DAY 6.
Then the King said to Rasakósha: My friend, though your question was again answered by the Princess, and now five days are lost, yet fully do I forgive you, for the sake of the tear that glistened in her eye as she went away. O! it was like a drop of dew in the blown flower of a blue lotus. It is beyond a doubt that but for the portrait my life would fail before the morning. And he passed the night in a state of stupefaction, gazing at the portrait of his mistress. Then when the sun rose, he rose also, and got through the long hours of day with difficulty by the help of Rasakósha and the garden. And when at length the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience. And there they saw the Princess, clad in a blood-red robe and a bodice studded with opals, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne. And she was looking for the King when he came in, and the King sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty. Then Rasakósha came forward and stood before her, and began again:
Lady, there was once a king who had three queens, of such indescribable beauty, that at night in the light fortnight it was impossible to decide which of the four was the true moon. And one night, when the king was sleeping in the hot season on the terrace of his palace in the company of his queens, he woke up while they were asleep. And rising up, he stood in the moonlight looking down upon his sleeping queens. And he said to himself: Various indeed is the form assumed by the beauty of woman. But I wonder which of my queens is the most beautiful of the three. So he went from one to the other, considering them attentively. And one queen lay on her back in the full light of the moon, with one arm over her head, and one breast raised, and every now and then a light breeze stirred and lifted her garment, disclosing it. And another lay in the shadow of the trellis-work with alternate stripes of shadow and light turning her into curves of ebony and ivory. And the third lay all in deep shadow, save that a single streak of moonlight fell softly on the shell of her little ear. So the king wandered all night from one to another, puzzling over his difficulty, thinking each queen to be the most beautiful till he came to another. And before he had decided it, the sun rose.
Then when, after performing his daily ceremonies, he was going to take his seat on his throne, his prime minister, named Nayanétri[[1]] said to him: O king, why are your royal eyes red with want of sleep? So the king said: Nayanétri, last night it came into my head to ask myself, which of my three queens was the most beautiful. And I could not sleep for my perplexity, and even now I have not been able to solve the problem. Then Nayanétri said: O king, be content that you have queens between whom there is no distinction in beauty, and no cause of jealousy. Idle curiosity destroys peace of mind and produces evil. But the king said: I am determined, at whatever cost, to settle this point.
So finding that the king's heart was set upon the matter, Nayanétri said to him: King, ministers are like riders: a horse which they cannot restrain they must at any rate guide, or it will be the worse for both. Since it is absolutely necessary for you to decide between your queens in respect of beauty, listen to me. There has recently arrived in your capital a dissolute young Brahman called Kántígraha[[2]], who is famous in the three worlds as a judge of female beauty. Send for him, and let him see your queens, and he will certainly tell you which is the most beautiful. For a swan cannot more accurately separate milk from water[[3]], than he can distinguish the shades of beauty.
Accordingly the king, much pleased, had Kántígraha fetched; and as they stood conversing, he caused his three queens to pass in order through the room. And when the first queen passed, the Brahman stood as if rooted to the ground. And when the second passed, he trembled slightly. And when the third passed, he changed colour. Then when all had gone, the king said: Brahman, tell me, for you are a judge, which of those three is the most beautiful? But Kántígraha said to himself: If I tell the king, I may displease him, by slighting his favourite: moreover, the other two queens will certainly hear of it, and have me poisoned. So he bowed, and said: King, I must have time to decide: give me leave till to-morrow. So the king dismissed him. And Kántígraha went quickly away, intending to quit that city before nightfall, yet with reluctance, for he said to himself: There is one of those queens I would give much to enjoy.
But Nayanétri, who could read the heart from the external signs, said to the king: King, this Brahman means to give you the slip, for he is afraid, and will probably endeavour to leave the city before night. But I can tell you what to do, so as to discover his opinion. So the king did as his minister told him. And discovering which of his queens was the most beautiful, he loved her the best, so that the other two, being jealous, poisoned her. And the king, discovering it, put them to death. Thus through curiosity he lost all his queens, as Nayanétri predicted.
So now tell me, Princess, what did the king do to discover the opinion of Kántígraha? And Rasakósha ceased. Then the Princess said: He need not have done anything: the third queen was the most beautiful. For the first queen's beauty astounded that Brahman; that of the second struck him with awe: but that of the third touched his heart. However, Nayanétri wished to make sure. And so, knowing the character of Kántígraha, he caused the king to send him false letters, one from each queen, feigning love and appointing a meeting, but all for the same hour. And he, being only one, would go to that queen whom he judged most beautiful, and be caught by the guards set to watch by the king. For the actions of men are a surer indication of their hearts than their words.
And when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out, with a look of regret at the King, whose heart went with her. But the King and Rasakósha returned to their own apartments.
[[1]] A master of policy.
[[2]] Meaning both 'a connoisseur,' and 'a devourer of beauty,' with an allusion to Ráhu, who causes eclipses by devouring the moon.
[[3]] A fabled power of swans, frequently alluded to in Sanskrit poetry.