[5] The plant Uraria Lagopodioides (Monier Williams).
[6] For similar instances of forgetting in European stories, see Nos. 13, 14, 54, 55 in the Sicilianische Märchen with Köhler’s notes, and his article in Orient und Occident, Vol. II, p. 103.
Chapter XXXIV.
Then the king of Vatsa, thinking on the peerless beauty of Kalingasená, was one night seized with love, so he rose up and went sword in hand, and entered her palace alone; and she welcomed him and received him politely. Then the king asked her to become his wife, but she rejected his addresses, saying, “You should regard me as the wife of another.” Whereupon he answered—“Since you are unchaste as having resorted to three men, I shall not by approaching you incur the guilt of adultery.” When the king said this to Kalingasená, she answered him, “I came to marry you, O king, but I was married by the Vidyádhara Madanavega at his will, for he assumed your shape. And he is my only husband, so why am I unchaste? But such are the misfortunes even of ordinary women who desert their relations, having their minds bewildered with the love of lawless roaming, much more of princesses? And this is the fruit of my own folly in sending a messenger to you, though I had been warned not to do so by my friend, who had seen an evil omen. So if you touch me by force, I will abandon life, for what woman of good family will injure her husband? And to prove this I will tell you a tale—listen O king.”
The story of king Indradatta.
There lived in old time in the land of Chedi a great king called Indradatta, he founded for his glory a great temple at the holy bathing-place of Pápaśodhana, desiring the body of good reputation, as he saw that our mortal body is perishable. And the king in the ardour of his devotion was continually going to visit it, and all kinds of people were continually coming there to bathe in the holy water. Now, one day the king saw a merchant’s wife, whose husband was travelling in foreign parts, who had come there to bathe in the holy water; she was steeped in the nectar of pure beauty, and adorned with various charms, like a splendid moving palace of the god of Love. She was embraced on both her feet by the radiance of the two quivers of the five-arrowed god,[1] as if out of love, believing that with her he would conquer the world.[2] The moment the king saw her, she captivated his soul so entirely that, unable to restrain himself, he found out her house and went there at night. And when he solicited her, she said to him—“You are a protector of the helpless, you ought not to touch another man’s wife. And if you lay violent hands on me, you will commit a great sin; and I will die immediately, I will not endure disgrace.” Though she said this to him, the king still endeavoured to use force to her, whereupon her heart broke in a moment through fear of losing her chastity. When the king saw that, he was at once abashed, and went back by the way that he came, and in a few days died out of remorse for that crime.
Having told this tale, Kalingasená bowed in timid modesty, and again said to the king of Vatsa—“Therefore, king, set not your heart on wickedness that would rob me of breath; since I have come here, allow me to dwell here; if not, I will depart to some other place.” Then the king of Vatsa, who knew what was right, hearing this from Kalingasená, after reflecting, desisted from his intention, and said to her—“Princess, dwell here at will with this husband of yours; I will not say anything to you, henceforth fear not.” When the king had said this, he returned of his own accord to his house, and Madanavega, having heard the conversation, descended from heaven, and said—“My beloved, you have done well, if you had not acted thus, O fortunate one, good fortune would not have resulted, for I should not have tolerated your conduct.” When the Vidyádhara had said this, he comforted her, and passed the night there, and continued going to her house and returning again. And Kalingasená, having a king of the Vidyádharas for her husband, remained there, blessed even in her mortal state with the enjoyment of heavenly pleasures. As for the king of Vatsa, he ceased to think about her, and remembering the speech of his minister, he rejoiced, considering that he had saved his queens and kingdom and also his son. And the queen Vásavadattá and the minister Yaugandharáyaṇa were at ease, having reaped the fruit of the wishing-tree of policy.
Then, as days went on, Kalingasená had the lotus of her face a little pale, and was pregnant, having longing produced in her. Her lofty breasts, with extremities a little dark, appeared like the treasure-vessels of Love, marked with his seal of joy.[3] Then her husband Madanavega came to her and said, “Kalingasená, we heavenly beings are subject to this law, that, when a mortal child is conceived we must abandon it, and go afar. Did not Menaká leave Śakuntalá in the hermitage of Kanva? And though you were formerly an Apsaras, you have now, goddess, become a mortal by the curse of Śiva, inflicted on account of your disobedience. Thus it has come to pass that, though chaste, you have incurred the reproach of unchastity; so guard your offspring, I will go to my own place. And whenever you think upon me, I will appear to you.” Thus the prince of the Vidyádharas spake to the weeping Kalingasená, and consoled her, and gave her a heap of valuable jewels, and departed with his mind fixed on her, drawn away by the law. Kalingasená, for her part, remained there; supported by the hope of offspring as by a friend, protected by the shade of the king of Vatsa’s arm.