The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story

by active 11th century Somadeva Bhatta

Story of Ráma.

In this forest Ráma once dwelt accompanied by Lakshmaṇa, and waited on by Sítá, in the society of hermits, making to himself a hut at the foot of a tree. And Sítá, perfuming the whole forest with the perfume given her by Anasúyá, remained here in the midst of the hermits’ wives, wearing a robe of bark.

Here the Daitya Dundubhi was slain in a cave by Báli, which was the original cause of the enmity between Báli and Sugríva. For Sugríva, wrongly supposing that the Daitya had slain Báli, blocked up the entrance of the cave with mountains, and went away terrified. But Báli broke through the obstruction, and came out, and banished Sugríva, saying, “This fellow imprisoned me in the cave because he wanted to get my kingdom.” But Sugríva fled, and came and established himself on this plateau of Ṛishyamúka with the lords of the monkeys, of whom Hanumán was the chief.

Then Rávaṇa came here, and beguiling the soul of Ráma with the phantom of a golden deer, he carried off his wife the daughter of Janaka. Then the descendant of Raghu, who longed for news of Sítá, made an alliance with Sugríva, who desired the slaughter of Báli. And in order to let his might be known, he cleft seven palm-trees here with an arrow, while the mighty Báli with great difficulty cleft one of them. And then the hero went hence to Kishkindhya, and after slaying Báli with a single arrow, which he launched as if in sport, gave his kingdom to Sugríva.

Then the followers of Sugríva, headed by Hanumán, went hence in every direction to gain information about Sítá. And Ráma remained here during the rainy season with the roaring clouds, which seemed to share his grief shedding showery tear-drops. At last Hanumán crossed the sea at the suggestion of Sampáti, and by great exertions obtained for Ráma the required information; whereupon he marched with the monkeys, and threw a bridge over the sea, and killed his enemy the lord of Lanká, and brought back queen Sítá in the flying chariot, passing over this place.

“So, my husband, you also shall attain good fortune: successes come of their own accord to heroes who remain resolute in misfortunes.” This and other such tales did Prabhávatí tell, while she roamed about here and there for her pleasure with Naraváhanadatta.

And one day, as he was in the neighbourhood of Pampá, two Vidyádharís, Dhanavatí and Ajinávatí, descended from heaven and approached him. These were the two ladies who carried him from the city of the Gandharvas to the city of Śrávastí, where he[3] married Bhagírathayaśas. And while Ajinávatí was conversing with Prabhávatí as an old friend, Dhanavatí thus addressed Naraváhanadatta, “I long ago bestowed on you this daughter of mine Ajinávatí, as far as promises could do it; so marry her; for the day of your exaltation is nigh at hand.” Prabhávatí, out of love for her friend, and Naraváhanadatta both agreed to this proposal. Then Dhanavatí bestowed that daughter of hers Ajinávatí on that son of the king of Vatsa, with appropriate ceremonies. And she celebrated the great feast of her daughter’s wedding in such style that the glorious and heavenly preparations she had accumulated by means of her magic knowledge made it really beautiful.

Then the next day she said to Naraváhanadatta, “My son, it will never do for you to remain long in a nondescript place like this: for the Vidyádharas are a deceitful race, and you have no business here. So depart now with your wife for your own city of Kauśámbí; and I will come there with my son Chaṇḍasinha and with the Vidyádhara chiefs that follow me, to ensure your success.”[4] When Dhanavatí had said this, she mounted up into the sky, illuminating it, as it were, with moonlight, though it was day, by the gleam of her white body and raiment.

And Prabhávatí and Ajinávatí carried Naraváhanadatta through the air to his city of Kauśámbí. When he reached the garden of the city, he descended from heaven into his capital, and was seen by his attendants. And there arose there a cry from the people on all sides, “We are indeed happy; here is the prince come back.” Then the king of Vatsa, hearing of it, came there quickly in high delight, as if irrigated with a sudden shower of nectar, with Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, and the prince’s wives, Ratnaprabhá and the rest; and Yaugandharáyaṇa and the other ministers of the king of Vatsa, and Kalingasená and the prince’s own ministers, Gomukha and his fellows, approached him in order of precedence as eagerly as travellers make for a lake in the hot season. And they saw the hero, whose high birth qualified him for a lofty station, sitting between his two wives, like Kṛishṇa between Rukmiṇí and Satyabhámá. And when they saw him, they hid their eyes with tears of joy, as if for fear lest they should leap out of their skins in their delight. And the king of Vatsa and his queens embraced after a long absence that son of theirs, and could not let him go, for they were, as it were, riveted to him by the hairs of their bodies erect from joy.