When they cried the third time, “Halt! O Ardschi-Bordschi!” the King himself, and all who stood there with him, fell on their faces before the throne, and worshipped it.
“Listen, O Ardschi-Bordschi, and all ye people give ear, and I will tell you out of the days of old what manner of king was the hero Vikramâditja.”
The Sûta tells Ardschi-Bordschi concerning Vikramâditja’s Birth.
Long ages ago there lived a King named Gandharva. To him was wedded Udsesskülengtu-Gôa-Chatun[1], the all-charming daughter of the mighty king Galindari.
Gandharva was a noble King, and ruled the world with justice and piety. Nevertheless Gandharva had no heir, though he prayed continually to Buddha that he might have a son. And as he thus prayed and mourned continually, Udsesskülengtu-Gôa came to him one day, and said, “My lord, since thou art thus grieved at heart because no heir is given to us, take now unto thee another wife, even a wife from among thy people, and perhaps so shalt thou be blessed with succession to the throne.” And her words pleased the King, and he chose a wife of low degree, and married her, and in due time she bore him a son.
But when Udsesskülengtu-Gôa, the all-charming one, saw that the heart of the King was taken from her, and given to the wife of low degree, because she had borne him a son, while she was less favoured by heaven, she was grieved in spirit, and said within herself, “What shall I do now that the heart of my lord is taken from me? Was it not by my father’s aid that he attained the throne? And was it not even by my advice that he took this wife who has borne him a son? And yet his heart is taken from me.” Nevertheless she complained not to him, but mourned by herself apart.
Then one of her maidens, when she saw her thus mourning apart, came to her, and said, “Is there not living by the kaitja[2], on the other side of the mountain, a lama, possessed of prodigious powers? Who shall say but that he might find a remedy for the grief of the Khan’s wife.” And Udsesskülengtu-Gôa listened to the maiden’s words, and leaving off from mourning, she rose, and called to her four of the maidens, and prepared her to make the journey to visit the holy man at the kaitja, on the other side the mountain, taking with her good provision of tea[3] and other things needful for the journey.
Arrived at the kaitja, she made the usual obeisance, and would have opened her suit; but the hermit was at that moment sunk in his meditations, and paid her no heed until she had three times changed[4] her place of kneeling. Then he said, “Exalted Queen! what grief or what necessity brings thee hither to this kaitja thus devoutly?” And when she had told him all her story, he replied,—