She awoke him suddenly, and he springing up in alarm quickly asked her, "Art thou the daughter of a deity? or of a saint? or of a serpent? Tell me truly, who art thou? And whence hast thou come?"She replied, "I am human-- Madansena, the daughter of the Baniya Hiranyadatt. Dost thou not remember taking my hand in that grove, and declaring that thou wouldst slay thyself if I did not swear to visit thee first and after that remain with my husband?""Hast thou," he inquired, "told all this to thy husband or not?"She replied, "I have told him everything; and he, thoroughly understanding the whole affair, gave me permission.""This matter," exclaimed Somdatt in a melancholy voice, "is like pearls without a suitable dress, or food without clarified butter, or singing without melody; they are all alike unnatural. In the same way, unclean clothes will mar beauty, bad food will undermine strength, a wicked wife will worry her husband to death, a disreputable son will ruin his family, an enraged demon will kill, and a woman, whether she love or hate, will be a source of pain. For there are few things which a woman will not do. She never brings to her tongue what is in her heart, she never speaks out what is on her tongue, and she never tells what she is doing. Truly the Deity has created woman a strange creature in this world." He concluded with these words: "Return thou home with another man's wife I have no concern."Madansena rose and departed. On her way she met the thief, who, hearing her tale, gave her great praise, and let her go unplundered.
She then went to her husband, and related the whole matter to him.
But he had ceased to love her, and he said, "Neither a king nor a minister, nor a wife, nor a person's hair nor his nails, look well out of their places. And the beauty of the kokila is its note, of an ugly man knowledge, of a devotee forgiveness, and of a woman her chastity."The Vampire having narrated thus far, suddenly asked the king, "Of these three, whose virtue was the greatest?"Vikram, who had been greatly edified by the tale, forgot himself, and ejaculated, "The Thief's.""And pray why?" asked the Baital.
"Because," the hero explained, "when her husband saw that she loved another man, however purely, he ceased to feel affection for her. Somdatt let her go unharmed, for fear of being punished by the king. But there was no reason why the thief should fear the law and dismiss her; therefore he was the best.""Hi! hi! hi!" laughed the demon, spitefully. "Here, then, ends my story."Upon which, escaping as before from the cloth in which he was slung behind the Raja's back, the Baital disappeared through the darkness of the night, leaving father and son looking at each other in dismay.
"Son Dharma Dhwaj," quoth the great Vikram, "the next time when that villain Vampire asks me a question, I allow thee to take the liberty of pinching my arm even before I have had time to answer his questions. In this way we shall never, of a truth, end our task.""Your words be upon my head, sire," replied the young prince. But he expected no good from his father's new plan, as, arrived under the sires-tree, he heard the Baital laughing with all his might."Surely he is laughing at our beards, sire," said the beardless prince, who hated to be laughed at like a young person.
"Let them laugh that win," fiercely cried Raja Vikram, who hated to be laughed at like an elderly person.
* * * * * * *
The Vampire lost no time in opening a fresh story.
THE VAMPIRE'S FIFTH STORY.
Of the Thief Who Laughed and Wept.
Your majesty (quoth the demon, with unusual politeness), there is a country called Malaya, on the western coast of the land of Bharat--you see that I am particular in specifying the place--and in it was a city known as Chandrodaya, whose king was named Randhir.
This Raja, like most others of his semi-deified order, had been in youth what is called a Sarva-rasi; that is, he ate and drank and listened to music, and looked at dancers and made love much more than he studied, reflected, prayed, or conversed with the wise. After the age of thirty he began to reform, and he brought such zeal to the good cause, that in an incredibly short space of time he came to be accounted and quoted as the paragon of correct Rajas. This was very praiseworthy. Many of Brahma's vicegerents on earth, be it observed, have loved food and drink, and music and dancing, and the worship of Kama, to the end of their days.
Amongst his officers was Gunshankar, a magistrate of police, who, curious to say, was as honest as he was just. He administered equity with as much care before as after dinner; he took no bribes even in the matter of advancing his family; he was rather merciful than otherwise to the poor, and he never punished the rich ostentatiously, in order to display his and his law's disrespect for persons. Besides which, when sitting on the carpet of justice, he did not, as some Kotwals do, use rough or angry language to those who cannot reply; nor did he take offence when none was intended.
All the people of the city Chandrodaya, in the province of Malaya, on the western coast of Bharatland, loved and esteemed this excellent magistrate; which did not, however, prevent thefts being committed so frequently and so regularly, that no one felt his property secure. At last the merchants who had suffered most from these depredations went in a body before Gunshankar, and said to him:
"O flower of the law! robbers have exercised great tyranny upon us, so great indeed that we can no longer stay in this city."Then the magistrate replied, "What has happened, has happened.
