By the time the woman had finished her story the king’s face was suffused with tears and he was trembling visibly. When he had somewhat recovered he rose from the throne and going up to the woman and the two youths embraced them long and fervently. “You are my own dear wife and children,” he cried. “God has sent you back to me. I, the king, your husband, your father, was not drowned as you supposed; but was swallowed by a great fish and nourished by it for some time, and then the monster threw itself upon the river’s bank and I was extricated. A potter and his wife had pity on me and taught me their trade, and I was just beginning to earn my living by making earthen vessels when the late king of this country died, and I was chosen king by the royal elephant and hawk — I who am now standing here.” Then his majesty ordered the queen and her two sons to be taken into the inner apartments of the palace, and explained his conduct to the people assembled. The merchant was politely dismissed from the country. And as soon as the two princes were old enough to govern the kingdom, the king committed to them the charge of all affairs, while he retired with his wife to a sequestered spot and passed the rest of his days in peace.
The tale of Sarwar and Nír, “as told by a celebrated Bard from Baraut, in the Merath district,” in vol. iii. of Captain R. C. Temple’s “Legends of the Panjáb” (p-125), though differing in form somewhat from the Kashmírí version, yet possesses the leading incidents in common with it, as will be seen from the following abstract:
Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents
PANJÁBÍ VERSION.
Ambá the rájá of Púná had a beautiful wife named Amlí and two young sons, Sarwar and Nír. There came to his court one day a fakír. The rájá promised to give him whatsoever he should desire. The fakir required Ambá to give up to him all he possessed, or lose his virtue, and the rájá gave him all, save his wife and two children, receiving in return the blessings of the fakír, Then the rájá and the rání went away; he carrying Sarwar in his bosom, and she with Nír in her lap. For a time they lived on the fruits and roots of the forest. At length the raní gave her husband her (jewelled) bodice to sell in the bazar, in order to procure food. He offered it to Kundan the merchant, who made him sit down, and asked him where he had left the raní, and why he did not bring her with him. Ambá told him that he had left her with their two boys under the banyan-tree. Then Kundan, leaving Ambá in the shop, went and got a litter, and proceeding to the banyan-tree showed the rání the bodice, and said, “Thy husband wishes thee to come to him.” Nothing doubting, the rání entered the litter, and the merchant sent it off to his own house. Leaving the boys in the forest, he returned to Ambá, and said to him that he had not enough money to pay the price of the bodice, so the rájá must take it back. Ambá took the bodice, and coming to the boys, learned from Sarwar how their mother had been carried away in a litter, and he was sorely grieved in his heart, but consoled the children, saying that their mother had gone to her brother’s house, and that he would take them to her at once. Placing the two boys on his shoulders he walked along till he came to a river. He set down Nír and carried Sarwar safely across, but as he was going back for the other, behold, an alligator seized him. It was the will of God: what remedy is there against the writing of Fate? The two boys, separated by the river, sat down and wept in their sorrow. In the early morning a washerman was up and spreading his clothes. He heard the two boys weeping and came to see. He had pity on them and brought them together. Then he took them to his house, and washed their faces and gave them food. He put them into a separate house and a Brahman cooked for them and gave them water.516 He caused the brothers to be taught all kinds of learning, and at the end of twelve years they both set out together to seek their living. They went to the city of Ujjain, and told the rájá their history — how they had left their home and kingdom. The rájá gave them arms and suitable clothing, and appointed them guards over the female apartments.517 One day a fisherman caught an alligator in his net. When he cut open its body, he found in it Rájá Ambá, alive.518 So he took him to the rájá of Ujjain, and told how he had found him in the stomach of an alligator. Ambá related his whole history to the rájá; how he gave up all his wealth and his kingdom to a fakír; how his wife had been stolen from him; and how after safely carrying one of his young sons over the river in returning for the other he had been swallowed by an alligator. On hearing of all these misfortunes the rájá of Ujjain pitied him and loved him in his heart: he adopted Ambá as his son; and they lived together twenty years, when the rájá died and Ambá obtained the throne.
Meanwhile the beautiful Rání Amlí, the wife of Ambá, had continued to refuse the merchant Kundan’s reiterated proffers of love. At length he said to her, “Many days have passed over thee, live now in my house as my wife.” And she replied, “Let me bathe in the Ganges, and then I will dwell in thy house.” So he took elephants and horses and lakhs of coin, and set the rání in a litter and started on the journey. When he reached the city of Ujjain, he made a halt and pitched his tents. Then he went before Rájá Ambá and said, “Give me a guard, for the nights are dark. Hitherto I have had much trouble and no ease at nights. I am going to bathe in the Ganges, to give alms and much food to Brahmans. I am come, rájá, to salute thee, bringing many things from my house.”
The rájá sent Sarwar and Nír as guards. They watched the tents, and while the rain was falling the two brothers began talking over their sorrows, saying “What can our mother be doing? Whither hath our father gone?” Their mother overheard them talking, and by the will of God she recognised the princes; then she tore open the tent, and cried aloud, “All my property is gone! Who brought this thief to my tent?” The rání had both Sarwar and Nír seized, and brought before Rájá Ambá on the charge of having stolen her property. The rájá held a court, and began to ask questions, saying, “Tell me what hath passed during the night. How much of thy property hath gone, my friend? I will do thee justice, according to thy desire: my heart is grieved that thy goods are gone.” Then said the raní, “Be careful of the young elephant! The lightning flashes and the heavy rain is falling. Said Nír, ‘Hear, brother Sarwar, who knows whither our mother hath gone?’ And I recognised my son; so I made all this disturbance, raja [in order to get access to thee]”. 519 Hearing this, Rájá Ambá rose up and took her to his breast — Amlí and Ambá met again through the mercy of God. The rájá gave orders to have Kundan hanged, saying, “Do it at once; he is a scoundrel; undo him that he may not live.” They quickly fetched the executioners and put on the noose; and then was Kundan strangled. The rání dwelt in the palace and all her troubles passed far away. She fulfilled all her obligations, and obtained great happiness through her virtue.
Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents
TIBETAN VERSION.
Under the title of “Krisa Gautami” in the collection of “Tibetan Tales from Indian Sources,” translated by Mr. Ralston from the German of Von Schiefner, we have what appears to be a very much garbled form of an old Buddhist version of our story. The heroine is married to a young merchant, whose father gives him some arable land in a hill district, where he resides with Krisa Guatami his wife.
When the time came for her to expect her confinement, she obtained leave of her husband to go to her parents’ house in order that she might have the attendance of her mother. After her confinement and the naming of the boy, she returned home. When the time of her second confinement drew near, she again expressed to her husband a desire to go to her parents. Her husband set out with her and the boy in a waggon; but by the time they had gone half way she gave birth to a boy. When the husband saw that this was to take place he got out of the waggon, sat under a tree, and fell asleep. While he was completely overcome by slumber a snake bit him and he died. When his wife in her turn alighted from the waggon, and went up to the tree in order to bring him the joyful tidings that a son was born unto him, he, as he had given up the ghost, made no reply. She seized him by the hand an
d found that he was dead. Then she began to weep. Meantime a thief carried off the oxen. After weeping for a long time, and becoming very mournful, she looked around on every side, pressed the new-born babe to her bosom, took the elder child by the hand, and set out on her way. As a heavy rain had unexpectedly fallen, all the lakes, ponds, and springs were full of water, and the road was flooded by the river. She reflected that if she were to cross the water with both the children at once, she and they might meet with a disaster, and therefore the children had better be taken over separately. So she seated the elder boy on the bank of the river, and took the younger one in her arms, walked across to the other side and laid him down upon the bank. Then she went back for the elder boy. But while she was in the middle of the river, the younger boy was carried off by a jackal. The elder boy thought that his mother was calling him, and sprang into the water. The bank was very steep, so he fell down and was killed. The mother hastened after the jackal, who let the child drop and ran off. When she looked at it, she found that it was dead. So after she had wept over it, she threw it into the water. When she saw that the elder was being carried along by the stream, she became still more distressed. She hastened after him, and found that he was dead. Bereft of both husband and children, she gave way to despair, and sat down alone on the bank, with only the lower part of her body covered. There she listened to the howling of the wind, the roaring of the forest and of the waves, as well as the singing of various kinds of birds. Then wandering to and fro, with sobs and tears of woe, she lamented the loss of her husband and her two children.
She meets with one of her father’s domestics, who informs her that her parents and their servants had all been destroyed by a hurricane, and that “he only had escaped” to tell her the sad tidings. After this she is married to a weaver, who ill-uses her, and she escapes from him one night. She attaches herself to some travellers returning from a trading expedition in the north, and the leader of the caravan takes her for his wife. The party are attacked by robbers and the leader is killed. She then becomes the wife of the chief of the robbers, who in his turn finds death at the hands of the king of that country, and she is placed in his zenana.
The king died, and she was buried alive in his tomb, after having had great honour shown to her by the women, the princes, the ministers, and a vast concourse of people. Some men from the north who were wont to rob graves broke into this one also. The dust they raised entered into Krisa Gautami’s nostrils, and made her sneeze. The grave-robbers were terrified, thinking that she was a demon (vetála), and they fled; but Krisa Gautami escaped from the grave through the opening which they had made. Conscious of all her troubles, and affected by the want of food, just as a violent storm arose, she went out of her mind. Covered with merely her underclothing, her hands and feet foul and rough, with long locks and pallid complexion, she wandered about until she reached Sravastí. There, at the sight of Bhagavant, she recovered her intellect. Bhagavant ordered Ananda to give her an overrobe, and he taught her the doctrine, and admitted her into the ecclesiastical body, and he appointed her the chief of the Bhikshunís who had embraced discipline.520
This remarkable story is one of those which reached Europe long anterior to the Crusades. It is found in the Greek martyr acts, which were probably composed in the eighth century, where it is told of Saint Eustache, who was before his baptism a captain of Trajan, named Placidus, and the same legend reappears, with modifications of the details, in many medićval collections and forms the subject of several romances. In most versions the motif is similar to that of the story of Job. The following is the outline of the original legend, according to the Greek martyr acts:
Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents
LEGEND OF ST. EUSTACHE.
As Placidus one day hunted in the forest, the Saviour appeared to him between the antlers of a hart, and converted him. Placidus changed his name into Eustache, when he was baptised with his wife and sons. God announced to him by an angel his future martyrdom. Eustache was afflicted by dreadful calamities, lost all his estate, and was compelled to go abroad as a beggar with his wife and his children. As he went on board a ship bound for Egypt, his wife was seized by the shipmaster and carried off. Soon after, when Eustache was travelling along the shore, his two children were borne off by a lion and a leopard. Eustache then worked for a long time as journeyman, till he was discovered by the emperor Trajan, who had sent out messengers for him, and called him to court. Reappointed captain, Eustache undertook an expedition against the Dacians. During this war he found his wife in a cottage as a gardener — the shipmaster had fallen dead to the ground as he ventured to touch her — and in the same cottage he found again his two sons as soldiers: herdsmen had rescued them from the wild beasts and brought them up. Glad was their meeting again! But as they returned to Rome they were all burnt in a glowing bull of brass by the emperor’s order, because they refused to sacrifice to the heathen gods.521
The story of Placidus, which forms chapter 110 of the continental “Gesta Romanorum,” presents few and unimportant variations from the foregoing: Eustatius came to a river the water of which ran so high that it seemed hazardous to attempt to cross it with both the children at the same time; one therefore he placed upon the bank, and then passed over with the other in his arms, and having laid it on the ground, he returned for the other child. But in the midst of the river, looking back, he beheld a wolf snatch up the child he had just carried over and run with it into the adjoining wood. He turned to rescue it, but at that instant a huge lion approached the other child and disappeared with it. After the loss of his two boys Eustatius journeyed on till he came to a village, where he remained for fifteen years, tending sheep as a hired servant, when he was discovered by Trajan’s messengers, and so on.
The story is so differently told in one of the Early English translations of the “Gesta Romanorum” in the Harleian MSS. 7333 (re-edited by Herrtage for the E.E.T. Soc., p-91) that it is worth while, for purposes of comparison, reproducing it here in full:
Richard Francis Burton’s translation: detailed table of contents
OLD ENGLISH “GESTA” VERSION.
Averios was a wise emperour regnyng in the cite of Rome; and he let crye a grete feste, and who so ever wold come to that feste, and gete victory in the tournement, he shuld have his doughter to wyf, after his decesse. So there was a doughti knyght, and hardy in armys, and specially in tournement, the which hadde a wyf, and two yong children, of age of thre yere; and when this knyght had herd this crye, in a clere morowenyng522 he entred in to a forest, and there he herd a nyghtingale syng upon a tre so swetly, that he herd never so swete a melody afore that tyme. The knyght sette him doun undre the tre, and seid to him self, “Now, Lord, if I myght knowe what this brid523 shold bemene!”524 There come an old man, and seid to him, “That thou shalt go within thes thre daies to the emperours feste, and thou shalt suffre grete persecution or thou come there; and if thou be constant, and pacient in all thi tribulacion, thy sorowe shal turne the525 to grete joy; and, ser, this is the interpretacion of his song.” When this was seid, the old man vanysshed, and the brid fly away. Tho526 the knyght had grete merveill; he yede527 to his wif, and told her the cas.528 “Ser.” quod she, “the will of God be fulfilled, but I counsell that we go to the feste of the emperour and that ye thynk on the victory in the tournement, by the which we may be avaunced529 and holpen.”530 When the knyght had made all thing redy, there come a grete fire in the nyght; and brent531 up all his hous and all his goodis, for which he had grete sorowe in hert; nevertheles, notwithstondyng all this, he yede forthe toward the see, with his wife, and with his two childryn; and there he hired a ship, to passe over. When thei come to londe, the maister of the shippe asked of the knyght his hire for his passage, for him, and for his wif and for his two childryn. “Dere frend,” said the knyght to him, “dere freed, suffre me, and thou shalt have all thyn, for I go now to the feste of the emperour, where I trust to have the victory in turnement,
and then thou shalt be wele ypaied.” “Nay, by the feith that I owe to the emperour,” quod that other, “hit shal not be so, for but if 532 you pay now, I shal holde thi wif to wed,533 tyll tyme that I be paied fully my salary.” And he seid that, for he desired the love of the lady. Tho the knyght profren his two childryn to wed, so that he myght have his wif; and the shipman seid, “Nay, such wordis beth534 vayn, for,” quod he, “or535 I wol have my mede, or els I wolle holde thi wif.” So the knyght lefte his wif with him, and kyst her with bitter teris; and toke the two childryn, scil. oon on his arme, and that othir in his nek, and so he yede forth to the turnement. Aftir, the maister of the shippe wolde have layn by the lady, but she denyed hit, and seid, that she had lever dey536 than consente therto. So within short tyme, the maister drew to a fer537 lond, and there he deied; and the lady beggid her brede fro dore to dore, and knew not in what lond her husbond was duellinge. The knyght was gon toward the paleis, and at the last he come by a depe water, that was impossible to be passid, but538 hit were in certein tyme, when hit was at the lowist. The knyght sette doun oo539 child, and bare the othir over the water; and aftir that he come ayen540 to fecche over the othir, but or541 he myght come to him, there come a lion, and bare him awey to the forest. The knyght pursued aftir, but he myght not come to the lion; and then he wept bitterly, and yede ayen over the water to the othir child; and or he were ycome, a bere had take the child, and ran therwith to the forest. When the knyght saw that, sore he wepte, and seid, “Alias! that ever I was bore, for now have I lost wif and childryn. O thou brid! thi song that was so swete is yturned in to grete sorowe, and hath ytake away myrth fro my hert.” Aftir this he turned toward the feste, and made him redy toward the turnement; and there he bare him so manly, and so doutely in the turnement and that twies or thries, that he wan the victory, and worship, and wynnyng of that day. For the emperour hily avauncid him, and made him maister of his oste,542 and commaundid that all shuld obey to him; and he encresid, and aros from day to day in honure and richesse. And he went aftirward in a certain day in the cite, [and] he found a precious stone, colourid with thre maner of colours, as in oo partie542 white, in an othir partie red, and in the thrid partie blak. Anon he went to a lapidary, that was expert in the vertue of stonys; and he seid, that the vertue of thilke544 stone was this, who so ever berith the stone upon him, his hevynesse545 shall turne in to joy; and if he be povere,546 he shal be made riche; and if he hath lost anything, he shall fynde hit ayen with grete joy. And when the knyght herd this, he was glad and blith, and thought in him self, “I am in grete hevynesse and poverte, for I have lost all that I had, and by this stone I shal recovere all ayen, whether hit be so or no, God wote!” Aftir, when he must go to bataile of the emperour he gadrid togidre547 all the oste, and among them he found two yong knyghtis, semely in harneis,548 and wele i-shape, the which he hired for to go with him yn bataill of the emperour. And when thei were in the bataill, there was not oon in all the batail that did so doutely,549 as did tho550 two knyghtis that he hired; and therof this knyght, maister of the ost, was hily gladid. When the bataill was y-do,551 thes two yong knyghtes yede to her oste552 in the cite; and as they sat to-gidir, the elder seid to the yonger, “Dere frend, hit is long sithen553 that we were felawys,554 and we have grete grace of God, for in every batail we have the victory; and therfore I pray you, telle me of what contre ye were ybore, and in what nacion? For I askid never this of the or now; and if thou wilt telle me soth,555 I shall telle my kynrede and where I was borne.” And when oo felawe spak thus to the othir, a faire lady was loggid556 in the same ostry;557 and when she herd the elder knyght speke, she herkened to him; but she knew neither of hem,558 and yit she was modir of both, and wyf of the maister of the oste,559 the which also the maister of the shippe withheld for ship-hire, but ever God kept her fro synne. Then spake the yonger knyght, “Forsoth, good man, I note560 who was my fader or who was my modir, ne561 in what stede562 I was borne; but I have this wele in mynde that my fader was a knyght, and that he bare me over the water, and left my eldir brothir in the lond; and as he passid over ayen to fecche him, there come a lion, and toke me up, but a man of the cite come with houndis, and when he saw him, he made him to leve me with his houndis.”563 “Now sothly,” quod that othir, “and in the same maner hit happid vith me. For I was the sone of a knyght, and had only a brothir; and my fader brought me and my brothir, and my modir, over the see toward the emperour; and for my fader had not to pay to the maister of the ship for the fraught, he left my modir to wed; and then my fader toke me with my yong brothir, and brought us on his bak, and in his armys, tyll that we come unto a water, and there left me in a side of the water, and bare over my yong brothir; and or my fader myght come to me ayene, to bare me over, ther come a bere, and bore me to wode;564 and the people that saw him, make grete cry, and for fere the bere let me falle, and so with thelke565 poeple I duellid x. yere, and ther I was y-norisshed.” When the modir herd thes wordis, she seid, “Withoute doute thes ben my sonys,” and ran to hem anon, and fil upon her566 nekkes, and wepte sore for joy, and seid, “A! dere sonys, I am your modir, that your fader left with the maister of the shippe; and I know wele by your wordis and signes that ye beth true brethern. But how it is with your fader, that I know not, but God, that all seth,567 yeve568 me grace to fynd my husbond.” And alle that nyght thes thre were in gladnes. On the morow the modir rose up, and the childryn, scil. the knyghtis, folowid; and as thei yede, the maister of the oste mette with hem in the strete, and though he were her fader, he knew hem not, but569 as thei had manli fought the day afore; and therfor he salued hem honurably, and askid of hem what feir lady that was, that come with hem? Anon as his lady herd his voys, and perceyved a certeyn signe in his frount,570 she knew fully therby that it was her husbond; and therfore she ran to him, and clypt him, and kyst him, and for joy fille doun to the erth, as she had be ded. So aftir this passion, she was reised up; and then the maister seid to her, “Telle me, feir woman, whi thou clippest me, and kyssist me so?” She seid, “I am thi wif, that thou leftist with the maister of the ship; and thes two knyghtis bene your sonys. Loke wele on my front, and see.” Then the knyght byheld her wele, with a good avisement,571 and knew wele by diverse tokyns that she was his wif; and anon kyst her, and the sonys eke; and blessid hiely God, that so had visited hem. Tho went he ayen to his fond, with his wif, and with his children, and endid faire his lif.
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