Jewelled lamps were ablaze there, and gemstones, pearls and jewels were in such abundance as to amaze those who entered; there were flowers everywhere and a pleasant fragrance from clouds of incense filled the room.
The finest betel nuts and leaves had been placed amongst a heap of fragrant precious substances, like camphor and aloe.
There was food to eat and refreshing drinks; there were mechanical birds all around. And in the midst of that splendour she saw a bed on which slept the king and her very own sister!
When she saw them there she felt a twinge of desire as she remembered her former lovemaking with the king; she felt a pang of jealousy at seeing her sister there embracing the man that she loved; she felt rage as she recalled how her own stepmother had pushed her into the well; and then feelings of affection washed over her as she remembered her son; tears of joy filled her eyes when she saw all her retinue. She lingered a moment, overcome by all of these different feelings, and then hastened to where her son slept on a golden bed that was encrusted with jewels, his nursemaid and the other servants now also fast asleep. She picked up the prince and gently touched his body. Before she left him she scattered all around him fruit and blossoms from her garden.
When morning came the nursemaid hastened to tell the king, ‘Lord! It seems that last night someone worshipped the prince with so many flowers and fruits.’ When the king heard that, he went to have a look for himself. He saw all the fruit and flowers. He asked the woman living as his wife, ‘What is the meaning of this?’ She answered, ‘Oh, I fetched my garden. Then I put these fruits and flowers here.’ The king said, “Why don’t you bring the garden right now?” She said, ‘I can’t bring it during the day.’ When the king saw her vacant expression and pale face, he thought, ‘Surely there is something wrong here.’ The next day the same thing happened. On the third day, while the woman slept, the king took his mighty sword and hid in a shadow. Not long afterwards Ārāmasohā arrived. As soon as he saw her the king thought to himself, ‘This is my beloved wife. That other woman is someone else. But still I don’t quite understand what is going on here!’
As he stood there steeped in thought, Ārāmasohā did exactly as she had done on the other nights and vanished. The king went back to sleep, mulling over in his mind all sorts of possibilities. When morning came he said to the woman, ‘Today you have to bring the garden.’ When she heard that she turned even paler. On the fourth night when Ārāmasoh,ā had finished doing what she was doing, the king grabbed her hand and said, ‘Beloved! Why do you deceive me in this way, although I have only the truest love for you!’ She replied, ‘Master! I am not trying to deceive you. But there is a reason for my behavior.’ The king said, ‘What could that possibly be?’ She replied, ‘I will tell you tomorrow. Now you must let me go.’ The king said, ‘Even a foolish child would not give up the nectar of immortality once he had it in his possession.’ She warned him, ‘Master! If you keep me here, you will surely regret what you have done.’ He said, ‘In that case you must at least tell me what lies behind all of this.’ But as she started to tell him all of the wicked things her stepmother had done, from beginning to end, the sun began to rise. As she tried to arrange her hair that had become a mess, she saw a dead snake fall from her tresses. When she saw that dead snake she cried out, ‘O Father!’ and fell to the ground in a faint. The king fanned her until she came to. He asked, ‘Beloved! Why do you grieve so?’ She replied, ‘Master! The snake prince who had granted me a boon and protected me by his presence warned me, “If you stay away beyond sunrise without my permission then you will never see me again. I will send you a sign confirming that. You will see a dead snake.” Now all of this has happened because you would not let me go.’
Ārāmasohā did not bother to go back again to her parents home. She stayed there in the palace. That morning the king in his anger had the other woman tied up. When he grabbed a whip and prepared to beat her, Ārāmasohā fell at his feet and begged him:
‘King! If you care about me, then release my sister. Look on her as you did before, as an act of compassion to me.’
The king replied, ‘Queen, you ought not to spare this wicked girl after what she has done. Nonetheless, I will obey your words’
Ārāmasohā took the girl, once the king had her released, and treated her like a sister, showing all the world the difference between a good person and a wicked one.
The king then summoned his men and commanded them, ‘Take back the twelve villages that I gave the brahmin and quickly expel him from my realm. Cut off his wife’s nose, lips and ears and banish her from my kingdom.’ When she heard those words, once more Ārāmasohā threw herself at the feet of the king and implored him in these words:
‘O King! When a dog bites you, do you bite him back? Let my parents go.
‘O King! Do not do that which in the end will only cause us pain in our hearts. Do not go ahead with this punishment of my parents.’
When he heard her words the king said, ‘Beloved, I will not do anything that causes you pain, even if I do consider it my utmost duty to do it!’
Time then passed as those two enjoyed together the delights of the senses. One day as the king and the queen were discussing some issues concerning religion they had this conversation:
The queen said, ‘Master! I went through a period of intense misery and now I have become supremely happy once more. What karma did I have that produced these results? I must ask, if we should be so fortunate as to meet someone with supernatural knowledge who can give me an answer.’
The king said, ‘In that case I shall instruct all those who watch over my gardens to inform us if any wise man should come here.’
And just as the king and queen were having this conversation, one of the gardeners approached them beaming with joy.
After bowing down to them, touching his head to the ground, the gardener announced, ‘Someone with supernatural knowledge has come to the Sandalwood Garden.
‘He can see right before his eyes everything that has happened, will happen and is happening in all the three worlds, heaven, earth and the netherworld. He sees these things as clearly as he can see a fruit resting in the palm of his hands.
‘His name is Varicanda and he has come with five other monks. He is the best of Jain monks; men, Vidyādharas and even gods bow down at his feet.’
When the king heard this, in his great faith, he felt waves of joy course through his body. He told the queen, ‘Beloved! Your wish has come true already!
‘Get up quickly, my love. Let us get ready to go and pay our respects to that monk. Let us ask him the question that is in your mind.’
As soon as she heard the king’s words, the queen made herself ready. In an instant she and the king were at the garden.
They saw the monk, surrounded by a group of all sorts of people; he was teaching the doctrine of the Jinas, which brings happiness to all living beings.
The king and queen bowed down to the monk and then sat down on a level piece of ground, not too close to where the monk was sitting.
The monk increased the intensity of his discourse. He told them all, ‘Wandering from birth to birth in this cycle of births that is without beginning, through the force of their karma souls somehow attain birth as human beings. There they enjoy various pleasures, brought about by their practice of good deeds. Birth in a high caste and a family of some status, health, wealth, happiness, enjoyments, good looks, strength, and even fame are all brought about by the performance of good deeds.
‘Being together with those we love, having a retinue of servants to obey our commands, indeed every pleasure that one can think of, all of this comes from the performance of good deeds.
‘The company of heavenly damsels and the enjoyment of the most excellent pleasures, even Final Release from all pain, these too come about through the practice of good deeds.’
At this point ĀrāmasohĀ, her hands folded in reverence in front of her forehead, asked, ‘Blessed One! If everything is the result of p
ast good deeds, then what did I do in a past life to earn this reward?’
The Blessed One began to explain, in a voice as deep as the rumbling of a newly formed rain cloud that was filled with rain:
‘Here on the continent of Jambudīva, in the land of Bharaha, is a city named Campanayarī. There was in this city a most excellent merchant named Kulaṃdhara, who had as much wealth as Kuvera, the god of wealth. He had a wife named Kulānandā, who was endowed with beauty and virtue. As he enjoyed various pleasures with her, they had seven marvellous daughters, all endowed with every good quality, including beauty. Here are their names: Kamalasiri, Kamalavaī, Kamalā, Lacchī, Sin, Jasoevī, and Piyakārinī. They all made good marriages, marrying into the best of families, and enjoyed incomparable pleasures. Now after a time an eighth daughter was born. Her father and her mother were not exactly pleased by her birth; in fact they were disgusted and did not even bother to give the poor girl a name. Neglected and unloved, she grew up, a source of pain to her mother and father, despite the fact that she was a great beauty. Others called her “Unlucky One”. All she had to do to make her mother and father miserable was to come into their sight. One day people began to ask the merchant, “Why don’t you find a husband for this daughter of yours? Everyone is saying how it is wrong of you not to marry her off.”
‘When the merchant heard what the people were saying he became even more depressed. And because he had no intention of doing as they said, he began to worry and worry about the whole business. One day as the merchant sat in his shop, absorbed in thought, a traveller happened by. He was covered in dust and was exhausted from his long journey. He had come into the merchant’s stall just to rest for a bit. The merchant asked him, “Young man! Where have you come from?” He replied, “I come from the land of the Codas, from across the ocean.” “Who are you? What is your caste? What is your name? Why have you come here?” The traveller replied, “I am Nandana, the son of the merchant Nanda from Kosalā and his wife Somā. Driven by poverty I went to the country of the Codas in search of wealth. There too I was afflicted by poverty and I was too proud to go home. I served others and earned my living there. I have now been sent here with a letter by the merchant Vasantadeva, who has some business here. I am to deliver the letter to the merchant Siridatta. Show me his house so that I may go now and deliver the letter.”
‘Kulaṃdhara thought to himself, “He would make a perfect husband for my daughter. He is from an average family and is poor and a foreigner. If he takes my daughter back with him he will never come here again. For one, he has no money, and besides he seems to be a proud type.” Having thought all of this to himself, he now said aloud, “Son, come to my house. In fact your father and I are great friends.” The young man replied, “First I must carry out the task for which I was sent here. After that, Father, I will surely come to your house.”
‘The merchant sent one of his own men with the newcomer, instructing him, After you have delivered the letter be sure to bring him to my house. The merchant’s servant then took the newcomer to the home of the merchant Siridatta, where they delivered the letter and explained the situation. Nandana himself told Sridatta, “My father has a friend here, the merchant Kulaṃdhara. When he saw me he sent his own servant with me to make sure I would come back to his house. I must go with him now, but I will come back to see you some other time.” The newcomer, Nandana, then went to Kulamdhara’s house with the servant. The merchant arranged for him to have a bath and gave him fresh clothes. He served him a meal and then said, “Son, marry my daughter!” Nandana answered, “But I have to return to the Coda country today.” Kulaṃdhara said, “You can take her with you. I will give whatever you need for the journey.” When the young man agreed the merchant married his daughter to the fellow.
‘On the wedding day Siridatta told Nandana, “If you are going to stay here, then I will send someone else. My business cannot wait.” Nandana replied, “Don’t worry. I will go for you. Just let me take my leave of the merchant Kulaṃdhara and then I will come back and talk to you.” The next day Nandana told the merchant, “Father. I must go. I have important business in the land of the Codas.” When the merchant heard these words, which were exactly what he wanted to hear, he said, “If you are determined to go, my son, then go. But take your wife with you to the country of the Codas. I will send your goods after you.” Nandana then reported back to Siridatta, “I am ready to go. Tell me now whatever it is that you need to tell me.” Siridatta then entrusted him with a letter and gave him some verbal instructions as well. When all was ready Nandana departed, taking his wife along with him.
‘They went alone, taking with them only those provisions that they needed for the trip, and travelling without a stop they reached the city of Ujjain. There Nandana thought to himself, “We have not come very far, but our provisions are almost used up and I am exhausted from the journey. I will wait until she falls asleep, and then I will leave her here and go where I want.” This was what he thought, but here is what he said, “Beloved! Our provisions are nearly finished. What should I do now? I will soon be reduced to begging. Will you go begging with me?” She replied, “Master! Listen to what I say. Even begging in the streets with you will be a source of pleasure to me.” With that they both went to sleep for the night in a hostel for the poor and for travellers that was just outside the city.
‘Nandana got up in the night and took the bag of food. He stealthily crept out of the place, heading in a different direction. He was ashamed to have to beg and so he abandoned his wife and slunk away. When the sun rose the young woman did not see her husband there. She did see that their bag of food was gone and she realized that he had abandoned her. She thought to herself, “My husband has surely not behaved properly. He took me from my house only to abandon me alone here. Alas, alas! O shameless one! O cruel one! Having abandoned me here, a young woman in her prime, O you barbarian, how will you dare show your face anywhere! I am a young woman, after all, O cruel man! If someone else should take me, then the stain will fall on your entire family. Alas, what use is all this lamenting? I can protect my own virtue, as long as I can find some merchant who will take me in and be like a father to me. Unfortunate creature that I am, no one treated me with any kindness in my own house. I shall stay here and find some menial work to support myself.” With these thoughts she plucked up her courage.
‘She went into the city and looked around everywhere. At one of the houses she spotted a man who looked kind and decent. She threw herself at his feet and implored him, “Father! Be my refuge. I am without anyone to protect me, miserable and frightened. Women alone are always under suspicion. Help me, I beg of you! I am the daughter of the merchant Kulaṃdhara from the city of Campā. I was travelling with my husband in a caravan to the land of the Codas and somehow got separated from the group. Be a father to me now in my time of misery and affliction!” The man, a merchant named Māṇibhadda, was touched by her words and her modest behavior. He said to her, “Child! You are my daughter. Come, live in my house as if in your own father’s house. I will take care of everything. I will find the caravan.” With those words, Māṇibhadda dispatched some of his own servants, but they found no trace of any caravan; no one had even heard of the travelling party. When he learned this, the merchant began to wonder. He thought to himself, “I must find out if she told the truth or if she lied to me.” At that he dispatched one of his men to Campa city, to find out from the merchant Kulaṃdhara himself what the truth was.
‘The servant went there at once and asked Kulaṃdhara, “Do you have a daughter? Is she married and where does she live? Tell me. Māṇibhadda has sent me here because he wishes to be united with you through the bonds of a marriage between your children.” Kulaṃdhara answered, “I have eight daughters. Seven of them are married to men from here and live here now. The eighth one too is married, but she has gone with her husband to the country of the Codas. I have no more daughters. How can our families be joined together in this way? You must go and te
ll Māṇibhadda all that I have said.”
‘The servant returned and told Māṇibhadda everything. Knowing the truth, Māṇibhadda treated the girl with even greater deference. The young girl stayed there in his house, as happy to be there as if she were his own daughter, and everyone in the family was charmed by her humility and her other virtues.
‘Now this Māṇibhadda was a pious follower of the doctrine taught by the Jina. He had a lofty temple built for the Jina. With faith in her heart, the young girl cleaned the temple and smeared cow dung on the floor; she did this every day, possessed of great faith in the doctrine of the Jina. She was often in the company of Jain monks and nuns, and she became an exemplary pious lay Jain like the laywoman Sulasa, incomparable in her devotion. What more need I say? Whenever the merchant gave her anything special to eat, she would save it and donate it to the temple of the Lord of Jinas. The merchant became doubly and triply pleased with her and gave her even more. She had a beautiful jewelled triple umbrella fashioned for the Jina image. This is what it was like:
The Forest of Thieves and the Magic Garden: An Anthology of Medieval Jain Stories (Penguin Classics) Page 28
