224. Katha Sarit Sagara : Chapter 14
The Saga of Udayana and Vasavadatta: A Love Rekindled
Chapter 1: King Chandamahasena's Message
The Vindhya forest hummed with the whispers of unseen spirits as King Udayana of Vatsa, his heart still a tumultuous sea from the audacious elopement, rested beneath a sprawling banyan tree. Beside him sat Vasavadatta, her radiant beauty a beacon in the wilderness, her hand intertwined with his. Suddenly, the silence was broken by the crunch of leaves, and a royal warder, adorned in the insignia of Udayana’s formidable father-in-law, King Chandamahasena of Ujjain, emerged from the dense foliage.
The warder bowed low, a respectful hush falling over the small encampment. “My King, I bring tidings from Ujjain,” he announced, his voice steady. “King Chandamahasena sends his greetings and this message: ‘Udayana, you acted with commendable spirit in carrying off Vasavadatta. Indeed, I brought you to my court with this very objective in mind.’”
Udayana’s brow furrowed in surprise. “A planned test, you say?” he murmured, exchanging a bewildered glance with Vasavadatta.
The warder continued, “‘The only reason I did not bestow her upon you while you were my prisoner was my fear that such a gift might sour your disposition towards me. Now, O King, I ask for a small delay. My daughter’s marriage must not be performed without due ceremony.’”
Vasavadatta gasped softly, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and dawning joy. Udayana, though still processing the revelation, felt a surge of relief. The threat of a vengeful pursuit, which had shadowed their escape, now seemed to dissipate like morning mist.
Chapter 2: Arrangement for Formal Marriage
The warder pressed on, “‘My son, Gopalaka, will soon arrive in your court. He will ensure that the marriage of his sister is celebrated with all appropriate rituals and grandeur.’”
A wide smile finally broke across Udayana’s face. “Gopalaka himself? This is indeed a most generous offer!” he exclaimed, looking at Vasavadatta, whose eyes now sparkled with unshed tears of happiness. “So, my love, it seems our union, though born of daring, will yet receive the blessings of tradition and family.”
Vasavadatta, her voice thick with emotion, replied, “To be truly united with my family’s blessings… it is more than I dared to hope for, my lord.” The warder then turned to Vasavadatta, conveying various personal messages from her family, warming her heart with their affection.
Chapter 3: The King of Vatsa's Decision and Preparations
With the weight of clandestine flight lifted, Udayana’s mind turned to the future. He made a swift decision. “We shall go to Kauśambí!” he declared, his voice ringing with renewed authority. Vasavadatta, her spirits soaring, nodded eagerly.
Udayana then addressed his loyal ally, Pulindaka, and the now-familiar warder from Ujjain. “You two, remain here,” he commanded. “Await the arrival of Gopalaka, and then, together, bring him to Kauśambí. Let him witness the triumph of our return, and join in our joy.” Both men bowed in assent, ready to follow their king’s wishes.
Chapter 4: Triumphant Return to Kauśambí
The very next day, as the sun painted the eastern sky with hues of saffron and rose, King Udayana, with Queen Vasavadatta by his side, began his grand procession towards Kauśambí. Huge elephants, their massive forms lumbering with stately grace, streamed ichor, appearing like moving peaks of the Vindhya range, accompanying him out of affection. The earth itself seemed to praise him, ringing with the thunder of hooves and the tramp of countless soldiers, a symphony grander than any minstrel’s song. Towering clouds of dust, churned by his mighty army, ascended to heaven, making even Indra, the king of gods, fear that the mountains were sporting with unshorn wings.
After two days of travel, Udayana rested one night in a grand palace belonging to his chief minister, Rumaṇvat. The next morning, his beloved queen by his side, he entered Kauśambí. The city, adorned in festive glory, seemed like a wife preparing for her long-absent husband, her women vicariously performing auspicious rituals. Citizens, their faces uplifted and eyes shining with eager anticipation, lined the streets. Their sorrow had ended, replaced by cheers as they beheld their king and his radiant bride, like peacocks greeting a cloud accompanied by lightning. Women, standing on palace tops, their faces like golden lotuses blooming in the heavenly Ganges, filled the air with their joyful cries. Udayana entered his royal palace with Vasavadatta, who seemed a second goddess of royal fortune, the palace now awakened from a long sleep, filled with devoted kings and festive songs.
Chapter 5: Arrival of Gopalaka
Not long after their glorious return, the gates of Kauśambí once again opened to receive an honored guest. Gopalaka, Vasavadatta’s brother, arrived, bringing with him the warder and the faithful Pulindaka. King Udayana, eager to welcome his new brother-in-law and solidify the bond between their kingdoms, went to meet him personally.
Vasavadatta, upon seeing her brother, rushed forward, her eyes wide and overflowing with delight, as if he were a second spirit of joy sent from the heavens. As she gazed at him, a single tear, born of profound happiness and a touch of lingering shyness from her audacious elopement, dimmed her eyes. Gopalaka, seeing her emotion, offered reassuring words, conveying their father’s message once more. “Sister, our father is truly pleased. Your happiness is his. Consider your life’s true purpose attained now that you are reunited with your own kin.” Encouraged by his words, Vasavadatta felt a deep sense of peace. Her daring journey had led her not to estrangement, but to an even deeper embrace by her family.
Chapter 6: The Formal Marriage Ceremony
The very next day, with Gopalaka’s enthusiastic supervision, the grand festival of marriage commenced. Every prescribed ceremony, every ancient ritual, was observed with meticulous care. The air was thick with the scent of incense, the chanting of priests, and the joyous melodies of wedding hymns.
Finally, the moment arrived. King Udayana, regal and resplendent, received the hand of Vasavadatta. Her touch was like a beautiful shoot lately budded on the creeper of love. Vasavadatta, her eyes closed, her body bathed in perspiration and trembling with overwhelming joy, felt as if she were struck simultaneously by the god of love’s arrow of bewilderment, the weapon of wind, and the water weapon. As she walked around the sacred fire, keeping it to her right, her eyes reddened by the smoke, she tasted, for the first time, the sweetness of wine and honey, a metaphor for the profound bliss of her union. The world seemed to fade, leaving only Udayana, the fire, and the promise of an eternal bond.
Chapter 7: The King's Gifts and Honors
With the marriage successfully celebrated, the King of Vatsa, adorned with the precious jewels brought by Gopálaka and the rich gifts from the numerous visiting kings, truly became a king of kings.
That auspicious day, Udayana, his heart overflowing with generosity, invested Gopálaka and Pulindaka with turbans of honor and other distinguished accolades. Their loyalty and aid in securing his beloved were not forgotten. He then commissioned his most trusted ministers, Yaugandharáyaṇa and Rumaṇvat, to bestow appropriate honors upon all the kings who had traveled to witness his wedding and upon the citizens of Kauśambí.
Chapter 8: Yaugandharáyaṇa's Concern and the Tale of Vinashṭaka
Yaugandharáyaṇa, ever the astute minister, turned to Rumaṇvat, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “My friend, the king has given us a difficult commission,” he sighed. “The hearts of men are intricate and hard to discern. Even a child, if not pleased, will surely cause mischief.” He paused, then continued, a glint in his eye, “To illustrate this point, listen, my friend, to the tale of the child Vinashṭaka.” Rumaṇvat leaned in, intrigued.
Chapter 9: The Story of Bálavinashṭaka (Part 1)
“Once upon a time,” Yaugandharáyaṇa began, his voice soft but clear, “there lived a Brahman named Rudraśarman. As a householder, he took two wives. His first wife bore him a son, but alas, she soon passed away. The Brahman, grief-stricken, entrusted the care of his motherless son to his second wife, the boy’s stepmother.”
“As the boy grew, his stepmother, consumed by a subtle unkindness, fed him only coarse, meager food. The tragic consequence was that the child grew pale, his belly swollen, a stark picture of neglect. One day, Rudraśarman, noticing the child’s ailing state, turned to his second wife. ‘How is it,’ he asked, his voice tinged with concern, ‘that you have so neglected this child of mine, who has already lost his mother?’”
“The stepmother, with a feigned sigh of innocence, replied, ‘My dear husband, though I care for him with utmost affection, he remains this strange, sickly sight you see. What more am I to do with him?’ The Brahman, simple in his trust, thought, ‘No doubt it is the child’s very nature to be like this.’ For who, my friend, can truly see through the deceitful simplicity of a woman’s words?”
Chapter 10: The Story of Bálavinashṭaka (Part 2)
“And so,” Yaugandharáyaṇa continued, “the child, due to his deformed appearance, began to be known in his father’s house as Bálavinashṭaka – ‘the deformed child.’ Though barely five years old, Bálavinashṭaka possessed a sharp, clever mind. He thought to himself, ‘This stepmother of mine constantly ill-treats me. I must find a way to be revenged on her.’ His young heart, though small, was already brimming with a desire for justice.”
“One evening, when his father returned from the king’s court, Bálavinashṭaka secretly approached him. With a voice barely a whisper, half-suppressed as if sharing a grave secret, he uttered, ‘Papa, I have two Papas.’ The father, bewildered, dismissed it as a child’s fancy. But the boy repeated it every day, ‘Papa, I have two Papas.’ Gradually, a seed of suspicion began to sprout in Rudraśarman’s mind. He started to suspect that his wife had a paramour. He became distant, cold, and would not even touch her.”
Chapter 11: The Story of Bálavinashṭaka (Part 3)
“The stepmother, for her part,” Yaugandharáyaṇa explained, “was utterly baffled and hurt. ‘Why is my husband angry with me?’ she wondered. ‘I am innocent! Could Bálavinashṭaka be up to some trick?’ Her conscience, perhaps, pricked her for her neglect. Deciding to investigate, she washed Bálavinashṭaka with unusual kindness, fed him dainty, delicious food, and taking him on her lap, asked him, ‘My son, why have you incensed your father Rudraśarman against me?’”
“The boy, sensing his advantage, looked at her with knowing eyes. ‘I will do far more harm to you than this,’ he declared, his young voice surprisingly firm, ‘if you do not immediately stop ill-treating me. You care for your own children well; why do you perpetually torment me?’ Hearing this, the stepmother, now truly afraid of the boy’s cunning, bowed before him. She said, with a solemn oath, ‘I will not do so anymore. Please, reconcile my husband to me.’”
“The clever child then gave his instructions. ‘Very well. When my father comes home, let one of your maids show him a mirror. Leave the rest to me.’ She agreed. Later, as Rudraśarman returned, a maid, as instructed, presented a mirror to him. Bálavinashṭaka, pointing to his father’s reflection in the mirror, announced triumphantly, ‘There is my second father!’ Hearing this, Rudraśarman’s suspicions instantly vanished. He laughed, seeing the simple truth, and was immediately reconciled with his wife, whom he had blamed without cause. Thus, my friend, even a child, if annoyed, may cause mischief.”
Chapter 12: Conciliation of the Retinue
“Thus, even a child may do mischief if it is annoyed,” Yaugandharáyaṇa concluded, a satisfied look on his face. “Therefore, we must carefully conciliate all this retinue, leaving no one feeling slighted.”
With this understanding, Yaugandharáyaṇa, aided by the ever-reliable Rumaṇvat, set about their commission. They meticulously honored all the dignitaries and citizens on this, the King of Vatsa’s great day of rejoicing. Their efforts were so successful, their compliments so perfectly pitched, their gifts so thoughtfully bestowed, that each king and every important citizen departed convinced of one thing: “These two men are devoted to me alone.” Udayana, observing his ministers’ skillful diplomacy, was immensely pleased.
Chapter 13: Continued Bliss and Gopálaka's Departure
The King, filled with gratitude, personally honored Yaugandharáyaṇa, Rumaṇvat, and the ever-present Vasantaka with magnificent garments, fragrant unguents, and exquisite ornaments. He also bestowed upon them generous grants of villages.
The King of Vatsa, having celebrated the grand festival of his marriage and now inextricably linked to Vásavadattá, considered all his wishes fulfilled. Their mutual love, which had blossomed after a long period of expectation and separation, was immense, fueled by the strength of their passion. Their hearts continually resembled those of the sorrowing Chakravákas, whose pain of separation ends with the dawn, only to begin anew with the setting sun. As their familiarity deepened, their love seemed to renew itself each day, an ever-fresh spring of affection.
Then, in due course, Gopálaka, having fulfilled his duty and ensured his sister’s happiness, received orders from his own father, King Chaṇḍamahásena, to return to Ujjain for his own impending marriage. Udayana, though sad to see him go, entreated him to return quickly, and with promises of future visits, Gopálaka departed.
Chapter 14: The King's Infidelity and Conciliation
Time, as it always does, brought changes. The King of Vatsa, for all his love for Vásavadattá, was a man of earthly desires. In the quiet corridors of the harem, he became faithless, rekindling a secret affair with an attendant named Virachitá, with whom he had previously had an intrigue.
One day, in a moment of unguarded intimacy with his Queen, Udayana made a grave mistake. He inadvertently addressed Vásavadattá by Virachitá’s name. A sudden, chilling silence fell. Vásavadattá’s eyes, usually full of warmth, turned cold, piercing him. The King knew instantly the depth of his transgression. He fell to her feet, clinging to them, begging for forgiveness, his face bathed not only in his tears but also in hers, tears of pain and betrayal. He was, in that moment, anointed a fortunate king, not by oil, but by the bitter tears of his beloved, realizing the preciousness of what he had almost lost.
Chapter 15: Marriage to Princess Bandhumatí
But the King’s marital complexities were far from over. Gopalaka, ever a loyal brother, had, through the might of his arm, captured a beautiful princess named Bandhumatí. He sent her as a present, not directly to the King, but to his sister, Queen Vásavadattá, a gesture of respect and affection.
Vásavadattá, perhaps with a flicker of unease about another beautiful woman in the court, concealed Bandhumatí, changing her name to Manjuliká. Bandhumatí, with her radiant beauty, seemed like another Lakshmí, the goddess of wealth and beauty, issuing from a sea of exquisite charm. One day, the King, in the company of his jester Vasantaka, chanced upon her. Struck by her captivating allure, and ignorant of her true identity, he secretly married her by the Gándharva ceremony – a love marriage – in a secluded summer-house.
Chapter 16: The Queen's Anger and the Ascetic's Intervention
Alas, fate, or perhaps a watchful spy, ensured that secrets in a royal court rarely remained so for long. Vásavadattá, hidden in concealment, witnessed the king’s secret marriage to Manjuliká. Her heart, already wounded by his previous infidelity, now felt a fresh, deeper stab of betrayal. Her anger, a fierce inferno, erupted. In her rage, she ordered Vasantaka, the king’s jester and companion in this illicit affair, to be put in fetters.
The King, desperate to appease his furious Queen, sought the help of Sánkrityánaní, a wise and venerable female ascetic, who was a dear friend of Vásavadattá and had accompanied her from her father’s court. Sánkrityánaní, with gentle wisdom and calm persuasion, slowly appeased the Queen’s righteous anger. Understanding the delicate balance of a king’s desires and a queen’s heart, she convinced Vásavadattá that the virtuous heart of a wife should be tender and yielding. Thus, the obedient Queen, through the ascetic’s good offices, reluctantly presented Bandhumatí to the King, acknowledging his new marriage.
Chapter 17: Vasantaka's Release and Metaphorical Speech
With her anger finally subsided and Bandhumatí officially accepted into the royal household, Vásavadattá released Vasantaka from his imprisonment. The jester, though perhaps chastened, had not lost his wit. He came into the presence of the Queen, a mischievous glint in his eye, and with a lighthearted laugh, said, “My Queen, Bandhumatí did you an injury, yes, but what, pray tell, did I do to you? You are angry with adders, yet you kill water-snakes!”
Vásavadattá, intrigued by his peculiar metaphor and her curiosity outweighing her lingering annoyance, asked him to explain. Vasantaka, seizing the opportunity, began to spin a tale, a story of mistaken vengeance and a lesson in discerning true adversaries.
Chapter 18: The Story of Ruru (Part 1)
“Once upon a time, my Queen,” Vasantaka began, his voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller, “there was a hermit’s son named Ruru. He was a devout young man, wandering about at will, learning and observing the world. One day, in his travels, he chanced upon a maiden of breathtaking beauty. She was Prishaḍvará, the daughter of the heavenly nymph Menaká and a Vidyádhara, raised in the serene hermitage of a wise hermit named Sthúlakeśa.”
“Ruru was instantly captivated. Prishaḍvará’s beauty so ensnared his mind that he felt an irresistible pull towards her. He approached the venerable hermit Sthúlakeśa and, with all due humility and respect, begged to be given her hand in marriage. The hermit, seeing the sincere devotion in Ruru’s heart and the purity of his intentions, betrothed the maiden to him. The wedding preparations began, and joy filled the hermitage. But alas, just as the auspicious day drew nigh, a venomous adder, unseen, unheard, suddenly bit Prishaḍvará. She collapsed, her life swiftly ebbing away.”
Chapter 19: The Story of Ruru (Part 2)
“Ruru’s heart was instantly filled with despair,” Vasantaka continued, his voice now somber. “His beloved, snatched away on the eve of their union, lay lifeless before him. He wept inconsolably, his dreams shattered. But then, a celestial voice, resonant and clear, descended from the heavens. ‘O Bráhman,’ the voice commanded, ‘raise this maiden to life with the gift of half your own life. Her allotted term on earth has come to an end, but your sacrifice can revive her.’ ”
“When Ruru heard this divine instruction, a desperate hope surged through him. Without a moment’s hesitation, he made the ultimate sacrifice. He gave half of his own precious life, his vital energy, to his beloved. And by means of that profound gift, Prishaḍvará, whose life had been extinguished, miraculously revived. Her eyes fluttered open, her breath returned, and she slowly came back from the precipice of death. Overjoyed and reunited by such an extraordinary bond, Ruru then married her, their union now sealed not just by love, but by an act of unparalleled devotion.”
Chapter 20: The Story of Ruru (Part 3)
“From that day forward, however,” Vasantaka narrated, a cautionary note in his tone, “Ruru harbored a deep and consuming anger towards the entire race of serpents. Whenever he encountered a snake, be it harmless or venomous, he would mercilessly kill it. As he slew each one, he would think to himself, ‘This may have been the very creature that bit my wife. This may have been the one that almost stole her from me.’ His vengeance knew no bounds, fueled by the trauma of his loss.”
“One day, as he was about to slay yet another snake – this one, a harmless water snake – the creature spoke to him, not in a hiss, but in a clear human voice. ‘You are incensed against adders, Bráhman, that is understandable. But why do you slay water-snakes? An adder bit your wife, yes, but adders are a distinct species from water-snakes. All adders are venomous, but water-snakes, my friend, are not venomous. They pose no threat, hold no poison within them.’ ”
Chapter 21: The Story of Ruru (Part 4)
“Ruru, astonished to hear a snake speak in a human voice, paused his deadly intention. ‘My friend,’ he asked, bewildered, ‘who are you?’ The water snake replied, ‘Bráhman, I am a hermit, fallen from my high estate by a curse. This curse was appointed to last until I held converse with you.’ Having revealed this, the water snake disappeared, his curse broken. And from that day forward, Ruru, enlightened by the truth, did not kill water-snakes.”
Vasantaka concluded, his eyes twinkling, “So, my Queen, I said this to you metaphorically, ‘My Queen, you are angry with adders and you kill water-snakes.’ You were angry with the king and perhaps with Bandhumatí, but what had I, your humble jester, done to deserve the fetters?”
Having uttered this speech, filled with pleasing wit and a subtle lesson, Vasantaka bowed and ceased. Vásavadattá, sitting at the side of her husband, who had been listening with amusement, was pleased with Vasantaka’s cleverness, her anger finally dissipated.
Chapter 22: The King's Happily Ever After
Such soft and sweet tales, in which Vasantaka displayed his various ingenuity, did the loving Udayana, King of Vatsa, continually make use of to conciliate his angry wife. He would sit at her feet, his voice gentle, his words soothing, ensuring her heart remained tender towards him.
That happy king, having navigated the complexities of love and royal duty, found his solace. His tongue was ever exclusively employed in tasting the flavor of wine, his ear ever delighting in the sweet sounds of the lute, and his eye was ever riveted on the beloved face of Vásavadattá. Through trials and triumphs, their love, though tested, endured, a testament to the enduring power of devotion, forgiveness, and the timeless art of charming a queen.
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