He said, “I will do so,” and took the vessel of rice, and placed it at no great distance under a banyan-tree on the edge of the lake; and he washed his hands and feet in the lake, and rinsed his mouth, and then came back in high spirits to eat the rice. But while he was thus engaged, a kite, holding a black cobra with its beak and claws, came from some place or other, and sat on that tree. And it so happened that poisonous saliva issued from the mouth of that dead snake, which the bird had captured and was carrying along. The saliva fell into the dish of rice which was placed underneath the tree, and Harisvámin, without observing it, came and ate up that rice.[6] As soon as in his hunger he had devoured all that food, he began to suffer terrible agonies produced by the poison. He exclaimed, “When fate has turned against a man, everything in this world turns also; accordingly this rice dressed with milk, ghee and sugar, has become poison to me.”
Thus speaking, Harisvámin, tortured with the poison, tottered to the house of that Bráhman, who was engaged in the sacrifice, and said to his wife; “The rice, which you gave me, has poisoned me; so fetch me quickly a charmer who can counteract the operation of poison; otherwise you will be guilty of the death of a Bráhman.” When Harisvámin had said this to the good woman, who was beside herself to think what it could all mean, his eyes closed, and he died.
Accordingly the Bráhman, who was engaged in a sacrifice, drove out of his house his wife, though she was innocent and hospitable, being enraged with her for the supposed murder of her guest. The good woman, for her part, having incurred groundless blame from her charitable deed, and so become branded with infamy, went to a holy bathing-place to perform penance.
Then there was a discussion before the superintendent of religion, as to which of the four parties, the kite, the snake, and the couple who gave the rice, were guilty of the murder of a Bráhman, but the question was not decided.[7]
“Now you, king Trivikramasena, must tell me, which was guilty of the murder of a Bráhman; and if you do not, you will incur the before-mentioned curse.”
When the king heard this from the Vetála, he was forced by the curse to break silence, and he said, “No one of them could be guilty of the crime; certainly not the serpent, for how could he be guilty of anything, when he was the helpless prey of his enemy, who was devouring him? To come to the kite; what offence did he commit in bringing his natural food which he had happened to find, and eating it, when he was hungry? And how could either of the couple, that gave the food, be in fault, since they were both people exclusively devoted to righteousness, not likely to commit a crime? Therefore I think the guilt of slaying a Bráhman would attach to any person, who should be so foolish as, for want of sufficient reflection, to attribute it to either of them.”
When the king had said this, the Vetála again left his shoulder, and went to his own place, and the resolute king again followed him.
[1] In the original śinśapá, which Professor Monier Williams renders thus; “the tree Dalbergia Sisu; the Aśoka tree.” Dr. King informs me that these two trees are altogether different. The translation which I have given of the word śinśapá, throughout these tales of the Vetála, is, therefore, incorrect. The tree to which the Vetála so persistently returns, is a Dalbergia Sisu.
[2] Dveshá must be a misprint for dveshát.