When some days had passed there, he said in secret to the Rákshasa’s daughter, “Come, my beloved, let us return to the city of Vardhamána. For that is my capital city, and I cannot endure to be banished from my capital city by my enemies, for people like myself hold honour dear as life. So leave for my sake the land of your birth, though it is hard to leave; inform your father, and bring that golden arrow in your hand.” When Śṛingabhuja said this to Rúpaśikhá, she answered—“I must immediately obey your command. I care not for the land of my birth, nor for my relatives, you are all those to me.[10] Good women have no other refuge than their husbands. But it will never do to communicate our intention to my father, for he would not let us go. So we must depart without that hot-tempered father of mine knowing of it. And if he hears from the attendants and comes after us, I will bewilder him by my knowledge, for he is senseless and like an idiot.” When he heard this speech of hers, he set out delighted on the next day, with her who gave him the half of her kingdom, and filled a casket with priceless jewels, and brought that golden arrow; and they both mounted her splendid horse Śaravega,[11] having deceived the attendants by representing that they were going for a pleasure excursion in the park, and journeyed towards Vardhamána.
When the couple had gone a long distance, the Rákshasa Agniśikha found it out, and in wrath pursued after them through the air. And hearing afar off the noise produced by the speed of his flight, Rúpaśikhá said to Śṛingabhuja on the road, “My husband, my father has come to make us turn back, so remain here without fear: see how I will deceive him. For he shall neither see you nor the horse, since I shall conceal both by my deluding power.” After saying this, she got down from the horse and assumed by her deluding power the form of a man.[12] And she said to a woodcutter, who had come to the forest to cut wood—“A great Rákshasa is coming here, so remain quiet for a moment.” Then she continued to cut wood with his axe. And Śṛingabhuja looked on with a smile on his face. In the meanwhile that foolish Rákshasa arrived there, and lighted down from the air, on beholding his daughter in the shape of a woodcutter, and asked her whether she had seen a man and woman pass that way.[13] Then his daughter, who had assumed the form of a man, said with great effort as if tired, “We two have not seen any couple, as our eyes are fatigued with toil, for we two woodcutters have been occupied here in cutting a great quantity of wood to burn Agniśikha the king of the Rákshasas, who is dead.” When that silly Rákshasa heard that, he thought, “What! am I dead? What then does that daughter matter to me? I will go and ask my own attendants at home whether I am dead or not.”[14] Thus reflecting, Agniśikha went quickly home, and his daughter set out with her husband as before, laughing as she went.
And soon the Rákshasa returned in high spirits, for he had asked his attendants, who could not help laughing in their sleeves, whether he was alive, and had learned that he was. Then Rúpaśikhá, knowing from the terrible noise that he was coming again, though as yet far off, got down from the horse and concealed her husband as before by her deluding power, and taking letters from the hand of a letter-carrier, who was coming along the road, she again assumed the form of a man.
And so the Rákshasa arrived as before, and asked his daughter, who was disguised as a man—“Did you see a man and a woman on the road?” Then she, disguised as a man, answered him with a sigh,—“I beheld no such person, for my mind was absorbed with my haste, for Agniśikha, who was to-day mortally wounded in battle, and has only a little breath left in his body, and is in his capital desiring to make over his kingdom, has despatched me as a messenger to summon to his presence his brother Dhúmaśikha, who is living an independent life.” When Agniśikha heard that, he said, “What! am I mortally wounded by my enemies?” And in his perplexity he returned again home to get information on the point. But it never occurred to him to say to himself—“Who is mortally wounded? Here I am safe and sound.” Strange are the fools that the Creator produces, and wonderfully obscured with the quality of darkness! And when he arrived at home and found that the tale was false, he would not expose himself again to the laughter of the people, tired of being imposed upon, and forgetting his daughter. And Rúpaśikhá, after deluding him, returned to her husband as before, for virtuous women know of no other good than the good of their husbands. Then Śṛingabhuja, mounted on the wonderful horse, again proceeded rapidly with his wife towards the city of Vardhamána. Then his father Vírabhuja, having heard that he was returning in company with her, went out much pleased to meet him. The king, when he saw him adorned with that wife, like Kṛishṇa with Bhámá, considered that he had gained afresh the bliss of sovereign sway. And when his son got down from his horse, and clung to his feet with his beloved, he raised him up and embraced him, and with his eye, in which stood the water of joyful tears, performed in noble wise the auspicious ceremony that put an end to his own despondency, and then conducted him into his palace, making high festival. And when he asked his son where he had been, Śṛingabhuja told him his whole history from the beginning. And after summoning his brothers, Nirvásabhuja and all, into his father’s presence, he gave them the golden arrow. Then the king Vírabhuja, after what he had heard and seen, was displeased with those other sons, and considered Śṛingabhuja his only true son.
Then that wise king drew this true conclusion—“I suspect that, as this son of mine out of spite was banished by these enemies, brothers only in name, though he was all the while innocent, so his mother Guṇavará, whom I love so well, was falsely accused by their mothers, and was all the while innocent. So what is the use of delay? I will find out the truth of it immediately.”[15] After these reflections, the king spent that day in performing his duties, and went at night to sift his other wife Ayaśolekhá. She was delighted to see him, and he made her drink a great quantity of wine, and she in her sleep murmured out, while the king was awake—“If we had not falsely slandered Guṇavará, would the king ever have visited me here?”[16] When the king heard this speech of the wicked queen uttered in her sleep, he felt he had attained certainty, and rose up in wrath and went out; and going to his own chamber, he had the eunuchs summoned, and said to them; “Take that Guṇavará out of the dungeon, and after she has bathed bring her quickly; for the present moment was appointed by the astrologer as the limit of her stay in the dungeon for the purpose of averting the evil omens.” When they heard that, they said, “So be it,” and they went and quickly brought the queen Guṇavará into the presence of the king, bathed and adorned. Then that wedded pair, happy in having crossed the sea of separation, spent that night unsated with mutual embraces. Then the king related to the queen with delight that adventure of Śṛingabhuja’s, and told his son the circumstances of his mother’s imprisonment and release. In the meanwhile Ayaśolekhá, waking up, found out that the king was gone, and guessing that he had entrapped her with his conversation, fell into deep despondency. And in the morning the king Vírabhuja conducted his son Śṛingabhuja, with his wife Rúpaśikhá, into the presence of Guṇavará. He came, and was delighted to behold his mother emerged from the dungeon, and with his new wife he worshipped the feet of his parents. Guṇavará, embracing her son, who had returned from his journey, and her daughter-in-law, obtained in the way above related, went from joy to joy. Then by the order of his father, Śṛingabhuja related to her at length his own adventure, and what Rúpaśikhá did. Then queen Guṇavará delighted, said to him, “My son, what has not that Rúpaśikhá done for you? For she, a heroine of wonderful exploits, has given up and sacrificed for you her life, her family, her native land, these three. She must be some goddess, become incarnate for your sake by the appointment of Destiny. For she has placed her foot on the head of all women that are devoted to their husbands.” When the queen had said this, the king applauded her speech, and so did Rúpaśikhá with head modestly bent. Just at that moment the superintendent of the womens’ apartments, Surakshita, who had been long ago slandered by that Ayaśolekhá, returned from visiting all the holy bathing places. He was announced by the door-keeper, and bowed delighted at the king’s foot, and then the king, who now knew the facts, honoured him exceedingly. And by his mouth he summoned the other queens who were wicked, and said to him—“Go! fling all these into the dungeon.” When the queen Guṇavará heard that, and the terrified women were thrown into the dungeon, she said out of compassion to the king, clinging to his feet, “King, do not keep them for a long time in the dungeon! Have mercy, for I cannot bear to see them terrified.” By thus entreating the king she prevented their imprisonment, for the only vengeance that the great make use of against their enemies is compassion. Then those queens, dismissed by the king, went ashamed to their houses, and would even have preferred to have been in the embrace of death. And the king thought highly of the great-hearted Guṇavará, and considered, because he possessed that wife, that he must have accomplished virtuous acts in a former state of existence. Then the king, determining to banish his other sons by an artifice, had them summoned, and spake to them this feigned speech—“I have heard that you villains have slain a Bráhman traveller, so go and visit all the holy bathing-places in succession, do not remain here.” When the sons heard that, they were not able to persuade the king of the truth, for when a ruler is bent on violence, who can convince him? Then Śṛingabhuja, beholding those brothers departing, with his eyes full of tears produced by pity, thus addressed his father. “Father, pity their one fault, have mercy upon them.” Having said this, he fell at the feet of that king. And the king, thinking that that son was able to bear the burden of sovereignty, being even in his youth like an incarnation of Vishṇu, full of glory and compassion, hiding his real sentiments and cherishing his anger against them, nevertheless did what Śṛingabhuja asked. And all those brothers considered their younger brother as the saviour of their lives. And all the subjects, beholding the exceeding virtue of Śṛingabhuja, became attached to him.
Then the next day, his father, king Vírabhuja, anointed as crown-prince Śṛingabhuja, who was the oldest in virtue of them all, though he had elder brothers. And then Śṛingabhuja, having been anointed and having obtained the leave of his father, went with all his forces to conquer the world. And having brought back the wealth of numerous kings, whom he overcame by the might of his arm, he returned, having diffused the splendour of his glory through all the earth. Then bearing the weight of the realm with his submissive brothers, the successful prince Śṛingabhuja, giving pleasure to his parents, who remained in the enjoyment of comfort free from anxiety, and bestowing gifts on Bráhmans, dwelt at ease with Rúpaśikhá as if with incarnate success.
“Thus virtuous women serve their husbands in every way, devoted to them alone, like Guṇavará, and Rúpaśikhá, the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law.”
When Naraváhanadatta, in the society of Ratnaprabhá, heard this story from the lips of Hariśikha, he was much delighted and exclaimed, “Bravo!” Then he rose up, and quickly performed the religious ceremony for the day, and went with his wife into the presence of his father, the king of Vatsa, and after eating, and whiling away the afternoon with singing and playing, he spent the night with his beloved in his own private apartments.