“So those fortunate ones, whose characters are free from perturbation, and who betake themselves to patient endurance, obtain again their own rank, though they may have fallen far from it.[21] And since you, Śrídarśana, are a man fated to be prosperous, being covered with auspicious marks, why do you, out of perturbation, allow yourself to go without food?” When Śrídarśana, who was fasting, was thus addressed in the gambling-hall by his friend Mukharaka, he said to him, “What you say, is true, but being a man of good family, I cannot for shame go out into this town, as I am reduced so low by gambling. So if you will permit me, my friend, to go to some other country this very night, I will take food.” When Mukharaka heard that, he consented, and brought food and gave it to him, and he ate it. And after Śrídarśana had eaten it, he set out for another country with that friend of his, who followed him out of affection.
And as he was going along the road at night, it happened that the two Yakshas, Aṭṭahása and Saudáminí, his father and mother, who had deposited him, as soon as he was born, in the house of the Bráhman, saw him while they were roaming through the air. When they saw him in distress, impoverished by the vice of gambling, and on his way to a foreign country, affection made them say to him, while still remaining invisible, the following words; “Śrídarśana, your mother, the wife of Devadarśana, buried in her house some jewels. Take those, and do not omit to go with them to Málava, for there is a magnificent prince there of the name of Śrísena. And since he was much afflicted in his youth by miseries arising from gambling, he has made a large and glorious asylum for gamblers. There gamblers live, and are fed with whatever food they desire. So go there, darling, and you shall be prosperous.”
When Śrídarśana heard this speech from heaven, he went back to his house with his friend, and found those ornaments in it, in a hole in the ground. Then he set out delighted for Málava, with his friend, thinking that the gods had shewn him favour. So in that night and the succeeding day he went a long distance, and the next evening he reached with his friend a village named Bahusasya. And being weary, he sat down with his friend on the bank of a translucent lake, not far from that village. While he remained for a brief period on the bank of that lake, after washing his feet and drinking water, there came there a certain maiden, matchless in beauty, to fetch water. Her body resembled a blue lotus in colour, and she seemed like Rati left alone, and blackened by the smoke from the body of the god of Love, when he had just been consumed by Śiva. Śrídarśana was delighted to behold her, and she went up to him, and looked at him with an eye full of love, and said to him and his friend, “Worthy sirs, why have you come hither to your death? Why, through ignorance, have you fallen like moths into burning fire?” When Mukharaka heard this, he said to the maiden, without the least trepidation, “Who are you? And what is the meaning of what you say? Tell us.” Then she said, “Listen both of you! I will tell you the whole story in few words.
“There is a large and famous royal grant to Bráhmans, named Sughosha. In it there dwelt a Bráhman named Padmagarbha, who possessed a thorough knowledge of the Vedas. He had a wife of very good family, named Śasikalá. And the Bráhman had two children by that wife, a son of the name of Mukharakha, and myself a daughter of the name of Padmishṭhá. My brother Mukharaka was ruined by the vice of gambling in early youth, and left his home and went off to some other country. My mother died of grief on that account, and my father, afflicted with two sorrows, abandoned the state of a householder. And he roamed about from place to place, with no other companion than myself, to look for that son, and, as it happened, he reached this village. Now in this village there lives a great bandit, the chief of a gang of robbers, called Vasubhúti, a Bráhman only by name. When my father arrived here, that ruffian, with the help of his servants, killed him, and took away the gold that he had about his person. And he made me a prisoner and carried me off to his house, and he has made arrangements to give me in marriage to his son Subhúti. But his son has gone off somewhere to plunder a caravan, and, owing to my good fortune, the result of good deeds in a former birth, he has not yet returned; now it remains for Destiny to dispose of me. But, if this bandit were to see you, he would certainly do you some violence: so think of some artifice by which you may escape him.”
When the maiden said this, Mukharaka recognized her, and at once clasping her round the neck, said to her, “Alas, my sister Padmishṭhá! I am that very brother of yours Mukharaka, the murderer of his relations. Alas! wretched that I am, I am ruined.” When Padmishṭhá heard this, and saw her elder brother, pity caused her to be, as it were, suddenly encircled with all sorrows. Then Śrídarśana comforted the brother and sister, who were lamenting their parents, and addressed a timely admonition and encouragement to them. He said, “This is not the time for lamentation, we must now save our lives even at the cost of our wealth, and by means of it we must protect ourselves against this bandit.” When Śrídarśana said this, they checked their grief with self-control, and all three agreed together what each was to do.
Then Śrídarśana, being thin by reason of his former fasts, flung himself down on the bank of that tank, and pretended to be ill. And Mukharaka remained holding his feet and weeping: but Padmishṭhá immediately repaired to that bandit chief, and said, “A traveller has arrived, and is lying ill on the border of the tank, and there is another there who is his servant.” When the bandit chief heard that, he sent some of his followers there. They went, and seeing the two men as had been described, asked Mukharaka why he wept so much for his companion. When Mukharaka heard this, he said with affected sorrow, “This Bráhman, who is my elder brother, left his native land to visit holy bathing-places, but was attacked by disease, and slowly travelling along he has arrived here, accompanied by me. And the moment he got here, he became incapable of movement, and he said to me, ‘Rise up, my dear brother, and quickly prepare for me a bed of darbha-grass. And fetch me some virtuous Bráhman from this village. On him I will bestow all my wealth, for I cannot live through this night.’ When he said this to me in this foreign country after sunset, I felt quite puzzled as to what I ought to do, and, being afflicted, I had recourse to weeping. So bring here some Bráhman while he is alive, in order that he may bestow on him with his own hand whatever wealth we possess. For he will certainly not live through the night, and I shall not be able to survive the sorrow of his loss, so to-morrow I shall enter the fire. So do for us this which we ask, since we have met with you here as compassionate men and friends without any cause.”
When the bandits heard that, pity arose in their minds, and they went and told the story, exactly as they had heard it, to their master Vasubhúti, and went on to say, “So come and receive, as a pious gift, from this Bráhman, who is eager to bestow it on you, the wealth which ordinarily is to be obtained only by killing its possessor.” When they said this to Vasubhúti, he said, “What course is this which you suggest? It is highly impolitic for us to take wealth without killing its possessor, for, if he is deprived of his wealth, without being killed, he will certainly do us an injury.” When the villain said this, those servants answered him, “What is there to fear in this? There is some difference between taking wealth by force, and receiving it as a pious gift from a dying man. Besides, to-morrow morning we will kill those two Bráhmans, if they are still alive. Otherwise, what is the use of incurring needlessly the guilt of killing a Bráhman?” When Vasubhúti heard this, he consented, and in the night he came to Śrídarśana to receive his pious gift, and Śrídarśana concealed a part of his mother’s ornaments, and gave him the rest, assuming a faltering voice. Then the bandit, having got what he wanted, returned home with his followers.
Then Padmishṭhá came at night to Śrídarśana and Mukharaka, while the bandits were asleep. Then they quickly deliberated together, and set off at once from that place for Málava by a path not frequented by the robbers. And during that night they went a long distance, and reached a wood that seemed to be afraid of the roaring lions, tigers, and other wild beasts within it. It seemed by its thorns to be in a state of perpetual horripilation, and by its roaming black antelopes to be rolling its eyes. The dry creepers shewed that its body was dried up from fear, and the shrill whistling of the loose bark was its screams of terror. And while they were journeying through that forest, the sun, that had observed their sufferings all day, withdrew its light, as if in compassion, and set. Then they sat down weary and hungry at the foot of a tree, and in the early part of the night they saw in the distance a light, as of fire. And Śrídarśana said, “Can there possibly be a village here? I will go and look.” So he went in the direction of the light. And when he reached it, and looked at it, lo! it was a great palace built of jewels, and its splendour produced that light as of fire.[22] And he saw inside it a Yakshiṇí of heavenly beauty, surrounded by many Yakshas, with feet turned the wrong way and squinting eyes. And the brave man, seeing that they had brought there all kinds of meat and drink, went up to the Yakshiṇí, and asked her to give him his share as a guest. And she was pleased with his courage and gave him what he asked for, enough food and water to satisfy himself and his two companions. The refreshment was placed on the back of a Yaksha ordered off by her for that duty, and Śrídarśana returned with it to his friend and Padmishṭhá. And then he dismissed the Yaksha, and partook there with them of all that splendid food of various kinds, and drank pure cold water. Then Mukharaka was pleased, perceiving that he must be an incarnation of a divinity, as he was so rich in courage and might, and, desiring his own prosperity, he said to him, “You are some incarnation of a divinity, and this sister of mine Padmishṭhá is the greatest beauty in the world, so I now give her to you as a wife meet for you.” When Śrídarśana heard that, he was delighted, and said to his friend, “I accept with joy this offer of yours which I have long desired. But when I reach my goal I will marry her in proper form.” This he said to those two, and then passed the night in a joyful state of mind. And the next morning they all set out from that place, and reached in due course the city of that king Śrísena, the sovereign of Málava. And arriving tired, they immediately entered the house of an old Bráhman woman to rest. And in the course of conversation they told her their story and their names, and then they saw that the old woman was much disturbed, and when they questioned her, she said to them:
“I am the well-born wife of a Bráhman here, named Satyavrata, who was a servant of the king’s, and my name is Yaśasvatí. And after my husband died, the compassionate king gave me the fourth part of his salary to live upon, as I had not a son to support me. But now this moon of kings, though his virtues are great, and though he is generous enough to give away the whole world, has been seized by a consumption[23] which the physicians cannot cure. And the drugs and charms of those skilled in such things do not prevail against it; but a certain enchanter made this promise in his presence, ‘If I could only get a hero, equal to the task, to help me, I would certainly put an end to this illness by getting a Vetála into my power.’ Then proclamation was made by beat of drum, but no such hero was found. Then the king gave the following order to his ministers; ‘You must look out for some daring gambler, who comes to reside in the great and well-known asylum, which I built for such. For gamblers are reckless, abandoning wife and relations, fearless, sleeping at the foot of trees and in other exposed places, like ascetics.’ When the king gave this order to his ministers, they instructed to this effect the superintendent of the asylum, and he is now on the lookout for some brave man who may come there to reside awhile. Now you are gamblers, and if you, Śrídarśana, feel able to accomplish the undertaking, I will take you to-day to that asylum. And you will be well treated by the king, and you will confer a benefit on me, for grief is killing me.”
When the old lady said this, Śrídarśana answered her, “Agreed! I am able to accomplish this, so lead me quickly to that asylum.” When she heard this, she took him, and Padmishṭhá, and Mukharaka, to that asylum, and there said to the superintendent, “Here is a Bráhman gambler arrived from a foreign land, a hero who is able to assist that enchanter in performing incantations for the good of the king.” When the superintendent heard this, he questioned Śrídarśana, and when he confirmed the words of the old lady, he treated him with great respect, and led him quickly into the presence of the king.