Katha Sarit Sagar : Chapter 16

226. Katha Sarit Sagar : Chapter 16

The epic tale of King Udayana, Queen Vasavadatta, and the cunning of Minister Yaugandharayana.

---

The Pledge of the Minister: A Tale of Love and Destiny's Deception

1. The Ministers' Plan and Arrival at Lavánaka

The dust swirled across the makeshift camp of Lavánaka, thick and golden in the twilight. It was here, miles from the opulent capital of Kaushambi, that King Udayana of Vatsa, famed for his valor and disastrously deep love for his Queen, now resided. This desolate move was not a simple change of garrison; it was the opening gambit in a high-stakes political drama conceived by Yaugandharayana, the King’s chief minister, a man whose loyalty was as unshakable as a mountain.

Yaugandharayana stood beside the royal chariot, his posture rigid. “Behold, Lord,” he announced, the roar of the arriving troops echoing around them. “The very air thrums with the promise of victory! This encampment, though humble, signals to all that our path to reclaiming your lost territory is clear.”

King Udayana, a figure of striking handsomeness but distracted by his own passions, merely offered a vague nod. His hand rested on the shoulder of his beloved Queen, Vasavadatta, the fiery-spirited princess of Avanti who had become the anchor of his heart. She offered the minister a subtle, knowing smile—a silent bond forged in the crucible of their shared, painful secret. She was aware, unlike her husband, that their arrival at Lavánaka was not merely a military move, but the precursor to a supreme personal sacrifice. The King’s military retreat to this border post was designed to secure a critical alliance with the powerful Magadha kingdom, an alliance made necessary by Udayana's neglect of state affairs due to his all-consuming love. The air was electric with political necessity and the cruel demands of destiny.

2. Magadha King's Apprehension and Diplomatic Move

News traveled fast, carried by birds of prey and swift riders, reaching the throne room of the wise King of Magadha. The powerful Vatsa sovereign, Udayana, was now dangerously close, camped with a large retinue at Lavánaka.

The Magadha King paced his marble floor, a tremor of apprehension in his voice. "The King of Vatsa is reckless, but his ministers are renowned strategists! They want a universal throne for him, and they will use his armies to dismantle every kingdom in their path, including mine!"

His closest advisor, a man famed for his foresight, calmed him. "My Lord, Udayana is a warrior, but he is known to be governed by his heart. His minister, Yaugandharayana, however, is a man of logic and calculation. We must not meet steel with steel, but wit with diplomacy."

The Magadha King's eyes narrowed. He stopped pacing and seized a quill. "A clever move. Summon my swiftest scribe and my most eloquent ambassador," he commanded. "We will send a missive of peace to Yaugandharayana. We shall test the waters of this gathering storm. I will take the measure of this minister's intent before he dares to march."

The dispatch was composed with intricate care, expressing formal concern over the upheaval and subtly probing the Vatsa King's intentions, opening the door for future negotiations. Yaugandharayana, receiving the messenger, read the scroll with a flicker of satisfaction. The wheels of the greater plan were now turning, precisely as he had designed.

3. King of Vatsa's Daily Routine

Oblivious to the deadly earnestness of the diplomacy unfurling around him, King Udayana continued his self-imposed escape. The vast, untamed forest that encircled Lavánaka became his sanctuary. It was in the thrill of the chase, the snap of a bowstring, and the pounding of hooves that he managed to quiet the persistent whispers of his neglected duty. Every morning, he would call for his horse and his jester, Vasantaka, and disappear into the green depths.

“Another day, Vasantaka, another hunt,” the King sighed one morning, strapping on his quiver. “It is only in this wilderness that the mind finds a moment of peace. The affairs of state, the worry of the capital—they are banished by the pursuit of the wild boar.”

Vasantaka, a clever, observant man hidden beneath a mask of jest, knew the King spoke only half-truth. "My Lord, the peace you seek is not in the deer, but in the distraction. But even the fleetest deer eventually tires. You cannot hunt forever, your Majesty."

The King merely smiled sadly and spurred his horse. He knew Vasantaka was right, but the thought of returning to his duties and facing the loss of his beloved territories was a heavier burden than any he could carry right now.

4. The Queen's Persuasion and Sacrifice

The day for the decisive, agonizing move arrived swiftly. The air in the pavilion was thick with tension, heavy and still. Yaugandharayana, his face pale and grim, stood before the Queen. With him were the other loyalists: Gopálaka, the Queen's brother, and the trusted general, Rumaṇvat.

"My Queen," Yaugandharayana began, his voice barely a whisper, "Your brother Gopálaka has informed you of the final truth. The Magadha alliance is not merely desired; it is essential. King Udayana, lost in his love, will never agree to a second marriage while you are present. We cannot reclaim Vatsa without the Magadha army."

Vasavadatta, seated in her royal silks, closed her eyes, tears welling, yet refusing to fall. "The prophecy requires his ascent to emperor. I know this. The King’s destiny is greater than my heart's desire." She looked at her brother, who nodded sadly. "But the world... the King himself... must believe I am truly lost. The depth of my love must be measured by the depth of my sacrifice."

She rose, her regal height lending her an immense dignity despite her inner turmoil. "I am the daughter of Avanti and the wife of Vatsa. A wife of noble birth endures everything for her husband's glory, even the pain of self-inflicted separation. Tell me, Minister, what must I do now?" Her resolve, though painful, was absolute.

5. The Disguises and Journey to Magadha

Yaugandharayana produced the instruments of their deception. He presented a small, silver amulet. "This is a charm," he explained, "which will mask your inherent divine aura, hiding your true identity."

Vasavadatta quickly shed her royal garments, donning the coarse, ochre robes of an ascetic. She applied the charm, and the transformation was profound. Her radiant beauty was replaced by the serene, quiet dignity of Ávantiká, a simple Bráhman woman.

Vasantaka, who had been eavesdropping outside, was dragged in, protesting loudly until the minister fixed a patch over one of his eyes and dressed him in the simple clothes of a one-eyed Bráhman boy. "Silence, jester! Your role is crucial! You are her simple-minded brother!"

Yaugandharayana, too, underwent a metamorphosis, adopting the humble, yet authoritative, appearance of an old, wise Bráhman sage, his keen eyes now softened by a benign expression.

As the sun sank, painting the sky in colors too beautiful for the sadness of the moment, the three figures, their true identities swallowed by disguise, slipped away from Lavánaka. Vasavadatta, walking the dusty road, felt a profound emptiness. She was abandoning her home, her King, for a political necessity. Though her body moved forward, her heart was pulled back, desperately clinging to her beloved.

6. The False Fire and Lamentation at Lavánaka

In the dead of night, after the three travelers had gained a safe distance, the final, dreadful piece of the stratagem was enacted. General Rumaṇvat, his face rigid with determination, approached the Queen's magnificent, now-empty pavilion. He carried a single, massive torch.

He waited for a signal from his scouts, ensuring the King was still far enough away to be convinced but close enough to return quickly. Then, with a gasp of dread, he cast the torch onto the dry materials around the pavilion.

CRACKLE!

Flames erupted with terrifying speed, licking at the tent's roof and climbing towards the heavens. Rumaṇvat threw himself to the earth, his voice tearing the silence of the night in a calculated paroxysm of grief. "Oh, the calamity! Alas! Alas! The Queen, my gentle Vasavadatta, and Vasantaka, the jester—they are both consumed!"

The well-trained servants joined in the cry, their voices a symphony of despair. The flames rose like a monstrous god demanding a sacrifice. As the fire died down, leaving only smoke and ash, a haunting sound remained—the dreadful, prolonged sound of weeping and lamentation, which was the only evidence the King would find of his wife’s tragic end.

7. Encounter with Princess Padmávatí

The disguised trio traveled for days until they reached the vicinity of the Magadha capital. Exhausted, they paused near a lavish palace garden. Fate, or destiny, led them to the very person they sought. Emerging from the palace gate was Princess Padmávatí, the Magadha King's sister, a woman of gentle temperament and striking elegance.

Yaugandharayana, the old Bráhman, led 'Ávantiká' forward, ignoring the initial attempts of the Princess's guards to turn away the unkempt travelers.

Padmávatí, seeing the distressed, yet refined, face of 'Ávantiká', felt an immediate, inexplicable pull of affection. She recognized a quiet sorrow in the Bráhman woman's eyes that mirrored a nobility of spirit.

"Halt!" Padmávatí commanded her guards. "Let them pass. Do not obstruct those in distress." She was already captivated by the hidden radiance of the woman who would soon become her most intimate companion and her rival.

8. The Queen is Entrusted to Padmávatí

The old Bráhman bowed low, his expression a perfect blend of wisdom and weary paternal sorrow. "Illustrious Lady," Yaugandharayana began, his voice a convincing tremor, "I am a simple father in great distress. This is my unfortunate daughter, Ávantiká. Her husband, a low-minded wretch, is addicted to vice and has abandoned her and fled to parts unknown."

He gestured to the Queen, whose performance was flawless—her head lowered in shame, a picture of quiet misery. "I must go on a long journey to seek out this vile man and try to compel his return. Until then, Lady, will you keep her safe in your guarded care? And let this poor, simple, one-eyed boy, her brother, remain near her to ease her grievous loneliness."

Padmávatí's heart melted. The request seemed simple, the distress genuine. "I grant your request, venerable Bráhman. She will be my cherished ward. She shall be treated as my own sister in every way."

With a final, meaningful look at his Queen, a look that conveyed both apology and a fierce hope, Yaugandharayana took his leave. The vital, perilous first step was complete. The Queen, the greatest obstacle to the Magadha alliance, was now safely, ironically, lodged with the very princess who was to be her replacement.

9. Vásavadattá's Life in Padmávatí's Palace

Padmávatí, true to her word, escorted her new wards into her splendid palace. Vásavadattá, navigating the opulent corridors, felt a fresh wave of irony. She was being treated with utmost kindness by her future co-wife, a hospitality that was both a shield and a fresh source of pain.

To steady her soul, she spent hours gazing upon the magnificent murals that adorned the inner walls. One painting, in particular, resonated deeply: the heartbreaking scene of Sítá, the divine consort of Lord Rama, in her lonely exile. A profound sorrow washed over Vásavadattá, but it was accompanied by a surge of strength. "If the Divine Mother herself bore the separation for the sake of Dharma and her lord's glory," she whispered to herself, "then my small sacrifice is nothing." The image of Sítá became her silent, powerful companion, helping her bear the burden of her disguise.

10. The Queen's Hidden Skill and Royal Inquiry

Despite her drab disguise, Vásavadattá's true breeding was hard to conceal. Padmávatí, astute and observant, noticed her elegant gait, the soft scent of blue lotus that faintly clung to her garments, and the effortless grace with which she carried herself. Surely, this is no common Bráhman, she thought.

To occupy her hands and heart, Vásavadattá took to crafting. She possessed an exquisite, almost mystical talent for creating unfading garlands and forehead-streaks, a technique taught to her by her musician husband, King Udayana. Padmávatí began wearing these ornaments, and their supernatural beauty quickly caught the eye of her mother, the Queen Mother of Magadha.

"My daughter," the Queen Mother questioned, gently touching a fragrant, shimmering streak on Padmávatí’s brow. "This is a thing of the heavens, not of human hands! Where did such divine artistry come from?"

11. Story of Kuntí and the Hermit Durvásas

The Queen Mother, sensing the mystery, sat Padmávatí down. "Listen, my child, for such events are known to repeat themselves through the ages. You must understand that this 'Ávantiká' is a person of immense, hidden importance. A goddess, perhaps, or a great sage in disguise."

She then narrated the ancient tale. "There was once a wise King, Kuntibhoja. A most powerful and testing sage, the Hermit Durvásas, came to stay in his palace. The King commissioned his own virtuous daughter, Kuntí, to attend upon him."

The Queen Mother’s voice grew dramatic as she recounted the pivotal test. "One day, the sage commanded: 'Prepare me boiled rice with milk and sugar! It must be cooked instantly, for I will eat it the moment I return from my bath!' Kuntí rushed, but the rice was scalding, a mass of molten heat. The wise hermit, testing her devotion, watched her from afar, knowing she could not hold the vessel without great pain."

"But Kuntí," the Queen Mother emphasized, her voice full of awe, "placed the blazing-hot vessel not in her hands, but against her back! Her skin burned, yet she stood absolutely motionless, without a single sound of complaint, until the sage had eaten his fill. So pleased was the hermit by her silent endurance, he granted her an extraordinary, powerful boon."

"My daughter," the Queen Mother concluded, placing a hand on Padmávatí's arm, "this Ávantiká, with her ethereal scent and her godly skill, is such a one. She is a distinguished person concealed here for some higher purpose. You must treat her with the utmost reverence."

12. The King of Vatsa Learns of the Fire and Mourns

The news reached King Udayana late in the evening. He had returned to Lavánaka, exhausted from a long, distant hunt. The sight that greeted him shattered his world: the women's apartments were a smoking ruin.

His ministers, led by Rumaṇvat, met him with faces etched in profound, manufactured grief. "Lord... the Queen... Vasavadatta... and Vasantaka... they are gone! Consumed by the fire that raged through the pavilion." Rumaṇvat's voice was a masterful symphony of sorrow and regret.

The world crashed down upon King Udayana. His heart, previously clouded by love's excess, was now pierced by the sharp sword of loss. He fell to the ground, his senses mercifully taken from him by a wave of unconsciousness that sought to numb the overwhelming pain of separation.

But the reprieve was short. He awoke to a horrifying, burning realization. The image of his Queen, imprinted forever on his heart, seemed to be pierced by the sharp points of the very fire that had supposedly consumed her. Overpowered by his genuine sorrow, he began to lament wildly, his thoughts immediately turning to suicide. What is the point of a throne if the throne of my heart is empty?

13. The King Recalls the Prophecy and Suspects Deception

Udayana’s hand reached for the dagger at his hip. But just as he moved, a cold, clear thought pierced the haze of his grief. He recalled the ancient words of the sage Nárada: "From this Queen shall be born a son who shall reign over all the Vidyádharas!"

He dropped the dagger. "The prophecy! It cannot be false! And Nárada also warned me that a time of great sorrow would precede a time of great victory!"

He looked up at his ministers. Gopálaka, the Queen's brother, stood with a grief that seemed oddly slight and controlled. Yaugandharayana and Rumaṇvat, though solemn, lacked the raw, screaming anguish of a man who has lost his Queen and dearest friend.

"There is an artifice here," the King whispered, a terrible certainty settling upon him. "A political act. They have concealed her. She must be alive! I will not be swayed by this false grief. I may yet be re-united with my Queen. I must play the hand they have dealt me, for the ultimate victory of Vatsa." With a newfound resolve, Udayana stifled his grief and established a stern self-control in his heart.

14. Political Ramifications and Magadha's Proposal

The network of Magadha spies quickly relayed the details of King Udayana's public, agonizing sorrow—his collapse, his lamentations, and the general belief that his beloved Queen was dead.

The King of Magadha, a consummate opportunist, saw the gap in Udayana’s armor. The King was heartbroken, and his ministers were clearly in control of the state, seeking stability.

"The time is now!" the Magadha King declared, his eyes shining with triumph. He immediately dispatched envoys to Lavánaka, formally renewing his proposal for the hand of his daughter, Princess Padmávatí, a proposal that Udayana's ministers had previously sought.

15. Acceptance of the Marriage Proposal

In the Vatsa camp, the King, playing the role of the desolate widower, met with his ministers. Yaugandharayana, with a profound seriousness, urged the King to accept. "Lord, this alliance with Magadha is the only way to safeguard our borders and give you the army needed to reclaim Kaushambi. Destiny demands this union."

Udayana looked at his minister, his eyes communicating a silent, knowing challenge. "You believe this is why she was concealed, Yaugandharayana? To make this marriage possible?" He sighed, a sound of feigned resignation. "Very well. For Vatsa, I shall endure this. Tell the Magadha King: I accept."

16. The Marriage Agreement

Yaugandharayana, moving with the speed and precision of a master general, quickly ascertained an auspicious moment for the wedding. He then dispatched an ambassador with a carefully worded reply designed to manipulate the Magadha court:

"We approve of your desire. However, the King is utterly shattered by the loss of Queen Vasavadatta. Therefore, he wishes to complete this union quickly, so that he may forget his sorrow through his new commitment. The King of Vatsa will arrive at your court to marry Padmávatí on the seventh day from this day."

The ambassador conveyed the message to the King of Magadha, who received it joyfully, interpreting the urgency as an eagerness for his daughter. Preparations began with dizzying speed, a massive investment in gold, silk, and pomp, befitting a political alliance of this magnitude.

17. Padmávatí's Joy and Vásavadattá's Depression

The news traveled to Padmávatí’s palace, bringing two wildly contrasting emotional storms.

Padmávatí was thrilled beyond measure. "The King of Vatsa! He is the one I wished for! I shall be his bride!" She shared her joy with Ávantiká, oblivious to the immense cruelty of her words.

Vásavadattá, the true Queen, heard the news, and the color instantly drained from her face. The shock, though silent, was so profound that it seemed to deepen the power of her Bráhman disguise. She was heartbroken, realizing the full, terrifying cost of her sacrifice.

Vasantaka, the one-eyed boy, saw her despair and rushed to her side, his simple jester's mind surprisingly comforting. "Mistress! Do not be sad!" he whispered urgently. "This marriage will turn a powerful, watchful enemy into a great friend! Your husband must do this for his kingdom. But he does not do it for love, or he would not have needed the minister’s trick! You will not be alienated!" His words, spoken with the conviction of a trusted confidante, soothed her soul and allowed her to bear the unbearable.

18. The King's Arrival and Wedding Preparations

With a profound sense of duty, Vásavadattá forced herself to create a final, excruciatingly painful set of unfading garlands and forehead-streaks—ornaments of heavenly beauty—for Padmávatí's wedding. She poured her love and her husband's own artistry into them, a silent, beautiful offering to the fate that separated them.

On the seventh day, the monarch of Vatsa arrived, accompanied by his troops and ministers. He was a feast for the eyes of the citizens, a handsome, tragic figure. The King of Magadha, bursting with pride and delight, came forth to meet him, his joy compared to the sea advancing to meet the rising moon. Udayana entered the city, and a great wave of joy entered the minds of the citizens, who admired the king's sorrow-worn, yet still godlike, appearance—like the God of Love, Kāma, deprived of his wife Rati.

19. The Marriage Ceremony

The King proceeded to the marriage chamber, a room crowded with women whose husbands were still alive, an ironic commentary on his own situation. He beheld Padmávatí, adorned in the garlands and streaks only his wife, Vásavadattá, could create, and the sight sent a shock of wonder through him. Where did she find such art? he thought, his suspicions instantly reviving.

He ascended the raised platform of the altar. As he took Padmávatí’s hand—a ritual that marked the commencement of his taking tribute of the whole earth—the altar smoke billowed, stinging his eyes with tears. It seemed to him that the fire, recognizing the true Queen's hidden presence, was weeping in sympathy for the ceremony. Padmávatí’s face, reddened by the fire's reflection, appeared to him as if it were full of anger, somehow perceiving the divided loyalty in his heart.

20. Yaugandharáyaṇa Secures an Oath

The ceremony concluded swiftly. The King of Magadha, fulfilling his part, bestowed upon the couple a dowry of jewels so immense that the earth itself seemed to have been stripped bare of its gems.

Then, Yaugandharáyaṇa, seizing the crucial political moment, stepped forward. He stood before the blazing altar, calling on the fire deity as witness. "Great King of Magadha," he intoned, his voice commanding the full attention of the court, "I require a solemn undertaking. Swear to this holy fire that you shall never injure my master, the King of Vatsa, nor any of his future endeavors, in any way whatsoever!"

The Magadha King, eager to secure the alliance and show his good faith, readily gave the absolute oath. The political stratagem was now secured. Udayana’s future, his territorial claims, and his safety were now protected by an unbreachable vow sworn before the gods.

21. The Journey to Lavánaka with the New Bride

The joyful festivities of songs and dances continued, but Yaugandharáyaṇa, ever wary, knew the King's curiosity could ruin everything. Vásavadattá, remaining silently unobserved in the women’s apartments, appeared to be asleep, like the moon's beauty during the day.

The minister approached the King of Magadha. "Prince," he whispered urgently, "The King of Vatsa's mind is still deeply troubled by his loss. He must not linger here. He will set forth from thy house this very day!"

The Magadha King, surprised by the haste, nonetheless consented. Yaugandharáyaṇa rushed to Udayana, who, understanding the need for speed—before he discovered his first wife—immediately approved the departure.

22. Vásavadattá's Secret Return

As the King and his new bride, Padmávatí, prepared to depart, Vásavadattá, still disguised as 'Ávantiká,' was provided with a comfortable carriage by the thoughtful Padmávatí. The Queen mounted it, a strange, secret observer to her husband's new life, and followed discreetly in the rear of the army, Vasantaka preceding her.

She was returning to her husband's camp, a Queen following her King, but forbidden to greet him, an act of supreme devotion and painful loneliness. The carriage rolled along the dusty road, carrying not just a woman, but the political fate of a kingdom, all contained within a simple, false guise.

23. The King's Return and Vásavadattá's Revelation

King Udayana, arriving back at Lavánaka, entered his house with his bride. He performed all the duties of a new husband, yet his mind was a whirlwind of suspicion, his thoughts consumed entirely by the memory of Vásavadattá and the riddle of the magnificent garlands.

That same night, the true Queen arrived, slipping silently into the secure house of her brother, Prince Gopálaka. When she saw him, the carefully maintained façade shattered. She rushed into his arms, tears streaming down her face. "Brother," she sobbed, "The separation! The effort of silence! It has been an agony!"

Gopálaka, tears flooding his own eyes, embraced her. As they spoke, Yaugandharáyaṇa and Rumaṇvat entered, their mission complete, their faces softening with relief as they tried to comfort the Queen and dispel her lingering grief.

24. Padmávatí's Inquiry and the King's Realization

In the royal palace, Padmávatí’s chamberlains rushed to their new Queen, their faces puzzled. "Queen, Ávantiká has arrived! But she behaved strangely, dismissing us, and going directly to the house of Prince Gopálaka!"

Padmávatí, alarmed by the breach of propriety, said in the King’s presence: "Go and tell Ávantiká: 'The Queen says—You are a deposit in my hands. What business do you have there? Come immediately to me!'"

The chamberlains departed. The King, whose mind was already working furiously, turned to Padmávatí. "Who, again, was the maker of those magnificent, unfading garlands?"

Padmávatí, completely innocent, replied, "It is the work of a lady named Ávantiká, a deposit left with me by a Bráhman." The pieces slammed together in Udayana’s mind with the force of destiny. Ávantiká... the unique garlands... a Bráhman who vanished... at Gopálaka's house!

He needed no further proof. "It is she!" he cried, dashing immediately to his brother-in-law's house, his heart pounding with frantic hope.

25. The Emotional Reunion

Udayana burst through the outer door, where eunuchs stood guard. He found the inner chamber occupied by Gopálaka, the two ministers, Vasantaka, and her—Vásavadattá, standing before him, returned from the shadow of her 'death,' appearing "like the orb of the moon freed from its eclipse."

The sight was overwhelming. The King fell to the earth, delirious, trembling uncontrollably, poisoned by the shock of grief and ecstatic joy combined. Vásavadattá, too, collapsed, her limbs pale and weak from the long bereavement. They lamented loudly, their heartbroken cries filling the air, a sound so profound it made Yaugandharáyaṇa weep.

Then, the final actor entered the scene: Padmávatí, drawn by the raw, unfitting sounds of sorrow. She came in bewilderment, slowly piecing together the incredible, impossible truth. Seeing the pain of her husband and the nobility of the Queen, her own tender heart was moved to sympathetic grief, and she too collapsed in tears.

26. Yaugandharáyaṇa Justifies the Plan

"Enough!" the great minister, Yaugandharáyaṇa, thundered, his voice once again commanding order.

"King! I have not done this to cause you pain, but to secure the realm! I have done all this to make you a universal emperor by securing the Magadha alliance! The Queen is not in the slightest degree to blame! She is a victim of duty! Let your new Queen speak! Even she, her rival wife, is witness to her immaculate conduct and good behavior during this painful absence!"

Padmávatí, her mind now utterly free of jealousy, rose, her eyes steady. "I am ready to enter the fire on the spot to prove her innocence and purity!" she declared, her love for her husband compelling her to defend her co-wife.

The King, regaining his composure, spoke with profound regret. "No, my Queens. I am the one at fault. It was for my sake, for my neglected throne, that she endured this terrible affliction!"

27. Padmávatí's Support and the Desire for Fire Ordeal

Vásavadattá, her eyes burning with resolve, stood firm. "No, my Lord. The word of a Queen must be beyond suspicion. Although you believe me, I must act for the sake of your reputation. I have firmly resolved: I must enter the fire to finally clear all suspicion from the minds of your court and, most importantly, from the heart of my King."

The tension in the room was electric, the ultimate drama of divine virtue meeting human necessity.

28. The Heavenly Voice's Affirmation

Yaugandharáyaṇa, the wisest and most upright of men, understood that only the gods could resolve this public test. He performed a brief ritual, rinsed his mouth, faced the east, and spoke a flawless, unassailable plea to the cosmos.

"If I have been a true benefactor to this King Udayana, and if Queen Vásavadattá is entirely free from stain and absolutely pure in her conduct, then I call upon the Guardians of the World to speak! If it is not so, then let me perish!"

He finished and bowed his head in silence. For a long, profound moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, a glorious, deep utterance resonated through the palace, a sound that swelled to every corner of the sky, delightful and resonant as the deep thunder-roar at the first coming of the rain-clouds:

"Happy art thou, O King, that hast for minister Yaugandharáyaṇa, a man of unmatched wisdom, and for wife Vásavadattá, who in a former birth was a Goddess! Not the slightest blame attaches to her! She is pure!"

The Voice ceased, but the divine vibration lingered, silencing all doubt forever.

29. Universal Joy and The King's Fulfillment

All those present, having endured the long night of affliction and doubt, lifted their hands, their sudden, overwhelming joy imitating the ecstatic cries of peacocks welcoming the rain. The King of Vatsa and Gopálaka praised the transcendent strategy of Yaugandharáyaṇa, and Udayana now felt, with absolute certainty, that his ambition of universal empire was already achieved.

The King possessed the two Queens, whose affection for him and for each other was now increased every day by their shared experience and mutual respect. Vásavadattá and Padmávatí, like joy and tranquility made manifest, accompanied him. King Udayana, at last, ruled in a state of supreme felicity, his heart full, his kingdom secured, and his destiny fulfilled.

---