PART II
I
MADHUMALA, THE WREATH OF SWEETNESS
THERE was once a king who had vast possessions. Everything that the world could give was his, save one thing only. He was childless, and the fact that he had no son was taken as a sign of the displeasure of the gods. So in spite of his rank and prestige, he was looked down upon as an antkoorha.[1]
One day, at dawn, the sweeper was at work in the palace in the very apartment next to that in which the king slept. The latter, roused by the noise, came out of his room and saw the sweeper, who, to avoid seeing a childless man's face at the beginning of a new day, covered his eyes[2] with his hands. The king observed this, and was astonished to find that he was an object of aversion even to a sweeper. From that time he became very sad and morose, and a smile was seldom seen on his face. Heaven, however, at last took pity on him. One day Bidhátápúrush,[3] disguised as a religious mendicant, with a bright lamp of gold in his hand, visited him, and speaking words of consolation said, "O king, do not despair. Bright days are yet to come. Take this lamp, and with it go to that tank of yours which is called the tank of life. You will find there a tree of silver with fruit of gold. Two of these golden fruits you must bring down with an arrow, with your eyes towards the ground, and your breath suspended." The king, overjoyed at this revelation, did as ordered, with the exception that he forgot, when shooting the arrow, to hold his breath. This omission spoilt everything. The fruit did not fall from the tree, and the king fell senseless on the ground. Bidhátápúrush, the mendicant, who was standing by, revived him, and said, "O king, rise up and with eyes shut, stretch forth your palms, and a bird of gold will descend on one of them. Take the bird home and throwing away its wings and claws, have seven different kinds of curry made of it. Eat some of each of the seven and you will have a son godlike in appearance and endowed with many accomplishments. But under the earth you must build a mansion of stone, and here the queen, having passed the days of her confinement, must remain with the prince and his nurse for twelve years, secluded from the world."
The king carried out the instructions to the letter. The bird was eaten, the mansion of stone built, and the queen removed there to await the birth of the long-desired son. In due time the son was born, and named Madankumar, the Cupid-like youth. Rapidly he grew up both in mind and body. He had nearly completed the twelve years of seclusion prescribed when one day he expressed a desire to see the world outside; the sun, the moon, the stars, and all the other wonderful phenomena of nature of which he had read and heard from his nurse. His mother, remembering Bidhátápúrush's injunctions, refused compliance, but the boy's persistence at last prevailed. The consent of his father, however, had to be obtained, for there were still three days wanting for the completion of the twelve years. The father, unwilling to refuse his son's request, yet doubtful of the consequences, called and consulted a conclave of astrologers and other men of lore. They finally decided that the short period of only three days was not worth considering, and accordingly the queen and her son were brought with great state to the palace. Thus for the sake of three days was Bidhátápúrush's command violated.
Madankumar was very fond of sports, and one day when quite a young man he asked his father to let him join in a hunting expedition. Reluctant as his parents were, the importunity of the youth carried the day, and he set out with a large number of attendants, the prime minister's son being the chief among them. This young man was especially commissioned by the king to look after his son. For the whole day the chase continued without success, and Madan being loth to go home empty-handed proposed to have tents pitched in the woods and pass the night there. Tired out with the chase, he was soon asleep. Now it happened that about midnight two parees,[4] Kala Paree and Nidra Paree by name, who were flying to visit the dancing hall of Indra the king of the Hindu gods, looked down and saw Madan as he lay asleep in his tent and, entranced with his handsome person, they halted in their flight.
"Sister," said Kala Paree, "look downwards. There is one tent there full of lustre. I see a thousand moons together, the brightest gems in the world gathered and heaped up there. Or it may be that one of the gods is reposing in the company of men."
"It is none of these," replied her sister, "it is Madan, the son of famous king Dandadhar."
"We must find a wife worthy of him," said Kala Paree. "Can you think of one?"
"Surely Madhumala alone is a fit bride for such a man," Nidra Paree declared.
"Then, sister" said Kala Paree, "let us take up the bed on which the prince lies, and carry him to his bride."
Nidra Paree did as her sister wished, and Madan's bed was in the twinkling of an eye carried to the regions beneath the sea and placed in Madhumala's room beside her couch. The parees then roused them from sleep, and standing aside in the shadow watched to see what would happen. Great was the amazement of the prince and the princess to be thus miraculously brought together, and shyly at first they began to converse, Madan giving an account of himself, and Madhumala informing him who she was. The conversation soon became of an intimate nature and with both it was a case of love at first sight. Both made promises of everlasting fidelity and exchanged rings as tokens of their plighted troth. But their enjoyment was of short duration: the parees cast an irresistible spell on them, and they fell fast asleep, leaving the match-makers free to dispose of them as they willed. During the small hours of the morning they removed the prince to his camp, not on his own couch, but on that of the princess. This expedient was resorted to in order to leave a tangible token of the happy meeting.
When the prince awoke in the morning the first words he uttered were, "O Madhumala, where art thou?" His companions were naturally astounded, and the prime minister's son, hearing from the prince of his adventures during the night, at once declared that it must have been nothing but a dream. The prince, however, replied, "Friend, you call my experience of the past night a dream, but could a man exchange his ring with another's in a dream? See also this couch. Is it the one on which I fell asleep last evening?" The argument, though convincing enough, had no force with the minister's son, who at once made arrangements for the breaking up of the encampment and the instant return of the party to the palace. The prince reluctantly consented, but the state of his mind was unchanged. After his return home he could speak of nothing but this adventure until at last his distracted parents feared that his mind was affected and that he was under a spell. In vain they tried to divert his mind from the subject. The young man persisted in his assertions, and ultimately implored them to allow him to set out in search of Madhumala, to whom he had plighted his troth in the dream.
It came as a terrible blow to them to realize that their darling, who had never left their side, save for that one day's hunting, was about to leave them, it might be for ever. They attributed all this to the anger of the gods, which they had brought upon themselves by letting him leave the subterranean house three days earlier than they had been commanded, and falling on his neck they implored him with torrents of tears to give up the enterprise, which in their opinion was no better than a wild-goose chase. But nothing could divert him from his purpose; and the king, to make the best of a bad case, prepared for him a ship with a great company of followers. On an auspicious day he put the dust of his parents' feet upon his head, and started on the voyage to the seas, under which he believed his sweetheart dwelt.
Many days and nights, many months even, passed by without success attending the prince's quest, till at length, overtaken by a violent storm, they were all drowned save the prince, who after three days was washed by the waves on to the beach quite insensible. Some goat-herds found him and resuscitated him. Upon being asked who he was, and with what object he had set out upon the seas, the prince told them everything, not omitting to mention with particular emphasis the name Madhumala.
The mention of this name acted like a charm upon them, and with joy they cried out—"Ah, this is he for whom our king's daughter, Champakala, has been waiting; for, from books of astrology and the god Shiva to whom she daily prays to bring her husband to her, she has learnt that one who is out seeking for Madhumala's abode shall be her lord." Saying this, they took Madan to their king, who, aware of the revelation made to his daughter, at once introduced him to her. She asked her father to marry her to the youth, who was so obviously destined to be her husband; and the nuptials were celebrated that very day with great pomp. When the couple retired to the bridal chamber, Champakala told her husband that she knew of his longing for Madhumala, and that though she herself was not aware of her whereabouts, the information could be obtained from a princess named Panchakala, dwelling far off in a region where seven rivers met. She then made the prince promise her that, on his successful return, he would take her to his father's kingdom and acknowledge her as his wife.
The next morning, Champakala according to her promise allowed her husband to depart. After a long and tedious journey of many days he reached the outskirts of the kingdom of Panchakala's father. There being met and detained by a sepoy of the king's, he said, "O brother, detain me not. I have to find out Madhumala, my beloved." The sepoy replied, "Now at last my duty is done. I have been posted here to lead to the king one who should in any way allude to Madhumala. You, sir, have uttered the name and must now follow me." Saying this, he had a Chatturdola[5] brought, and took the prince to the palace, where a scene similar to that which had transpired between him and Champakala took place, after which he was directed by his new wife to seek a princess named Chandrakala, who was Madhumala's intimate friend. Setting out on the following morning the prince again made a long journey, and after crossing rivers, seas, mountains, and forests, at length reached the kingdom of Chandrakala's father. There he met with a hearty welcome, for the king, apprised beforehand of his future son-in-law's arrival, had made preparations to receive him. Madan and Chandrakala were married that very day, and when the former told the latter the object he had in view, she said that Madhumala was her friend, and that she would put him in the way of finding her. She also advised him not to accept any other dowry from her father save the peacock on the steeple of the golden temple in his kingdom. The boon was asked and granted; and Madan, mounted on the peacock's back, started in search of Madhumala, promising Chandrakala that when he returned, he would take her to his father's kingdom with his other wives.
Let us now return to Madhumala, whom we left sleeping on Madan's couch. The next morming, her maids, as usual, came into her room, and finding it disordered, asked her the reason. She answered nothing in reply, merely exclaiming again and again, "O Prince Madan." At this they feared that she had lost her reason, and ran to the king and queen with the report. They instantly hurried to their daughter's chamber, with the best physicians available in the kingdom. They were all at a loss to conjecture what was the matter with the princess, and leaving her undisturbed, they withdrew to hold a consultation, which, however, ended in nothing. Day after day passed and the king in despair gave orders to put his capital in mourning. His own palace of gold he had demolished, saying it was no longer of use to him until his daughter got Prince Madan back. He sent a written message throughout the habitable world, to the effect that there was a bride named Madhumala, with a kingdom, awaiting the prince Madankumar, but the messengers returned without finding the prince. The king, no longer able to bear the sight of his daughter's sufferings, resolved to make away with his life. But happily good fortune dawned upon him at last. One night the sentinels on duty saw a brilliant light, as of innumerable torches high up in the air, and as they gazed at it a splendid looking youth astride a golden peacock alighted. It was thus that Madankumar came to find his beloved Madhumala.
On alighting, the prince saw that the palace was in a ruined condition, and attributing it to some terrible calamity feared for the safety of his love. His anguish was intolerable, and he broke forth into bitter lamentations, saying, "Tell me, O skies and seas, what has caused these ruins, and who has robbed me of my beloved, beautiful as the full moon. O ye gods, bring my life, my Madhumala, back to me." His voice was heard by her whose ears had waited so long for it, and Madhumala, rushing forth from the chamber where she had for so many days imprisoned herself, caught her lover in her arms and taking him into the most secluded of her apartments kept its doors shut for seven days.
In the meantime, her parents learned from the sentinels what had happened; and on the seventh day, they came and knocked at the door of her room. No notice was at first taken of their summons, but on their repeatedly knocking and calling, Mudhumala from within asked her father if he could bear what he might see. On his replying, the door was opened, and the king and all the people with him exclaimed, "What is it that we see? Is it not the full moon by the side of the sun that rises at dawn? Or may it not be two gilded pictures placed side by side."
Next day, the king ordered the palace to be rebuilt, and it quickly attained its former splendour. An auspicious day was appointed for the marriage of Madan and Madhumala, and a letter was sent to King Dandadhur, the father of the former, inviting him to be present at the wedding. The letter was like precious balm to his and his wife's long-afflicted hearts, and with great rejoicings they set out for the kingdom under the ground. Their voyage was prosperous, and they arrived in time to witness the marriage, which was celebrated with unusual splendour. For thirteen days and nights, dainties were freely distributed to all the guests, whose number was unlimited, and a rich dowry consisting of a kingdom of seventy scores of Pergunnas, and of heaps of gems and gold mohurs, was given to Madankumar.
A few days after this, King Dandadhur expressed the wish that his son, daughter-in-law, and attendants might be permitted to leave for home; and preparations were at once made for their journey. Madan and Madhumala were to go on the peacock's back, while the others would sail in ships; and on a day pronounced by astrologers as favourable the whole party left the kingdom, after the exchange of the most cordial farewells. King Dandadhur after a safe voyage reached his kingdom, with all his attendants. But his son, though on the peacock's back, was late by a few days. He had had to delay some time on the way to visit his other wives, and arrange to take them along with him. At length he reached his father's dominions in safety, and entered the palace amidst joyous acclamations, grand illuminations, and fireworks, the family guru,[6] the priest, and all those women fortunate enough to have their husbands living,[7] chanting hymns of thanksgiving and praise.
- ↑ A childless man.
- ↑ Hindus of the old school believe that to see the face of one who is in any way unfortunate at the commencement of a new day augurs evil.
- ↑ A Hindu god believed to predestine at a man's birth everything that will happen to him in life. The events are said to be faithfully written on his forehead, on the sixth night after the child's birth.
- ↑ Fairies.
- ↑ A kind of palki carried on the shoulders.
- ↑ Spiritual instructor.
- ↑ Hindu widows are prohibited from taking part in any joyous proceedings.