When the goddess said this, Jímútaváhana also heard it, and seeing his beloved, he went up to her, and his friend accompanied him. And his friend, the hermit’s son, said to the young lady, “See, here is that very bridegroom whom the goddess has in reality bestowed upon you.” And Jímútaváhana, uttering many tender loving speeches, removed with his own hand the noose from her neck. Then they seemed to have experienced, as it were, a sudden shower of nectar, and Malayavatí remained with bashful eye, drawing lines upon the ground. And at that moment, one of her companions, who was looking for her, suddenly came up to her, and said in joyful accents, “Friend, you are lucky, and you are blessed with good fortune in that you have obtained the very thing which you desired. For, this very day, prince Mitrávasu said to the great king, your father, in my hearing, ‘Father, that Vidyádhara prince Jímútaváhana, the object of the world’s reverence, the bestower of the wishing-tree, who has come here, should be complimented by us, as he is our guest; and we cannot find any other match as good as him; so let us pay him a compliment by bestowing on him this pearl of maidens Malayavatí.’ The king approved, saying ‘So be it’, and your brother Mitrávasu has now gone to the hermitage of the illustrious prince on this very errand. And I know that your marriage will take place at once, so come back to your palace, and let this illustrious prince also return to his dwelling.” When the princess’s companion said this to her, she departed slowly from that place, rejoicing and regretful, frequently turning her head.
And Jímútaváhana also returned quickly to his hermitage, and heard from Mitrávasu, who came there, his commission, which fulfilled all his wishes, and welcomed it with joy. And as he remembered his former births, he gave him an account of one in which Mitrávasu was his friend, and Mitrávasu’s sister his wife.[7] Then Mitrávasu was pleased, and informed the parents of Jímútaváhana, who were also delighted, and returned, to the joy of his own parents, having executed his mission successfully. And that very day he took Jímútaváhana to his own house, and he made preparations for the marriage festival with a magnificence worthy of his magic power, and on that very same auspicious day he celebrated the marriage of his sister to that Vidyádhara prince; and then Jímútaváhana, having obtained the desire of his heart, lived with his newly married wife Malayavatí. And once on a time, as he was roaming about out of curiosity with Mitrávasu on that Malaya mountain, he reached a wood on the shore of the sea. There he saw a great many heaps of bones, and he said to Mitrávasu, “What creatures are these whose bones are piled up here?” Then his brother-in-law Mitrávasu said to that compassionate man, “Listen, I will tell you the story of this in a few words. Long, long ago, Kadrú the mother of the snakes conquered Vinatá, the mother of Garuḍa, in a treacherous wager, and made her a slave. Through enmity caused thereby, the mighty Garuḍa,[8] though he had delivered his mother, began to eat the snakes the sons of Kadrú. He was thenceforth continually in the habit of entering Pátála, and some he smote, some he trampled, and some died of fright.
“When Vásuki, the king of the snakes, saw that, he feared that his race would be annihilated at one fell swoop, so he supplicated Garuḍa, and made a compact with him, saying, ‘King of birds, I will send you one snake every day to this shore of the southern sea for your meal. But you must by no means enter Pátála, for what advantage will you gain by destroying the snakes at one blow?’ When the king of the snakes said this, the mighty Garuḍa saw that the proposal was to his advantage, and agreed to it. And from that time forth, the king of birds eats every day, on the shore of the sea, a snake sent by Vásuki. So these are heaps of bones of snakes devoured by Garuḍa, that have gradually accumulated in course of time, and come to look like the peak of a mountain.”
When Jímútaváhana, that treasure-house of courage and compassion, had heard, inly grieving, this story from the mouth of Mitrávasu, he thus answered him, “One cannot help grieving for king Vásuki, who, like a coward, offers up every day his subjects to their enemy with his own hand. As he has a thousand faces and a thousand mouths, why could he not say with one mouth to Garuḍa, ‘Eat me first?’ And how could he be so cowardly as to ask Garuḍa to destroy his race, and so heartless as to be able to listen continually unmoved to the lamentation of the Nága women?[9] And to think that Garuḍa, though the son of Kaśyapa and a hero, and though sanctified by being the bearer of Kṛishṇa, should do such an evil deed! Alas the depths of delusion!” When the noble-hearted one had said this, he formed this wish in his heart, “May I obtain the one essential object in this world by the sacrifice of the unsubstantial body! May I be so fortunate as to save the life of one friendless terrified Nága by offering myself to Garuḍa!”
While Jímútaváhana was going through these reflections, a doorkeeper came from Mitrávasu’s father to summon them, and Jímútaváhana sent Mitrávasu home, saying to him, “Go you on first, I will follow.” And after he had gone, the compassionate man roamed about alone, intent on effecting the object he had in view, and he heard afar off a piteous sound of weeping. And he went on, and saw near a lofty rocky slab a young man of handsome appearance plunged in grief: an officer of some monarch seemed to have just brought him and left him there, and the young man was trying to induce by loving persuasions[10] an old woman, who was weeping there, to return.
And while Jímútaváhana was listening there in secret, melted with pity, eager to know who he could be, the old woman, overwhelmed with the weight of her grief, began to look again and again at the young man, and to lament his hard lot in the following words, “Alas Śankhachúḍa, you that were obtained by me by means of a hundred pangs! Alas, virtuous one! Alas! son, the only scion of our family, where shall I behold you again? Darling, when this moon of your face is withdrawn, your father will fall into the darkness of grief, and how will he live to old age? How will your body, that would suffer even from the touch of the sun’s rays, be able to endure the agony of being devoured by Garuḍa? How comes it that Providence and the king of the snakes were able to find out you, the only son of ill-starred me, though the world of the snakes is wide?” When she thus lamented, the young man her son said to her, “I am afflicted enough, as it is, mother; why do you afflict me more? Return home; this is my last reverence to you, for I know it will soon be time for Garuḍa to arrive here.” When the old woman heard that, she cast her sorrowful eyes all round the horizon, and cried aloud, “I am undone; who will deliver my son?”
In the meanwhile Jímútaváhana, that portion of a Bodhisattva, having heard and seen that, said to himself, being profoundly touched with pity, “I see, this is an unhappy snake, of the name of Śankhachúḍa, who has now been sent by king Vásuki, to serve as food for Garuḍa. And this is his aged mother, whose only son he is, and who has followed him here out of love, and is lamenting piteously from grief. So, if I cannot save this wretched Nága by offering up this exceedingly perishable body, alas! my birth will have been void of fruit.”
When Jímútaváhana had gone through these reflections, he went joyfully up to the old woman, and said to her, “Mother, I will deliver your son.” When the old woman heard that, she was alarmed and terrified, thinking that Garuḍa had come, and she cried out, “Eat me, Garuḍa, eat me!” Then Śankhachúḍa said, “Mother, do not be afraid, this is not Garuḍa. There is a great difference between this being who cheers one like the moon, and the terrible Garuḍa.” When Śankhachúḍa said this, Jímútaváhana said, “Mother, I am a Vidyádhara, come to deliver your son; for I will give my body, disguised in clothes, to the hungry Garuḍa; and do you return home, taking your son with you.”
When the old woman heard that, she said, “By no means, for you are my son in a still higher sense, because you have shewn such compassion for us at such a time.” When Jímútaváhana heard that, he replied, “You two ought not to disappoint my wish in this matter.” And when he persistently urged this, Śankhachúḍa said to him; “Of a truth, noble-hearted man, you have displayed your compassionate nature, but I cannot consent to save my body at the cost of yours; for who ought to save a common stone by the sacrifice of a gem? The world is full of people like myself, who feel pity only for themselves, but people like you, who are inclined to feel pity for the whole world, are few in number; besides, excellent man, I shall never find it in my heart to defile the pure race of Śankhapála, as a spot defiles the disk of the moon.”
When Śankhachúḍa had in these words attempted to dissuade him, he said to his mother, “Mother, go back, and leave this terrible wilderness. Do you not see here this rock of execution, smeared with the clotted gore of snakes, awful as the luxurious couch of Death! But I will go to the shore of the sea, and worship the lord Gokarṇa, and quickly return, before Garuḍa comes here.” When Śankhachúḍa had said this, he took a respectful leave of his sadly-wailing mother, and went to pay his devotions to Gokarṇa.