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

by active 11th century Somadeva Bhatta

Then king Vikramáditya reached that victorious army commanded by that Vikramaśakti his general, and he entered it at the head of his forces, accompanied by that general, who came to meet him, eager and with loyal mind, together with the vassal kings.

The kings were thus announced by the warders in the tent of assembly, “Your Majesty, here is Śaktikumára the king of Gauḍa come to pay you his respects, here is Jayadhvaja the king of Karṇáṭa, here is Vijayavarman of Láṭa, here is Sunandana of Kaśmíra, here is Gopála king of Sindh, here is Vindhyabala the Bhilla, and here is Nirmúka the king of the Persians.” And when they had been thus announced, the king honoured them, and the feudal chiefs, and also the soldiers. And he welcomed in appropriate fashion the daughter of the king of Sinhala, and the heavenly maidens, and the golden deer, and Vikramaśakti. And the next day the successful monarch Vikramáditya set out with them and his forces, and reached the city of Ujjayiní.

Then, the kings having been dismissed with marks of honour[1] to their own territories, and the world-gladdening festival of the spring season having arrived, when the creepers began, so to speak, to adorn themselves with flowers for jewels, and the female bees to keep up a concert with their humming, and the ranges of the wood to dance embraced by the wind, and the cuckoos with melodious notes to utter auspicious prayers, king Vikramáditya married on a fortunate day that daughter of the king of Sinhala, and those two heavenly maidens. And Sinhavarman, the eldest brother of the princess of Sinhala, who had come with her, bestowed at the marriage-altar a great heap of jewels.

And at that moment the Yakshiṇí Madanamanjarí appeared, and gave those two heavenly maidens countless heaps of jewels. The Yakshí said, “How can I ever, king, recompense you for your benefits? But I have done this unimportant service to testify my devotion to you. So you must shew favour to these maidens, and to the deer.” When the Yakshí had said this, she departed honoured by the king.

Then the successful king Vikramáditya, having obtained those wives and the earth with all its dvípas, ruled a realm void of opponents; and he enjoyed himself roaming in all the garden grounds; during the hot season living in the water of tanks and in artificial fountain-chambers, during the rains in inner apartments charming on account of the noise of cymbals that arose in them, during the autumn on the tops of palaces, joyous with banquets under the rising moon, during the winter in chambers where comfortable couches were spread, and which were fragrant with black aloes, being ever surrounded by his wives.

Story of Malayavatí the man-hating maiden.

Now this king, being such as I have described, had a painter named Nagarasvámin, who enjoyed the revenues of a hundred villages, and surpassed Viśvakarman. That painter used every two or three days to paint a picture of a girl, and give it as a present to the king, taking care to exemplify different types of beauty.

Now, once on a time, it happened that that painter had, because a feast was going on, forgotten to paint the required girl for the king. And when the day for giving the present arrived, the painter remembered and was bewildered, saying to himself, “Alas! what can I give to the king?” And at that moment a traveller come from afar suddenly approached him and placed a book in his hand, and went off somewhere quickly. The painter out of curiosity opened the book, and saw within a picture of a girl on canvas. Inasmuch as the girl was of wonderful beauty, no sooner did he see her picture then he took it and gave it to the king, rejoicing that, so far from having no picture to present that day, he had obtained such an exceedingly beautiful one. But the king, as soon as he saw it, was astonished, and said to him, “My good fellow, this is not your painting, this is the painting of Viśvakarman: for how could a mere mortal be skilful enough to paint such beauty?” When the painter heard this, he told the king exactly what had taken place.

Then the king kept ever looking at the picture of the girl, and never took his eyes off it, and one night he saw in a dream a girl exactly like her, but in another dvípa. But as he eagerly rushed to embrace her, who was eager to meet him, the night came to an end, and he was woke up by the watchman.[2] When the king awoke, he was so angry at the interruption of his delightful interview with that maiden, that he banished that watchman from the city. And he said to himself, “To think that a traveller should bring a book, and that in it there should be the painted figure of a girl, and that I should in a dream behold this same girl apparently alive! All this elaborate dispensation of destiny makes me think that she must be a real maiden, but I do not know in what dvípa she lives; how am I to obtain her?”