Story of the Bráhman and the Piśácha.
Long ago there was a Bráhman dwelling on a royal grant, which was called Yajnasthala. He once upon a time, being poor, went to the forest to bring home wood. There, a piece of wood being cleft with the axe, fell, as chance would have it, upon his leg, and piercing it, entered deep into it. And as the blood flowed from him, he fainted, and he was beheld in that condition by a man who recognised him, and taking him up carried him home. There his distracted wife washed off the blood, and consoling him, placed a plaster upon the wound. And then his wound, though tended day by day, not only did not heal, but formed an ulcer. Then the man, afflicted with his ulcerated wound, poverty-stricken, and at the point of death, was thus advised in secret by a Bráhman friend, who came to him; “A friend of mine, named Yajnadatta, was long very poor, but he gained the aid of a Piśácha by a charm, and so, having obtained wealth, lived in happiness. And he told me that charm, so do you gain, my friend, by means of it, the aid of a Piśácha; he will heal your wound.” Having said this, he told him the form of words and described to him the ceremony as follows: “Rise up in the last watch of the night, and with dishevelled hair and naked, and without rinsing your mouth, take two handfuls of rice as large as you can grasp with your two hands, and muttering the form of words go to a place where four roads meet, and there place the two handfuls of rice, and return in silence without looking behind you. Do so always until that Piśácha appears, and himself says to you, ‘I will put an end to your ailment.’ Then receive his aid gladly, and he will remove your complaint.”
When his friend had said this to him, the Bráhman did as he had been directed. Then the Piśácha, being conciliated, brought heavenly herbs from a lofty peak of the Himálayas and healed his wound. And then he became obstinately persistent, and said to the Bráhman, who was delighted at being healed, “Give me a second wound to cure, but if you will not, I will do you an injury or destroy your body.” When the Bráhman heard that, he was terrified, and immediately said to him to get rid of him—“I will give you another wound within seven days.” Whereupon the Piśácha left him, but the Bráhman felt hopeless about his life. But eventually he baffled the Piśácha by the help of his daughter, and having got over the disease, he lived in happiness.[14]
“Such are Piśáchas, and some young princes are just like them, and, though conciliated, produce misfortune, my friend, but they can be guarded against by counsel. But princesses of good family have never been heard to be such. So you must not expect any injury from associating with me.” When Somaprabhá heard from the mouth of Kalingasená in due course this sweet, entertaining, and amusing tale, she was delighted. And she said to her—“My house is sixty yojanas distant hence, and the day is passing away; I have remained long, so now I must depart, fair one.” Then, as the lord of day was slowly sinking to the eastern mountain, she took leave of her friend who was eager for a second interview, and in a moment flew up into the air, exciting the wonder of the spectators, and rapidly returned to her own house. And, after beholding that wonderful sight, Kalingasená entered into her house with much perplexity, and reflected, “I do not know, indeed, whether my friend is a Siddha female, or an Apsaras, or a Vidyádharí. She is certainly a heavenly female that travels through the upper air. And heavenly females associate with mortal ones led by excessive love. Did not Arundhatí live in friendship with the daughter of king Pṛithu? Did not Pṛithu by means of her friendship bring Surabhi from heaven to earth. And did not he by consuming its milk return to heaven though he had fallen from it. And were not thenceforth perfect cows born upon earth? So I am fortunate; it is by good luck that I have obtained this heavenly creature as a friend; and when she comes to-morrow I will dexterously as her her descent and name.” Thinking such thoughts in her heart, Kalingasená spent that night there, and Somaprabhá spent the night in her own house being eager to behold her again.
[1] The word táraká means also a star. So here we have one of those puns in which our author delights.
[2] Also full of affection. This is a common pun.
[3] Beasts of prey, or possibly Rákshasas.
[4] Compare the translation of the life of St. Brigit by Whitley Stokes, (Three Middle Irish Homilies, p. 65.)