[6] Cp. the story of the Porter and the Ladies of Baghdad in the Arabian Nights. (Lane’s translation, Vol. I, page 129.) The bitches are solemnly beaten in the same way as the mare in our story. They are the sisters of the lady who beats them.
[7] Professor Cowell informs me that there is a passage in the Śankara Dig Vijaya which explains this. A seer by means of this vidyá gains a life equivalent to 11 years of Brahmá. It seems to be a life-prolonging charm.
Chapter LXIX.
Then Naraváhanadatta, having obtained that new bride Lalitalochaná, sported with her on that very Malaya mountain, delightful on account of the first burst of spring, in various forest purlieus adorned with flowering trees.
And in one grove his beloved, in the course of gathering flowers, disappeared out of his sight into a dense thicket, and while he was wandering on, he saw a great tank with clear water, that, on account of the flowers fallen from the trees on its bank, resembled the heaven studded with stars.[1]
And he thought—“I will wait until my beloved, who is gathering flowers, returns to me; and in the meanwhile I will bathe in this lake and rest for a little upon its bank.” So he bathed and worshipped the gods, and then he sat down on a slab of rock in the shade of a sandal-wood tree. While sitting there he thought of his beloved Madanamanchuká, who was so far off, beholding the gait of the female swans that rivalled hers, and hearing the singing of the female cuckoos in the mango-creepers that equalled hers, and seeing the eyes of the does that recalled hers to his mind. And as soon as he recollected her, the fire of love sprang up in his breast, and tortured him so that he fainted; and at that moment a glorious hermit came there to bathe, whose name was Piśangajaṭa. He, seeing the prince in such a state, sprinkled him with sandal-water, refreshing as the touch of his beloved. Then he recovered consciousness and bowed before the hermit. But the hermit said to him, “My son, in order that you may obtain your wish, acquire endurance. For by means of that quality every thing is acquired, and in order that you may understand this, come to my hermitage and hear the story of Mṛigánkadatta, if you have not already heard it. When the hermit had said this, he bathed and took the prince to his hermitage, and quickly performed his daily prayers. And Piśangajaṭa entertained him there with fruits, and ate fruits himself, and then he began to tell him this tale of Mṛigánkadatta.
Story of Mṛigánkadatta.[2]
There is a city of the name of Ayodhyá famous in the three worlds. In it there lived in old time a king named Amaradatta. He was of resplendent brightness, and he had a wife named Surataprabhá, who was as closely knit to him as the oblation to the fire.[3] By her there was born to him a son named Mṛigánkadatta, who was adored for his ten million virtues, as his bow was bent by the string reaching the notches.[4]