Sexual Life in Ancient India: A Study in the Comparative History of Indian Culture v2.c12.45

v2.c12.45

Now once when Vāsuki's sister had just bathed herself at the time of her courses, she approached, as is seemly, her husband, the great Muni. Then there came into being in her a fruit of the body like unto fire, exceedingly endowed with brightness, full of light as the god of flames. As the moon in the bright half of the month, even so did this fruit grow. A few days later the greatly famed Jaratkāru was lying wearied asleep, having laid his head on her lap. And as this prince among Brahmans slept, the sun came to the mountain of its setting. As the day was now about to vanish, the wise sister of Vāsuki thought to herself, filled with a dread of the holy law being broken : ‘What would be a good deed for me : to wake my husband, or not? For he with the soul of virtue is angry-minded. How shall I do so as not to give him offence. Either the man of virtuous character will be angered, or he will break the holy law. The breaking of the holy law would be, indeed, of greater moment.’ So she came to a decision. ‘If I awake him, he will certainly fall into a rage. But he will inevitably fall into breaking the holy law, if he misses the twilight prayer.’¹ So soon as the snake fay Jaratkāru had thus decided in her mind, the sweet-speaking one spoke the following gentle words to this Rishi of flaming asceticism, to him like fire, who was lying there asleep : ‘Arise, O high and glorious one; the sun is setting. Perform thou the evening worship, O august one, as a strait observer of religious duty, having carried out the washing. The sweet and awful moment has come that brings the fiery sacrifice with it.² The evening twilight is now coming up in the west, O lord.’ Thus addressed, the holy and august Jaratkāru, the mighty one in penance, spoke these words to his wife, with quivering lips : ‘Hereby thou hast slighted me, O snake fay. I will no longer live with thee; I will go thither whence I came. The sun has no power to set at its usual time, if I am asleep, O thou with the lovely thighs; so I know in my heart. But none would choose to dwell here, having been slighted; how much less would I, the man of virtuous character, or one of my kind.’ Thus addressed by her husband with words that set her heart quaking, Jaratkāru, Vāsuki's sister, spoke there in his abode: ‘It was not out of slighting scorn, O Brahman, that I awoke thee. I did so that thou mightst not become guilty of any offence against the holy law.’ Thus addressed, he spoke to his wife, he the great penitent Jaratkāru, the Ṛishi overcome by anger, who wished to leave the snake fay: ‘My tongue has never yet spoken an untruth. I shall go, O snake fay. This mutual agreement I made with thee before. I have dwelt here pleasantly, my dear one. Tell thy brother, thou good one, when I have gone hence, thou timid one: “The holy man has gone.” And thou thyself have no care, when I have gone away.’ Thus addressed, she of the faultless limbs now spoke to the Muni, to Jaratkāru, the Jaratkāru with the lovely hips, sunk in sorrow and pain, with tear-stifled voice, parched mouth, hands folded before the forehead, and eyes wet with tears, as she with the lovely thighs firmly gathered up all her courage, while her heart shivered—she spoke: ‘I beg thee, thou with the knowledge of virtue, do not leave me who am guiltless, thou that abidest ever in the holy law leave not me who abide ever in the holy law, who find my delight always in what is pleasing and wholesome for thee.’” She implored him to stay, since for the welfare of her kindred and of the world of the snakes she must first have a son by him. But he assured her that the fruit of her body already conceived would be a fire-like Ṛishi, mighty in knowledge, and he went away (i, 47).