Then a feast was made, and the king recovered his normal condition, and said in private to his minister,—“Did you observe the devotion of Kumudiká?” Then the minister said,—“I do not believe even now. You may be sure that there is some reason for her conduct, so we must wait to get to the bottom of the matter. But let us reveal to her who we are, in order that we may obtain a force granted by her, and another force supplied by your ally, and so smite our enemies in battle.” While he was saying this, the spy, that had been secretly sent out, returned, and when questioned, answered as follows; “Your enemies have overrun the country, and queen Śaśilekhá, having heard from the people a false report of your majesty’s death, has entered the fire.” When the king heard this, he was smitten by the thunderbolt of grief, and lamented—“Alas! my queen! Alas, chaste lady!”
Then Kumudiká at last came to know the truth, and after consoling the king Vikramasinha, she said to him; “Why did not the king give me the order long ago? Now punish your enemies with my wealth and my forces.” When she said this, the king augmented the force by means of her wealth, and repaired to a powerful king who was an ally of his. And he marched with his forces and those forces of his own, and after killing those five enemies in battle, he got possession of their kingdoms into the bargain. Then he was delighted, and said to Kumudiká who accompanied him; “I am pleased with you, so tell me what I can do to gratify you.” Then Kumudiká said—“If you are really pleased, my lord, then extract from my heart this one thorn that has long remained there. I have an affection for a Bráhman’s son, of the name of Śrídhara, in Ujjayiní, whom the king has thrown into prison for a very small fault, so deliver him out of the king’s hand. Because I saw by your royal marks, that your majesty was a glorious hero, and destined to be successful, and able to effect this object of mine, I waited on you with devoted attentions. Moreover, I ascended that pyre out of despair of attaining my object, considering that life was useless without that Bráhman’s son. When the hetæra said this, the king answered her; “I will accomplish it for you, fair one, do not despair.” After saying this, he called to mind his minister’s speech, and thought—“Anantaguṇa was right, when he said that hetæræ were not to be depended upon. But I must gratify the wish of this miserable creature.” Thus resolved, he went with his troops to Ujjayiní, and after getting Śrídhara set at liberty, and giving him much wealth, he made Kumudiká happy by uniting her with her beloved there. And after returning to his city, he never disobeyed the advice of his minister, and so in time he came to enjoy the whole earth.
“So you see, the hearts of hetæræ are fathomless and hard to understand.”
Then Gomukha stopped, after he had told this story. But then Tapantaka said in the presence of Naraváhanadatta—“Prince, you must never repose any confidence at all in women, for they are all light, even those that, being married or unmarried, dwell in their father’s house, as well as those that are hetæræ by profession. I will tell you a wonder which happened in this very place, hear it.
Story of the faithless wife who burnt herself with her husband’s body.
There was a merchant in this very city named Balavarman, and he had a wife named Chandraśrí, and she beheld from a window a handsome merchant’s son, of the name of Śílahara, and she sent her female friend to invite him to her house, and there she used to have assignations with him in secret. And while she was in the habit of meeting him there every day, her attachment to him was discovered by all her friends and relations. But her husband Balavarman was the only one who did not discover that she was unchaste; very often men blinded by affection do not discover the wickedness of their wives.
Then a burning fever seized Balavarman, and the merchant consequently was soon reduced to a very low state. But, though he was in this state, his wife went every day to her friend’s house, to meet her paramour. And the next day, while she was there, her husband died. And on hearing of it she returned, quickly taking leave of her lover. And out of grief for her husband, she ascended the pyre with his body, being firmly resolved, though her attendants, who knew her character, tried to dissuade her.[1]
“Thus is the way of a woman’s heart truly hard to understand. They fall in love with strange men, and die when separated from their husbands.” When Tapantaka said this, Hariśikha said in his turn, “Have you not heard what happened in this way to Devadása?”