In due season the ceremony took place with feasting and bands of music, fireworks and illuminations, rehearsals of scripture, songs, entertainments, processions, and abundant noise. And hardly had the turmeric disappeared from the beautiful hands and feet of the bride, when the bridegroom took an affectionate leave of his new parents—he had not lived long in the house—and receiving the dowry and the bridal gifts, set out for his own country.
Chandravati was dejected by leaving her mother, and therefore she was allowed to carry with her the jay, Madanmanian. She soon told her husband the wonderful way in which she had first heard his name, and he related to her the advantage which he had derived from confabulation with Churaman, his parrot.
“Then why do we not put these precious creatures into one cage, after marrying them according to the rites of the angelic marriage (Gandharva-lagana)?” said the charming queen. Like most brides, she was highly pleased to find an opportunity of making a match.
“Ay! why not, love? Surely they cannot live happy in what the world calls single blessedness,” replied the young king. As bridegrooms sometimes are for a short time, he was very warm upon the subject of matrimony.
Thereupon, without consulting the parties chiefly concerned in their scheme, the master and mistress, after being comfortably settled at the end of their journey, caused a large cage to be brought, and put into it both their favourites.
Upon which Churaman the parrot leaned his head on one side and directed a peculiar look at the jay. But Madan-manjari raised her beak high in the air, puffed through it once or twice, and turned away her face in extreme disdain.
“Perhaps,” quoth the parrot, at length breaking silence, “you will tell me that you have no desire to be married?”
“Probably,” replied the jay.
“And why?” asked the male bird.
“Because I don’t choose,” replied the female.