XXI.
HOW A WOMAN REQUITES LOVE.[1]
In lost past times, in a palace in a land every way blest, there reigned a king to whom his wife bore four sons, named Śākha, Gulma, Anugulma, and Viśākha. After having all grown up, and taken to themselves as wives kings’ daughters from other lands, they began to behave disrespectfully to the king. The king banished them, and they departed, along with their wives, and came to a desert place, where their means of sustenance ran short. So they made an agreement among themselves to put their wives to death one after another, and by feeding on their flesh to make their own way through the desert. Viśākha, however, was of opinion that it would be better to sacrifice his own life than to take away another’s, and instead of waiting to see who was to die he determined to escape along with his wife. So he fled away with her. But after a time she said, being exhausted by the want of food and drink, and by the fatigue of the journey, “O lord, I am dying.” Viśākha thought that it would be sad if she were to die now, after he had saved her from the hands of the Rākshasas (or cannibals). So he sliced some flesh off his hams and gave it to her to eat, and then he opened the veins of both his arms and gave her the blood to drink. In this way they made their way to a mountain, on which they supported themselves with roots and berries.
At the foot of this mountain ran a river, into which a [[292]]man happened to fall, whose hands and feet had been cut off. Carried away by the stream he uttered cries of despair. Viśākha, who was gathering roots and berries somewhere thereabouts, heard his cries for help. His mind being stirred with compassion he climbed the mountain, and began looking about on all sides. As soon as he saw the man being swept away by the waters, he ran swiftly down from the mountain, sprang into the river, seized the man, and conveyed him ashore. Affected by the sight of his misery he said to him, “O son, whence do you come?” When the man had told him the whole story, Viśākha spoke words of solace to him, satisfied his hunger with roots and berries, and then handed him over to his wife, thanks to whose care he recovered entirely. With this care there was associated pleasure, which induced her to pay him frequent visits, passing the time in varied talk.
It is part of the nature of things that Bodisats are not remarkably addicted to the passion of love, and so it happened that Viśākha indulged only from time to time in amorous pleasure. As, in consequence of the Bodisat’s power, trees, roots, and berries possessed a special force, living upon them excited the desires of the wife, and she began to allure the man who had no hands or feet. The cripple was unwilling to respond to her advances, pointing out that he, when as good as dead, had been saved and restored to life by her husband; and that if he were to behave in such a way he would be putting himself into a position like unto that of a murderer. But as she repeatedly tempted him, and it was hard for him to master passion, he finally acceded to her request.
Although in the fruition of love passion increased, yet he reflected that, as she was now so possessed by passion, and as of all enmities that of the woman is the worst, he was going to ruin. In accordance with these ideas, he began to take counsel with her, saying, “If your husband finds out that we have lived together, he will undoubtedly do you some injury and put me to death.” She was of [[293]]opinion that these words were true, and that precautions must be taken. As women are adroit, even without being taught, she wrapped a cloth round her head and lay down on a rock to sleep. When Viśākha saw her sleeping there, as he returned home with roots and berries, he asked her, “Good wife, what is the matter with you?” She replied, “O lord, as my head aches, I feel very unwell.” Viśākha said, “What can be done?” As she had seen wolf’s-milk[2] growing in a ravine, she said, “O lord, when I once before suffered from this pain in the head, the physician ordered me wolf’s-milk, by means of which I was cured.” Viśākha replied, “I will seek for wolf’s-milk.” She said, “As it grows in this ravine, I will let you down with a rope and you shall fetch it up.” As august beings are simple and upright, he suspected no guile, and said, “Let us do so; you hold the rope and I will fetch the wolf’s-milk.” When he had let himself down with the rope, she let go of the rope with her hand, whereby he also lost hold of it and fell into the water at the bottom.
As the Bodisat was destined to long life and the exercise of regal power, he did not die, but was carried along by the stream, and so he reached a royal city. The king of that city had died without leaving any heirs, and the ministers and the towns-people and the country-folk were holding counsel as to whom, seeing there was no king, they should invest with the sovereignty. They chose men well versed in omens, and they ordered them to seek out a man provided with virtuous merit, in order that they might invest him with the sovereignty. As the deeds which were to secure sovereignty for Viśākha were now approaching maturity, he emerged from the water and sat down on a spot which, through the power of the Bodisat, appeared as though decked with ornaments. To this spot came the diviners, and when they saw the august being [[294]]provided with the marks of sovereignty, they betook themselves to the ministers, full of joy and bliss, and told them that they had found in their researches a being provided with much virtuous merit, whom the sovereignty would befit. Thereupon the ministers caused the road and the city to be cleansed, and prosperously conducted him into the city, and installed him as king on the fitting day, at the fitting hour, under the fitting constellation.
As he had no wife, the ministers, the purohitas, and the kings of other lands, as well as other people, proprietors, merchants, and caravan leaders, all brought their daughters to that city, adorned with all sorts of ornaments, in order that they might be received into the palace. But the king, who had been so shamefully treated by his wife, did not consent to that. The ministers said, “O king, it is not customary for kings to be without wives, princes, ministers, and inhabitants of town and country; so be pleased to nominate a spouse. Kings and grandees living in all manner of districts, and grandees from foreign lands, have their daughters in readiness to be exhibited to you.” But he was not to be induced to consent thereto, and he reviled women without ceasing.
Now as all things good for fruition derive their force and completeness from the power of the virtuous merits of beings, it came to pass that, after the Bodisat was thrown down from the mountain through the misdeed of his wife, the roots and berries of that mountain shrivelled and lost their power. Thereupon the woman, fearing to perish in the hour of hunger, having taken the cripple on her back, betook herself to the villages, and asked for alms in the streets, market-places, cross-roads, and by-roads. When she was questioned she always replied, “My husband has never found fault with me.” And as a wife, with whom her husband has never found fault, is wont to be highly respected in the world, she obtained alms wherever she went. When she arrived at the capital, and the inhabitants heard of her, they were seized with astonishment. [[295]]Some of them went forth full of wonder to see her. And the dwellers in the city took to asking if that king, who always had something to say against all women, ought not to look upon this excellent female wanderer, whose husband had never found fault with her, and who carried on her back the handless and footless cripple. When the purohita had made the king acquainted with these sayings the king thought the matter over, and gave orders that this woman should be summoned, as he wished to see her. When she had been sent for, and he had seen her, he laughingly uttered this verse—