And when his youth came to an end, that king had a son, with auspicious marks, born to him by his queen Chandralekhá. He gave the son the name of Tárávaloka, and he gradually grew up, and his inborn virtues of liberality, self-control, and discernment grew with him. And the mighty-minded youth learnt the meaning of all words except one; but he was so liberal to suppliants that he cannot be said ever to have learnt the meaning of the word “No.” Gradually he became old in actions, though young in years; and though like the sun in fire of valour, he was exceedingly pleasing to look at;[3] like the full moon, he became beautiful by the possession of all noble parts; like the god of Love, he excited the longing of the whole world; in obedience to his father he came to surpass Jímútaváhana, and he was distinctly marked with the signs of a great emperor.

Then his father, the king Chandrávaloka, brought for that son of his the daughter of the king of the Madras, named Mádrí. And when he was married, his father, pleased with the supereminence of his virtues, at once appointed him Crown-prince. And when Tárávaloka had been appointed Crown-prince, he had made, with his father’s permission, alms-houses for the distribution of food and other necessaries. And every day, the moment he got up, he mounted the elephant Kuvalayapíḍa, and went round to inspect those alms-houses.[4] To whosoever asked anything he was ready to give it, even if it were his own life: in this way the fame of that Crown-prince spread in every quarter.

Then he had two twin sons born to him by Mádrí, and the father called them Ráma and Lakshmaṇa. And the boys grew like the love and joy of their parents, and they were dearer than life to their grandparents. And Tárávaloka and Mádrí were never tired of looking at them, as they bent before them, being filled with virtue, like two bows of the prince, being strung.[5]

Then the enemies of Tárávaloka, seeing his elephant Kuvalayapíḍa, his two sons, and his reputation for generosity, said to their Bráhmans, “Go and ask Tárávaloka to give you his elephant Kuvalayapíḍa. If he gives it you, we shall be able to take from him his kingdom, as he will be deprived of that bulwark; if he refuses to give it, his reputation for generosity will be at an end.” When the Bráhmans had been thus entreated, they consented, and asked Tárávaloka, that hero of generosity, for that elephant. Tárávaloka said to himself, “What do Bráhmans mean by asking for a mighty elephant? So I know for certain that they have been put up to asking me by some one. Happen what will, I must give them my splendid elephant, for how can I let a suppliant go away without obtaining his desire, while I live?” After going through these reflections, Tárávaloka gave the elephant to those Bráhmans with unwavering mind.

Then Chandrávaloka’s subjects, seeing that splendid elephant being led away by those Bráhmans, went in a rage to the king, and said, “Your son has now abandoned this kingdom, and surrendering all his rights has taken upon him the vow of a hermit. For observe, he has given to some suppliants this great elephant Kuvalayapíḍa, the foundation of the kingdom’s prosperity, that scatters with its mere smell all other elephants. So you must either send your son to the forest to practise asceticism, or take back the elephant, or else we will set up another king in your place.”[6]

When Chandrávaloka had been thus addressed by the citizens, he sent his son a message in accordance with their demands through the warder. When his son Tárávaloka heard that, he said, “As for the elephant, I have given it away, and it is my principle to refuse nothing to suppliants; but what do I care for such a throne as this, which is under the thumb of the subjects, or for a royal dignity which does not benefit others,[7] and anyhow is transient as the lightning? So it is better for me to live in the forest, among trees which give the fortune of their fruits to be enjoyed by all, and not here among such beasts of men as these subjects are.”[8] When Tárávaloka had said this, he assumed the dress of bark, and after kissing the feet of his parents and giving away all his wealth to suppliants, he went out from his own city, accompanied by his wife, who was firm in the same resolution as himself, and his two children, comforting, as well as he could, the weeping Bráhmans. Even beasts and birds, when they saw him setting forth, wept so piteously that the earth was bedewed with their rain of tears.

Then Tárávaloka went on his way, with no possessions but a chariot and horses for the conveyance of his children; but some other Bráhmans asked him for the horses belonging to the chariot; he gave them to them immediately, and drew the chariot himself, with the assistance of his wife to convey those tender young sons to the forest. Then, as he was wearied out in the middle of the forest, another Bráhman came up to him, and asked him for his horseless chariot. He gave it to him without the slightest hesitation, and the resolute fellow, going along on his feet, with his wife and sons, at last with difficulty reached the grove of mortification. There he took up his abode at the foot of a tree, and lived with deer for his only retinue, nobly waited on by his wife Mádrí. And the forest regions ministered to the heroic prince, while living in this kingdom of devotion; their clusters of flowers waving in the wind were his beautiful chowries, broad-shaded trees were his umbrellas, leaves his bed, rocks his thrones, bees his singing-women, and various fruits his savoury viands.

Now, one day, his wife Mádrí left the hermitage to gather fruits and flowers for him with her own hands, and a certain old Bráhman came and asked Tárávaloka, who was in his hut, for his sons Ráma and Lakshmaṇa. Tárávaloka said to himself, “I shall be better able to endure letting these sons of mine, though they are quite infants, be led away,[9] than I could possibly manage to endure the sending a suppliant away disappointed: the fact is, cunning fate is eager to see my resolution give way”: then he gave those sons to the Bráhman. And when the Bráhman tried to take them away, they refused to go; then he tied their hands and beat them with creepers; and as the cruel man took them away, they kept crying for their mother, and turning round and looking at their father with tearful eyes. Even when Tárávaloka saw that, he was unmoved, but the whole world of animate and inanimate existences was moved at his fortitude.

Then the virtuous Mádrí slowly returned tired from a remote part of the forest to her husband’s hermitage, bringing with her flowers, fruits and roots. And she saw her husband, who had his face sadly fixed on the ground, but she could not see anywhere those sons of hers, though their toys, in the form of horses, chariots, and elephants of clay, were scattered about. Her heart foreboded calamity, and she said excitedly to her husband “Alas! I am ruined! Where are my little sons?” Her husband slowly answered her, “Blameless one, I gave those two little sons away to a poor Bráhman, who asked for them.” When the good lady heard that, she rose superior to her distraction, and said to her husband, “Then you did well: how could you allow a suppliant to go away disappointed?” When she said this, the equally matched goodness of that married couple made the earth tremble, and the throne of Indra rock.

Then Indra saw by his profound meditation that the world was made to tremble by virtue of the heroic generosity of Mádrí and Tárávaloka. Then he assumed the form of a Bráhman, and went to Tárávaloka’s hermitage, to prove him, and asked him for his only wife Mádrí. And Tárávaloka was preparing to give without hesitation, by the ceremony of pouring water over the hands,[10] that lady who had been his companion in the wild forest, when Indra, thus disguised as a Bráhman, said to him, “Royal sage, what object do you mean to attain by giving away a wife like this?” Then Tárávaloka said, “I have no object in view, Bráhman; so much only do I desire, that I may ever give away to Bráhmans even my life.” When Indra heard this, he resumed his proper shape, and said to him, “I have made proof of thee, and I am satisfied with thee; so I say to thee, thou must not again give away thy wife; and soon thou shalt be made emperor over all the Vidyádharas.” When the god had said this, he disappeared.