The Kathá Sarit Ságara; or, Ocean of the Streams of Story

Long ago there lived in this very city of Ujjayiní a ruffianly gambler, who was rightly named Ṭhiṇṭhákarála.5 He lost perpetually, and the others, who won in the game, used to give him every day a hundred cowries. With those he bought wheat-flour from the market, and in the evening made cakes by kneading them somewhere or other in a pot with water, and then he went and cooked them in the flame of a funeral pyre in the cemetery, and ate them in front of Mahákála, smearing them with the grease from the lamp burning before him: and he always slept at night on the ground in the court of the same god’s temple, pillowing his head on his arm.

Now, one night, he saw the images of all the Mothers and of the Yakshas and other divine beings in the temple of Mahákála trembling from the proximity of spells, and this thought arose in his bosom, “Why should I not employ an artful device here to obtain wealth? If it succeeds, well and good; if it does not succeed, wherein am I the worse?” When he had gone through these reflections, he challenged those deities to play, saying to them, “Come now, I will have a game with you, and I will act as keeper of the gaming-table, and will fling the dice; and mind, you must always pay up what you lose.” When he said this to the deities they remained silent; so Ṭhiṇṭhákarála staked some spotted cowries, and flung the dice. For this is the universally accepted rule among gamblers, that, if a gambler does not object to the dice being thrown, he agrees to play.

Then, having won much gold, he said to the deities, “Pay me the money I have won, as you agreed to do.” But though the gambler said this to the deities over and over again, they made no answer. Then he flew in a passion and said to them, “If you remain silent, I will adopt with you the same course as is usually adopted with a gambler, who will not pay the money he has lost, but makes himself as stiff as a stone.6 I will simply saw through your limbs with a saw as sharp as the points of Yama’s teeth, for I have no respect for anything.” When he had said this, he ran towards them, saw in hand; and the deities immediately paid him the gold he had won. Next morning he lost it all at play, and in the evening he came back again, and extorted more money from the Mothers in the same way by making them play with him.

He went on doing this every day, and those deities, the Mothers, were in very low spirits about it; then the goddess Chámuṇḍá said to them, “Whoever, when invited to gamble, says ‘I sit out of this game’ cannot be forced to play; this is the universal convention among gamblers, ye Mother deities. So when he invites you, say this to him, and so baffle him.” When Chámuṇḍá had said this to the Mothers, they laid her advice up in their minds. And when the gambler came at night and invited them to play with him, all the goddesses said with one accord “We sit out of this game.”

When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála had been thus repulsed by those goddesses, he invited their sovereign Mahákála himself to play. But that god, thinking that the fellow had taken this opportunity of trying to force him to gamble, said, “I sit out of this game.” Even gods, you see, like feeble persons, are afraid of a thoroughly self-indulgent, ruffianly scoundrel, flushed with impunity.

Then that Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, being depressed at finding his gambler’s artifice baffled by a knowledge of the etiquette of play, was disgusted, and said to himself, “Alas! I am baffled by these deities through their learning the conventions of gamblers; so I must now flee for refuge to this very sovereign of the gods.” Having formed this resolution in his heart, Ṭhiṇṭhákarála embraced the feet of Mahákála, and praising him, addressed to him the following petition; “I adore thee that sittest naked7 with thy head resting on thy knee; thy moon, thy bull, and thy elephant-skin having been won at play by Deví. When the gods give all powers at thy mere desire, and when thou art free from longings, having for thy only possessions the matted lock, the ashes and the skull, how canst thou suddenly have become avaricious with regard to hapless me, in that thou desirest to disappoint me for so small a gain? Of a truth the wishing-tree no longer gratifies the hope of the poor, as thou dost not support me, lord Bhairava, though thou supportest the world. So, as I have fled to thee as a suppliant, holy Stháṇu, with my mind pierced with grievous woe, thou oughtest even to pardon presumption in me. Thou hast three eyes, I have three dice,8 so I am like thee in one respect; thou hast ashes on thy body, so have I; thou eatest from a skull, so do I; shew me mercy. When I have conversed with you gods, how can I afterwards bear to converse with gamblers? So deliver me from my calamity.”

With this and similar utterances the gambler praised that Bhairava, until at last the god was pleased, and manifesting himself, said to him, “Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, I am pleased with thee; do not be despondent. Remain here with me; I will provide thee with enjoyments.” In accordance with this command of the god’s that gambler remained there, enjoying all kinds of luxuries provided by the favour of the deity.

Now, one night, the god saw certain Apsarases, that had come to bathe in that holy pool of Mahákála, and he gave this command to Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, “While all these nymphs of heaven are engaged in bathing, quickly snatch up the clothes, which they have laid on the bank, and bring them here; and do not give them back their garments, until they surrender to you this young nymph, named Kalávatí.”9

“When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála had received this command from Bhairava, he went and carried off the garments of those heavenly beauties, while they were bathing; and they said to him, “Give us back our garments, please; do not leave us naked.” But he answered them, confident in the power which Śiva gave, “If you will give me the young nymph Kalávatí, I will give you back these garments, but not otherwise.” When they heard that, seeing that he was a stubborn fellow to deal with, and remembering that Indra had pronounced a curse of this kind upon Kalávatí, they agreed to his demand. And on his giving back the garments, they bestowed on him, in due form, Kalávatí the daughter of Alambushá.

Then the Apsarases departed, and Ṭhiṇṭhákarála remained there with that Kalávatí in a house built by the wish of Śiva. And Kalávatí went in the day to heaven to attend upon the king of the gods, but at night she always returned10 to her husband. And one day she said to him in the ardour of her affection, “My dear, the curse of Śiva, which enabled me to obtain you for a husband, has really proved a blessing.” Thereupon her husband Ṭhiṇṭhákarála asked her the cause of the curse, and the nymph Kalávatí thus answered him:

“One day, when I had seen the gods in a garden, I praised the enjoyments of mortals, depreciating the pleasures of the dwellers in heaven, as giving joys that consist only in seeing.11 When the king of the gods heard that, he cursed me, saying, ‘Thou shalt go and be married by a mortal, and enjoy those human pleasures.’ In this way has come about our union that is mutually agreeable. And to-morrow I shall return to heaven after a long absence; do not be unhappy about it; for Rambhá is going to dance a new piece before Vishṇu, and I must remain there, my beloved, until the exhibition is at an end.”

Then Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, whom love had made like a spoiled child, said to her, “I will go there and look at that dance unperceived, take me there.” When Kalávatí heard that, she said, “How is it fitting for me to do this? The king of the gods might be angry, if he found it out.” Though she said this to him, he continued to press her; then out of love she agreed to take him there.

So the next morning Kalávatí by her power concealed Ṭhiṇṭhákarála in a lotus, which she placed as an ornament in her ear, and took him to the palace of Indra. When Ṭhiṇṭhákarála saw that palace, the doors of which were adorned by the elephant of the gods, which was set off by the garden of Nandana, he thought himself a god, and was highly delighted. And in the court of Indra, frequented by gods, he beheld the strange and delightful spectacle of Rambhá’s dance, accompanied by the singing of all the nymphs of heaven. And he heard all the musical instruments played by Nárada and the other minstrels; for what is hard to obtain in this world if the supreme god12 is favourable to one?

Then, at the end of the exhibition a mime, in the shape of a divine goat, rose up, and began to dance with heavenly13 movements. And Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, when he saw him, recognized him, and said to himself, “Why, I see this goat in Ujjayiní, figuring as a mere animal, and here he is dancing as a mime before Indra. Of a truth this must be some strange incomprehensible heavenly delusion.” While Ṭhiṇṭhákarála was going through these reflections in his mind, the dance of the goat-mime came to an end, and then Indra returned to his own place. And then Kalávatí, in high spirits, also took back Ṭhiṇṭhákarála to his own home, concealed in the lotus-ornament of her ear.

And the next day Ṭhiṇṭhákarála beheld in Ujjayiní that goat-formed mime of the gods, who had returned there, and he insolently said to him, “Come, dance before me, as you dance before Indra. If you do not, I shall be angry with you; show off your dancing powers, you mime.” When the goat heard this, he was astonished, and remained silent, saying to himself, “How can this mere mortal know so much about me?” But when, in spite of persistent entreaties, the goat refused to dance, Ṭhiṇṭhákarála beat him on the head with sticks.

Then the goat went with bleeding head to Indra, and told him all that had taken place. And Indra by his supernatural powers of contemplation discovered the whole secret, how Kalávatí had brought Ṭhiṇṭhákarála to heaven when Rambhá was dancing, and how that profane fellow had there seen the goat dancing. Then Indra summoned Kalávatí, and pronounced on her the following curse, “Since, out of love, thou didst secretly bring here the man who has reduced the goat to this state, to make him dance, depart and become an image on a pillar in the temple built by king Narasinha in the city of Nágapura.”

When Indra had said this, Alambushá, the mother of Kalávatí, tried to appease him, and at last he was with difficulty appeased, and he thus fixed an end to the curse, “When that temple, which it has taken many years to complete, shall perish and be levelled with the ground, then shall her curse come to an end.” So Kalávatí came weeping and told to Ṭhiṇṭhákarála the curse Indra had pronounced, together with the end he had appointed to it, and how he himself was to blame, and then, after giving him her ornaments, she entered into an image on the front of a pillar in the temple in Nágapura.

Ṭhiṇṭhákarála for his part, smitten with the poison of separation from her, could neither hear nor see, but rolled swooning on the ground. And when that gambler came to his senses, he uttered this lament, “Alas! fool that I was, I revealed the secret, though I knew better all the time; for how can people like myself, who are by nature thoughtless, shew self-restraint? So now this intolerable separation has fallen to my lot.” However in a moment he said to himself, “This is no time for me to despond; why should I not recover firmness and strive to put an end to her curse?”

After going through these reflections, the cunning fellow thought carefully over the matter, and assuming the dress of a mendicant devotee, went with rosary, antelope-skin, and matted hair, to Nágapura. There he secretly buried in a forest outside the city, four pitchers containing his wife’s ornaments, one towards each of the cardinal points; and one full of sets of the five precious things14 he deliberately buried within the city, in the earth of the market-place, in front of the god himself.

When he had done this, he built a hut on the bank of the river, and remained there, affecting a hypocritical asceticism, pretending to be meditating and muttering. And by bathing three times in the day, and eating only the food given him as alms, after washing it with water on a stone, he acquired the character of a very holy man.

In course of time his fame reached the ears of the king, and the king often invited him, but he never went near him: so the king came to see him, and remained a long time in conversation with him. And in the evening, when the king was preparing to depart, a female jackal suddenly uttered a yell at a distance. When the cunning gambler, who was passing himself off as an ascetic, heard that, he laughed. And when the king asked him the meaning of the laugh, he said, “Oh! never mind.” But when the king went on persistently questioning him, the deceitful fellow said, “In the forest to the east of this city, under a ratan, there is a pitcher full of jewelled ornaments; so take it. This, king, is what that female jackal told me, for I understand the language of animals.”

Then the king was full of curiosity: so the ascetic took him to the spot, and dug up the earth, and took out that pitcher, and gave it to him. Then the king, having obtained the ornaments, began to have faith in the ascetic, and considered that he not only possessed supernatural knowledge but was a truthful and unselfish devotee. So he conducted him to his cell, and prostrated himself at his feet again and again, and returned to his palace at night with his ministers, praising his virtues.

In the same way, when the king again came to him, the ascetic pretended to understand the cry of an animal, and in this way made over to the king the other three pitchers, buried towards the other three cardinal points. Then the king, and the citizens, and the king’s wives became exclusively devoted to the ascetic, and were, so to speak, quite absorbed in him.

Now, one day, the king took that wicked ascetic to the temple for a moment; so he contrived to hear in the market-place the cry of a crow. Then he said to the king, “Did you hear what the crow said? ‘In this very market-place there is a pitcher full of valuable jewels buried in front of the god: why do you not take it up also?’ This was the meaning of his cry; so come, and take possession of it.” When the deceitful ascetic had said this, he conducted him there, and took up out of the earth the pitcher full of valuable jewels, and gave it to the king. Then the king, in his excessive satisfaction, entered the temple holding that pretended seer by the hand.

There the mendicant brushed against that image on the pillar, which his beloved Kalávatí had entered, and saw her. And Kalávatí, wearing the form of the image on the pillar, was afflicted when she saw her husband, and began to weep then and there. When the king and his attendants saw this, they were amazed, and cast down, and said to that pretended seer, “Reverend Sir, what is the meaning of this?” Then the cunning rascal, pretending to be despondent and bewildered, said to the king, “Come to your palace: there I will tell you this secret, though it is almost too terrible to be revealed.”

When he had said this, he led the king to the palace, and said to him, “Since you built this temple on an unlucky spot and in an inauspicious moment, on the third day from now a misfortune will befall you. It was for this reason that the image on the pillar wept when she saw you. So, if you care for your body’s weal, my sovereign, take this into consideration, and this very day quickly level this temple with the earth; and build another temple somewhere else, on a lucky spot, and in an auspicious moment. Let the evil omen be averted, and ensure the prosperity of yourself and your kingdom.” When he had said this to the king, he, in his terror, gave command to his subjects, and in one day levelled that temple with the earth, and he began to build another temple in another place. So true is it that rogues with their tricks gain the confidence of princes, and impose upon them.

Accordingly, the gambler Ṭhiṇṭhákarála, having gained his object, abandoned the disguise of a mendicant, and fled, and went to Ujjayiní. And Kalávatí, finding it out, went to meet him on the road, freed from her curse and happy, and she comforted him, and then went to heaven to visit Indra. And Indra was astonished, but when he heard from her mouth the artifice of her husband the gambler, he laughed and was highly delighted. Then Vṛihaspati, who was at his side, said to Indra, “Gamblers are always like this, abounding in every kind of trickery.”