The Kādambarī of Bāṇa

‘“And as he passed on his way to the city, like a manifestation of the god of love no longer bodiless,[217 - Or, Ananga, name of Kāma.] all the people, like a lotus-grove awakened by the moon’s rising, left their work and gathered to behold him.

‘“‘Kārtikeya scorns the name of Kumāra,[218 - Since he can only give it the name, not the substance or meaning. Kumāra = (a) name of Kārtikeya; (b) prince.] since his own form is looked on with scorn by the throng of lotus-faces when this prince is by. Surely we reap the reward of great virtue in that we behold that godlike form with eyes wide with the overflow of love sprung up within us, and upraised in eager curiosity. (170) Our birth in this world has now brought forth its fruit. Nevertheless, all hail to blessed Kṛishṇa, who in the guise of Candrāpīḍa has assumed a new form!’ With such words the city folk folded their hands in adoration and bowed before him. And from the thousand windows which were unclosed from curiosity to behold Candrāpīḍa, the city itself became as it were a mass of open eyes; for straightway on hearing that he had left the palace of learning filled with all knowledge, women eager to see him mounted the roofs hastily throughout the city, leaving their half-done work; some with mirrors in their left hand were like the nights of the full moon, when the moon’s whole orb is gleaming; some, with feet roseate with fresh lac, were like lotus-buds whose flowers had drunk the early sunlight; some, with their tender feet enmeshed in the bells of their girdle, fallen to the ground in their haste, were like elephants moving very slowly, checked by their chain; some were robed in rainbow hues, like the beauty of a day in the rainy season; some raised feet that blossomed into the white rays of their nails, like tame kalahaṃsas drawn by the sound of the anklets; (171) some held strings of large pearls in their hands, as if in imitation of Rati with her crystal rosary grasped in grief for the death of Love; some, with wreaths of pearls falling between their breasts, were like the glory of evening when the pairs of cakravākas are separated by a pure slender stream; some, with rainbow flashes rising from the gems of their anklets, shone as if lovingly accompanied by tame peacocks; some, with their jewelled cups half drunk, distilled, as it were, from their rosy flower-like lips a sweet nectar. Others, too, with their orbed faces appearing at the interstices of the emerald lattices, presented to the eyes a lotus-grove with its opening buds traversing the sky, as they gazed on the prince. On a sudden there arose a tinkling of ornaments born of hasty motion, with many a sound of lutes struck sweetly on their chords, blended with the cry of cranes summoned by the clanging of the girdles, accompanied by the noise of peacocks shut up in the zenana and rejoicing in the thunder caused by the stairs being struck by stumbling feet, (172) soft with the murmur of kalahaṃsas fluttering in fear of the clash of fresh clouds, imitating the triumphant cry of Love, taking captive the ears of lovely women with their ropes of jewels resounding shrilly as they touched one another, and re-echoing through all the corners of the houses. In a moment the dense throng of maidens made the palaces seem walled with women; the ground seemed to blossom by the laying on it of their lac-strewn lotus-feet; the city seemed girt with grace by the stream of fair forms; the sky seemed all moon by the throng of orbed faces; the circle of space seemed a lotus-grove by reason of the hands all raised to ward off the heat; the sunshine seemed robed in rainbows by the mass of rays from the jewels, and the day seemed formed of blue lotus-petals by the long line of bright glances. As the women gazed on him with eyes fixed and widened in curiosity, the form of Candrāpīḍa entered into their hearts as though they were mirrors or water or crystal; and as the glow of love manifested itself there, their graceful speech became straightway mirthful, confidential, confused, envious, scornful, derisive, coquettish, loving, or full of longing. (173) As, for instance: ‘Hasty one, wait for me! Drunk with gazing, hold thy mantle! Simpleton, lift up the long tresses that hang about thy face! Remove thy moon-digit ornament! Blinded with love, thy feet are caught in the flowers of thine offering, and thou wilt fall! Love-distraught, tie up thy hair! Intent on the sight of Candrāpīḍa, raise thy girdle! Naughty one, lift up the ear-flower waving on thy cheek! Heartless one, pick up thine earring! Eager in youth, thou art being watched! Cover thy bosom! Shameless one, gather up thy loosened robe! Artfully artless, go on quicker! Inquisitive girl, take another look at the king! Insatiable, how long wilt thou look? Fickle-hearted, think of thine own people! Impish girl, thy mantle has fallen, and thou art mocked! Thou whose eyes art filled with love, seest thou not thy friends? Maiden full of guile, thou wilt live in sorrow with thy heart in causeless torment! Thou who feignest coyness, what mean thy crafty glances? (174) look boldly! Bright with youth, why rest thy weight against us? Angry one, go in front! Envious girl, why block up the window? Slave of love, thou bringest my outer robe to utter ruin! Drunk with love’s breath, restrain thyself! Devoid of self-control, why run before thine elders? Bright in strength, why so confused? Silly girl, hide the thrill of love’s fever! Ill-behaved girl, why thus weary thyself? Changeful one, thy girdle presseth thee, and thou sufferest vainly! Absent-minded, thou heedest not thyself, though outside thy house! Lost in curiosity, thou hast forgotten how to breathe! Thou whose eyes art closed in the happy imagination of union with thy beloved, open them! He is passing! Bereft of sense by the stroke of love’s arrow, place the end of thy silken robe on thy head to keep off the sun’s rays! Thou who hast taken the vow of Satī, thou lettest thine eyes wander, not seeing what is to be seen! Wretched one, thou art cast down by the vow not to gaze on other men! Vouchsafe to rise, dear friend, and to look at the blessed fish-bannered god,[219 - Kāma.] without his banner and bereft of Rati, visibly present. (175) His crest of mālatī flowers under his umbrella looks like a mass of moonbeams fallen in under the idea that night has set in, on his head dark with swarms of bees. His cheek is fair as a garland of open çirīsha flowers touched with green by the splendour of his emerald earring. Our youthful glow of love, under the guise of rich ruby rays among the pearl necklaces, shines out eager to enter his heart. It is so seen by him among the cowries. Moreover, what is he laughing at as he talks to Vaiçampāyana, so that the circle of space is whitened with his bright teeth? Balāhaka, with the edge of his silken mantle green as a parrot’s plumage, is removing from the tips of his hair the dust raised by the horses’ hoofs. His bough-like foot, soft as Lakshmī’s lotus-hand, is raised and sportively cast athwart his horse’s shoulder. His hand, with tapering fingers and bright as pink lotus-buds, is outstretched to its full length to ask for betel-nut, just as an elephant’s trunk in eagerness for mouthfuls of vallisneria. (176) Happy is she who, a fellow-bride with earth, shall, like Lakshmī, win that hand outvying the lotus! Happy, too, is Queen Vilāsavatī, by whom he who is able to bear the whole earth was nourished in birth, as the elephant of the quarters by Space!’

‘“And as they uttered these and other sayings of the same kind, Candrāpīḍa, drunk in by their eyes, summoned by the tinkling of their ornaments, followed by their hearts, bound by the ropes of the rays of their jewels, honoured with the offering of their fresh youth, bestrewn with flowers and rice in salutation like a marriage fire, advancing step by step on a mass of white bracelets slipping from their languid arms, reached the palace.”’

[Dismounting and leaning on Vaiçampāyana, he entered the court, preceded by Balāhaka, and passing through the crowd of attendant kings, beheld his father seated on a white couch and attended by his guards.[220 - Summary of pp. 176–189.]]

‘“(189) And on the chamberlain’s saying ‘Behold him!’ the prince, with his head bent low, and its crest shaking, while yet afar off made his salutation, and his father, crying from afar, ‘Come, come hither!’ stretched forth both arms, raised himself slightly from his couch, while his eyes filled with tears of joy and a thrill passed over his body, and embraced his reverently-bent son as though he would bind him fast[221 - Lit., ‘sew him to himself.’] and absorb him, and drink him in. And after the embrace, Candrāpīḍa sat down on the bare ground by his father’s footstool, kicking away the cloak which had been rolled up and hastily made into a seat by his own betel-nut bearer, and softly bidding her take it away; (190) and then Vaiçampāyana, being embraced by the king like his own son, sat down on a seat placed for him. When he had been there a short time, assailed, as it were, by glances from the women who stood motionless, with the waving of the cowries forgotten, glances of love, long as strings of lotus stirred by the wind, from fine eyes tremulous and askant, he was dismissed with the words, ‘Go, my son, salute thy loving mother, who longs to see thee, and then in turn gladden all who nurtured thee by thy sight.’ Respectfully rising, and stopping his suite from following him, he went with Vaiçampāyana to the zenana, led by the royal servants meet to enter therein, and approaching his mother, saluted her”’ [as she sat surrounded by her attendants and by aged ascetic women, who read and recited legends to her[222 - Summary of pp. 190, 191.]].

‘“(191) She raised him, while her attendants, skilled in doing her commands, stood around her, and, with a loving caress, held him in a long embrace, as though thinking inwardly of a hundred auspicious words to say, and straightway, when the claims of affection had been satisfied, and she had embraced Vaiçampāyana, she sat down, and drew Candrāpīḍa, who was reverently seated on the ground, forcibly and against his will to rest in her arms; (192) and when Vaiçampāyana was seated on a stool quickly brought by the attendants, she embraced Candrāpīḍa again and again on brow, breast, and shoulders, and said, with many a caressing touch: ‘Hard-hearted, my child, was thy father, by whom so fair a form, meet to be cherished by the whole universe, was made to undergo great fatigue for so long! How didst thou endure the tedious restraint of thy gurus? Indeed, young as thou art, thou hast a strong man’s fortitude! Thy heart, even in childhood, has lost all idle liking for childish amusement and play. Ah well, all devotion to natural and spiritual parents is something apart; and as I now see thee endowed, by thy father’s favour, with all knowledge, so I shall soon see thee endowed with worthy wives.’ Having thus said as he bent his head, smiling half in shame, she kissed him on the cheek, which was a full reflection of her own, and garlanded with open lotuses; and he, when he had stayed a short time, gladdened in turn by his presence the whole zenana. Then, departing by the royal door, he mounted Indrāyudha, who was standing outside, and, followed by the princes, went to see Çukanāsa,”’ [and at the gate of an outer court, filled with priests of many sects, he dismounted[223 - Summary of p. 193.]] ‘“(194) and entered the palace of Çukanāsa, which resembled a second royal court. On entering he saluted Çukanāsa like a second father as he stood in the midst of thousands of kings, showing him all respect, with his crest bent low even from afar. Çukanāsa, quickly rising, while the kings rose one after another, and respectfully advancing straight to him, with tears of joy falling from eyes wide with gladness, heartily, and with great affection, embraced him, together with Vaiçampāyana. Then the prince, rejecting the jewelled seat respectfully brought, sat on the bare ground, and next to him sat Vaiçampāyana; and when he sat on the ground, the whole circle of kings, except Çukanāsa, leaving their own seats, sat also on the ground. Çukanāsa stood silent for a moment, showing his extreme joy by the thrill that passed over his limbs, and then said to the prince: ‘Truly, my child, now that King Tārāpīḍa has seen thee grown to youth and possessed of knowledge, he has at length gained the fruit of his rule over the universe. Now all the blessings of thy parents have been fulfilled. Now the merit acquired in many other births has borne fruit. Now the gods of thy race are content. (195) For they who, like thee, astonish the three worlds, do not become the sons of the unworthy. For where is thy age? and where thy superhuman power and thy capacity of reaching boundless knowledge? Yea, blessed are those subjects who have thee for their protector, one like unto Bharata and Bhagīratha. What bright deed of merit was done by Earth that she has won thee as lord? Surely, Lakshmī is destroyed by persisting in the caprice of dwelling in Vishṇu’s bosom, that she does not approach thee in mortal form! But, nevertheless, do thou with thine arm, as the Great Boar with his circle of tusks, bear up for myriads of ages the weight of the earth, helping thy father.’ Thus saying, and offering homage with ornaments, dresses, flowers, and unguents, he dismissed him. Thereupon the prince, rising, and entering the zenana, visited Vaiçampāyana’s mother, by name Manoramā, and, departing, mounted Indrāyudha, and went to his palace. It had been previously arranged by his father, and had white jars filled and placed on the gates, like an image of the royal palace; it had garlands of green sandal boughs, thousands of white flags flying, and filled the air with the sound of auspicious instruments of music; open lotuses were strewn in it. A sacrifice to Agni had just been performed, every attendant was in bright apparel, every auspicious ceremony for entering a house had been prepared. On his arrival he sat for a short time on a couch placed in the hall, and then, together with his princely retinue, performed the day’s duties, beginning with bathing and ending with a banquet; (196) and meanwhile he arranged that Indrāyudha should dwell in his own chamber.

‘“And in these doings of his the day came to a close; the sun’s orb fell with lifted rays like the ruby anklet – its interstices veiled in its own light – of the Glory of Day, as she hastens from the sky. (198) And when evening had begun, Candrāpīḍa, encircled by a fence of lighted lamps, went on foot to the king’s palace, (199) and having stayed a short time with his father, and seen Vilāsavatī, he returned to his own house and lay down on a couch, many-hued with the radiance of various gems, like Kṛishṇa on the circle of Çesha’s hoods.

‘“And when night had turned to dawn, he, with his father’s leave, rose before sunrise, in eagerness for the new delight of hunting, and, mounting Indrāyudha, went to the wood with a great retinue of runners, horses, and elephants. His eagerness was doubled by huntsmen leading in a golden leash hounds large as asses. With arrows whose shafts were bright as the leaves of a blossoming lotus, and fit to cleave the frontal bones of young wild elephants, he slew wild boars, lions, çarabhas,[224 - Çarabha, a fabulous animal supposed to have eight legs, and to dwell in the snowy mountains.] yaks, and many other kinds of deer by thousands, (200) while the woodland goddesses looked at him with half-closed eyes, fluttered by fear of the twanging of his bow. Other animals by his great energy he took alive. And when the sun reached the zenith, he rode home from the wood (201) with but a few princes who were well mounted, going over the events of the chase, saying: ‘Thus I killed a lion, thus a bear, thus a buffalo, thus a çarabha, thus a stag.’

‘“On dismounting, he sat down on a seat brought hastily by his attendants, took off his corselet, and removed the rest of his riding apparel; he then rested a short time, till his weariness was removed by the wind of waving fans; having rested, he went to the bathroom, provided with a hundred pitchers of gold, silver, and jewels, and having a gold seat placed in its midst. And when the bath was over, and he had been rubbed in a separate room with cloths, his head was covered with a strip of pure linen, his raiment was put on, and he performed his homage to the gods; and when he entered the perfuming-room, there approached him the court women attendants, appointed by the grand chamberlain and sent by the king, slaves of Vilāsavatī, with Kulavardhanā, and zenana women sent from the whole zenana, bearing in baskets different ornaments, wreaths, unguents, and robes, which they presented to him. Having taken them in due order from the women, he first himself anointed Vaiçampāyana. When his own anointing was done, and giving to those around him flowers, perfumes, robes, and jewels, as was meet, (202) he went to the banquet-hall, rich in a thousand jewelled vessels, like the autumn sky gleaming with stars. He there sat on a doubled rug, with Vaiçampāyana next him, eagerly employed, as was fitting, in praising his virtues, and the host of princes, placed each in order of seniority on the ground, felt the pleasure of their service increased by seeing the great courtesy with which the prince said: ‘Let this be given to him, and that to him!’ And so he duly partook of his morning meal.

‘“After rinsing his mouth and taking betel, he stayed there a short time, and then went to Indrāyudha, and there, without sitting down, while his attendants stood behind him, with upraised faces, awaiting his commands, and talking mostly about Indrāyudha’s points, he himself, with heart uplifted by Indrāyudha’s merits, scattered the fodder before him, and departing, visited the court; and in the same order of routine he saw the king, and, returning home, spent the night there. Next day, at dawn, he beheld approaching a chamberlain, by name Kailāsa, the chief of the zenana, greatly trusted by the king, accompanied by a maiden of noble form, in her first youth, from her life at court self-possessed, yet not devoid of modesty, (203) growing to maidenhood, and in her veil of silk red with cochineal, resembling the Eastern quarter clothed in early sunshine. (204) And Kailāsa, bowing and approaching, with his right hand placed on the ground, spoke as follows:

‘“‘Prince, Queen Vilāsavatī bids me say: “This maiden, by name Patralekhā, daughter of the King of Kulūta, was brought with the captives by the great king on his conquest of the royal city of Kulūta while she was yet a little child, and was placed among the zenana women. And tenderness grew up in me towards her, seeing she was a king’s daughter and without a protector, and she was long cared for and brought up by me just like a daughter. Therefore, I now send her to thee, thinking her fit to be thy betel-bearer; but she must not be looked on by thee, great prince of many days, as thine other attendants. She must be cared for as a young maiden; she must be shielded from the thoughtless like thine own nature; she must be looked on as a pupil. (205) Like a friend, she must be admitted to all thy confidences. By reason of the love that has long grown up in me, my heart rests on her as on my own daughter; and being sprung from a great race, she is fitted for such duties; in truth, she herself will in a few days charm the prince by her perfect gentleness. My love for her is of long growth, and therefore strong; but as the prince does not yet know her character, this is told to him. Thou must in all ways strive, happy prince, that she may long be thy fitting companion.”’ When Kailāsa had thus spoken and was silent, Candrāpīḍa looked long and steadily at Patralekhā as she made a courteous obeisance, and with the words, ‘As my mother wishes,’ dismissed the chamberlain. And Patralekhā, from her first sight of him, was filled with devotion to him, and never left the prince’s side either by night or day, whether he was sleeping, or sitting, or standing, or walking, or going to the court, just as if she were his shadow; while he felt for her a great affection, beginning from his first glance at her, and constantly growing; he daily showed more favour to her, and counted her in all his secrets as part of his own heart.

‘“As the days thus passed on, the king, eager for the anointing of Candrāpīḍa as crown prince, (206) appointed chamberlains to gather together all things needful for it; and when it was at hand, Çukanāsa, desirous of increasing the prince’s modesty, great as it already was, spoke to him at length during one of his visits: ‘Dear Candrāpīḍa, though thou hast learnt what is to be known, and read all the çāstras, no little remains for thee to learn. For truly the darkness arising from youth is by nature very thick, nor can it be pierced by the sun, nor cleft by the radiance of jewels, nor dispelled by the brightness of lamps. The intoxication of Lakshmī is terrible, and does not cease even in old age. There is, too, another blindness of power, evil, not to be cured by any salve. The fever of pride runs very high, and no cooling appliances can allay it. The madness that rises from tasting the poison of the senses is violent, and not to be counteracted by roots or charms. The defilement of the stain of passion is never destroyed by bathing or purification. The sleep of the multitude of royal pleasures is ever terrible, and the end of night brings no waking. Thus thou must often be told at length. Lordship inherited even from birth, fresh youth, peerless beauty, superhuman talent, all this is a long succession of ills. (207) Each of these separately is a home of insolence; how much more the assemblage of them! For in early youth the mind often loses its purity, though it be cleansed with the pure waters of the çāstras. The eyes of the young become inflamed, though their clearness is not quite lost. Nature, too, when the whirlwind of passion arises, carries a man far in youth at its own will, like a dry leaf borne on the wind. This mirage of pleasure, which captivates the senses as if they were deer, always ends in sorrow. When the mind has its consciousness dulled by early youth, the characteristics of the outer world fall on it like water, all the more sweetly for being but just tasted. Extreme clinging to the things of sense destroys a man, misleading him like ignorance of his bearings. But men such as thou art the fitting vessels for instruction. For on a mind free from stain the virtue of good counsel enters easily, as the moon’s rays on a moon crystal. The words of a guru, though pure, yet cause great pain when they enter the ears of the bad, as water does; (208) while in others they produce a nobler beauty, like the ear-jewel on an elephant. They remove the thick darkness of many sins, like the moon in the gloaming.[225 - (a) Many sins; (b) twilight.] The teaching of a guru is calming, and brings to an end the faults of youth by turning them to virtue, just as old age takes away the dark stain of the locks by turning them to gray. This is the time to teach thee, while thou hast not yet tasted the pleasures of sense. For teaching pours away like water in a heart shattered by the stroke of love’s arrow. Family and sacred tradition are unavailing to the froward and undisciplined. Does a fire not burn when fed on sandal-wood? Is not the submarine fire the fiercer in the water that is wont to quench fire? But the words of a guru are a bathing without water, able to cleanse all the stains of man; they are a maturity that changes not the locks to gray; they give weight without increase of bulk; though not wrought of gold, they are an ear-jewel of no common order; without light they shine; without startling they awaken. They are specially needed for kings, for the admonishers of kings are few. (209) For from fear, men follow like an echo the words of kings, and so, being unbridled in their pride, and having the cavity of their ears wholly stopped, they do not hear good advice even when offered; and when they do hear, by closing their eyes like an elephant, they show their contempt, and pain the teachers who offer them good counsel. For the nature of kings, being darkened by the madness of pride’s fever, is perturbed; their wealth causes arrogance and false self-esteem; their royal glory causes the torpor brought about by the poison of kingly power. First, let one who strives after happiness look at Lakshmī. For this Lakshmī, who now rests like a bee on the lotus-grove of a circle of naked swords, has risen from the milk ocean, has taken her glow from the buds of the coral-tree, her crookedness from the moon’s digit, her restlessness from the steed Uccaiḥçrava, her witchery from Kālakūṭa poison, her intoxication from nectar, and from the Kaustubha gem her hardness. (210) All these she has taken as keepsakes to relieve her longing with memory of her companions’ friendship. There is nothing so little understood here in the world as this base Lakshmī. When won, she is hard to keep; when bound fast by the firm cords of heroism, she vanishes; when held by a cage of swords brandished by a thousand fierce champions, she yet escapes; when guarded by a thick band of elephants, dark with a storm of ichor, she yet flees away. She keeps not friendships; she regards not race; she recks not of beauty; she follows not the fortunes of a family; she looks not on character; she counts not cleverness; she hears not sacred learning; she courts not righteousness; she honours not liberality; she values not discrimination; she guards not conduct; she understands not truth; she makes not auspicious marks her guide; like the outline of an aërial city, she vanishes even as we look on her. She is still dizzy with the feeling produced by the eddying of the whirlpool made by Mount Mandara. As if she were the tip of a lotus-stalk bound to the varying motion of a lotus-bed, she gives no firm foothold anywhere. Even when held fast with great effort in palaces, she totters as if drunk with the ichor of their many wild elephants. (211) She dwells on the sword’s edge as if to learn cruelty. She clings to the form of Nārāyaṇa as if to learn constant change of form. Full of fickleness, she leaves even a king, richly endowed with friends, judicial power, treasure, and territory, as she leaves a lotus at the end of day, though it have root, stalk, bud, and wide-spreading petals. Like a creeper, she is ever a parasite.[226 - Lit., (a) climbs trees; (b) protects parasites.] Like Gangā, though producing wealth, she is all astir with bubbles; like the sun’s ray, she alights on one thing after another; like the cavity of hell, she is full of dense darkness. Like the demon Hiḍambā, her heart is only won by the courage of a Bhīma; like the rainy season, she sends forth but a momentary flash; like an evil demon, she, with the height of many men,[227 - (a) Showing the elevation of many men; (b) rising in stature to the height of many men.] crazes the feeble mind. As if jealous, she embraces not him whom learning has favoured; she touches not the virtuous man, as being impure; she despises a lofty nature as unpropitious; she regards not the gently-born, as useless. She leaps over a courteous man as a snake; (212) she avoids a hero as a thorn; she forgets a giver as a nightmare; she keeps far from a temperate man as a villain; she mocks at the wise as a fool; she manifests her ways in the world as if in a jugglery that unites contradictions. For, though creating constant fever,[228 - Or, arrogance.] she produces a chill;[229 - Or, stupidity.] though exalting men, she shows lowness of soul; though rising from water, she augments thirst; though bestowing lordship,[230 - Or, wealth.] she shows an unlordly[231 - Or, ill-fortune.] nature; though loading men with power, she deprives them of weight;[232 - Balam = (a) strength; (b) army. Laghumā = (a) lightness; (b) triviality.] though sister of nectar, she leaves a bitter taste; though of earthly mould,[233 - Vigrahavatī = (a) having a body; (b) full of strife.] she is invisible; though attached to the highest,[234 - Purushottama, i. e., Vishṇu.] she loves the base; like a creature of dust, she soils even the pure. Moreover, let this wavering one shine as she may, she yet, like lamplight, only sends forth lamp-black. For she is the fostering rain of the poison-plants of desire, the hunter’s luring song to the deer of the senses, the polluting smoke to the pictures of virtue, the luxurious couch of infatuation’s long sleep, the ancient watch-tower of the demons of pride and wealth. (213) She is the cataract gathering over eyes lighted by the çāstras, the banner of the reckless, the native stream of the alligators of wrath, the tavern of the mead of the senses, the music-hall of alluring dances, the lair of the serpents of sin, the rod to drive out good practices. She is the untimely rain to the kalahaṃsas[235 - The rainy season sends away the haṃsas.] of the virtues, the hotbed of the pustules of scandal, the prologue of the drama of fraud, the roar of the elephant of passion, the slaughter-house of goodness, the tongue of Rāhu for the moon of holiness. Nor see I any who has not been violently embraced by her while she was yet unknown to him, and whom she has not deceived. Truly, even in a picture she moves; even in a book she practises magic; even cut in a gem she deceives; even when heard she misleads; even when thought on she betrays.

‘“‘When this wretched evil creature wins kings after great toil by the will of destiny, they become helpless, and the abode of every shameful deed. For at the very moment of coronation their graciousness is washed away as if by the auspicious water-jars; (214) their heart is darkened as by the smoke of the sacrificial fire; their patience is swept away as by the kuça brooms of the priest; their remembrance of advancing age is concealed as by the donning of the turban; the sight of the next world is kept afar as by the umbrella’s circle; truth is removed as by the wind of the cowries; virtue is driven out as by the wands of office; the voices of the good are drowned as by cries of “All hail!” and glory is flouted as by the streamers of the banners.

‘“‘For some kings are deceived by successes which are uncertain as the tremulous beaks of birds when loose from weariness, and which, though pleasant for a moment as a firefly’s flash, are contemned by the wise; they forget their origin in the pride of amassing a little wealth, and are troubled by the onrush of passion as by a blood-poisoning brought on by accumulated diseases; they are tortured by the senses, which though but five, in their eagerness to taste every pleasure, turn to a thousand; they are bewildered by the mind, which, in native fickleness, follows its own impulses, and, being but one, gets the force of a hundred thousand in its changes. Thus they fall into utter helplessness. They are seized by demons, conquered by imps, (215) possessed by enchantments, held by monsters, mocked by the wind, swallowed by ogres. Pierced by the arrows of Kāma, they make a thousand contortions; scorched by covetousness, they writhe; struck down by fierce blows, they sink down.[236 - Lit., their limbs fail them.] Like crabs, they sidle; like cripples, with steps broken by sin, they are led helpless by others; like stammerers from former sins of falsehood, they can scarce babble; like saptacchada[237 - Which have a strong scent.] trees, they produce headache in those near them; like dying men, they know not even their kin; like purblind[238 - Men having throbbing eyes.] men, they cannot see the brightest virtue; like men bitten in a fatal hour, they are not waked even by mighty charms; like lac-ornaments, they cannot endure strong heat;[239 - (a) A noble man; (b) fire.] like rogue elephants, being firmly fixed to the pillar of self-conceit, they refuse teaching; bewildered by the poison of covetousness, they see everything as golden; like arrows sharpened by polishing,[240 - Or, drink.] when in the hands of others they cause destruction; (216) with their rods[241 - Or, taxes.] they strike down great families, like high-growing fruit; like untimely blossoms, though fair outwardly, they cause destruction; they are terrible of nature, like the ashes of a funeral pyre; like men with cataract, they can see no distance; like men possessed, they have their houses ruled by court jesters; when but heard of, they terrify, like funeral drums; when but thought of, like a resolve to commit mortal sin, they bring about great calamity; being daily filled with sin, they become wholly puffed up. In this state, having allied themselves to a hundred sins, they are like drops of water hanging on the tip of the grass on an anthill, and have fallen without perceiving it.

‘“‘But others are deceived by rogues intent on their own ends, greedy of the flesh-pots of wealth, cranes of the palace lotus-beds! “Gambling,” say these, “is a relaxation; adultery a sign of cleverness; hunting, exercise; drinking, delight; recklessness, heroism; neglect of a wife, freedom from infatuation; (217) contempt of a guru’s words, a claim to others’ submission; unruliness of servants, the ensuring of pleasant service; devotion to dance, song, music, and bad company, is knowledge of the world; hearkening to shameful crimes is greatness of mind; tame endurance of contempt is patience; self-will is lordship; disregard of the gods is high spirit; the praise of bards is glory; restlessness is enterprise; lack of discernment is impartiality.” Thus are kings deceived with more than mortal praises by men ready to raise faults to the grade of virtues, practised in deception, laughing in their hearts, utterly villainous; and thus these monarchs, by reason of their senselessness, have their minds intoxicated by the pride of wealth, and have a settled false conceit in them that these things are really so; though subject to mortal conditions, they look on themselves as having alighted on earth as divine beings with a superhuman destiny; they employ a pomp in their undertakings only fit for gods (218) and win the contempt of all mankind. They welcome this deception of themselves by their followers. From the delusion as to their own divinity established in their minds, they are overthrown by false ideas, and they think their own pair of arms have received another pair;[242 - Like Vishṇu.] they imagine their forehead has a third eye buried in the skin.[243 - Like Çiva.] They consider the sight of themselves a favour; they esteem their glance a benefit; they regard their words as a present; they hold their command a glorious boon; they deem their touch a purification. Weighed down by the pride of their false greatness, they neither do homage to the gods, nor reverence Brahmans, nor honour the honourable, nor salute those to whom salutes are due, nor address those who should be addressed, nor rise to greet their gurus. They laugh at the learned as losing in useless labour all the enjoyment of pleasure; they look on the teaching of the old as the wandering talk of dotage; they abuse the advice of their councillors as an insult to their own wisdom; they are wroth with the giver of good counsel.

‘“‘At all events, the man they welcome, with whom they converse, whom they place by their side, advance, (219) take as companion of their pleasure and recipient of their gifts, choose as a friend, the man to whose voice they listen, on whom they rain favours, of whom they think highly, in whom they trust, is he who does nothing day and night but ceaselessly salute them, praise them as divine, and exalt their greatness.

‘“‘What can we expect of those kings whose standard is a law of deceit, pitiless in the cruelty of its maxims; whose gurus are family priests, with natures made merciless by magic rites; whose teachers are councillors skilled to deceive others; whose hearts are set on a power that hundreds of kings before them have gained and lost; whose skill in weapons is only to inflict death; whose brothers, tender as their hearts may be with natural affection, are only to be slaughtered.

‘“‘Therefore, my Prince, in this post of empire which is terrible in the hundreds of evil and perverse impulses which attend it, and in this season of youth which leads to utter infatuation, thou must strive earnestly not to be scorned by thy people, nor blamed by the good, nor cursed by thy gurus, nor reproached by thy friends, nor grieved over by the wise. Strive, too, that thou be not exposed by knaves, (220) deceived by sharpers, preyed upon by villains, torn to pieces by wolvish courtiers, misled by rascals, deluded by women, cheated by fortune, led a wild dance by pride, maddened by desire, assailed by the things of sense, dragged headlong by passion, carried away by pleasure.

‘“‘Granted that by nature thou art steadfast, and that by thy father’s care thou art trained in goodness, and moreover, that wealth only intoxicates the light of nature, and the thoughtless, yet my very delight in thy virtues makes me speak thus at length.

‘“‘Let this saying be ever ringing in thine ears: There is none so wise, so prudent, so magnanimous, so gracious, so steadfast, and so earnest, that the shameless wretch Fortune cannot grind him to powder. Yet now mayest thou enjoy the consecration of thy youth to kinghood by thy father under happy auspices. Bear the yoke handed down to thee that thy forefathers have borne. Bow the heads of thy foes; raise the host of thy friends; after thy coronation wander round the world for conquest; and bring under thy sway the earth with its seven continents subdued of yore by thy father.

‘“‘This is the time to crown thyself with glory. (221) A glorious king has his commands fulfilled as swiftly as a great ascetic.’

‘“Having said thus much, he was silent, and by his words Candrāpīḍa was, as it were, washed, wakened, purified, brightened, bedewed, anointed, adorned, cleansed, and made radiant, and with glad heart he returned after a short time to his own palace.

‘“Some days later, on an auspicious day, the king, surrounded by a thousand chiefs, raised aloft, with Çukanāsa’s help, the vessel of consecration, and himself anointed his son, while the rest of the rites were performed by the family priest. The water of consecration was brought from every sacred pool, river and ocean, encircled by every plant, fruit, earth, and gem, mingled with tears of joy, and purified by mantras. At that very moment, while the prince was yet wet with the water of consecration, royal glory passed on to him without leaving Tārāpīḍa, as a creeper still clasping its own tree passes to another. (222) Straightway he was anointed from head to foot by Vilāsavatī, attended by all the zenana, and full of tender love, with sweet sandal white as moonbeams. He was garlanded with fresh white flowers; decked[244 - Lit., ‘inlaid.’] with lines of gorocanā; adorned with an earring of dūrvā grass; clad in two new silken robes with long fringes, white as the moon; bound with an amulet round his hand, tied by the family priest; and had his breast encircled by a pearl-necklace, like the circle of the Seven Ṛishis come down to see his coronation, strung on filaments from the lotus-pool of the royal fortune of young royalty.

‘“From the complete concealment of his body by wreaths of white flowers interwoven and hanging to his knees, soft as moonbeams, and from his wearing snowy robes he was like Narasiṃha, shaking his thick mane,[245 - Or, kesara flowers.] or like Kailāsa, with its flowing streams, or Airāvata, rough with the tangled lotus-fibres of the heavenly Ganges, or the Milky Ocean, all covered with flakes of bright foam.

(223) ‘“Then his father himself for that time took the chamberlain’s wand to make way for him, and he went to the hall of assembly and mounted the royal throne, like the moon on Meru’s peak. Then, when he had received due homage from the kings, after a short pause the great drum that heralded his setting out on his triumphal course resounded deeply, under the stroke of golden drum-sticks. Its sound was as the noise of clouds gathering at the day of doom; or the ocean struck by Mandara; or the foundations of earth by the earthquakes that close an aeon; or a portent-cloud, with its flashes of lightning; or the hollow of hell by the blows of the snout of the Great Boar. And by its sound the spaces of the world were inflated, opened, separated, outspread, filled, turned sunwise, and deepened, and the bonds that held the sky were unloosed. The echo of it wandered through the three worlds; for it was embraced in the lower world by Çesha, with his thousand hoods raised and bristling in fear; it was challenged in space by the elephants of the quarters tossing their tusks in opposition; it was honoured with sunwise turns in the sky by the sun’s steeds, tossing[246 - Recaka, so commentary.] their heads in their snort of terror; (224) it was wondrously answered on Kailāsa’s peak by Çiva’s bull, with a roar of joy in the belief that it was his master’s loudest laugh; it was met in Meru by Airāvata, with deep trumpeting; it was reverenced in the hall of the gods by Yama’s bull, with his curved horns turned sideways in wrath at so strange a sound; and it was heard in terror by the guardian gods of the world.

‘“Then, at the roar of the drum, followed by an outcry of ‘All hail!’ from all sides, Candrāpīḍa came down from the throne, and with him went the glory of his foes. He left the hall of assembly, followed by a thousand chiefs, who rose hastily around him, strewing on all sides the large pearls that fell from the strings of their necklaces as they struck against each other, like rice sportively thrown as a good omen for their setting off to conquer the world. He showed like the coral-tree amid the white buds of the kalpa-trees;[247 - Both trees of paradise.] or Airāvata amid the elephants of the quarters bedewing him with water from their trunks; or heaven, with the firmament showering stars; or the rainy season with clouds ever pouring heavy drops.

(225) ‘“Then an elephant was hastily brought by the mahout, adorned with all auspicious signs for the journey, and on the inner seat Patralekhā was placed. The prince then mounted, and under the shade of an umbrella with a hundred wires enmeshed with pearls, beauteous as Kailāsa standing on the arms of Rāvaṇa, and white as the whirlpools of the Milky Ocean under the tossing of the mountain, he started on his journey. And as he paused in his departure he saw the ten quarters tawny with the rich sunlight, surpassing molten lac, of the flashing crest-jewels of the kings who watched him with faces hidden behind the ramparts, as if the light were the fire of his own majesty, flashing forth after his coronation. He saw the earth bright as if with his own glow of loyalty when anointed as heir-apparent, and the sky crimson as with the flame that heralded the swift destruction of his foes, and daylight roseate as with lac-juice from the feet of the Lakshmī of earth coming to greet him.

‘“On the way hosts of kings, with their thousand elephants swaying in confusion, their umbrellas broken by the pressure of the crowd, their crest-jewels falling low as their diadems bent in homage, (226) their earrings hanging down, and the jewels falling on their cheeks, bowed low before him, as a trusted general recited their names. The elephant Gandhamādana followed the prince, pink with much red lead, dangling to the ground his ear-ornaments of pearls, having his head outlined with many a wreath of white flowers, like Meru with evening sunlight resting on it, the white stream of Ganges falling across it, and the spangled roughness of a bevy of stars on its peak. Before Candrāpīḍa went Indrāyudha, led by his groom, perfumed with saffron and many-hued, with the flash of golden trappings on his limbs. And so the expedition slowly started towards the Eastern Quarter.[248 - The quarter of Çatakratu or Indra.]

‘“Then the whole army set forth with wondrous turmoil, with its forest of umbrellas stirred by the elephants’ movements, like an ocean of destruction reflecting on its advancing waves a thousand moons, flooding the earth.

(227) ‘“When the prince left his palace Vaiçampāyana performed every auspicious rite, and then, clothed in white, anointed with an ointment of white flowers, accompanied by a great host of powerful kings, shaded by a white umbrella, followed close on the prince, mounted on a swift elephant, like a second Crown Prince, and drew near to him like the moon to the sun. Straightway the earth heard on all sides the cry: ‘The Crown Prince has started!’ and shook with the weight of the advancing army.

(228) ‘“In an instant the earth seemed as it were made of horses; the horizon, of elephants; the atmosphere, of umbrellas; the sky, of forests of pennons; the wind, of the scent of ichor; the human race, of kings; the eye, of the rays of jewels; the day, of crests; the universe, of cries of ‘All hail!’

(228–234 condensed) ‘“The dust rose at the advance of the army like a herd of elephants to tear up the lotuses of the sunbeams, or a veil to cover the Lakshmī of the three worlds. Day became earthy; the quarters were modelled in clay; the sky was, as it were, resolved in dust, and the whole universe appeared to consist of but one element.

(234) ‘“When the horizon became clear again, Vaiçampāyana, looking at the mighty host which seemed to rise from the ocean, was filled with wonder, and, turning his glance on every side, said to Candrāpīḍa: ‘What, prince, has been left unconquered by the mighty King Tārāpīḍa, for thee to conquer? What regions unsubdued, for thee to subdue? (235) What fortresses untaken, for thee to take? What continents unappropriated, for thee to appropriate? What treasures ungained, for thee to gain? What kings have not been humbled? By whom have the raised hands of salutation, soft as young lotuses, not been placed on the head? By whose brows, encircled with golden bands, have the floors of his halls not been polished? Whose crest-jewels have not scraped his footstool? Who have not accepted his staff of office? Who have not waved his cowries? Who have not raised the cry of “Hail!”? Who have not drunk in with the crocodiles of their crests, the radiance of his feet, like pure streams? For all these princes, though they are imbued with the pride of armies, ready in their rough play to plunge into the four oceans; though they are the peers of the great kings Daçaratha, Bhagīratha, Bharata, Dilīpa, Alarka, and Māndhātṛi; though they are anointed princes, soma-drinkers, haughty in the pride of birth, yet they bear on the sprays of crests purified with the shower of the water of consecration the dust of thy feet of happy omen, like an amulet of ashes. By them as by fresh noble mountains, the earth is upheld. These their armies that have entered the heart of the ten regions follow thee alone. (236) For lo! wherever thy glance is cast, hell seems to vomit forth armies, the earth to bear them, the quarters to discharge them, the sky to rain them, the day to create them. And methinks the earth, trampled by the weight of boundless hosts, recalls to-day the confusion of the battles of the Mahābhārata.

‘“‘Here the sun wanders in the groves of pennons, with his orb stumbling over their tops, as if he were trying, out of curiosity, to count the banners. The earth is ceaselessly submerged under ichor sweet as cardamons, and flowing like a plait of hair, from the elephants who scatter it all round, and thick, too, with the murmur of the bees settling on it, so that it shines as if filled with the waves of Yamunā. The lines of moon-white flags hide the horizon, like rivers that in fear of being made turbid by the heavy host have fled to the sky. It is a wonder that the earth has not to-day been split into a thousand pieces by the weight of the army; and that the bonds of its joints, the noble mountains, are not burst asunder; and that the hoods of Çesha, the lord of serpents, in distress at the burden of earth pressed down under the load of troops, do not give way.’

(237) ‘“While he was thus speaking, the prince reached his palace. It was adorned with many lofty triumphal arches; dotted with a thousand pavilions enclosed in grassy ramparts, and bright with many a tent of shining white cloth. Here he dismounted, and performed in kingly wise all due rites; and though the kings and ministers who had come together sought to divert him with various tales, he spent the rest of the day in sorrow, for his heart was tortured with bitter grief for his fresh separation from his father. When day was brought to a close he passed the night, too, mostly in sleeplessness, with Vaiçampāyana resting on a couch not far from his own, and Patralekhā sleeping hard by on a blanket placed on the ground; his talk was now of his father, now of his mother, now of Çukanāsa, and he rested but little. At dawn he arose, and with an army that grew at every march, as it advanced in unchanged order, he hollowed the earth, shook the mountains, dried the rivers, emptied the lakes, (238) crushed the woods to powder, levelled the crooked places, tore down the fortresses, filled up the hollows, and hollowed the solid ground.

‘“By degrees, as he wandered at will, he bowed the haughty, exalted the humble, encouraged the fearful, protected the suppliant, rooted out the vicious, and drove out the hostile. He anointed princes in different places, gathered treasures, accepted gifts, took tribute, taught local regulations, established monuments of his visit, made hymns of worship, and inscribed edicts. He honoured Brahmans, reverenced saints, protected hermitages, and showed a prowess that won his people’s love. He exalted his majesty, heaped up his glory, showed his virtues far and wide, and won renown for his good deeds. Thus trampling down the woods on the shore, and turning the whole expanse of ocean to gray with the dust of his army, he wandered over the earth.

‘“The East was his first conquest, then the Southern Quarter, marked by Triçanku, then the Western Quarter, which has Varuṇa for its sign, and immediately afterwards the Northern Quarter adorned by the Seven Ṛishis. Within the three years that he roamed over the world he had subdued the whole earth, with its continents, bounded only by the moat of four oceans.

(239) ‘“He then, wandering sunwise, conquered and occupied Suvarṇapura, not far from the Eastern Ocean, the abode of those Kirātas who dwell near Kailāsa, and are called Hemajakūṭas, and as his army was weary from its worldwide wandering, he encamped there for a few days to rest.

‘“One day during his sojourn there he mounted Indrāyudha to hunt, and as he roamed through the wood he beheld a pair of Kinnaras wandering down at will from the mountains. Wondering at the strange sight, and eager to take them, he brought up his horse respectfully near them and approached them. But they hurried on, fearing the unknown sight of a man, and fleeing from him, while he pursued them, doubling Indrāyudha’s speed by frequent pats on his neck, and went on alone, leaving his army far behind. Led on by the idea that he was just catching them, he was borne in an instant fifteen leagues from his own quarters by Indrāyudha’s speed as it were at one bound, and was left companionless. (240) The pair of Kinnaras he was pursuing were climbing a steep hill in front of him. He at length turned away his glance, which was following their progress, and, checked by the steepness of the ascent, reined in Indrāyudha. Then, seeing that both his horse and himself were tired and heated by their toils, he considered for a moment, and laughed at himself as he thought: ‘Why have I thus wearied myself for nothing, like a child? What matters it whether I catch the pair of Kinnaras or not? If caught, what is the good? if missed, what is the harm? What a folly this is of mine! What a love of busying myself in any trifle! What a passion for aimless toil! What a clinging to childish pleasure! The good work I was doing has been begun in vain. The needful rite I had begun has been rendered fruitless. The duty of friendship I undertook has not been performed. The royal office I was employed in has not been fulfilled. The great task I had entered on has not been completed. My earnest labour in a worthy ambition has been brought to nought. Why have I been so mad as to leave my followers behind and come so far? (241) and why have I earned for myself the ridicule I should bestow on another, when I think how aimlessly I have followed these monsters with their horses’ heads? I know not how far off is the army that follows me. For the swiftness of Indrāyudha traverses a vast space in a moment, and his speed prevented my noticing as I came by what path I should turn back, for my eyes were fixed on the Kinnaras; and now I am in a great forest, spread underfoot with dry leaves, with a dense growth of creepers, underwood, and branching trees. Roam as I may here I cannot light on any mortal who can show me the way to Suvarṇapura. I have often heard that Suvarṇapura is the farthest bound of earth to the north, and that beyond it lies a supernatural forest, and beyond that again is Kailāsa. This then is Kailāsa; so I must turn back now, and resolutely seek to make my way unaided to the south. For a man must bear the fruit of his own faults.’

‘“With this purpose he shook the reins in his left hand, and turned the horse’s head. Then he again reflected: (242) ‘The blessed sun with glowing light now adorns the south, as if he were the zone-gem of the glory of day. Indrāyudha is tired; I will just let him eat a few mouthfuls of grass, and then let him bathe and drink in some mountain rill or river; and when he is refreshed I will myself drink some water, and after resting a short time under the shade of a tree, I will set out again.’

‘“So thinking, constantly turning his eyes on every side for water, he wandered till at length he saw a track wet with masses of mud raised by the feet of a large troop of mountain elephants, who had lately come up from bathing in a lotus-pool. (243) Inferring thence that there was water near, he went straight on along the slope of Kailāsa, the trees of which, closely crowded as they were, seemed, from their lack of boughs, to be far apart, for they were mostly pines, çāl, and gum olibanum trees, and were lofty, and like a circle of umbrellas, to be gazed at with upraised head. There was thick yellow sand, and by reason of the stony soil the grass and shrubs were but scanty.

(244) ‘“At length he beheld, on the north-east of Kailāsa, a very lofty clump of trees, rising like a mass of clouds, heavy with its weight of rain, and massed as if with the darkness of a night in the dark fortnight.

‘“The wind from the waves, soft as sandal, dewy, cool from passing over the water, aromatic with flowers, met him, and seemed to woo him; and the cries of kalahaṃsas drunk with lotus-honey, charming his ear, summoned him to enter. So he went into that clump, and in its midst beheld the Acchoda Lake, as if it were the mirror of the Lakshmī of the three worlds, the crystal chamber of the goddess of earth, the path by which the waters of ocean escape, the oozing of the quarters, the avatar of part of the sky, Kailāsa taught to flow, Himavat liquefied, moonlight melted, Çiva’s smile turned to water, (245) the merit of the three worlds abiding in the shape of a lake, a range of hills of lapis lazuli changed into water, or a mass of autumn clouds poured down in one spot. From its clearness it might be Varuṇa’s mirror; it seemed to be fashioned of the hearts of ascetics, the virtues of good men, the bright eyes of deer, or the rays of pearls.

(247) ‘“Like the person of a great man, it showed clearly the signs of fish, crocodile, tortoise, and cakṛa;[249 - All auspicious signs. Cakra is (a) a quoit; (b) a cakravāka.] like the story of Kārtikeya, the lamentations of the wives of Krauñca[250 - (a) A demon; (b) the heron.] resounded in it; it was shaken by the wings of white Dhārtarāshṭras, as the Mahābhārata by the rivalry of Pāṇḍavas and Dhārtarāshṭras; and the drinking of poison by Çiva was represented by the drinking of its water by peacocks, as if it were the time of the churning of ocean. It was fair, like a god, with a gaze that never wavers. (248) Like a futile argument, it seemed to have no end; and was a lake most fair and gladdening to the eyes.

‘“The very sight of it seemed to remove Candrāpīḍa’s weariness, and as he gazed he thought:

‘“‘Though my pursuit of the horse-faced pair was fruitless, yet now that I see this lake it has gained its reward. My eyes’ reward in beholding all that is to be seen has now been won, the furthest point of all fair things seen, the limit of all that gladdens us gazed upon, the boundary line of all that charms us descried, the perfection of all that causes joy made manifest, and the vanishing-point of all worthy of sight beheld. (249) By creating this lake water, sweet as nectar, the Creator has made his own labour of creation superfluous. For this, too, like the nectar that gladdens all the senses, produces joy to the eye by its purity, offers the pleasure of touch by its coolness, gladdens the sense of smell by the fragrance of its lotuses, pleases the ear with the ceaseless murmur of its haṃsas, and delights the taste with its sweetness. Truly it is from eagerness to behold this that Çiva leaves not his infatuation for dwelling on Kailāsa. Surely Kṛishṇa no longer follows his own natural desire as to a watery couch, for he sleeps on the ocean, with its water bitter with salt, and leaves this water sweet as nectar! Nor is this, in sooth, the primæval lake; for the earth, when fearing the blows of the tusks of the boar of destruction, entered the ocean, all the waters of which were designed but to be a draught for Agastya; whereas, if it had plunged into this mighty lake, deep as many deep hells, it could not have been reached, I say not by one, but not even by a thousand boars. (250) Verily it is from this lake that the clouds of doom at the seasons of final destruction draw little by little their water when they overwhelm the interstices of the universe, and darken all the quarters with their destroying storm. And methinks that the world, Brahmā’s egg, which in the beginning of creation was made of water, was massed together and placed here under the guise of a lake.’ So thinking, he reached the south bank, dismounted and took off Indrāyudha’s harness; (251) and the latter rolled on the ground, arose, ate some mouthfuls of grass, and then the prince took him down to the lake, and let him drink and bathe at will. After that, the prince took off his bridle, bound two of his feet by a golden chain to the lower bough of a tree hard by, and, cutting off with his dagger some dūrvā grass from the bank of the lake, threw it before the horse, and went back himself to the water. He washed his hands, and feasted, like the cātaka, on water; like the cakravāka, he tasted pieces of lotus-fibre; like the moon with its beams, he touched the moon-lotuses with his finger-tips; like a snake, he welcomed the breeze of the waves;[251 - For the love of snakes for the breeze, V. Raghuvaṃça, XIII., 12, and Buddhacarita, I., 44. Snakes are sometimes called vāyubaksha.] like one wounded with Love’s arrows, he placed a covering of lotus-leaves on his breast; like a mountain elephant, when the tip of his trunk is wet with spray, he adorned his hands with spray-washed lotuses. Then with dewy lotus-leaves, with freshly-broken fibres, he made a couch on a rock embowered in creepers, and rolling up his cloak for a pillow, lay down to sleep. After a short rest, he heard on the north bank of the lake a sweet sound of unearthly music, borne on the ear, and blent with the chords of the vīnā. (252) Indrāyudha heard it first, and letting fall the grass he was eating, with ears fixed and neck arched, turned towards the voice. The prince, as he heard it, rose from his lotus-couch in curiosity to see whence this song could arise in a place deserted by men, and cast his glance towards the region; but, from the great distance, he was unable, though he strained his eyes to the utmost, to discern anything, although he ceaselessly heard the sound. Desiring in his eagerness to know its source, he determined to depart, and saddling and mounting Indrāyudha, he set forth by the western forest path, making the song his goal; the deer, albeit unasked, were his guides, as they rushed on in front, delighting in the music.[252 - The following reference to Thomas Bell’s ‘History of British Quadrupeds’ was given by Mr. S. B. Charlesworth. ‘Writing about the deer of our parks (p. 404) he (Bell) quotes Playford’s “Introduction to Music” as follows: “Travelling some years since, I met on the road near Royston a herd of about twenty deer following a bagpipe and violin, which while the music played went forward. When it ceased they all stood still, and in this manner they were brought out of Yorkshire to Hampton Court.”’ V. supra, pp. 40, 79.]

(253–256 condensed) ‘“Welcomed by the breezes of Kailāsa, he went towards that spot, which was surrounded by trees on all sides, and at the foot of the slope of Kailāsa, on the left bank of the lake, called Candraprabhā, which whitened the whole region with a splendour as of moonlight, he beheld an empty temple of Çiva.

(257) ‘“As he entered the temple he was whitened by the falling on him of ketakī pollen, tossed by the wind, as if for the sake of seeing Çiva he had been forcibly made to perform a vow of putting on ashes, or as if he were robed in the pure merits of entering the temple; and, in a crystal shrine resting on four pillars, he beheld Çiva, the four-faced, teacher of the world, the god whose feet are honoured by the universe, with his emblem, the linga, made of pure pearl. Homage had been paid to the deity by shining lotuses of the heavenly Ganges, that might be mistaken for crests of pearls, freshly-plucked and wet, with drops falling from the ends of their leaves, like fragments of the moon’s disc split and set upright, or like parts of Çiva’s own smile, or scraps of Çesha’s hood, or brothers of Kṛishṇa’s conch, or the heart of the Milky Ocean.

(258) ‘“But, seated in a posture of meditation, to the right of the god, facing him, Candrāpīḍa beheld a maiden vowed to the service of Çiva, who turned the region with its mountains and woods to ivory by the brightness of her beauty. For its lustre shone far, spreading through space, white as the tide of the Milky Ocean, overwhelming all things at the day of doom, or like a store of penance gathered in long years and flowing out, streaming forth massed together like Ganges between the trees, giving a fresh whiteness to Kailāsa, and purifying the gazer’s soul, though it but entered his eye. The exceeding whiteness of her form concealed her limbs as though she had entered a crystal shrine, or had plunged into a sea of milk, or were hidden in spotless silk, or were caught on the surface of a mirror, or were veiled in autumn clouds. She seemed to be fashioned from the quintessence of whiteness, without the bevy of helps for the creation of the body that consist of matter formed of the five gross elements.

(259) She was like sacrifice impersonate, come to worship Çiva, in fear of being seized by the unworthy; or Rati, undertaking a rite of propitiation to conciliate him, for the sake of Kāma’s body; or Lakshmī, goddess of the Milky Ocean, longing for a digit of Çiva’s moon, her familiar friend of yore when they dwelt together in the deep; or the embodied moon seeking Çiva’s protection from Rāhu; or the beauty of Airāvata,[253 - Meghadūta, 38.] come to fulfil Çiva’s wish to wear an elephant’s skin; or the brightness of the smile on the right face of Çiva become manifest and taking a separate abode; or the white ash with which Çiva besprinkles himself, in bodily shape; or moonlight made manifest to dispel the darkness of Çiva’s neck; or the embodied purity of Gaurī’s mind; or the impersonate chastity of Kārtikeya; or the brightness of Çiva’s bull, dwelling apart from his body; (260) or the wealth of flowers on the temple trees come of themselves to worship Çiva; or the fulness of Brahmā’s penance come down to earth; or the glory of the Prajāpatis of the Golden Age, resting after the fatigue of wandering through the seven worlds; or the Three Vedas, dwelling in the woods in grief at the overthrow of righteousness in the Kali Age; or the germ of a future Golden Age, in the form of a maiden; or the fulness of a muni’s contemplation, in human shape; or a troop of heavenly elephants, falling into confusion on reaching the heavenly Ganges; or the beauty of Kailāsa, fallen in dread of being uprooted by Rāvaṇa; or the Lakshmī of the Çvetadvīpa[254 - The dvīpas are continents separated from each other by oceans. The Çvetadvīpa, or White Continent, is, according to Weber, suggested by Alexandria. V. ‘Indische Studien,’ I., 400; II., 397, 398.] come to behold another continent; or the grace of an opening kāça-blossom looking for the autumn; or the brightness of Çesha’s body leaving hell and come to earth; or the brilliance of Balarāma, which had left him in weariness of his intoxication; or a succession of bright fortnights massed together.