When the princess heard this, she said with difficulty, as if ashamed, “Go, my dear friend, and bring my beloved here quickly; for in no other way can my suffering be allayed, and my father will not be angry; on the contrary, as soon as he comes here, he will give me to him.” When her friend heard that, she said to her in a tone of decision, “If it be so, recover your self-command. This is but a little matter. Here am I, my friend, setting out for Chandrapura the famous and splendid city of Chandraketu the king of the Vidyádharas, the father of your beloved, to bring your beloved to you. Be comforted! What is the use of grief?”
When the princess had been thus comforted by Manoháriká, she said, “Then rise up, my friend, may your journey be prosperous! Go at once! And you must say courteously from me to that heroic lord of my life, who delivered the three worlds, ‘When you delivered me so triumphantly in that temple of Gaurí from the danger of the Rákshasís, how is that you do not deliver me now, when I am being slain by the god Cupid, the destroyer of women? Tell me, my lord, what kind of virtue is this in persons like yourself able to deliver the worlds—to neglect in calamity one whom you formerly saved, though she is devoted to you.’[6] This is what you must say, auspicious one, or something to this effect as your own wisdom may direct.” When Padmávatí had said this, she sent that friend on her errand. And she mounted a bird which her magic knowledge brought to her, to carry her, and set out for that city of the Vidyádharas.
And then Padmávatí, having to a certain extent recovered her spirits by hope, took the painting-tablet, and entered the palace of her father. There she went into her own apartment surrounded by her servants, and bathed and worshipped Śiva with intense devotion, and thus prayed to him, “Holy one, without thy favouring consent no wish, great or small, is fulfilled for any one in these three worlds. So if thou wilt not give me for a husband that noble son of the emperor of the Vidyádharas, on whom I have set my heart, I will abandon my body in front of thy image.”
When she addressed this prayer to Śiva, her attendants were filled with grief and astonishment, and said to her, “Why do you speak thus, princess, regardless of your body’s weal? Is there anything in these three worlds difficult for you to obtain? Even Buddha would forget his self-restraint, if loved by you. So he must be a man of exceptional merit, whom you thus love.” When the princess heard this, carried away by the thought of his virtues, she said, “How can I help loving him, who is the only refuge of Indra and the rest of the gods, who alone destroyed the army of the Asuras, as the sun destroys the darkness, and who saved my life?” Saying such things, she remained there full of longing, engaged in conversation about her beloved with her confidential attendants.
In the meanwhile her friend Manoháriká, travelling at full speed, reached Chandrapura, that city of the king of the Vidyádharas; which Viśvakarman made wonderful, and of unparalleled magnificence, as if dissatisfied with the city of the gods, though of that also he was the architect. There she searched for Muktáphalaketu, but could not find him, and then, riding on her bird, she went to the garden belonging to that city. She derived much pleasure from looking at that garden, the magic splendour of which was inconceivable; the trees of which were of glittering jewels, and had this peculiarity that one tree produced a great many flowers of different kinds; which was rendered charming by the blending of the notes of various birds with the sound of heavenly songs; and which was full of many slabs of precious stone.
And then, various gardeners, in the form of birds, saw her, and came up to her, speaking with articulate voice, and addressing her kindly, and they invited her to sit down on a slab of emerald at the foot of a párijáta-tree, and when she was seated, served her with appropriate luxuries. And she received that attention gratefully, and said to herself, “Wonderful are the magic splendours of the princes of the Vidyádharas, since they possess such a garden in which enjoyments present themselves unlooked for, in which the servants are birds, and the nymphs of heaven keep up a perpetual concert.” When she had said this to herself, she questioned those attendants, and at last, searching about, she found a thicket of párijáta and other trees of the kind, and in it she saw Muktáphalaketu appearing to be ill,[7] lying on a bed of flowers sprinkled with sandal-wood juice. And she recognized him, as she had become acquainted with him in the hermitage of Gaurí, and she said to herself, “Let me see what his illness is, that he is lying here concealed.”
In the meanwhile Muktáphalaketu began to say to his friend Saṃyataka, who was attempting to restore him with ice, and sandal-wood, and fanning, “Surely this god of love has placed hot coals in the ice for me, and in the sandal-wood juice a flame of chaff, and in the air of the fan a fire as of a burning forest, since he produces a scorching glow on every side of me, who am tortured with separation. So why, my friend, do you weary yourself in vain? In this garden, which surpasses Nandana, even the delightful songs and dances and other sports of heavenly nymphs afflict my soul. And without Padmávatí, the lotus-faced, the daughter of Padmaśekhara, this fever produced by the arrows of love cannot be alleviated. But I do not dare to say this, and I do not find a refuge in any one; indeed I know only of one expedient for obtaining her. I will go to the temple of Gaurí, where I saw my beloved, and where she tore out my heart with the arrows of her sidelong glances, and carried it away. There Śiva, who is united with the daughter of the king of mountains, will, when propitiated with penance, shew me how to become united with my beloved.”
When the prince had said this, he was preparing to rise up, and then Manoháriká, being much pleased, shewed herself; and Saṃyataka, delighted, said to that prince, “My friend, you are in luck; your desire is accomplished. Look! here is that beloved’s female attendant come to you. I beheld her at the side of the princess in the hermitage of the goddess Ambiká.” Then the prince, beholding the friend of his beloved, was in a strange state, a state full of the bursting forth of joy, astonishment, and longing. And when she came near him, a rain of nectar to his eyes, he made her sit by his side, and asked her about the health of his beloved.
Then she gave him this answer, “No doubt my friend will be well enough, when you become her husband; but at present she is afflicted. For ever since she saw you, and you robbed her of her heart, she has been despondent, and neither hears nor sees. The maiden has left off her necklace, and wears a chain of lotus-fibres; and has abandoned her couch, and rolls on a bed of lotus-leaves. Best of conquerors, I tell you, her limbs, now white with the sandal-wood juice which is drying up with their heat, seem laughingly[8] to say, ‘That very maiden, who formerly was too bashful to endure the mention of a lover[9], is now reduced to this sad condition by being separated from her dear one.’ And she sends you this message.” Having said so much, Manoháriká recited the two verses which Padmávatí had put into her mouth.
When Muktáphalaketu heard all that, his pain departed, and he joyfully welcomed Manoháriká, and said to her, “This my mind has been irrigated by your speech, as by nectar, and is refreshed; and I have recovered my spirits, and got rid of my languor: my good deeds in a former life have to-day borne fruit, in that that daughter of the Gandharva king is so well-disposed towards me. But, though I might possibly be able to endure the agony of separation, how could that lady, whose body is as delicate as a śirísha-flower, endure it? So I will go to that very hermitage of Gaurí; and do you bring your friend there, in order that we may meet at once. And go quickly, auspicious one, and comfort your friend, and give her this crest-jewel, which puts a stop to all grief, which the Self-existent gave me, when pleased with me. And this necklace, which Indra gave me, is a present for yourself.” When the prince had said this, he gave her the crest-jewel from his head, and he took the necklace from his neck, and put it on hers.