married to his prime minister.[1] And once on a time she showed herself to the king at a window. And the king, struck by her with a poisonous look from a distance, as if she had been a female snake,[2] fainted again and again, enjoyed no pleasure, and took no food. And the righteous king, though entreated over and over again to marry her by the ministers, with her husband at their head, refused to do so, and devoted to her, yielded up his breath.
“Accordingly I have come to-day and told you this wonderful tale, thinking that if a similar distraction were to come upon you, I should be guilty of conspiring against your life.”
When king Śrutasena heard from that Bráhman this speech, which was like the command of the god of love, he became ardently attached to Vidyuddyotá, so he immediately sent off the Bráhman and took steps to have her brought quickly and married her. Then the princess Vidyuddyotá became inseparable from the person of that king, as the daylight from the orb of the sun.
Then a maiden of the name of Mátṛidattá, the daughter of a very rich merchant, intoxicated with the pride of her beauty, came to select that king for her husband. Through fear of committing unrighteousness, the king married that merchant’s daughter; then Vidyuddyotá, coming to hear of it, died of a broken heart. And the king came and beheld that dearly loved wife lying dead, and took her up in his arms, and lamenting, died on the spot. Thereupon Mátṛidattá, the merchant’s daughter, entered the fire. And so the whole kingdom perished with the king.
“So you see, king, that the breaking off of long love is difficult to bear, especially would it be so to the proud queen Vásavadattá. Accordingly, if you were to marry this Kalingasená, the queen Vásavadattá would indubitably quit her life, and queen Padmávatí would do the same, for their life is one. And then how would your son Naraváhanadatta live? And, I know, the king’s heart would not be able to bear any misfortune happening to him. And so all this happiness would perish in a moment, O king. But as for the dignified reserve, which the queens displayed in their speeches, that sufficiently shews that their hearts are indifferent to all things, being firmly resolved on suicide. So you must guard your own interests, for even animals understand self-protection, much more wise men like yourself, O king.” The king of Vatsa, when he heard this at length from the excellent minister Yaugandharáyaṇa, having now become quite capable of wise discrimination, said—“It is so; there can be no doubt about it; all this fabric of my happiness would be overthrown. So what is the use of my marrying Kalingasená? Accordingly the astrologers did well in mentioning a distant hour as auspicious for the marriage: and there cannot after all be much sin in abandoning one who had come to select me as her husband.” When Yaugandharáyaṇa heard this, he reflected with joy, “Our business has almost turned out according to our wishes. Will not that same great plant of policy, watered with the streams of expedient, and nourished with due time and place, truly bring forth fruit?” Thus reflecting, and meditating upon fitting time and place, the minister Yaugandharáyaṇa went to his house, after taking a ceremonious farewell of the king.
The king too went to the queen Vásavadattá, who had assumed to welcome him a manner which concealed her real feelings, and thus spoke to her to console her: “Why do I speak? you know well, O gazelle-eyed one, that your love is my life, even as the water is of the lotus. Could I bear even to mention the name of another woman? But Kalingasená came to my house of her own impetuous motion. And this is well known, that Rambhá, who came to visit Arjuna of her own impetuous will, having been rejected by him, as he was engaged in austerities, inflicted on him a curse which made him a eunuch. That curse was endured by him to the end, living in the house of the king of Viráṭa in the garb of a eunuch, though he displayed miraculous valour. So I did not reject this Kalingasená when she came, but I cannot bring myself to do anything without your wish.” Having comforted her in these words, and having perceived by the flush of wine which rose to her cheek, as if it were her glowing passionate heart, that her cruel design was a reality, the king of Vatsa spent that night with the queen Vásavadattá, delighted at the transcendent ability of his prime minister.
And in the meanwhile that Bráhman-Rákshasa, named Yogeśvara, who was a friend of Yaugandharáyaṇa, and whom he had commissioned beforehand to watch day and night the proceedings of Kalingasená, came that very night of his own accord and said to the prime minister: “I remain ever at Kalingasená’s house, either without it or within it, and I have never seen man or god come there. But to-day I suddenly heard an indistinct noise in the air, at the commencement of the night, as I was lying hid near the roof of the palace. Then my magic science was set in motion to ascertain the cause of the sound, but prevailed not; so I pondered over it, and came to this conclusion: ‘This must certainly be the voice of some being of divine power, enamoured of Kalingasená, who is roaming in the sky. Since my science does not succeed, I must look for some opening, for clever people who remain vigilant, find little difficulty in discovering holes in their opponents’ armour. And I know that the prime minister said—“Divine beings are in love with her”—moreover I overheard her friend Somaprabhá saying the same. After arriving at this conclusion I came here to make my report to you. This I have to ask you by the way, so tell me so much I pray you. By my magic power I heard, without being seen, what you said to the king, ‘Even animals understand self-protection.’ Now tell me, sagacious man, if there is any instance of this.”—When Yogeśvara asked him this question, Yaugandharáyaṇa answered. “There is, my friend, and to prove it, I will tell you this tale. Listen!”