Chapter V.
Having said this, Vararuchi continued his tale as follows:—
In course of time Yogananda became enslaved by his passions, and like a mad elephant he disregarded every restraint. Whom will not a sudden access of prosperity intoxicate? Then I reflected with myself, “The king has burst all bonds, and my own religious duties are neglected being interfered with by my care for his affairs, therefore it is better for me to draw out that Śakatála from his dungeon and make him my colleague in the ministry; even if he tries to oppose me, what harm can he do as long as I am in office?” Having resolved on this I asked permission of the king, and drew Śakatála out of the deep dungeon. Bráhmans are always soft-hearted. Now the discreet Śakatála made up his mind, that it would be difficult to overthrow Yogananda as long as I was in office, and that he had accordingly better imitate the cane which bends with the current, and watch a favourable moment for vengeance, so at my request he resumed the office of minister and managed the king’s affairs.
Once on a time Yogananda went outside the city, and beheld in the middle of the Ganges a hand, the five fingers of which were closely pressed together. That moment he summoned me and said, “What does this mean?” But I displayed two of my fingers in the direction of the hand. Thereupon that hand disappeared, and the king, exceedingly astonished, again asked me what this meant, and I answered him, “That hand meant to say, by shewing its five fingers, ‘What cannot five men united effect in this world?’ Then I, king, shewed it these two fingers, wishing to indicate that nothing is impossible when even two men are of one mind.” When I uttered this solution of the riddle the king was delighted, and Śakatála was despondent seeing that my intellect would be difficult to circumvent.
One day Yogananda saw his queen leaning out of the window and asking questions of a Bráhman guest that was looking up. That trivial circumstance threw the king into a passion, and he gave orders that the Bráhman should be put to death; for jealousy interferes with discernment. Then as that Bráhman was being led off to the place of execution in order that he might be put to death, a fish in the market laughed aloud, though it was dead.[1] The king hearing it immediately prohibited for the present the execution of that Bráhman, and asked me the reason why the fish laughed. I replied that I would tell him after I had thought over the matter; and after I had gone out Sarasvatí came to me secretly on my thinking of her and gave me this advice; “Take up a position on the top of this palm tree at night so as not to be observed, and thou shalt without doubt hear the reason why the fish laughed.” Hearing this I went at night to that very place, and ensconced myself on the top of the palm tree, and saw a terrible female Rákshasa coming past with her children; when they asked her for food, she said, “Wait, and I will give you to-morrow morning the flesh of a Bráhman, he was not killed to-day.”[2] They said to their mother, “Why was he not killed to-day?” Then she replied, “He was not executed because a fish in the town, though dead, laughed when it saw him.” The sons said, “Why did the fish laugh?” She continued, “The fish of course said to himself—all the king’s wives are dissolute, for in every part of this harem there are men dressed up as women, and nevertheless while these escape, an innocent Bráhman is to be put to death—and this tickled the fish so that he laughed. For demons assume these disguises, insinuating themselves into everything, and laughing at the exceeding want of discernment of kings.” After I had heard that speech of the female Rákshasa I went away from thence, and in the morning I informed the king why the fish laughed. The king after detecting in the harem those men clothed as women, looked upon me with great respect, and released that Bráhman from the sentence of death.
I was disgusted by seeing this and other lawless proceedings on the part of the king, and, while I was in this frame of mind, there came to court a new painter. He painted on a sheet of canvas the principal queen and Yogananda, and that picture of his looked as if it were alive, it only lacked speech and motion. And the king being delighted loaded that painter with wealth, and had the painting set up on a wall in his private apartments. Now one day when I entered into the king’s private apartments, it occurred to me that the painting of the queen did not represent all her auspicious marks; from the arrangement of the other marks I conjectured by means of my acuteness that there ought to be a spot where the girdle comes, and I painted one there. Then I departed after thus giving the queen all her lucky marks. Then Yogananda entered and saw that spot, and asked his chamberlains who had painted it. And they indicated me to him as the person who had painted it. Yogananda thus reflected while burning with anger; “No one except myself knows of that spot, which is in a part of the queen’s body usually concealed, then how can this Vararuchi have come thus to know it?[3] No doubt he has secretly corrupted my harem, and this is how he came to see there those men disguised as women.” Foolish men often find such coincidences. Then of his own motion he summoned Śakatála, and gave him the following order: “You must put Vararuchi to death for seducing the queen.” Śakatála said, “Your Majesty’s orders shall be executed,” and went out of the palace, reflecting, “I should not have power to put Vararuchi to death, for he possesses godlike force of intellect; and he delivered me from calamity; moreover he is a Bráhman, therefore I had better hide him and win him over to my side.” Having formed this resolution, he came and told me of the king’s causeless wrath which had ended in his ordering my execution, and thus concluded, “I will have some one else put to death in order that the news may get abroad, and do you remain hidden in my house to protect me from this passionate king.” In accordance with this proposal of his, I remained concealed in his house, and he had some one else put to death at night in order that the report of my death might be spread.[4] When he had in this way displayed his statecraft, I said to him out of affection, “You have shewn yourself an unrivalled minister in that you did not attempt to put me to death; for I cannot be slain, since I have a Rákshasa to friend, and he will come, on being only thought of, and at my request will devour the whole world. As for this king he is a friend of mine, being a Bráhman named Indradatta, and he ought not to be slain.” Hearing this, that minister said—“Shew me the Rákshasa.” Then I shewed him that Rákshasa who came with a thought; and on beholding him, Śakatála was astonished and terrified. And when the Rákshasa had disappeared, Śakatála again asked me—“How did the Rákshasa become your friend?” Then I said—“Long ago the heads of the police as they went through the city night after night on inspecting duty, perished one by one. On hearing that, Yogananda made me head of the police, and as I was on my rounds at night, I saw a Rákshasa roaming about, and he said to me, “Tell me, who is considered the best-looking woman in this city?” When I heard that, I burst out laughing and said—“You fool, any woman is good-looking to the man who admires her.” Hearing my answer, he said—“You are the only man that has beaten me.” And now that I had escaped death by solving his riddle,[5] he again said to me, “I am pleased with you, henceforth you are my friend, and I will appear to you when you call me to mind.” Thus he spoke and disappeared, and I returned by the way that I came. Thus the Rákshasa has become my friend, and my ally in trouble. When I had said this, Śakatála made a second request to me, and I shewed him the goddess of the Ganges in human form who came when I thought of her. And that goddess disappeared when she had been gratified by me with hymns of praise. But Śakatála became from thenceforth my obedient ally.
Now once on a time that minister said to me when my state of concealment weighed upon my spirits; “why do you, although you know all things, abandon yourself to despondency? Do you not know that the minds of kings are most undiscerning, and in a short time you will be cleared from all imputations;[6] in proof of which listen to the following tale:—