Story of Vichitrakatha’s adventures after his separation from the prince.
At that time, when you were dispersed in all directions by the curse of Párávatáksha, I too in my bewilderment wandered about alone for a long time. And after I had roamed far, still unconscious, I suddenly reached in the course of the next day, when I was tired out, a great and heavenly town on the outskirts of the forest. There a godlike being, accompanied by two consorts, beheld me, and had me bathed with cool water, and restored my strength. And he made me enter his city, and carefully fed me with heavenly food, then he ate himself, and those two wives of his ate after him. And after the meal,[1] being refreshed, I said to him, “Who are you, sir, and why have you thus saved the life of me who am resolved on death? For I must certainly abandon the body, as I have lost my master.” When I had said this, I told him my whole story. Then that noble and kind being said to me, “I am a Yaksha, these are my wives, and you have come here to-day as my guest, and you know that it is the duty of householders to honour guests to the utmost of their power. I have accordingly welcomed you. But why do you wish to abandon the body? For this separation of yours is due to the curse of a Nága, and will last only a short time. And you will certainly be all re-united, when the curse pronounced on you has spent its force. And reflect, my good man; who is born free from sorrow in this world? Hear what sorrow I have gone through, though I am a Yaksha.”
Story of Śrídarśana.
There is a city named Trigartá, the garland that adorns the head of this bride the earth, strung with virtues as with flowers.[2] In it there lived a young Bráhman named Pavitradhara, who was himself poor in worldly wealth, but rich in relations, high birth, and other advantages. That high-spirited Bráhman, living in the midst of rich people, reflected,—“Though I live up to the rules of my caste, I do not cut a good figure in the midst of these rich people, like a word without meaning[3] among the words of some splendid poem; and being a man of honour, I cannot have recourse to service or donations. So I will go into some out-of-the-way place and get into my power a Yakshiṇí,[4] for my spiritual teacher taught me a charm for accomplishing this.” Having formed this resolution, the Bráhman Pavitradhara went to the forest, and according to the prescribed method he won for himself a Yakshiṇí, named Saudáminí. And when he had won her, he lived united with her, like a banyan-tree, that has tided through a severe winter, united to the glory of spring. One day the Yakshiṇí, seeing her husband Pavitradhara in a state of despondency, because no son had been born to him, thus addressed him, “Do not be despondent, my husband, for a son shall be born to us. And now hear this story which I am about to tell you.”
Story of Saudáminí.
There is on the confines of the southern region a range of tamála forests, dark with clouds that obscure the sun, looking like the home of the monsoon. In it dwells a famous Yaksha of the name of Pṛithúdara, and I am his only daughter, Saudáminí by name. My loving father led me from one mighty mountain to another, and I was for ever amusing myself in heavenly gardens.
And one day, as I was sporting on mount Kailása with my friend Kapiśabhrú, I saw a young Yaksha named Aṭṭahása. He too, as he stood among his companions, beheld me; and immediately our eyes were mutually attracted by one another’s beauty. When my father saw that, and ascertained that the match would be no mésalliance, he summoned Aṭṭahása, and arranged our marriage. And after he had fixed an auspicious day, he took me home, but Aṭṭahása returned to his home with his friends in high spirits. But the next day my friend Kapiśabhrú came to me with a downcast air, and when I questioned her, she was at length induced to say this; “Friend, I must tell you this bad news, though it is a thing which should not be told. As I was coming to-day, I saw your betrothed Aṭṭahása in a garden named Chitrasthala, on a plateau of the Himálayas, full of longing for you. And his friends, in order to amuse him, made him in sport king of the Yakshas, and they made his brother Díptaśikha personate Naḍakúvara his son, and they themselves became his ministers. While your beloved was being solaced in this way by his friends, Naḍakúvara, who was roaming at will through the air, saw him. And the son of the king of wealth, being enraged at what he saw, summoned him, and cursed him in the following words; ‘Since, though a servant, you desire to pose as a lord, become a mortal, you villain! As you wish to mount, fall!’ When he laid this curse on Aṭṭahása, he answered despondingly, ‘Prince, I foolishly did this to dispel my longing, not through aspiring to any lofty rank, so have mercy upon me.’ When Naḍakúvara heard this sorrowful speech of his, he ascertained by meditation that the case was so, and said to him by way of fixing an end for the curse, ‘You shall become a man, and beget on that Yakshiṇí, with whom you are in love, your younger brother Díptaśikha by way of son,[5] and so you shall be delivered from your curse, and obtain your own rank once more, together with your wife, and this brother of yours shall be born as your son, and after he has reigned on earth, he shall be released from his curse.’ When the son of the god of wealth had said this, Aṭṭahása disappeared somewhere or other by virtue of the curse. And when I saw that, my friend, I came here to you grieved.” When my friend said this to me, I was reduced to a terrible state by grief, and after I had bewailed my lot, I went and told it to my parents, and I spent that time in hope of a re-union with my beloved.