Then, in course of time, I became well-stricken in years, and old age seized me by the chin, as it were out of love giving me this wholesome reproach—“Why are you remaining in the house so long as this, my son?” Then disgust with the world was suddenly produced in my breast, and longing for the forest I appointed my son in my stead. And with my wife I went to the mountain of Kálinjara, together with the king of the Śavaras, who abandoned his kingdom out of love to me. And when I arrived there, I at once remembered that I had been a Vidyádhara in a former state of existence, and that the curse I had received from Śiva had come to an end. And I immediately told my wife Manovatí of that, and my friend the king of the Śavaras, as I was desirous of leaving this mortal body. I said—“May I have this wife and this friend in a future birth, and may I remember this birth,” and then I meditated on Śiva in my heart, and flung myself from that hill side, and so suddenly quitted the body together with that wife and friend. And so I have been now born, as you see, in this Vidyádhara family, under the name of Jímútaváhana, with a power of recollecting my former existence. And you, that prince of the Śavaras, have been also born again by the favour of Śiva, as Mitrávasu the son of Viśvávasu the king of the Siddhas. And, my friend, that Vidyádhara lady, my wife Manovatí, has been again born as your sister Malayavatí by name. So your sister is my former wife, and you were my friend in a former state of existence, therefore it is quite proper that I should marry her. But first go and tell this to my parents, for if the matter is referred to them, your desire will be successfully accomplished.
When Mitrávasu heard this from Jímútaváhana, he was pleased, and he went and told all that to the parents of Jímútaváhana. And when they received his proposal gladly, he was pleased, and went and told that same matter to his own parents. And they were delighted at the accomplishment of their desire, and so the prince quickly prepared for the marriage of his sister. Then Jímútaváhana, honoured by the king of the Siddhas, received according to usage the hand of Malayavatí. And there was a great festival, in which the heavenly minstrels bustled about, the dense crowd of the Siddhas assembled, and which was enlivened by bounding Vidyádharas. Then Jímútaváhana was married, and remained on that Malaya mountain with his wife in very great prosperity. And once on a time he went with his brother-in-law Mitrávasu to behold the woods on the shore of the sea. And there he saw a young man come in an agitated state, sending away his mother, who kept exclaiming “Alas! my son!” And another man, who seemed to be a soldier, following him, conducted him to a broad and high slab of rock and left him there. Jímútaváhana said to him: “Who are you? What are you about to do, and why does your mother weep for you?” Then the man told him his story.
“Long ago Kadrú and Vinatá, the two wives of Kaśyapa, had a dispute in the course of a conversation which they were carrying on. The former said that the Sun’s horses were black, the latter that they were white, and they made an agreement that the one that was wrong should become a slave to the other.[14] Then Kadrú, bent on winning, actually induced her sons, the snakes, to defile the horses of the Sun by spitting venom over them; and shewing them to Vinatá in that condition, she conquered her by a trick and made her her slave: terrible is the spite of women against each other! When Garuḍa the son of Vinatá heard of that, he came and tried to induce Kadrú by fair means to release Vinatá from her slavery; then the snakes, the sons of Kadrú, reflecting, said this to him; ‘O Garuḍa, the gods have began to churn the sea of milk, bring the nectar thence and give it to us as a substitute, and then take your mother away with you, for you are the chief of heroes.’ When Garuḍa heard that, he went to the sea of milk, and displayed his great might in order to obtain the nectar. Then the god Vishṇu pleased with his might deigned to say to him, ‘I am pleased with thee, choose some boon.’ Then Garuḍa, angry because his mother was made a slave, asked as a boon from Vishṇu—‘May the snakes become my food.’ Vishṇu consented, and when Garuḍa had obtained the nectar by his own valour, he was thus addressed by Indra who had heard the whole story: ‘King of birds, you must take steps to prevent the foolish snakes from consuming the nectar, and to enable me to take it away from them again.’ When Garuḍa heard that, he agreed to do it, and elated by the boon of Vishṇu, he went to the snakes with the vessel containing the nectar.
And he said from a distance to those foolish snakes, who were terrified on account of the boon granted to him, “Here is the nectar brought by me, release my mother and take it; if you are afraid, I will put it for you on a bed of Darbha grass. When I have procured my mother’s release, I will go; take the nectar thence.” The snakes consented, and then he put the vessel of nectar on a pure bed of Kuśa grass,[15] and they let his mother go. So Garuḍa departed, having thus released his mother from slavery; but while the snakes were unsuspectingly taking the nectar, Indra suddenly swooped down, and bewildering them by his power, carried off the vessel of nectar from the bed of Kuśa grass. Then the snakes in despair licked that bed of Darbha grass, thinking there might be a drop of spilt nectar on it; the effect was that their tongues were split, and they became double-tongued for nothing.[16] What but ridicule can ever be the portion of the over-greedy? Then the snakes did not obtain the nectar of immortality, and their enemy Garuḍa, on the strength of Vishṇu’s boon, began to swoop down and devour them. And this he did again and again. And while he was thus attacking them, the snakes[17] in Pátála were dead with fear, the females miscarried, and the whole serpent race was well-nigh destroyed. And Vásuki the king of the snakes, seeing him there every day, considered that the serpent world was ruined at one blow: then, after reflecting, he preferred a petition to that Garuḍa of irresistible might, and made this agreement with him—“I will send you every day one snake to eat, O king of birds, on the hill that rises out of the sand of the sea. But you must not act so foolishly as to enter Pátála, for by the destruction of the serpent world your own object will be baffled.” When Vásuki said this to him, Garuḍa consented, and began to eat every day in this place one snake sent by him: and in this way innumerable serpents have met their death here. But I am a snake called Śankachúḍa,[18] and it is my turn to-day: for that reason I have to-day, by the command of the king of the snakes, in order to furnish a meal to Garuḍa, come to this rock of execution, and to be lamented by my mother.”
When Jímútaváhana heard this speech of Śankachúḍa’s, he was grieved, and felt sorrow in his heart and said to him, “Alas! Vásuki exercises his kingly power in a very cowardly fashion, in that with his own hand he conducts his subjects to serve as food for his enemy. Why did he not first offer himself to Garuḍa? To think of this effeminate creature choosing to witness the destruction of his race! And how great a sin does Garuḍa, though the son of Kaśyapa, commit! How great folly do even great ones commit for the sake of the body only! So I will to-day deliver you alone from Garuḍa by surrendering my body. Do not be despondent, my friend.” When Śankachúḍa heard this, he out of his firm patience said to him,—“This be far from thee, O great-hearted one, do not say so again. The destruction of a jewel for the sake of a piece of glass is never becoming. And I will never incur the reproach of having disgraced my race.” In these words the good snake Śankachúḍa tried to dissuade Jímútaváhana, and thinking that the time of Garuḍa’s arrival would come in a moment, he went to worship in his last hour an image of Śiva under the name of Gokarṇa, that stood on the shore of the sea. And when he was gone, Jímútaváhana, that treasure-house of compassion, considered that he had gained an opportunity of offering himself up to save the snake’s life. Thereupon he quickly dismissed Mitrávasu to his own house on the pretext of some business, artfully pretending that he himself had forgotten it. And immediately the earth near him trembled, being shaken by the wind of the wings of the approaching Garuḍa, as if through astonishment at his valour. That made Jímútaváhana think that the enemy of the snakes was approaching, and full of compassion for others he ascended the stone of execution. And in a moment Garuḍa swooped down, darkening the heaven with his shadow, and carried off that great-hearted one, striking him with his beak. He shed drops of blood, and his crest-jewel dropped off torn out by Garuḍa, who took him away and began to eat him on the peak of the mountain. At that moment a rain of flowers fell from heaven, and Garuḍa was astonished when he saw it, wondering what it could mean.
In the meanwhile Śankachúḍa came there, having worshipped Gokarṇa, and saw the rock of execution sprinkled with many drops of blood; then he thought—“Alas! surely that great-hearted one has offered himself for me, so I wonder where Garuḍa has taken him in this short time. I must search for him quickly, perhaps I may find him.” Accordingly the good snake went following up the track of the blood. And in the meanwhile Garuḍa, seeing that Jímútaváhana was pleased, left off eating and thought with wonder: “This must be some one else, other than I ought to have taken, for though I am eating him, he is not at all miserable, on the contrary the resolute one rejoices.” While Garuḍa was thinking this, Jímútaváhana, though in such a state, said to him in order to attain his object: “O king of birds, in my body also there is flesh and blood; then why have you suddenly stopped eating, though your hunger is not appeased?” When he heard that, that king of birds, being overpowered with astonishment, said to him—“Noble one, you are not a snake, tell me who you are.” Jímútaváhana was just answering him, “I am a snake,[19] so eat me, complete what you have begun, for men of resolution never leave unfinished an undertaking they have begun,” when Śankachúḍa arrived and cried out from afar, “Stop, stop, Garuḍa, he is not a snake, I am the snake meant for you, so let him go, alas! how have you suddenly come to make this mistake?” On hearing that, the king of birds was excessively bewildered, and Jímútaváhana was grieved at not having accomplished his desire. Then Garuḍa, learning, in the course of their conversation[20] with one another, that he had begun to devour by mistake the king of the Vidyádharas, was much grieved. He began to reflect, “Alas! in my cruelty I have incurred sin. In truth those who follow evil courses easily contract guilt. But this great-hearted one who has given his life for another, and despising[21] the world, which is altogether under the dominion of illusion, come to face me, deserves praise.” Thinking thus, he was about to enter the fire to purify himself from guilt, when Jímútaváhana said to him: “King of birds, why do you despond? If you are really afraid of guilt, then you must determine never again to eat these snakes: and you must repent of eating all those previously devoured, for this is the only remedy available in this case, it was idle for you ever to think of any other.” Thus Jímútaváhana, full of compassion for creatures, said to Garuḍa, and he was pleased and accepted the advice of that king, as if he had been his spiritual preceptor, determining to do what he recommended; and he went to bring nectar from heaven to restore to life rapidly that wounded prince, and the other snakes, whose bones only remained. Then the goddess Gaurí, pleased with Jímútaváhana’s wife’s devotion to her, came in person and rained nectar on him: by that his limbs were reproduced with increased beauty, and the sound of the drums of the rejoicing gods was heard at the same time. Then, on his rising up safe and sound, Garuḍa brought the nectar of immortality[22] from heaven, and sprinkled it along the whole shore of the sea. That made all the snakes there rise up alive, and then that forest along the shore of the sea, crowded with the numerous tribe of snakes, appeared like Pátála[23] come to behold Jímútaváhana, having lost its previous dread of Garuḍa. Then Jímútaváhana’s relations congratulated him, having seen that he was glorious with unwounded body and undying fame. And his wife rejoiced with her relations, and his parents also. Who would not joy at pain ending in happiness? And with his permission Śankachúḍa departed to Rasátala,[24] and without it his glory, of its own accord, spread through the three worlds. Then, by virtue of the favour of the daughter of the Himálaya all his relations, Matanga and others, who were long hostile to him, came to Garuḍa, before whom the troops of gods were inclining out of love, and timidly approaching the glory of the Vidyádhara race, prostrated themselves at his feet. And being entreated by them, the benevolent Jímútaváhana went from that Malaya mountain to his own home, the slope of the Himálaya. There, accompanied by his parents and Mitrávasu and Malayavatí, the resolute one long enjoyed the honour of emperor of the Vidyádharas. Thus a course of fortunate events always of its own accord follows the footsteps of all those, whose exploits arouse the admiration of the three worlds. When the queen Vásavadattá heard this story from the mouth of Yaugandharáyaṇa, she rejoiced, as she was eager to hear of the splendour of her unborn son. Then, in the society of her husband, she spent that day in conversation about her son, who was to be the future king of the Vidyádharas, which was suggested by that story, for she placed unfailing reliance upon the promise of the favouring gods.
[1] I read with a MS. in the Sanskrit College patisnehád for pratisnehád. The two wives of the god of Love came out of lovo to their husband, who was conceived in Vásavadattá.
[2] Vidyádhara—means literally “magical-knowledge-holder.”
[3] The ceremony of coronation.