विक्रम चरित (उज्जैन सम्राट् विक्रमादित्य - पराक्रम, न्याय एवं ३२ पुतलियों की कथा सटीक)

67 " It happened that as the prince advanced to manhood, he received a wound from one of Cupid's shafts : he became enamoured of a princess, daughter to a powerful monarch, whose beauty was the least of her perfections. He sued for her hand in due form, backed by the interest and power of his father and his own rare qualifications, and obtained it in marriage. The union was celebrated, under the most favorable auspices, in the city, and no expense was spared to give brilliancy and effect to the occasion. It was a joyous time when the marriage took place. The king invited his relatives as well as those of his son's wife, with numerous other guests, and entertained them for several days together in the most sumptuous manner; and when the festivities were ended, he sent them back loaded with presents. "One day, King Bhudrasain, accompanied by his son and a small retinue, set out on a sporting excursion. They went into an adjoining wood, and while there, Bhudrasain was suddenly seized with the desire of witnessing his son's skill in archery, for which he was much famed. He called his son, and made him acquainted with his wishes; he then detached a part of his retinue for the purpose of waiting upon him, and he himself followed in person. Having arrived in the centre of the wood, the king directed his son to aim at a certain part of the forest at a distance, where a small object, scarce visible to the naked eye, was pointed out. While yet conversing, a wild boar suddenly appeared from amidst a clump of bushes, and, rushing past the prince and his father, attacked one of their followers with great deter- mination and ferocity. The prince, acting on the impulse of the moment, with his usual bravery and dauntless courage, pursued the boar, in the hope of getting sufficiently near him to attack him with the short spear he carried in his hand. But the monster, seeing his pursuer, and conscious of danger, took to flight, and regained the shelter of a thickly-studded cover of trees, in the opposite direction. The prince still pursued the boar, and in the ardour of the chase forgot all personal danger. Keeping his eye steadily

68 fixed in the direction the boar had taken, he continued to follow him, and left his father and all the followers far behind him. The difficult road over which the prince pursued the boar rendered it impossible for him to come up to his victim as speedily as he could have wished ; he nevertheless kept up the chase, passing, as he went, over valleys and by the side of precipices, through rugged paths and dangerous defiles. The king and his followers were anxiously awaiting his return, while every moment he was widening the distance between them. The boar, after having gone some miles, ensconsed himself in a cave, the prince remaining trans- fixed to the spot with fatigue and vexation. It pained him to think that all his efforts had proved fruitless for the capture of the forest denizen ; and what mortified him still more was, that it would go, far to convey an unfavorable opinion of his skill in archery and in the use of arms to the mind of his father, to please whom was the chief desire of his heart. However, he thought of retracing his steps back and relating all the occurrence to the king, but he found that he was quite fatigued by the exertions he had made, and his horse still more so ; added to which he felt a burning thirst and a sensation of weakness which rendered him quite incapable of moving a step in obedience to his wish. In this state the clouds of night found him listlessly leaning against a tree. As the darkness thickened around him he became fully sonsible of his condition, and the danger he was exposing himself to by remaining in that lonely and desolate place, perhaps to become a prey to the wild animals infesting the locality ; so he strove to mount his horse, and succeeded in gaining his seat, but as he was suffering very severely from thirst, his first object was to go in search of water. Having roamed about for some time, he happened to reach the inviting banks of a lake of great extent, clear as crystal, with a variety of trees uniformly placed at a convenient distance from each other, and forming a delight- ful arbour, cool and refreshing to travellers and others who sought their friendly shade. The prince, as may well be

69 imagined, was transported with joy on seeing the lake; he alighted from his horse with great alacrity, but ere he quenched his own thirst he led his noble steed, who had borne by far the greater part of the fatigues of the day, into the lake. He then secured him to a tree, and approached the margin of the water, where, by repeated draughts of the liquid element, he satisfied his burning thirst. The water deities, observing his hands submerged in the water, took hold of them, and immediately conveyed him to their stately abode at the bottom. “The king, his father, having in vain waited in painful suspense for the reappearance of his son from the woods in which he had lost sight of him, at length grew fearful that some unforeseen accident had occurred; he therefore, with his officers and servants, explored all the surrounding caves, bushes, and hollows, in hope of discovering the prince, but all to no purpose: they were, after a long and fruitless search, growing very apprehensive lest some accident had deprived the youth of his life. They still continued their search, however, and at last came upon the prince's horse, which he had left tied to a tree when he approached the lake to quench his thirst. They went up to the horse, and found him tied; this so added to their grief that they were completely overwhelmed, and plunged into the most painful solicitude at not discovering the slightest trace of the young prince. Some of the followers, alarmed at the dreadful agitation evinced by the king, and thinking the prince might have been drowned in the lake, proposed to dive into it and bring up the body. They were perfect adepts in diving, but, notwithstanding all their exertions, not the slightest trace of the lost prince could be found. Long and painful was the suspense in which the now miserable and, as he thought, bereaved father and his followers remained. Various conjectures were formed of the probable mischance which had deprived them of their beloved and only prince, and the king of his heir and successor to the throne, procured by such an amount of prayer and devotion. Some said

70 that he had been devoured by wild beasts while traversing the forest; others that he had been carried away by the fairies, for his rare beauty and perfection; and others, again, that he had most assuredly been drowned in the lake before them. In the midst of so much confusion and uncertainty as to the fate of the prince, the king, overcome by his affection for his son, began in the most piteous manner to smite his head and breast, and to throw himself on the ground, weeping bitter tears, and lamenting his loss in terms of the most piercing anguish. ‘Oh, what a dire calamity is this which has befallen me!’ said he; ‘he in whom all my hopes were centred is suddenly torn away, and I am left lonely and desolate in the midst of riches and splendour. Alas! how have I deserved such a fate! May not my subjects think that I hated to see my successor during my lifetime, and therefore brought him to this desert to rid myself of him by foul means? And yet, oh, my God! thou knowest the sad and desolate state of my heart!’ In this way he continued for some time, and having worked himself up to a state of frenzy by continually dwelling on his lost child, he unsheathed his sword, and meditated putting an end to his miserable existence with his own hand. The minister, observing this movement on the part of the king, fortunately arrived at his side in time to prevent the dreadful purpose, and, in a soothing tone, addressed the king thus:—‘My lord and king, what would you do? Consider, I entreat you, the power of the Almighty Being who at your request granted you this son. He can, if He choose, restore him to you again. It is not for us, poor finite beings, the creatures of a day, to arraign the wise decrees of the great Ruler. If, as we have but too great a reason to believe, and which we all equally with yourself deeply lament, your son is by some mystery or unaccountable accident summoned away from this life and all its brief and transitory pleasures, let us hope he is now in a place of happiness. Remember that we have had innumerable instances of every living creature being under the influence of some peculiar fate. As the

71 loss you now deplore cannot be remedied, and could not possibly have been averted by any human agency, let me entreat you to call your powerful reason to your aid, and console yourself with the blessings that are still left to you.' 'I am fully sensible,' replied the king, 'and thoroughly aware of the truth of what you adduce, and the sincerity with which you put it to me. Your deep sympathy in my sad bereavement is also not unknown to me; but, alas! how can I have offended God to such a degree as to merit so severe a mark of his displeasure? You know not the intensity of my feelings; you cannot in any manner conceive the keenness of my sufferings. They are great—very great! I do not know that I have ever deprived the labourer of his wages, or injured any one by injustice. I have always sought to relieve the distresses of my fellow-creatures, to comfort the afflicted, and to succour the helpless and needy. All this have I done, and more; and yet, oh, my God! I am visited with this greatest of all afflictions—the loss of him I had reckoned upon as the prop of my declining years! It is more than man can bear. I know I must sink under it, for my heart is broken!' His feelings here found vent in a flow of bitter scalding tears. Shortly after, deeming it useless to proceed any further in search of the prince, as they had but too many proofs, as they thought, of his untimely death, they mounted their horses, the king, from sheer weakness, having to be supported on his, and returned to the city. When the queen and the prince's wife were made acquainted with the melancholy news, they were so affected by it that for a while they found a temporary refuge from grief in insensibility. Returning animation only made them feel the more acutely. They in turn set up a most woeful lamentation, beating their breasts and smiting their faces, with every other demonstration of uncontrollable grief, and their cries resounded throughout the palace. The king, after spending some time in sad reflection, called to him an aged slave or nurse, an attendant in the apartments of the queen, and desired her

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to bestow every possible care on the princess, the sweet relict of him whom he mourned,—to afford her all the assistance she stood in need of, to calm the violence of her grief, and above all, not to lose sight of her on any account. “ One day the widowed princess, having arrived at the age of puberty, took a bath, and was proceeding through one of the corridors of the palace to an upper apartment, to dry her hair in the rays of the sun, when she overheard an able astrologer, named Dhanoo Patuckh, saying to his son, who dwelt close to her mansion, ‘ Oh my son ! you will confer on me a great favour, and much oblige me, if you will not as usual go to that strange woman, but remain at home and share your bed with your true and lawful wife; for it is predicted, by an auspicious omen in the science of astrology, that if a man have sexual intercourse with his wife at the hour of midnight, and she become pregnant of a son, that this son will become a great and excellent king, and possess many estimable qualities and much energy of purpose.’ But the astrologer’s son turned a deaf ear to all his father had told him, and continued leading a debauched life. On hearing the advice given by the astrologer to his son, the princess felt much the loss of her husband. Throughout the whole of that day she was ruminating on her sad condition ; and, what with grief for the loss of a husband she dearly loved, and the other attendant considera- tions, she found it impossible to rest that night when she retired to bed. She rose, after in vain trying to sleep, and paced up and down the room, in a state of feverish anxiety for something she could not well define. At last she involuntarily took hold of a vessel filled with water, and having poured some into the palm of her hand, said, ‘ What bitter cause have I not to curse the author of so much injury to me,—he who was instrumental in killing my husband, or depriving me of him, however that might have been done !’ The water deities at this moment made their appearance before the princess, whom they found just as we have described, with the water in her palm and her

73 countenance expressing execration of the deed the conse- quences of which she had to deplore. The deities appeared, as we said, before the princess, and one among them addressed her as follows :—' My dear princess ! stay, stay awhile, and we will tell you." She paused involuntarily, and was struck with wonder as she observed the beauty which these deities displayed, and at their sudden and unexpected appearance in the privacy of her apartment at that hour of the night. She however summoned sufficient courage to enquire of them the purport of their visit. ' I suppose,' said she, ' you are in possession of my husband. There has been to-day a favourable prediction revealed to me,—that if I enjoy his person to-night, I shall bear a son who will possess extra- ordinary merit. Hearing this, I was about to curse those who kept my husband from me or killed him.' The deities said, ' We beg to offer you our services in recovering your husband, if you will promise to send him back to us after the accomplishment of your present desires.' Upon hearing this the princess was much overjoyed, and, without giving the proposition a single thought beyond the hope of speedily recovering him she loved, though he was eventually to be lost to her for ever, replied, ' Here do I give you my faithful promise that as soon as I shall have realised what I have just been telling you, I will return my husband to you. Believe me, I will not forfeit my word, which is as dear to me as anything can well be.' The deities were satisfied, and immediately, by some agency peculiar to themselves, introduced the long-lost prince into the apartment, they themselves disappearing at the same instant. As soon as the princess beheld the prince before her, full of life and health, she rushed into his arms, and he affectionately embraced her ; they then retired for the night. At early dawn the deities presented themselves as before in the apartment, and claimed the fulfilment of the promise made by the princess the previous night,—to make over her husband to them, as had been then agreed upon on both sides. She had no alternative but to comply, and she K

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prepared to make the sacrifice. While engaged in parting with each other, it occurred to the prince that if his wife should become pregnant it would give rise to unpleasant rumours, and attach disgrace to her he loved. 'My ever dear and fair princess,' said he, 'should it be the will of God that you become pregnant after the occurrences of this night, my parents may reasonably become jealous of their honor, and suppose, from my disappearance at this eventful period of your life, that you have played the harlot and proved false to your husband's bed; for which reason, and to prevent unpleasant consequences, take this ring, and in the event of anything of the kind taking place, produce it, and they cannot but then be satisfied that I have been with you since they lost sight of me.' On saying this, after tenderly embracing her, he disappeared with the deities. In the usual course of events, the result of her interview with her husband became apparent: she was found to be pregnant. One of the slaves' suspicion being roused, she ventured to enquire the cause of the visible alteration in her mistress' appearance; but the princess, instead of deigning her a reply, desired her to hold her tongue, and not meddle with affairs which concerned her not. The slave, being displeased at the rebuff she had met with, repaired to the queen's apartment, and disclosed her suspicion to her; the queen was astonished, and not a little grieved besides, to hear this, and she lost no time in visiting the princess, to see her and judge for herself. She there found unmis- takeable signs of the actual state of affairs, and became greatly alarmed as the conviction forced itself upon her. She suddenly became enraged, after pondering over the heinousness of the crime which she thought the princess had committed. 'Oh, wicked princess!' said she, 'what is this that I see? Have you reflected well on the disgrace you have brought on yourself and those connected with you, and on the consequences to which it must lead?' Here she was touched with grief as the recollection of her son crossed her mind. 'Oh, my son! you have by some unaccountable

75 means disappeared from us, and, while we are deploring your loss, see what this wretched wife of yours has done!' The princess, after allowing the queen to vent her feelings, addressed her as follows, in vindication of her conduct:— 'Oh, mother! do not think for one moment that I am faithless to my husband, or that I can ever lose sight of what is due to me in my position.' She then explained all the circumstances connected with her present condition, and showed the queen the ring which had been given to her by the prince on the eventful night of his visit, and which she hoped would dispel every unworthy suspicion in this delicate affair. But it was of no weight: the queen examined the ring, and asked the princess why she did not show the prince to her when he appeared. 'I have a great and, as it appears to me, reasonable doubt of the truth of your statement,' said the queen. Return- ing to her palace, she resolved upon laying the whole case before the king. She was engaged in devising the best mode for doing so, when he, as was usual with him after dismissing his council, presented himself at the door of the queen's apartment, intending to spend half an hour with her in conversation. On entering, he found her in a melancholy mood; he therefore desired to be informed of the cause of her sadness. She then revealed to him the state of the princess, and her belief, which she had no ground for doubting, that the child was the fruit of an illicit amour. At this the king became greatly incensed against the inno- cent princess, and much grieved when he thought of the consequences attending it. 'What dreadful news is this that I hear?' said he; 'I have scarce got over the wound inflicted by the untimely fate of my dear child, and for whom I daily renew my lamentations, but I must meet with another blow, as if to crush me between them. Was not the death of my son sufficient to bring my grey hairs in sorrow to the grave? Must this fresh affliction be also added to it? The princess has indeed been guilty of a glaring outrage on the honour of our family by her

76 infidelity ; it will prove a lasting shame to me and mine.’ He then sent for the princess, and asked her what induce- ment she had had for committing a crime of the nature that she stood charged with. ‘See,’ said he, ‘to what contempt you have brought the family which has hitherto been untarnished by even the breath of calumny.’ The princess, with tears streaming copiously from her eyes, as soon as she could find utterance, modestly replied, ‘Oh, my more than father! You feel grieved at my apparent misconduct, for real it is not. Believe me, sir, I anr not guilty of violating my husband’s bed; I have ever been a faithful wife, and trust to remain so. I beg permission to relate to you a circumstance which occurred in my father’s court, which may perhaps dispose you to credit me. At my birth my father had a very eminent astrologer brought to him, with whom he consulted as to my future destiny. In casting my nativity, the astrologer said that I would live happily till my sixteenth year (which you know I have just entered), and that then I would fall under the worst of all suspicions, unjustly though it would be, which would give me much pain, but that ultimately I should become possessed of the means of exculpating myself to the satisfac- tion of all. This suspicion has now fallen upon me : it only remains for me to prove its injustice, to do which I have not now the means, save this ring,’ and she produced the one given to her by her husband on the night of his remaining with her, ‘which was placed on my finger by my husband himself, in proof of the inno- cence of his wife as to anything that might be said regarding the condition in which I now am. I say this, sir, to you, in the hope that you will do me the justice to believe that I am not what I appear to be. In either case, however, I must abide by your decision.’ The king replied that he did not believe a word of what she had said. ‘It is ever so,’ said he ; ‘when people commit a fault they try to screen themselves by falsehood, to which they attempt to give the semblance of truth. Nothing that you have said

77 can exculpate you. I should this moment have sacrificed you, but consideration for the innocent fruit of your base crime withheld me. Go, then, from my presence, and with tears of repentance wash out the foul stain you have cast on the hitherto untarnished name of Bhudrasain!' The king ordered his minister to see her taken to some deserted and lonely part of the forest, and there left to shift for herself. On this the princess again addressed the king in moving terms, and appealed directly to his heart as to a father. 'I am, sir,' said she, 'though shrouded in mystery as to my present condition, still an honest and virtuous woman; and my misfortune, not my crime, has brought me to this pass,—to fall under your well-meant but unjust displeasure. I submit to it; but remember,—oh, remem- ber!—if I should afterwards appear innocent in your eyes, what will be the feelings that will then agitate the heart of one so good as you are? Think of that, sir, if you cannot be induced to have any consideration for me.' The king turned a deaf ear to all her entreaties, fully believing in her perfidy. The minister, according to the orders he had received, prepared a mare for her conveyance, and a horse for himself. When all was ready, he informed the princess, telling her to make haste, and that he would take her to her father's city, where she would doubtless find sufficient opportunity for assuaging her grief. Before she left the palace of her husband's father, she again protested in respectful terms against the violence that was being offered to her; she reiterated that she was virtuous, and that on that account God would not forsake her. She then kissed the feet of her husband's parents, nothing else being vouch- safed to her, and set out with the minister. At daybreak they found they had penetrated into a wood, and the princess becoming exceedingly thirsty and fatigued, was unable to prosecute her journey. She requested the minister to procure some water for her use; he accordingly went in search of it. Having reached a rivulet, and the heat becoming oppressive, she alighted from her mare, and

sought shelter under the branches of a wide-spreading tree. There was a stream also hard by, and, having quenched her thirst, she seated herself on the ground, where, lulled by the fresh breeze which gently blew across her face, she soon fell asleep. The minister, seizing the opportunity thus presented to him, mounted his horse and flew towards the city of Bhadravutty, where, on his arrival, he informed the king that he had executed his orders. When the princess awoke, she was astonished to find that the minister had disappeared, and left her alone in that lonely place. She got up and looked everywhere for him, but to no purpose. She became greatly apprehensive, and said, 'If I had not slept the minister would not have abandoned me, and left me alone.' At last, seeing no help for the existing state of affairs, she resigned herself to the will of God, calling upon Him and entreating Him to have compassion on her forlorn state. She then left her mare, and commenced her travels on foot. In her walk she observed a steep and rugged mountain, which she was compelled to pass, as it lay in her way; at first she hesitated, but seeing no alternative she put up a prayer to the Supreme Being, and began to make the perilous ascent. Though the stony path she trod was ill calculated to raise her heart, she yet with patient endurance dragged her weary frame along, at every step the sharp stones wounding her tender feet, which were now profusely bleeding. At last, being exhausted, she stopped to draw breath, and as she cast her eyes upwards she despaired of ever being able to gain the summit. She went on, however, and, by dint of unusual exertion and persevering energy, gained the top of the mountain. She there sat down and refreshed herself for a short time, and while so engaged she reflected on the lot she was doomed to endure, and the condition she was now reduced to. From a princess, seated in her palace, with everything at her command, she was now become a poor wandering outcast, with neither friends nor home; and, worse than all, at the mercy of every wayfarer. She wept

79 bitter tears of grief as she thus reflected on her situation. After a short stay she continued her journey. The moun- tain on the opposite side consisted of several extensive cultivated fields. As she descended into the valley below, she observed before her, in a large plain, a city, with a great lake, on perceiving which she became delighted with the prospect of so soon approaching human habitations. Though she was nearly exhausted by her journey, she made towards this city. It was called Shewpoory, and the king's name was Shrimunt. She came near a tank outside the fort, where the women of the city were engaged in drawing water. She approached them, and seated herself on one of the ledges of the rocks. Some few of the women from the city were also seated there, and observing the miserable plight of the new comer, whose feet were quite lacerated by the stones over which she had travelled, and her noble air and carriage, surrounded her and began earnestly to question her. They asked her where she had come from, and what had brought her there. Some even said that they suspected, from her appearance and dress, that she was a person of exalted rank, and that they were surprised to find her in that plight. The unfortunate princess replied to all this, that what was written in her fate she must go through. 'I am a stranger,' continued she, 'and have none to depend upon but God. I will live in any condition He may be pleased to allot to me, because I am his creature.' Some slaves of a famous actress in the city were also at the well, and accosted the princess. They wished to know, like the others, where the princess had come from, and how she contemplated earning a living for herself,—whether she had any one with her, or whether she was alone. She replied, 'I have no other companion but God, who created me, and I am certain He will provide for me too.' The slaves on their return home told their mistress of the arrival of a person in the city, of great beauty and attraction, but, withal, suffering from her recent travels, and without any ostensible means of support. Of her beauty they spoke in no measured terms ; and sure

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enough the object of their vulgar admiration was deserving of any amount of praise. On hearing the tale, the actress immediately repaired to the well, and there found the princess seated in the same place, beautiful as Hebe, and as humble in her demeanour as a slave. The actress inquired into the condition of the wandering princess, and as to how she intended disposing of herself. Finding that she had no visible means of support, nor a home to receive her, the wily actress offered to admit her into her house, where she would, she said, find every necessary comfort. The unfor- tunate princess wished to know, before she proceeded with the actress, what services would be required of her in return for the asylum offered. 'Dancing, singing, and the enjoy- ment which wealth and charms will most assuredly secure for you,' said the actress. The princess felt hurt at this giddy and unfeeling talk, and replied that she could not think of accepting the proffered kindness on the terms proposed; 'but,' said she, 'I will be content to serve you if you will give me for my trouble a quantity of undressed corn sufficient to live upon. I must stipulate, however, that the services I render to you shall be other than those you propose. You must teach me to grind and pound corn, and the other domestic arts involved in housekeeping. If you promise me this I will follow you.' The actress, not wishing to enter into an argument there, as both the time and place were unsuited to the purpose, agreed to the conditions of the handsome traveller, thinking she would easily bring her round to her own purposes after she had tasted the comforts of her home, and otherwise experienced her bounty and kindness. The princess accordingly accepted the offer, especially as her condition rendered it imperative that she should remain in some asylum, at least until after her confinement, after which she purposed devising some plan for her future guidance. They accordingly proceeded together to the residence of the actress. The princess, however, notwithstanding the importunities of the actress, could not be persuaded to enter into any of the

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projects set before her for becoming rich and admired. She continued performing the menial offices of the household, which she contrived to master shortly after she had been admitted into the house, and for which she received in payment the undressed corn that had been agreed upon, which she cooked in a separate shed in the yard, and partook of in all humility. Thus lived this lovely princess, once the admiration of all, and almost supreme in power, in the household of this worthless creature, who had neither name, character, or reputation. That critical period in the life of a young woman—the birth of her first-born—was now fast approaching, and the actress made every preparation for the occasion. In this she was actuated more by certain designs she had in view than by any motives of humanity. She had a midwife ready at hand for the emergency that was now momentarily expected. But we must here relate the arrangements that had been entered into by the actress with this personage: she told the midwife that it was her desire that the princess should be delivered of a daughter, but that should it prove otherwise, she calculated upon the discretion and inventive powers of the matron to devise means for substituting a girl in place of the boy, who must on all accounts be removed. At the same time she informed the midwife that the queen of that city was also far advanced in pregnancy, and might not unreasonably be expected to complete her time about the same period as the inmate of her house. She threw out this hint, and left the midwife to follow up the suggestion, who did not hesitate to enter into the transaction with all the zeal and willingness which the generality of her class not unfrequently display in cases of this nature, however revolting to a conscientious mind, when backed by the powerful and irresistible argument of gold, of which the actress in this instance was very profuse and liberal. She gave her a large purse for present use, as she said, and with a promise of doubling or even trebling it in the event of her success. The object the actress had in view in this transaction we must L

82 allow to be developed in its own time in the course of the narrative. “The king of that city was very virtuous and exceedingly rich. He had seven children, all daughters, who were very handsome in their way ; and the only thing that grieved him was the want of a male child on whom to bestow the weight of the crown he had worn for a series of years with credit and honor. Every time his wife, the queen, became pregnant, he was buoyed up with hope, and as often had he been disappointed. In the present case his feelings took another turn : he was enraged to think that he should be thus baulked in his expectations, and he swore that if the queen did not present him with a son, he would discard her as unworthy to share in the honors of his exalted rank and position. This cruel mandate threw the queen into great dejection, and she was heard to say, ‘I do not know what fate may have reserved for me, but should it be the will of God again to give me a female child, I must strive to replace the child with a boy.’ She was, however, at a loss how to effect this desirable but unnatural end. In this dilemma she thought of consulting the midwife who usually attended upon her, and who happened to be the same whose services had been engaged by the actress. She sent for this trafficker in children, and disclosed to her what so heavily weighed on her mind. She said that the midwife would confer a great obligation on her by attending to her request, and exhorted her to render her assistance without the least apprehension in a matter of so great moment. ‘The king, my lord and husband,’ said the disconsolate queen, ‘has expressly told me that if in this my eighth confinement I do not present him with a son, he will abandon me, and never more see me, on which account I am much troubled in mind, not knowing what will be the issue. I therefore beg you will, soon after my delivery, in case I shall have given birth to a female child, exchange it for a male one, which you must procure in its stead. I hope you will not refuse to do me this invaluable piece of service; you are well fitted

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to undertake the task, and I will, rest assured, handsomely reward you for the same.’ This gave much pleasure to the midwife, as it promised to assist her in the work she had already undertaken, as well as add considerably to the profit; and, what was more, it would effectually silence all suspicions, and close the door against any conjecture that might ever arise; of which, however, as the two cases at present stood, there was not the slightest probability. She did not therefore hesitate to promise her strict attention to the queen’s proposition, and her unqualified aid in carrying it out; and went home in high glee, and with a well-filled purse, ruminating on the good luck that had attended her. From this day she became very regular in her attendance on both the queen and the princess, anxiously awaiting the time of delivery of each, which, by her observation and experience, she knew could not be far distant in either case. While thus engaged, the queen sent for her, requiring her immediate attendance, being taken suddenly ill. Prior to this, however, the cunning woman had established two of her own tried creatures in attendance upon these two preg- nant women,—the queen and the inmate of the actress’ house,—as she knew that without such aid she could ill perform the project she had in hand, though in the one case, that of the queen, it was with her full consent and cogni- sance. The midwife lost no time in attending upon the queen, and at an early hour on the following morning she had the pleasure of witnessing, though to the no small grief of the queen, the birth of as handsome a princess as she could have wished to see. Not long after this occur- rence she was sent for by the actress, as the princess was also taken ill about the same time, and was delivered of a beautiful prince. As may well be imagined, the midwife lost no time, aided by the darkness of the night, speedily to effect her purpose; and as the day dawned upon the inmates of either house, the exchange had been made, and the infants laid beside the mothers who had not given them birth, but who were in future to be considered and acknow-

84 ledged by the world as having done so. The queen was transported with joy at the successful termination of an affair fraught with such fearful consequences to her but for the timely aid rendered by the midwife ; and the only draw- back to her otherwise happy condition was, that she was necessarily in the hands of her accomplices, who could by a single word blast her fame and reputation, and, possibly, take away her life also. However, she consoled herself with the hope that money would purchase their silence. The exchange was so cleverly accomplished that but four individuals, who were one and all necessarily involved in it, were cognisant of it,—the queen, the actress, the midwife, and her confidante. With the queen it was as we have above related ; not so, however, with the princess in her lonely dwelling. Unsuspicious as yet of all around, and fully expecting, according to the prediction she had over- heard, to give birth to a son, she was grievously disappointed to find that it was not so, and expressed herself to that effect to those who were near her. ' I had received an assurance,' said she, ' from Dhanoo, the astrologer, that I should bear a son ; and it is indeed a matter of surprise to me, that it should turn out otherwise.' The positive manner in which she spoke totally upset the equanimity of the actress and her accomplice the midwife : their blunder- ing and foolish explanations roused suspicion in the princess' mind that some foul play had been practised upon her during the hours of insensibility into which she had been plunged at the moment of delivery. ' However,' said she, ' though I feel perfectly assured that the astrologer could not have predicted falsely, and though the care and anxiety with which I had looked forward to a consummation of my desires have been thus cruelly disregarded by some unfriendly hands, who have, perhaps, removed from me my son, yet will I hope that that son will be happy, and live prosperously ; that the Almighty will, if it pleases Him, bring us together ; or if He should in his wisdom ordain otherwise, his will be done ! Into whomsoever's hand my

85 child may have fallen, may the same care be bestowed on him as I will bestow on this involuntary intruder.' Saying this, she took up the infant lying beside her in her arms, and kissed her, naming her Soomutty.

86 CHAPTER VI. Veytal concludes his narration, and disappears. " WHEN the king heard the joyful intelligence of a son being born to him, he ordered it to be proclaimed, not only throughout the court and its environs, but all over the coun- try. He also ordered that a distribution of sugar-candy should be made to his subjects, a variety of alms given to the poor and indigent, and splendid and gorgeous presents to his officers. On the thirteenth day after the birth of the prince, he gave him the name of Bulsain ; and when he had arrived at a proper age he caused him to be educated and instructed in all the useful sciences and every other requisition for a prince, thus enabling him to uphold the dignity of his elevated rank, and to work his way safely through the trammels of court intrigue and court obser- vances. At the age of twelve years, he became so completely qualified to reign, that his father abdicated the throne in his favour, and his elevation was received with unani- mous acclamation. Shortly after this occurrence, the aged monarch, finding that the infirmities of age and their attendant inconveniences were fast creeping upon him, took an affectionate leave of his son, and directed his steps towards a place dedicated to religion, in order to devote his remaining years to works of piety and charity. Previous to the abdication of his throne, and divesting himself of the trammels of royalty, he left plain and positive injunctions with his prime minister, diligently and impartially to discharge the onerous and important duties over which he was now called upon to exercise his care and experience. The prince only nominally held the reins of government. The affairs of state during the regency devolved upon the minister, who displayed such surprising talent and skill on