by Sivadasa
The brothers acquainted the king with their father’s wishes. Beholding those three gems, the king, lost in wonder, reflected: ‘These three resplendent, fabulous gems ought to be given to the one who proves to be the most resourceful of my friend’s four sons. Therefore, it is imperative that their fitness be tested’.
Deciding that this was the right thing to do, the king addressed the four brothers: ‘Listen, sons of my dear friend, let me state that you are not bound by any means to abide by any decision that I might make with regard to these gems.’
And they replied: ‘Your Majesty, we shall strictly abide by your decision alone. For, which of us dares to disregard His Majesty’s words?’
The king then said: ‘Well then, let these gems remain here as your common property. Now, in the city of Kusumapura, lives a courtesan named Rūpavatī, whose beauty fascinates the three worlds. She gives herself to a man for one night on payment of one lakh of rupees. Not even for another lakh of rupees will she ever consent to grant a man a second night of lovemaking. These gems are his who succeeds in enjoying two nights of love in succession with that courtesan.’
The four brothers agreed to the king’s condition and asked: ‘Your Majesty, who goes first? We await your command.’
‘It is best to follow the order of seniority in age starting with the eldest,’ advised the king.
So, Ratnadatta set out first for Kusumapura, appearing like Indra, Lord of the Immortals, taking with him an immense array of goods of many different sorts: a host of elephants and horses, jewels and priceless rubies, gold and precious gems. Reaching that city, he made a memorable commencement of his enterprise with a performance of dance, song and instrumental music and a display of his other accomplishments. He followed this up by sending a skilled emissary carrying gifts of goods worth a lakh of rupees to make Rūpavatī’s acquaintance.
Rūpavatī, seeing that emissary approaching her, laden with rich gifts, began to reflect in amazement: ‘Amazing! Such ardent expectation! Never has it been seen in any man!’
Gauging Rūpavatī’s reactions correctly, the clever emissary began to instil trust in her, plying her with words sweet as nectar. Gaining confidence, he then addressed her: ‘Rūpavatī! Let Your Ladyship deign to sport in love with His Honour, the most excellent Ratnadatta, a man who is like the god of love.’
And Rūpavatī answered: ‘Indeed, how fortunate I am that a gentleman like him is enamoured of me. Pray bring him to me quickly, respected Sir. I shall make myself a worthy partner of his lovemaking. And when he has paid me one lakh of rupees, he shall enjoy the delights of love with me.’ With these words, Rūpavatī dismissed him. And the emissary returned to apprise Ratnadatta of Rūpavatī’s compliance.
The ecstatic Ratnadatta then went that night to the courtesan’s house. Having enjoyed the most extraordinary kind of lovemaking with her, he then treated her to a display of jealously guarded secrets of his art so as to win a second night of lovemaking. Even gods and celestial singers and musicians descended on earth to see and hear Ratnadatta’s performance of dance, song and the other arts that he was skilled in. After the performance Rūpavatī wept piteously.
‘O, lady, dearer than life, what makes you weep for no reason?’ exclaimed Ratnadatta.
‘I weep, O, Lord of my life, knowing that there will not be another night of love with you who are the most excellent of men.’
‘And why not?’ queried Ratnadatta.
‘I follow this practice; one night of love for one lakh of rupees,’ replied the courtesan.
‘I shall pay you three lakhs for the second night,’ said the young merchant prince.
‘No,’ said the courtesan. ‘Not even for a thousand lakhs will I give a second night of lovemaking. This is a solemn vow that I have undertaken.’
All efforts to make her yield failing, Ratnadatta, rejected, went out stunned and returned to his own land, most disconsolate. He went to the palace and reported what had happened to King Vikramabāhu, ‘Your Majesty, who indeed might be the hero who can win a second night of lovemaking with this lady!’ he said.
Now, Maṇidatta set out for Kusumapura with a vast treasure of gems and jewels and went straight to the reigning monarch and presented himself. Being informed of his arrival there, the king granted him an audience, provided him with all the means for fine living and set him up in a residence close to his own palace.
Meantime, an enemy ruler invaded the kingdom bent on conquering the king and having defeated the entire armed forces of men and elephants and horses, marched on to capture the king himself. At this point, Maṇidatta swore to the king: ‘Your Majesty, I shall set out against this enemy king, defeat him in battle and bring him here before you.’ Having sworn this oath, Manidatta met the enemy, defeated him and leading him into the king’s presence handed him over.
And from that day on, there was not one single person in Kusumapura who was his equal as a man of valorous deeds. After performing many other deeds of heroism, Manidatta visited the courtesan and spent a night of lovemaking with her. But despite his extraordinary heroism, he was not able to win a second night with her. In great sadness, he returned and reported the outcome to King Vikramabāhu.
Kumāradatta next set out for Kusumapura and spent one night in lovemaking with Rūpavatī. But, he could not wrest a second night from her, even though he confided to her his desire for winning the three fabulous gems left by his father. Rejected, Kumāradatta also returned to his own land and reported the failure of his mission to King Vikramabāhu.
Now, Kanakadatta thought to himself: ‘The brave and the beautiful have returned in despair. What can I accomplish going there? Even at the very start, there seems to be no promise of success. So, let me take just some provisions for the way and one servant alone to attend on me, go there and try to find out what this woman is up to.’ Having made this decision, Kanakadatta travelled to Kusumapura and kept observing Rūpavatī’s movements.
At one time, he noticed Rūpavatī going along the highway surrounded by a retinue of a thousand harlots. Kanakadatta stood gazing on her who looked like none other than a Vidyādharī in her dazzling beauty and then went up to one of the attendant harlots and enquired of her: ‘Lady, who is this going on the highway?’
‘Young gentleman,’ anṣwered the attendant. ‘This is Rūpavatī herself, the courtesan.’
‘Where is she going to?’ enquired Kanakadatta.
‘In a secluded part of the city, a lone female ascetic, named Puṇyaśarīra, who is her guru, lives in Śiva’s shrine. And Rūpavatī always attends upon her, her guru, without fail,’ she replied.
And Kanakadatta, pondering over this said to himself: ‘My purpose is going to be accomplished; I know that. I shall therefore follow her.’
When Rūpavatī after conversing with the ascetic had taken her leave and was on her way home, Kanakadatta went into Punyaśarīra’s presence and bowed reverently before her. The ascetic asked him: ‘Who are you, Sir?’
‘I am a warrior from another land,’ he replied.
‘Child, why have you come here?’ enquired the ascetic.
‘Mother, I have come to perform service to you,’ answered Kanakadatta.
The ascetic spoke gently to him, soothing him with the nectar of her words and then gave him leave to depart.
Whenever Rūpavatī came there, Kanakadatta made himself scarce and waited elsewhere. In this manner, Kanakadatta attending to the needs of the ascetic stayed six months at the end of which the ascetic asked him one day: ‘Child, tell me; why has Your Honour been performing such excellent service for me? I am pleased. Now, tell me what your cherished wish is. I shall make it come to pass.’
‘Mother, this I have to disclose to you in private,’ said Kanakadatta.
Then the ascetic sent away her attendants to a distance and said again: ‘Now, disclose your cherished wish, my child.’
‘Mother,’ confided Kanakadatta to her, ‘this lady Rūpavatī, who comes every evening to wait upon you, accepts
one lakh of rupees from a man to make love to her for one night only. But she will not consent to give herself to him the next night; not even for a thousand lakhs. Why? It is to find out the reason for this that I remain here serving you.’
‘Well, then, shall I ask her for the reason, the next time she is here? You better stay concealed in one corner of this pavilion and hear her reasons from her own mouth.’
And Kanakadatta was exceedingly pleased.
The following evening, Rūpavatī came as usual to the ascetic’s dwelling. Seeing her arrive, Kanakadatta concealed himself carefully in one of the corners of the dwelling. Rūpavatī having made obeisance to the ascetic remained there, carrying on an endless a conversation with her on many a subject.
Then the ascetic, seizing her opportunity, remarked to Rūpavatī: ‘Daughter, I heard this as it made the rounds, passing from person to person; that you receive a lakh from splendid and distinguished men to grant them a night of lovemaking with you; but that you would on no account consent to a second night of lovemaking with any man. I wish to learn the reason for this. You have to give me the reason at all events. Only if you do so will I be pleased.’
‘Oh, noble lady,’ replied Rūpavatī, ‘it is a secret matter that I am unable to speak of.’
‘Now, daughter, if you refuse to tell me the reason, I shall be highly displeased with you,’ exclaimed the ascetic.
Then, Rūpavatī said: ‘Mother, if you insist that I must at all event give you the reason, then promise me that you will not tell anyone.’
The ascetic agreed: ‘Daughter, if I ever disclose that reason to anyone, I shall become a promise-breaker.’
‘Listen, then, mother,’ said Rūpavatī.
‘I am all attention. Let Your Ladyship begin’, replied the ascetic.
Then Rūpavatī begins to speak:
In the city named Padmapura, there once reigned King Praćandasena. I am the daughter of Vićitradatta, the king’s minister for peace and war and I was dedicated to the worship of the goddess Gaurī and the observance of all rites connected with that worship. When the goddess was duly propitiated, she was pleased to grant me a boon: ‘Daughter, through my grace, you shall be ever attended by good fortune. You shall be married to a man most worthy of you; and you shall possess the gift of memory of your previous births.’
Soon after, my father gave me in marriage to the king’s son, Prince Pratāpasena. On account of the benediction of the goddess, I became dearer than life itself to the prince. Once, the king dispatched my husband on a mission to drive back an enemy ruler. Since he could not endure even a moment’s separation from me, my husband took me with him. Then, when that powerful enemy king fell upon him with force, terrified, my husband abandoned me who was dearer to him than life and fled for his life to another land. At that moment, I saw the enemy king who came up mounted on a she-elephant and a thought raced through my mind: ‘Ha! Shame upon that man who abandoned me, a wife who possessed all the desired marks of beauty and fled. How will this enemy king who now has me in his power let me go, seeing my beauty that enchants the three worlds? My chastity is bound to be violated.’ With these thoughts, I fixed my mind firmly on my lord, Pratāpasena, and abandoned my life.
At the moment of my death what I saw right in front of my eyes was the face of the she-elephant. For that reason I was reborn as a cow-elephant. Even in the form of a cow-elephant, I passed my days thinking only of my husband Pratāpasena. Rutting bull-elephants approached to mate with me, but I made every one of them back off disappointed, for I would not permit any courtship.
Now, one day, Pratāpasena who had become a tusker, met me during his season of rut. Through the gift of remembering my former existence, I recognized him immediately and yielded to him. From then on, I lived continually with him enjoyiṇg many pleasures.
Then it chanced that some elephant-catchers entered the forest one day and came upon us. Even then, though he was a tusker at that time, Pratāpasena abandoned me immediately and fled to another forest. I was caught by those elephant-catchers and presented to the king who made me the royal mount. One day the king mounted me and entered a forest to hunt. And then and there, I fixed my mind on my husband in the form of a tusker and instantly gave up my life.
At the moment of my death what I saw before my eyes was a doe and for that reason, I was born again, this time as a doe. And even after I had become an adult doe, I would not permit any stag to court me but lived in the constant thought of my husband.
Once, as I was roaming in the woods, I came across a buck. As the result of leading a life of purity, I knew at once that that buck was my lord, Pratāpasena. He had given up his elephant form and gained the form of a buck. And I gave myself to that buck and lived there in great happiness with him. But, alas, a forest fire sprung up one day devastating those woods and the buck abandoned me and fled to other woods. Unable to flee from the conflagration, I was burned alive with my whole being rapt in thoughts of my husband Pratāpasena.
At the moment of my death beside a lake, I saw a female ćakravāka.17 And because of that I was born again as a ćakravāka. But I would not mate with any of the ćakravākās there and remained pining for my own husband.
Then by a stroke of good luck, Pratāpasena, who had given up his existence as a buck to become a ćakravāka, approached me. United again with him, I spent my days in happiness enjoying love’s delights with him. And once, we flew into a lake in the city of Kusumapura. One day, Pratāpasena noticed a group of fowlers coming to the lake. At once, he fled in fear abandoning me and I was caught by a fowler. However, concentrating my thoughts solely on my husband, I abandoned my life.
At the moment of my death, whom should I see but a superbly beautiful, young courtesan, swimming happily in the lake. So, I was born again, this time in the womb of a courtesan; and I remained in that city after reaching womanhood. And I reflected: ‘How hard-hearted men are! How incapable of loving! In four births, one after the other, has Pratāpasena abandoned me who have been totally devoted to him! And he fled!’ Anger rose in my heart and I took a stern vow: ‘Men are fit to be enjoyed once only for one night; never should they be enjoyed again for a second night.
‘Mother, this the reason’, concluded Rūpavatī.
The courtesan having thus let the ascetic into her secret, took her leave and departed with her retinue of a hundred courtesans. After a while, Kanakadatta bowed in reverence to the ascetic and obtained permission to leave. He disguised himself, and went around in the city entering the house of every single courtesan in Kusumapura with the sole exception of Rūpavatī’s mansion. He did not sleep with any of them; instead he told them all this story:
‘Listen, I am Pratāpasena, the son of Praćandasena, king of Padmapura. My wife was the daughter of Vićitradatta. Though I held her dearer to me than my own life, I once abandoned her through sheer terror of an enemy and fled. She died broken hearted and was born again as a cow-elephant. I too, having obtained the form of a bull-elephant, enjoyed great happiness with her until one day, terrified of some elephant-catchers, I fled, abandoning her. She was caught and fettered. Pining for me she died and was born a doe. I gave up my life as a bull-elephant in grief over her death and was reborn as a buck. I met her again and spent days of untold joys with her. But once again, caught in a forest fire, I abandoned her and fled in fear to other woods. But she still pined for me and died, to be born again as a ćakravāka. I also died and was reborn as a ćakravāka and met her once again to enjoy ineffable happiness with her. One day I took her along and flew to a lake in the city of Kusumapura where once I espied some fowlers and flew away in fear. My wife was caught by a fowler and fixing her whole being on me alone, abandoned her life to be reborn in a courtesan’s womb. I too ended my existence as a ćakravāka and took my birth as a human being. I remain thinking of her and her alone.’
Kanakadatta wrote the whole story out on silken scrolls, handed them out to the courtesans and continued to live in that same city.
The story spread through the city, carried by word of mouth and finally reached Rūpavatī’s ears. She sent for Kanakadatta and when he came, she made him recount the whole sequence of events in their entirety and then throwing her arms round his neck, began crying out so loudly that everyone there was dismayed. Love blazed in Kanakadatta’s heart for Rūpavatī.
On her part, now convinced that she had at long last gained Pratāpasena’s unfailing love and devotion, Rūpavatī freed herself of her stern vow and spent her days with Kanakadatta in the varied and countless joys of love.
When several days had passed, Kanakadatta said to Rūpavatī: ‘Listen, my beloved, my city of Puskarāvatī is resplendent as Amarāvatī, the city of Indra. Let us go there; there I shall enjoy life’s pleasures to the fullest with you who are dearer to me than life itself.’
‘Lord of my life, I shall carry out your wishes, always,’ answered Rūpavatī.
Kanakadatta, accompanied by Rūpavatī with all her wealth, travelled to his own land. On his arrival, he went straight to the king, and in secret reported everything that had happened.
Having heard Kanakadatta narrate the recent events, the king reflected: ‘Amazing indeed! Many clever men have tried in vain to make love to Rūpavatī two nights in succession. Yet, this young man has brought her with him. Therefore, I shall make Kanakadatta my minister for peace and war.’
The king then awarded the priceless gems to Kanakadatta and bestowing many gifts on him, appointed him minister for peace and war.
‘Now, speak, O king,’ demanded the genie. In each of her former births, Rūpavatī knew her husband. Though she possessed the gift of remembering her former births, how is it that she failed to know who Kanakadatta really and truly was, as a result of which his falsely concocted story brought him success?’
King Vikramāditya replied: ‘Listen, Oh! You genie! In every previous existence, Rūpavatī had sexual intercourse only with her wedded husband. The merit she earned through the purity of her conduct enabled her to know her husband. But once she was born in a courtesan’s family, she became an unchaste woman. Therefore, even though she retained the gift of remembering her own former lives, she lost the power to recognize her own husband because she had slept with other men.’