Then that minister’s son beheld him disguised in female form, and was deeply pierced with the shafts of the archer Love. And when he went to his house, accompanied by his bride, it seemed to him to be empty; for he was robbed of his heart by that seeming maiden. Then he continued to think of nothing but the beauty of that supposed maiden’s face, and bitten by the great snake of fierce passion, he suddenly became distracted. The people, who were there, ceased from their rejoicing, and in their bewilderment asked what it meant, and his father Prajnáságara, hearing of it, came to him in haste. And when his father tried to comfort him, he woke up from his stupor and uttered what was in his mind, babbling deliriously. And that father of his was very much troubled, as he thought that the matter was one altogether beyond his power. Then the king heard of it, and came there in person. And he at once saw that the minister’s son had been in a moment reduced by strong passion to the seventh[7] stage of love-sickness; so he said to his ministers; “How can I give him a maiden whom a Bráhman left in my care? And yet, if he does not obtain her, he will without doubt reach the last stage. If he dies, his father, who is my minister, will perish; and if he perishes, my kingdom is ruined, so tell me what I am to do in this matter.”
When the king said this, all those ministers said, “They say that the special virtue of a king is the protection of the virtue of his subjects. Now the root of this protection is counsel, and counsel resides in counsellors. If the counsellor perishes, protection perishes in its root, and virtue is certain to be impaired.[8] Moreover guilt would be incurred by causing the death of this Bráhman minister and his son, so you must avoid doing that, otherwise there is a great chance of your infringing the law of virtue. Accordingly you must certainly give to the minister’s son the maiden committed to your care by the first Bráhman, and if he returns after the lapse of some time, and is angry, steps can then be taken to put matters right.”
When the ministers said this to the king, he agreed to give that man, who was palming himself off as a maiden, to the minister’s son. And after fixing an auspicious moment, he brought Manaḥsvámin, in female form, from the palace of the princess; and he said to the king; “If, king, you are determined to give me, whom another committed to your care, to a person other than him for whom I was intended, I must, I suppose, acquiesce; you are a king, and justice and injustice are matters familiar to you. But I consent to the marriage on this condition only, that I am not to be considered as a wife until my husband has spent six months in visiting holy bathing-places, and returns home; if this condition is not agreed to, know that I will bite my own tongue in two, and so commit suicide.”
When the young man, disguised in female form, had prescribed this condition, the king informed the minister’s son of it, and he was consoled, and accepted the terms; and he quickly went through the ceremony of marriage, and placed in one house Mṛigánkavatí his first wife, and his second supposed wife, carefully guarded, and, like a fool, went on a pilgrimage to holy bathing-places, to please the object of his affections.
And Manaḥsvámin, in female form, dwelt in the same house with Mṛigánkavatí, as the partner of her bed and board. And one night, while he was living there in this way, Mṛigánkavatí said to him secretly in the bed-chamber, while their attendants were sleeping outside, “My friend, I cannot sleep, tell me some tale.” When the young man, disguised in female form, heard this, he told her the story, how in old time a royal sage, named Iḍa, of the race of the sun, assumed, in consequence of the curse of Gaurí, a female form that fascinated the whole world, and how he and Budha fell in love with one another at first sight, meeting one another in a shrubbery in the grounds of a temple, and were there united, and how Purúravas was the fruit of that union. When the artful creature had told this story, he went on to say, “So by the fiat of a deity or by charms and drugs, a man may sometimes become a woman, and vice versâ, and in this way even great ones do sometimes unite impelled by love.”
When the tender fair one, who regretted her husband, who had left her as soon as the marriage had taken place, heard this, she said to her supposed rival, in whom she had come to confide by living with her, “This story makes my body tremble and my heart, as it were, sink; so tell me friend, what is the meaning of this.” When the Bráhman, disguised in female form, heard this, he went on to say, “My friend, these are violent symptoms of love; I have felt them myself, I will not conceal it from you.” When she said this, Mṛigánkavatí went on slowly to say, “Friend, I love you as my life, so why should I not say what I think it is time to reveal? Could any one by any artifice be introduced into this palace?” When the pupil of that master-rogue heard this, he took her meaning and said to her, “If this is the state of affairs, then I have something to tell you. I have a boon from Vishṇu, by which I can at pleasure become a man during the night, so I will now become one for your sake.” So he took the globule out of his mouth, and displayed himself to her as a handsome man in the prime of youth. And so the Bráhman lived with the wife of the minister’s son, becoming a woman in the day, and resuming his male form at night. But hearing in a few days that the son of the minister was on the point of returning, he took the precaution of eloping with her from that house during the night.
At this point in the story, it happened that his teacher, Múladeva, heard all the circumstances; so he again assumed the form of an old Bráhman, and accompanied by his friend Śaśin, who had assumed the form of a young Bráhman, he went and respectfully said to king Yaśaḥketu, “I have brought back my son; so give me my daughter-in-law.” Then the king, who was afraid of being cursed, deliberated and said to him; “Bráhman, I do not know where your daughter-in-law has gone, so forgive me; as I am in fault, I will give you my own daughter for your son.” When the king had said this to that prince of rogues, disguised in the form of an old Bráhman, who asserted his false claim with the sternness of assumed anger, he gave his daughter with all due ceremonies to his friend Śaśin, who pretended to be the supposed Bráhman’s son. Then Múladeva took the bride and bridegroom, who had been thus united, off to his own home, without showing any desire for the king’s wealth.
And there Manaḥsvámin met them, and a fierce dispute took place between him and Śaśin in the presence of that Múladeva. Manaḥsvámin said, “This Śaśiprabhá should be given to me, for long ago, when she was a maiden, I married her by the favour of the master.” Śaśin said, “You fool, what have you to do with her? she is my wife, for her father bestowed her on me in the presence of the fire.” So they went on wrangling about the princess, whom they had got hold of by means of magic, and their dispute was never decided. So tell me, king, to which of the two does that wife belong? Resolve my doubt; the conditions of non-compliance are those which I mentioned before.”
When king Trivikramasena was thus addressed by the Vetála on his shoulder, he gave him this answer: “I consider that the princess is the lawful wife of Śaśin, since she was openly given to him by her father in the lawful way. But Manaḥsvámin married her in an underhand way, like a thief, by the Gándharva rite; and a thief has no lawful title to the possessions of another.”
When the Vetála heard this answer of the king’s, he quickly left his shoulder, and went back to his own place, and the king hurried after him.