Then, in the course of some days, king Mahásena went and surrounded king Somaka in his treasure-city. And when the king of Gauḍa, Vikramaśakti, knew that he had arrived there, he went and surrounded king Mahásena; then king Mahásena said to Guṇaśarman—“While we are occupied in besieging one enemy we are besieged by another, so now how are we to fight with two enemies, as we are unequal in force? And how long, being brave men, can we remain without fighting a battle? So what are we to do in this difficulty?” When Guṇaśarman, who was at the side of the king, was asked this question, he answered—“Be of good courage, my sovereign; I will devise a stratagem that will enable us to get out of this situation, difficult as it is.” He comforted the king with these words, and put on his eyes an ointment that rendered him invisible, and at night went, without any one seeing him, to the camp of Vikramaśakti. And he entered into his presence, and woke him up while asleep, and said, “Know, O king, that I am come a messenger from the gods. Make peace with king Mahásena and depart quickly, otherwise you will certainly be destroyed here with your army. And if you send an ambassador, he will agree to your proposals of peace; I have been sent by the holy Vishṇu to tell you this. For you are a votary of his, and he watches over the safety of his votaries.” When king Vikramaśakti heard this, he thought, “Certainly this is true, if he were any other, how could he enter this carefully guarded tent? This is not what a mere mortal could accomplish.” When the king had gone through these reflections, he said—“I am fortunate in receiving such a command from the god, I will do what he bids me.” When the king said that, Guṇaśarman disappeared by the help of his magic collyrium, thus confirming the king’s confidence in him, and went away. And he came and told king Mahásena what he had done; he threw his arms round his neck, and hailed him as the preserver of his life and throne. And the next morning Vikramaśakti sent an ambassador to Mahásena, and after making peace with him, returned home with his army. But Mahásena conquered Somaka, and having obtained elephants and horses, returned to Ujjayiní a victor, thanks to Guṇaśarman. And while he was there, Guṇaśarman saved him from a crocodile while bathing in the river, and from the poison of a snake-bite while in his garden.
Then, after some days had passed, king Mahásena, having got together an army, went to attack his enemy Vikramaśakti. And that king, as soon as he heard of his approach, marched out to meet him in fight, and a great battle took place between the two. And in the course of it, the two kings met in single combat, and disabled one another’s chariots. Then, in their fury, they rushed forward sword in hand, and king Mahásena through carelessness stumbled and fell on the earth. Then the king Vikramaśakti tried to strike him on the ground, but Guṇaśarman cut off his arm with a discus, sword and all, and striking him again in the heart with an iron mace laid him low. And king Mahásena rose up, and was pleased when he saw his enemy dead, and said repeatedly to Guṇaśarman—“What am I to say? This is the fifth time that you have saved my life, heroic Bráhman.” Then Mahásena conquered the army and kingdom of Vikramaśakti, who had been slain by Guṇaśarman, and after overcoming other kings by the aid of Guṇaśarman, he returned to Ujjayiní and dwelt there in happiness.
But queen Aśokavatí did not cease from importunately soliciting Guṇaśarman day and night. But he would never consent to that crime; good men prefer death to immodest conduct. Then Aśokavatí, finding out that he was resolved, one day out of enmity to him affected to be unhappy, and remained with tearful countenance. Then Mahásena, coming in, and seeing her in that condition, said—“What is this, my beloved? Who has offended you? Tell me the name of the man whose life and property I am to take by way of punishment?” Then the unforgiving queen said with affected reluctance to the king, who had thus addressed her, “You have no power to punish the man who has injured me; he is not a man you can chastise, so what is the good of revealing the injury to no purpose?” When she said this, the king pressed her, and she said deceitfully—“My husband, if you are very anxious to know, listen, I will tell you. Guṇaśarman, who pretends to be a loyal servant,[3] made an agreement with the King of Gauḍa, and in order to get money from him, undertook to do you an injury. The wicked Bráhman secretly sent his confidential messenger to Gauḍa, to make the king hand over treasure and so on. Then a confidential servant, seeing the king despondent, said to him—‘I will manage this affair for you, do not waste your wealth.’ When the king of Gauḍa heard this, he had that messenger of Guṇaśarman’s cast into prison,[4]——
* * *
and the cook who was to administer the poison came here, carefully keeping the secret. In the meanwhile Guṇaśarman’s messenger escaped from prison, and came here to him. And he, knowing the whole story, revealed it all, and pointed out to Guṇaśarman[5] that cook, who had entered into our kitchen. Then that scoundrelly Bráhman detected the cook in the act of administering the poison, and denounced him to you, and so had him put to death. Then the mother and the wife and the younger brother of that cook came here to find out what had become of him, and the sagacious Guṇaśarman, finding it out, put to death his wife and mother, but his brother escaped somehow or other and entered my palace. While he was imploring my protection and telling me the whole story, Guṇaśarman entered my apartment. When the brother of that cook saw Guṇaśarman and heard his name, he went out and fled from my presence, whither I know not. Guṇaśarman, for his part, when he saw him who had been previously pointed out to him by his servants, was abashed and seemed to be thinking over something. And I, wanting to know what it was, said to him in private, ‘Guṇaśarman, why do you seem to be altered to-day?’ And he, being anxious to win me over to his side, as he was afraid of the matter being revealed, said to me—‘Queen, I am consumed with passion for you, so consent to my wishes, otherwise I cannot live; bestow on me life as a Bráhman’s fee.’ When he had said this, as the room was empty, he fell at my feet. Then I drew away my foot and rose up in bewilderment, and he, rising up, embraced me, a weak woman, by force. And my maid Pallaviká came in at that very moment. The instant he saw her, he fled out alarmed. If Pallaviká had not come in, the villain would certainly have outraged me.[6] This is the injury he has done me to-day.” When the queen had told this false tale, she stopped and wept. For in the beginning wicked women sprang from Lying Speech. And the moment the king heard it, he was all on fire with anger, for reliance upon the words of women destroys the discrimination even of the great. And he said to his dear wife, “Be comforted, fair one, I will certainly punish that traitor with death. But he must be slain by artifice, otherwise we might be disgraced, for it is well known that five times he has saved my life. And we must not proclaim abroad his crime of offering violence to you.” When the king said this to the queen, she answered—“If that crime may not be published, may that other one of his be published, that out of friendship for the king of Gauḍa he attempted treason against his master?” When she said this, he answered—“You are quite right”—and so king Mahásena went to his hall of audience.
Then all the kings, and princes, and barons came to visit the king. And in the meanwhile Guṇaśarman left his house to go to court, and on the way he saw many unfavourable omens. There was a crow on his left hand, a dog ran from the left to the right, a snake appeared on his right, and his left arm and shoulder throbbed.[7] He thought to himself, “These evil omens indicate calamity to me without doubt, so whatever happens to me, I hope no misfortune may befall the king my master.” With these thoughts he entered the hall of audience, and prayed loyally that nothing untoward might befall the palace. But when he bowed and took his seat, the king did not salute him as before, but looked askance at him with an eye glowing with anger. And when Guṇaśarman was alarmed as to what it might mean, the king rose up from the seat of justice, and sat at his side, and said to the astonished courtiers, “Hear what Guṇaśarman has done to me;[8] then Guṇaśarman said—“I am a servant, you are my master, so how can our suit be equal, ascend your seat of judgment, and afterwards give what order you like.” When the resolute man said this, the king, by the advice of the other ministers, ascended the seat of judgment, and said again to his courtiers—“You know, that I made this Guṇaśarman equal to myself, preferring him to my hereditary ministers. Now hear what treason he attempted to commit against me, after making an agreement with the king of Gauḍa by sending messengers to and fro.” After saying this, the king related to them all the fictitious account of the matter which Aśokavatí had given him. And the king also told to his confidential ministers, after dismissing the crowd, the lying tale of an attempt to outrage her, which she had told against Guṇaśarman. Then Guṇaśarman said—“King, who told you such a falsehood, who painted this aerial picture?” When the king heard that, he said, “Villain, if it is not true, how did you know that the poison was in the dish of rice?” When Guṇaśarman said—“Everything is known by wisdom,” the other ministers, out of hatred to him, said, “That is impossible.” Then Guṇaśarman said, “King, you have no right to speak thus without enquiring into the truth of the matter, and a king devoid of discrimination is not approved of by those who understand policy.” When he repeated this over and over again, the king exclaimed that he was an insolent wretch, and aimed a sword-cut at him. But he avoided that blow by employing his trick of fence, and then the other followers of the king struck at him. And he eluded their swords by his artifices of fence, and baffled the exertions of them all. And he fettered them, binding them with one another’s hair, shewing wonderful skill in the employment of his trick of disarming. And he made his way out by force from that hall of assembly of the king, and he killed about a hundred warriors, who pursued him. Then he put on his eyes that ointment serving to render him invisible, which he had in the corner of his garment, and immediately left that country without being seen. And he made towards the Dekhan, and as he was going along, he thus reflected on the way: “Surely that foolish king was set on by that Aśokavatí. Alas! women whose love is slighted are worse than poison! Alas! kings who do not investigate the truth are not to be served by the good!” While engaged in such reflections, Guṇaśarman came at last to a village, there he saw a worthy Bráhman under a banyan-tree teaching his pupils. He went up to him and hailed him. And the Bráhman, after welcoming him, immediately asked him, “O Bráhman, what recension of the Vedas do you recite, tell me.” Then Guṇaśarman answered that Bráhman,—“Bráhman, I recite twelve recensions, two of the Sámaveda, two of the Ṛigveda, seven of the Yajurveda, and one of the Atharvaveda.” Then the Bráhman said—“You must be a god,” and he went on to say to Guṇaśarman, whose shape revealed his excellence; “Tell me, what country and what family did you adorn by being born in them? What is your name and how did you learn so much?” When Guṇaśarman heard this, he said to him:
Story of Ádityaśarman the father of Guṇaśarman.
In the city of Ujjayiní there was a Bráhman’s son named Ádityaśarman, and when he was a child, his father died, and his mother entered the fire with her husband. Then Ádityaśarman grew up in that city, in his uncle’s house, reading the Vedas, and the books of knowledge, and also the treatises on accomplishments. And after he had acquired knowledge, and was engaged in a vow of muttering prayers, he struck up a friendship with a certain wandering hermit. That wandering hermit went with his friend Ádityaśarman, and performed a sacrifice in a cemetery to get a Yakshiṇí into his power. Then a heavenly maiden, beautifully adorned, appeared to him in a chariot of gold, surrounded with beautiful maidens. She said to him in a sweet voice, “Mendicant, I am a Yakshí named Vidyunmálá, and these others are Yakshiṇís. Take a suitable wife from my following according to your pleasure. So much have you obtained by your employment of spells; you have not discovered the perfect spell for obtaining me; so, as I am obtained by that only, do not take any further trouble to no purpose.” When the Yakshí said this to him, the mendicant consented, and chose one Yakshiṇí from her retinue. Then Vidyunmálá disappeared, and Ádityaśarman asked that Yakshiṇí, whom the hermit had obtained, “Is there any Yakshiṇí superior to Vidyunmálá?” When the Yakshiṇí heard that, she answered, “Yes, handsome man, there is. Vidyunmálá, Chandralekhá, and Sulochaná the third, are the best among the Yakshiṇís, and among these Sulochaná.” After saying that, the Yakshiṇí departed, to return at the appointed time; and the mendicant went with Ádityaśarman to his house. There the loving Yakshiṇí every day visited the hermit at the appointed time, and granted him all that he desired. One day Ádityaśarman asked her this question by the mouth of that mendicant: “Who knows the proper spell for attracting Sulochaná?” And the Yakshiṇí sent him this message by the mouth of the mendicant—“There is a place called Jambuvana in the south. There is a mendicant there, named Vishṇugupta, who has made his dwelling on the banks of the Veṇí; he is the best of Buddhist mendicants, and knows the spell at full length.” When Ádityaśarman learned this from the Yakshiṇí, he went in all eagerness to that country, followed by the mendicant out of love. There he duly searched for the Buddhist mendicant, and after he had approached him, he served him devotedly for three years, and waited upon him continually. And by the help of that Yakshiṇí, who was at the beck and call of the first mendicant, his friend, he provided him with heavenly luxuries, ministered seasonably. Then that Buddhist mendicant, being pleased, gave to that Ádityaśarman the spell for obtaining Sulochaná, which he desired, together with the prescribed rites to accompany it. Then Ádityaśarman, having obtained that spell, and having duly employed it, went into a solitary place and performed there the final sacrifice according to the prescribed ritual, leaving no ceremony out. Then the Yakshiṇí Sulochaná appeared to him in an air-chariot, with world-enchanting beauty, and said to him, “Come! come! I have been won by you, but you must not make me your wife for six months, great hero, if you wish to have by me a son, who will be a favourite of fortune, marked with auspicious marks, all-knowing and invincible.” When she said this, Ádityaśarman consented, and she took him off in her chariot to Alaká. And Ádityaśarman remained there, looking at her ever near him, with his suspense and doubts at an end, and performed for six months a vow as difficult as standing on the edge of a sword. Then the god of wealth, being pleased, himself gave that Sulochaná to Ádityaśarman according to a heavenly ritual. I was born as that Bráhman’s son by her, and I was named Guṇaśarman by my father on account of my good qualities. Then in that very place I learned in succession the Vedas, the sciences, and the accomplishments, from a prince of the Yakshas named Maṇidara.
Then, once upon a time, it happened that Indra came to the god of wealth, and all who sat there rose up when they saw him. But as Fate would have it, Ádityaśarman my father was at that time thinking of something else, and did not rise up in a hurry. Then Indra, being angry, cursed him, and said—“Out, fool! go to your own world of mortals, you are out of place here.” Then Sulochaná fell at his feet, and propitiated him, and Indra answered, “Then let him not go to the world of mortals himself, but let this son of his go, for one’s son is said to be a second self. Let not my word have been spoken in vain.” When Indra had said so much, he was satisfied. Then my father took me and deposited me in my uncle’s house in Ujjayiní. For what is ordained to be a man’s lot must be. There, as it happened, I struck up a friendship with the king of that place. And listen, I will tell you what happened to me there afterwards.