Were they to hack him into a thousand pieces, still he would come alive again.’
269. Then Pemā explained to the Prince:
‘Listen, here is how you can kill the enemy.
In the garden you see towards the south,
is a tree heavy with immortal ambrosial fruit.
It is dense, shady, and laden with fruit,
and in it lives the demon’s soul.*
Until that tree is destroyed,
there is no way to slay the demon.
To uproot the tree is to kill the demon,
otherwise he will never be slain.
Let us go now, you and I, to the garden to destroy the tree with its fruit of immortality.
When you wound the demon, his heart will break, and he will die easily enough.’
270. When he heard about the fruit
that granted immortality, the Prince
rose up and looked towards the south.
Now he knew in his mind with certainty
how the demon lived on after being killed.
‘Pemā,’ he said, ‘Come with me,
and show me this immortal, ambrosial fruit.’
The two of them set off together,
just as the demon came by
with fire blazing from all his heads.
But Pemā led the Prince onwards
on to the tree with the fruit of immortality.
When he saw the tree, his heart rejoiced and his soul was overcome with joy.
He became certain that now God would grace him with the pennant of victory.
The Tree of Immortality
271. The Prince examined the tree carefully.
He saw that it was dense of leaf,
a karikāra tree* laden with fruit.
When he saw it his heart filled with pity,
for a fruit-bearing tree should not be cut down.
Then that excellent maiden asked the Prince:
‘Why do you delay over an enemy’s life?
If one can overcome one’s enemy,
tell me, O Prince, why should one delay?
Take careful heed of what I say.
No fire is too small—do not underestimate
even a glimmering, a flicker of fire!
Hurry up and delay no more, if you are thirsty for your enemy’s blood.
If you find him in your power, do not even let him draw breath!’
272. When Pemā had explained this to the Prince,
his consciousness became aware again.
He stood up and approached the tree.
Flexing his arms, he made firm his resolve.
He grasped the tree with both hands.
Calling on the name of Hari, he pulled up
the tree of immortality by its roots.
Then he took all its leaves, branches, and fruits,
and burnt them up in a fire he made.
The Prince then took the heavy wood
of pain, and cast it into the bonfire.
Having uprooted the tree of immortality and burnt it down to ashes,
happily the Prince and Princess returned to their four-cornered pavilion.
Manohar’s Victory
273. Night passed and the sun spread its rays,
and the demon came roaring to the door.
Black was his form and fearsome to behold,
and he had a discus in either hand.
When the Prince heard him coming,
he took his bow in his hand,
and strapped on his sword, thirsty for blood.
He gathered up a spear and an axe,
and smeared ashes on his face and body.
He took staff, discus, and trident,
and prayed to the Lord for protection.
Recollecting Hari in his heart, he came out looking like Death incarnate.
The demon saw him and grew angry, and let loose a discus to kill him.
274. The demon hurled his discus in wrath,
but the Prince shielded himself successfully.
The demon then threw his second discus,
but Manohar warded it off with his shield.
When the discus hit the shield,
the sparks of fire reached the heavens.
Then Manohar took his chance and pounced.
He wounded the demon in his head.
The demon’s fifth head, endowed with special power,
fell to the ground, gashed by the sword.
When he was wounded thus fatally, the demon picked up his head.
He flew towards where the garden was, in the direction of the south.
275. The Prince then ran towards the garden,
to find out about what would happen
with the demon and the tree of immortality.
He saw the demon staggering about,
fatally wounded in a vital place.
The demon came and threw down his head
in the place where the tree had been.
When he did not find the tree,
he despaired and knew his end was near.
Fire was ravaging the house of his life,
his spirit was about to leave his body.
Just as a tree whose roots have been hacked up suddenly falls to the ground,
so the demon dropped to the earth when the spirit departed from his frame.
276. Seeing the demon had given up his life,
Pemā rejoiced in her heart.
She ran towards the Prince,
waved her sari’s border over him,
and pressed it to her heart thankfully.
She said, ‘What can I sacrifice to you?
Had I but a thousand lives in my body,
I would dedicate them all to you.
Blessed is the father who begot you,
blessed the mother who suckled you with her milk.
Let us quickly leave this place,
so that God may grant us salvation.
My heart is filled with fear, and my soul trembles with apprehension,
lest this demon who has fallen dead should spring to life again.’
277. The Prince said to that alluring maiden,
‘Your heart’s cause for fear is gone.
Drive out all sorrow from your mind,
for God has taken away grief
and given you joy in its place.
Suffer grief no more. It is my worry,
even if we meet a hundred thousand sorrows!’
They both arose and set out on their way.
For four months they travelled through thick woods,
until at last they came to an inhabited land
and saw the fairest beauty of the age of Kali.
Finally they approached Pemā’s home, the pleasant city ruled by Citrasena,
a town unparalleled in beauty, with dense mango groves around it in all four directions.
Pemā’s Homecoming
278. When Pemā saw the city of Citrasena,
her heart and mind were full of joy.
When she saw the tall and graceful palaces,
she was overcome with excitement.
Approaching the Prince she said,
‘Be happy now, let your heart celebrate,
for this is Ease-of-Mind, my father’s city,
Citbisarāu, about which I told you.
O royal Prince, take off your yogi’s garb,
be aware that your courage has borne fruit.
Cast sorrow from your consciousness, celebrate with joy,
for in this very city, you and Madhumālatī will meet again.’
279. When the Prince heard the name
of that alluring maiden, he trembled,
and his body burnt with separation.
At the mention of meeting Madhumālatī,
he revived like a corpse coming back to life.
It was as if a thirsty man had found water,
or as though night had ended for the cakī bird.*
It was as if the honey-bee had caught<
br />
the sweet scent of the jasmine flower,
or the lotus had blossomed with the sun’s rays.*
He became like the papīhā who caught
the raindrops of the constellation of Svātī,*
or the lily overwhelmed with love for the moon.
When two lovers of old meet again, after being parted for an age,
the rejoicing in their hearts cannot be equalled by a palace’s festivities.
280. Then that excellent maiden, Pemā,
approached the Prince and explained,
‘Listen, O Prince, to what I have to say.
I am the daughter of this city’s royal house.
How can we enter the palace dressed like this?
Why should we amuse the mean-minded?
My mother and father, and all their retainers,
will rush to see us, whether they’re related or not.
Let us stay at a caravanserai today,
and send a letter to my mother and father.’
Thus the Prince and that lovely maiden stayed in a village that day,
from where the city of Citbisarāu was but a kosa and a half.
281. The King was sitting enthroned in court,
when suddenly his heart leapt for joy.
‘Today,’ he said, ‘the omens are good,
for my heart fills spontaneously with joy.
My right eye and arm are quivering today
as though a loved one were coming to my embrace.
These auspicious omens foretell
that I shall meet someone as dear as life to me.
Fair signs such as these do not deceive,
an absent loved one will come to me today.’
His mind was happy, his heart rejoiced, and affection arose spontaneously in his being.
To his house would come a long separated one: thus did the signs foretell.
282. Pemā sat down and wrote a letter
in which she told of all her sufferings.
Hearing it would cause the stoniest heart
to crack open as if struck by lightning.
When the tale of her grief arose within her
it became ink and flowed out onto the paper.
As she wrote of her sorrows in the forest,
it seemed that the sufferings would not end.
After her grief she wrote her salaams
to her mother and father, and to the family.
She sent her love and affectionate hugs
to all her girlfriends and companions.
Sisters and brothers, close relatives, and the members of her family—
all of them she remembered, and to every one sent her salaams.
283. When she had finished writing her sad tale,
she sent for a messenger to deliver it.
Pemā fell at his feet and said,
‘Please move quickly, without any delay.’
The envoy took the letter and ran.
He went rejoicing, so that his feet
scarcely seemed to touch the ground.
The envoy sped more swiftly than the wind,
faster than the eye could follow.
Within moments he had arrived
and stood at the door of the royal palace.
The envoy summoned the watchman and said, ‘Go and tell the King
that a messenger is at the door, with a message from his daughter Pemā.’
284. The watchman heard this and ran,
and broke the news in the royal palace,
‘An envoy has come to the palace gates,
speaking sweet words most wonderful to hear.
He said something about a message
from your darling daughter Pemā.
When I heard the name of Pemā, I ran.
My mind was so overwhelmed with joy,
I did not wait to hear anything further.’
The King and Queen ran when they heard,
like fish out of water rushing back to the river.
Her mother and father, relatives and retainers, and all her girlfriends and companions,
rushed to the palace door, when they heard the name of that excellent maiden!
285. All ran when they heard Pemā’s name,
and reached the door of the royal palace.
The King ran, unable to help himself.
The Queen could not control hands and feet.
The envoy advanced and saluted them,
and told them that Pemā was safe and well.
Then he gave them her letter,
which Citrasena clasped to his heart.
The Queen grew restless and asked,
‘How far is my dear one from here?’
The envoy responded, ‘A kosa and a half from here lies a village.
Our Princess has stopped there herself; it was she who sent me to you.’
286. When he heard, the King mounted his horse.
All his family and retainers accompanied him.
A palanquin was prepared for the Queen,
and sounds of happy celebration rang out.
Behind the Queen came all the girlfriends
who had played with Pemā since childhood.
All the thirty-six working castes of the city,
ran when they heard the name of Pemā.
Horses were harnessed and saddle-cloths fastened,
and the messenger went on ahead of the King.
I’d sacrifice myself on that day, that blessed hour, and on the moment of meeting.
I’d sacrifice body, mind, and soul, and give up wealth, the world, and all.
287. Her family came to meet Pemā,
and made propitious offerings as thanks.
She touched her parents’ feet,
and greeted all the others with embraces.
Then came all her girlfriends to meet her,
those who had played with her in childhood.
Then all her serving maids came,
singing as they touched her feet in greeting.
The women of the thirty-six castes came next,
with sandal paste on their bodies,
vermilion colouring the partings on their heads.
The city rang with celebrations throughout, and her family was overwhelmed with joy.
Auspicious songs were sung in every house, and everywhere there was a happy tumult.
288. Then Citrasena asked the girl,
‘Who rescued you and set you free?
Who released you from the demon’s power?
How did you reach safety and freedom?
Tell me how it has happened
that the Lord was so kind to you.
Who was this second incarnation of Rāma,
who killed Rāvana and set Sītā free?*
Say who is this companion of yours,
who has made our dark world light again?
For without you the whole world remained pitch dark for our eyes.
Tell us through whose courageous deeds our world has become radiant again?’
289. Pemā began to tell her father,
‘There is with me a Prince,
courageous, nobly born, and wise,
who is in love with Madhumālataī.’
She told her parents then of all the sorrows
suffered by the brave Prince.
The maiden then described how he had
challenged and killed the demon.
Indeed she recounted to her father,
all the brave acts which he had performed.
‘The Lord’, she said, ‘brought the Prince to the forest where I was imprisoned.
I told him all my grief, and heard from him the true essence of his sufferings.’
290. ‘I told him truly how the demon
had brought me to the forest.
And then the Prince described to me
how he fell passionately in love
with Madhumālataī. When I was sure
in my heart that he had abandoned himself
completely to Madhumālataī’s beauty,
then I told him all that I knew
about that lovely maiden, Madhumālatī:
how we were bosom friends and close,
and had known each other since we were little.
I also informed him of the promise Madhumālatī’s mother had made,
how she always comes here faithfully on the second day of every month.
291. ‘When the Prince heard about her,
he thrilled and his body turned pale.
He fell at my feet and said,
“I dedicate my life to you!
I have not yet found my true love,
but you, O Princess, have given me new life.
If I leave you here in the forest,
it would shame my mother
and stain with dishonour my entire family.
You are a friend of Madhumālatī’s,
so how can I abandon you in the forest?”
He killed the demon and rescued me, all with his own strength and confidence.
Treat him with all respect and honour, for he is my adopted brother.’
Manohar is Welcomed
292. Citrasena heard this and sent his minister,
who brought the Prince in with all honour.
The King stood up and embraced him,
and offered him the seat next to his own.
He said, ‘How can I praise you enough?
How can I overcome even a little
of the embarrassment I feel in my heart?
O Prince, it is through your brave deeds,
that the soul which had left my body,
has returned once again to its frame.
Regard this kingdom and throne as your own,
without hesitating at all in your heart.
Stay here with us as you would stay in your father’s royal palace.
Leave aside your grief, your ascetic’s garb, play and enjoy yourself.
293. ‘And whatever your heart desires,
the Creator will surely bring about.
My beloved daughter Pemā
will serve you devotedly all the time.
Treat all my servants, my retainers,
as if they belonged entirely to you.’
The King had a palace prepared near by,
and there the Prince was taken to stay.
Everyone served him all together,
that he might tarry there and not go elsewhere.
The Prince, however, remained an ascetic out of love for Madhumālataī.
His body remained there, but his soul had gone to the one whom he loved.
The Prince is Sorrowful
294. For several days the Prince remained thus,
but the fires of separation burnt away in his heart.
‘Hear me, O girl,’ he said to Pemā,
‘Love’s fire blazes up in my body.
If you give me permission, I would go
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