[17] Prayága—Allahabad, the place of sacrifice κατ’ ἐξοχην. Here the Gangá and Yamuná unite with the supposed subterranean Sarasvatí.
Chapter LIII.
Then, on the next day, Naraváhanadatta’s friend Marubhúti said to him, when he was in the company of Alankáravatí—“See, king, this miserable dependent[1] of yours remains clothed with one garment of leather, with matted hair, thin and dirty, and never leaves the royal gate, day or night, in cold or heat; so why do you not shew him favour at last? For it is better that a little should be given in time, than much when it is too late; so have mercy on him before he dies.” When Gomukha heard this, he said—“Marubhúti speaks well, but you, king, are not the least in fault in this matter; for until a suitor’s guilt, which stands in his way, is removed, a king, even though disposed to give, cannot give; but when a man’s guilt is effaced, a king gives, though strenuously dissuaded from doing so; this depends upon works in a previous state of existence. And à propos of this, I will tell you, O king, the story of Lakshadatta the king, and Labdhadatta the dependent; listen.”
Story of king Lakshadatta and his dependent Labdhadatta.[2]
There was on the earth a city named Lakshapura. In it there lived a king named Lakshadatta, chief of generous men. He never knew how to give a petitioner less than a lac of coins, but he gave five lacs to any one with whom he conversed. As for the man with whom he was pleased, he lifted him out of poverty, for this reason his name was called Lakshadatta. A certain dependent named Labdhadatta stood day and night at his gate, with a piece of leather for his only loin-rag. He had matted hair, and he never left the king’s gate for a second, day or night, in cold, rain, or heat, and the king saw him there. And, though he remained there long in misery, the king did not give him anything, though he was generous and compassionate.
Then, one day the king went to a forest to hunt, and his dependent followed him with a staff in his hand. There, while the king seated on an elephant, armed with a bow, and followed by his army, slew tigers, bears, and deer, with showers of arrows, his dependent, going in front of him, alone on foot, slew with his staff many boars and deer. When the king saw his bravery, he thought in his heart—“It is wonderful that this man should be such a hero,” but he did not give him anything. And the king, when he had finished his hunting, returned home to his city, to enjoy himself, but that dependent stood at his palace-gate as before. Once on a time, Lakshadatta went out to conquer a neighbouring king of the same family, and he had a terrible battle. And in the battle the dependent struck down in front of him many enemies, with blows from the end of his strong staff of acacia wood. And the king, after conquering his enemies, returned to his own city, and though he had seen the valour of his dependent, he gave him nothing. In this condition the dependent Labdhadatta remained, and many years passed over his head, while he supported himself with difficulty.
And when the sixth year had come, king Lakshadatta happened to see him one day, and feeling pity for him, reflected—“Though he has been long afflicted, I have not as yet given him anything, so why should I not give him something in a disguised form, and so find out whether the guilt of this poor man has been effaced, or not, and whether even now Fortune will grant him a sight of her, or not.” Thus reflecting, the king deliberately entered his treasury, and filled a citron with jewels, as if it were a casket. And he held an assembly of all his subjects, having appointed a meeting outside his palace, and there entered the assembly all his citizens, chiefs, and ministers. And when the dependent entered among them, the king said to him with an affectionate voice, “Come here;” then the dependent, on hearing this, was delighted, and coming near, he sat in front of the king. Then the king said to him—“Utter some composition of your own.” Then the dependent recited the following Áryá verse—“Fortune ever replenishes the full man, as all the streams replenish the sea, but she never even comes within the range of the eyes of the poor.” When the king had heard this, and had made him recite it again, he was pleased, and gave him the citron full of valuable jewels. And the people said, “This king puts a stop to the poverty of every one with whom he is pleased; so this dependent is to be pitied, since this very king, though pleased with him, after summoning him politely, has given him nothing but this citron; a wishing-tree, in the case of ill-starred men, often becomes a paláśa-tree.”[3] These were the words which all in the assembly said to one another in their despondency, when they saw that, for they did not know the truth.
But the dependent went out, with the citron in his hand, and when he was in a state of despondency, a mendicant came before him. And that mendicant, named Rájavandin, seeing that the citron was a fine one, obtained it from that dependent by giving him a garment. And then the mendicant entered the assembly, and gave that fruit to the king, and the king, recognizing it, said to that hermit,[4] “Where, reverend sir, did you procure this citron.” Then he told the king that the dependent had given it to him. Then the king was grieved and astonished, reflecting that his guilt was not expiated even now. The king Lakshadatta took the citron, rose up from the assembly, and performed the duties of the day. And the dependent sold the garment, and after he had eaten and drunk, remained at his usual post at the king’s gate.