by Haskar
She was then seen by Sagaradatta. ‘What is this? How can it be?’ he thought with agitation as he recoiled in despair.
Kundamalika remained unruffled. Saluting him with a smile and reassuring him with a hug, she said, ‘Your son-in-law is at the banyan tree near the hermitage. Please send his brothers-in-law to fetch him.’
Ordered by their father, the brothers-in-law seized Yajnagupta. ‘You are caught, child-snatcher!’ they said harshly, and continued with a smile. ‘What are you up to? Get up rogue, and come to town. The king has summoned you.’
Recognizing them and thinking of his own execution or imprisonment, the brahman muttered some incantations for his protection as he knotted his hair. ‘Please wait for a moment,’ he pleaded, ‘till my kapalika friend comes back.’
At this they laughed aloud. ‘The friend you await has gone ahead,’ they said, ‘it was he who bade us catch you. Even fast friends and honest well-wishers become disenchanted with rogues like you.’ And with joyful shouts they took that sad and silent man to their house which was now filled with many happy relatives.
The brahman’s spirit revived when Sagaradatta, his skin tingling with pleasure, embraced his son-in-law. After a ceremonial welcome and dinner, Yajnagupta was invited to recline on a great bed in a beautiful pavilion, while his parents-in-law, their families and leading citizens sat around him. Then came the merchant’s daughter, like a swan from the autumn sky. She greeted her elders with a bow, her equals with some words, and Yajnagupta with a dark glance of passion. Sitting down on a lower seat before her parents, she then recounted all that had happened after her wedding.
‘A curse on my useless talents,’ Yajnagupta said to himself. ‘I have been tricked by the limited mind of a well-bred girl. Or is it a clever woman who has done this to the limited mind of a man like me? Amazing above all is her astuteness in changing her appearance and gait, even her way of speaking. In any case, she has freed me today from that which I did at my father’s word.’
The king of Avanti was pleased to hear this story. He had Kundamalika come to the palace with her spouse and gave much land and gold to Yajnagupta. To her, he said with a smile, ‘My girl, you must so arrange things that your husband no more neglects his work as a twice-born brahman.’
This she did, and they lived happily.
From Brihatkathāślokasaṃgraha, 22.1–130
Agastya and Lopamudra
Lopamudra was a princess of the land of Vidarbha. A noble-minded girl, she gratified her parents and her family by her conduct and surpassed even the nymphs of heaven in her beauty. Seeing her in the bloom of youth, her father wondered to whom she could be given in marriage. Meanwhile the sage Agastya determined that she would be capable of managing his household. So he went to the king of Vidarbha and spoke to that ruler. ‘O monarch,’ he said, ‘I wish to get married in order to have a son, and have chosen your daughter Lopamudra for this. Give her to me.’
The sage’s words left the king speechless. Though unable to refuse, he also did not want to agree. ‘This holy man is very powerful,’ he told his wife, ‘if he gets angry he can incinerate me in the fire of his curses.’
Seeing them so worried and unhappy, Lopamudra went up to her parents. ‘It is not worth suffering so for my sake,’ she said to them. ‘Protect yourself through me, father, and give me away to the sage.’
At the behest of his daughter, the king then gave her away in marriage with due ceremony to Agastya. Having got her as his wife, the sage told Lopamudra that her ornaments and dress were too luxurious and should be discarded. That wide-eyed girl with lovely legs promptly took off those fine and highly valued garments and jewellery, and she put on rags of birch bark and deerskin instead, adopting the same mode of living as her acetic husband.
The great sage went with his faithful wife to Ganga’s Gate, where the river enters the plains, and immersed himself in fierce austerities there. Lopamudra looked after her husband happily and served him with immense respect. He too loved her greatly. Much time passed thus. One day the sage gazed at her just as she had bathed after her period and was radiant with her own austerities. Pleased by her service, her purity and restraint, and the splendour of her beauty, he invited her to have sex.
The charming girl clasped her hands together in salutation as if abashed, and replied to the sage most lovingly. ‘There is no doubt that my husband chose me as his wife for the purpose of progeny,’ she said. ‘But you should also do as I would like you to do. You should approach me on a bed of the kind I had in my father’s palace. I would like you to be adorned with garlands and ornaments, and sport beautiful jewellery myself to enjoy our intercourse to the utmost. I will not sleep with you wearing these rags which may embellish ascetics but cannot be polluted!’
‘My good and pretty Lopamudra!’ the sage observed, ‘neither you nor I have the kind of wealth your father has.’
‘But you are the lord of everything by virtue of your austerities,’ she responded. ‘Whatever wealth there is in this world, you can invoke it within a moment.’
‘That is so,’ the sage agreed. ‘But doing so will deplete my ascetic power. Tell me of a way by which it will not be lost.’
‘Ascetic lord,’ she said, ‘only a little time is left of my fertile period. And there is no other way I would want to sleep with you. Nor do I wish your spiritual treasure depleted in any manner. So, bear that in mind and do what you think best.’
‘Well, good lady,’ the sage then replied, ‘if you have made up your mind, then I will go out to look for wealth.’
The adventures of Agastya while collecting the needed wealth are another story. Suffice it to say that he soon came back in a golden horse-drawn chariot with all that was needed to fulfil Lopamudra’s wishes.
‘Lord,’ she then told him, ‘you have done all that I wanted. Now get me to bear a really strong son.’
‘So be it,’ the sage promised his spouse, one who was both faithful and of the same disposition as him. And he impregnated her at the appropriate time before going back into the forest for his austerities. As for Lopamudra, the child within her womb grew inside for seven years. Then she birthed a splendid boy, glorious like a flame. He was named Dridhasyu and soon mastered the scriptures all by himself. From childhood he would bear the weight of firewood at his father’s home, and came to be known as the ‘wood carrier’. He was also recognized as a great scholar, and the sage was delighted to see that a fine son had been born to him and his wife.
From Mahābhārata, Vana Parva, Tirthayatra, 96.29–30; 97.1–123; 98.1–18
Vriddha Kanya
There was once a very famous and powerful sage named Kunigarga. A practitioner of tremendous spiritual penance and austerities, he created by the power of his mind a handsome daughter whose presence pleased him immensely. Thereafter, he gave up his mortal body and ascended to the world above.
His bright-eyed daughter was a virtuous and pious girl. She stayed uncensored in his hermitage, observing rigorous penance, fasting and offering prayers to the gods and the ancestral spirits. A long time passed in these austerities. Her father had wished to get her married while he lived, but the irreproachable girl did not want it, for she did not see anyone compatible enough to be her husband. So she continued to torment her body with fierce austerities, devoting herself in the lonely forest to the worship of the gods and the spirits.
The labours tired her out, but she considered herself content. Gradually she was worn down by her penance and by age. Eventually, when she could not even walk a step by herself, she made up her mind to depart for the next world.
Seeing that she now intended to give up the mortal body, the divine sage Narada came to her. ‘O sinless adept in ascetic practice!’ he said to her. ‘How can there be salvation for a virgin as yet unconsecrated in marriage? This is what we hear in heaven. You have achieved the highest excellence, but you have not yet won your entry there.’
On hearing the words of Narada, the Vriddha Kanya or old maid went to the
assembly of hermits and told them, ‘Noble minds, I am ready to give up half of the fruit of my penance to anyone who will marry me.’
The hermit Galava’s son, Shringavan, agreed to marry her, but with one condition. ‘Virtuous lady,’ he said, ‘I will take your hand in marriage today, but you and I should stay together for just one night.’
‘So be it,’ she agreed, and gave him her hand. They were then married with due rituals before the sacred fire.
That night she became a beautiful young woman again, adorned in a divine dress and ornaments, anointed with celestial fragrances, lighting up everything with her radiance. Galava’s son was delighted. They spent the night together and in the morning she told him, ‘O best of hermits, I have satisfied the condition you set for me. May all be well with you. Now I go.’
As she left him, she spoke once again, ‘This will be a place of pilgrimage forever more. Whoever comes here and stays for one night, offering worship to the gods, will obtain all the merits of a vow of celibacy observed for over fifty years.’ And with these words she gave up her body and ascended to heaven.
As for the hermit’s son—he felt much deprived thinking of her beauty. With great pain he accepted, in accordance with their pact, half the fruit of her austerities and also achieved salvation, even as he grieved at having been so stricken with the beauty of the Vriddha Kanya.
From Mahābhārata, Shalya Parva, 52.3–23
The Rape of Rambha
How is it that Ravana never forced himself on Sita when she was in his power?1 Here is a story to set such speculation to rest. It is from the Ramayana, at a time much before Sita’s abduction, when the king of the demons was on his way to battle the gods and conquer heaven.
Proceeding on this campaign with his army, the ten-headed demon king reached Mount Kailasa, the abode of Kubera, the god of wealth. There he decided to camp for the night as the sun had set. Armed with all kinds of weapons, his warriors slept while the moon was rising, as pure and splendid as the mountain itself. Mighty Ravana reclined upon its peak, gazing at the moonlit scene.
The wooded hillside shone with forests of gleaming trees: kadamba and karnikara; ashoka and arjuna; bulletwood, beech mahogany; frangipani, lodh and mulberry; coral jasmine and trumpet flower; mango, screw pine and rose bay; coconut, long pepper and bread fruit. Lilies bloomed in the waters of Mandakini, the celestial stream. The sweet voices of lovelorn and passionate satyrs pleased all hearts. Intoxicated demigods, their eyes reddened with wine, disported there with their womenfolk. The melodious sound of nymphs singing in Kubera’s palace could be heard like the distant ringing of a bell. A shower of blossoms fell from the foliage ruffled by the wind, pervading the hillside with the fragrance of spring.
A pleasant breeze, redolent of the scent of spring flowers, kindled Ravana’s sensual desire. The beauty of the mountain and the coolnessof the air, the wealth of the florescence and the sound of music, the night’s advent and the rising moon, all of these made that mighty warrior a prisoner of Kama. Sighing repeatedly, he stared at the lunar orb.
It was at this time that Rambha happened to pass by. She was the choicest of all the celestial nymphs. With a face as radiant as the full moon, ornamented with divine jewels, a paste of heavenly sandalwood adorning her limbs and coral blooms her hair, she seemed ready for a special feast.
Her eyes were enchanting, set below eyebrows that were like curved bows. Her curvaceous hips, which were embellished with the loops of a girdle, she carried like the finest gift of love. Fragrant with the floral scents of all the six seasons, she shone like the goddess Shri in all her glory. Wrapped in a garment of glistening blue, her thighs beneath it were as comely as an elephant’s trunk and her hands as soft as leaf buds. Thus did Ravana behold her as she passed through his camp.
He was instantly smitten by Kama’s arrows. Getting up, he caught her by the hand as she went by. She was embarrassed, but he smiled at her. ‘Where are you going, my beauty?’ he said. ‘Whom do you want to reward with yourself? Who’s good luck is it that he will enjoy you? Your mouth smells of lilies and its taste must be like nectar. Whom will it gratify tonight? Your close-set breasts shine with a golden glory. To whom will you offer their feel? Your deep loins are like wheels of gold with their golden girdle, a veritable opening to paradise. Who is it that will mount them today?
‘Be it Indra or Varuna or the Ashvins,’2 he continued, ‘which male is better than me? This is not right, my girl, for who but me is master of the three worlds. So, rest your beautiful hips on this fine rock. The ten-headed lord of lords, the ruler of the whole world, begs you with folded hands. Sleep with me!’
Thus propositioned, Rambha trembled and clasped her hands. ‘Be gracious, sir!’ she cried. ‘It is not worthy of you to speak like this. You are my elder, and should protect me from such insolence in others. Legally I am your daughter-in-law. This is the essential point for you to recall.’ And she stood there, her eyes cast down at Ravana’s feet. His mere gaze had made her hair prickle.
‘You would be my daughter-in-law only if you were the wife of my son,’ said Ravana.
‘Very well,’ Rambha replied. ‘In law I am indeed your son’s wife, demon lord. The son of your brother Kubera is dearer to me than life. He is Nalakubara. He is famous as a brahman in virtue and a kshatriya in valour, but he is also like a fire in anger and like the earth in forbearance. It is with him that I have a rendezvous. For that have I dressed up. He too loves me and none else, and now awaits me eagerly. This is the truth, and you should let me go. Do not obstruct me, demon lord. Follow the path of good people. I respect you and indeed you should protect me.’
Thus addressed, Ravana replied politely. ‘To call oneself my daughter-in-law,’ he said, ‘would apply in the case of a woman being the wife of just one man. But the situation in heaven is different. It has always been held that celestial nymphs have no husband, and none is the wife of only one person.’ Then he forced her down on the rock and, overcome by lust, had intercourse with Rambha.
Eventually she was released, though shuddering like a stream trodden through by an elephant. Her garland and jewellery were in disarray, her hair undone, her hands quivering. She seemed like a flowering vine shaken by the wind.
Trembling with shame and fear, her hands clasped in entreaty, she went to Nalakubara and fell at his feet. ‘What happened, good lady,’ that great soul asked, ‘why are you doing this?’
Heaving a sigh, her hands still clasped and quivering, Rambha began to tell him exactly all that had happened. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘this ten-necked demon is on his way to heaven with an army. Camped for the night, he saw me as I was coming to you. He caught me by the hand and asked to whom I belonged. I told him everything, fully and truthfully, but he was out of his mind with desire and would not listen. I pleaded with him, told him that I was his daughter-in-law, but he paid no heed and outraged me by force. That, my gentle and virtuous lord, has been my fault which you must forgive, for women are not as strong as men.’
Deeply angered on hearing of this outrage, Kubera’s son went into a trance during which he understood all that had happened. His eyes bloodshot with wrath, he took some water in the palm of his hand and, with due rites, pronounced a terrible curse on the demon lord. ‘Good lady,’ he said, ‘as he violated you by force though you did not desire it, he will never again be able to do that with any other woman. Sick with lust, if he does so, his head will shatter into seven pieces.’
The curse was like a flame of fire. As it was uttered, there was a peal of celestial trumpets and flowers rained from the sky. All the gods led by Brahma were delighted. The sages and the monks were very pleased, for they now knew of the world’s condition and the demon’s death. Ravana too came to know of this terrifying curse and therefore quelled his inclination to sleep with unwilling women.
From Rāmāyana, 7.26.1–59
The Life and Love of a Bodhisattva
In times bygone, the land of north Panchala was ruled from its capital, Hastinapu
ra,1 by a king named Mahadhana. This virtuous monarch, who ruled according to the sacred law, was childless.
Once, he sat with his head in his hands, immersed in worry, ‘My house has many treasures but neither a son nor a daughter. My line will end with my passing and the state be taken away, an heirless kingdom, and be ruled by someone else.’
‘Majesty, why are you so worried?’ he was asked by monks and priests, friends and relatives.
And on his explaining the matter at length, they said, ‘Propitiate the gods. Then you will have a son.’
So he entreated the gods, Shiva and Varuna, Kubera and Shakra, Brahma and the others, as well as the deities of parks and forests, crossroads and suchlike. People believe that children are born from such entreaties, but it is not so. If it were, everyone would have a thousand sons. In fact, sons and daughters are born when three conditions coincide: the father and the mother come together, full of passion; the mother is healthy and in her fertile period; and a being due to be born is at hand. The king, however, continued his propitiations.
The Bodhisattva2 of that auspicious age then descended into the queen’s womb. An intelligent woman has five particular qualities. She recognizes a man in passion; the right time of her period; the descent of a life into her womb; the conditions in which this happens; and whether it is a boy or a girl—the former gets attached to the womb’s right side, and the latter to the left.
The queen was delighted. ‘Thank heaven, and congratulations, noble one,’ she told her husband. ‘I am with child. It is on the right side of the womb, so it will definitely be a son.’
The king was overjoyed. He raised and stretched out his right arm, saying, ‘I too will now see the son I have so long wanted. May his birth be smooth. May he carry on my work, support me as I will support him, and inherit from me. May my line continue. And when we are gone, may he give gifts, great and small, accumulate merits, and dedicate them to our name.’