And one day, while the king was living happily with Mṛigánkavatí, she said to him, “You must stop here, while I go somewhere for a certain business, for to-day is the fourteenth day of the black fortnight of which I spoke to you. And while you are waiting here, my husband, you must not enter this crystal pavilion, lest you should fall into a lake there and go to the world of men.” When she had said this, she took leave of him, and went out of that city, and the king took his sword and followed her secretly, determined to penetrate the mystery.
Then the king saw a terrible Rákshasa approaching, looking like Hades embodied in a human shape, with his cavernous mouth, black as night, opened wide. That Rákshasa uttered an appalling roar, and swooping down on Mṛigánkavatí, put her in his mouth and swallowed her. When the mighty king saw that, he was at once, so to speak, on fire with excessive anger, and rushing forward with his great sword, black as a snake that has cast its slough,[8] drawn from the sheath, he cut off with it the head of the charging Rákshasa, the lips of which were firmly pressed together. Then the burning fire of the king’s anger was quenched by the stream of blood that poured forth from the trunk of the Rákshasa, but not the fire of his grief at the loss of his beloved. Then the king was blinded with the darkness of bewilderment, and at a loss what to do, when suddenly Mṛigánkavatí cleft asunder the body of that Rákshasa, which was dark as a cloud, and emerged alive and uninjured, illuminating all the horizon like a spotless moon. When the king saw his beloved thus delivered from danger, he rushed eagerly forward and embraced her, exclaiming, “Come! Come!” And he said to her, “My beloved, what does all this mean? Is it a dream or a delusion?” When the king asked the Vidyádharí this question, she remembered the truth, and said: “Listen, my husband! This is no delusion, nor is it a dream; but such was the curse imposed upon me by my father, a king of the Vidyádharas. For my father, who formerly lived in this city, though he had many sons, was so fond of me, that he would never take food when I was not present. But I, being devoted to the worship of Śiva, used always to come to this uninhabited place on the fourteenth and eighth days of the two fortnights.
“And one fourteenth day I came here and worshipped Gaurí for a long time; and, as fate would have it, so ardent was my devotion that the day came to an end before my worship was finished. That day my father ate nothing and drank nothing, though he was hungry and thirsty, as he waited for me, but he was very angry with me. And when I returned in the evening with downcast countenance, conscious of my fault, his love for me was so completely overpowered by the force of Destiny, that he cursed me in the following words; ‘As owing to your arrogance I was devoured to-day by hunger, so on the eighth and fourteenth days of the two fortnights of every month, and on those days only, a Rákshasa named Kṛitántasantrása shall swallow you, when you go to that place outside the city to worship Śiva; and on every occasion you shall make your way through his heart and come out alive. But you shall not remember the curse, nor the pain of being swallowed; and you shall remain alone here.’[9] When my father had uttered this curse, I managed gradually to propitiate him, and after thinking a little he appointed this termination to my curse; ‘When a king named Yaśaḥketu, lord of the land of Anga, shall become your husband, and shall see you swallowed by the Rákshasa, and shall slay him, then you shall issue from his heart, and shall be delivered from your curse, and you shall call to mind your curse and the other circumstances, and all your supernatural sciences.’
“When he had appointed this end of my curse, he left me alone here, and went with his retinue to the mountain of Nishada in the world of men. And I remained here, thus engaged, bewildered by the curse. But that curse has now come to an end, and I remember all. So I will immediately go to my father on the Nishada mountain; the law, that governs us celestial beings, is, that when our curse is at an end we return to our own place. You are perfectly free to remain here or go to your kingdom, as you like.” When she had said this, the king was sorry, and he made this request to her; “Fair one, do me the favour not to go for seven days. Let us in the meanwhile cheat the pain of parting by amusing ourselves here in the garden. After that you shall go to your father’s abode, and I will return to mine.” When he made this proposal, the fair one agreed to it. Then the king diverted himself with her for six days in the gardens, and in tanks, the lotus-eyes of which were full of tears, and that seemed to toss aloft their waves like hands, and in the cries of their swans and cranes to utter this plaintive appeal, “Do not leave us!” And on the seventh day he artfully decoyed his darling to that pavilion, where was the tank that served as a magic gate[10] conducting to the world of men; and throwing his arms round her neck, he plunged into that tank, and rose up with her from a tank in the garden of his own city. When the gardeners saw that he had arrived with his beloved, they were delighted, and they went and told his minister Dírghadarśin. And the minister came and fell at his feet, and seeing that he had brought with him the lady of his aspirations, he and the citizens escorted him into the palace. And he thought to himself, “Dear me! I wonder how the king has managed to obtain this celestial nymph, of whom I caught a transient glimpse in the ocean, as one sees in the heaven a lightning-flash. But the fact is, whatever lot is written for a man by the Disposer in the inscription on his forehead, infallibly befalls him, however improbable.”
Such were the reflections of the prime minister; while the rest of his subjects were full of joy at the return of the king, and of astonishment at his having won the celestial nymph. But Mṛigánkavatí, seeing that the king had returned to his own kingdom, longed, as the seven days were completed, to return to the home of the Vidyádharas. But the science of flying up into the air did not appear to her, though she called it to mind. Then she felt as one robbed of a treasure, and was in the deepest despondency. And the king said to her, “Why do you suddenly appear despondent, tell me, my darling?” Then the Vidyádharí answered him, “Because I remained so long, after I had been released from my curse, out of love for you, my science has abandoned me, and I have lost the power of returning to my heavenly home.” When king Yaśaḥketu heard this, he said, “Ha! I have now won this Vidyádharí,” and so his rejoicing was complete.
When the minister Dírghadarśin saw this, he went home, and at night, when he was in bed, he suddenly died of a broken heart. And Yaśaḥketu, after he had mourned for him, remained long bearing the burden of empire himself, with Mṛigánkavatí for his consort.
When the Vetála, seated on the shoulder of king Trivikramasena, had told him this story on the way, he went on to say to him, “So tell me, king; why did the heart of that great minister suddenly break, when his master had thus succeeded so completely? Did his heart break through grief at not having won the nymph himself? Or was it because he longed for the sovereign power, and thus was disappointed at the king’s return? And if you know this, king, and do not tell me on the spot, your merit will at once disappear, and your head will fly in pieces.” When king Trivikramasena heard that, he said to the Vetála; “Neither of these two feelings actuated that excellent and virtuous minister. But he said to himself; ‘This king neglected his kingdom out of devotion to mere human females, much more will he do so now, that he is attached to a heavenly nymph. So, though I have gone through much suffering, the disease has been aggravated by it, instead of being cured, as I had hoped.’ It was under the influence of such reflections that the minister’s heart broke.” When the king had said this, that juggling Vetála returned to his own place, and the resolute king ran swiftly after him, to bring him back again by force.
[1] Or “to protect the realm of Anga;” a shameless pun! The god of Love was consumed by the fire of Śiva’s eye.
[2] i. e. wise.