DAY 2.
Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, although the Princess has answered your question, and you have lost me a day, yet I forgive you, for the sake of the wave of her hand which she made as she went away. Oh! it resembled the bowing of a blossom-loaded spray of creeper in a breeze. But if it were not for the portrait, it would be utterly impossible for me to endure the torture of separation from her till to-morrow. And he passed the night in a state of intoxication[[1]], drunk with the beauty of the Princess, gazing incessantly at the portrait. And he said: Certainly, this painter was master of his art. This is no picture, but a mirror. There is the very scorn on her lip. And when at last the sun rose, the King rose also, and passed the day with Rasakósha in the garden, longing for the moment of reunion. Then when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience. And there they saw the Princess, clad in a red robe, with a bodice studded with pearls, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne. And the King trembled as she looked at him, and he sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, gazing at her loveliness. Then Rasakósha came forward, and standing before her, began again:
Lady, once upon a time there lived, in the country of a king called Dharmásana[[2]], an old Brahman who had three sons. And he possessed nothing in the world but nineteen cows. And when he was about to die, he called his sons around him, and said to them: My sons, I am in the mouth of death, therefore listen attentively to what I am going to say. All that I have to give you is these cows. Divide them amongst you; and let the eldest of you take half of them; and the next, a quarter of them; and the youngest, a fifth part of them. But if there should be any remainder left over, you must all three of you eat it; if not, all the cows are to be given to the King, and my curse will rest upon you, for disobedience to my last wishes. And having said this, that old Brahman died. And his sons performed his obsequies, and burned him in accordance with the rites.
Then they assembled together for the division of the property. And the eldest brother said: Half of these cows, that is, nine cows and a half, are mine. And the next brother said: One quarter of these cows, that is, four cows and three-fourths of a cow, belong to me. Then the youngest said: One-fifth of these cows, that is, three cows and four-fifths of a cow, are mine. Then the eldest said: But the sum of all these, added together, amounts only to eighteen cows and a fraction. Thus there will remain over a portion of the last cow. And in that case we must eat it. But how is it possible for Brahmans to eat the flesh of a cow? Or even, how are we to take various portions of any cow, and leave it still alive[[3]]? But then, what is to be done? For unless we share in our due proportions, all the cows are to go to the King, and our father's curse will fall upon us. And yet what can have been the meaning of our father in placing us in so terrible a dilemma? Thus they disputed among themselves, and the day passed away, but not the difficulty, and night found them still arguing without any solution of the matter.
Now, Princess, tell me, how is this to be settled, so as to satisfy equally the father, the three brothers, and the King? And Rasakósha ceased. But the Princess bent down her head, and remained a moment in meditation, while the King's soul almost quitted his body. Then after a while, raising her head, she replied: Let the brothers borrow another cow. Then of the twenty cows, let the eldest take half, or ten cows; the next, a quarter, or five cows; and the youngest, a fifth, or four cows. Then let them return the borrowed cow. Thus the nineteen cows will be exhausted without leaving a remainder, and the father satisfied: each brother will receive more than under their own division; and finally, the King will be pleased. For he was a just King: and what could displease such a king more than that, in his dominions, Brahmans should kill and eat cows, or disregard their father's orders[[4]]. Rather would he lose, not nineteen cows, but ten millions[[5]].
And when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, casting a glance, as she went, at the King, whose heart went with her. But the King and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.
[[1]] Just as the clothes of the Princess change colour every day, so does the state of the King's mind, which goes through a regular series of transitory emotions (wyabhichári).
[[2]] i.e. 'seat of justice.' The meaning is important, as the sequel shows. It does the Princess credit that she notes and remembers it.
[[3]] To kill, let alone to eat, a cow, would be of course one of the most deadly sins of which a Brahman could be guilty.
[[4]] See Manu II., 227, sqq.
[[5]] I remember to have heard a very inferior version of this story from an old Pundit with whom I read Maráthi.