Then Manoháriká was delighted, and she bowed before him, and set out, mounted on her bird, to find her friend Padmávatí. And Muktáphalaketu, his languor having been removed by delight, quickly entered his own city with Saṃyataka.
And Manoháriká, when she came into the presence of Padmávatí, told her of the love-pain of her beloved, as she had witnessed it, and repeated to her his speech, sweet and tender with affection, as she had heard it; and told her of the arrangement to meet her in the hermitage of Gaurí, which he had made, and then gave her the crest-jewel which he had sent, and shewed her the chain which he had given herself as a present. Then Padmávatí embraced and honoured that friend of hers who had been so successful; and forgot that pain of the fire of love which had tortured her before, and she fastened that crest-jewel on her head, as if it were joy, and began to prepare to go to the wood of Gaurí.
In the meanwhile it happened that a hermit, of the name of Tapodhana, came to that grove of Gaurí, with his pupil, named Dṛiḍhavrata. And while there, the hermit said to his pupil Dṛiḍhavrata, “I will engage in contemplation for a time in this heavenly garden. You must remain at the gate, and not let any one in, and after I have finished my contemplation, I will worship Párvatí.” When the hermit had said this, he placed that pupil at the gate of the garden, and began to engage in contemplation under a párijáta-tree. After he rose up from his contemplation, he went into the temple to worship Ambiká, but he did not tell his pupil, who was at the gate of the garden.
And in the meanwhile Muktáphalaketu came there adorned, with Saṃyataka, mounted on a heavenly camel. And as he was about to enter that garden, that pupil of the hermit forbade him, saying, “Do not do so! My spiritual superior is engaged in contemplation within.” But the prince, longing to see his beloved, said to himself, “The area of this garden is extensive, and it is possible that she may have arrived and may be somewhere within it, whereas the hermit is only in one corner of it.” So he got out of sight of that hermit’s pupil, and with his friend entered the garden by flying through the air.
And while he was looking about, the hermit’s pupil came in to see if his spiritual superior had completed his meditation. He could not see his superior there, but he did see the noble Muktáphalaketu with his friend, who had entered the garden by a way by which it was not meant to be entered. Then that pupil of the hermit cursed the prince in his anger, saying to him, “As you have interrupted the meditation of my spiritual guide, and driven him away, go with your friend to the world of men on account of this disrespect.” After he had pronounced this curse, he went in search of his superior. But Muktáphalaketu was thrown into great despondency by this curse having fallen on him like a thunderbolt, when his desire was on the point of being fulfilled. And in the meanwhile, Padmávatí, eager to meet her beloved, came mounted on a bird, with Manoháriká and her other attendants. And when the prince saw that lady, who had come to meet him of her own accord, but was now separated from him by a curse, he was reduced to a painful frame of mind in which sorrow and joy were blended. And at that very moment Padmávatí’s right eye throbbed, boding evil fortune, and her heart fluttered. Then the princess, seeing that her lover was despondent, thought that he might be annoyed because she had not come before he did, and approached him with an affectionate manner. Then the prince said to her, “My beloved, our desire, though on the point of fulfilment, has been again baffled by Fate.” She said excitedly, “Alas! how baffled?” And then the prince told her how the curse was pronounced on him.
Then they all went, in their despondency, to entreat the hermit, who was the spiritual guide of him who inflicted the curse, and was now in the temple of the goddess, to fix an end to the curse. When the great hermit, who possessed supernatural insight, saw them approach in humble guise, he said with a kind manner to Muktáphalaketu, “You have been cursed by this fool who acted rashly before he had reflected;[10] however you have not done me any harm, since I rose up of myself. And this curse can only be an instrument, not the real reason of your change; in truth you have in your mortal condition to do the gods a service. You shall come in the course of destiny to behold this Padmávatí, and sick with love, you shall abandon your mortal body, and be quickly released from your curse. And you shall recover this lady of your life, wearing the same body that she wears now; for being a deliverer of the universe, you do not deserve to lie long under a curse. And the cause of all this that has befallen you is the slight stain of unrighteousness which attaches to you, on account of your having slain with that weapon of Brahmá, which you employed, old men and children.”
When Padmávatí heard this, she said, with tears in her eyes, to that sage, “Holy Sir, let me now have the same lot as my future husband! I shall not be able to live for a moment without him.” When Padmávatí made this request, the hermit said to her, “This cannot be: do you remain here for the present engaged in asceticism, in order that he may be quickly delivered from his curse, and may marry you. And then, as the consort of that Muktáphalaketu, you shall rule the Vidyádharas and Asuras for ten kalpas. And while you are performing asceticism, this crest-jewel, which be gave you, shall protect you; for it is of great efficacy, having sprung from the water-pot of the Disposer.”
When the hermit, possessing divine insight, had said this to Padmávatí, Muktáphalaketu, bending low, addressed this prayer to him, “Holy Sir, may my faith in Śiva be unwavering during my life as a man, and may my mind never be inclined to any lady but Padmávatí.” The hermit replied, “So let it be!” and then Padmávatí, sorely grieved, pronounced on that pupil, whose fault had entailed these misfortunes, the following curse, “Since you cursed in your folly my destined husband, you shall be a vehicle for him to ride on in his human condition, possessing the property of going with a wish and changing your shape at will.” When the pupil had been thus cursed, he was despondent, and then the hermit Tapodhana disappeared with him.
Then Muktáphalaketu said to Padmávatí, “I will now go to my city, and see what will happen to me there.” When Padmávatí heard this, being terrified at separation, she at once fell on the earth with all her ornaments, as a creeper, broken by the wind, falls with all its flowers. And Muktáphalaketu comforted, as well as he could, his crying love, and departed with his friend, frequently turning round his eyes to look at her. And after he was gone, Padmávatí was much grieved, and weeping, said to her friend Manoháriká, who tried to comfort her, “My friend, I am certain that I saw the goddess Párvatí to-day in a dream, and she was about to throw a garland of lotuses round my neck, when she said, ‘Never mind! I will give it you on some future occasion,’ and desisted from her intention. So I understand that she wished in this way to let me know that my union with my beloved would be hindered.” When she was mourning in this way over what had occurred, her friend said to her, “This dream was no doubt sent to you when you say, by the goddess, in order to comfort you. And the hermit said the very same to you, and the gods have clearly thus ordained: so, be of good cheer, you will soon be reunited with your beloved.”
This and other speeches from her friend, and the magic efficacy of the crest-jewel made Padmávatí recover her self-command, and she remained there in the hermitage of Gaurí. And she performed asceticism, worshipping there Śiva and Párvatí, three times a day, and also the picture of her beloved, which she had brought from her own city, looking upon it as the image of a divinity. Her parents, hearing what had taken place, came to her in tears, and tried to prevent her, saying, “Do not uselessly fatigue yourself with penance, to bring about a desired end, which will anyhow take place.” But she said to them, “How could I live here with any comfort, now that the husband recently appointed for me by the god has fallen into misery owing to a curse? For to ladies of good family a husband is a god. And no doubt, this calamity may soon be brought to an end by austerities, and Śiva may be propitiated, and then I may be reunited with my beloved, for there is nothing[11] that austerities cannot accomplish.” When Padmávatí had said this with firm resolution, her mother Kuvalayávalí said to her father the king, “King, let her perform this severe asceticism! Why trouble her further on false grounds? This is appointed for her by destiny: there is a reason for it; listen. Long ago, in the city of Śiva, the daughter of the king of the Siddhas, named Devaprabhá, was performing a very severe penance, in order to obtain the husband she desired. Now my daughter Padmávatí had gone there with me to visit the shrine of the god, and she went up to the Siddha maiden and laughed at her, saying, ‘Are you not ashamed to practise austerities in order to obtain a husband?’ Then the Siddha maiden cursed her in her rage, saying, ‘Fool! your laughter proceeds from childishness: you also shall perform painful austerities to your heart’s content to obtain a husband.’ Accordingly she must of necessity endure the misery which the curse of the Siddha maiden has entailed; who can alter that? So let her do what she is doing?” When the queen had said this to the king of the Gandharvas, he took leave at last, though reluctantly, of his daughter, who bowed at his feet, and went to his own city. And Padmávatí remained in that hermitage of Párvatí, intent on religious observances and prayers, and every day she went through the air and worshipped that Siddhíśvara, that was worshipped by Brahmá and the other gods, of which Śiva had told her in a dream.