The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story

by active 11th century Somadeva Bhatta

When Dírghadarśin’s wife said this to him, he said, “I will do so,” and he went and said to the king Yaśaḥketu in the course of conversation, “Give me leave to depart, king, I am going on a pilgrimage for some days, for my heart is set on that religious duty.” When the king heard that, he said, “Do not do so! Cannot you, without going on pilgrimages, perform in your house noble religious duties, such as charity and so on, which will procure you heaven?” When the minister heard this, he said, “King, that purity which comes of wealth is sought by charity and so on, but holy bathing-places have an everlasting purity. And a wise man must visit them, while he is young; for otherwise how can he be sure of reaching them, as this body cannot be relied on?” While he was saying this, and the king was still trying to dissuade him, a warder entered, and said to the king, “King, the sun is plunging into the middle of the lake of heaven, so rise up, this is the hour appointed for you to bathe in, and it is rapidly passing away.” When the king heard this, he immediately rose up to bathe, and the minister, whose heart was set on pilgrimage, bowed before him, and went home to his own house.

There he left his wife, whom he forbade to follow him, and managed cunningly to set out in secret, without even his servants suspecting his departure. And alone he wandered from country to country with resolute perseverance, and visited holy bathing-places, and at last he reached the land of Pauṇḍra. In a certain city in that country not far from the sea, he entered a temple of Śiva, and sat down in a courtyard attached to it. There a merchant, named Nidhidatta, who had come to worship the god, saw him exhausted with the heat of the sun’s rays, dusty with his long journey. The merchant, being a hospitable man, seeing that the traveller, who was in such a state, wore a Bráhmanical thread, and had auspicious marks, concluded that he was a distinguished Bráhman, and took him home to his own house. There he honoured him with a bath, food, and other refreshments in the most luxurious style, and when his fatigue was removed, he said to him, “Who are you, whence do you come, and where are you going?” And the Bráhman gave him this reserved answer; “I am a Bráhman of the name of Dírghadarśin; I have come here on pilgrimage from the land of Anga.” Then the merchant prince Nidhidatta said to him, “I am about to go on a trading expedition to the Island of Gold; so you must live in my house, until I return; and then you will have recovered from the fatigue which you have incurred by roaming to holy places, and you can go home.” When Dírghadarśin heard that, he said, “Why should I remain here? I will go with you, great merchant, if you like.” The good man said, “So be it,” and then the minister, who had long discarded the use of beds, spent that night in his house.

The next day he went with that merchant to the sea, and embarked on a ship laden with his merchandise. He travelled along in that ship, and beheld the awful and wonderful ocean, and in course of time reached the Isle of Gold. What had a man holding the office of prime minister to do with sea-voyages? But what will not men of honour do to prevent their fame from being sullied? So he remained some time in that island with that merchant Nidhidatta, who was engaged in buying and selling.

And as he was returning with him on the ship, he suddenly saw a wave rise up, and then a wishing-tree arise out of the sea; it was adorned with boughs glittering with gold, which were embellished with sprays of coral, and bore lovely fruits and flowers of jewels. And he beheld on its trunk a maiden, alluring on account of her wonderful beauty, reclining on a gem-bestudded couch. He reflected for a moment, “Dear me! What can this be?” And thereupon the maiden, who had a lyre in her hand, began to sing this song, “Whatever seed of works any man has sown in a former life, of that he, without doubt, eats the fruit; for even fate cannot alter what has been done in a previous state of existence.” When the heavenly maiden had sung this song, she immediately plunged into that sea, with the wishing-tree, and the couch on which she was reclining. Then Dírghadarśin reflected, “I have to-day seen a wonderful sight; one would never have expected to find in the sea a tree, with a heavenly maiden singing on it, appearing and disappearing as soon as beheld. Or rather, this admirable treasure-house of the sea is ever the same; did not Lakshmí, and the moon, and the Párijáta tree, and other precious things come out of it?” But the steersman and the rest of the crew, perceiving that Dírghadarśin was astonished and puzzled, said to him, “This lovely woman always appears here in the same way, and sinks down again at once; but this sight is new to you.”

This is what they said to the minister, but he still continued in a state of wonder, and so he reached in course of time on the ship, with that Nidhidatta, the coast for which they were making. There the merchant disembarked his wares, gladdening the hearts of his servants, and the minister went in high spirits with him to his house, which was full of mirth at his arrival. And after he had remained there a short time, he said to Nidhidatta, “Merchant prince, I have long reposed comfortably in your house, now I wish to return to my own land; I wish you all happiness.” With these words he took leave of the merchant prince, who was sorely unwilling to let him go, and with his virtue for his only companion he set out thence, and having in course of time accomplished the long journey, he reached his own native land of Anga.

There the spies, who had been placed by king Yaśaḥketu to watch for his return, saw him coming, before he entered the city, and informed the king; and then the king, who had been much afflicted by his absence, went out from the city to meet him; and came up to him and welcomed him with an embrace. Then the king conducted into the palace his minister, who was emaciated and begrimed with his long journey, and said to him, “Why did you leave me, bringing your mind to this cruel heartless step, and your body into this squalid state from its being deprived of unguents?[3] But who knows the way of the mighty god Fate, in that you suddenly fixed your mind on pilgrimage to holy waters and other sacred places? So tell me, what lands have you wandered through, and what novel sights have you seen?” Then Dírghadarśin described his journey to the Island of Gold, in all its stages, and so was led to tell the king of that maiden, the jewel of the three worlds, whom he had seen rise out of the sea, and sit on the wishing-tree singing. All this he narrated exactly as it took place.

The moment the king heard all this, he fell so deeply in love with her, that he considered his kingdom and life valueless without her. And taking his minister aside, he said to him, “I must certainly see that maiden, otherwise I cannot live. I will go by the way which you have described, after worshipping Fate. And you must not dissuade, and you must by no means follow me, for I will travel alone incognito, and in the meanwhile you must take care of my kingdom. Do not disobey my order, otherwise my death will lie at your door.” Thus spake the king, and refused to hear his minister’s answer, and then dismissed him to his own house to see his relations, who had long been wishing for his return. There, in the midst of great rejoicing Dírghadarśin remained despondent; how can good ministers be happy, when their lord’s vices are incurable?

And the next night the king Yaśaḥketu set out, disguised as an ascetic, having entrusted his kingdom to the care of that minister. And on the way, as he was going along, he saw a hermit, named Kuśanábha, and he bowed before him. The hermit said to the king who was disguised as an ascetic, “Go on your way boldly; by going to sea in a ship with the merchant Lakshmídatta you shall obtain that maiden whom you desire.” This speech delighted the king exceedingly, and bowing again before the hermit, he continued his journey; and after crossing many countries, rivers, and mountains, he reached the sea, which seemed to be full of eagerness to entertain him. Its eddies looked like eyes expanded to gaze at him, eyes of which waves were the curved brows, and which were white with shrill-sounding conchs for pupils. On the shore he met the merchant Lakshmídatta spoken of by the hermit, who was on the point of setting out for the Isle of Gold. The merchant prostrated himself before him, when he saw the signs of his royal birth, such as the discus-marked foot-print and so on; and the king embarked on the ship with him, and set out with him on the sea. And when the ship had reached the middle of the ocean, that maiden arose from the water, seated on the trunk of the wishing-tree, and while the king was gazing at her, as a partridge at the moonlight, she sang a song which the accompaniment of her lyre made more charming; “Whatever seed of works any man has sown in a former life, of that he, without doubt, eats the fruit, for even Fate cannot alter what has been done in a previous state of existence. So a man is helplessly borne along to experience precisely that lot which Fate has appointed for him, in that place and in that manner which Fate has decreed; of this there can be no doubt.” When the king heard her singing this song, and thus setting forth the thing that must be, he was smitten with the arrow of love, and remained for some time motionless, gazing at her. Then he began, with bowed head, to praise the sea in the following words, “Hail, to thee, store-house of jewels, of unfathomable heart, since by concealing this lovely nymph thou hast cheated Vishṇu out of Lakshmí. So I throw myself on thy protection, thou who canst not be sounded even by gods, the refuge of mountains[4] that retain their wings; grant me to obtain my desire.” While he was uttering this, the maiden disappeared in the sea, with the tree, and when the king saw that, he flung himself into the sea after her, as if to cool the flames of love’s fire.

When the merchant Lakshmídatta saw that unexpected sight, the good man thought the king had perished, and was so afflicted that he was on the point of committing suicide, but he was consoled by the following utterance, that came from the heavens, “Do not act rashly; he is not in danger, though he has plunged into the sea; this king, Yaśaḥketu by name, has come, disguised as an ascetic, to obtain this very maiden, for she was his wife in a former state of existence, and as soon as he has won her, he shall return to his realm of Anga.” Then the merchant continued his intended voyage, to accomplish his purposes.

But when king Yaśaḥketu plunged into the sea, he suddenly beheld to his astonishment a splendid city. It gleamed with palaces that had bright pillars of precious stone, walls flashing with gold, and latticed windows of pearl. It was adorned with gardens in which were tanks with flights of steps composed of slabs of every kind of gem, and wishing-trees that granted every desire. He entered house after house in that city, which, though opulent, was uninhabited, but he could not find his beloved anywhere. Then, as he was looking about, he beheld a lofty jewelled palace, and going up to it he opened the door and went in. And when he had entered it, he beheld a solitary human form stretched out upon a gem-bestudded couch, with its whole length covered with a shawl. Wondering whether it could be that very lady, he uncovered its face with eager expectation, and saw his lady-love. Her beautiful moon-like countenance smiled, when the black robe fell from it like darkness; and she seemed like a night, illumined with moonlight, gone to visit Pátála in the day. At sight of her the king was in a state of ecstasy, like that which a man, travelling through a desert in the season of heat, experiences on beholding a river. She, for her part, opened her eyes, and when she saw that hero of auspicious form and bodily marks thus suddenly arrived, sprang from her couch in a state of excitement. She welcomed him, and with downcast countenance, seemed to honour him by flinging on his feet the full-blown lotuses of her wide-expanded eyes; and then she slowly said to him, “Who are you, and why have you come to this inaccessible lower region? And why, though your body is marked with the signs of royalty, have you undertaken the vow of an ascetic? Condescend to tell me this, distinguished Sir, if I have found favour in your sight.” When the king had heard this speech of hers, he gave her this answer; “Fair one, I am the king of Anga, by name Yaśaḥketu, and I heard from a friend on whom I can rely, that you were to be seen here every day in the sea. So I assumed this disguise, and abandoned my kingdom for your sake, and I have come here and followed you down through the sea. So tell me who you are.” When he said this, she answered him with mixed feelings of shame, affection, and joy; “There is a fortunate king of the Vidyádharas named Mṛigánkasena; know that I am his daughter, Mṛigánkavatí by name. That father of mine, for some reason unknown to me, has left me alone in this city of his, and has gone somewhere or other with his subjects. So I, feeling melancholy in my solitary abode, rise up out of the sea on a moveable[5] wishing-tree, and sing of the decrees of Fate.” When she had said this, the brave king, remembering the speech of the hermit, courted her so assiduously with speeches tender with love, that she was overpowered with affection, and promised to become his wife at once, but insisted on the following condition; “My husband, for four days in every month, the fourteenth and eighth of the white and black fortnights, I am not my own mistress;[6] and whithersoever I may go on those days, you must not question me on the subject nor forbid me, for there is a reason for it.”[7] When the heavenly maiden had stated in these words the only condition on which she would consent to marry the king, he agreed to it, and married her by the Gándharva form of marriage.