Chapter 12 - The story of Suśroṇī

[Source: Kah-gyur, xi. 93-99. When Utpalavarṇā appeared in the form of a Cakravartin to the Buddha Śākyamuni on his return from the realm of the Thirty-three Gods, and Udayin recognised her by the lotus fragrance which exhaled from her, the Buddha related this tale, with reference to the fact that Udayin had already recognised her in a previous existence by that fragrance.—S.]

A merchant who had married in Varaṇasī determined to go to sea again with merchandise. His wife refused to stay behind. While they were on the voyage their ship was upset by a sea-monster. The husband perished, but the wife escaped on a plank, and was driven by the wind to Kaśerudvīpa, where dwelt the bird-king Suparṇa, who made her his wife. She bare him first a very beautiful boy, and then a young bird Suparṇa, who, after his father’s death, was installed king of the birds. His mother insisted on his installing his elder brother as king in Vārāṇasī, so he carried off King Brahmadatta in his claws, and flung him into the sea; then he set on the throne in his place his own brother, arrayed in all splendour, and he warned the ministers that he would treat exactly like Brahmadatta any one of them who did the least thing wrong. The name of Brahmadatta was given likewise to the new king, who begged his brother to assist him from time to time.

After some time it happened that the king’s elephant, which was parturient, was unable to bring forth its young. The ministers advised that it should be led into the zenana, in order that it might be relieved of its pains by the asseverations of the king’s wives. But although the elephant was introduced there, and the wives pronounced their asseverations, the pains did not come to an end, and the elephant uttered the most fearful cries. They were heard by a woman who was looking after some oxen near the palace, and who declared that by means of her asseveration the pains would be brought to an end. When the ministers had told this to the king, and he had ordered her to be brought into the zenana, she said, “If it is true that one husband is sufficient for me, and I have not two husbands, then as the result of this truth let the elephant be eased of its pains.” Immediately after this utterance the elephant brought forth. When the king was informed of this, he declared that all his wives were of vicious habits, and ordered the herds-woman to be summoned. When she had replied in the affirmative to his question as to whether the elephant had been relieved of its pains in consequence of her asseveration, the king came to the conclusion that she must have a daughter like unto herself. This daughter, named Suśroṇī, he took as his wife; but fearing that, if he left her in the company of the other women of his court, she would undoubtedly contract bad habits, he begged the bird-king Suparṇa to convey her every day to Kaśerudvīpa, but to bring her back to him every night. Suparṇa agreed to this, and sent him every day wreaths of the odorous flower Timira, which grew at Kaśerudvīpa.

A Brahman youth who had gone into the forest for fuel was seen there by a Kinnarī, who hid him away in a rocky grot, where she used to enjoy his company. Whenever he left the cave, in order to fetch flowers and fruits, she closed its entrance with a great block of stone, which the Brahman youth was unable to remove. She bore him a son, who was called Āśuga (swiftfoot), because he ran everywhere so swiftly.

As the father was always praising the merits of Vārāṇasī in his son’s presence, the boy, when he learnt that it was his father’s birthplace, asked him why he did not make his way thither. The father pointed out that there was a difficulty, the entrance of the cave being closed by the block of stone. Thereupon the son began to lift masses of stone, a larger one every day, until he had rendered himself capable of moving the block of stone. In order that his mother, who was in the habit of fetching fruits and flowers from the immediate neighbourhood, should be prevented from coming home too soon, he one day spat out all the fruits as soon as he had put them into his mouth, and declared that she must look for better fruits further away from the cave, for that those which had been plucked in its neighbourhood were uneatable. Next day the mother betook herself to a great distance, and Āśuga called upon his father to escape, for he had sent his mother far away. Then he pushed the rock on one side, and they two reached Vārāṇasī.

When the mother returned and found the cave empty she sat down and wept. Her friends consoled her, saying that, as her son was a man, he would not be in distress among men. The mother declared that, to prevent his being in distress while parted from her, she would give him something by means of which he could prolong his life. So she besought her friends, so soon as they should set eyes on him, to give him a lute, in order that he might support himself by means of it. Only he must be careful not to touch its uppermost string; for doing so would entail on him a great misfortune.

The Brahman had sent his son Āśuga to a Brahman as his pupil. One day when Āśuga had gone into the forest with the other young Brahmans to collect firewood he wandered far away, and was seen by his mother’s friends, who asked him what news he had to give. When he had complained of hunger and thirst they asked him if he would not go to his mother, for she was weeping and wailing. He said that he could not hold converse with his mother, for she was so hot-tempered. Thereupon they gave him the lute, by means of which he would be able to keep himself alive. But they told him that, in order that no misfortune might arise, he was not to touch its uppermost string. Āśuga took the lute to where the Brahman youths were. When he had played and sung to them there, always without touching the top string, they asked him why he did not touch it. When he had told them the reason, and in spite of that they touched the top string, they all began to skip and dance. As this dancing made them late, it was only in the evening that they returned to their Paṇḍit, who asked them why they had remained out so long. When the youths had told the whole story the Paṇḍit asked the young Āśuga if he really understood how to play the lute and to sing. When he said that he did, he was thereupon obliged to play. And when at the instigation of the Paṇḍit he touched the top string, the Brahman and his wife began to skip and dance; moreover, the whole house skipped with a crash, and all the pots and crockery were broken to pieces. The Brahman in a rage seized the youth Āśuga by the neck and turned him out of the house.

After that Āśuga got his living by lute-playing and singing. Five hundred merchants who were putting to sea took him on board with them as a musician. When he was playing on board ship one day he touched the top string at the request of the merchants, whereupon the ship began to bound in the air and capsized, whereby the whole of the merchants lost their lives. But Āśuga, who got hold of a plank, was driven by a storm to Kaśerudvīpa.

There he took up his abode in a park where there were no other men. And there, having seen Suśroṇī, he held dalliance with her. In this fashion she was at the disposal of Āśuga by day and of King Brahmadatta by night. Now Āśuga besought her to take him with her to Vārāṇasī. She acceded to his request, asked him his name, and told him her own. Every day after that she carried with her, when mounted upon Suparṇa, more and more stones, until she had brought their weight to that of a man’s body. Then she and Āśuga got on Suparṇa’s back together. She told Āśuga to shut his eyes, saying that if he opened them a misfortune would occur. But when they drew near to Vārāṇasī, and Āśuga heard the voices and clamour of many people, he thought that he had reached the journey’s end. So he opened his eyes; whereupon he immediately became blind. Suśroṇī left him in the park, and betook herself to King Brahmadatta’s zenana.

Now when the king had come, and the trees were putting forth their leaves in the thick forest, and the voices were heard of geese, cranes, peacocks, parrots, mainas, kokilas, and pheasants, King Brahmadatta, surrounded by his women, betook himself with Suśroṇī to the park. There the Brahman youth Āśuga, scenting the odour of the Timira flower, was chanting a song after this fashion—

“Set in movement by the wind the odour of the Timira is perceptible. This is Kaśerudvīpa, where Suśroṇī dwells.”

Hearing these words the king ordered his women to find out who had sung them. After Āśuga had been discovered and brought before the king, and had been obliged to repeat his song, the king asked him how far off Kaśerudvīpa was. He replied in a śloka—

“The waters of the ocean stretch well nigh a hundred yojanas from here to where lies Kaśerudvīpa, wherein Suśroṇī dwells.”

The king answered likewise in a śloka—

“If it be said that thou hast looked in sinful fashion on my dear Suśroṇī, say then what marks her body bears.”

Aśuga [Āśuga?] replied in a śloka—

“On her thigh is the svastika. Her breast is spiral. Over her spread wreaths of Timira blossoms.”

When in this way the king had become aware that Suśroṇī had sinned, he was of opinion that she was not necessary to him, and that he would give her to the blind man. In his anger he uttered this śloka—

“Suśroṇī is given to you, arrayed in all splendour. Let her mount on an ass, and get ye gone swiftly, exiled from this city.”

Then he ordered Suśroṇī and the blind man to be driven out of the city, riding upon the same ass.

After wandering hither and thither they came at sunset to a hill town, and there they took up their quarters in an empty temple. That same evening there came five hundred robbers in order to plunder the town. But its inhabitants perceived this, and overcame the robbers. The robber chief, on whom they failed to lay hands, escaped into that same temple. The townsmen surrounded it, but the chief closed the door. When the townsmen asked who was dwelling there, Āśuga replied that some travellers were there. The townspeople threatened to make an end of him if he did not give up the robber. The robber chief said to Suśroṇī, “Why should you have to do with a blind man? We will turn him out and then live together.” She agreed to this. The robber chief flung the blind man down from the wall, and the townspeople struck off his head.

Next day Suśroṇī and the robber chief reached the river Karada, and found no boat in which to cross it.^[1] The robber chief bade her lay aside her finery, saying that she must swim across the river, and he would bring her things after her. She handed over to him all her clothes and ornaments, and went naked into the water. When she reached the middle of the stream, there arose in her mind the fear that he might run off with her things, and she uttered this śloka—

“The Karada is full of water. The fair one gave thee all her things. Fear has arisen within me. Deceive me not, O evil-doer!”

He likewise replied in a śloka—

“For the sake of one unknown hast thou slain one known of old, considering the man useless. Therefore is it difficult to put trust in thee. Me also mightest thou kill.”

He went off with her things, but she crawled naked into the thick grass. There came by an old jackal carrying a piece of flesh.^[2] Just at that spot a fish, driven on to the shore from the stream of the river Karada, was lying on the dry land. The jackal dropped the piece of flesh and made a dash at the fish. But the fish sprang back again into the stream, and the flesh was carried off by a vulture, so that the jackal, deprived of both, was left standing there mournfully, with drooping ears. Seeing that, Suśroṇī uttered the following śloka—

“The vulture has carried off the piece of flesh, the fish has slipped into the water. Wherefore grieves not the jackal, of both those things bereft?”

The jackal looked around on every side, and, seeing no one, uttered the following śloka—

“She who dances not before the robber, who herself has no joy in song, who now abides in the grass, who is she, who chides and scoffs at me?”

She replied, “I am Suśroṇī, uncle.” The jackal reflected with vexation that this yoginī was mocking him, and said—

“Thy husband hast thou killed. Thy paramour has fled. Wherefore grievest thou not, yoginī, that thou art bereft of both?”

Suśroṇī replied, “When I have returned home I will take unto me an excellent husband. When I have obtained a husband, I shall not dishonour the house.”

The jackal answered, “When the Ganges flows upwards, when the raven has the colour of curdled milk, then shalt thou be virtuous. When the snake and the ichneumon dwell in the same hole, and put up with each other, then shalt thou be virtuous. When a man, making clothes out of the hair of a tortoise, shall be able to provide himself thereby with a winter garment, then shalt thou be virtuous. When one shall have made a ladder out of the feet of flies, and climbed up it into heaven, then shalt thou be virtuous. When a bridge shall have been made out of the stalk of the jessamine, and an elephant shall have walked across it, then shalt thou be virtuous. When fire shall burst forth in the middle of the sea, and men shall enter therein, then shalt thou be virtuous. O Suśroṇī! now that I have scoffed at thee enough, I ask thee what reward wilt thou give me if I restore thee to thy former position?”^[3]

She replied, “Uncle, if thou wilt do that, I will give thee a piece of meat every day.”

“I will do it, see if I do not. Go into the water, immerse thyself in it up to thy neck, and remain there with thy face turned towards the east. I will go and petition the king.”

So the jackal drew near to the royal palace, and made his request to the king, saying that it would be meet and fitting to send for Suśroṇī at once, seeing that she was piously and righteously performing penance. King Brahmadatta understood the language of the jackal, and he ordered his ministers to send for Suśroṇī at once. The ministers made their appearance with clothes and ornaments, and the king restored her to her former position. Every day she gave the jackal a piece of meat. This she did for some long time. But at length she gave up doing so. Then the jackal came close to the royal palace, and threatened that if she failed to bring the gift, it would lay hold of her, and set her back again in the place she occupied before. She was alarmed, and continued to give it a piece of meat every day.

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

Compare Pancatantra. iv. 7.—S.

[2]:

Compare Panchatantra loc. cit., Benfey’s remarks, I. 468, and Weber, Indische Studien, II. 339, &c.—S.

[3]:

Compare with this the variants which Reinhold Kohler has supplied to Laura Gonzenbach’s Sicilianische Märchen, II., p. 242, especially the Bulgarian on p. 245.—S.