And as he was relating to his friend his adventures from the time of his plunging into the stream, Śrídatta beheld a woman weeping in the road; when she said, “I am a woman going to Ujjayiní and I have lost my way,” Śrídatta out of pity made her journey along with him. He and Nishṭhuraka, together with that woman, whom he kept with him out of compassion, halted that day in a certain deserted town. There he suddenly woke up in the night and beheld that the woman had slain Nishṭhuraka, and was devouring his flesh with the utmost delight. Then he rose up drawing his sword Mṛigánka, and that woman assumed her own terrible form, that of a Rákshasí,[7] and he seized that night-wanderer by her hair, to slay her. That moment she assumed a heavenly shape and said to him, “Slay me not, mighty hero, let me go, I am not a Rákshasí; the hermit Viśvámitra imposed this condition on me by a curse. For once when he was performing austerities from a desire to attain the position of the god of wealth, I was sent by the god to impede him. Then finding that I was not able to seduce him with my alluring form, being abashed, I assumed in order to terrify him a formidable shape. When he saw this, that hermit laid on me a curse suitable to my offence, exclaiming—‘Wicked one, become a Rákshasí and slay men.’ And he appointed that my curse should end when you took hold of my hair; accordingly I assumed this detestable condition of a Rákshasí, and I have devoured all the inhabitants of this town: now to-day after a long time you have brought my curse to an end in the manner foretold; therefore receive now some boon.” When he heard that speech of hers, Śrídatta said respectfully, “Mother grant that my friend may be restored to life. What need have I of any other boon?” “So be it,” said she, and after granting the boon disappeared. And Nishṭhuraka rose up again alive without a scratch on his body. Then Śrídatta set out the next morning with him, delighted and astonished, and at last reached Ujjayiní. There he revived by his appearance the spirits of his friends, who were anxiously expecting him, as the arrival of the cloud revives the peacocks. And after he had told all the wonders of his adventures, Báhuśálin went through the usual formalities of hospitality, taking him to his own home. There Śrídatta was taken care of by the parents of Báhuśálin, and lived with his friends as comfortably as if he were in his own house.
Once on a time, when the great feast of spring-tide[8] had arrived, he went with his friends to behold some festal rejoicings in a garden. There he beheld a maiden, the daughter of king Bimbaki, who had come to see the show, looking like the goddess of the Splendour of Spring present in bodily form. She, by name Mṛigánkavatí, that moment penetrated into his heart, as if through the openings left by the expansion of his eye. Her passionate look too, indicative of the beginning of love, fixed on him, went and returned like a confidante. When she entered a thicket of trees, Śrídatta not beholding her, suddenly felt his heart so empty that he did not know where he was. His friend Báhuśálin, who thoroughly understood the language of gestures, said to him, “My friend, I know your heart, do not deny your passion, therefore, come, let us go to that part of the garden where the king’s daughter is.” He consented and went near her accompanied by his friend. That moment a cry was heard there, which gave great pain to the heart of Śrídatta, “Alas the princess has been bitten by a snake!” Báhuśálin then went and said to the chamberlain—“My friend here possesses a ring that counteracts the effects of poison, and also healing spells.” Immediately the chamberlain came, and bowing at his feet, quickly led Śrídatta to the princess. He placed the ring on her finger, and then muttered his spells so that she revived. Then all the attendants were delighted, and loud in praise of Śrídatta, and the king Bimbaki hearing the circumstances came to the place. Accordingly Śrídatta returned with his friends to the house of Báhuśálin without taking back the ring. And all the gold and other presents, which the delighted king sent to him there, he handed over to the father of Báhuśálin. Then, thinking upon that fair one, he was so much afflicted, that his friends became utterly bewildered as to what to do with him. Then a dear friend of the princess, Bhávaniká, by name, came to him on pretence of returning the ring; and said to him, “That friend of mine, illustrious Sir, has made up her mind, that either you must save her life by becoming her husband, or she will be married to her grave.” When Bhávaniká had said this, Śrídatta and Báhuśálin and the others quickly put their heads together and came to the following resolution, “We will carry off this princess secretly by a stratagem, and will go unperceived from here to Mathurá and live there.” The plan having been thoroughly talked over, and the conspirators having agreed with one another what each was to do in order to carry it out, Bhávaniká then departed. And the next day Báhuśálin, accompanied by three of his friends, went to Mathurá on pretext of trafficking, and as he went he posted in concealment at intervals swift horses for the conveyance of the princess. But Śrídatta then brought at eventide a woman with her daughter into the palace of the princess, after making them both drink spirits, and then Bhávaniká, on pretence of lighting up the palace, set fire to it, and secretly conveyed the princess out of it; and that moment Śrídatta, who was remaining outside, received her, and sent her on to Báhuśálin, who had started in the morning, and directed two of his friends to attend on her and also Bhávaniká. Now that drunken woman and her daughter were burnt in the palace of the princess, and people supposed that the princess had been burnt with her friend. But Śrídatta took care to show himself in the morning as before, in the city; then on the second night, taking with him his sword Mṛigánka, he started to follow his beloved, who had set out before him. And in his eagerness he accomplished a great distance that night, and when the morning watch[9] had passed, he reached the Vindhya forest. There he first beheld unlucky omens, and afterwards he saw all those friends of his together with Bhávaniká lying in the road gashed with wounds. And when he came up all distracted, they said to him, “We were robbed to-day by a large troop of horsemen that set upon us. And after we were reduced to this state, one of the horsemen threw the terrified princess on his horse and carried her off. So before she has been carried to a great distance, go in this direction, do not remain near us, she is certainly of more importance than we.” Being urged on with these words by his friends, Śrídatta rapidly followed after the princess, but could not help frequently turning round to look at them. And after he had gone a considerable distance, he caught up that troop of cavalry, and he saw a young man of the warrior caste in the midst of it. And he beheld that princess held by him upon his horse. So he slowly approached that young warrior; and when soft words would not induce him to let the princess go, he hurled him from his horse with a blow of his foot, and dashed him to pieces on a rock. And after he had slain him, he mounted on his horse and slew a great number of the other horsemen who charged him in anger. And then those who remained alive, seeing that the might which the hero displayed was more than human, fled away in terror; and Śrídatta mounted on the horse with the princess Mṛigánkavatí and set out to find those friends of his. And after he had gone a little way, he and his wife got off the horse which had been severely wounded in the fight, and soon after it fell down and died. And then his beloved Mṛigánkavatí, exhausted with fear and exertion, became very thirsty. And leaving her there, he roamed a long distance hither and thither, and while he was looking for water the sun set. Then he discovered that, though he had found water, he had lost his way, and he passed that night in the wood roaming about, moaning aloud like a Chakraváka.[10] And in the morning he reached that place, which was easy to recognise by the carcass of the horse. And nowhere there did he behold his beloved princess. Then in his distraction he placed his sword Mṛigánka on the ground, and climbed to the top of a tree, in order to cast his eye in all directions for her. That very moment a certain Śavara chieftain passed that way; and he came up and took the sword from the foot of the tree. Beholding that Śavara chieftain, Śrídatta came down from the top of the tree, and in great grief asked him for news of his beloved. The Śavara chieftain said—“Leave this place and come to my village; I have no doubt she whom you seek has gone there; and I shall come there and return you this sword.” When the Śavara chieftain urged him to go with these words, Śrídatta, being himself all eagerness, went to that village with the chief’s men. And there those men said to him,—“Sleep off your fatigue,”—and when he reached the house of the chief of the village, being tired he went to sleep in an instant. And when he woke up he saw his two feet fastened with fetters, like the two efforts he had made in order to obtain his beloved, which failed to reach their object. Then he remained there weeping for his darling, who, like the course of destiny, had for a moment brought him joy, and the next moment blasted his hopes.
One day a serving maid of the name of Mochaniká came to him and said,—Illustrious Sir, unwittingly you have come hither to your death? For the Śavara chieftain has gone somewhither to accomplish certain weighty affairs, and when he returns, he will offer you to Chaṇḍiká.[11] For with that object he decoyed you here by a stratagem from this slope of the wild Vindhya hill, and immediately threw you into the chains in which you now are. And it is because you are intended to be offered as a victim to the goddess, that you are continually served with garments and food. But I know of only one expedient for delivering you, if you agree to it. This Śavara chieftain has a daughter named Sundarí, and she having seen you is becoming exceedingly love-sick; marry her who is my friend, then you will obtain deliverance.[12] When she said this to him, Śrídatta consented, desiring to be set at liberty, and secretly made that Sundarí his wife by the Gándharva form of marriage. And every night she removed his chains and in a short time Sundarí became pregnant. Then her mother, having heard the whole story from the mouth of Mochaniká, out of love for her son-in-law Śrídatta, went and of her own accord said to him—“My son, Śríchaṇḍa the father of Sundarí is a wrathful man, and will show thee no mercy. Therefore depart, but thou must not forget Sundarí.” When his mother-in-law had said this, she set him at liberty, and Śrídatta departed after telling Sundarí that the sword, which was in her father’s possession, really belonged to himself.
So he again entered full of anxiety that forest, in which he had before wandered about, in order again to search for traces of Mṛigávatí. And having seen an auspicious omen he came to that same place, where that horse of his died before, and whence his wife was carried off. And there he saw near[13] him a hunter coming towards him, and when he saw him he asked him for news of that gazelle-eyed lady. Then the hunter asked him “Are you Śrídatta?” and he sighing replied “I am that unfortunate man.” Then that hunter said, “Listen, friend, I have somewhat to tell you. I saw that wife of yours wandering hither and thither lamenting your absence, and having asked her her story, and consoled her, moved with compassion I took her out of this wood to my own village. But when I saw the young Pulindas[14] there, I was afraid, and I took her to a village named Nágasthala near Mathurá.[15] And then I placed her in the house of an old Bráhman named Viśvadatta commending her with all due respect to his care. And thence I came here having learnt your name from her lips. Therefore you had better go quickly to Nágasthala to search for her.” When the hunter had told him this, Śrídatta quickly set out, and he reached Nágasthala in the evening of the second day. Then he entered the house of Viśvadatta and when he saw him said, “Give me my wife who was placed here by the hunter.” Viśvadatta when he heard that, answered him, “I have a friend in Mathurá a Bráhman, dear to all virtuous men, the spiritual preceptor and minister of the king Śúrasena. In his care I placed your wife. For this village is an out-of-the-way place and would not afford her protection. So go to that city to-morrow morning, but to-day rest here.” When Viśvadatta said this, he spent that night there, and the next morning he set off, and reached Mathurá on the second day. Being weary and dusty with the long journey, he bathed outside that city in the pellucid water of a lake. And he drew out of the middle of the lake a garment placed there by some robbers, not suspecting any harm. But in one corner of the garment, which was knotted up, a necklace was concealed.[16] Then Śrídatta took that garment, and in his eagerness to meet his wife did not notice the necklace, and so entered the city of Mathurá. Then the city police recognized the garment, and finding the necklace, arrested Śrídatta as a thief, and carried him off, and brought him before the chief magistrate exactly as he was found, with the garment in his possession; by him he was handed up to the king, and the king ordered him to be put to death.
Then, as he was being led off to the place of execution with the drum being beaten behind him,[17] his wife Mṛigánkavatí saw him in the distance. She went in a state of the utmost distraction and said to the chief minister, in whose house she was residing, “Yonder is my husband being led off to execution.” Then that minister went and ordered the executioners to desist, and, by making a representation to the king, got Śrídatta pardoned, and had him brought to his house. And when Śrídatta reached his house, and saw that minister, he recognised him and fell at his feet, exclaiming, “What! is this my uncle Vigatabhaya, who long ago went to a foreign country, and do I now by good luck find him established in the position of a minister?” He too recognised to his astonishment Śrídatta as his brother’s son, and embraced him, and questioned him about all his adventures. Then Śrídatta related to his uncle his whole history beginning with the execution of his father. And he, after weeping, said to his nephew in private, “Do not despond, my son, for I once brought a female Yaksha into subjection by means of magic; and she gave me, though I have no son, five thousand horses and seventy millions of gold pieces: and all that wealth is at your disposal.” After telling him this, his uncle brought him his beloved, and he, having obtained wealth, married her on the spot. And then he remained there in joy, united with that beloved Mṛigánkavatí as a bed of white lotuses[18] with the night. But even when his happiness was at its full, anxiety for Báhuśálin and his companions clouded his heart, as a spot of darkness does the full moon. Now one day his uncle said secretly to Śrídatta: “my son, the king Śúrasena has a maiden daughter, and in accordance with his orders I have to take her to the land of Avanti to give her away in marriage; so I will take her away on that very pretext, and marry her to you. Then, when you have got possession of the force that follows her, with mine already at your disposal, you will soon gain the kingdom that was promised you by the goddess Śrí.” Having resolved on this, and having taken that maiden, Śrídatta and his uncle set out with their army and their attendants. But as soon as they had reached the Vindhya forest, before they were aware of the danger, a large army of brigands set upon them showering arrows. After routing Śrídatta’s force, and seizing all the wealth, they bound Śrídatta himself, who had fainted from his wounds, and carried him off to their village. And they took him to the awful temple of Durgá, in order to offer him up in sacrifice, and, as it were, summoned Death with the sound of their gongs. There Sundarí saw him, one of his wives, the daughter of the chief of the village, who had come with her young son to visit the shrine of the goddess. Full of joy she ordered the brigands, who were between her and her husband, to stand aside, and then Śrídatta entered her palace with her. Immediately Śrídatta obtained the sovereignty of that village, which Sundarí’s father, having no son, bequeathed to her when he went to heaven. So Śrídatta recovered his wife and his sword Mṛigánka, and also his uncle and his followers, who had been overpowered by the robbers. And, while he was in that town, he married the daughter of Śúrasena, and became a great king there. And from that place he sent ambassadors to his two fathers-in-law, to Bimbaki, and king Śúrasena. And they, being very fond of their daughters, gladly recognised him as a connection, and came to him accompanied by the whole of their armies. And his friends Báhuśálin and the others, who had been separated from him, when they heard what had happened, came to him with their wounds healed and in good health. Then the hero marched, united with his fathers-in-law, and made that Vikramaśakti, who had put his father to death, a burnt-offering in the flame of his wrath. And then Śrídatta, having gained dominion over the sea-encircled earth, and deliverance from the sorrow of separation, joyed in the society of Mṛigánkavatí. Even so, my king, do men of firm resolution cross the calamitous sea of separation and obtain prosperity.
After hearing this tale from Sangataka, the king Sahasráníka, though longing for the sight of his beloved one, managed to get through that night on the journey. Then, engrossed with his desire, sending his thoughts on before, in the morning Sahasráníka set out to meet his darling. And in a few days he reached that peaceful hermitage of Jamadagni, in which even the deer laid aside their wantonness. And there he beheld with reverence that Jamadagni, the sight of whom was sanctifying, like the incarnate form of penance, who received him hospitably. And the hermit handed over to him that queen Mṛigávatí with her son, regained by the king after long separation, like tranquillity accompanied with joy. And that sight which the husband and wife obtained of one another, now that the curse had ceased, rained, as it were, nectar into their eyes, which were filled with tears of joy. And the king embracing that son Udayana, whom he now beheld for the first time, could with difficulty let him go, as he was, so to speak, riveted to his body with his own hairs that stood erect from joy.[19] Then king Sahasráníka took his queen Mṛigávatí with Udayana, and, bidding adieu to Jamadagni, set out from that tranquil hermitage for his own city, and even the deer followed him as far as the border of the hermitage with tearful eyes. Beguiling the way by listening to the adventures of his beloved wife during the period of separation, and by relating his own, he at length reached the city of Kauśámbí, in which triumphal arches were erected and banners displayed. And he entered that city in company with his wife and child, being, so to speak, devoured[20] by the eyes of the citizens, that had the fringe of their lashes elevated. And immediately the king appointed his son Udayana crown-prince, being incited to it by his excellent qualities. And he assigned to him as advisers the sons of his own ministers, Vasantaka and Rumaṇvat and Yaugandharáyaṇa. Then a rain of flowers fell, and a celestial voice was heard—“By the help of these excellent ministers, the prince shall obtain dominion over the whole earth.” Then the king devolved on his son the cares of empire, and enjoyed in the society of Mṛigávatí the long-desired pleasures of the world. At last the desire of earthly enjoyment, beholding suddenly that old age, the harbinger of composure had reached the root of the king’s ear,[21] became enraged and fled far from him. Then that king Sahasráníka established in his throne his excellent son Udayana,[22] whom the subjects loved so well, to ensure the world’s prosperity, and accompanied by his ministers, and his beloved wife, ascended the Himálaya to prepare for the last great journey.
[1] I. e., given by Fortune.
[2] Cp. the story of Sattvaśíla, which is the seventh tale in the Vetála Panchavinśati, and will be found in Chapter 81 of this work. Cp. also the story of Śaktideva in Book V. ch. 26, and Ralston’s remarks on it in his Russian Folk-Tales, p. 99.
[3] Vishṇu assumed the form of a dwarf and appeared before Bali, and asked for as much land as he could step over. On Bali’s granting it, Vishṇu dilating himself, in two steps deprived him of heaven and earth, but left the lower regions still in his dominion.