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full of hermits with matted hair, and coats of bark, thus resembling in appearance its trees. And in the middle of it he saw the hermit Kanva surrounded with hermits, delighting the eye with his brightness, like the moon surrounded with planets. So he went up to him, and worshipped him, embracing his feet. The wise hermit entertained him and dispelled his fatigue, and then lost no time in saying to him; " My son Chandrávaloka, listen to the good advice which I am about to give you. You know how all living creatures in the world fear death: so why do you slay without cause these poor deer? The Disposer appointed the weapon of the warrior for the protection of the terrified. So rule your subjects righteously, root up your enemies, and secure fleeting fortune and her gifts by the warlike training
of horse, and elephant, and so on. Enjoy the delights of rule, give gifts, diffuse your fame throughout the world, but abandon the vice of hunting, the cruel sport of death. What is the profit of that mischievous hunting, in which slayer, victim, and horse*[1] are all equally beside themselves? Have you have not heard what happened to Pándu?"
The intelligent king, Chandrávaloka, heard and accepted cheerfully this advice of the hermit Kanva, and then answered him, " Reverend Sir, I have been instructed by you ; you have done me a great favour; I renounce hunting, let living creatures be henceforth free from alarm." When the hermit heard that, he said' I am pleased with you for thus granting security to living creatures; so choose whatever boon you desire." When the hermit said this, the king, who knew his time, said to him, " If you are satisfied with me, then give me your daughter Indívaraprabhá." When the king made this request, the hermit bestowed on him his daughter, who had just returned from bathing, born from an Apsaras, a wife meet for him. Then the wives of the hermits adorned her, and the marriage was solemnized, and king Chandrávaloka mounted his horse and set out thence quickly, taking with him his wife, whom the ascetics followed as far as the limits of the hermitage with gushing tears. And as he went along, the sun, seeing that the action of that day had been prolonged,[2] sat down, as if wearied, on the peak of the mountain of setting. And in course of time appeared the gazelle-eyed nymph of night, overflowing with love, veiling her shape in a violet robe of darkness.
Just at that moment the king found on the road an aśvattha-tree, on the bank of a lake, the water of which was as transparent as a good man's heart. And seeing that that spot was overshadowed with dense boughs and leaves, and was shady and grassy, he made up his mind that
