Then Naraváhanadatta’s minister Gomukha said to him, by way of capping the tale, which had been told by Ratnaprabhá: “It is true that chaste women are few and far between, but unchaste women are never to be trusted; in illustration of this, hear the following story.”
Story of Niśchayadatta.
There is in this land a town of the name of Ujjayiní, famous throughout the world: in it there lived of old time a merchant’s son, named Niśchayadatta. He was a gambler and had acquired money by gambling, and every day the generous man used to bathe in the water of the Siprá, and worship Mahákála:[1] his custom was first to give money to the Bráhmans, the poor, and the helpless, and then to anoint himself and indulge in food and betel.
Every day, when he had finished his bathing and his worship, he used to go and anoint himself in a cemetery near the temple of Mahákála, with sandalwood and other things. And the young man placed the unguent on a stone pillar that stood there, and so anointed himself every day alone, rubbing his back against it. In that way the pillar eventually became very smooth and polished. Then there came that way a draughtsman with a sculptor; the first, seeing that the pillar was very smooth, drew on it a figure of Gaurí, and the sculptor with his chisel in pure sport carved it on the stone. Then, after they had departed, a certain daughter of the Vidyádharas came there to worship Mahákála, and saw that image of Gaurí on the stone. From the clearness of the image she inferred the proximity of the goddess, and, after worshipping, she entered that stone pillar to rest. In the meanwhile Niśchayadatta, the merchant’s son, came there, and to his astonishment beheld that figure of Umá carved on the stone. He first anointed his limbs, and then placing the unguent on another part of the stone, began to anoint his back by rubbing it against the stone. When the rolling-eyed Vidyádhara maiden inside the pillar saw that, her heart being captivated by his beauty, she reflected—“What! has this handsome man no one to anoint his back? Then I will now rub his back for him.” Thus the Vidyádharí reflected, and, stretching forth her hand from inside the pillar, she anointed his back then and there out of affection. Immediately the merchant’s son felt the touch, and heard the jingling of the bracelet, and caught hold of her hand with his. And the Vidyádharí, invisible as she was, said to him from the pillar—“Noble sir, what harm have I done you? let go my hand.” Then Niśchayadatta answered her—“Appear before me, and say who you are, then I will let go your hand.” Then the Vidyádharí affirmed with an oath—“I will appear before your eyes, and tell you all.” So he let go her hand. Then she came out visibly from the pillar, beautiful in every limb, and sitting down, with her eyes fixed on his face, said to him, “There is a city called Pushkarávatí[2] on a peak of the Himálayas, in it there lives a king named Vindhyapara. I am his maiden daughter, named Anurágapará. I came to worship Mahákála, and rested here to-day. And thereupon you came here, and were beheld by me anointing your back on this pillar, resembling the stupefying weapon of the god of love. Then first my heart was charmed with affection for you, and afterwards my hand was smeared with your unguent, as I rubbed your back.[3] The sequel you know. So I will now go to my father’s house.”
When she said this to the merchant’s son, he answered—“Fair one, I have not recovered my soul which you have taken captive; how can you thus depart, without letting go the soul which you have taken possession of?” When he said this to her, she was immediately overcome with love, and said—“I will marry you, if you come to my city. It is not hard for you to reach; your endeavour will be sure to succeed. For nothing in this world is difficult to the enterprising.” Having said this, Anurágapará flew up into the air and departed; and Niśchayadatta returned home with mind fixed upon her. Recollecting the hand that was protruded from the pillar, like a shoot from the trunk of a tree, he thought—“Alas! though I seized her hand I did not win it for my own. Therefore I will go to the city of Pushkarávatí to visit her, and either I shall lose my life, or Fate will come to my aid.” So musing, he passed that day there in an agony of love, and he set out from that place early the next morning, making for the north. As he journeyed, three other merchants’ sons, who were travelling towards the north, associated themselves with him as companions. In company with them he travelled through cities, villages, forests, and rivers, and at last reached the northern region abounding in barbarians.
There he and his companions were found on the way by some Tájikas, who took them and sold them to another Tájika. He sent them in the care of his servants as a present to a Turushka, named Muravára. Then those servants took him and the other three, and hearing that Muravára was dead, they delivered them to his son. The son of Muravára thought—“These men have been sent me as a present by my father’s friend, so I must send them to him to-morrow by throwing them into his grave.”[4] Accordingly the Turushka fettered Niśchayadatta and his three friends with strong chains, that they might be kept till the morning. Then, while they were remaining in chains at night, Niśchayadatta said to his three friends, the merchant’s sons, who were afflicted with dread of death—“What will you gain by despondency? Maintain steadfast resolution. For calamities depart far away from the resolute, as if terrified at them. Think on the peerless adorable Durgá, that deliverer from calamity.”
Thus encouraging them, he devoutly worshipped that goddess Durgá: “Hail to thee, O goddess! I worship thy feet that are stained with a red dye, as if it were the clotted gore of the trampled Asura clinging to them. Thou, as the all-ruling power of Śiva, dost govern the three worlds, and inspired by thee they live and move. Thou didst deliver the worlds, O slayer of the Asura Mahisha. Deliver me that crave thy protection, O thou cherisher of thy votaries.” In these and similar words he and his companions duly worshipped the goddess, and then they all fell asleep, being weary. And the goddess Durgá in a dream commanded Niśchayadatta and his companions—“Rise up, my children, depart, for your fetters are loosed.” Then they woke up at night, and saw that their fetters had fallen off of themselves, and after relating to one another their dream, they departed thence delighted. And after they had gone a long journey, the night came to an end, and then those merchant’s sons, who had gone through such terrors, said to Niśchayadatta; “Enough of this quarter of the world infested with barbarians! We will go to the Deccan, friend, but do you do as you desire.”—When they said this to him, he dismissed them to go where they would, and set out alone vigorously on his journey, making towards that very northern quarter, drawn by the noose of love for Anurágapará, flinging aside fear. As he went along, he fell in, in course of time, with four Páśupata ascetics, and reached and crossed the river Vitastá. And after crossing it, he took food, and as the sun was kissing the western mountain, he entered with them a forest that lay in their path. And there some woodmen, that met them, said to them: “Whither are you going, now that the day is over. There is no village in front of you: but there is an empty temple of Śiva in this wood. Whoever remains there during the night inside or outside, falls a prey to a Yakshiṇí, who bewilders him, making horns grow on his forehead, and then treats him as a victim, and devours him.” Those four Páśupata ascetics, who were travelling together, though they heard this, said to Niśchayadatta, “Come along! what can that miserable Yakshiṇí do to us? For we have remained many nights in various cemeteries.” When they said this, he went with them, and finding an empty temple of Śiva, he entered it with them to pass the night there. In the court of that temple the bold Niśchayadatta and the Páśupata ascetics quickly made a great circle with ashes, and entering into it, they lighted a fire with fuel, and all remained there, muttering a charm to protect themselves.
Then at night there came there dancing the Yakshiṇí Śṛingotpádiní,[5] playing from afar on her lute of bones, and when she came near, she fixed her eye on one of the four Páśupata ascetics, and recited a charm, as she danced outside the circle. That charm produced horns on him,[6] and bewildered he rose up, and danced till he fell into the blazing fire. And when he had fallen, the Yakshiṇí dragged him half-burnt out of the fire, and devoured him with delight. Then she fixed her eye on the second Páśupata ascetic, and in the same way recited the horn-producing charm and danced. The second one also had horns produced by that charm, and was made to dance, and falling into the fire, was dragged out and devoured before the eyes of the others. In this way the Yakshiṇí maddened one after another at night the four ascetics, and after horns had been produced on them, devoured them. But while she was devouring the fourth, it came to pass that, being intoxicated with flesh and blood, she laid her lute down on the ground. Thereupon the bold Niśchayadatta rose up quickly, and seized the lute, and began to play on it, and dancing round with a laugh, to recite that horn-producing charm, which he had learnt from hearing it often, fixing at the same time his eye on the face of the Yakshiṇí. By the operation of the charm she was confused, and dreading death, as horns were just about to sprout on her forehead, she flung herself prostrate, and thus entreated him; “Valiant man, do not slay me, a helpless woman. I now implore your protection, stop the recital of the charm, and the accompanying movements. Spare me! I know all your story, and will bring about your wish; I will carry you to the place, where Anurágapará is.” The bold Niśchayadatta, when thus confidingly addressed by her, consented, and stopped the recital of the charm, and the accompanying movements. Then, at the request of the Yakshiṇí, he mounted on her back, and being carried by her through the air, he went to find his beloved.[7]
And when the night came to an end, they had reached a mountain wood; there the Guhyakí bowing thus addressed Niśchayadatta; “Now that the sun has risen, I have no power to go upwards,[8] so spend this day in this charming wood, my lord; eat sweet fruits and drink the clear water of the brooks. I go to my own place, and I will return at the approach of night; and then I will take you to the city of Pushkarávatí, the crown of the Himálayas, and into the presence of Anurágapará.” Having said this, the Yakshiṇí with his permission set him down from her shoulder, and departed to return again according to her promise.