Part 6: Story of the magician in the form of a Vidyādhara

The second minister, Vācaspatimati, related to the chief of kings a story that was a specific for the arrow of sorrow:

“Once upon a time there lived a king, a mine of virtues, discernment, etc., in a certain city in this same Bharatakṣetra. One day a man skilled in the practice of magic was announced by the door-keeper to the king in his assembly. The pure-minded king did not allow his admission. There is no friendship between magicians and honest men, who are like eternal enemies. Abashed by the refusal, after passing several days, he made a change in his appearance, changing his form at will like a god.

One day he approached the same king, coming through the air, carrying a sword and shield, accompanied by a fine woman. ‘Who are you? Who is she? Why have you come?’ asked by the king himself, the man said:

‘I am a Vidyādhara, and this Vidyādhara-woman is my wife. I am at enmity with a certain Vidyādhara, O king. For she was formerly carried away by that man, lustful after women, evil-souled, by trickery like the nectar by Vidhuntuda (Rāhu).^[1] I recovered from him this wife dearer than life. Not even cattle endure injury to their females, O king. Your formidable arms have their purpose accomplished in support of the world; your wealth is fruitful in the destruction of the distress of beggars. Your power has its object gained by the gift of fearlessness to the fearful; your knowledge of the śāstras is productive by the removal of the doubts of the learned. Your expertness in weapons is fruitful by the removal of thorns from the whole world; your other virtues have their respective objectives gained by benefiting others. Your brotherly attitude to other men’s wives is well-known. Let it have a superior fruit in benefit to me, O king.

With my wife present at my side I am tied by her, as it were, and am not able to fight with enemies employing trickery. I do not ask for a troop of elephants; I do not ask for a troop of cavalry; I do not ask for a troop of chariots; I do not ask for a troop of infantry. But I do ask from you, as assistance to me, protection of her like a deposit, O brother to other men’s wives. One man may be lustful after women himself, though capable of protecting; another may be free from lust by nature, but incapable of protection. You are not lustful and you are capable of protecting, O king. Therefore I have come from a distance to make a request of you. If this deposit in the form of my wife is made your own, let me know. My enemy, though strong, is as good as dead.’

The moon of his face pure with the moonlight of a beaming smile, the noble-minded king said:

‘How little is asked of us by you coming from afar, like a kalpa-tree asked for leaves, like the ocean for water, like the cow of plenty for milk, like Mt. Rohaṇa for a jewel, like Śrīda (Kubera) for mere food, like a cloud for only shade. Show me that enemy of yours, that I may kill him. Then at once enjoy pleasures fearlessly, wise sir.’

The man, delighted, the hollows of his ears filled with the stream of nectar of the king’s speech, said to the king:

‘Silver, gold, all kinds of jewels, fathers, mothers, sons, and everything else, house, etc., can be handed over as a deposit with even a little confidence; but not a wife anywhere even with much confidence. O king, you and no other are the home of such confidence. Here Mt. Malaya alone is the home of sandal. My enemy has been killed by you alone by taking my wife as a deposit, I think, O vexer of enemies. The deposit of my wife being accepted by you, I, steadfast from confidence in you, shall now, indeed, make widows out of the wives of my enemies. I, springing up like a lion, will soon show my power to you remaining here, O king. With your permission I shall go instantly of my own free will through the air with unstumbling gait like Garuḍa.’

The king replied, ‘Go at will, Vidyādhara, great soldier, heave your wife in my house like her father’s house.’

Then the man flew up in the air like a bird, spreading the hilt of the sword and shield like wings. His wife, addressed by the king with the same respect as his daughter, remained there with an easy mind. The king, remaining there, heard a battle-cry being produced in the sky, like the thunder of clouds. He heard the sounds of blows of various swords and shields—taḍat, taḍiti, like the sounds of lightning breaking forth. The words, ‘You are! you are!’ ‘You are not! you are not!’ ‘Stay! stay!’ ‘Go! go!’ ‘I am going to kill you, kill you,’ were heard in the sky. The king, seated in his council with his councilors, astonished, stood for a long time looking up just as at the time of an eclipse.

Then an arm ornamented by a jeweled bracelet fell on the ground in front of the king while he was so watching. The Vidyādhara-woman came before him to examine the arm fallen from the sky, looked at it and said, ‘This is my husband’s arm, which became a pillow for my cheeks, an ear-ornament for my ears, and a necklace of my neck.’ Just as the gazelle-eyed woman was saying this and looking at it, a foot fell on the ground as if from friendship with the arm. Examining also the foot with an anklet, her face tearful, the lotus-faced woman said again, ‘That is my husband’s foot which was covered with oil, rubbed, washed, and anointed by me with my own hand for a long time.’ While she was speaking, a second arm fell from the sky in front of her, like a branch of a tree shaken by the wind. When she saw this arm with jeweled armlets and bracelets, with streaming eyes like a fountain in the form of a woman she said, ‘This is the hand, clever in parting the hair, an ornament of the hair, the sportive engraver of various decorations of unguents or the face and body.’ Before her standing in the same place fell the second foot from the sky, and she said again, ‘That is my husband’s foot, cherished by my lotus-hand, never weary of the couch of my lap, oh! oh!’ Just then the head and trunk fell in the same place, shaking the earth together with her heart. Then she spoke:

‘Oh! my husband has been killed by a strong, crafty enemy. Oh! I am killed, miserable woman that I am. This is my husband’s very lotus-like face which I have adorned with ear-rings with extreme affection. This is my husband’s noble heart, alas! which is my sole dwelling-place, both inner and external. Oh! my lord, without you I am without a lord. Who will bring flowers from the garden Nandana and make ornaments for me? With whom shall I play the lute, seated on the same seat, going through the sky, at 'pleasure? Who will support me like a lute on his lap, or who will spread out my hair on a couch? Whom shall I often provoke by the play of deep affection? To whom like an aśoka-tree will a kick from me give joy?^[2] Oh! my dear, who now will anoint me with, gośīrṣa-sandal paste like moonlight made into clusters of blossoms? Who now like a maid-servant will decorate me with unguents on cheeks, ear-lobes, neck, forehead, and breasts? Who even by pretended falsehoods will make me keeping silent from pride talk like a pleasure-parrot? Who will often wake me up when I am pretending to be asleep by flattering words, “My dear, my dear! Goddess, goddess!” Now enough of hesitation which is disgraceful to me. My lord, I shall follow you who are a traveler on the long journey.’

Wishing to go voluntarily on her husband’s journey, with hands folded submissively she asked the king for a fire as a conveyance. The king said to her, ‘Child with a pure heart, how can you say such a thing without finding out all about your husband? For there is such magic of Rākṣasas, Vidyādharas, etc. Therefore, wait a moment. For self-destruction is voluntary.’

She said again to the king: ‘My husband, led to death in a fight and fallen here, has been seen with our own eyes. Twilight rises and sets with the sun. Loyal wives live and die with their husbands. Shall I by living hereafter disgrace the family of my father whose stock is spotless and also the family of such a husband? Will you not be ashamed if you see me, your adopted daughter, surviving without a husband, O father knowing the duties of high-born women? Henceforth, survival without a husband is not suitable for me, like moonlight without the moon, like lightning without a cloud. Order your servants I to bring fuel for me. I shall enter the fire, as if it were water, with my husband’s body.’

The king, to whom she spoke thus persistently, compassionate, said to her in a voice choking with grief, ‘Wait, wait a little while. You must not die like a moth. For even in a very small matter one must act after consideration.’

Then the vixen said angrily, ‘If you hinder me any longer, then it is apparent that yon are certainly not (my) father. That name of yours ‘Brother to other men’s wives’ which is known is merely for the sake of gaining every one’s confidence, but is not real. If it is true, then you are the father of your daughter, see! following her husband by the sole path of the fire.’

The king replied, ‘Child, do as you wish. Henceforth I shall not hinder you. Purify your vow to be a satī.’

Then she, delighted, prepared her husband’s body herself and put it in a chariot brought at the king’s command. She, her body anointed, clothed in white garrments, her hair adorned with flowers, sat at her husband’s side, as before. Followed by the king, his head bent by grief, and regarded by the citizens with amazement, she went to the river. There the servants instantly collected fuel and prepared a pyre like the couch of Yama. She, like a wish-granting creeper, gave beggars money in accordance with their wishes, money supplied by the king like a father. There, the hollow of her two hands filled with water, she made three times a circumambulation, which had the beauty of a conch turning to the right, of the fire. Redeeming her promise of satī, she entered the pyre like a dwelling willingly with her husband’s body. The fire with oblations of generous streams of ghī blazed fiercely, making the sky filled with a multitude of flames. The Vidyādhara’s body, the fuel, and she—all were reduced to ashes instantly like water to salt. After making the offering, etc., to her there, the king went to his own house, filled with grief.

While the king sat in his assembly grieving, the man came from the sky, carrying sword and shield. Looked at by the king and councilors with astonishment, the fictitious Vidyādhara stood before them and said:

‘Fortunately, you are successful, Your Majesty, indifferent to the treasure of other men’s wives. Hear how I have been victorious in the contest, like a gambler. At the time when I left my wife in your protection, O you who afford protection, I flew up from this place into the sky, as if free from a burden. I, angered like an ichneumon at the sight of a serpent, saw the wicked Vidyādhara rushing forward in the air with rage. He and I challenged each other to a fight, bellowing mightily like two bulls, hard to conquer.

“Thank Heaven, I have met you, insolent of arm. Strike! Strike first! Today I shall satisfy the desire of my own arms and of the gods, also. Otherwise, surrender your sword, put your ten fingers between your teeth, like a poor man food, and go without hesitation, if you desire to live.”

Speaking contemptuously in this way to each other, we two met like cocks, shaking sword and shield like wings. For a long time we moved about in the sky, avoiding blows, like stage-directors skilful in the execution of dance-steps, O king. Fighting with swords, we two approached and withdrew again and again, like two rhinoceroses fighting with their horns. At once I cut off his left arm and made it fall here, like an addition to you. For the sake of pleasing you, I cut off a foot as easily as the root of a plantain tree and made it fall on the ground. Then his right arm was thrown on this ground, O king, by me after cutting it off as easily as a lotus-stalk. Then I cut off his second foot with the sword, like the trunk of a tree, and threw it down before you. Then after separating the head and body, I made them fall here. So I cut the enemy into six pieces like Bharatavarṣa.

By yon alone, protecting my wife who had been made a deposit like a child, my enemy was destroyed. I was merely the means. Without your assistance the enemy could not have been killed by me. Fire, even flaming, is not able to burn dry wood without wind. For some time I was a woman, or rather a eunuch. Manhood was given me today by you who were the means of destroying my enemy. You are my mother, father, guru, or god. No one else is able to be such a manifold benefactor. The sun shines, the moon delights every one, the cloud rains at the right time, the ground bears herbs, the ocean does not cross its boundary, the earth remains firm by the power of such as you devoted to benefiting others. Now hand over my wife who was left as a deposit, O king, and I shall go to my own pleasure-ground. Since my enemy has been killed by your favor, free from fear I shall wander with my wife on Mt. Vaitāḍhya, in the latticed-windows on the wall (around Jambūdvīpa), etc.’

Filled with shame, anxiety, disgust, and astonishment simultaneously, the king said to the man:

After you had deposited your wife and had gone away, we heard the sounds of sword and shield and battle-cries in the sky. Arms, feet, head, and trunk fell in turn from the sky, and your wife said to us exactly, “These are my husband’s.” When she said, “I am going to enter the fire with my husband’s body,” we restrained your wife for a long time from affection for a daughter. When your wife was restrained by us from entering the fire, she treated us differently, like a low person. Then, when we had become silent, she went impetuously to the river, and entered the fire with the body in the presence of the people. Just now, after making the offering, etc., to her, I came and was plunged in grief for her, and you have come. What is this, pray? Were those limbs not yours, or are you not he? That is the question. But why are we talking here, our lips sealed by ignorance?’

With feigned anger the man declared: ‘Oh! you are known falsely by popular report as ‘brother to other men’s wives.’ Deceived by that name we deposited our wife. You are known by such conduct, like iron by water. The same thing which was done by my wicked enemy was done by you, O king. What difference, say, between the two? If you consider yourself not lustful for women, or if you are afraid of evil speaking, then give me my wife. You can not deceive me. If people like you, who were not lustful formerly, become lustful, who like a black cobra is a suitable person for confidence?’

Again the king said, ‘After looking at your limbs, your wife entered the fire here beyond a doubt. All the townspeople and also the country-people, and the blessed sun, the eye of the world in the sky, are eye-witnesses in this matter; and the four Lokapālas, the planets, constellations, stars, the blessed earth, and dharma, the father of the three worlds. Therefore you can not say such a cruel thing here. Make some eye-witness from among these your authority.’

The man spoke again with pretended anger and abuse, ‘There is no making of other authority, when Authority is before the eyes. Who, pray, is this behind you? Indeed, let this guarding of a treasure of stolen money thrown in a hiding-place be observed, O king.’

When the king turned his head and looked behind him, he saw the man’s wife seated. The king became depressed from fear at the thought, ‘I am ruined by the fault of another man’s wife,’ like a flower withered by heat. With hands folded submissively, the man began to relate to the king who was depressed by fear of guilt, though free from guilt, the following story:

‘Do you remember, O king, that I asked you to let me show you skill in magic, after I had studied it for a long time? I was turned away at the door by Your Majesty, though impartial to all like a cloud, with my wish unfulfilled through the fault of fate. Then by changing my form and staging a fraudulent play, this was shown by me. Your Majesty, I have accomplished my desire. Favor me. Somehow or other, one’s own merit must be shown to the great. Weariness arising from the acquisition of merit disappears. How otherwise? So now my weariness is gone. I shall go away. Give your commands. Everywhere I shall be highly valued from showing my ability before you.’

The king satisfied him with much money, dismissed him, reflected a little and said, ‘Saṃsāra also is just like his use of magic, since everything in it disappears instantly like a bubble.’ After considering this many times, disgusted with dwelling in existence, the king abandoned the kingdom and adopted mendicancy.

So do not be helpless through grief in this saṃsāra, resembling the practice of magic, O lord. Strive for the accomplishment of your own welfare.”

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

At the churning of the ocean. Cf. Bhāgavatapurāṇa, VI, 18.12-13, Mahābhārata I, 19.

[2]:

An aśoka is said to blossom from the kick of a beautiful woman.