THE VAMPIRE'S EIGHTH STORY

VIKRAM AND THE VAMPIRE.
THE VAMPIRE'S EIGHTH STORY.




Of the Use and Misuse of Magic Pills.
The lady Chandraprabha, daughter of the Raja Subichar, was a
particularly beautiful girl, and marriage-able withal. One day as
Vasanta, the Spring, began to assert its reign over the world,
animate and inanimate, she went accompanied by her young
friends and companions to stroll about her father's pleasure-garden.
The fair troop wandered through sombre groves, where the dark
tamale-tree entwined its branches with the pale green foliage of the
nim, and the pippal's domes of quivering leaves contrasted with the
columnar aisles of the banyan fig. They admired the old monarchs
of the forest, bearded to the waist with hangings of moss, the
flowing creepers delicately climbing from the lower branches to
the topmost shoots, and the cordage of llianas stretching from
trunk to trunk like bridges for the monkeys to pass over. Then they
issued into a clear space dotted with asokas bearing rich crimson
fiowers, cliterias of azure blue, madhavis exhibiting petals virgin
white as the snows on Himalaya, and jasmines raining showers of
perfumed blossoms upon the grateful earth. They could not
sufficiently praise the tall and graceful stem of the arrowy areca,
contrasting with the solid pyramid of the cypress, and the more
masculine stature of the palm. Now they lingered in the trellised
walks closely covered over with vines and creepers; then they
stopped to gather the golden bloom weighing down the mango
boughs, and to smell the highly-scented flowers that hung from the
green fretwork of the chambela.
It was spring, I have said. The air was still except when broken by
the hum of the large black bramra bee, as he plied his task amidst
the red and orange flowers of the dak, and by the gushings of many
waters that made music as they coursed down their stuccoed
channels between borders of many coloured poppies and beds of
various flowers. From time to time the dulcet note of the kokila
bird, and the hoarse plaint of the turtle-dove deep hid in her leafy
bower, attracted every ear and thrilled every heart. The south
wind--"breeze of the south,[FN#145] the friend of love and spring"
blew with a voluptuous warmth, for rain clouds canopied the earth,
and the breath of the narcissus, the rose, and the citron, teemed
with a languid fragrance.
The charms of the season affected all the damsels. They amused
themselves in their privacy with pelting blossoms at one another,
running races down the smooth broad alleys, mounting the silken
swings that hung between the orange trees, embracing one another,
and at times trying to push the butt of the party into the fishpond.
Perhaps the liveliest of all was the lady Chandraprabha, who on
account of her rank could pelt and push all the others, without fear
of being pelted and pushed in return.
It so happened, before the attendants had had time to secure
privacy for the princess and her women, that Manaswi, a very
handsome youth, a Brahman's son, had wandered without
malicious intention into the garden. Fatigued with walking, and
finding a cool shady place beneath a tree, he had lain down there,
and had gone to sleep, and had not been observed by any of the
king's people. He was still sleeping when the princess and her
companions were playing together.
Presently Chandraprabha, weary of sport, left her friends, and
singing a lively air, tripped up the stairs leading to the
summer-house. Aroused by the sound of her advancing footsteps,
Manaswi sat up; and the princess, seeing a strange man, started.
But their eyes had met, and both were subdued by love--love
vulgarly called "love at first sight."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the warrior king, testily, "I can never
believe in that freak of Kama Deva." He spoke feelingly, for the
thing had happened to himself more than once, and on no occasion
had it turned out well.
"But there is such a thing, O Raja, as love at first sight," objected
the Baital, speaking dogmatically.
"Then perhaps thou canst account for it, dead one," growled the
monarch surlily.
"I have no reason to do so, O Vikram," retorted the Vampire,
"when you men have already done it. Listen, then, to the words of
the wise. In the olden time, one of your great philosophers
invented a fluid pervading all matter, strongly self-repulsive like
the steam of a brass pot, and widely spreading like the breath of
scandal. The repulsiveness, however, according to that wise man,
is greatly modified by its second property, namely, an energetic
attraction or adhesion to all material bodies. Thus every substance
contains a part, more or less, of this fluid, pervading it throughout,
and strongly bound to each component atom. He called it
'Ambericity,' for the best of reasons, as it has no connection with
amber, and he described it as an imponderable, which, meaning
that it could not be weighed, gives a very accurate and satisfactory
idea of its nature.
"Now, said that philosopher, whenever two bodies containing that
unweighable substance in unequal proportions happen to meet, a
current of imponderable passes from one to the other, producing a
kind of attraction, and tending to adhere. The operation takes place
instantaneously when the force is strong and much condensed.
Thus the vulgar who call things after their effects and not from
their causes, term the action of this imponderable love at first
sight; the wise define it to be a phenomenon of ambericity. As
regards my own opinion about the matter, I have long ago told it to
you, O Vikram! Silliness--"
"Either hold your tongue, fellow, or go on with your story," cried
the Raja, wearied out by so many words that had no manner of
sense.
Well! the effect of the first glance was that Manaswi, the
Brahman's son, fell back in a swoon and remained senseless upon
the ground where he had been sitting; and the Raja's daughter
began to tremble upon her feet, and presently dropped unconscious
upon the floor of the summer-house. Shortly after this she was
found by her companions and attendants, who, quickly taking her
up in their arms and supporting her into a litter, conveyed her
home.
Manaswi, the Brahman's son, was so completely overcome, that he
lay there dead to everything. Just then the learned, deeply read, and
purblind Pandits Muldev and Shashi by name, strayed into the
garden, and stumbled upon the body.
"Friend," said Muldev, "how came this youth thus to fall senseless
on the ground?"
"Man," replied Shashi, "doubtless some damsel has shot forth the
arrows of her glances from the bow of her eyebrows, and thence he
has become insensible!"
"We must lift him up then," said Muldev the benevolent.
"What need is there to raise him?" asked Shashi the misanthrope
by way of reply.
Muldev, however, would not listen to these words. He ran to the
pond hard by, soaked the end of his waistcloth in water, sprinkled
it over the young Brahman, raised him from the ground, and
placed him sitting against the wall. And perceiving, when he came
to himself, that his sickness was rather of the soul than of the body,
the old men asked him how he came to be in that plight.
"We should tell our griefs," answered Manaswi, "only to those
who will relieve us! What is the use of communicating them to
those who, when they have heard, cannot help us? What is to be
gained by the empty pity or by the useless condolence of men in
general?"
The Pandits, however, by friendly looks and words, presently
persuaded him to break silence, when he said, "A certain princess
entered this summer-house, and from the sight of her I have fallen
into this state. If I can obtain her, I shall live; if not, I must die."
"Come with me, young man!" said Muldev the benevolent: "I will
use every endeavour to obtain her, and if I do not succeed I will
make thee wealthy and independent of the world."
Manaswi rejoined: "The Deity in his beneficence has created many
jewels in this world, but the pearl, woman, is chiefest of all; and
for her sake only does man desire wealth. What are riches to one
who has abandoned his wife? What are they who do not possess
beautiful wives? they are but beings inferior to the beasts! wealth
is the fruit of virtue; ease, of wealth; a wife, of ease. And where no
wife is, how can there be happiness?" And the enamoured youth
rambled on in this way, curious to us, Raja Vikram, but perhaps
natural enough in a Brahman's son suffering under that endemic
malady--determination to marry.
"Whatever thou mayest desire," said Muldev, "shall by the
blessing of heaven be given to thee."
Manaswi implored him, saying most pathetically, ''O Pandit,
bestow then that damsel upon me!"
Muldev promised to do so, and having comforted the youth, led
him to his own house. Then he welcomed him politely, seated him
upon the carpet, and left him for a few minutes, promising him to
return. When he reappeared, he held in his hand two little balls or
pills, and showing them to Manaswi, he explained their virtues as
follows:
"There is in our house an hereditary secret, by means of which I
try to promote the weal of humanity. But in all cases my success
depends mainly upon the purity and the hear/wholeness of those
that seek my aid. If thou place this in thy mouth, thou shalt be
changed into a damsel twelve years old, and when thou
withdrawest it again, thou shalt again recover shine original form.
Beware, however, that thou use the power for none but a good
purpose; otherwise some great calamity will befall thee. Therefore,
take counsel of thyself before undertaking this trial!"
What lover, O warrior king Vikram, would have hesitated, under
such circumstances, to assure the Pandit that he was the most
innocent, earnest, and well-intentioned being in the Three Worlds?
The Brahman's son, at least, lost no time in so doing. Hence the
simple-minded philosopher put one of the pills into the young
man's mouth, warning him on no account to swallow it, and took
the other into his own mouth. Upon which Manaswi became a
sprightly young maid, and Muldev was changed to a reverend and
decrepid senior, not fewer than eighty years old.
Thus transformed, the twain walked up to the palace of the Raja
Subichar, and stood for a while to admire the gate. Then passing
through seven courts, beautiful as the Paradise of Indra, they
entered, unannounced, as became the priestly dignity, a hall where,
surrounded by his courtiers, sat the ruler. The latter, seeing the
Holy Brahman under his roof, rose up, made the customary
humble salutation, and taking their right hands, led what appeared
to be the father and daughter to appropriate seats. Upon which
Muldev, having recited a verse, bestowed upon the Raja a blessing
whose beauty has been diffused over all creation.
"May that Deity[FN#146] who as a mannikin deceived the great
king Bali; who as a hero, with a monkey-host, bridged the Salt
Sea; who as a shepherd lifted up the mountain Gobarddhan in the
palm of his hand, and by it saved the cowherds and cowherdesses
from the thunders of heaven--may that Deity be thy protector!"
Having heard and marvelled at this display of eloquence, the Raja
inquired, "Whence hath your holiness come?"
"My country," replied Muldev, "is on the northern side of the great
mother Ganges, and there too my dwelling is. I travelled to a
distant land, and having found in this maiden a worthy wife for my
son, I straightway returned homewards. Meanwhile a famine had
laid waste our village, and my wife and my son have fled I know
not where. Encumbered with this damsel, how can I wander about
seeking them? Hearing the name of a pious and generous ruler, I
said to myself, ' I will leave her under his charge until my return.'
Be pleased to take great care of her."
For a minute the Raja sat thoughtful and silent. He was highly
pleased with the Brahman's perfect compliment. But he could not
hide from himself that he was placed between two difficulties: one,
the charge of a beautiful young girl, with pouting lips, soft speech,
and roguish eyes; the other, a priestly curse upon himself and his
kingdom. He thought, however, refusal the more dangerous; so he
raised his face and exclaimed, "O produce of Brahma's
head,[FN#147] I will do what your highness has desired of me."
Upon which the Brahman, after delivering a benediction of adieu
almost as beautiful and spirit-stirring as that with which he had
presented himself, took the betel[FN#148] and went his ways.
Then the Raja sent for his daughter Chandraprabha and said to her,
"This is the affianced bride of a young Brahman, and she has been
trusted to my protection for a time by her father-in-law. Take her
therefore into the inner rooms, treat her with the utmost regard,
and never allow her to be separated from thee, day or night, asleep
or awake, eating or drinking, at home or abroad."
Chandraprabha took the hand of Sita--as Manaswi had pleased to
call himself--and led the way to her own apartment. Once the seat
of joy and pleasure, the rooms now wore a desolate and
melancholy look. The windows were darkened, the attendants
moved noiselessly over the carpets, as if their footsteps would
cause headache, and there was a faint scent of some drug much
used in cases of deliquium. The apartments were handsome, but
the only ornament in the room where they sat was a large bunch of
withered flowers in an arched recess, and these, though possibly
interesting to some one, were not likely to find favour as a
decoration in the eyes of everybody.
The Raja's daughter paid the greatest attention and talked with
unusual vivacity to the Brahman's daughter-in-law, either because
she had roguish eyes, or from some presentiment of what was to
occur, whichever you please, Raja Vikram, and it is no matter
which. Still Sita could not help perceiving that there was a shade
of sorrow upon the forehead of her fair new friend, and so when
they retired to rest she asked the cause of it.
Then Chandraprabha related to her the sad tale: "One day in the
spring season, as I was strolling in the garden along with my
companions, I beheld a very handsome Brahman, and our eyes
having met, he became unconscious, and I also was insensible. My
companions seeing my condition, brought me home, and therefore
I know neither his name nor his abode. His beautiful form is
impressed upon my memory. I have now no desire to eat or to
drink, and from this distress my colour has become pale and my
body is thus emaciated." And the beautiful princess sighed a sigh
that was musical and melancholy, and concluded by predicting for
herself--as persons similarly placed often do--a sudden and
untimely end about the beginning of the next month.
"What wilt thou give me," asked the Brahman's daughter-in-law
demurely, "if I show thee thy beloved at this very moment?"
The Raja's daughter answered, "I will ever be the lowest of thy
slaves, standing before thee with joined hands."
Upon which Sita removed the pill from her mouth, and instantly
having become Manaswi, put it carefully away in a little bag hung
round his neck. At this sight Chandraprabha felt abashed, and hung
down her head in beautiful confusion. To describe--
"I will have no descriptions, Vampire!" cried the great Vikram,
jerking the bag up and down as if he were sweating gold in it. "The
fewer of thy descriptions the better for us all."
Briefly (resumed the demon), Manaswi reflected upon the eight
forms of marriage--viz., Bramhalagan, when a girl is given to a
Brahman, or man of superior caste, without reward; Daiva, when
she is presented as a gift or fee to the officiating priest at the close
of a sacrifice; Arsha, when two cows are received by the girl's
father in exchange for the bride[FN#149]; Prajapatya, when the
girl is given at the request of a Brahman, and the father says to his
daughter and her to betrothed, "Go, fulfil the duties of religion";
Asura, when money is received by the father in exchange for the
bride; Rakshasha, when she is captured in war, or when her
bridegroom overcomes his rival; Paisacha, when the girl is taken
away from her father's house by craft; and eighthly,
Gandharva-lagan, or the marriage that takes place by mutual
consent.[FN#150]
Manaswi preferred the latter, especially as by her rank and age the
princess was entitled to call upon her father for the Lakshmi
Swayambara wedding, in which she would have chosen her own
husband. And thus it is that Rama, Arjuna, Krishna, Nala, and
others, were proposed to by the princesses whom they married.
For five months after these nuptials, Manaswi never stirred out of
the palace, but remained there by day a woman, and a man by
night. The consequence was that he--I call him "he," for whether
Manaswi or Sita, his mind ever remained masculine--presently
found himself in a fair way to become a father.
Now, one would imagine that a change of sex every twenty-four
hours would be variety enough to satisfy even a man. Manaswi,
however, was not contented. He began to pine for more liberty,
and to find fault with his wife for not taking him out into the
world. And you might have supposed that a young person who,
from love at first sight, had fallen senseless upon the steps of a
summer-house, and who had devoted herself to a sudden and
untimely end because she was separated from her lover, would
have repressed her yawns and little irritable words even for a year
after having converted him into a husband. But no! Chandraprabha
soon felt as tired of seeing Manaswi and nothing but Manaswi, as
Manaswi was weary of seeing Chandraprabha and nothing but
Chandraprabha. Often she had been on the point of proposing
visits and out-of-door excursions. But when at last the idea was
first suggested by her husband, she at once became an injured
woman. She hinted how foolish it was for married people to
imprison themselves and to quarrel all day. When Manaswi
remonstrated, saying that he wanted nothing better than to appear
before the world with her as his wife, but that he really did not
know what her father might do to him, she threw out a cutting
sarcasm upon his effeminate appearance during the hours of light.
She then told him of an unfortunate young woman in an old
nursery tale who had unconsciously married a fiend that became a
fine handsome man at night when no eye could see him, and utter
ugliness by day when good looks show to advantage. And lastly,
when inveighing against the changeableness, fickleness, and
infidelity of mankind, she quoted the words of the poet--
Out upon change! it tires the heart
And weighs the noble spirit down;
A vain, vain world indeed thou art
That can such vile condition own
The veil hath fallen from my eyes,
I cannot love where I despise....
You can easily, O King Vikram, continue for yourself and
conclude this lecture, which I leave unfinished on account of its
length.
Chandraprabha and Sita, who called each other the Zodiacal Twins
and Laughter Light,[FN#151] and All-consenters, easily persuaded
the old Raja that their health would be further improved by air,
exercise, and distractions. Subichar, being delighted with the
change that had taken place in a daughter whom he loved, and
whom he had feared to lose, told them to do as they pleased. They
began a new life, in which short trips and visits, baths and dances,
music parties, drives in bullock chariots, and water excursions
succeeded one another.
It so happened that one day the Raja went with his whole family to
a wedding feast in the house of his grand treasurer, where the
latter's son saw Manaswi in the beautiful shape of Sita. This was a
third case of love at first sight, for the young man immediately said
to a particular friend, "If I obtain that girl, I shall live; if not, I shall
abandon life."
In the meantime the king. having enjoyed the feast, came back to
his palace with his whole family. The condition of the treasurer's
son, however, became very distressing; and through separation
from his beloved, he gave up eating and drinking. The particular
friend had kept the secret for some days, though burning to tell it.
At length he found an excuse for himself in the sad state of his
friend, and he immediately went and divulged all that he knew to
the treasurer. After this he felt relieved.
The minister repaired to the court, and laid his case before the
king, saying, "Great Raja! through the love of that Brahman's
daughter-in-law, my son's state is very bad; he has given up eating
and drinking; in fact he is consumed by the fire of separation. If
now your majesty could show compassion, and bestow the girl
upon him, his life would be saved. If not----"
"Fool!" cried the Raja, who, hearing these words, had waxed very
wroth; "it is not right for kings to do injustice. Listen! when a
person puts any one in charge of a protector, how can the latter
give away his trust without consulting the person that trusted him?
And yet this is what you wish me to do."
The treasurer knew that the Raja could not govern his realm
without him, and he was well acquainted with his master's
character. He said to himself, "This will not last long;" but he
remained dumb, simulating hopelessness, and hanging down his
head, whilst Subichar alternately scolded and coaxed, abused and
flattered him, in order to open his lips. Then, with tears in his eyes,
he muttered a request to take leave; and as he passed through the
palace gates, he said aloud, with a resolute air, "It will cost me but
ten days of fasting!"
The treasurer, having returned home, collected all his attendants,
and went straightway to his son's room. Seeing the youth still
stretched upon his sleeping-mat, and very yellow for the want of
food. he took his hand, and said in a whisper, meant to be audible,
"Alas! poor son, I can do nothing but perish with thee."
The servants, hearing this threat, slipped one by one out of the
room, and each went to tell his friend that the grand treasurer had
resolved to live no longer. After which, they went back to the
house to see if their master intended to keep his word, and curious
to know, if he did intend to die, how, where, and when it was to be.
And they were not disappointed: I do not mean that the wished
their lord to die, as he was a good master to them but still there
was an excitement in the thing----
(Raja Vikram could not refrain from showing his anger at the
insult thus cast by the Baital upon human nature; the wretch,
however, pretending not to notice it, went on without interrupting
himself)
----which somehow or other pleased them.
When the treasurer had spent three days without touching bread or
water, all the cabinet council met and determined to retire from
business unless the Raja yielded to their solicitations. The treasurer
was their working man. "Besides which," said the cabinet council,
"if a certain person gets into the habit of refusing us, what is to be
the end of it, and what is the use of being cabinet councillors any
longer?"
Early on the next morning, the ministers went in a body before the
Raja, and humbly represented that "the treasurer's son is at the
point of death, the effect of a full heart and an empty stomach.
Should he die, the father, who has not eaten or drunk during the
last three days" (the Raja trembled to hear the intelligence, though
he knew it), "his father, we say, cannot be saved. If the father dies
the affairs of the kingdom come to ruin,--is he not the grand
treasurer? It is already said that half the accounts have been
gnawed by white ants, and that some pernicious substance in the
ink has eaten jagged holes through the paper, so that the other half
of the accounts is illegible. It were best, sire, that you agree to
what we represent."
The white ants and corrosive ink were too strong for the Raja's
determination. Still, wishing to save appearances, he replied, with
much firmness, that he knew the value of the treasurer and his son,
that he would do much to save them, but that he had passed his
royal word, and had undertaken a trust. That he would rather die a
dozen deaths than break his promise, or not discharge his duty
faithfully. That man's condition in this world is to depart from it,
none remaining in it; that one comes and that one goes, none
knowing when or where; but that eternity is eternity for happiness
or misery. And much of the same nature, not very novel, and not
perhaps quite to the purpose, but edifying to those who knew what
lay behind the speaker's words.
The ministers did not know their lord's character so well as the
grand treasurer, and they were more impressed by his firm
demeanour and the number of his words than he wished them to
be. After allowing his speech to settle in their minds, he did away
with a great part of its effect by declaring that such were the
sentiments and the principles--when a man talks of his principles,
O Vikram! ask thyself the reason why--instilled into his youthful
mind by the most honourable of fathers and the most virtuous of
mothers. At the same time that he was by no means obstinate or
proof against conviction. In token whereof he graciously permitted
the councillors to convince him that it was his royal duty to break
his word and betray his trust, and to give away another man's wife.
Pray do not lose your temper, O warrior king! Subichar, although a
Raja, was a weak man; and you know, or you ought to know, that
the wicked may be wise in their generation, but the weak never
can.
Well, the ministers hearing their lord's last words, took courage,
and proceeded to work upon his mind by the figure of speech
popularly called "rigmarole." They said: "Great king! that old
Brahman has been gone many days, and has not returned; he is
probably dead and burnt. It is therefore right that by giving to the
grand treasurer's son his daughter-in-law, who is only affianced,
not fairly married, you should establish your government firmly.
And even if he should return, bestow villages and wealth upon
him; and if he be not then content, provide another and a more
beautiful wife for his son, and dismiss him. A person should be
sacrificed for the sake of a family, a family for a city, a city for a
country, and a country for a king!"
Subichar having heard them, dismissed them with the remark that
as so much was to be said on both sides, he must employ the night
in thinking over the matter, and that he would on the next day
favour them with his decision. The cabinet councillors knew by
this that he meant that he would go and consult his wives. They
retired contented, convinced that every voice would be in favour of
a wedding, and that the young girl, with so good an offer, would
not sacrifice the present to the future.
That evening the treasurer and his son supped together.
The first words uttered by Raja Subichar, when he entered his
daughter's apartment, were an order addressed to Sita: "Go thou at
once to the house of my treasurer's son."
Now, as Chandraprabha and Manaswi were generally scolding
each other, Chandraprabha and Sita were hardly on speaking
terms. When they heard the Raja's order for their separation they
were--
--"Delighted?" cried Dharma Dhwaj, who for some reason took the
greatest interest in the narrative.
"Overwhelmed with grief, thou most guileless Yuva Raja (young
prince)!" ejaculated the Vampire.
Raja Vikram reproved his son for talking about thing of which he
knew nothing, and the Baital resumed.
They turned pale and wept, and they wrung their hands, and they
begged and argued and refused obedience. In fact they did
everything to make the king revoke his order.
"The virtue of a woman," quoth Sita, "is destroyed through too
much beauty; the religion of a Brahman is impaired by serving
kings; a cow is spoiled by distant pasturage, wealth is lost by
committing injustice, and prosperity departs from the house where
promises are not kept."
The Raja highly applauded the sentiment, but was firm as a rock
upon the subject of Sita marrying the treasurer's son.
Chandraprabha observed that her royal father, usually so
conscientious, must now be acting from interested motives, and
that when selfishness sways a man, right becomes left and left
becomes right, as in the reflection of a mirror.
Subichar approved of the comparison; he was not quite so
resolved, but he showed no symptoms of changing his mind.
Then the Brahman's daughter-in-law, with the view of gaining
time--a famous stratagem amongst feminines--said to the Raja:
"Great king, if you are determined upon giving me to the grand
treasurer's son, exact from him the promise that he will do what I
bid him. Only on this condition will I ever enter his house!"
"Speak, then," asked the king; "what will he have to do?"
She replied, "I am of the Brahman or priestly caste, he is the son of
a Kshatriya or warrior: the law directs that before we twain can
wed, he should perform Yatra (pilgrimage) to all the holy places."
"Thou hast spoken Veda-truth, girl," answered the Raja, not sorry
to have found so good a pretext for temporizing, and at the same
time to preserve his character for firmness, resolution,
determination.
That night Manaswi and Chandraprabha, instead of scolding each
other, congratulated themselves upon having escaped an imminent
danger--which they did not escape.
In the morning Subichar sent for his ministers, including his grand
treasurer and his love-sick son, and told them how well and wisely
the Brahman's daughter-in-law had spoken upon the subject of the
marriage. All of them approved of the condition; but the young
man ventured to suggest, that while he was a-pilgrimaging the
maiden should reside under his father's roof. As he and his father
showed a disposition to continue their fasts in case of the small
favour not being granted, the Raja, though very loath to separate
his beloved daughter and her dear friend, was driven to do it. And
Sita was carried off, weeping bitterly, to the treasurer's palace.
That dignitary solemnly committed her to the charge of his third
and youngest wife, the lady Subhagya-Sundari, who was about her
own age, and said, "You must both live together, without any kind
of wrangling or contention, and do not go into other people's
houses." And the grand treasurer's son went off to perform his
pilgrimages.
It is no less sad than true, Raja Vikram, that in less than six days
the disconsolate Sita waxed weary of being Sita, took the ball out
of her mouth, and became Manaswi. Alas for the infidelity of
mankind! But it is gratifying to reflect that he met with the
punishment with which the Pandit Muldev had threatened him.
One night the magic pill slipped down his throat. When morning
dawned, being unable to change himself into Sita, Manaswi was
obliged to escape through a window from the lady
Subhagya-Sundari's room. He sprained his ankle with the leap, and
he lay for a time upon the ground--where I leave him whilst
convenient to me.
When Muldev quitted the presence of Subichar, he resumed his old
shape, and returning to his brother Pandit Shashi, told him what he
had done. Whereupon Shashi, the misanthrope, looked black, and
used hard words and told his friend that good nature and
soft-heartedness had caused him to commit a very bad action--a
grievous sin. Incensed at this charge, the philanthropic Muldev
became angry, and said, "I have warned the youth about his purity;
what harm can come of it?"
"Thou hast," retorted Shashi, with irritating coolness, "placed a
sharp weapon in a fool's hand."
"I have not," cried Muldev, indignantly.
"Therefore," drawled the malevolent, "you are answerable for all
the mischief he does with it, and mischief assuredly he will do."
"He will not, by Brahma!" exclaimed Muldev.
"He will, by Vishnu!" said Shashi, with an amiability produced by
having completely upset his friend's temper; "and if within the
coming six months he does not disgrace himself, thou shalt have
the whole of my book-case; but if he does, the philanthropic
Muldev will use all his skill and ingenuity in procuring the
daughter of Raja Subichar as a wife for his faithful friend Shashi."
Having made this covenant, they both agreed not to speak of the
matter till the autumn.
The appointed time drawing near, the Pandits began to make
inquiries about the effect of the magic pills. Presently they found
out that Sita, alias Manaswi, had one night mysteriously
disappeared from the grand treasurer's house, and had not been
heard of since that time. This, together with certain other things
that transpired presently, convinced Muldev, who had cooled down
in six months, that his friend had won the wager. He prepared to
make honourable payment by handing a pill to old Shashi, who at
once became a stout, handsome young Brahman, some twenty
years old. Next putting a pill into his own mouth, he resumed the
shape and form under which he had first appeared before Raja
Subichar; and, leaning upon his staff, he led the way to the palace.
The king, in great confusion, at once recognized the old priest, and
guessed the errand upon which he and the youth were come.
However, he saluted them, and offered them seats, and receiving
their blessings, he began to make inquiries about their health and
welfare. At last he mustered courage to ask the old Brahman where
he had been living for so long a time.
"Great king," replied the priest, "I went to seek after my son, and
having found him, I bring him to your majesty. Give him his wife,
and I will take them both home with me.''
Raja Subichar prevaricated not a little; but presently, being hard
pushed, he related everything that had happened.
"What is this that you have done?" cried Muldev, simulating
excessive anger and astonishment. "Why have you given my son's
wife in marriage to another man? You have done what you wished,
and now, therefore, receive my Shrap (curse)!"
The poor Raja, in great trepidation, said, "O Vivinity! be not thus
angry! I will do whatever you bid me."
Said Muldev, "If through dread of my excommunication you will
freely give whatever I demand of you, then marry your daughter,
Chandraprabha, to this my son. On this condition I forgive you. To
me, now a necklace of pearls and a venomous krishna (cobra
capella); the most powerful enemy and the kindest friend, the most
precious gem and a clod of earth; the softest bed and the hardest
stone; a blade of grass and the loveliest woman--are precisely the
same. All I desire is that in some holy place, repeating the name of
God, I may soon end my days."
Subichar, terrified by this additional show of sanctity, at once
summoned an astrologer, and fixed upon the auspicious moment
and lunar influence. He did not consult the princess, and had he
done so she would not have resisted his wishes. Chandraprabha
had heard of Sita's escape from the treasurer's house, and she had
on the subject her own suspicions. Besides which she looked
forward to a certain event, and she was by no means sure that her
royal father approved of the Gandharba form of marriage--at least
for his daughter. Thus the Brahman's son receiving in due time the
princess and her dowry, took leave of the king and returned to his
own village.
Hardly, however, had Chandraprabha been married to Shashi the
Pandit, when Manaswi went to him, and began to wrangle, and
said, "Give me my wife!" He had recovered from the effects of his
fall, and having lost her he therefore loved her--very dearly.
But Shashi proved by reference to the astrologers, priests, and ten
persons as witnesses, that he had duly wedded her, and brought her
to his home; "therefore," said he, "she is my spouse."
Manaswi swore by all holy things that he had been legally married
to her, and that he was the father of her child that was about to be.
"How then," continued he, "can she be thy spouse?" He would
have summoned Muldev as a witness, but that worthy, after
remonstrating with him, disappeared. He called upon
Chandraprabha to confirm his statement, but she put on an
innocent face, and indignantly denied ever having seen the man.
Still, continued the Baital, many people believed Manaswi's story,
as it was marvellous and incredible. Even to the present day, there
are many who decidedly think him legally married to the daughter
of Raja Subichar.
"Then they are pestilent fellows!" cried the warrior king Vikram,
who hated nothing more than clandestine and runaway matches.
"No one knew that the villain, Manaswi, was the father of her
child; whereas, the Pandit Shashi married her lawfully, before
witnesses, and with all the ceremonies.[FN#152] She therefore
remains his wife, and the child will perform the funeral obsequies
for him, and offer water to the manes of his pitris (ancestors). At
least, so say law and justice."
"Which justice is often unjust enough!" cried the Vampire; "and
ply thy legs, mighty Raja; let me see if thou canst reach the
sires-tree before I do."
* * * * * *
"The next story, O Raja Vikram, is remarkably interesting."