Part 16: Sanatkumāra’s marriages

Then in the afternoon Āryaputra left Mānasa with a firm mind and went a short distance like a rutting elephant. He saw Khecara-maidens who had come there from Nandana, resembling embodied life-giving herbs for Smara. Your friend was regarded by them easting slow glances, which were like svayaṃvara-wreaths, in a way delightful with emotion and feeling.^[1] Wishing to ascertain the true state of affairs, Āryaputra, lord of the eloquent, approached them with a nectar-sweet voice:

‘Of what noble men are you the daughters, ornaments of the family? And why do you adorn this forest?’ They replied: ‘Noble sir, we are the eight daughters of a king of the Vidyādharas, distinguished Bhānuvega. Our father’s excellent city is not far from here. Adorn it by reposing there like a rājahaṃsa on a lotus.’

So answered by them politely, your friend went to their city as if to perform the evening rites, and the sun sank into the ocean. They had your friend, who was an herb for curing the wound of anxiety for a husband, conducted by the harem-guards to their father’s presence. Bhānuvega rose to greet him and spoke to him:

‘By good fortune, our house is pure since you, a heap of merit, have come. By your appearance alone you are known to be well-born and powerful. For the birth of the moon from the Ocean of Milk is inferred from appearance alone. Since you are a suitable husband for the maidens, I ask you to marry them, the eight of them. For a jewel is joined with gold.’

Urged by him in this way, your friend married the eight, who were like Śrīs of the directions, with proper rites at that very time. With the marriage string tied on (his wrist), he went to sleep in the pleasure-house with them; and, occupying a jeweled couch, he experienced the pleasure of sleep. Instantly Asitākṣa lifted him up, when he was overcome by sleep, and threw him down somewhere else. A trick is stronger than the strong even. At the end of his sleep, your friend, seeing himself with the marriage-string on the ground, alone in the forest, thought, ‘What has happened?’ Wandering again in the forest, alone as before, he saw a seven-storied lofty palace. ‘Is this a magic display by some sorcerer?’ With these reflections, Āryaputra went to the palace. He heard there a young woman crying in a pitiful tone like an osprey, which made even the forest weep. Āryaputra, a hero in compassion, mounted to the palace’s seventh floor which presented the appearance of a palace of a constellation. Your friend saw there a maiden whose eyes were full of tears, miserable, her face bent down, her body fair with beauty and grace, saying again and again, ‘O Sanatkumāra, belonging to the Kuru race, may you, and no one else, be my husband in another birth, at least.’

Doubtful at the thought, ‘Who is she to me?’ from hearing his own name, he went before her, like a wished-for divinity in person, and said: ‘Fair lady, who is Sanatkumāra? Who are you? Why have you come here? What is your trouble because of which you weep, recalling him?’ So addressed by him, the girl experienced joy against her will and spoke in a sweet voice as if raining nectar:

‘I am the daughter, Sunandā by name, of King Surāṣṭra, lord of Sāketapura, and his queen, Candrayaśas. Sanatkumāra, by whose beauty Manmatha is humiliated, is the son of King Aśvasena, the sun to the sky of the Kuru line. He, long-armed, is my husband merely in wish, since I was given to him by my parents with the pouring of water into the hand.^[2] Then a Vidyādhara’s son brought me, before the marriage was held, here from my own palace-roof, like a robber bringing another man’s property. He created this palace by magic and left me here in this very place. The Vidyādhara went somewhere. I do not know. What will happen?’

Then Āryaputra said: ‘Do not fear, O timid-eyed lady. I myself am Sanatkumāra, the Kuru, whom you well remember.’ She replied: ‘After a long time now you, like a good dream, have been made by fate to appear within my range of vision. Thank heaven, my lord!’

While they were talking in this way, the Vidyādhara, Vajravega by name, the son of Aśanivega, came, red-eyed from anger. The Vidyādhara-boy lifted Āryaputra and made him fly up, giving the appearance of a bird by his ascent. Saying, ‘Oh! lord, lord, I am destroyed by fate,’ she fell on the ground in a swoon, like an old leaf. Āryaputra, angry, killed the evil Vajravega with his fist which had the strength of adamant, like killing a handful of mosquitoes. Uninjured, Āryaputra approached her bringing joy to the blue lotus-eyes, like the moon. He restored her and wisely married her at once, for she had been indicated by the best astrologers as a ‘woman-jewel.’

At once Vajravega’s sister came there, a maiden named Sandhyāvalī, and she was angry at her brother’s death. Recalling the saying of astrologers, ‘Your brother’s slayer will be your husband,’ she became calm at once. Whose own desire is not paramount? Desiring Āryaputra, for a husband, the maid approached like a second Śrī of victory engaged in a svayaṃvara. Sunandā, joyful, gave her consent to your friend and he married the infatuated woman with a gandharva-marriage.^[3]

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

For hāva and bhāva, see above, n. 212.

[2]:

In confirmation of a gift or promise.

[3]:

A marriage of inclination without ceremonies. It is one of the 8 recognized forms of marriage.