Part 14: Story of Kurucandra

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At the end of the sermon Kurucandra bowed to the Lord and said: “By what act in a former birth, Master, did I acquire this kingdom? By what act in a former birth, Master, are the five wonderful things, fruit, et cetera,^[2] offered to me daily as a present? Thinking ‘I shall give these to my friends,’ I do not enjoy them myself and I do not give them to any one else. Because of what act is that, Blessed One?”

The Lord explained: “This sovereignty and this gift of five things daily are yours because of, a gift to a sàdhu. The not-giving and the not-enjoying of these are because of the universality of merit. Wealth belongs to many. It is certainly not to be enjoyed by one. Then you have the thought ‘I shall give to my friends.’ For people’s thoughts are in accordance with their former acts.

In this very Jambūdvīpa in this same zone Bhārata in the country Kosala in the city Śrīpura there were four merchants’ sons of the same age, like full brothers, Sudhana, Dhanapati, Dhanada, Dhaneśvara. Once upon a time the four together set out for Ratnadvīpa to seek a fortune. Their provisions were carried by Droṇaka. They entered a large forest and had almost crossed it, when their provisions, though abundant, were almost consumed. Then they saw a muni standing in pratimā and they reflected a moment, ‘We should give him something.’ They said to Droṇaka, the bearer of their supplies, ‘Good sir, give something to the sage, Droṇa.’ With faith superior to theirs, he gave food to the muni; and then karma with great pleasure as its fruit was produced by that act.

They went to Ratnadvīpa, engaged in business, accumulated wealth, and returned to their native city. They always prospered from that very seed of merit. For grain stays alive from the rain of Svāti that has been once received. However, Dhaneśvara and Dhanapati were a little deceitful; and Droṇaka, of them all, had especially pure conduct. Droṇaka died first at the end of his life and became you, the son of the Lord of Hastināpura, from the power of the gift. Because a moon was seen entering your mother’s mouth in a dream, your parents gave you the name Kurucandra. Sudhana and Dhanada both died and became merchants' sons, the former in Kāmpīlya and the latter in Kṛttikāpura. Vasantadeva was the name of the first and Kāmapāla of the second. In course of time Dhanapati and Dhaneśvara died. Both of them became merchants’ daughters, Madirā and Kesarā, one in Śaṅkhapura and the other in Jayantī. The four gradually grew up, passing childhood, and reached fresh youth.

One day Vasantadeva went from Kāmpīlya to Jayantī on business and made money. Once on the festival of the moon of the eighth night he went by chance to the garden Ratinandana and saw there Kesarā. She looked at Vasantadeva with a friendly glance. Affection toward each other, which originated in a former birth, became apparent. Vasantadeva asked a merchant’s son, Priyaṅkara, who lived in Jayantī, ‘Who is she? And whose daughter is she?’ He explained, ‘She is a maiden, the daughter of Sheth Pañcanandin, sister of Jayantideva, named Kesarā.’

Vasantadeva began a friendship with Jayantideva, a reason for coming and going between the houses of both of them. One day Vasantadeva was invited by Jayautideva to his house. For the pregnancy-whim of the tree of friendship is of that kind. There Vasantadeva saw Kesarā, moonlight to the lotus of the eye, worshipping Kusumāyudha with flowers. Vasantadeva, accepting a wreath of flowers from the lotus-hand of Jayantideva, was looked at by her with affection. With the thought, ‘That is a favourable omen,’ there was great joy of both. Their pleasing behaviour toward each other had pleasing results for both. An actress, Priyaṅkarā, observed the inclination of the two.^[3] For another’s heart is easily observed by those who understand the interpretation of sentiment by outward signs and by the expression of the face.

Kesarā’s brother then made a pūjā to Vasantadeva like Vasanta (Spring) to Vasantasakha (friend of Spring, Kāmadeva). Priyaṅkarā said to her, ‘Kesarā, your brother is honoring him. You do what is suitable.’ Kesarā, experiencing shame, fear, and joy simultaneously, said, You alone know. Do what is fitting for him.’ Priyaṅkarā took a cluster of flowers from the priyaṅgu tree in the courtyard, kakkola,^[4] et cetera, and said to Vasanta, ‘My mistress gives you these flowers and fruits, suitable for a gift to a lover, gathered by her own fingers.’ Delighted at the thought, ‘I am beloved by her,’ Vasantadeva took the flowers and fruit in his hand. He gave her a signet-ring and said, ‘Say to her, “This was a good thing that you did. What is suitable for lovers must always be done.”’

Priyaṅkarā went and told Kesarā his speech which was like a sprinkle for making the bulb of strong affection shoot up. Asleep in the last watch of the night, Kesarā saw herself in a dream being married to Vasantadeva. At that time Vasantadeva married her in a dream. The seeing of these dreams by both of them was better than a wedding. Kesarā related her dream to Priyaṅkarā at once, her hair standing up from joy, having confidence in it alone. The family-priest, who was nearby to see to his own business, said, ‘It will happen just so.’ ‘Vasantadeva will be your husband according to the dream and the omen. Let the knot of the omen^[5] be tied,’ Priyaṅkarā said to her. Priyaṅkarā went and told Vasantadeva the dream. Because of its agreement with liis own dream he considered the matter settled. Priyaṅkarā said, ‘The soul of my mistress is suitable for you. You should arrange everything pertaining to the wedding without hesitation.’

Vasantadeva said: ‘That must be arranged entirely according to custom. Generally action that is wrought by man falls down some place.’ Vasantadeva, kuowing what should be done, after talking to her like fate embodied and rewarding her, dismissed her.

So some time passed, which seemed like a hundred years to them, drinking the nectar of talking to each other daily. One day while Vasantadeva was resting in his own house, he heard an auspicious drum in Pañcanandin’s house. He received the news from his servants whom he sent, ‘Kesarā has been given in marriage by Pañcanandin to Varadatta, the son of the Sheth Sudatta, living in Kanyakubja. The drum has been beaten for the festival.’

When he heard this, he swooned as if struck with a hammer. Then Priyaṅkarā consoled him quickly: ‘Kesarā sends you a message: “Do not be disturbed. After hearing the plan of the elder members of the family, I intend to marry my sweetheart. Without knowing my wishes, the elders wish to do such a thing. They may wish to do it, but I shall not do such a thing. You alone shall be my husband or my death will surely be. This must be recognized, lord, nothing else. For the word of well-born women is not false.”

Vasanta, delighted, said, ‘The sight of the dream was like this. And certainly the promise of well-born women is not in vain. I promise this: I shall marry Kesarā or I shall go by some means to the house of Yama.’

Thus assured and dismissed, she went to Kesarā and Kesarā rejoiced at her lover’s speech when it was told to her. Some time passed unpleasantly for them, like the night for cakravākas, while they thought about some means of union with each other. While their purpose had not yet been accomplished but they were devising plans, the procession of the bridegroom’s friends came for Kesarā’s wedding the next day.

When Vasantadeva heard that, he left the city and went to a garden, hastening like the wind. Vasantadeva thought, ‘She, married to another, will surely perish, like a gourd^[6] at the sight of a finger. Troubled for a long time by her parents who are ignorant of a suitable union, without hope of marrying me, yet unmarried, she will die. Therefore, by dying before she does I shall have my grief allayed. Who will hear of the death of his sweetheart like a blister on a burned man?’

After these reflections, after putting a noose around his neck, Vasanta tied himself like a quiver to the top of an aśoka. When the noose had just been tied, a man ran up from an arbor, saying, ‘Do not do anything rash, sir! Do not!’ Climbing the aśoka, he cut the knot of the noose and said, ‘Why has a distressing thing of this kind taken place?’ Vasanta said, ‘Why are you disturbed by this appearance of me, afflicted by fate, resembling an indravāruṇa,^[7] sir? Why did you, by cutting the noose, put an obstacle in my way when I wished to die, winch would have ended grief at separation from my sweetheart?’

Then Vasanta told him, when he enquired, the story of his sweetheart. For grief generally subsides from being told. The man said: ‘Even if this is the case, nevertheless it is not fitting for a discerning man to give up life. Stratagems, rather, to obtain the desired objectives are fitting. In this affair of yours, they exist. So do not die like an animal. Even in an affair in which there is no stratagem (available), it is not suitable to die. A dead man does not obtain it; he goes to the state, of existence suitable to his karma. I live wandering about, because the desired object could not be attained because of the lack of a stratagem. For a living man sees fair things.

I am a resident of Kṛttikāpura, named Kāmapāla. I went away with a desire to see foreign countries, intoxicated by youth. In my wandering I came to a large city, Śaṅkhapura, and went to see a festival to the Yakṣa Śaṅkhapāla. There I saw a girl in a mango-arbor, whose appearance was entirely beautiful, like a girl in Smara’s harem. I, in love, stood there a long time, as if bound by such snares and she looked at me lovingly. She, above reproach, gave me betel through a friend, which was the cause of love as well as redness of lips. As I was thinking, “As I have accepted the betel and wish to do something in return, what is suitable for me?” a very powerful rogue-elephant pulled up his tying-post, broke his leg-chains to pieces, and ran off. Abandoned by the elephant-keepers unable to remedy things at a distance, watched by the mahouts exceedingly bewildered as he ran, thrusting aside the helpless elephant-drivers carrying goads, the elephant reached the mango-arbor in a moment. All the attendants of the maiden fled. Generally when fear is present, one’s self is more important than everything else. As the elephant charged, she was not able to run, but stood on the spot, trembling, like a doe before a lion. When the elephant had almost seized the girl with its trunk, I hit him at the base of the tail with a club. leaving the girl, he turned like a serpent touched on the tail. I escaped the elephant, took the girl, and went elsewhere. I put her down in a place free from danger, but she, by whom deceit was barred, did not put me out of her heart. Her attendants came there again and, when they knew that Madirā had been saved, they praised me, like bards.

She was led back to this mango-arbor by her friends and by chance elephant-spray fell, carried by the wind. Again they all ran here and there, terrified. She went somewhere; and I do not know where. I wander about in the hope of seeing her. Without seeing her for a long time I came here, desolate. Even though I have no plan, I do not die, but live. Look at me. But there are, indeed, means of reaching Kesarā. I am talking to you as a friend with equal grief. Do not die from ignorance. You say the wedding is tomorrow. Today, because it is the custom, Kesarā alone will worship Smara with Rati. Then, let us, entering Smara’s temple secretly, remain quietly, like worshippers, friend. When she has entered it, I shall seize her clothing and go, disguised like her, to her house, deceiving her attendants. When I have gone, take her and go wherever you like. So your wish will be accomplished unbroken.’

Delighted by this speech, Vasanta said, ‘In this plan there are acquisition and enjoyment for me, but I see trouble for you.’ Just then an old Brāhman woman sneezed, like a tutelary deity, and Kāmapāla said: ‘There will be no trouble for me. On the contrary, prosperity will come to me devoted to this business of yours. For destiny becomes favorable to the noble.’ Just then an old Brāhman, delighted, said with reference to his own affairs, ‘So it is. There is no doubt.’ After tying the omen-knot^[8] and agreeing to his plan, Vasantadeva entered the city with his friend. After they had eaten, et cetera, they left the house in the evening, went to Sinara’s temple and stood behind Smara. As they stood there, they heard the auspicious sound of a drum with delight at the thought, ‘Kesarā is coming now.’ She came there, reciting again and again the charm called ‘meeting with the lover,’ a charm which is effective merely from recitation. She descended from the palanquin, like a goddess from an aerial car, and took a pūjā of gold from Priyaṅkarā’s hand. Then she entered Smara’s temple alone and shut the door with her own hands, because that is the custom.

After throwing flowers, leaves, and money on the floor for the sake of Manmatha, her hands folded submissively, she spoke with her heart subdued by love:

‘You are in the heart of all. You dwell there always. Therefore you know their inclinations, blessed Makaradhvaja. Is this fitting for you, lord, knowing the inclination of everyone, that you unite me by force with an unloved husband? My mind does not delight in any one except Vasantadeva. Another husband is for my death, like a poison-maiden^[9] for that of a husband. May Vasantadeva be my husband in another birth. You have been worshipped for a long time. This is the last worship.’

After saying this, she hung herself to the arched doorway and, at the same time, Vasanta ran and unfastened the noose. The lotus-eyed girl said with astonishment, shame, and fear, ‘Where did this man come from?’ and was told by Vasantadeva: ‘Dear, I am the very Vasantadeva, your husband for whom you were asking Manobhava in another life. I have entered here secretly, planning to seize you, at the plan of this disinterested noble friend, slender maiden. Give him your costume so that he can go to your house, wearing your clothes, like you, and deceive your attendants. When he has managed with your attendants, we shall go to a foreign place that suits us, dark-haired maiden.’

So instructed, she handed her own costume to Kāmapāla and Vasanta stood behind Kāmadeva. Kāmapāla worshipped Kāmadeva with flowers, et cetera, and put on Kesarā’s clothes, his face covered with a veil. He opened the door and, leaning on Priyaṅkarā, got into the palanquin which was carried by bearers. Undetected by the servants, he went to Pañcanandin’s house. Even Brahmā does not penetrate a well-planned trick. He was assisted from the conveyance by Priyaṅkarā, led to the bridal house, and seated on a gold and cane seat. Priyaṅkarā, a benefactor, went away, after instructing him, ‘Kesarā, continue to recite the charm ‘meeting with a lover’.’ He, intelligent, appreciated the real meaning of that speech and recalled again and again the charm called ‘union of Kāma and Rati.’

Kesarā’s maternal uncle’s daughter, Madirā, a resident of Śaṅkhapura, came there, invited to the wedding-procession. Seating herself before him,^[10] sighing a little, she said, ‘Kesarā, why are you troubled about the success of matters subject to fate? I, living in Śaṅkhapura, heard about your wished-for meeting with Vasantadeva, fair lady. I know from my own experience the pain of separation from a sweetheart. Therefore, I shall tell you to console you, friend. Just as an unfavorable fate does something undesired, so a favorable fate does something desired from force of circumstances. Moreover, friend, you are fortunate who had the sight of and conversation with your sweetheart, et cetera, many times. Hear my miserable story difficult to hear, friend. I went with attendants to the festival of Śaṅkhapālā. There beneath an aśoka I saw a young man, a thief of the wealth of the mind, like Manmatha before my eyes. I sent him betel by the hand of a friend. I was saved by him from a rogue-elephant like death. Again my attendants and I have been terrified by fear of the elephant. Again running away, I did not see him who had gone away somewhere. From that time I have scarcely lived, miserable, a receptacle of unhappiness all the time, like a monkey stung by a bee. Up to today I have seen him, charming, only in a dream. If he will be visible in person by the favor of fate! I have told my secret to diminish your pain. For one in pain is consoled, seeing someone else in pain. Enough of that pain, friend. For destiny itself being favorable, there will be a meeting with your sweetheart. Be of good courage, faint-hearted girl.’

Then Kāmapāla took off the veil and said: ‘I am the one, your sweetheart, whom you saw earlier at the Yakṣa’s festival. From the kindness of fate just now a meeting of Vasantadeva and Kesarā has taken place, like ours. Enough of wasting time in talking. Put aside submission to fear. Show me a door to leave by, maiden with irreproachable understanding.’

After saying this, he went with Madirā herself through a back door shown by Madirā into the garden of the house. Then Kāmapāla with his sweetheart joined Vasantadeva and Kesarā who had come earlier to this city. Because of their former affection they make constantly the wonderful gift of five things, king. Know that these people are they. You are able to enjoy it (the gift) with them, your friends, king. For so long a time, you did not enjoy it, since you did not know they were your friends.”

After hearing the Lord’s words, the memory of former births, a brilliant torch of former affection, arose immediately in the king and in them. Then King Kurucandra bowed to the Blessed One and led them affectionately, like brothers, to his own house. The gods bowed to the Ford and went to their respective abodes. The Blessed One went elsewhere, favoring the earth.

Footnotes and references:

[1]:

This story occurs in the Kathākośa, pp. 70ff. and the Kathāsaritsāgara, Book XIII, Penzer, Vol. VIII.

[2]:

Probably, fruit, garments, flowers, perfumes, and ornaments. Cf. Uv. II, p. 43, n. 120 and Kathākośa, p. 70.

[3]:

Dhātrīputrā. In the Kathākośa Priyaṅkarā was Kesarā’s nurse; and may have been here, also, but it is not so stated. The next sentence seems to refer to her calling as an ‘actress.’

[4]:

For an interesting article on kakkola and its associates, see Balfour, II, p. 473.

[5]:

See in Appendix II, śakunagranthi.

[6]:

The kūṣmāṇḍa is a symbol of extreme delicacy.

[7]:

The point to this comparison is explained in M.C., s.v. indrāvaṇa, the bitter gourd, Cucumis colocynthus. ‘As this gourd, though beautiful, in appearance, is of bitter taste, a handsome but worthless person, or a person meek-looking but ferocious or rancorous at heart, is called indravāṇa.’

[8]:

See App. II. The words of the Brāhman were a favorable omen.

[9]:

See above, n. 66.

[10]:

Kāmapāla.