The Story of Surasundarī 4

Then my brother Bhānuvega arrived and, smiling, said to me:
"Let us go to the garden, following the words of Cūtalatā."

With a heart filled with joy, saying "So be it!",
just as I began to do what was suitable for that time,

meanwhile, the deep sound of auspicious musical instruments was heard,
and my brother was asked by me: "Where is this instrument being played?"

Then Bhānuvega said: "I do not know the exact cause here;
only that this sound of instruments is perceived in the house of Amitagati."

Then I thought: "Why, even when the meeting with my beloved is imminent,
is my burning increased and my left eye twitching thus?

Therefore there must surely be some reason here." Then by me
Cūtalatā was called; having arrived, she was then spoken to thus:

"Where is this sound of instruments, or on what account? Having ascertained it properly,
come, good lady, and tell us at once!"

Having gone, Cūtalatā returned after a moment, highly agitated,
her lotus face bereft of luster; and questioned by me, she said this:

"Having gone out from here to the doorway of Amitagati's house,
crowded with many people, I did not find entrance even.

And then Bandhudatta, being asked about the matter in question, said:
'O good lady! This is a great festival for the choice of a groom for Kanakamālā.

The son of illustrious Gandhavāhana, in the Vidyādhara city of Gaṅgāvarta,
is known as Nabhowāhana; to him Kanakamālā has been given.'

Having learned this, I have come here to your presence;
though bitter to the ear, it is told to you by unfortunate me."

Hearing her words, as if struck suddenly by a heavy mallet,
with eyes closed in a swoon, I fell to the ground deprived of motion.

Then sprinkled with water mixed with camphor and gosīrṣa sandalwood,
and with the cool breeze of a delicate palm-leaf fan, I was freed from my swoon.

I began to reflect: “Behold the sport of ill-advised Fate,
whose mind is intent upon shattering my hope for union with my beloved!

Or rather, one reflects in one way with an eager, agitated heart,
but through the power of Fate the outcome of one's undertaking turns out quite otherwise.

Where is she, and where am I? Where is our great mutual love?
Yet by accursed Fate everything has been brought to naught.

If earlier, O Destiny, such was your intention,
then why did you bring about my very first sight of her?

Having granted that sight attended by deep passion, O wretched Fate,
will you not feel ashamed in joining that deer-eyed maiden to another?

Moreover, let a thunderbolt strike my eyes, or something worse than a thunderbolt,
since having seen an unknown person, they formed an attachment!”

[Saying to myself:] “Why do you languish for the sake of one known for a mere moment and hard to obtain?
Abandon this heavy dejection, for accursed Fate is adverse!”

“Even though such unbearable and severe sorrow has arisen, O heart,
I deem you fashioned of thunderbolt, since you do not shatter into a hundred pieces!”

While I was pondering these and many such anxious doubts, Prince,
overwhelmed by great sorrow, my mind tortured by separation from her,

that Somalatā returned, her heart somewhat joyful;
seeing me utterly distraught with grief, she sat down.

Then she said: “Why, handsome one, do you look so deeply dejected
upon hearing the news of the choice of groom? Just listen to my words!”

And I said: “Is there still any hope for us,
that you speak thus, O Somalatā?” Thereupon she said:

“Seeing Kanakamālā motionless and senseless in separation from you,
Cūyalatā was sent to you at dawn.

She too, comforted somehow by her female friends with words portending union with you,
was yet languishing, yearning to achieve union with you.

One moment she faints; rising up again, she utters cries of pain;
she sings, she laughs, she trembles, she weeps, and in a moment she is terrified.

Acting like a girl seized by a planet, performing erratic gestures,
even when laughed at by her companions, she with her afflicted heart noticed nothing at all.

Seeing that, I thought: ‘Before this girl, deeply in love,
gives up her life, I shall devise an expedient.’

Then, having gone to Citramālā, her mother,
when she was alone, that entire matter was told by me.

Having understood the true state of affairs, Citramālā approached Kanakamālā
and said: ‘Daughter, why are you distressed?

You sit with a downcast face; why do you not speak even when addressed?
This matter is easily accomplished, daughter; do not bear sorrow!

Cittabhāṇu is devoted to us, and you, daughter, are a maiden;
and Cittavēga is suitable for you in beauty and arts.

Love has arisen in you toward him, and therefore everything
has turned out favorably. Do not think otherwise, child!

However, daughter, your father has gone to the city of the sky-farers, Gaṅgāvarta,
into the presence of the Vidyādhara king Gandhavāhana.

Let him return quickly in safety; then with great splendor
he will celebrate your marriage with Cittavēga.

When this month of Caitra has passed, an auspicious time will be obtained
very soon, daughter; do not harbor any anxiety!’

Addressed thus by her mother, relieved of the burning torment of separation,
she became somewhat at ease; then her mother arose.

Meanwhile, her father, Amitagati, suddenly arrived from the city of the sky-farers,
received with deference by his attendants.

Bathed, anointed, and having eaten, he sat down on the upper terrace;
and I, accompanied by Citramālā, went to that very place.

Having inquired about her dear husband’s well-being, Citramālā
then related to him the entire news concerning her daughter.

Hearing that, Amitagati’s face turned pale in an instant;
he said: ‘Alas! A very great calamity has befallen us!’

Then Citramālā said: ‘Dearest, what is the cause of this calamity?’
And thereupon Amitagati replied: ‘Dearest, listen!

On royal business, I then went from here to that city, Gaṅgāvarta,
into the presence of the illustrious Gandhavāhana.

Having shown due respect, I sat beside the king as he held assembly;
and being addressed by him, I reported the royal affair to him.

Meanwhile, fair lady, announced by the doorkeeper and granted permission,
a young Vidyādhara prince entered the assembly.

Having bowed to the king, he began to speak as follows:
‘O Lord, he who was the king of the Vidyādharas on Mount Vaitāḍhya,

accomplished in all sciences, renowned among gods, asuras, and the world of men,
named Suravāhana, an emperor of Vidyādharas,

who, having enjoyed the unblemished sovereignty of the Vidyādharas,
installed you, his son of renowned fame, upon his own throne,

dreading existence in saṃsāra, recognizing the worthlessness of worldly wealth,
cast aside royal fortune like a strip of ragged cloth;

who undertook the complete-renunciation conduct proclaimed by the illustrious Jina Ṛṣabhanātha
in the presence of the eminent monk Cittaṅgaya;

who, having studied the discipline of receiving and practicing [the doctrine] near the guru,
and learned in sacred knowledge, undertook the solitary ascetic posture;

intent on various austerities such as two-day, three-day, four-day, and five-day fasts,
wandering over the earth adorned with villages and mines—

that very father of yours, the Vidyādhara royal monk Suravāhana,
has today arrived here on the peak of Cittakūḍa on Mount Vaitāḍhya.

As he stood there in ascetic resolve, having destroyed delusion through pure meditation,
omniscience illuminating both the cosmos and non-cosmos arose in him.’

Then, upon hearing his words, King Gandhavāhana,
his eyes blooming with intense joy, respectfully addressed him thus:

‘O friend, approach near! Today, through this news of my father,
bearing the tidings of the rise of omniscience, our life has been made fruitful!’

All the ornaments, garments, and other things adorning his own person
he placed upon that messenger’s body, and then said to the treasurer:

‘Give twelve and a half crores of excellent gold to him
as a gift of joy!’ And that was accordingly carried out by him.

Immediately after that, the king, accompanied by a host of Vidyādharas, set out
to Cittakūḍa to pay homage with devotion to his father.”

Followed by his retinue mounted on excellent celestial vehicles produced by magic, / surrounded at once by citizens resplendent in pleasant attire,

accompanied by him, I too indeed set out to pay homage to the monk's feet. / Then everyone arrived in the vicinity of Citrakūṭa.

Seeing the fourfold assembly of gods descending upon Citrakūṭa, / the king, his mind exceedingly delighted and his lotus-face blooming,

went swiftly forward, surrounded on all sides by many people. / The omniscient one's glory was being celebrated by gods, and he was being praised by divine maidens.

Beholding that eminent monk, circumambulating him thrice, / his body bristling with horripilation produced by immense reverence,

he made a prostration with five limbs, his diadem grazing the surface of the ground. / Then, with eyes overflowing with great joy, he began to praise him thus:

"Victory, victory, O best in compassion for living beings! O you who have burnt the forest of karma through pure meditation! / O you who have cut off the bonds of existence! O remover of the sorrow of birth, old age, and death!

O you who have perceived the true nature of all knowables through arisen, spotless omniscience! / O achiever of the bliss of eternal liberation! O you who have attained yathākhyāta conduct!

O Blessed One, give a supporting hand and bring across us / who wander in the beginningless and endless ocean of saṃsāra! (71)

Having thus praised the monk, fixing his mind and eyes upon the monk's lotus-face, / he sat down on the ground, neither too near nor too far.

Meanwhile, the monk, whose sole pleasure was in accomplishing the good of others, / began his sermon with a profound voice, as follows:

"Human birth is exceedingly difficult to attain for souls that have entered the ocean of impermanent saṃsāra, / who are in the power of their own karma, due to the prevalence of wretched states of existence.

Even that is overcome by old age, an abode of sicknesses, griefs, and diseases, / afflicted by the onset of manifold physical and mental sufferings.

Likewise, fortunes of mortals are flickering like banners struck by the wind, / and affections toward loved ones and other persons, though bringing a hundred pleasures, are unstable.

Sensory pleasure, too, has a cruel fruition, being the cause of suffering in hells and elsewhere; / it is the result of sin accumulated through violence and possessions.

Through exceedingly terrifying bondage, it certainly brings grievous affliction to living beings; / all pleasure whatsoever seems to exist solely through false conception.

Constantly vigilant, death carries away the multitude of living beings. / Such being the case, O gentle ones, reflect rightly!

Setting aside the Dharma taught by the omniscient one, there is no other / refuge for the capable souls who are frightened of worldly existence and submerged in saṃsāra.

Therefore, having attained human birth which is difficult to obtain, make an effort / in the Dharma spoken by the lord of Jinas, the cause of the bliss of eternal liberation.

Taking up renunciation, which consists of abandoning blameworthy deeds, / and destroying the enemy that is karma, attain liberation, which is eternal bliss."

When this was spoken by the omniscient one, placing his cupped hands upon his head, / King Gandhavāhana said: 'So be it, as you say.

Having given the multitude of sciences together with the kingdom to my own son, / to Nabhabhānu, I will then renounce household life.'

In the meantime, O beautiful one, knowing the opportune moment for asking, / having bowed, I asked the monk, the omniscient one, as follows:

"To the Blessed One, whose true nature is known through omniscience that perceives the universe and non-universe, / that which I am about to ask is indeed directly perceptible.

I have an only daughter born to me, endowed with knowledge and beauty, / dearer even than life, by name Kanakamālā.

'Who will become my daughter's husband, pleasing to her mind?' / With this worry, O Blessed One, my heart is continually shaken.

Therefore, for the sake of peace of mind, let this matter of ours be revealed: / which Vidyādhara, indeed, will take her hand in marriage?"

When asked thus, O lovely-limbed one, the omniscient one spoke in this manner: / "O gentle one, do not despair in the least over this matter!

The husband of your daughter will be he who on this Vaitāḍhya / will exercise the virtuous sovereignty of an emperor of the Vidyādharas.

Bound by love from a previous life, your daughter will be his life-beloved, / the chief queen who is the ornament of the entire inner harem."

Hearing the words of the omniscient one, immense joy arose in me. / In the meantime, having bowed to the monk, the king arose.

Then, accompanied by the king, I returned to that very city. / Then I was addressed by the king with these words full of great respect:

"Even though a daughter is very dear, she must still be given to some man; / because this is the way of the world, therefore we say such a thing.

Let that maiden be given to Nabhavāhana, so that having performed the marriage, / and establishing him in our own place, we may serve the pair of our father's feet."

Then I too said: "There is nothing to be argued on this matter; / of what account is a daughter? Even our lives are dependent on you!

Fortunate is that daughter who becomes the daughter-in-law of your Majesty; / the omniscient one's words also prove true when this arrangement is carried out.

Except for your son, who else on Mount Vaitāḍhya could become / the emperor of Vidyādharas, whose beloved my daughter will be?"

When I said this, the king, with a cheerful face, commanded / the astrologer Somayaśas: "Determine an auspicious time for the marriage!"

Then, having carefully considered, the astrologer declared / an auspicious time on the night of the fifth day of the bright fortnight of Vaiśākha.

Then I said: "Grant me leave, so that having gone / to my own city, I may make preparations for the marriage ceremony."

Permitted by him, O lovely-limbed one, I came here quickly, / together with the royal ministers named Candrayaśas and Āditya.

They too have arrived with me for the sake of Kanakamālā's betrothal; / tomorrow, at the time of dawn, her betrothal is to take place.

Such being the case, she is our only daughter, extremely dear to us, Kanakamālā; / [yet] her love has arisen for Cittavega.

So, if I do not fulfill what is agreeable to the mind of our only daughter, / to her, then, O beautiful one, what use is my life?

With great courtesy, she was sought by King Śrī-Gandhavāhana for his son, / and she was promised by me to him.

And now that cannot be undone, O lovely-limbed one! / For this reason, I said that calamity has arrived."

O Cittavega, hearing these words of her beloved husband, / my mistress, Citramālā, also became pale-faced.

Then she said: "This at least flashes in my mind: / Kanakamālā will surely abandon her life in separation from him.

Somehow with words reassuring her of obtaining him / she was previously comforted by me; but now this has turned out otherwise."

And Amitagati said: “Things being so, what am I to do, fair one? / If I do not give her, the king will certainly be enraged.

From the omniscient one's words, the king has come to hold exceedingly great regard in this matter; / because of that, if she is not given, my destruction will be very great.

If, in his wrath, I have no dwelling on excellent Mount Vaitāḍhya, / that would be a very small thing; other disaster would also come to pass.

Moreover, having laid waste [to us], the king will seize her—there is no doubt of this; / so it is better that she be given over by [our] own self with an increase of affection.

If, on the other hand, she is given to Cittavega instead of the prince, / then there will be danger even to her life and to our lives.

Therefore, beautiful one, there is no need here for other multiple deliberations; / speak to Kanakamālā in such a way that she abandons her love for him.

Moreover, he is born of a noble lineage, speaks kindly, brings joy to the hearts of all people, / is valiant, steadfast, generous, and adorned with his father’s fortune;

by his beauty, youth, arts, sciences, and spotless virtues, / Prince Nabhavāhana is renowned throughout all Vaitāḍhya.

Therefore let him alone, arrived in due course, become Kanakamālā’s husband; / there is no purpose with another man full of peril.”

And addressed thus by Amitagati, Cittamālā / said to me: “Somalā, what is fitting to do now?”

And then I said: “You yourself understand the real truth in this matter; / regarding the true nature of your own daughter, what can I say here?”

Then Cittamālā said: “Go to her and ascertain her feeling: / by an explanation of virtues and faults, does she desire another man or not?

Praising Nabhavāhana for his superior virtues, and reproaching the other, / act in such a way that she desires marriage with that prince.”

And then I said: “Mistress, do you not know her own nature, / that you give me such an order?

Let alone that she would consent to marriage with another—far from it!— / I think she will give up her life upon hearing this news.”

Hearing my words, struck by heavy sorrow, her cheeks blackened / by falling tears mingled with collyrium, she then said:

“What you say, gentle one, flashes in my heart as true; / but under the power of wretched fate, it has become exceedingly difficult.”

Then Amitagati, seeing his beloved weeping in exceedingly deep grief, / said: “Beautiful one, what is the use of weeping here?

Is my grief small? But I am not able to do otherwise; / even having reflected for a very long time, I find no other expedient.

Therefore, letting go of a woman’s obstinacy, look to the future; / consider the faults in not giving her to the prince, and the virtues [in giving her].

Moreover, Kanakamālā is indeed devoted to deep respect for her mother and father; / through our explaining the merits and faults, she will not oppose our word.

Moreover, a maiden’s husband, they say, depends on the assent of her elders; / and because of their assent, even svayaṃvaras and the like are arranged.

Furthermore, Prince Nabhavāhana has not fallen within the range of her sight; / only so long does her love remain on another man.

When he, whose beauty has conquered the Bodiless One, is seen, passion will indeed arise; / so, beautiful one, what is the use of an elaborate web of doubts and notions?

Go to Kanakamālā, fair one, and speak to her with very clever words / in such a way that no disaster befalls us in this affair.”

And when Cittamālā was addressed thus by Amitagati, / she said to me: “Somalā, carry out my dearest's word quickly.”

Then saying 'So be it,' as soon as I had risen, I asked / the maid named Candanā: “Where is Kanakamālā staying?”

She said: “Having descended from the upper storey, / she is going toward the house garden, her lotus-face faded.”

Hearing that, such a doubt arose in my mind: / “Surely, unseen, she heard her father’s words;

for that very reason, I think, this maiden has become downcast in face; / so before she goes there and does any harm to herself,

let me go quickly and make an effort to prevent her.” / Thinking thus, I set out, following her footsteps.

And having reached the house garden, as I wandered here and there / to search for her in that dense thicket crowded with great trees,

in one spot there, charming with an arbor of dense-leaved plantains, / I saw her seated beneath a leafy tamāla tree,

thinking of something or other, her cheeks bathed in thick falling tears, / Kanakamālā, full of heavy sorrow because her heart's desire was not attained.

Then I thought: “Why, indeed, having left her own house, / has she come alone here to the garden?

Therefore, unseen by her, staying hidden, I shall observe what she does; / she has understood the true meaning of her father’s words.”

Having reflected thus, remaining silent, screened behind a plantain trunk, / as I stood there for a moment, hear what happened:

sighing deeply, Kanakamālā spoke thus: / “Even now, what is the use here of this elaborate web of doubts and notions?

Even after thinking for a very long time, for me, bereft of merit, / through the working of wretched fate, there is no union with that person.

Let alone the bliss of union—even the hope of seeing him has become difficult to obtain; / [yet] the heart that was bursting in separation from him has held on.

Then what hope is there even today, O heart, that you do not burst immediately, / though shattered by the thunderbolt of separation from the beloved seen for only a moment?

Hearing my father’s words which cause separation from the desired person, / I think you must be made of thunderbolt, O heart, since you do not shatter into a hundred pieces!

The pride that was in my heart, thinking, ‘I am beloved of both mother and father,’ / that too has vanished now.

‘This matter is easily accomplished, daughter; do not despair’— / with such words I was indeed reassured by mother.

‘To whomever your wish is directed, to him you must be given by me, daughter’— / this personal promise my father has now made otherwise.

If even father, having understood my true state, acts otherwise, / how then can there be any possibility of obtaining what I desire?

Even knowing this, O heart, why do you not abandon the hope / concerning union with that person, because of which you still hold on to life?

Or rather, there is no fault in my father, whose actions depend upon his master; / it is well known among people that the state of servitude is truly wretched.”

‘Even if he surpasses the Bodiless One in beauty, even if he is endowed with fortune, / even if he is of the highest lineage, even if he were Indra himself in visible form,

still no other man pleases me, apart from that beloved of my heart. / If this is your resolve, O heart, then why delay?

Knowing that such an occasion has been obtained, which is very hard to gain, / strive for what you have desired; may success come without obstacle!

Indeed, once this is done, even the king will cast no blame on my father, / and thus will end the sorrow of unbearable separation.’

Having spoken many such deliberations, O Cittavega, that maiden, / determined on death, then climbed onto a tamāla tree.

As soon as I saw her daring act, my body trembled; / my voice could scarcely come forth, and all my joints went numb.

And then Kaṇagamālā, having climbed onto a branch of the tamāla tree / and fastened her upper garment, tied it around her neck.

Then she began to speak: ‘Mother, whatever trouble I have caused you / from childhood onward, please forgive it all!

Father, you too forgive me now, since, overwhelmed by love, / I previously caused you sorrow, as I am now departing for the other world!

O Sōmalayā, possessed of love greater than a mother’s, forgive that you have been grieved! / O throng of most affectionate companions, forgive whatever offense I have committed!

O beloved, seen but for an instant, entered into the core of my heart, listen! / Giving up my life, O master, I make this one request:

Deprived of union with you, this birth of mine has passed away; / but in another life, O master, may you alone be my beloved!

I say another thing, O master: even though this utterance is very harsh, / nevertheless this demand of mine is meant to avert misfortune for you:

Depart from my heart, or else, when my throat is blocked by the noose, / you will not be able to escape, O master, beloved of my life!

And I think wretched destiny found some other cause for my death, / and for that reason brought about my seeing you.’

‘O forest deities, listen! By your grace, even in another birth, / may that person seen for a moment become my beloved, and no one else!’

Having said this, she quickly dropped herself head downward. / In the meantime, such a voice arose in the sky:

‘Do not, do not commit this rash act, noble lady! Take courage! / He indeed shall be your husband—is he not Cittavega?

The taking of hands with him will take place on this very auspicious day. / Therefore, O fair one, do not feel any dejection on this matter!’

Immediately upon these words, her noose snapped. Then I, / my body restored to health as fear melted away at those words, approached her side.

Then, as she had an embarrassed face, I said to her: ‘Daughter, it is not proper for you / to act like this, causing grief to mother, father, and the rest.’

And then she said: ‘Mother, for people like us, when things have come to such a pass, / what else is proper to do except die?

For death is better, not separation; separation seems to me exceedingly hard to bear. / Death alone is better, by which sorrows come to an end.’

And then I related to her the entire previous account / and said: ‘Daughter, what now seems fitting for you to do?’

Then she said: ‘Putting aside modesty, I say this: / no other man will take hold of my hand in this birth.’

Smiling, I said: ‘This is established from the deity’s words; / but how will your father Gandhavāhaṇa be released?’

In the meantime, once again this voice arose in the sky: / ‘Do not make many doubts! Listen first to my words:

Let Sōmalayā go and speak such words to her father: / "Addressed in many ways, Kaṇagamālā says this:

Whatever my father does is entirely respected by me. / If it brings good here, let that which pertains to my father be done."

Then, without hesitation, the wooing ceremonies should be accepted for her; / for when this is done, the attainment of the desired aim will come about in due course.’

Having heard these words of the deity, O Cittavega, / great satisfaction arose in us; then I said this:

‘Let no suspicion be harbored, daughter, regarding your heart’s desired object; / even by deceit, you must agree to your father’s word.

And these words of the deity must not be told to anyone else, / lest that king, having learned the true state of affairs, should act improperly.

If this becomes public and the true matter is known through popular rumor, / the king will surely bring harm upon your beloved.’

Then Kaṇagamālā said: ‘So it is, there is no doubt. / Therefore, mother, exert yourself in the matter at hand; what is the use of much talk here?’

And then I went and related this to Cittamālā: / ‘Spoken to in many ways, your daughter says this:

"Whatever my father says, whatever is highly regarded here by my mother, / and whatever is more virtuous, that alone should be done by me.

As prosperity comes to my father, and as no calamity ever befalls him, / just so should I also act; what other thing matters here?"’

And then Cittamālā related her words to her beloved; / hearing that, Amiyagaī, with a joyful face, said this:

‘Splendidly done, indeed, by my daughter who is devoted to her father! / Thus has she shown the height of courtesy, speech, and discernment.’

Then at daybreak, the selection ceremony for her was performed / with great pomp by the king’s ministers, causing joy to her father.