The adventures of Bhímaparákrama after his separation from the prince.
When I was separated from you by the curse of the Nága, I wandered about in the wood until I reached a śalmali tree.[4] And I saw an image representing Gaṇeśa carved in the tree, which I worshipped, and then I sat down at the foot of the tree being tired, and I said to myself, “All this mischief has been brought about by me, by telling my master that time the incident of the Vetála which took place at night. So I will abandon here this my sinful body.” In this frame of mind I remained there, fasting, in front of the god. And after some days an old traveller came that way, and sat in the shade of that tree. And the good man, seeing me, questioned me with much persistence, saying, “Why do you remain in this solitary place, my son, with such a downcast face?” Then I told him my story, exactly as it took place, and the old traveller kindly said to me, to encourage me; “Why, being a man, are you killing yourself like a woman? Moreover, even women do not lose their courage in calamity; hear the following tale in proof of it.”
Story of Kamalákara and Hansávalí.
In the city of Kośala there was a king, named Vimalákara, and he had a son named Kamalákara, who was made by the Creator admirable in respect of the qualities of courage, beauty and generosity, as if to outdo Skanda, Kandarpa, and the wishing-tree of heaven. Then one day a bard, whom he had known before, came and recited a certain stanza in the presence of that prince, who deserved to be praised by bards in all the regions of the world. “Where can the row of swans[5] obtain satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed,[6] round which sings a host of many noisy birds[7] delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower[8]?” When the bard, named Manorathasiddhi, had frequently recited this stanza, prince Kamalákara questioned him, and he said to him: “Prince, as I was roaming about, I reached the city of king Meghamálin, named Vidiśá, the pleasure-ground of the goddess of prosperity. There I was staying in the house of a professor of singing, named Dardura, and one day he happened to say to me, ‘To-morrow the daughter of the king, named Hansávalí, will exhibit in his presence her skill in dancing, which she has lately been taught.’ When I heard that, I was filled with curiosity, and managed to enter the king’s palace with him the following day, and went into the dancing-hall. There I saw the slender-waisted princess Hansávalí dancing before her father, to the music of a great tabor, looking like a creeper of the tree of Love agitated by the wind of youth, shaking her ornaments like flowers, curving her hand like a shoot. Then I thought, ‘There is no one fitted to be the husband of this fawn-eyed one, except the prince Kamalákara; so, if she, being such, is not joined to him, why has the god of love taken the trouble of stringing his bow of flowers thus fruitlessly? So I will adopt some expedient in this matter.’ Thus minded I went, after I had seen the spectacle, to the door of the king’s court, and I put up a notice with this inscription on it; ‘If there is any painter here, who is a match for me, let him paint a picture.’ When no one else dared to tear it down, the king coming to hear of it, appointed me to paint his daughter’s bower. Then I painted you and your servants, prince Kamalákara, on the wall of the bower of that Hansávalí.
“I thought to myself, ‘If I declare the matter openly, she will know that I am scheming, so I will let the princess know it by means of an artifice.’ So I persuaded a handsome fellow, who was an intimate friend of mine, to come near the palace, and pretend to be mad, and I arranged with him beforehand how he was to behave. Now he was seen a long way off by the princes, as he was roaming about singing and dancing, and they had him brought into their presence to make game of him. Then Hansávalí saw him, and had him brought by way of a joke into her bower, and, when he saw the picture of you, which I had painted there, he began to praise you, saying, ‘I am fortunate in beholding this Kamalákara, who is, like Vishṇu, an endless store of virtues, with his hand marked with the lotus and conch, the object of the favour of the goddess of Fortune.’ When the princess heard him singing such songs, as he danced, she said to me, ‘What does this fellow mean? Who is it that you have painted here?’ When she asked me this persistently, I said, ‘This mad fellow must have previously seen this prince, whom I have painted here out of regard for his beauty.’ And then I told her your name, and described to her your good qualities. Then the young tree of passion grew up in the heart of Hansávalí, which was irrigated by the overflowing streams of gushing love for you. Then the king her father came and saw what was going on, and in wrath had the pretended madman, who was dancing, and myself, both turned out of doors. After that she pined away day by day with longing, and was reduced to such a state that, like a streak of the moon during the wane, she had only her beauty left. And on the pretence of illness she went to a temple of Vishṇu that dispels calamity, and so managed to live a solitary life by the permission of her father. And being unable to sleep, owing to thinking on you, she could not endure the cruel moonlight, and remained there ignorant of the changes of day and night. Then she saw me one day from a window, as I was entering there, and she summoned me, and honoured me respectfully with dresses and ornaments.[9] And then I went out, and saw this stanza which I have repeated to you written on the border of a garment that she had given me: hear it again; ‘Where can the row of swans obtain satisfaction, until it reaches the lotus-bed, round which sings a host of many noisy birds delighted at obtaining the lotus-flower.’ And when I read it, I knew for certain how she felt towards you, and I came here to inform you and recited the stanza in your presence, and here is the garment on which she wrote the stanza.” When Kamalákara heard the speech of the bard, and saw the stanza, he joyed exceedingly, thinking on Hansávalí, who had entered his heart, he knew not whether by eye or ear.
Now it happened that, while he was thinking with eager longing about the best means of obtaining this princess, his father summoned him and said to him; “My son, unenterprising kings perish like snakes arrested by a charm, and how can kings rise up again when they have once perished? But you have been addicted to pleasures, and up to the present time you have not been visited by any longing for conquest; so arouse yourself, and fling off sloth; advance and conquer that enemy of mine the king of Anga, who has left his own country on an enterprise against me, and I will remain at home. When the brave Kamalákara heard this, he agreed to undertake the enterprise, being desirous of marching towards the country of his beloved. Then he set out with the forces which his father assigned him, making the earth and the hearts of his enemies tremble. And he reached in a few marches the army of the king of Anga, and when that prince turned round to make a counter-attack, he fought with him. And the brave hero drank up his army, as Agastya did the water of the sea, and being victorious, captured the king alive. And he sent that enemy in chains to his father, committing him to the care of the principal warder in accordance with a letter, which he sent with him. But he commissioned the warder to give the following message by word of mouth to the king, “I now leave this place, my father, to conquer other enemies.” So he went on conquering other enemies, and with his army augmented by their forces, he at last arrived in the vicinity of the city of Vidiśá.
And encamping there he sent an ambassador to Meghamálin the father of Hansávalí, to ask for her in marriage. When that king learnt from the ambassador that he had come, not as an enemy, but for the sake of his daughter, he paid a friendly visit to him in person. The prince welcomed him; and Meghamálin, after he had complimented the prince, said to him, “Why did you take the trouble of coming in person about a business which might have been negotiated by an ambassador? For I desire this marriage; hear the reason. Seeing that this Hansávalí was even in her childhood devoted to the worship of Vishṇu, and that she had a frame delicate as a śirísha, I became anxious about her, and kept saying to myself, ‘Who will be a fitting husband for this girl.’ And, as I could not think of a suitable husband for her, I was deprived of sleep by my anxiety about the matter, and contracted a violent fever. And in order to allay it, I worshipped and petitioned Vishṇu, and one night, when I was only able to sleep a little on account of pain, Vishṇu said to me in a dream, ‘Let that Hansávalí, on account of whom you have contracted this fever, touch you with her hand, my son, then your fever will be allayed. For her hand is so holy from worshipping me, that whenever she touches any one with it, his fever, even though incurable, will certainly pass away. And you need have no more anxiety about her marriage, since prince Kamalákara is destined to be her husband. But she will endure some misery for a short time.’ When I had been thus instructed by Vishṇu in a dream, I woke up at the end of the night. Then my fever was removed by the touch of Hansávalí’s hand. And so the union of you two is appointed by the god. Accordingly I bestow on you Hansávalí.” When he had said this, he had an auspicious moment fixed for the marriage and returned to his capital.
There he told all that he had done, and when Hansávalí had heard it, she said in secret to her confidante, named Kanakamanjarí, “Go and see with your own eyes whether that prince, to whom I am to be given, is the same as he, who, when painted here by the artist, captivated my heart. For it is just possible that my father may wish, out of fear, to bestow me as a gift on some prince of the same name, that has come here with an army.” With these words she sent off Kanakamanjarí, acting in accordance with her own will only.