“Though my friend Bhavaśarman gave me this advice, I did not do what he told me; and so I am reduced to this state. So I give you this counsel; do not suffer hardship to win Anurágapará, for when she obtains a lover of her own race, she will of a surety desert you. A woman ever desires fresh men, as a female humble bee wanders from flower to flower; so you will suffer regret some day, like me, my friend.” This speech of Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, did not penetrate the heart of Niśchayadatta, for it was full of passion. And he said to that monkey; “She will not be unfaithful to me, for she is born of the pure race of the Vidyádharas.” Whilst they were thus conversing, the sun, red with the hues of evening, went to the mountain of setting, as if wishing to please Niśchayadatta. Then the night arrived, as the harbinger of the Yakshiṇí Śṛingotpádiní, and she herself came soon afterwards. And Niśchayadatta mounted on her back, and went off to go to his beloved, taking leave of the ape, who begged that he might ever be remembered by him. And at midnight he reached that city of Pushkarávatí, which was situated on the Himálayas, and belonged to the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of Anurágapará. At that very moment Anurágapará, having known by her power of his arrival, came out from that city to meet him. Then the Yakshiṇí put down Niśchayadatta from her shoulder, and pointing out to him Anurágapará, said—“Here comes your beloved, like a second moon giving a feast to your eyes in the night, so now I will depart,” and bowing before him, she went her way. Then Anurágapará, full of the excitement produced by expectation, went up to her beloved, and welcomed him with embraces and other signs of love. He too embraced her, and now that he had obtained the joy of meeting her after enduring many hardships, he could not be contained in his own body, and as it were entered hers. So Anurágapará was made his wife by the Gándharva ceremony of marriage, and she immediately by her magic skill created a city. In that city, which was outside the metropolis, he dwelt with her, without her parents suspecting it, as their eyes were blinded by her skill. And when, on her questioning him, he told her those strange and painful adventures of his journey, she respected him much, and bestowed on him all the enjoyments that heart could wish.
Then Niśchayadatta told that Vidyádharí the strange story of Somasvámin, who had been transformed into a monkey, and said to her, “If this friend of mine could by any endeavour on your part be freed from his monkey condition, then my beloved, you would have done a good deed.” When he told her this, Anurágapará said to him—“This is in the way of witches’ spells, but it is not our province. Nevertheless I will accomplish this desire of yours, by asking a friend of mine, a skilful witch named Bhadrarúpá. When the merchant’s son heard that, he was delighted, and said to that beloved of his—“So come and see my friend, let us go to visit him.” She consented, and the next day, carried in her lap, Niśchayadatta went through the air to the wood, which was the residence of his friend. When he saw his friend there in monkey form, he went up to him with his wife, who bowed before him, and asked after his welfare. And the monkey Somasvámin welcomed him, saying—“It is well with me to-day, in that I have beheld you united to Anurágapará,” and he gave his blessing to Niśchayadatta’s wife. Then all three sat down on a charming slab of rock there, and held a conversation[14] about his story, the various adventures of that ape, previously discussed by Niśchayadatta with his beloved. Then Niśchayadatta took leave of that monkey, and went to the house of his beloved, flying up into the air, carried by her in her arms.
And the next day he again said to that Anurágapará, “Come, let us go for a moment to visit that ape our friend;” then she said to him—“Go to-day yourself, receive from me the science of flying up, and also that of descending.” When she had said this to him, he took those two sciences, and flew through the air to his friend the ape. And as he remained long conversing with him, Anurágapará went out of the house into the garden. While she was seated there, a certain Vidyádhara youth, who was wandering at will through the air, came there. The Vidyádhara, knowing by his art that she was a Vidyádharí who had a mortal husband, the moment he beheld her, was overpowered with a paroxysm of love, and approached her. And she, with face bent on the ground, beheld that he was handsome and attractive, and slowly asked him out of curiosity, who he was and whence he came. Then he answered her, “Know, fair one, that I am a Vidyádhara, by name Rágabhanjana, distinguished for my knowledge of the sciences of the Vidyádharas. The moment I beheld you, O gazelle-eyed one, I was suddenly overpowered by love, and made your slave, so cease to honour, O goddess, a mortal, whose abode is the earth, and favour me, your equal, before your father finds out your intrigue.” When he said this, the fickle-hearted one, looking timidly at him with a sidelong glance, thought—“Here is a fit match for me.” When he had thus ascertained her wishes, he made her his wife: when two are of one mind, what more does secret love require?
Then Niśchayadatta arrived from the presence of Somasvámin, after that Vidyádhara had departed. And when he came, Anurágapará, having lost her love for him, did not embrace him, giving as an excuse that she had a headache. But the simple-minded man, bewildered by love, not seeing through her excuse, thought that her pain was due to illness and spent the day in that belief. But the next day, he again went in low spirits to see his friend the ape, flying through the air by the force of the two sciences he possessed. When he had gone, Anurágapará’s Vidyádhara lover returned to her, having spent a sleepless night without her. And embracing round the neck her, who was eager for his arrival owing to having been separated during the night, he was at length overcome by sleep. She by the power of her science concealed her lover, who lay asleep in her lap, and weary with having kept awake all night, went to sleep herself. In the meanwhile Niśchayadatta came to the ape, and his friend, welcoming him, asked him—“Why do I seem to see you in low spirits to-day? Tell me.” Then Niśchayadatta said to that ape, “Anurágapará is exceedingly ill, my friend; for that reason I am grieved, for she is dearer to me than life.” Then that ape, who possessed supernatural knowledge, said to him—“Go, take her in your arms asleep as she is, and flying through the air by the help of the science she bestowed, bring her to me, in order that I may this very day shew you a great marvel.” When Niśchayadatta heard this, he went through the air and lightly took up that sleeping fair, but he did not see that Vidyádhara, who was asleep in her lap, and had been previously made invisible by the power of her science. And flying up into the air, he quickly brought Anurágapará to that ape. That ape, who possessed divine insight, immediately shewed him a charm, by which he was able to behold the Vidyádhara clinging to her neck. When he saw this, he exclaimed—“Alas! what does this mean?” And the ape, who was able to discern the truth, told him the whole story. Then Niśchayadatta fell into a passion, and the Vidyádhara, who was the lover of his wife, woke up, and flying up into the air, disappeared. Then Anurágapará woke up, and seeing that her secret was revealed, stood with face cast down through shame. Then Niśchayadatta said to her with eyes gushing with tears—“Wicked female, how could you thus deceive me who reposed confidence in you? Although a device is known in this world for fixing that exceedingly fickle metal quicksilver, no expedient is known for fixing the heart of a woman.” While he was saying this, Anurágapará, at a loss for an answer, and weeping, slowly soared up into the air, and went to her own home.
Then Niśchayadatta’s friend, the ape, said to him—“That you are grieved is the fruit of the fierce fire of passion, in that you ran after this fair one, though I tried to dissuade you. For what reliance can be placed on fickle fortunes and fickle women? So cease your regret. Be patient now. For even the Disposer himself cannot o’erstep destiny.” When Niśchayadatta heard this speech from the ape, he flung aside that delusion of grief, and abandoning passion, fled to Śiva as his refuge. Then, as he was remaining in that wood with his friend the ape, it happened that a female hermit of the name of Mokshadá came near him. She seeing him bowing before her, proceeded to ask him—“How comes this strange thing to pass that, though a man, you have struck up a friendship with this ape?” Then he related to her his own melancholy story and afterwards the sad tale of his friend, and thereupon thus said to her; “If you, reverend lady, know any incantation or spell by which it can be done, immediately release this excellent Bráhman, my friend, from his ape-transformation.” When she heard that, she consented, and employing a spell, she loosed the string from his neck, and Somasvámin abandoned that monkey form and became a man as before. Then she disappeared like lightning, clothed with celestial brightness, and in time Niśchayadatta and the Bráhman Somasvámin, having performed many austerities, attained final beatitude.
“Thus fair ones, naturally fickle, bring about a series of evil actions which produce true discernment, and aversion to the world. But here and there you will find a virtuous one among them, who adorns a glorious family, as the streak of the moon the broad sky.”
When Naraváhanadatta, accompanied by Ratnaprabhá, heard this wonderful tale from the mouth of Gomukha, he was highly pleased.
[1] A famous linga of Śiva in Ujjayiní.
[2] Perhaps the Pushkalávatí described by General Cunningham in his Ancient Geography of India, p. 49.