Chapter IV.
Having related this episode to Káṇabhúti in the Vindhya forest, Vararuchi again resumed the main thread of his narrative.
While thus dwelling there with Vyáḍi and Indradatta, I gradually attained perfection in all sciences, and emerged from the condition of childhood. Once on a time when we went out to witness the festival of Indra, we saw a maiden looking like some weapon of Cupid, not of the nature of an arrow. Then, Indradatta, on my asking him who that lady might be, replied,—“She is the daughter of Upavarsha, and her name is Upakośá,” and she found out by means of her handmaids who I was, and drawing my soul after her with a glance made tender by love, she with difficulty managed to return to her own house. She had a face like a full moon, and eyes like a blue lotus, she had arms graceful like the stalk of a lotus, and a lovely full[1] bosom; she had a neck marked with three lines like a shell,[2] and magnificent coral lips; in short she was a second Lakshmí, so to speak, the store-house of the beauty of king Cupid. Then my heart was cleft by the stroke of love’s arrow, and I could not sleep that night through my desire to kiss her bimba[3] lip. Having at last with difficulty gone off to sleep, I saw, at the close of night, a celestial woman in white garments; she said to me—“Upakośá was thy wife in a former birth; as she appreciates merit, she desires no one but thee, therefore, my son, thou oughtest not to feel anxious about this matter. I am Sarasvatí[4] that dwell continually in thy frame, I cannot bear to behold thy grief.” When she had said this, she disappeared. Then I woke up and somewhat encouraged I went slowly and stood under a young mango tree near the house of my beloved; then her confidante came and told me of the ardent attachment of Upakośá to me, the result of sudden passion: then I with my pain doubled, said to her, “How can I obtain Upakośá, unless her natural protectors willingly bestow her upon me? For death is better than dishonour; so if by any means your friend’s heart became known to her parents, perhaps the end might be prosperous.
“Therefore bring this about, my good woman, save the life of me and of thy friend.” When she heard this, she went and told all to her friend’s mother, she immediately told it to her husband Upavarsha, he to Varsha his brother, and Varsha approved of the match. Then, my marriage having been determined upon, Vyáḍi by the order of my tutor went and brought my mother from Kauśámbí; so Upakośá was bestowed upon me by her father with all due ceremonies, and I lived happily in Páṭaliputra with my mother and my wife.
Now in course of time Varsha got a great number of pupils, and among them there was one rather stupid pupil of the name of Páṇini; he, being wearied out with service, was sent away by the preceptor’s wife, and being disgusted at it and longing for learning, he went to the Himálaya to perform austerities: then he obtained from the god, who wears the moon as a crest, propitiated by his severe austerities, a new grammar, the source of all learning. Thereupon he came and challenged me to a disputation, and seven days passed away in the course of our disputation; on the eighth day he had been fairly conquered by me, but immediately afterwards a terrible menacing sound was uttered by Śiva in the firmament; owing to that our Aindra grammar was exploded in the world,[5] and all of us, being conquered by Páṇini, became accounted fools. Accordingly full of despondency I deposited in the hand of the merchant Hiraṇyadatta my wealth for the maintenance of my house, and after informing Upakośá of it, I went fasting to mount Himálaya to propitiate Śiva with austerities.
Story of Upakośá and her four lovers.
Upakośá on her part anxious for my success, remained in her own house, bathing every day in the Ganges, strictly observing her vow. One day, when spring had come, she being still beautiful, though thin and slightly pale, and charming to the eyes of men, like the streak of the new moon, was seen by the king’s domestic chaplain while going to bathe in the Ganges, and also by the head magistrate, and by the prince’s minister; and immediately they all of them became a target for the arrows of love. It happened too somehow or other that she took a long time bathing that day, and as she was returning in the evening, the prince’s minister laid violent hands on her, but she with great presence of mind said to him, “Dear Sir, I desire this as much as you, but I am of respectable family, and my husband is away from home. How can I act thus? Some one might perhaps see us, and then misfortune would befall you as well as me. Therefore you must come without fail to my house in the first watch of the night of the spring-festival when the citizens are all excited.”[6] When she had said this, and pledged herself, he let her go, but, as chance would have it, she had not gone many steps further, before she was stopped by the king’s domestic chaplain. She made a similar assignation with him also for the second watch of the same night; and so he too was, though with difficulty, induced to let her go; but, after she had gone a little further, up comes a third person, the head magistrate, and detains the trembling lady. Then she made a similar assignation with him too for the third watch of the same night, and having by great good fortune got him to release her, she went home all trembling, and of her own accord told her handmaids the arrangements she had made, reflecting, “Death is better for a woman of good family when her husband is away, than to meet the eyes of people who lust after beauty.” Full of these thoughts and regretting me, the virtuous lady spent that night in fasting, lamenting her own beauty. Early the next morning she sent a maid-servant to the merchant Hiraṇyagupta to ask for some money in order that she might honour the Bráhmans: then that merchant also came and said to her in private, “Shew me love, and then I will give you what your husband deposited.” When she heard that, she reflected that she had no witness to prove the deposit of her husband’s wealth, and perceived that the merchant was a villain, and so tortured with sorrow and grief, she made a fourth and last assignation with him for the last watch of the same night; so he went away. In the meanwhile she had prepared by her handmaids in a large vat lamp-black mixed with oil and scented with musk and other perfumes, and she made ready four pieces of rag anointed with it, and she caused to be made a large trunk with a fastening outside. So on that day of the spring-festival the prince’s minister came in the first watch of the night in gorgeous array. When he had entered without being observed Upakośá said to him, “I will not receive you until you have bathed, so go in and bathe.” The simpleton agreed to that, and was taken by the handmaids into a secret dark inner apartment. There they took off his under-garments and his jewels, and gave him by way of an under-garment a single piece of rag, and they smeared the rascal from head to foot with a thick coating of that lamp-black and oil, pretending it was an unguent, without his detecting it. While they continued rubbing it into every limb, the second watch of the night came and the chaplain arrived, the handmaids thereupon said to the minister,—“here is the king’s chaplain come, a great friend of Vararuchi’s, so creep into this box”—and they bundled him into the trunk, just as he was, all naked, with the utmost precipitation: and then they fastened it outside with a bolt. The priest too was brought inside into the dark room on the pretence of a bath, and was in the same way stripped of his garments and ornaments, and made a fool of by the handmaids by being rubbed with lamp-black and oil, with nothing but the piece of rag on him, until in the third watch the chief magistrate arrived. The handmaids immediately terrified the priest with the news of his arrival, and pushed him into the trunk like his predecessor. After they had bolted him in, they brought in the magistrate on the pretext of giving him a bath, and so he, like his fellows, with the piece of rag for his only garment, was bamboozled by being continually anointed with lamp-black, until in the last watch of the night the merchant arrived. The handmaids made use of his arrival to alarm the magistrate and bundled him also into the trunk, and fastened it on the outside. So those three being shut up inside the box, as if they were bent on accustoming themselves to live in the hell of blind darkness, did not dare to speak on account of fear, though they touched one another. Then Upakośá brought a lamp into the room, and making the merchant enter it, said to him, “give me that money which my husband deposited with you.” When he heard that, the rascal said, observing that the room was empty, “I told you that I would give you the money your husband deposited with me.” Upakośá calling the attention of the people in the trunk, said—“Hear, O ye gods this speech of Hiraṇyagupta.” When she had said this, she blew out the light, and the merchant, like the others, on the pretext of a bath was anointed by the handmaids for a long time with lamp-black. Then they told him to go, for the darkness was over, and at the close of the night they took him by the neck and pushed him out of the door sorely against his will. Then he made the best of his way home, with only the piece of rag to cover his nakedness, and smeared with the black dye, with the dogs biting him at every step, thoroughly ashamed of himself, and at last reached his own house; and when he got there he did not dare to look his slaves in the face while they were washing off that black dye. The path of vice is indeed a painful one. In the early morning Upakośá accompanied by her handmaids went, without informing her parents, to the palace of king Nanda, and there she herself stated to the king that the merchant Hiraṇyagupta was endeavouring to deprive her of money deposited with him by her husband. The king in order to enquire into the matter immediately had the merchant summoned, who said—“I have nothing in my keeping belonging to this lady.” Upakośá then said, “I have witnesses, my lord; before he went, my husband put the household gods into a box, and this merchant with his own lips admitted the deposit in their presence. Let the box be brought here and ask the gods yourself.” Having heard this the king in astonishment ordered the box to be brought.
Thereupon in a moment that trunk was carried in by many men. Then Upakośá said—“Relate truly, O gods, what that merchant said and then go to your own houses; if you do not, I will burn you or open the box in court.” Hearing that, the men in the box, beside themselves with fear, said—“It is true, the merchant admitted the deposit in our presence.” Then the merchant being utterly confounded confessed all his guilt; but the king, being unable to restrain his curiosity, after asking permission of Upakośá, opened the chest there in court by breaking the fastening, and those three men were dragged out, looking like three lumps of solid darkness, and were with difficulty recognised by the king and his ministers. The whole assembly then burst out laughing, and the king in his curiosity asked Upakośá, what was the meaning of all this; so the virtuous lady told the whole story. All present in court expressed their approbation of Upakośá’s conduct, observing: “The virtuous behaviour of women of good family who are protected by their own excellent disposition[7] only, is incredible.”
Then all those coveters of their neighbour’s wife were deprived of all their living, and banished from the country. Who prospers by immorality? Upakośá was dismissed by the king, who shewed his great regard for her by a present of much wealth, and said to her: “Henceforth thou art my sister,”—and so she returned home. Varsha and Upavarsha when they heard it, congratulated that chaste lady, and there was a smile of admiration on the face of every single person in that city.[8]