When Gomukha had said this, he remarked, “So strange are these actions of bad women, and the dispensations of Providence, and the conduct of mankind. Now hear this story of another woman who killed eleven.[4]
Story of the woman who had eleven husbands.
There was in Málava a certain householder, who lived in a village. He had born to him a daughter, who had two or three elder brothers. Now, as soon as she was born her mother died, and a few days after one of the man’s sons died. And then his brother was gored by an ox and died of it. So the householder named his daughter, “Three-slayer,” because owing to the birth of this ill-omened girl three had met their death.
In course of time she grew up, and then the son of a rich man, who lived in that village, asked her in marriage, and her father gave her to him with the usual rejoicings. She lived for some time with that husband, but he soon died. In a few days the fickle woman took another husband. And the second husband met his death in a short time. Then, led astray by her youthful feelings, she took a third husband. And the third husband of this husband-slayer died like the others. In this way she lost ten husbands in succession. So she got affixed to her by way of ridicule the name of “Ten-slayer.” Then her father was ashamed and would not let her take another husband, and she remained in her father’s house avoided by people. But one day a handsome young traveller entered it, and was allowed by her father to stop as his guest for a night. When Ten-slayer saw him, she fell in love with him, and when he looked at that charming young woman, he too was captivated. Then Love robbed her of her modesty, and she said to her father, “I choose this traveller as one husband more; if he dies I will then take a vow.” She said this in the hearing of the traveller, but her father answered her, “Do not think of such a thing, it is too disgraceful; you have lost ten husbands, and if this one dies too, people will laugh consumedly. When the traveller heard this, he abandoned all reserve, and said, “No chance of my dying, I have lost ten wives one after another. So we are on a par; I swear that it is so by the touch of the feet of Śiva.” When the traveller said this, every body was astonished. And the villagers assembled, and with one consent gave permission to Ten-slayer to marry the traveller, and she took him for her husband. And she lived some time with him, but at last he was seized with an ague and died. Then she was called “Eleven-slayer,” and even the stones could not help laughing at her: so she betook herself in despondency to the bank of the Ganges and lived the life of an ascetic.
The story of the man, who, thanks to Durgá, had always one ox.
When Gomukha had told this amusing story, he went on to say—“Hear also the story of the man who subsisted on one ox.”
There was a certain poor householder in a certain village; and the only wealth he had in his house was one ox. He was so mean-spirited that, though his family was on the point of perishing for want of food, and he himself had to fast, he could not make up his mind to part with that ox. But he went to the shrine of Durgá in the Vindhya hills, and throwing himself down on a bed of darbha-grass, he performed asceticism without taking food, in order that he might obtain wealth. The goddess said to him in a dream, “Rise up; your wealth shall always consist of one ox, and by selling it you shall live in perpetual comfort.” So the next morning he woke, and got up, took some food, and returned to his house. But even then he had not strength of mind to sell that ox, for he thought that, if he sold it, he would have nothing left in the world, and be unable to live. Then, as, thin with fasting, he told his dream with reference to the command of the goddess, a certain intelligent friend said to him, “The goddess told you that you should always have one ox, and that you should live by selling it, so why did you not, foolish man, obey the command of the goddess? So, sell this ox, and support your family. When you have sold this one, you will get another, and then another.” The villager, on receiving this suggestion from his friend, did so. And he received ox after ox, and lived in perpetual comfort by selling them.
“So you see, Destiny produces fruit for every man according to his resolution. So a man should be resolute; good fortune does not select for favour a man wanting in resolution. Hear now this story of the cunning rogue who passed himself off as a minister.”