Kitabı oku: «Vikram and the Vampire», sayfa 5

‘Impossible!’ exclaimed the prince, horror-struck at the thought; ‘what you say, surely no one ever could do. If a mortal fears not his fellow-mortal, at least he dreads the Deity.’

‘I never yet knew,’ rejoined the other, ‘what a woman in love does fear. However, prince, the trial is easy. Come here, Muti!’ cried he to the old woman’s dog, ‘and off with thee to that three-headed kinsman of thine, that attends upon his amiable-looking master.’⁶⁷

Having said this, he threw one of the sweetmeats to the dog; the animal ate it, and presently writhing and falling down, died.

‘The wretch! O the wretch!’ cried Vajramukut, transported with wonder and anger. ‘And I loved her! But now it is all over, I dare not associate with such a calamity!’

‘What has happened, my lord, has happened!’ quoth the minister’s son calmly. ‘I was prepared for something of this kind from so talented a princess. None commit such mistakes, such blunders, such follies as your clever women; they cannot even turn out a crime decently executed. O give me dulness with one idea, one aim, one desire. O thrice blest dulness that combines with happiness, power.’

This time Vajramukut did not defend talent.

‘And your slave did his best to warn you against perfidy. But now my heart is at rest. I have tried her strength. She has attempted and failed; the defeat will prevent her attempting again – just yet. But let me ask you to put to yourself one question. Can you be happy without her?’

‘Brother!’ replied the prince, after a pause, ‘I cannot;’ and he blushed as he made the avowal.

‘Well,’ replied the other, ‘better confess than conceal that fact; we must now meet her on the battlefield, and beat her at her own weapons – cunning. I do not willingly begin treachery with women, because, in the first place, I don’t like it; and secondly, I know that they will certainly commence practising it upon me, after which I hold myself justified in deceiving them. And probably this will be a good wife; remember that she intended to poison me, not you. During the last month my fear has been lest my prince had run into the tiger’s brake. Tell me, my lord, when does the princess expect you to return to her?’

‘She bade me,’ said the young Raja, ‘not return till my mind was quite at ease upon the subject of my talented friend.’

‘This means that she expects you back to-morrow night, as you cannot enter the palace before. And now I will retire to my cot, as it is there that I am wont to ponder over my plans. Before dawn my thought shall mature one which must place the beautiful Padmavati in your power.’

‘A word before parting,’ exclaimed the prince: ‘you know my father has already chosen a spouse for me; what will he say if I bring home a second?’

‘In my humble opinion,’ said the minister’s son, rising to retire, ‘woman is a monogamous, man a polygamous creature, a fact scarcely established in physiological theory, but very observable in everyday practice. For what said the poet? —

 
Divorce, friend! Re-wed thee! The spring draweth near,⁶⁸
And a wife’s but an almanac – good for the year.
 

If your royal father say anything to you, refer him to what he himself does.’

Reassured by these words, Vajramukut bade his friend a cordial good-night and sought his cot, where he slept soundly, despite the emotions of the last few hours. The next day passed somewhat slowly. In the evening, when accompanying his master to the palace, the minister’s son gave him the following directions.

‘Our object, dear my lord, is how to obtain possession of the princess. Take, then, this trident, and hide it carefully, when you see her show the greatest love and affection. Conceal what has happened, and when she, wondering at your calmness, asks about me, tell her that last night I was weary and out of health, that illness prevented my eating her sweetmeats, but that I shall eat them for supper to-night. When she goes to sleep, then, taking off her jewels and striking her left leg with the trident, instantly come away to me. But should she lie awake, rub upon your thumb a little of this – do not fear, it is only a powder of grubs fed on verdigris – and apply it to her nostrils. It would make an elephant senseless, so be careful how you approach it to your own face.’

Vajramukut embraced his friend, and passed safely through the palace gate. He found Padmavati awaiting him; she fell upon his bosom and looked into his eyes, and deceived herself, as clever women will do. Overpowered by her joy and satisfaction, she now felt certain that her lover was hers eternally, and that her treachery had not been discovered; so the beautiful princess fell into a deep sleep.

Then Vajramukut lost no time in doing as the minister’s son had advised, and slipped out of the room, carrying off Padmavati’s jewels and ornaments. His counsellor having inspected them, took up a sack and made signs to his master to follow him. Leaving the horses and baggage at the nurse’s house, they walked to a burning-place outside the city. The minister’s son there buried his dress, together with that of the prince, and drew from the sack the costume of a religious ascetic: he assumed this himself, and gave to his companion that of a disciple. Then quoth the guru (spiritual preceptor) to his chela (pupil), ‘Go, youth, to the bazaar, and sell these jewels, remembering to let half the jewellers in the place see the things, and if any one lay hold of thee, bring him to me.’

Upon which, as day had dawned, Vajramukut carried the princess’s ornaments to the market, and entering the nearest goldsmith’s shop, offered to sell them, and asked what they were worth. As your majesty well knows, gardeners, tailors, and goldsmiths are proverbially dishonest, and this man was no exception to the rule. He looked at the pupil’s face and wondered, because he had brought articles whose value he did not appear to know. A thought struck him that he might make a bargain which would fill his coffers, so he offered about a thousandth part of the price. This the pupil rejected, because he wished the affair to go further. Then the goldsmith, seeing him about to depart, sprang up and stood in the doorway, threatening to call the officers of justice if the young man refused to give up the valuables which he said had lately been stolen from his shop. As the pupil only laughed at this, the goldsmith thought seriously of executing his threat, hesitating only because he knew that the officers of justice would gain more than he could by that proceeding. As he was still in doubt a shadow darkened his shop, and in entered the chief jeweller of the city. The moment the ornaments were shown to him he recognised them, and said, ‘These jewels belong to Raja Dantawat’s daughter; I know them well, as I set them only a few months ago!’ Then he turned to the disciple, who still held the valuables in his hand, and cried, ‘Tell me truly whence you received them.’

While they were thus talking, a crowd of ten or twenty persons had collected, and at length the report reached the superintendent of the archers. He sent a soldier to bring before him the pupil, the goldsmith, and the chief jeweller, together with the ornaments. And when all were in the hall of justice, he looked at the jewels and said to the young man, ‘Tell me truly, whence have you obtained these?’

‘My spiritual preceptor,’ said Vajramukut, pretending great fear, ‘who is now worshipping in the cemetery outside the town, gave me these white stones, with an order to sell them. How know I whence he obtained them? Dismiss me, my lord, for I am an innocent man.’

‘Let the ascetic be sent for,’ commanded the kotwal.⁶⁹ Then, having taken both of them, along with the jewels, into the presence of King Dantawat, he related the whole circumstances.

‘Master!’ said the king on hearing the statement, ‘whence have you obtained these jewels?’

The spiritual preceptor, before deigning an answer, pulled from under his arm the hide of a black antelope, which he spread out and smoothed deliberately before using it as an asan.⁷⁰ He then began to finger a rosary of beads each as large as an egg, and after spending nearly an hour in mutterings and in rollings of the head, he looked fixedly at the Raja, and replied:

‘By Shiva! great king, they are mine own! On the fourteenth of the dark half of the moon at night, I had gone into a place where dead bodies are burned, for the purpose of accomplishing a witch’s incantation. After long and toilsome labour she appeared, but her demeanour was so unruly that I was forced to chastise her. I struck her with this, my trident, on the left leg, if memory serves me. As she continued to be refractory, in order to punish her I took off all her jewels and clothes, and told her to go where she pleased. Even this had little effect upon her – never have I looked upon so perverse a witch. In this way the jewels came into my possession.’

Raja Dantawat was stunned by these words. He begged the ascetic not to leave the palace for a while, and forthwith walked into the private apartments of the women. Happening first to meet the queen dowager, he said to her, ‘Go, without losing a minute, O my mother, and look at Padmavati’s left leg, and see if there is a mark or not, and what sort of a mark!’ Presently she returned, and coming to the king said, ‘Son, I find thy daughter lying upon her bed, and complaining that she has met with an accident; and, indeed, Padmavati must be in great pain. I found that some sharp instrument with three points had wounded her. The girl says that a nail hurt her, but I never yet heard of a nail making three holes. However, we must all hasten, or there will be erysipelas, tumefaction, gangrene, mortification, amputation, and perhaps death in the house,’ concluded the old queen, hurrying away in the pleasing anticipation of these ghastly consequences.

For a moment King Dantawat’s heart was ready to break. But he was accustomed to master his feelings; he speedily applied the reins of reflection to the wild steed of passion. He thought to himself, ‘the affairs of one’s household, the intentions of one’s heart, and whatever one’s losses may be, should not be disclosed to any one. Since Padmavati is a witch, she is no longer my daughter. I will verily go forth and consult the spiritual preceptor.’

With these words the king went outside, where the guru was still sitting upon his black hide, making marks with his trident on the floor. Having requested that the pupil might be sent away, and having cleared the room, he said to the jogi, ‘O holy man! what punishment for the heinous crime of witchcraft is awarded to a woman in the Dharma-Shastra?’⁷¹

‘Great king!’ replied the devotee, ‘in the Dharma-Shastra it is thus written: “If a Brahman, a cow, a woman, a child, or any other person whatsoever, who may be dependent on us, should be guilty of a perfidious act, their punishment is that they be banished the country.” However much they may deserve death, we must not spill their blood, as Lakshmi⁷² flies in horror from the deed.’

Hearing these words the Raja dismissed the guru with many thanks and large presents. He waited till nightfall and then ordered a band of trusty men to seize Padmavati without alarming the household, and to carry her into a distant jungle full of fiends, tigers, and bears, and there to abandon her.

In the meantime, the ascetic and his pupil, hurrying to the cemetery, resumed their proper dresses; they then went to the old nurse’s house, rewarded her hospitality till she wept bitterly, girt on their weapons, and mounting their horses, followed the party which issued from the gate of King Dantawat’s palace. And it may easily be believed that they found little difficulty in persuading the poor girl to exchange her chance in the wild jungle for the prospect of becoming Vajramukut’s wife – lawfully wedded – at Benares. She did not even ask if she was to have a rival in the house, – a question which women, you know, never neglect to put under usual circumstances. After some days the two pilgrims of one love arrived at the house of their fathers, and to all, both great and small, excess in joy came.

‘Now, Raja Vikram!’ said the Baital, ‘you have not spoken much; doubtless you are engrossed by the interest of a story wherein a man beats a woman at her own weapon – deceit. But I warn you that you will assuredly fall into Narak (the infernal regions) if you do not make up your mind upon and explain this matter. Who was the most to blame amongst these four? the lover,⁷³ the lover’s friend, the girl, or the father?’

‘For my part I think Padmavati was the worst, she being at the bottom of all their troubles,’ cried Dharma Dhwaj. The king said something about young people and the two senses of seeing and hearing, but his son’s sentiment was so sympathetic that he at once pardoned the interruption. At length, determined to do justice despite himself, Vikram said, ‘Raja Dantawat is the person most at fault.’

‘In what way was he at fault?’ asked the Baital curiously.

King Vikram gave him this reply: ‘The Prince Vajramukut being tempted of the love-god was insane, and therefore not responsible for his actions. The minister’s son performed his master’s business obediently, without considering causes or asking questions – a very excellent quality in a dependant who is merely required to do as he is bid. With respect to the young woman, I have only to say that she was a young woman, and thereby of necessity a possible murderess. But the Raja, a prince, a man of a certain age and experience, a father of eight! He ought never to have been deceived by so shallow a trick, nor should he, without reflection, have banished his daughter from the country.’

‘Gramercy to you!’ cried the Vampire, bursting into a discordant shout of laughter, ‘I now return to my tree. By my tail! I never yet heard a Raja so readily condemn a Raja.’

With these words he slipped out of the cloth, leaving it to hang empty over the great king’s shoulder.

Vikram stood for a moment, fixed to the spot with blank dismay. Presently, recovering himself, he retraced his steps, followed by his son, ascended the siras-tree, tore down the Baital, packed him up as before, and again set out upon his way.

Soon afterwards a voice sounded behind the warrior king’s back, and began to tell another true story.

THE VAMPIRE’S SECOND STORY.
OF THE RELATIVE VILLANY OF MEN AND WOMEN

In the great city of Bhogavati dwelt, once upon a time, a young prince, concerning whom I may say that he strikingly resembled this amiable son of your majesty.

Raja Vikram was silent, nor did he acknowledge the Baital’s indirect compliment. He hated flattery, but he liked, when flattered, to be flattered in his own person; a feature in their royal patron’s character which the Nine Gems of Science had turned to their own account.

Now the young prince Raja Ram (continued the tale teller) had an old father, concerning whom I may say that he was exceedingly unlike your Rajaship, both as a man and as a parent. He was fond of hunting, dicing, sleeping by day, drinking at night, and eating perpetual tonics, while he delighted in the idleness of watching nautch girls, and the vanity of falling in love. But he was adored by his children because he took the trouble to win their hearts. He did not lay it down as a law of heaven that his offspring would assuredly go to Patala if they neglected the duty of bestowing upon him without cause all their affections, as your moral, virtuous, and highly respectable fathers are only too apt – . Aïe! aïe!

These sounds issued from the Vampire’s lips as the warrior king, speechless with wrath, passed his hand behind his back, and viciously twisted up a pinch of the speaker’s skin. This caused the Vampire to cry aloud, more however, it would appear, in derision than in real suffering, for he presently proceeded with the same subject.

Fathers, great king, may be divided into three kinds; and be it said aside, that mothers are the same. Firstly, we have the parent of many ideas, amusing, pleasant, of course poor, and the idol of his children. Secondly, there is the parent with one idea and a half. This sort of man would, in your place, say to himself, ‘That demon-fellow speaks a manner of truth. I am not above learning from him, despite his position in life. I will carry out his theory, just to see how far it goes;’ and so saying, he wends his way home, and treats his young ones with prodigious kindness for a time, but it is not lasting. Thirdly, there is the real one-idea’d type of parent – yourself, O warrior king Vikram, an admirable example. You learn in youth what you are taught: for instance, the blessed precept that the green stick is of the trees of Paradise; and in age you practise what you have learned. You cannot teach yourselves anything before your beards sprout, and when they grow stiff you cannot be taught by others. If any one attempt to change your opinions you cry,

 
What is new is not true,
What is true is not new,
 

and you rudely pull his hand from the subject. Yet have you your uses like other things of earth. In life you are good working camels for the mill-track, and when you die your ashes are not worse compost than those of the wise.

Your Rajaship will observe (continued the Vampire, as Vikram began to show symptoms of ungovernable anger) that I have been concise in treating this digression. Had I not been so, it would have led me far indeed from my tale. Now to return.

When the old king became air mixed with air, the young king, though he found hardly ten pieces of silver in the paternal treasury and legacies for thousands of golden ounces, yet mourned his loss with the deepest grief. He easily explained to himself the reckless emptiness of the royal coffers as a proof of his dear kind parent’s goodness, because he loved him.

But the old man had left behind him, as he could not carry it off with him, a treasure more valuable than gold and silver: one Churaman, a parrot, who knew the world, and who besides discoursed in the most correct Sanskrit. By sage counsel and wise guidance this admirable bird soon repaired his young master’s shattered fortunes.

One day the prince said, ‘Parrot, thou knowest everything: tell me where there is a mate fit for me. The shastras inform us, respecting the choice of a wife, “She who is not descended from his paternal or maternal ancestors within the sixth degree is eligible by a high caste man for nuptials. In taking a wife let him studiously avoid the following families, be they ever so great, or ever so rich in kine, goats, sheep, gold, or grain: the family which has omitted prescribed acts of devotion; that which has produced no male children; that in which the Veda (scripture) has not been read; that which has thick hair on the body; and that in which members have been subject to hereditary disease. Let a person choose for his wife a girl whose person has no defect; who has an agreeable name; who walks gracefully, like a young elephant; whose hair and teeth are moderate in quantity and in size; and whose body is of exquisite softness.”’

‘Great king,’ responded the parrot Churaman, ‘there is in the country of Magadh a Raja, Magadheshwar by name, and he has a daughter called Chandravati. You will marry her; she is very learned, and, what is better far, very fair. She is of yellow colour, with a nose like the flower of the sesamum; her legs are taper, like the plantain-tree; her eyes are large, like the principal leaf of the lotus; her eyebrows stretch towards her ears; her lips are red, like the young leaves of the mango-tree; her face is like the full moon; her voice is like the sound of the cuckoo; her arms reach to her knees; her throat is like the pigeon’s; her flanks are thin, like those of the lion; her hair hangs in curls only down to her waist; her teeth are like the seeds of the pomegranate; and her gait is that of the drunken elephant or the goose.’

On hearing the parrot’s speech, the king sent for an astrologer, and asked him, ‘Whom shall I marry?’ The wise man, having consulted his art, replied, ‘Chandravati is the name of the maiden, and your marriage with her will certainly take place.’ Thereupon the young Raja, though he had never seen his future queen, became incontinently enamoured of her. He summoned a Brahman, and sent him to King Magadheshwar, saying, ‘If you arrange satisfactorily this affair of our marriage we will reward you amply’ – a promise which lent wings to the priest.

Now it so happened that this talented and beautiful princess had a jay,⁷⁴ whose name was Madan-manjari or Love-garland. She also possessed encyclopædic knowledge after her degree, and, like the parrot, she spoke excellent Sanskrit.

Be it briefly said, O warrior king – for you think that I am talking fables – that in the days of old, men had the art of making birds discourse in human language. The invention is attributed to a great philosopher, who split their tongues, and after many generations produced a selected race born with those members split. He altered the shapes of their skulls by fixing ligatures behind the occiput, which caused the sinciput to protrude, their eyes to become prominent, and their brains to master the art of expressing thoughts in words.

But this wonderful discovery, like those of great philosophers generally, had in it a terrible practical flaw. The birds beginning to speak, spoke wisely and so well, they told the truth so persistently, they rebuked their brethren of the featherless skins so openly, they flattered them so little and they counselled them so much, that mankind presently grew tired of hearing them discourse. Thus the art gradually fell into desuetude, and now it is numbered with the things that were.

One day the charming Princess Chandravati was sitting in confidential conversation with her jay. The dialogue was not remarkable, for maidens in all ages seldom consult their confidantes or speculate upon the secrets of futurity, or ask to have dreams interpreted, except upon one subject. At last the princess said, for perhaps the hundredth time that month, ‘Where, O jay, is there a husband worthy of me?’

‘Princess,’ replied Madan-manjari, ‘I am happy at length to be able as willing to satisfy your just curiosity. For just it is, though the delicacy of our sex – ’

‘Now, no preaching!’ said the maiden; ‘or thou shalt have salt instead of sugar for supper.’

Jays, your Rajaship, are fond of sugar. So the confidante retained a quantity of good advice which she was about to produce, and replied,

‘I now see clearly the ways of Fortune. Raja Ram, king of Bhogavati, is to be thy husband. He shall be happy in thee and thou in him, for he is young and handsome, rich and generous, good-tempered, not too clever, and without a chance of being an invalid.’

Thereupon the princess, although she had never seen her future husband, at once began to love him. In fact, though neither had set eyes upon the other, both were mutually in love.

‘How can that be, sire?’ asked the young Dharma Dhwaj of his father. ‘I always thought that – ’

The great Vikram interrupted his son, and bade him not to ask silly questions. Thus he expected to neutralise the evil effects of the Baital’s doctrine touching the amiability of parents unlike himself.

Now, as both these young people (resumed the Baital) were of princely family and well to do in the world, the course of their love was unusually smooth. When the Brahman sent by Raja Ram had reached Magadh, and had delivered his king’s homage to the Raja Magadheshwar, the latter received him with, distinction, and agreed to his proposal. The beautiful princess’s father sent for a Brahman of his own, and charging him with nuptial gifts and the customary presents, sent him back to Bhogavati in company with the other envoy, and gave him this order, ‘Greet Raja Ram, on my behalf, and after placing the tilak or mark upon his forehead, return here with all speed. When you come back I will get all things ready for the marriage.’

Raja Ram, on receiving the deputation, was greatly pleased, and after generously rewarding the Brahmans and making all the necessary preparations, he set out in state for the land of Magadha, to claim his betrothed.

In due season the ceremony took place with feasting and bands of music, fireworks and illuminations, rehearsals of scripture, songs, entertainments, processions, and abundant noise. And hardly had the turmeric disappeared from the beautiful hands and feet of the bride, when the bridegroom took an affectionate leave of his new parents – he had not lived long in the house – and receiving the dowry and the bridal gifts, set out for his own country.

Chandravati was dejected by leaving her mother, and therefore she was allowed to carry with her the jay, Madan-manjari. She soon told her husband the wonderful way in which she had first heard his name, and he related to her the advantage which he had derived from confabulation with Churaman, his parrot.

‘Then why do we not put these precious creatures into one cage, after marrying them according to the rites of the angelic marriage (Gandharva-lagana)?’ said the charming queen. Like most brides, she was highly pleased to find an opportunity of making a match.

‘Ay! why not, love? Surely they cannot live happy in what the world calls single blessedness,’ replied the young king. As bridegrooms sometimes are for a short time, he was very warm upon the subject of matrimony.

Thereupon, without consulting the parties chiefly concerned in their scheme, the master and mistress, after being comfortably settled at the end of their journey, caused a large cage to be brought, and put into it both their favourites.

Upon which Churaman the parrot leaned his head on one side and directed a peculiar look at the jay. But Madan-manjari raised her beak high in the air, puffed through it once or twice, and turned away her face in extreme disdain.

‘Perhaps,’ quote the parrot, at length breaking silence, ‘you will tell me that you have no desire to be married?’

‘Probably,’ replied the jay.

‘And why?’ asked the male bird.

‘Because I don’t choose,’ replied the female.

‘Truly a feminine form of resolution this,’ ejaculated the parrot. ‘I will borrow my master’s words and call it a woman’s reason, that is to say, no reason at all. Have you any objection to be more explicit?’

‘None whatever,’ retorted the jay, provoked by the rude innuendo into telling more plainly than politely exactly what she thought; ‘none whatever, sir parrot. You he-things are all of you sinful, treacherous, deceitful, selfish, devoid of conscience, and accustomed to sacrifice us, the weaker sex, to your smallest desire or convenience.’

‘Of a truth, fair lady,’ quoth the young Raja Ram to his bride, ‘this pet of thine is sufficiently impudent.’

‘Let her words be as wind in thine ear, master,’ interrupted the parrot. ‘And pray, Mistress Jay, what are you she-things but treacherous, false, ignorant, and avaricious beings, whose only wish in this world is to prevent life being as pleasant as it might be?’

‘Verily, my love,’ said the beautiful Chandravati to her bridegroom, ‘this thy bird has a habit of expressing his opinions in a very free and easy way.’

‘I can prove what I assert,’ whispered the jay in the ear of the princess.

‘We can confound their feminine minds by an anecdote,’ whispered the parrot in the ear of the prince.

Briefly, King Vikram, it was settled between the twain that each should establish the truth of what it had advanced by an illustration in the form of a story.

Chandravati claimed, and soon obtained, precedence for the jay. Then the wonderful bird, Madan-manjari, began to speak as follows: —

I have often told thee, O queen, that before coming to thy feet, my mistress was Ratnawati, the daughter of a rich trader, the dearest, the sweetest the —

Here the jay burst into tears, and the mistress was sympathetically affected. Presently the speaker resumed —

However, I anticipate. In the city of Hapur there was a wealthy merchant, who was without offspring; on this account he was continually fasting and going on pilgrimage, and when at home he was ever engaged in reading the Puranas and in giving alms to the Brahmans.

At length, by favour of the Deity, a son was born to this merchant, who celebrated his birth with great pomp and rejoicing, and gave large gifts to Brahmans and to bards, and distributed largely to the hungry, the thirsty, and the poor. When the boy was five years old he had him taught to read, and when older he was sent to a guru, who had formerly himself been a student, and who was celebrated as teacher and lecturer.

In the course of time the merchant’s son grew up. Praise be to Bramha! what a wonderful youth it was, with a face like a monkey’s, legs like a stork’s, and a back like a camel’s. You know the old proverb: —

 
Expect thirty-two villanies from the limping and eighty from the one-eyed man,
But when the hunchback comes, say ‘Lord defend us!’
 

Instead of going to study, he went to gamble with other ne’er-do-weels, to whom he talked loosely, and whom he taught to be bad-hearted as himself. He made love to every woman, and despite his ugliness, he was not unsuccessful. For they are equally fortunate who are very handsome or very ugly, in so far as they are both, remarkable and remarked. But the latter bear away the palm. Beautiful men begin well with women, who do all they can to attract them, love them as the apples of their eyes, discover them to be fools, hold them to be their equals, deceive them, and speedily despise them. It is otherwise with the ugly man, who, in consequence of his homeliness, must work his wits and take pains with himself, and become as pleasing as he is capable of being, till women forget his ape’s face, bird’s legs, and bunchy back.

The hunchback, moreover, became a Tantri, so as to complete his villanies. He was duly initiated by an apostate Brahman, made a declaration that he renounced all the ceremonies of his old religion, and was delivered from their yoke, and proceeded to perform in token of joy an abominable rite. In company with eight men and eight women – a Brahman female, a dancing girl, a weaver’s daughter, a woman of ill fame, a washerwoman, a barber’s wife, a milkmaid, and the daughter of a landowner – choosing the darkest time of night and the most secret part of the house, he drank with them, was sprinkled and anointed, and went through many ignoble ceremonies, such as sitting nude upon a dead body. The teacher informed him that he was not to indulge shame, or aversion to anything, nor to prefer one thing to another, nor to regard caste, ceremonial cleanness or uncleanness, but freely to enjoy all the pleasures of sense – that is, of course, wine and us, since we are the representatives of the wife of Cupid, and wine prevents the senses from going astray. And whereas holy men, holding that the subjugation or annihilation of the passions is essential to final beatitude, accomplish this object by bodily austerities, and by avoiding temptation, he proceeded to blunt the edge of the passions with excessive indulgence. And he jeered at the pious, reminding them that their ascetics are safe only in forests, and while keeping a perpetual fast; but that he could subdue his passions in the very presence of what they most desired.