The Story of Surasundarī 2

Then, on another day, as the forest was gradually traversed at length, / having reached a body of water, the caravan made camp.

Then, when all the oxen had been unburdened by those people of the caravan, / and they wandered here and there for water, firewood, and the like;

when all the oxen and buffaloes were turned loose in every direction to graze, / and appropriate tasks were begun at that moment by the people—

having learned through a spy that the caravan was busy with cooking meals, / suddenly a raid of Bhīlas fell upon that caravan.

Moreover:

Covered down to the knees with round shields having the colour of fresh mud, terrible of body, / black like heaps of soot, hard to look upon like wrathful Yamas;

with rough and hideous bodies, their crests made of palāśa leaves, / their eyes red like guñjā berries, with masses of coarse, erect hair;

clad in tied armor, with quivers fastened to their backs, / with broad arrow-heads visible on the shafts of bows drawn to their ears;

some with drawn swords in hand, others with clubs seized in hand, / taking away lives, as it were, with their whirling, swinging, and hissing sounds;

insolent and cruel of heart, shouting 'Kill! Kill!' in every direction, / unrecognized, from somewhere the Bhīlas suddenly descended.

When they fell upon it, the entire caravan became thrown into confusion; / because of the vast numbers of Bhīlas, the men of the caravan were thwarted.

Then, as the entire caravan was being plundered and stripped of refuge, / some men, their limbs filled with pride, shouted out and cried:

“Hey! Hey, you fiend-like creatures! Where are you going, now that you have fallen into our sight? / Display all your valour, if you have any in you!”

Some, however, faint-hearted wretches, placing their fingers between their teeth, / wailed pitifully, “Alas! Alas! Save us! Save us!”

Some, being plundered and beaten this way and that, / cowardly, sought hiding places there in order to flee.

Some, having somehow or other found an opening, trembling and quaking violently, / crept away very quietly and hid in the thickets.

Some, their bodies trembling and their loin-cloths completely loosened, / abandoned their manly valour and took to the behaviour of wretched folk.

Having cast off all shame, seeking escape somehow or other, / they performed many flattering flatteries to those very wicked ones.

Some threw themselves down on the surface of the ground as if dead; / others, seeing stones on the ground, hid their bundles.

Even those who had gone far from the caravan in this direction and that for firewood and the like, / hearing the tumultuous uproar, fled even further away.

“Hey, take it! Strike! Bind! Kill! Fill their mouths with dust!” / Such sounds were heard on every side in that caravan.

At that juncture, seeing the people of the caravan being plundered on all sides / by the Bhīlas, surrounded by a few of his own men,

striking terror into their minds by his mere appearance, / with a sword possessing thirty-two auspicious marks in hand, Dhanadeva cried out:

“Hey! Hey, wicked wretches! If you have any itch of pride here, / then stand before me at once, so that I may remove it!

Do not speak what should not be spoken; this is the touchstone of good men! / For men do not attain manhood merely by being praised by their own young women.

Alas! Fie! Fie, O wicked ones, upon this manliness of yours, / whose scope is found only in chasing after the backs of fleeing people!”

Hearing Dhanadeva's speech, uttered twice and thrice, / which produced great fear even in brave warriors,

crying, “Hey! Hey, seize this one too! Let us crush the courage of this merchant!” / they turned at once towards him.

And laughing, they approached Dhanadeva from all sides, / and began to strike him with sharp swords, spears, javelins, and arrows.

Dhanadeva, too, undaunted when those Bhīlas advanced in such a way, / broke their assault and displayed his own valour.

Just as those Bhīla men relentlessly dealt blows without mercy, / Dhanadeva, trained in the arts [of war], countered them in kind.

Indeed, some he warded off this way and that with his buckler, some by skillful body maneuvers, / and others as they advanced from afar with blows of his sword.

Somehow or other, the Bhīlas, rising up with their shields, captured him, / and they said: “Hey! Hey, this one is the merchant who leads the caravan!

Therefore, having bound him with his body uninjured, / let us deliver him to the lord of the settlement, so that this merchant may give much wealth.”

Then, having gone, they handed him over to the lord of the settlement. / In the meantime, Dhanadeva was seen by Devaśarman.

Then he said sorrowfully to the lord of the settlement: / “Alas, alas, master! This is that noble Dhanadeva,

by whom your son, though seized by an ascetic, was released / by giving a hundred thousand gold pieces, out of unmotivated affection!

He is the son of Dhanadharma-śreṣṭhin, the giver of life to Prince Jayasena, / the supreme benefactor! Master, how is it that this was done by your wretched men?”

Hearing Devaśarman say this, his eyes bewildered, Supratiṣṭha at once / said: “Release him! Release the noble man!”

At that moment the men standing beside him loosed his bonds, / and then the settlement lord embraced him with great affection.

Then, having made his bow, on a proper seat offered at that moment / by the men standing nearby, Dhanadeva sat down.

Then, sighing long and deeply, fraught with dejection, / his face bowed low with shame, the settlement lord began to speak:

“Being our supreme benefactor, you deserved to be received by us with honour! / Yet such was the welcome made even to one who had come to our home!

Or rather, a benefit done to evil men bears the fruit of injury, / just as milk given to a serpent turns only to poison.

Wicked am I, ungrateful, who today committed this unrighteous deed / against the giver of my son’s life, when he had come to my house!”

Dhanadeva said: “Why do you bear this heavy dejection? / Ignorance was at fault; what blame is there here for you?”

Seeing his peerless speech, wisdom, / beauty, and nobility of character, the Bhīla lord, deeply charmed once more, said:

“Look, what an assembly of virtues dwells together in one man! / ‘The earth has many jewels’—how true is this common saying!

Fie, fie on my manhood! Fie, fie on my kind of livelihood! / Fie on my birth as a man, who have become a stain on my family!

Fie on my life, devoted to evil deeds and devoid of Dharma, / devoted to the practice of plundering such men!

Only in this much am I blessed: that the sight of this noble-minded man, / his body uninjured, was quickly obtained.

If harm had befallen him while fighting with the Bhīlas, / how could there have been any deliverance for a sinner devoid of merit like me?”

Rebuking himself with many such thoughts, he then said: / “O Bhīlas, whatever was seized by you here from the caravan,

surrender it all to this merchant named Dhanadeva!” / Down to a single blade of grass, they surrendered it all to him.

Then, as the people, young and old, gathered together, freed from fear, / Supratiṣṭha spoke these words full of affection to Dhanadeva:

“A mere krośa from here is my settlement named Siṃhaguhā. / Come quickly to it, and be my guests today!”

Dhanadeva said, “So be it.” Then that caravan, / following in Dhanadeva’s wake, quickly reached Siṃhaguhā.

After the people of the caravan were quartered near the village, / Dhanadeva was brought by the settlement lord to his own house.

Anointed in due manner with fragrant oils by noble maidens, / he was bathed with excellent water that dispelled the weariness of the road.

Anointed with choice sandalwood and camphor, / together with the lord of the settlement he enjoyed a feast and then rose in due order.

When betel filled with camphor was respectfully offered to him, / Dhanadeva, seated on a comfortable seat, spoke these words:

“This settlement is an abode of pitiless folk, / yet you, its master, are endowed with peerless nobility and compassion.

This does not seem a proper match between master and servants, so it strikes my mind, / for this place belongs to those devoid of purity, truth, and courtesy.

That the lord of the Bhīlas should be endowed with such a host of virtues / seems a great wonder in my mind.

Though endowed with matchless nobility and an excellent man, / you live in this settlement; tell me, for what purpose?”

Then Supratiṣṭha said: “What is the use of telling this, Dhanadeva? / A wise man should not disclose his own deceit and humiliation.

Yet I will speak, lest your request be in vain. / With an attentive mind, listen to what is being told.

Delightful with rows of villages whose men, women, and children are ever joyful, / worthy of being praised for many days, there is a country named Aṅga.

In it is an ancient, supreme city possessing wealth like the city of the gods, / free from fear, turmoil, and oppressive taxes, renowned as Siddhārthapura.

In it was a king named Sugrīva, who had high, conch-like neck, / skilled in cleaving the temples of enemy elephants who possessed rut.

His queen was named Kamalā, foremost in the entire harem, / with a face like the autumn full moon, unequalled in intellect.

While he was enjoying sensory pleasures with her, and protecting / the burden of the kingdom bestowed by the tree of merit from a previous birth,

as the days passed, I was born as a son to that queen, / and according to custom my name was given as Supratiṣṭha.

Pampered by five nurses, growing day by day, / I reached the age of five, bringing joy to my mother and father.

In the meantime, the summer that scorched the surface of the earth having passed, / cooling the heat of the earth, with swarms of croaking frogs,

deafening the quarters with the murmuring roar of full-flowing rivers, / with flocks of peacocks dancing at the sight of deep-thundering rain-clouds,

with groves of trees radiant with clusters of kadamba blossoms opened in full bloom, / with winds blowing laden with pollen shed from mucakunda and kuṭaja flowers,

charming with sand-temples built by boys standing on sandbanks, / with oxen smeared by the newly begun ploughing-strokes of farmers,

with peasants laughing in extreme joy, and vast fields flooded in every direction, / the rainy season arrived, its roads difficult to traverse because of mud.

When such a new rainy season had arrived, on a certain day, / King Sugrīva, having taken his meal according to rule,

his body smeared with sandalwood, wearing soft, fine, spotless silken garments, / betel in his hand, arrived at the queen’s palace.

Having ascended to the top floor of the seven-storey palace, / greeted respectfully by the queen, he sat on a costly bed.

After remaining a moment exchanging playful jests with his beloved, / he fell asleep on a soft cotton mattress covered with a white cloth.

Then, his sleep broken by the deep roar of a rain-filled cloud, / he arose and sat down on a bolster placed on the balcony.

Queen Kamalā too then sat on half the seat of the lord of men. / Then the king, thrilled with bristling hair out of delight, said:

‘Look, beloved! Suddenly, with charming clouds rising swollen through union with the sky, / the northern quarter has become just like you [with rising, charming breasts through union with me]!’

"Look, O fair-bodied one, flashing in the midst of the cloud, / the lightning imitates the tremulousness of your eyes and the curliness of your hair!

And look further, beloved, with the cochineal insects wandering about, / it seems as if the Fortune of the rainy season has fallen to the earth and been shattered into bits!

Look, upon the fresh union with the king that is the rainy season, / horripilation has arisen on the woman that is the earth under the guise of green sprouts!

The sun's spread of rays has been blocked by the clouds, as if in wrath: / 'By this harsh spread of rays [hands] has this earth been tormented!'

'Why have the hearts of women parted from their lovers not broken even upon my arrival?' / So it looks on with resentment by the flash of lightning.

'Knowing of my arrival, why indeed have they set out, abandoning their beloveds?' / Thundering as if in fury, it rends the hearts of travelers.

With white cranes as its fangs, a flickering long tongue in the lightning flash, / and a black body, the demon of the rainy season rushes upon travelers.

Look, piercing the hearts of parted lovers with arrows of raindrops shot from the rainbow, / it mocks, as it were, the five-arrowed God of Love together with his five arrows!"

Meanwhile, the queen, rejoicing, said to the lord of men: / "O best of men! This rainy season surpasses the rest of the seasons,

in that, leaving aside parted lovers, it brings pleasure to passionate folk, / and likewise to creatures such as simple rustics, calves, grasses, and medicinal plants."

Then the lord of the earth said, smiling slightly: "O Queen, that is true, / which is heard spoken here in the world:

'Satiated men behold the circle of the quarters filled with nourishment'; / just so, O Queen, happy yourself, you think everyone is happy.

O Queen, all seasons are a cause of happiness for a person of merit; / but for those devoid of merit, even the time of the rains is a cause of sorrow.

Oh, look, look, fair one! While the group of children weeps, terrified and crying aloud / because of the stream of rainwater in an old, half-repaired hovel,

the poor wretch, repeatedly and harshly urged by his wife, / his body bare of covering, battered by torrents of water,

his hair standing on end, his limbs shrunk by the cold wind— / this poor man is somehow or other repairing the hovel.

Behold the donkey, who has taken shelter in the corner of a collapsed and ruined temple, / with its pair of ears drooping down, being battered by heavy torrents of water.

Likewise look at this dog, O fair one, in the empty house, / whimpering from the cold and digging a trench around the fireplace.

Likewise look at the old oxen, beaten by continuous streams of clouds, / walking along looking down at the earth like monks practising care in walking.

And slipping here and there upon the mossy ground, / the old beggar wanders about for alms with a broken staff in his hand."

And while he was explaining this to the queen, just then the chamberlain / Vasudatta, rising after falling at his feet, began to speak:

"The envoy named Dāmodara, whom Your Majesty had previously dispatched / to the city of Campā to King Śrīkīrtivarman,

has arrived, desiring the bliss of beholding Your Majesty's feet, and stands at the door; / this being the case, Your Majesty is the authority." Hearing this,

taking leave of the queen with a glance, the king rose abruptly. / Just as he had drawn near to the assembly pavilion,

immediately after a flash of lightning, a fierce cracking roar / arose close by, terrifying the crowds of men and women.

And right after that, hearing a clamor mingled with loud cries of lamentation / arising in the queen’s palace, the lord of the earth turned back at once.

The queen’s wet-nurse, weeping with a faltering voice, cried: / "O best of men! We are ruined, ruined! The queen has been burnt by lightning!"

Seeing the queen's body fallen to the ground, abandoned by life, / crying out, "Alas! Alas! Alas!", the king fell into a swoon.

Seeing the lord of men fallen to the ground, unconscious and motionless, / the sound of weeping among the attendants grew even louder.

When the men standing beside him applied cool breezes and the like, / the king also regained consciousness and began to lament thus:

"Alas, my beloved! Alas, my mistress! Alas, giver of my life! Large-eyed one! / Alas, dweller in my heart! Alas! Where have you gone, abandoning me?

Alas, fair-bodied one! Alas, one of swelling breasts! Alas, one of delicate body! / Alas, how has pitiless fate hurled a lightning bolt upon you?

On a body worthy of being anointed with camphor and saffron, how indeed has wretched fate, / through my sins and lack of merit, brought about the fall of a lightning bolt?

Alas, O Queen, in separation from you, this city filled with men and women / appears to me like a deserted city and like a forest!

Indeed, O Queen, you used to say: 'I cannot live in separation from you.' / Then how have I, wretched one, been abandoned by you so suddenly?

Alas! Why do you not say anything? Or are you angry with me, O fair-bodied one? / Or what offense have I committed, fair one? Tell me that!

You alone were my beloved; I have no affection for other women. / For your sake, the entire retinue of harem women was forsaken.

Even so, why, O beautiful woman, do you give no answer to one who is deeply devoted? / Therefore be gracious, be gracious, mistress! Arise and give me an answer!"

While the king was thus lamenting in diverse ways with a plaintive voice, / just then I arrived there weeping, O Dhanadeva!

Then, placing me on his lap, crying out in a deeply plaintive voice, / lamenting the very same thing, he wept for a very long time like a child.

At this moment, the minister named Sumati said to the lord of men: / "Your Majesty! Enough of weeping; perform the funeral rites for the queen."

Then the lord of men said: "Carry sandalwood logs outside, / so that together with the queen I too may enter the fire."

Then minister Sumati said: "What is the use of this resolve to die / that is an action of cowards? Resort to steadfastness, O steadfast one!

For by your death, O best of men, the entire land would become accessible / to rival kings, and the child Supratiṣṭha would be helpless.

All the religious rites of the gods, of Brahmins, / of ascetics, and of ordinary folk proceed while Your Majesty lives.

Merely for the sake of a woman, it is not proper for excellent men like you, / who understand the nature of the world, to act improperly.

Moreover, when even the first god, the Jina Ṛṣabha, whose body was free from premature death, / met with death, what reckoning can there be of other mortals?"

When even Bharata, who subdued all adversaries
and was the lord of the six-division earth, met death, what counting can there be for other mortals?

Those proud rulers of men, Somayaśas, Ādityayaśas, and others,
who through their weighty prowess subdued enemy armies and protected foot-soldiers and hosts of troops,

if even they were struck down by wicked Death with pitiless mind
and unhindered advance, what counting can there be in the rest of the world?

Even those eminent gods whose lifespan was thirty-three ocean-measures [of time],
even they undergo departure [by death]; what counting can there be among other beings?

If indeed there is departure [from heaven] for the Bhavanapatis,
Vānamantaras, Jyotiṣkas, and Vimānavāsins, what counting can there be in the world of mortals?

There is no soul whatever in the middle of the three worlds who has not fallen into the power
of wicked-minded death, except the liberated souls rich in bliss.

Thus, seeing the entire three worlds devoured by time, O king!
When the queen’s death has occurred, why do you make yourself helpless with grief?

It would be proper to grieve if death belonged to her alone;
when death is common to all, what grief [can there be], or what is the use of weeping?

When life is like a drop of water clinging to the tip of an exceedingly thin blade of grass,
that one should actually rise again when embraced by sleep—that is the great marvel.

Seeing that such is the nature of the world and such is enraged Death,
O best of men! it is not fitting to make sorrow at the death of the queen.”

Having been addressed in many ways thus by Sumati, the lord of kings
performed all the obsequial rites suitable for that time for the queen.

For some days, abandoning the honoring of people and other affairs,
the king remained as if seized by a planetary spirit because of grief for the queen.

Meanwhile, being enlightened by words from the mouth of Sumati and others,
who were skilled in removing various kinds of sorrow, in time his grief departed.

Then, knowing that I was eight years old, out of deep love for his son
he engaged an upādhyāya and had me master the collection of arts.

When the collection of arts had been acquired, a thousand villages were given to me at that time;
and by the sight of me the king bore even the separation from the queen.

Now on another day, at some time when the king had gone to his assembly hall,
the doorkeeper bowed down immediately and spoke thus politely:

“O master! An emissary from the city of Campā, sent by King Kīrtidharma,
is waiting at the gateway ground for the purpose of seeing your Majesty.”

Saying “Admit him quickly,” he was granted permission by the king;
he entered, made his bow of respect, and sat down in a suitable place.

First having been presented with betel and other gifts, he was addressed by the king:
“Tell the reason for your coming, sir!” Then he began to speak:

“In the excellent city of Campā, well known to your Majesty's feet,
there is a king named illustrious Kīrtidharma, who has spread abroad stainless fame.

His queen, world-renowned as Kīrtimatī,
surpasses all women, having conquered the excellence of the beauty of the celestial maidens of the lord of gods.

She has an excellent maiden daughter named Kanakavatī,
who is like a maiden of Pātāla, elevated by the pride of charm, beauty, and wisdom.

Having attained youth and adorned with ornaments,
she was sent by her mother to her father's presence for the purpose of giving her a suitable groom.

Having arrived and fallen at her father's feet, she was joyfully
seated on his lap, embraced, and that maiden was addressed with this:

‘Daughter! Name the one dear to your heart among the feudal lords and great men,
so that he may be made your husband; why say more?’

Spoken to thus by her father, the young girl stood with downcast face out of modesty;
even when asked repeatedly, she gave no reply at all.

Then he began to think: ‘This choice maiden is bashful;
she cannot say, “O father, this one is dear to me.”

Therefore I myself will contemplate an excellent husband suitable for her,
endowed with wealth of wisdom and beauty, born of an excellent lineage.’

Remaining in thought for a moment, full of reflection, the king then said:
‘Daughter! I have now found a husband equal to your beauty.

In Siddhārthapura, King Sugrīva by name is my great friend;
go quickly to him as your chosen husband; what need of many words here?’

And merely upon this being spoken, O King, at the sound of your name alone
her bodily hair bristled, rising from the power of joy.

Knowing her feeling and looking upon my face, the king
said: ‘You, O Mahābala, go to the city of Siddhārtha,

taking this Kanakavatī with abundant opulence for the self-choice marriage,
accompanied by some troops, on an auspicious lunar day, astrological division, and lunar mansion.’

Saying ‘As you command,’ I set out from there taking her with me,
until in due course I reached within a single yojana of this place.

Today, at the end of the night, speeding away with some swift horses,
I have arrived to deliver the pleasing news to you.

O King! This is the reason for my coming that was inquired by you;
such is the situation, now the King is the authority.”

Then the king, his heart filled with joy, said to his retinue:
“With great pomp, bring the maiden into the city!”

Then, when the instruction was duly carried out by the attendants saying ‘So be it,’
Kanakavatī was married there by the king at an auspicious moment.

In time that Kanakavatī became exceedingly beloved to the king;
and she was established in the place of my mother as the crowned chief queen.

One forgets a human being, even if very beloved, when separated by space and time;
for love is like a creeper: it climbs upon whatever is near.

The days passed for my father, deeply in love with her,
and who slackened his visits and activities with the rest of his harem women.

Then one day a son was born to Kanakavatī;
named Surabha, he reached the age of boyhood.

On another day, Queen Kanakavatī said to him in private:
“O King! Why is my son not consecrated to the rank of crown prince?”

Then the lord of men said: “While the eldest son, Supratiṣṭha, exists,
it is indeed not proper to appoint Surabha as crown prince.”

Then the queen said: “Who, pray, hinders the appointment of the eldest?
If I am dear to you, then make Surabha the crown prince!”

Then the king said: “You are exceedingly dear to me, O bright-eyed one!
Yet all the feudal lords and great men are devoted to him.

Moreover, he is very capable; if this were done, he might do something [rash],
for having been slighted, he might even seize the kingdom from me.”

Then the queen laughed and said: “With such courage, how did Fate
make you a king, my dearest, rather than a merchant?”

"Since this Suppaiṭṭha is so formidable in valor, / quickly cast him with effort into a wooden cage!

Then, having appointed my son as crown prince with diligence, / remain free from fear, enjoying both the kingdom and me."

Hearing these words of the queen, the king gave no answer; / he arose and went to sit in the assembly hall.

And hearing these words of the queen in secret, / a maidservant named Sūhaviyā related everything to me, O Dhaṇadēva!

Hearing that, such a doubt arose in my mind: / 'Could my father, addressed by Kaṇagavaī, do such a thing?

Or rather, men who are subjugated by women have no regard for past affection, / nor for conduct, nor public reproach, nor future misfortunes.

Therefore, before my father does anything else at the queen's word, / I shall destroy my father and seize the kingdom myself.

Or rather, it is not fit for me, possessed of discernment, to do this; / so having bound my father, should I put him into a wooden cage?

Or should I send Kaṇagavaī herself together with the cook to Yama's abode? / Or should I capture both and confine them in a wooden cage?

Or what use is this to me? Let me watch first what my father does; / while water has not been seen, it is not proper to take off one's shoes.'

Then the king, spoken to day after day by his beloved, / grew slack in affection towards me; for poison poured in the ear is a great poison.

Suddenly on another day, making some pretext, the king / took away my thousand villages and gave me a single small hamlet.

Then, wrath having arisen, I thought: / 'Having slain this wicked-natured man, I shall seize the kingdom—why say more?

Or rather, this sin was never committed in my lineage by my ancestors; / so how can I commit it for the sake of a worthless kingdom?

Blinded by passion, he acts at a woman's word; let him commit injustice! / But alas, such an act is truly unfit for me, who possess discernment!

So what should I do now? My father's insult is unbearable, / suicide is also improper, [so] leaving the country is the only proper course.

Therefore, having gone to another country, let me serve another king... / Hm, even that is not proper, for service is indeed a place of dishonor!

“This man was the son of King Sugrīva, a crown prince endowed with fortune; / but now, like an outcast, how can he render service to servants?”

Pointed out by people eager to utter such widespread gossip, / how could I wander in the houses of enemies?