[10] The reading should be Makarakaṭyevam.
[11] There is a certain resemblance between this story and the Xth Novel of the VIIIth day in Boccacio’s Decameron. Dunlop traces Boccacio’s story to the Disciplina Clericalis of Petrus Alphonsus (c. 16). It is also found in the Arabian Nights (story of Ali Khoja, the merchant of Baghdad) in the Gesta Romanorum (c. 118), and in the Cento Novelle Antiche (No. 74), see also Fletcher’s Rule a Wife and have a Wife. (Dunlop’s History of Fiction, p. 56, Liebrecht’s German translation, p. 247).
[12] An elaborate pun.
Chapter LVIII.
When Marubhúti had thus illustrated the untrustworthy character of hetæræ, the wise Gomukha told this tale of Kumudiká, the lesson of which was the same.
Story of king Vikramasinha, the hetæra, and the young Bráhman.
There was in Pratishṭhána a king named Vikramasinha, who was made by Providence a lion in courage, so that his name expressed his nature. He had a queen of lofty lineage, beautiful and beloved, whose lovely form was her only ornament, and she was called Śaśilekhá. Once on a time, when he was in his city, five or six of his relations combined together, and going to his palace, surrounded him. Their names were Mahábhaṭa, Vírabáhu, Subáhu, Subhaṭa and Pratápáditya, all powerful kings. The king’s minister was proceeding to try the effect of conciliation on them, but the king set him aside, and went out to fight with them. And when the two armies had begun to exchange showers of arrows, the king himself entered the fray, mounted on an elephant, confiding in his might. And when the five kings, Mahábhaṭa and the others, saw him, seconded only by his bow, dispersing the army of his enemies, they all attacked him together. And as the numerous force of the five kings made an united charge, the force of Vikramasinha, being inferior in number, was broken. Then his minister Anantaguṇa, who was at his side, said, “Our force is routed for the present, there is no chance of victory to-day, and you would engage in this conflict with an overwhelming force in spite of my advice, so now at the last moment do what I recommend you, in order that the affair may turn out prosperously; come now, descend from your elephant, and mount a horse, and let us go to another country; if you live, you will conquer your enemies on some future occasion.” When the minister said this, the king readily got down from his elephant, and mounted on a horse, and left his army in company with him. And in course of time, the king, in disguise, reached with his minister the city of Ujjayiní. There he entered with his minister the house of a hetæra, named Kumudiká, renowned for her wealth; and she, seeing him suddenly entering the house, thought, “This is a distinguished hero that has come to my house: and his majesty and the marks on his body shew him to be a great king, so my desire is sure to be attained if I can make him my instrument.” Having thus reflected, Kumudiká rose up and welcomed him, and entertained him hospitably, and immediately she said to the king, who was wearied,—“I am fortunate, to-day the good deeds of my former life have borne fruit, in that Your Majesty has hallowed my house by coming to it in person. So by this favour Your Majesty has made me your slave. The hundred elephants, and two myriads of horses, and house full of jewels, which belong to me, are entirely at your majesty’s disposal.” Having said this, she provided the king and his minister with baths and other luxuries, all in magnificent style.
Then the wearied king lived in her palace, at his ease, with her, who put her wealth at his disposal. He consumed her substance and gave it away to petitioners, and she did not show any anger against him on that account, but was rather pleased at it. Thereupon the king was delighted, thinking that she was really attached to him, but his minister Anantaguṇa, who was with him, said to him in secret: “Your majesty, hetæræ are not to be depended upon, though, I must confess, I cannot guess the reason why Kumudiká shews you love.” When the king heard this speech of his, he answered him: “Do not speak thus; Kumudiká would even lay down her life for my sake. If you do not believe it, I will give you a convincing proof.” After the king had said this to his minister, he adopted this artifice; he took little to eat and little to drink, and so gradually attenuated his body, and at last he made himself as dead, without movement, prostrate on the ground. Then his attendants put him on a bier, and carried him to the burning-ghat with lamentations, while Anantaguṇa affected a grief which he did not feel. And Kumudiká, out of grief, came and ascended the funeral pyre with him, though her relations tried to prevent her. But before the fire was lighted, the king, perceiving that Kumudiká had followed him, rose up with a yawn. And all his attendants took him home with Kumudiká to his lodging, exclaiming, “Fortunate is it that our king has been restored to life.”