Thus Naraváhanadatta, the son of the king of Vatsa, remained in Kauśámbí in happiness, with his wives, and his ministers. And one day, when he was present, a merchant living in the city, came to make a representation to his father, as he was sitting on his throne. That merchant, of the name of Ratnadatta, entered, announced by the warder, and bowing before the king, said as follows: “O king, there is a poor porter here, of the name of Vasundhara; and suddenly he is found of late to be eating, drinking, and bestowing alms. So, out of curiosity, I took him to my house, and gave him food and drink to his heart’s content, and when I had made him drunk. I questioned him, and he gave me this answer, ‘I obtained from the door of the king’s palace a bracelet with splendid jewels, and I picked out one jewel and sold it. And I sold it for a lakh of dínárs to a merchant named Hiraṇyagupta; this is how I come to be living in comfort at present.” When he had said this, he shewed me that bracelet, which was marked with the king’s name, and therefore I have come to inform your majesty of the circumstance.” When the king of Vatsa heard that, he had the porter and the merchant of precious jewels summoned with all courtesy, and when he saw the bracelet, he said of himself; “Ah! I remember, this bracelet slipped from my arm when I was going round the city.” And the courtiers asked the porter, “Why did you, when you had got hold of a bracelet marked with the king’s name, conceal it?” He replied, “I am one who gets his living by carrying burdens, and how am I to know the letters of the king’s name? When I got hold of it, I appropriated it, being burnt up with the misery of poverty.” When he said this, the jewel-merchant, being reproached for keeping the jewel, said—“I bought it in the market, without putting any pressure on the man, and there was no royal mark upon it, though now it is said that it belongs to the king. And he has taken five thousand of the price, the rest is with me.” When Yaugandharáyaṇa, who was present, heard this speech of Hiraṇyagupta’s, he said—“No one is in fault in this matter. What can we say against the porter who does not know his letters? Poverty makes men steal, and who ever gave up what he had found? And the merchant who bought it from him cannot be blamed.” The king when he heard this decision of his prime minister’s, approved it. And he took back his jewel from the merchant, paying him the five thousand dínárs, which had been spent by the porter, and he set the porter at liberty, after taking back his bracelet, and he, having consumed his five thousand, went free from anxiety to his own house. And the king, though in the bottom of his heart he hated that merchant Ratnadatta, as being a man who ruined those that reposed confidence in him, honoured him for his service. When they had all departed, Vasantaka came before the king, and said, “Ah! when men are cursed by destiny, even the wealth they obtain departs, for the incident of the inexhaustible pitcher has happened to this porter.”
Story of the inexhaustible pitcher.[3]
For you must know that there lived long ago, in the city of Páṭaliputra, a man of the name of Śubhadatta, and he every day carried in a load of wood from the forest, and sold it, and so maintained his household. Now one day he went to a distant forest, and, as it happened, he saw there four Yakshas with heavenly ornaments and dresses. The Yakshas, seeing he was terrified, kindly asked him of his circumstances, and finding out that he was poor, they conceived pity for him, and said—“Remain here as a servant in our house, we will support your family for you without trouble on your part.” When Śubhadatta heard that, he agreed, and remained with them, and he supplied them with requisites for bathing and performed other menial offices for them. When the time for eating came, those Yakshas said to him—“Give us food from this inexhaustible pitcher.” But he hesitated, seeing that it was empty, and then the Yakshas again said to him, smiling—“Śubhadatta, do you not understand? Put your hand in the pitcher, and you will obtain whatever you want, for this is a pitcher that supplies whatever is required.” When he heard that, he put his hand in the pitcher, and immediately he beheld all the food and drink that could be required. And Śubhadatta out of that store supplied them and ate himself.
Thus waiting on the Yakshas every day with devotion and awe, Śubhadatta remained in their presence anxious about his family. But his sorrowing family was comforted by them in a dream, and this kindness on their part made him happy. At the termination of one month the Yakshas said to him, “We are pleased with this devotion of yours, we will grant you a boon, say what it shall be.” When he heard that, he said to them, “Then give me this inexhaustible pitcher.” Then the Yakshas said to him, “You will not be able to keep it, for, if broken, it departs at once, so choose some other boon.” Though they warned him in these words, Śubhadatta would not choose any other boon, so they gave him that inexhaustible pitcher. Then Śubhadatta bowed before them delighted, and, taking that pitcher, quickly returned to his house, to the joy of his relations. Then he took out of that pitcher food and drink, and in order to conceal the secret, he placed them in other vessels, and consumed them with his relations. And as he gave up carrying burdens, and enjoyed all kinds of delights, his kinsmen one day said to him, when he was drunk; “How did you manage to acquire the means of all this enjoyment?” He was too much puffed up with pride to tell them plainly, but taking the wish-granting pitcher on his shoulder, he began to dance.[4] And as he was dancing, the inexhaustible pitcher slipped from his shoulder, as his feet tripped with over-abundance of intoxication, and falling on the ground, was broken in pieces. And immediately it was mended again, and reverted to its original possessors, but Śubhadatta was reduced to his former condition, and filled with despondency.
“So you see that these unfortunate persons, whose intellects are destroyed with the vice of drinking, and other vices, and with infatuation, cannot keep wealth, even when they have obtained it.” When the king of Vatsa had heard this amusing story of the inexhaustible pitcher, he rose up, and bathed, and set about the other duties of the day. And Naraváhanadatta also bathed, and took food with his father, and at the end of the day went with his friends to his own house. There he went to bed at night, but could not sleep, and Marubhúti said to him in the hearing of the ministers: “I know, it is love of a slave-girl that prevents your summoning your wives, and you have not summoned the slave-girl, so you cannot sleep. But why in spite of your better knowledge do you still fall in love with hetæræ? For they have no goodness of character; in proof that they have not, hear the following tale:”
Story of the merchant’s son, the hetæra, and the wonderful ape Ála.
There is in this country a great and opulent city named Chitrakúṭa. In it there lived a merchant named Ratnavarman, a prince among the wealthy. He had one son born to him by propitiating Śiva, and he gave that son the name of Íśvaravarman. After he had studied the sciences, his father the rich merchant, who had no other son but him, seeing that he was on the verge of manhood, said to himself: “Providence has created in this world that fair and frail type of woman, the hetæra, to steal the wealth and life of rich young men blinded with the intoxication of youth. So I will entrust my son to some kuṭṭiní, in order that he may learn the tricks of the hetæræ and not be deceived by them.” Having thus reflected, he went with his son Íśvaravarman to the house of a certain kuṭṭiní, whose name was Yamajihvá. There he saw that kuṭṭiní, with massive jaw, and long teeth, and snub nose, instructing her daughter in the following words—“Every one is valued on account of wealth, a hetæra especially; and hetæræ who fall in love do not obtain wealth, therefore a hetæra should abandon passion. For rosy red, love’s proper hue, is the harbinger of eclipse to the hetæra as to the evening twilight; a properly trained hetæra should exhibit love without sincerity, like a well-trained actress. With that she should gain a man’s affections, then she should extract from him all his wealth, when he is ruined, she should finally abandon him, but if he should recover his wealth, she should take him back into favour. A hetæra, like a hermit, is the same towards a young man, a child, an old man, a handsome man, and a deformed man, and so she always attains the principal object of existence.”[5] While the kuṭṭiní was delivering this lesson to her daughter, Ratnavarman approached her, and after she had welcomed him, he took a seat by her side. And he said to her—“Reverend mother, teach my son this skill of the hetæra, in order that he may become clever in it. And I will give you a thousand dínárs by way of recompense.” When the kuṭṭiní heard his desire, she consented, and he paid the dínárs, and made over his son Íśvaravarman to her, and then returned home.
Then Íśvaravarman, in the course of one year, learned in the house of Yamajihvá all the graceful accomplishments, and then returned to his father’s house. And after he had attained sixteen years, he said to his father—“Wealth gives us religion and love, wealth gives us consideration and renown.” When his father heard this, he exclaimed in approval, “It is even so,” and being delighted, he gave him five crores by way of capital. The son took it, and set out on an auspicious day with a caravan, with the object of journeying to Svarṇadvípa. And on the way he reached a town named Kánchanapura, and there he encamped in a garden, at a short distance outside the town. And after bathing and anointing himself, the young man entered the town, and went to a temple to see a spectacle. And there he saw a dancing-girl, of the name of Sundarí, dancing, like a wave of the sea of beauty[6] tossed up by the wind of youth. And the moment he saw her, he became so devoted to her, that the instructions of the kuṭṭiní fled far from him, as if in anger. At the end of the dance, he sent a friend to solicit her, and she bowed and said—“I am highly favoured.” And Íśvaravarman left vigilant guards in his camp, to watch over his treasure, and went himself to the house of that Sundarí. And when he came, her mother, named Makarakaṭí, honoured him with the various rites of hospitality which became the occasion. And at nightfall she introduced him into a chamber with a canopy of flashing jewels and a bed. There he passed the night with Sundarí,[7] whose name expressed her nature, and who was skilled in all movements of the dance. And the next day he could not bring himself to part from her, as she shewed great affection for him, and never left his side. And the young merchant gave her twenty-five lakhs of gold and jewels in those two days. But Sundarí, with a false affectation of disinterestedness, refused to take them, saying—“I have obtained much wealth, but I never found a man like you; since I have obtained you, what should I do with wealth?” But her mother Makarakaṭí, whose only child she was, said to her, “Henceforth, whatever wealth belongs to us, is as much his as his own property, so take it, my daughter, as a contribution to our common stock, what harm is there in that?” When Sundarí’s mother said this to her, she took it with affected unwillingness, and the foolish Íśvaravarman thought she was really in love with him. While the merchant remained in her house, charmed by her beauty, her dancing, and singing, two months passed, and in course of time he bestowed upon her two crores.