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tion. And when they saw him, they thought he was the god of Love, and
they rose up, and bowing before him, said, "All bail to thee, adorable
god of the flowery bow ! Tell us why thou wanderest here alone without
that fragrant artillery of thine, and where is that Rati thy constant companion?" When the son of the king of Vatsa heard that, he said
to those Bráhmans, ' I am not the god Kama, I am a mere mortal; but
I have indeed lost my Rati."*[1] When the prince had said this, he told his history, and said to those Bráhmans, " Who are you, and of what kind
is this talk that you two are carrying on here ?" Then one of those
young Bráhmans said to him respectfully, " King, how can we tell- our
secret in the presence of a man of your worth? Nevertheless, out of respect for your command, I will tell our history; give ear !"
The first Bráhman's story.:—There is in the territory of Kalinga a city of the name of Śobhávatí, which has never been entered by the demon Kali, nor touched by evildoers, nor seen by a foreign foe: such has it been made by the Creator. In it there was a wise and rich Bráhman, of the name of Yaśaskara, who had offered many sacrifices, and he had an excellent wife named Mekhalá. I was born to them as an only son, when they were already in middle life, and I was in due course reared up by them, and invested with the sacrificial thread.
Then, while as a boy I was studying the Vedas, there arose a mighty famine in that land, owing to drought. So my father and my mother went off with me to a city named Viśálá, taking with them their wealth and their servants. In that city, in which fortune and learning dwelt together, having laid aside their long feud, my father established himself, having had a house given him by a merchant, who was a friend of his. And I dwelt there in the house of my preceptor, engaged in the acquisition of learning, in the society of my fellow-students of equal age.
And among them I had a friend, a promising young man of the military caste, Vijayasena by name, the son of a very rich Kshatriya. And one day the unmarried sister of that friend of mine, whose name was Madirávatí, came with him to my teacher's house. So beautiful was she that I feel convinced that the Creator made the orb of the moon, that is like nectar to the eyes of men, out of the overflowing of the perfect loveliness of her face. I ween, the god of Love, when he beheld her form, which was to him a sixth weapon, bewildering the world, valued but little his other five shafts. When I saw her, and heard from that friend her name and descent, I was at once overpowered by Love's potent sway, and my mind was altogether fixed upon her. And she, for her part, looked askance at
- ↑ * The word " rati' in Sanskrit means " joy."
