The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story

by active 11th century Somadeva Bhatta

Chapter XLII.

Then, early the next day, Naraváhanadatta went off to the forest for the purpose of hunting, surrounded with elephants, in the company of his father and his friends; but before going he comforted his beloved Ratnaprabhá, who was anxious about him, by saying that he would quickly return.

Then the scene of the chase became like a garden adorned with lovely creepers for his delight, for in it the pearls that dropped from the claws of the lions, that had cleft the foreheads of elephants, and now fell asleep in death, were sown like seeds; and the teeth of the tigers that were cut out by the crescent-headed arrows were like buds, and the flowing blood of the deer seemed like shoots, and the wild boars, in which stuck the arrows adorned with heron feathers, seemed like clusters, and the fallen bodies of Śarabhas[1] shewed like fruit, and the arrows falling with deep hum appeared like bees. Gradually the prince became wearied, and desisted from the chase, and went on horseback to another wood with Gomukha, who was also riding. There he began to play at ball, and while he was thus engaged, a certain female ascetic came that way. Then the ball slipped from his hand and fell on her head; whereupon the female ascetic laughed a little, and said to him—“If your insolence is so great now, what will it be if you ever obtain Karpúriká for a wife.”[2] When Naraváhanadatta heard this, he dismounted from his horse, and prostrating himself at the feet of that female ascetic, said to her—“I did not see you, and my ball fell on your head by chance—Reverend one, be propitiated, and pardon that fault of mine.” When the female ascetic heard that, she said, “My son, I am not angry with you,” and being victorious over her wrath she comforted him with blessings. And then, thinking that the wise truthful ascetic was well disposed to him, Naraváhanadatta respectfully asked her—“Who, reverend lady, is this Karpúriká spoken of by you? Condescend to inform me, if you are pleased with me, for I am curious on this head.” When he said this, bending before her, the female ascetic said to him: “There is on the other side of the sea a city named Karpúrasambhava;[3] in it there is a king rightly named Karpúraka, he has a daughter, a lovely maiden, named Karpúriká, who appears like a second Lakshmí, deposited in security there by the ocean, having seen that the first Lakshmí had been carried away by the gods after the churning. And she, as she hates men, does not desire to be married, but she will desire it, if at all, when she sees you. So go there, my son, and you shall win that fair one; nevertheless, while you are going there, you will suffer great hardship in the forest. But you must not be perplexed at that, for all shall end well.” When the ascetic had said this, she flew up into the air and disappeared. Then Naraváhanadatta, drawn on by the command of Love uttered through her voice, said to his attendant Gomukha, “Come, let us go to Karpúriká in the city of Karpúrasambhava, for I cannot remain a moment without beholding her.” When Gomukha heard that, he said—“King, desist from your rashness. Consider how far off you are from the sea and from that city, and whether the journey is worth taking for the sake of that maiden? Why, on merely hearing her name, do you abandon celestial wives, and alone run after a mere woman who is enveloped in doubt, owing to your not knowing what her intention is.” When Gomukha said this to him, the son of the king of Vatsa said, “The speech of that holy ascetic cannot be false. So I must certainly go to find that princess.” Having said this, he set out thence on horseback that very moment. And Gomukha followed him silently, though it was against his wish: when a lord does not act on the advice of his servants, their only course is to follow him.

In the meanwhile the king of Vatsa, having finished his hunting, returned to his city, thinking that that son of his was returning among his own armed followers. And the prince’s followers returned with Marubhúti and the others to the city, supposing that the prince was with the armed followers of his father. When they arrived, the king of Vatsa and the others searched for him, and finding that he had not returned, they all went to the house of Ratnaprabhá. She at first was grieved at that news, but she called up a supernatural science and was told by it tidings of her husband, and said to her distressed father-in-law; “My husband heard the princess Karpúriká mentioned by a female ascetic in the forest, and in order to obtain her he has gone to the city of Karpúrasambhava. And he will soon have accomplished his object, and will return here with Gomukha. So dismiss anxiety, for this I have learned from a science.” By these words she comforted the king of Vatsa and his retinue. And she despatched another science to wait on her husband during his journey, and dispel his fatigue; for good women who desire their husband’s happiness do not account of jealousy.

In the meanwhile Naraváhanadatta performed a long journey on horseback in that forest, accompanied by Gomukha. Then a maiden suddenly came up to him in his path and said to him, “I am a science sent by Ratnaprabhá, named Máyávatí, I will guard you on the path without being seen, so proceed now without fear.” Having said this, the incarnate science disappeared, as he gazed at it. By virtue of it, Naraváhanadatta continued his journey with his thirst and hunger appeased, praising his beloved Ratnaprabhá. And in the evening he reached a wood with a pure lake in it, and with Gomukha he bathed, and took a meal of delicious fruit and water. And at night he tied up the two horses underneath a large tree, after supplying them with grass, and he and his minister climbed up into it to sleep. While reposing on a broad bough of the tree, he was woke up by the neighings of the terrified horses, and saw a lion that had come close underneath. When he saw it, he wished[4] to get down for the sake of the horses, but Gomukha said to him—“Alas! you are neglecting the safety of your person, and acting without counsel; for kings the first duty is the preservation of their persons, and counsel is the foundation of rule. How can you desire to contend with wild beasts armed with teeth and claws. For it was to avoid these that we just now got up into this tree.” When the king had been restrained from descending by these words of Gomukha’s, seeing the lion killing the horse, he immediately threw his sword at it from the tree, and succeeded in wounding it with the weapon which was buried in its body. The mighty lion, though pierced with the sword, after killing that horse, slew the other also. Then the son of the king of Vatsa took Gomukha’s sword from him, and throwing it, cut the lion in half in the middle. And descending he recovered his sword from the body of the lion, and ascending again to his sleeping place, he passed the night there in the tree. In the morning Naraváhanadatta got down, and set out to find Karpúriká, accompanied by Gomukha. Then Gomukha, beholding him travelling on foot, as the lion had slain his horse, in order to amuse him on the way said; “Listen, king, I will relate you this story, which is particularly appropriate on the present occasion.”

Story of king Parityágasena, his wicked wife and his two sons.

There is in this world a city named Irávatí, which surpasses Alaká;[5] in it there dwelt a king named Parityágasena. And he had two beloved queens, whom he valued as his life. One was the daughter of his own minister and her name was Adhikasangamá, and the other was of royal race, and was called Kávyálankárá. And with those two the king propitiated Durgá to obtain a son, and performed penance without food, sleeping on darbha grass. Then Bhavání, who is kind to her votaries, pleased with his penance, appeared to him in a dream and gave him two heavenly fruits, and thus commanded him: “Rise up and give your two wives these two fruits to eat, and then, king, you will have born to you two heroic sons.” Having said this, Gaurí disappeared, and the king woke up in the morning and rose delighted at beholding those fruits in his hand. And by describing that dream of his he delighted his wives, and bathed and worshipped the consort of Śiva, and broke his fast. And at night he first visited that wife of his Adhikasangamá, and gave her one of the fruits, and she immediately ate it. Then the king spent the night in her pavilion, out of respect for her father, who was his own prime minister. And he placed near the head of his bed the second fruit, which was intended for the other queen. While the king was asleep, the queen Adhikasangamá rose up, and desiring for herself two similar sons, she took from his head and ate that second fruit also. For women are naturally envious of their rivals. And in the morning, when the king rose up and was looking for that fruit, she said—“I ate that second fruit also.” Then the king went away despondent, and after spending the day, he went at night to the apartments of the second queen. And when she asked for that other fruit, he said to her—“While I was asleep, your fellow-wife treacherously devoured it.” Then the queen Kávyálankárá, not having obtained that fruit, which was to enable her to give birth to a son, remained silently grieved.

In the course of some days that queen Adhikasangamá became pregnant, and in due time gave birth to twin sons. And the king Parityágasena rejoiced and made a great feast, since his desire was fulfilled by their birth. And the king gave the name of Indívarasena to the elder of the two, who was of wonderful beauty and had eyes like a blue lotus. And he gave to the younger the name of Anichchhasena, because his mother ate the second fruit against his wish. Then Kávyálankárá, the second wife of that king, on beholding this, was angry, and reflected—“Alas! I have been cheated by this rival wife out of having children; so I must without fail revenge myself on her; I must destroy these sons of hers by my cunning.” Having thus reflected, she remained thinking over a means of doing this. And as fast as those two princes grew, the tree of enmity grew in her heart.