Kathasaritsagara 1.8.3

In accordance with this request of Gunádhya that heavenly tale consisting of seven stories was told by Kánabhúti in his own language, and Gunádhya for his part using the same Paiśácha language threw them into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition, wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And so the Vidhyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it, and the heaven above where Kánabhúti was reciting, was, as it were, continually covered with a canopy. And Kánabhúti, when he had seen that great tale composed by Gunádhya, was released from his curse and went to his own place. There were also other Piśáchas that accompanied him in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard that heavenly tale. Then that great poet Gunádhya began to reflect, "I must make this Great Tale of mine current on the earth, for that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom shall I give it?" Then his two disciples that had followed him, one of whom was called Gunadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him, "The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to, for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the wind diffuses the perfume of the flower." "So be it," said Gunádhya, and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishthána, but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess, where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same time that it was the work of Gunádhya. When he heard that Paiśácha language and saw that they had the appearance of Piśáchas, that king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, "The seven hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paiśácha language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away with this Paiśácha tale." Then the two pupils took the book, and returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance to Gunádhya. Gunádhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars, buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage, and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes, unable to quit the spot.

In accordance with this request of Gunádhya that heavenly tale consisting of seven stories was told by Kánabhúti in his own language, and Gunádhya for his part using the same Paiśácha language threw them into seven hundred thousand couplets in seven years; and that great poet, for fear that the Vidyádharas should steal his composition, wrote it with his own blood in the forest, not possessing ink. And so the Vidhyádharas, Siddhas and other demigods came to hear it, and the heaven above where Kánabhúti was reciting, was, as it were, continually covered with a canopy. And Kánabhúti, when he had seen that great tale composed by Gunádhya, was released from his curse and went to his own place. There were also other Piśáchas that accompanied him in his wanderings: they too all of them attained heaven, having heard that heavenly tale. Then that great poet Gunádhya began to reflect, "I must make this Great Tale of mine current on the earth, for that is the condition that the goddess mentioned when she revealed how my curse would end. Then how shall I make it current? To whom shall I give it?" Then his two disciples that had followed him, one of whom was called Gunadeva, and the other Nandideva said to him, "The glorious Sátaváhana alone is a fit person to give this poem to, for being a man of taste he will diffuse the poem far and wide, as the wind diffuses the perfume of the flower." "So be it," said Gunádhya, and gave the book to those two accomplished disciples and sent them to that king with it; and went himself to that same Pratishthána, but remained outside the city in the garden planted by the goddess, where he arranged that they should meet him. And his disciples went and showed the poem to king Sátaváhana, telling him at the same time that it was the work of Gunádhya. When he heard that Paiśácha language and saw that they had the appearance of Piśáchas, that king, led astray by pride of learning, said with a sneer, "The seven hundred thousand couplets are a weighty authority, but the Paiśácha language is barbarous, and the letters are written in blood; away with this Paiśácha tale." Then the two pupils took the book, and returned by the way which they came, and told the whole circumstance to Gunádhya. Gunádhya for his part, when he heard it, was immediately overcome with sorrow; who indeed is not inly grieved when scorned by a competent authority? Then he went with his disciples to a craggy hill at no great distance, in an unfrequented but pleasant spot, and first prepared a consecrated fire cavity. Then he took the leaves one by one, and after he had read them aloud to the beasts and birds, he flung them into the fire while his disciples looked on with tearful eyes. But he reserved one story, consisting of one hundred thousand couplets, containing the history of Naraváhanadatta, for the sake of his two disciples, as they particularly fancied it. And while he was reading out and burning that heavenly tale, all the deer, boars, buffaloes and other wild animals, came there, leaving the pasturage, and formed a circle around him, listening with tears in their eyes, unable to quit the spot.