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With red dye, a bird of the race of Garuda*[1] suddenly pounced upon her and carried her off thinking she was raw flesh. As soon as she was carried away in some unknown direction by the bird, the king became distracted, and his self-command forsook him as if in order to go in search of her. His heart was so attached to his beloved that it was in very truth carried off by that bird, and thus he fell senseless upon the earth. As soon as he
had recovered his senses, Mátali, who had discovered all by his divine power, descended through the air and came where the king was. He consoled the king, and told him the curse of Tilottamá with its destined end, as he had heard it long ago, and then he took his departure. Then the king tormented with grief lamented on this wise; " Alas my beloved, that wicked Tilottamá has accomplished her desire." But having learned the facts about the curse, and having received advice from his ministers, he managed, though with difficulty, to retain his life through hope of a future reunion.
But that bird, which had carried off Mrigávati, as soon as it found out that she was alive, abandoned her, and as fate would have it, left her on the mountain where the sun rises. And when the bird let her drop and departed, the queen, distracted with grief and fear, saw that she was left unprotected on the slope of a trackless mountain. While she was weeping in the forest, alone, with one garment only to cover her, an enormous serpent rose up and prepared to swallow her. Then she, for whom prosperity was reserved in the future, was delivered by some heavenly hero that came down and slew the serpent, and disappeared almost as soon as he was seen. Thereupon she, longing for death, flung herself down in front of a wild elephant, but even he spared her as if out of compassion. Wonderful was it that even a wild beast did not slay her when she fell in his way! Or rather it was not to be wondered at. What cannot the will of Śiva effect?
Then the girl tardy with the weight of her womb, desiring to hurl herself down from a precipice, and thinking upon that lord of hers, wept aloud; and a hermit's son, who had wandered there in search of roots and fruits, hearing that, came up, and found her looking like the in-
- ↑ * This is the Roc or Rokh of Arabian romance, agreeing in the multiplicity of individuals as well as their propensity for raw flesh. (See Sindbad's Voyages ed. Langlès, p. 149.) The latter characteristic, to the sub- version of all poetical fancies, has acquired, it may be supposed, for the Adjutant (Ardea Argila) the name of Garuda. A wundervogel is the property of all people, and the Garuda of the Hindoos is represented by the Eorosh of the Zend, Simoorgh of the Persians, the Anka of the Arabs, the Kerkes of the Turks, the Kirni of the Japanese, the sacred dragon of the Chinese, the Griffin of Chivalry, the Phoenix of classical fable, the wise and ancient bird that sits upon the ash Yggdrasil of the Edda, and according to Faber with all the rest is a misrepresentation of the holy cherubim that guarded the gate of Paradise. Some writers have even traced the twelve knights of the round table to the twelve Roes of Persian story. (Wilson's Essays. Vol. I, pp. 192, 193, note.)
