Then king Trivikramasena again went at night to that aśoka-tree in the cemetery: and he fearlessly took that Vetála that was in the corpse, though it uttered a horrible laugh, and placed it on his shoulder, and set out in silence. And as he was going along, the Vetála, that was on his shoulder, said to him again, “King, why do you take all this trouble for the sake of this wicked mendicant? In truth you show no discrimination in taking all this fruitless labour. So hear from me this story to amuse you on the way.”
Story of Víravara.
There is a city on the earth rightly named Śobhávatí. In it there lived a king of great valour, called Śúdraka. The fire of that victorious king’s might was perpetually fanned by the wind of the chowries waved by the captured wives of his enemies. I ween that the earth was so glorious during the reign of that king, owing to the uninterrupted practice of righteousness that prevailed, that she forgot all her other sovereigns, even Ráma.
Once on a time a Bráhman, of the name of Víravara, came from Málava to take service under that king who loved heroes. His wife’s name was Dharmavatí, his son was Sattvavara, and his daughter was Víravatí. These three composed his family; and his attendants were another three, at his side a dagger, a sword in one hand, and a splendid shield in the other. Although he had so small a retinue, he demanded from the king five hundred dínárs a day by way of salary. And king Śúdraka, perceiving that his appearance indicated great courage, gave him the salary he desired. But he felt curious to know whether, as his retinue was so small, he employed so many gold coins to feed his vices, or lavished them on some worthy object. So he had him secretly dogged by spies, in order to discover his mode of life. And it turned out that every day Víravara had an interview with the king in the morning, and stood at his palace-gate in the middle of the day, sword in hand; and then he went home and put into the hand of his wife a hundred dínárs of his salary for food, and with a hundred he bought clothes, unguents and betel; and after bathing, he set apart a hundred for the worship of Vishṇu and Śiva; and he gave two hundred by way of charity to poor Bráhmans. This was the distribution which he made of the five hundred every day. Then he fed the sacrificial fire with clarified butter and performed other ceremonies, and took food, and then he again went and kept guard at the gate of the palace alone at night, sword in hand. When the king Śúdraka heard from his spies, that Víravara always followed this righteous custom, he rejoiced in his heart; and he ordered those spies, who had dogged his path, to desist; and he considered him worthy of especial honour as a distinguished hero.
Then in course of time, after Víravara had easily tided through the hot weather, when the rays of the sun were exceedingly powerful, the monsoon came roaring, bearing a brandished sword of lightning, as if out of envy against Víravara, and smiting[1] with rain-drops. And though at that time a terrible bank of clouds poured down rain day and night, Víravara remained motionless, as before, at the gate of the palace. And king Śúdraka, having beheld him in the day from the top of his palace, again went up to it at night, to find out whether he was there or not; and he cried out from it,—“Who waits there at the palace-gate?” When Víravara heard that, he answered, “I am here, your Majesty.” Then king Śúdraka thought to himself, “Ah! Víravara is a man of intrepid courage and devotedly attached to me. So I must certainly promote him to an important post.” After the king had said this to himself, he came down from the roof of his palace, and entering his private apartments, went to bed.
And the next evening, when a cloud was violently raining with a heavy downfall, and black darkness was spread abroad, obscuring the heaven,[2] the king once more ascended the roof of the palace to satisfy his curiosity, and being alone, he cried out in a clear voice, “Who waits there at the palace-gate?” Again Víravara said, “I am here.” And while the king was lost in admiration at seeing his courage, he suddenly heard a woman weeping in the distance, distracted with despair, uttering only the piteous sound of wailing. When the king heard that, pity arose in his mind, and he said to himself, “There is no oppressed person in my kingdom, no poor or afflicted person; so who is this woman, that is thus weeping alone at night?” Then he gave this order to Víravara, who was alone below, “Listen, Víravara; there is some woman weeping in the distance; go and find out who she is and why she is weeping.”
When Víravara heard that, he said, “I will do so,” and set out thence with his dagger in his belt, and his sword in his hand. He looked upon the world as a Rákshasa black with fresh clouds, having the lightning flashing from them by way of an eye, raining large drops of rain instead of stones. And king Śúdraka, seeing him starting alone on such a night, and being penetrated with pity and curiosity, came down from the top of the palace, and taking his sword, set out close behind him, alone and unobserved. And Víravara went on persistently in the direction of the weeping, and reached a tank outside the city, and saw there that woman in the middle of the water uttering this lament, “Hero! merciful man! Generous man! How can I live without you?” And Víravara, who was followed by the king, said with astonishment, “Who are you, and why do you thus weep?”—Then she answered him, “Dear Víravara, know that I am this earth, and king Śúdraka is now my righteous lord, but on the third day from this his death will take place, and whence shall I obtain such another lord? So I am grieved, and bewail both him and myself.”[3] When Víravara heard this, he said, like one alarmed, “Is there then, goddess, any expedient to prevent the death of this king, who is the protecting amulet of the world?”
When the earth heard this, she answered, “There is one expedient for averting it, and one which you alone can employ.” Then Víravara said,—“Then, goddess, tell it me at once, in order that I may quickly put it in operation: otherwise what is the use of my life?” When the earth heard this, she said,—“Who is as brave as you, and as devoted to his master? So hear this method of bringing about his welfare. If you offer up your child Sattvavara to this glorious goddess Chaṇḍí, famous for her exceeding readiness to manifest herself to her votaries, to whom the king has built a temple[4] in the immediate vicinity of his palace, the king will not die, but live another hundred years. And if you do it at once, his safety will be ensured, but if not, he will assuredly have ceased to live on the third day from this time.”
When the goddess Earth said this to Víravara, he said, “Goddess, I will go, and do it this very instant.” Then Earth said, “May success attend you!” and disappeared; and the king, who was secretly following Víravara, heard all this.