The Story of Surasundarī 1

When he had undertaken the practice of worldly tonsure at the moment of taking the pleasant mendicant vow, / a very curly mass of locks was caught in the face [or speech] of the lord of the immortals;

it looked splendid near his ear, as if it were a messenger of the god of love / whose entry into the heart was blocked, asking for a place to stay.

Or rather:

His form of golden hue, with a mass of hair dangling beautifully over both shoulders, / shines like the flame of an oil lamp tipped with collyrium.

By bowing to whom even a vast multitude of obstacles meets destruction, / to that Ṛṣabha's lotus-feet I bow first with devotion.

I bow to the lordly Jinas beginning with Ajita, at whose birth the lords of immortals / destroyed at once even their inner enemies such as passion.

When, at the time of the bath on the peak of Mount Sumeru immediately after the moment of his birth, / he exerted himself to remove the anxiety felt by Śakra,

the earth, along with its mountains and oceans, trembled exceedingly, / as if seeing his matchless power like an army hostile to passion and the rest.

The cluster of spotless nails of his feet, reflecting the three worlds paying homage, / took on pride, as it were, rivaling his omniscience.

And merely by bowing down to him, the gods, their reflections cast upon the spotless nails of his feet, / obtained an elevenfold form and rejoiced.

I bow to that moon among Jinas, venerated by throngs of divine lords and kings, / the son of King Siddhārtha, who attained the final state in his final life.

Resembling noble lions in destroying the elephant of unconquerable passion, / endowed with eternal, auspicious bliss, I bow my head to the liberated souls. (11)

Resolute in destroying the darkness of difficult-to-destroy delusion, teachers of the resolute doctrine, / devoted to the fivefold conduct, I bow my head to the ācāryas.

Free from thirst for sensual pleasures, intent on making an end of saṃsāra, / expert in the meaning of the scriptures, I constantly bow to the upādhyāyas.

Bearing up firmly under the difficult mountain of the five great vows, / freed from the snare of householder life, I bow my head to all the sādhus.

By reaching whose lotus-feet even living beings devoid of knowledge / attain supreme knowledge, may that goddess Sarasvatī be victorious!

Through whose favor alone even I, a dull-witted person, proceed easily / with the composition of this story, I bow especially to those gurus.

Thus, having destroyed all hosts of obstacles by paying homage to the venerable ones, / I shall tell the story named Surasundarī, which inspires spiritual urgency.

Moreover, first an entreaty is made to wicked people, / of whom poets are afraid, just as a mouse is of a cat.

Or rather, in the case of a wicked man whose mind is naturally occupied with finding faults, / the wickedness of the wicked man does not vanish even through hundreds of requests.

Like a snake, the wicked person, though petitioned by poets, does not abandon his crookedness, / seeks out the faults of others, and is double-tongued.

Even when pleaded with, the wicked person, crooked, impure at heart, and lacking good conduct, / reveals faults, like the moon, which though prayed to, is curved, spotted, devoid of full roundness, and shines in union with the night.

Whether poetry be charming or harsh, wicked people will only seize upon faults; / can cumin seed ever issue forth from the mouth of a camel?

Flawless poetry, having fallen into the company of the wicked, finds no resting place, / just like a drop of water cast into a red-hot iron pan.

Approaching a wicked man, the entreaty of the poet is utterly fruitless; / the neem tree does not shed its bitterness even when watered with sugar syrup.

Or else, should a continuous narrative not be composed out of fear of the wicked? / Ah, it is surely not proper to abandon wearing clothes out of fear of gamblers!

A poet composes poetry even without the approval of the wicked; what is wrong with that? / Does the sun not rise even though it gives no pleasure to owls?

Even unasked, the good person reveals the virtues in the poetry of poets; / the moon illuminates the whole world purely by its very nature.

Even towards a person who reviles him, the good person never seizes upon faults; / the sandalwood tree emits a fragrant scent even while being chopped with an axe.

Moreover, even deformed poetry becomes graceful in the company of good people; / even plain water, entered into an oyster shell, becomes a pearl.

Since the good are worthy of supplication, we now petition them: / with focused minds, listen to what is being told.

In this terrible, boundless saṃsāra filled with millions of birthplaces, / after having obtained the most difficult-to-attain human birth, noble souls

should properly exert themselves in the pure Dharma proclaimed / by the Jinas, who are venerated by hosts of kings of gods, moons, serpents, and men.

That [Dharma] consists in conquering inner enemies; and the inner enemies are passion and hatred. / True happiness lies only in conquering them; to those conquered by them comes suffering again and again.

This being so, living beings led by passion and hatred meet with manifold sufferings; / therefore, wise men must strive solely for victory over them.

Devoted to accomplishing this goal, consisting of sixteen chapters, / this charming story named Surasundarī is composed in Prakrit gāthās.

To enlighten ignorant people and at the same time to delight the minds of unhappy people / cannot both be accomplished simultaneously by poets.

For the wise person is pleased by ornate poetry with dense syllables, / while poetry with clear meaning and charming style enlightens the unlearned.

It is not possible to delight both at the very same time; / in taking hold of one, indeed the other is inevitably lost.

Even if, by the favor of my guru's feet, I possess some ability / in poetry rich in similes, double meanings, metaphors, and elaborate descriptions,

still that is not done here, as it is unsuitable for the subject at hand; / therefore, to enlighten the unlearned, this work is made with obvious meaning.

Moreover, by the instruction of the head nun, the venerable Kalyāṇamatī, / the sister of my guru whose word cannot be crossed,

this work has been commenced, and not out of poetic pride by me; / hence it is composed with clear meaning and graceful phrasing in Prakrit gāthās.

Enough with verbosity, which brings obstacles to the topic at hand and proves futile, / resembling the casting of side-glances by the maiden of an impoverished family!

Now, with focused minds, listen to the story being told, / its chapters arranged in groups of two hundred and fifty gāthās.

Here, in the midst of the upper and lower worlds, lies the vast middle realm / by name, attended by learned men [or gods], like Mount Sumeru.

And there is a continent there, one hundred thousand yojanas in extent, / embraced by the ring of the ocean, renowned as Jambūdvīpa.

And in its southern part is the excellent region named Bharata, / very extensive, divided in two by the supreme mountain Vaitāḍhya.

Now in southern half-Bharata, between the Gaṅgā and the Sindhu, / foremost among many lands like the wish-fulfilling tree among trees,

filling the horizon with the sounds of songs of peasants prosperous with grain, / crowded with cattle herds of various kinds—sheep, donkeys, buffaloes, and rams—

having gardens charming with streams from many water-channels flowing every day, / abundant in towns, cities, and villages, its entire populace enriched by much prosperity,

its people ever joyful, never lacking various festivals, / its villages free of fear and turmoil, is the excellent country named Kuru.

Moreover, its entire roads are completely covered by continuously moving hosts of numerous merchant-caravans, / where on road after road no difference can be discerned between the wilderness and settled places.

And another wonder [appears] in that country, an abode of virtues: / that even though devoid of ears (or: sound), the realm hears the words of the people!

Moreover, where village elders are free from tax (or: hands) and monks are free from unrighteousness (or: Dharma)— / who would venture an effort in praising that land?

There too, enclosed by a moat imitating the wide circle of the ocean, / impassable to enemy forces, filled with swirling makaras,

surrounded by a massive rampart striking fear into hostile factions, / delightful, crowded with gateway towers and charming makara-toranas,

with outskirts adorned by deep, dark-blue groves of trees, / possessing bracket-balconies and latticed windows, endowed with fine paintings,

with multi-storied palaces white as snow, / ever exceedingly lovely as if they were pillars of fame of that city's inhabitants,

gleaming with numerous market-stalls where trade is carried on daily / by merchants arriving from various foreign lands as well as by residents of that very city,

experts in the arts of commerce, / filled within with hundreds of precious wares,

its beautiful environs adorned by lovely temples of the gods / rich with white flags and banners fluttering in the wind from lofty makara-toranas,

with numerous vast lakes adorned by clusters of white lotuses, / with thousands of step-wells easily accessible via rows of stairs,

captivating the minds of even the gods at every step / with excellent three-way and four-way junctions, courtyards, pleasure-groves, gardens, and elongated ponds—

foremost among all other cities, endowed with a host of civic virtues, / resembles the city of the immortals: the city named glorious Hastināpura.

And where there dwell people speaking sweet words, eager to practice Dharma, / endowed with courtesy, charity, and enjoyment, and skilled in the arts;

and in which city the roads are constantly difficult to traverse / because of crowds of people wandering to and fro intent on many purposes;

where, the whole path of the sky being veiled by millions of banners, / the people do not feel the heat of the sun's rays even in the days of summer;

and in which city, with darkness constantly dispelled by rays of gems set into house walls, / men do not notice night even when it has passed;

and as if to gaze upon its loveliness, the gods came / and, their minds captivated by curiosity, obtained unblinking eyes;

where banners fluttering in the wind, erected atop the white mansions, / beckon as it were to the sun's charioteer to fly even higher;

and in which city striking with the foot is seen only on dancing-stages, / the staff (or: punishment) belongs only to banners, and loss of head (or: stake) only to gamblers;

binding is only of flowers on the head, cutting of life (or: vegetables) is only in vegetable fields, / and lo! the piercing of leaves (or: falling of factions) is only in assemblies of scholars!

Now there was only one defect in that city, an abode of virtues: / that even faultless monks are always seen restrained by guard (or: held in confinement).

Now in that city, there was a lord whose treasuries of elephants, horses, and jewels were abundant, / whose mind delighted hundreds of people by upholding righteous conduct as prescribed;

who by the surge of his intellect subjugated the lineages of all his enemies, / who fulfilled the wide wishes of gatherings of suppliants;

who had overcome all adversaries through the boundless valour of his stout, firm arms, / a moon causing the lotus-like faces of enemy women to close;

having great splendour like the sun, fearless of hostile armies like a lion, / profoundly deep like the ocean, delighting the minds of men like the moon;

a Kāmadeva in beauty, equal to the preceptor of the gods in intellect— / there lived full of joy the king named glorious Samaraketu.

As he properly enjoyed the fortune of royalty, the essence of the three goals of life, / his days passed as if he were Indra in the realm of the gods.

Then one day, as that king was seated in his court of assembly, / the doorkeeper Bandhula, bowing his head with modesty, said:

"Sire! A painter from Kuśāgrapura, skilled in the art of painting, / named Cittaseṇa, has arrived and stands at the door.

Eager for the joy of seeing Your Majesty's feet, he desires entrance here; / this being so, Your Majesty's command is our authority."

Then the king said, "Admit him quickly." Then he, duly / entering the assembly hall, paid homage before the king.

Seated on the floor, he was addressed by the king: "From where do you hail, good sir? / Or on what business have you come here into my presence?"

Then Cittaseṇa said: "Sire, I have come from the city of Kuśāgra; / I am a painter and know the art of painting exceedingly well.

And it is heard in reports that Your Majesty is fond of paintings; therefore / I have come into Your Majesty's presence to display the art of painting."

Thereupon the king said: "What is your skill in painting like? / Show me first some excellent form painted [by you]."

Then, having kept a picture-board concealed at his side, / he quickly revealed it and presented it to the king with a delighted countenance.

His horripilation visibly spreading, the king gazed upon what was painted there: / endowed with various colours, perfectly pure in its standard lines,

endowed with the supreme beauty of fresh youth, of an exceedingly charming form, / the commencement of fresh amorous grace—the supreme form of a maiden.

Seeing it, the lord of men thought: "He is indeed very skilled in the art of painting, / since he has depicted this form of unprecedented beauty!

I think there is no woman of such beauty even in the three worlds; / out of his skill in the painter's art, this form hitherto unseen has been painted.

Yet if there should be a maiden of such beauty anywhere, / and if there should be union with her, then my kingship would indeed have attained its purpose!"

And as he was thinking thus, fallen into the range of the arrows of the god of love, / his heart captivated by the painting, he forgot his very self.

Then in an instant, with eyes closed, Samaraketu / fell from his lion-throne, suddenly helpless with swoon.

Crying "Alas, alas!", the people in the court sprang up; / they fanned him with fans and sprinkled cool water on him.

They quickly threw camphor into his mouth and rubbed his limbs. / Seeing this, Cittasena's face broke into a broad smile.

"Hey! Hey! Some villain has come here in the guise of a bee, / a sorcerer by whom our master here has been bewitched!"

"Beat him, strike him, bind him!" shouting thus, the bodyguards / seized him; and as he was being struck, he began to say:

"O good sirs! I am not wicked, so do not torment me in vain!" / Then they said: "How are you not wicked, you villain?

Why did you show the king a picture made with sorcery? / And when his majesty fainted, why did your face break into a smile?

So tell us, by whom were you sent, you villain, to kill the king?" / Then Cittasena said: "I will tell you everything.

I came for the king's prosperity, not with any evil intent!" / Yet even as he spoke thus, the king's men bound him.

In the meantime, the king emerged from his swoon and regained consciousness. / Then the lord of men said: "Hey, release this painter!"

Unbound from his bonds, he was addressed by the king: "Good sir, sit down. / Tell me the truth: by whom were you sent here?"

Then Cittasena said: "Listen, lord of men, to the essential truth of this matter, / why I came here wearing the guise of a painter.

There is here [in the world] Kusaggapura, well known to your majesty's feet, / endowed with a multitude of civic virtues, filled with people rich in wealth and grain.

There was a king there named Ghanavāhana, who fulfilled the hopes of supplicants; / his queen, dear to him as life, was named Vasantasenā.

And their son was named Naravāhana, endowed with great prowess; / their daughter, named Kamalāvatī, was exceedingly beautiful.

Then one day the king, having given his kingdom to Naravāhana, / [said:] 'And our sister Kamalāvatī must be given to a suitable groom.'

Having spoken thus to his son, filled with spiritual urgency in the presence of a good guru, / he formally undertook monkhood, which cuts off saṃsāra.

King Naravāhana also ruled the kingdom, having subdued his rivals; / Kamalāvatī too dwelt happily within the maidens' inner apartments.

Now, in that city lived a merchant named Sāgara, / the king's childhood companion, deeply devoted to the words of the Jina.

His very dear wife was named Śrīmatī, endowed with virtuous conduct; / his son was Śrīdatta, and likewise his daughter was Śrīkāntā.

Every day Śrīkāntā went to the side of Kamalāvatī, / and a deep love arose between the two of them.

Even in their childhood, the arts suitable for women were learned [by them] / from Sumittasena, who was skilled in all arts.

Together with the king's daughter, playing various games such as painting, / Śrīkāntā, having played, would go home in the evening.

Together with Śrīkāntā, the princess, whose essence was affection, / spent much time delighting in diversions of many kinds.

Gradually growing up, possessing forms to be coveted even by the gods, / they attained early youth, the abode of the god of love's ornament.

Now, on another day, while the king, accompanied by Matisāgara and Sāgara, / was seated in the assembly hall,

just then Kamalāvatī, accompanied by her female companions, / her limbs adorned with ornaments, arrived there playing a ball game.

Then that sister was affectionately seated on his lap by the king; / then, beholding her beauty and elevated youth,

the king said to the minister: "Matisāgara! At that time, while taking initiation, / father told me: 'Our sister must be given in a suitable place.'

Now she has become fit for a husband; so tell me: / who is a suitable man for her, born of a noble family?"

Matisāgara said: "Your majesty alone knows what is proper here." / Then the king said: "This occurs to my mind:

Let a svayaṃvara be arranged here, and let all kings be summoned, / so that she may choose the very one who is pleasing to her heart."

Matisāgara said: "Whatever your majesty commands should be done; / however, holding a svayaṃvara is not proper to do at present.

When all kings are subject to a single monarch, / then, by his permission, a svayaṃvara should be held.

For when one is chosen, he restrains the rest; / but at present, O king, all kings are independent rulers.

So when one of them is chosen, all the rest become enemies; / and it is impossible for one man to conquer all of them in battle.

Therefore, O best of men, enough of this holding of Kamalāvatī's svayaṃvara / on this occasion, which is a root of conflict and full of misfortune!"

Then the king said: "To whom then, good sir, should she be given? / Or who is dear to her heart, and how is that to be known here?

My sister must not be given to just any king; / to whomever she is given well-given, to him she must be given."

And while the king was speaking thus with Matisāgara there, / just then the door-keeper, rising after a bow, said:

"An astrologer named Sumati, skilled in eightfold divination, / celebrated for revealing past and future affairs, has arrived here, your majesty!

He stands at the doorway right now in order to see your majesty." / Hearing this, the lord of men said: "Admit him quickly."

Immediately after that, Sumati, his body adorned with clean white garments, / wearing a mark of yellow pigment, approached before the king.

After uttering a benediction and offering dūrvā grass and unbroken rice to the lord of men, / treated with honor by the king, he sat down upon a suitable seat.

Questioned by the king about past matters to test him, / as he related everything truly, as if it were directly visible,

then King Naravāhana, with a smiling face, said this: / "O Sumati! This maiden Kamalāvatī is my sister.

Declare: who will be her husband, dear to her heart?" / Having examined the omen, Sumati declared thus:

"O best of men! Beholding her likeness painted in a picture, / whoever swoons here shall become her husband.

And she shall be his chief queen, foremost among all the inner apartments. / In this matter, O lord of men, harbor no doubt!"

Meanwhile, the merchant Sāgara spoke to the astrologer Sumati: / "Who will become the husband of my daughter Śrīkāntā?"

Then Sumati said: "Whoever revives her / when she is bitten by a black serpent, he indeed will be your daughter's husband."

Having thus inquired and having rendered him suitable honor, / the astrologer Sumati was sent on his way by the king and returned as he had come.

And then the minister said: "Now, O king, an auspicious event has arisen! / Therefore, an effort must presently be made according to his word."

The king said: "Who here can paint paintings with pre-eminent skill?" / Matisāgara replied: "First of all, well known in this city,

there is the son of the teacher of Kamalāvatī named Sumitrasena, / Citrasena alone, exceedingly skillful in the art of painting."

The king said: "Call him quickly!" At that moment, / called by him, I arrived and was addressed by the king with great respect:

"Quickly paint the form of Kamalāvatī upon a picture-board!" / Saying "Whatever you command," it was painted by me in beautiful colors.

And it was shown to the king; seeing its pre-eminent excellence, he was pleased. / I was told by the king: "In this matter, you are suitable."

"Assuming the dress of a painter, take this and show it to all kings, / and the one upon gazing at this falls into a faint,

he must be made known to me by returning quickly, / so that with great honor this Kamalāvatī may be given to him alone."

Thus addressed by the king, then, having bowed to his lotus feet, / accompanied by a few attendants, I departed from the city of Kuśāgranagara.

This was shown by me to kings headed by Sugrīva and Kīrtivardhana, / but the attainment of our goal did not happen here.

Today, however, I arrived in this city, O lord, before your presence; / and looking upon this, a faint overcame you.

Thinking, 'What my master desired has come to pass!' by that, O king, / remembering the astrologer's word, joy arose within me.

For this reason, I was joyful at your swoon; / therefore, O lord of men, do not doubt me with any false suspicion!"

Hearing these words of Citrasena, his suspicion gone, / Amaraketu, amazed by the painted form, spoke:

"Does that maiden have such beauty and loveliness?" / Citrasena said: "This was painted only in a moment.

Even a skillful person, who can properly portray / the form of that royal maiden, which surpasses the beauty of divine maidens?"

Hearing his word, with a joyful heart, the king / bestowed upon him all [the ornaments] adorning his body, such as bracelets and garments.

Then Citrasena said: "Give us leave, O lord! / so that we may accurately report to King Naravāhana."

Permitted by the king, in due course he reached Kuśāgranagara / and related the whole matter to King Naravāhana.

Then he also, accompanied by much wealth and attendants, / sent his sister joyfully as a self-choosing bride to Amaraketu.

Having bidden farewell to her companion Śrīkāntā and all the household, / Kamalāvatī departed, her heart agitated with joy and sorrow—

delighted by the acquisition of a desired groom, yet somewhat sorrowful / because of separation from her kin, she arrived in due course at Hastināpura.

With great splendor, at an auspicious astrological moment, with immense joy, / Kamalāvatī was wedded by the king according to the rite of the kṣatriya lineage.

Dearer even than his own life-breaths, foremost among the entire inner apartment, / she then became his chief queen, like Indrāṇī to Indra.

As that king enjoyed sensual pleasures together with her, / protecting his entire realm with proper conduct,

the days passed as he experienced an unequaled assembly of pleasures, / never seeing sorrow, like the lord of the gods in heaven.

Now, in that city there was a prominent merchant among the citizens, Dhanadharma, / beloved of the king, thoroughly versed in all treatises,

who gave excellent gifts exceeding what was requested with an endless expanse of wealth, / and was adorned with fortune acquired by his grandfather, great-grandfather, and father;

expert in the vast scriptures of the Jina's doctrine, longing for the path to liberation, / devoted to worshiping the Jinas and sādhus, and deeply affectionate toward fellow-religionists.

Surpassing the celestial beauties in bodily charm, faithful to her husband, clever, / his wife was named Manoramā, exceedingly dear to him as his own breath.

As they duly enjoyed sensual pleasure, the essence of the three aims of life, / a son was born who became the ornament of their lineage.

When twelve days had passed, by the parents according to the rite of their lineage, / his name was duly established as Dhaṇadeva.

Then, receiving various fondling by five nursemaids, growing up, / that boy reached boyhood, bringing joy to his mother and father.

Having passed eight years of age, he was brought before a teacher / who had mastered all sciences and knew the entire circle of arts.

In a short time, all sciences were acquired by him, / and in the entire circle of arts he too became well-accomplished.

Then, having mastered the arts, Dhanadeva was brought to his own home; / and his teacher was honored by the father with garments and other gifts.

Growing gradually, Dhanadeva reached youth; / his beauty surpassing the god of love, he became beloved of excellent women.

Then, accompanied by noble friends of equal youth and beauty, / he roamed about, imitating the sport of a lord.

Then once, surrounded by the company of his companions, / he went out of the city and arrived at a delightful garden.

And there he saw a man overcome with profound sorrow, / seated on the bank of a stepwell, his cheeks flooded with tear-water.

Seeing that man, great compassion arose in Dhanadeva; / approaching near, he spoke thus in a sweet voice:

"Who are you, or whence [do you come]? Or what is the cause of your sorrow, good sir?" / Being thus addressed by him, that man spoke in this manner:

"How can sorrow be spoken of by those whose minds are tormented by heavy grief to someone / who cannot remedy it, or who is not himself afflicted?

Yet I will tell you, handsome one, so that your speech does not go in vain: / there is an exceedingly rugged settlement named Sīhaguhā.

And in it was the settlement chief Supatiṭṭha; his wife was Lakṣmī. / To her was born a son, Jayasena, who brought joy to the minds of people.

And I was his childhood companion, by name Devasarman, / and there I used to play with Jayasena with various games."

Then, one day, having gone outside taking Jayasena with me, / I was seen there by two men disguised as yogins.

Having first engaged me in conversation, they gave me an excellent betel leaf; / no sooner was it consumed than confusion came over my mind.

Thereupon, together with the boy, I followed right behind them; / bewitched by those wicked men, I was not conscious of anything at all.

While I was walking along with them over some stretch of land, / thirsty as I was, in a bower of a garden

water clouded with the fruits of various trees was drunk by me; by its power / I became sound of body, and then I pondered this:

"At night, taking the boy, I shall flee from these wicked men." / Having thought thus, unnoticed by them, I moved along with them.

When night fell, they were overheard conversing with each other: / "By means of this boy, our Yakṣiṇī will be accomplished.