The next day the king entrusted the kingdom to his ministers, and embarking on a ship, set out on the sea with Sattvaśíla, who shewed him the way. And when they had got to that half-way spot, Sattvaśíla saw the wonderful flagstaff rising out of the sea with the banner on it, as before, and he said to the king, “Here is that great flagstaff with such wonderful properties, towering aloft out of the sea: I must plunge in here, and then the king must plunge in also and dive down after the flagstaff.” After Sattvaśíla had said this, they got near the flagstaff, and it began to sink. And Sattvaśíla first threw himself in after it, and then the king also dived in the same direction, and soon after they had plunged in, they reached that splendid city. And there the king beheld with astonishment and worshipped that goddess Párvatí, and sat down with Sattvaśíla.
And in the meanwhile there issued from that glittering enclosure a maiden, accompanied by her attendant ladies, looking like the quality of brightness in concrete form. Sattvaśíla said, “This is that fair one,” and the king, beholding her, considered that his attachment to her was amply justified. She, for her part, when she beheld that king with all the auspicious bodily marks, said to herself, “Who can this exceedingly distinguished man be?” And so she went into the temple of Durgá to pray, and the king contemptuously went off to the garden, taking Sattvaśíla with him. And in a short time the Daitya maiden came out from the inner shrine of the goddess, having finished her devotions, and having prayed that she might obtain a good husband; and after she had come out, she said to one of her attendants, “My friend, go and see where that distinguished man is whom I saw; and entreat him to do us the favour of coming and accepting our hospitality, for he is some great hero deserving special honour.” When the attendant had received this order, she went and looked for him, and bending low, delivered to him in the garden the message of her mistress. Then the heroic king answered in a carelessly negligent tone, “This garden is sufficient entertainment for me: what other entertainment do I require?” When that attendant came and reported this answer to the Daitya maiden, she considered that the king was a man of a noble spirit and deserving of the highest regard.
And then the Asura maiden, (being, as it were, drawn towards himself with the cord of his self-command by the king, who shewed a lofty indifference for hospitality far above mortal desert,) went in person to the garden, thinking that he had been sent her by way of a husband, as a fruit of her adoration of Durgá. And the trees seemed to honour her, as she approached, with the songs of various birds, with their creepers bending in the wind like arms, and showers of blossoms. And she approached the king and bowing courteously before him, entreated him to accept of her hospitality. Then the king pointed to Sattvaśíla, and said to her, “I came here to worship the image of the goddess of which this man told me. I have reached her marvellous temple, guided to it by the banner, and have seen the goddess, and after that, you; what other hospitality do I require?” When the maiden heard that, she said, “Then come, out of curiosity, to see my second city, which is the wonder of the three worlds.” When she said this, the king laughed and said, “Oh! he told me of this also, the place where there is the tank to bathe in.” Then the maiden said, “King, do not speak thus, I am not of a deceitful disposition, and who would think of cheating one so worthy of respect? I have been made the slave of you both by your surpassing excellence; so you ought not thus to reject my offer.”
When the king heard this, he consented, and taking Sattvaśíla with him, he accompanied the maiden to that glittering enclosure. And the door of it was opened, and she conducted him in, and then he beheld that other splendid city of hers. The trees in it were ever producing flowers and fruits, for all seasons were present there at the same time;[6] and the city was all composed of gold and jewels like the peak of mount Meru. And the Daitya maiden made the king sit down on a priceless jewelled throne, and offered him the arghya in due form, and said to him, “I am the daughter of Kálanemi the high-souled king of the Asuras, but my father was sent to heaven by Vishṇu, the discus-armed god. And these two cities, which I inherit from my father, are the work of Viśvakarman; they furnish all that heart can wish, and old age and death never invade them. But now I look upon you as a father, and I, with my cities, am at your disposal.” When she had in these words placed herself and all that she possessed at the king’s disposal, he said to her, “If this be so, then I give you, excellent daughter, to another, to the hero Sattvaśíla, who is my friend and relation.” When the king, who seemed to be the favour of the goddess Durgá in bodily form, said this, the maiden, who understood excellence when she saw it, acquiesced submissively. When Sattvaśíla had attained the wish of his heart by marrying that Asura maiden, and had had the sovereignty of those cities bestowed on him, the king said to him, “Now I have repaid you for one of those ámalakas which I ate, but I am still indebted to you for the second, for which I have never recompensed you.” When the king had said this to Sattvaśíla, who bowed before him, he said to that Daitya maiden, “Now shew me the way to my own city.” Then the Daitya maiden gave him a sword named “Invincible,” and a fruit to eat, which was a remedy against old age and death, and with these he plunged into the tank which she pointed out, and the next thing that happened to him was, that he rose up in his own land with all his wishes gratified. And Sattvaśíla ruled as king over the cities of the Daitya princess.
“Now tell me: which of those two shewed most courage in plunging into the water?” When the Vetála put this question to the king, the latter, fearing to be cursed, thus answered him; “I consider Sattvaśíla the braver man of the two, for he plunged into the sea without knowing the real state of the case, and without any hope, but the king knew what the circumstances were when he plunged in, and had something to look forward to, and he did not fall in love with the Asura princess, because he thought no longing would win her.” When the Vetála received this answer from the king, who thereby broke silence, he left his shoulder, as before, and fled to his place on the aśoka-tree. And the king, as before, followed him quickly to bring him back again; for the wise never flag in an enterprise which they have begun, until it is finished.
[1] The word translated “ragged garment” is karpaṭa. The word translated “dependent” is kárpaṭika. Cp. the story in the 53rd Chapter.
[2] Hṛidayáni should of course be hṛidyáni, as in the Sanskrit College MS.
[3] Cp. the palace of Morgan la Fay in the Orlando Innamorato, canto 36, (Dunlop’s History of Fiction, p. 168, Liebrecht’s translation, p. 76); also the continuation of the romance of Huon de Bourdeaux, (Dunlop’s History of Fiction, p. 262, Liebrecht’s translation, p. 128); and the romance of Ogier le Danois, (Dunlop’s History of Fiction, p. 286, Liebrecht’s translation, p. 141); cp. also the 6th Fable in the IInd book of the Hitopadeśa, (Johnson’s translation, p. 57). Stories in which human beings marry dwellers in the water are common enough in Europe, see Ralston’s Russian Folk-Tales, p. 116, and ff, Veckenstedt’s Wendische Märchen, p. 192, and La Motto Fouqué’s story of Undine. The present story resembles in many points “Der rothe Hund” in Gaal’s Märchen der Magyaren. There is a similar castle in the sea in Prym und Socin, Syrische Märchen, p. 125. Cp. Hagen’s Helden-Sagen, Vol. I, p. 53, where king Wilkinus marries a Meerweib, and the following extract from a letter of Mr. David Fitzgerald’s in the Academy.
“The Siren’s tale—like many other episodes of the Iliad and the Odyssey—reappears in various forms, one of the most curious of which is perhaps to be found in Ireland. I borrow it from O’Curry; and I omit the depreciatory criticism with which it is now the fashion to season extracts from that scholar’s useful works. Ruad, son of Rigdonn, a king’s son, crossing over to North-land with three ships and thirty men in each found his vessel held fast in mid-sea. [Compare the tale of Vidúshaka in Vol. I.] At last he leaped over the side to see what was holding it, and sinking down through the waters, alighted in a meadow where were nine beautiful women. These gave him nine boatloads of gold as the price of his embraces, and by their power held the three vessels immoveable on the water above for nine days. Promising to visit them on his return, the young Irish prince got away from the Sirens and their beds of red bronze, and continued his course to Lochlann, where he stayed with his follow-pupil, son to the king of that country, for seven years. Coming back, the vessels put about to avoid the submerged isle, and had nearly gained the Irish shore, when they heard behind them the song of lamentation of the nine sea-women, who were in vain pursuit of them in a boat of bronze. One of these murdered before Ruad’s eyes the child she had borne him, and flung it head foremost after him. O’Curry left a version of this tale from the Book of Ballymote. I have borrowed a detail or two given in the Tochmarc Emere (fol. 21b)—e. g., the important Homeric feature of the watery meadow (machaire). The story given by Gervase of Tilbury (ed. Liebrecht, pp. 30, 31), of the porpoise-men in the Mediterranean and the young sailor; the Shetland seal-legend in Grimm’s edition of Croker’s tales (Irische Elfen-Märchen, Leipzig, 1826, pp. xlvii et seqq.); and the story found in Vincentius Bellovacensis and elsewhere, of the mermaid giantess and her purple cloak, may be named as belonging or related to the same cycle. These legends are represented in living Irish traditions and the purple cloak just referred to appears, much disguised, in the story of Liban in the book of the Dun.” Coraes in his notes on the Æthiopica of Heliodorus, p. 225, has the following quotation from the life of Apollonius of Tyana written by Philostratus, IV, 25, referring to Menippus who married a female of the Rákshasí type and was saved from his fate by Apollonius.