Then the heroic prince, accompanied by his ministers, again crossed various stretches of woodland, which contained many hundreds of lakes, and were black with tamála-trees[2] throughout their whole expanse, looking like nights in the rainy season, when the clouds collect; and others which had their canes broken by terrible infuriated elephants roaming through them, in which the arjuna-trees formed a strong contrast to the tamála-trees,[3] and which thus resembled so many cities of king Viráṭa; and ravines of mighty mountains, which were pure, though strewn with flowers, and though frequented by subdued hermits, were haunted by fierce beasts; and at last came near the city of Ujjayiní.
Then he reached the river Gandhavatí, and dispelled his fatigue by bathing in it, and after crossing it, he arrived with his companions in that cemetery of Mahákála. There he beheld the image of mighty Bhairava, black with the smoke from neighbouring pyres, surrounded with many fragments of bones and skulls, terrible with the skeletons of men which it held in its grasp, worshipped by heroes, frequented by many troops of demons, dear to sporting witches.
And after crossing the cemetery, he beheld the city of Ujjayiní, a yuga old, ruled by king Karmasena. Its streets were watched by guards with various weapons, who were themselves begirt by many brave high-born Rájpúts; it was surrounded with ramparts resembling the peaks of mighty mountains; it was crowded with elephants, horses, and chariots, and hard for strangers to enter.
When Mṛigánkadatta beheld that city, which was thus inaccessible on every side, he turned his face away in despondency, and said to his ministers, “Alas! ill-starred man that I am! though it has cost me hundreds of hardships to reach this city, I cannot even enter it; what chance then have I of obtaining my beloved?” When they heard this, they said to him, “What! do you suppose, prince, that this great city could ever be stormed by us, who are so few in number? We must think of some expedient to serve in this emergency, and an expedient will certainly be found; how comes it that you have forgotten that this expedition has frequently been enjoined by the gods?”
When Mṛigánkadatta had been thus addressed by his ministers, he remained for some days roaming about outside the city.
Then his minister Vikramakeśarin called to mind that Vetála, which he had long ago won over, intending to employ him to fetch the prince’s love from her dwelling-house. And the Vetála came, black in hue, tall, with a neck like a camel, elephant-faced, with legs like a bull, eyes like an owl, and the ears of an ass. But finding that he could not enter the city, he departed; the favour of Śiva secures that city against being invaded by such creatures.
Then the Bráhman Śrutadhi, who was versed in policy, said to Mṛigánkadatta, as he was sitting in gloom, surrounded by his ministers, longing in his heart to enter the city; “Why, prince, though you know the true principles of policy, do you remain bewildered, like one ignorant of them? Who will ever be victorious in this world by disregarding the difference between himself and his foe? For at every one of the four gates of this city, two thousand elephants, twenty-five thousand horses, ten thousand chariots, and a hundred thousand footmen remain harnessed and ready, day and night, to guard it; and they are hard to conquer, being commanded by heroes. So, as for a handful of men, like ourselves, entering it by force, that is a mere chimerical fancy,[4] not a measure calculated to ensure success. Moreover, this city cannot be overthrown by a small force; and a contest with an overwhelming force is like fighting on foot against an elephant. So join with your friend Máyávaṭu the king of the Pulindas, whom you delivered from the terrible danger of the water-monsters in the Narmadá, and with his friend Durgapiśácha the very powerful king of the Mátangas, who is attached to you on account of his alliance with him,[5] and with that king of the Kirátas, named Śaktirakshita, who is famous for his valour and has observed a vow of strict chastity from his youth upwards, and let them all bring their forces, and then do you, thus strengthened by allies, fill every quarter with your hosts, and so accomplish the object you have in view. Moreover, the king of the Kirátas is awaiting your coming from a distance in accordance with your agreement; how have you come to forget this? And no doubt, Máyávaṭu is ready awaiting your arrival, in the territory of[6] the king of the Mátangas, for you made this agreement with him. So let us go to the castle named Karabhagríva, on the southern slope of the Vindhyas, in which that chief of the Mátangas dwells. And let us summon there Śaktirakshita, the king of the Kirátas, and united with them all make a fortunate expedition with every chance of success.
When Mṛigánkadatta and his ministers heard this speech of Śrutadhi’s, which was full of sense and such as the wise would approve, they eagerly accepted it, saying, “So be it.” And the next day the prince adored that unresting traveller of the sky, the sun, the friend of the virtuous, that had just arisen, revealing every quarter of the world,[7] and set out for the abode of Durgapiśácha king of the Mátangas on the southern slope of the Vindhya range. And his ministers Bhímaparákrama, and Vyághrasena, and Guṇákara, and Meghabala with Vimalabuddhi, and Sthúlabáhu with Vichitrakatha, and Vikramakeśarin, and Prachaṇḍaśakti, and Śrutadhi and Dṛiḍhamushṭi followed him. With them he successively crossed forests wide-ranging as his own undertakings, and stretches of woodland profound as his own schemes, with no better refuge at night than the root of a tree[8] on the shore of a lake, and reached and ascended the Vindhya mountain lofty as his own soul.
Then the prince went from the summit of the mountain down its southern slope, and beholding afar off the villages of the Bhillas full of elephants’ tusks and deer-skins, he said to himself, “How am I to know where the dwelling of that king of the Mátangas is?” While engaged in such reflections, he and his ministers saw a hermit boy come towards them, and after doing obeisance to him, they said, “Fair Sir, do you know in what part of this region the palace of Durgapiśácha, the king of the Mátangas, is? For we wish to see him.”
When that good young ascetic heard this, he said, “Only a kos distant from this place is a spot called Panchavatí, and not far from it was the hermitage of the hermit Agastya, who with small effort cast down from heaven the haughty king Nahusha; where Ráma, who by command of his father took up his dwelling in a forest, accompanied by Lakshmaṇa and his wife Sítá, long waited on that hermit; where Kabandha,[9] who guided Ráma to the slaughter of the Rákshasas, proceeded to attack Ráma and Lakshmaṇa, as Ráhu does the sun and moon, whose arm a yojana in length Ráma felled, so that it resembled Nahusha in his serpent form, come to supplicate Agastya; where even now the Rákshasas hearing the roaring of the clouds at the beginning of the rainy season, call to mind the twanging of the bow of Ráma; where the aged deer, that were fed by Sítá, beholding the regions deserted in every direction, with eyes filling with tears, reject the mouthful of grass; where Márícha, who brought about Sítá’s separation from her husband, assumed the form of a golden deer and enticed away Ráma, as if to save from slaughter those deer, that were still left alive; where, in many a great lake full of the water of the Káverí, it appears as if Agastya had vomited up in driblets the sea that he swallowed. Not far from that hermitage, on a table-land of the Vindhya, is a stronghold tangled and inaccessible, named Karabhagríva. In it dwells that mighty Durgapiśácha of terrible valour, chief of the Mátangas, whom kings cannot conquer. And he commands a hundred thousand bowmen of that tribe, every one of whom is followed by five hundred warriors. With the aid of those brigands he robs caravans, destroys his enemies, and enjoys this great forest, caring nought for this or that king.[10]