विक्रम चरित (उज्जैन सम्राट् विक्रमादित्य - पराक्रम, न्याय एवं ३२ पुतलियों की कथा सटीक)

66
such undeniable proofs. The king, with a small retinue,
accompanied him a short distance out of the city, as a mark
of deference. At the expiration of the usual time, the queen
was delivered of a son, to the inexpressible joy of the king,
who ordered sugar to be distributed throughout the whole city,
in token of his joy at the event, and celebrated the happy
occasion for twelve successive days, with all the pomp, and
pageantry that united wealth and power could command. The
child was beautiful in the extreme, and, after consulting
with the astrologers, who had calculated its nativity, the king
gave it the name of Soorsain, and caused it to be trained up
under the especial care and instruction of his royal parents,
availing himself, when the child attained a proper age, of the
services of competent instructors, who contributed to the
education of the youthful prince in the different branches of
study,—the arts, sciences, and everything requisite for him,
who was ultimately to reign in those realms, to know. The
prince showed great aptitude for learning, and, under the
guidance of his able and experienced preceptors, he made
rapid progress in his education. He was soon master of
those branches which are preliminary to the acquisition of a
high standard of knowledge. As he advanced in years, he
advanced apace in knowledge, nor were his morals neglected.
In due time, as his physical powers became developed, he
applied himself with diligence and assiduity to the various
manual exercises then in vogue. In archery he became
proficient, and there were but few who could enter the lists
against him. In person he was handsome, of middling
stature, combining elegance and physical strength. He was
graceful in his bearing, and winning in his manners, and
though he displayed much of that haughtiness in his inter-
course with men that a consciousness of superiority begets,
yet it was so mild, and so naturally displayed, that it became
him well, and added to rather than detracted from his worth
and merit. He was, in short, loved by all who knew him, and
was the light of his parents' eyes. Such then, was the son
and heir of the equally loved and esteemed King Bhudrasain.

67
" It happened that as the prince advanced to manhood,
he received a wound from one of Cupid's shafts : he became
enamoured of a princess, daughter to a powerful monarch,
whose beauty was the least of her perfections. He sued for
her hand in due form, backed by the interest and power of
his father and his own rare qualifications, and obtained it
in marriage. The union was celebrated, under the most
favorable auspices, in the city, and no expense was spared to
give brilliancy and effect to the occasion. It was a joyous
time when the marriage took place. The king invited his
relatives as well as those of his son's wife, with numerous
other guests, and entertained them for several days together
in the most sumptuous manner; and when the festivities
were ended, he sent them back loaded with presents.
"One day, King Bhudrasain, accompanied by his son
and a small retinue, set out on a sporting excursion. They
went into an adjoining wood, and while there, Bhudrasain
was suddenly seized with the desire of witnessing his son's
skill in archery, for which he was much famed. He called
his son, and made him acquainted with his wishes; he then
detached a part of his retinue for the purpose of waiting upon
him, and he himself followed in person. Having arrived
in the centre of the wood, the king directed his son to aim
at a certain part of the forest at a distance, where a small
object, scarce visible to the naked eye, was pointed out.
While yet conversing, a wild boar suddenly appeared from
amidst a clump of bushes, and, rushing past the prince and
his father, attacked one of their followers with great deter-
mination and ferocity. The prince, acting on the impulse
of the moment, with his usual bravery and dauntless
courage, pursued the boar, in the hope of getting sufficiently
near him to attack him with the short spear he carried in
his hand. But the monster, seeing his pursuer, and
conscious of danger, took to flight, and regained the shelter
of a thickly-studded cover of trees, in the opposite direction.
The prince still pursued the boar, and in the ardour of the
chase forgot all personal danger. Keeping his eye steadily

68
fixed in the direction the boar had taken, he continued to
follow him, and left his father and all the followers far
behind him. The difficult road over which the prince pursued
the boar rendered it impossible for him to come up to his
victim as speedily as he could have wished ; he nevertheless
kept up the chase, passing, as he went, over valleys and by
the side of precipices, through rugged paths and dangerous
defiles. The king and his followers were anxiously awaiting
his return, while every moment he was widening the distance
between them. The boar, after having gone some miles,
ensconsed himself in a cave, the prince remaining trans-
fixed to the spot with fatigue and vexation. It pained him
to think that all his efforts had proved fruitless for the
capture of the forest denizen ; and what mortified him still
more was, that it would go, far to convey an unfavorable
opinion of his skill in archery and in the use of arms to the
mind of his father, to please whom was the chief desire of
his heart. However, he thought of retracing his steps back
and relating all the occurrence to the king, but he found
that he was quite fatigued by the exertions he had made,
and his horse still more so ; added to which he felt a burning
thirst and a sensation of weakness which rendered him quite
incapable of moving a step in obedience to his wish. In
this state the clouds of night found him listlessly leaning
against a tree. As the darkness thickened around him he
became fully sonsible of his condition, and the danger he
was exposing himself to by remaining in that lonely and
desolate place, perhaps to become a prey to the wild animals
infesting the locality ; so he strove to mount his horse, and
succeeded in gaining his seat, but as he was suffering very
severely from thirst, his first object was to go in search of
water. Having roamed about for some time, he happened
to reach the inviting banks of a lake of great extent, clear
as crystal, with a variety of trees uniformly placed at a
convenient distance from each other, and forming a delight-
ful arbour, cool and refreshing to travellers and others who
sought their friendly shade. The prince, as may well be

69
imagined, was transported with joy on seeing the lake; he
alighted from his horse with great alacrity, but ere he
quenched his own thirst he led his noble steed, who had
borne by far the greater part of the fatigues of the day, into
the lake. He then secured him to a tree, and approached
the margin of the water, where, by repeated draughts of
the liquid element, he satisfied his burning thirst. The
water deities, observing his hands submerged in the water,
took hold of them, and immediately conveyed him to their
stately abode at the bottom.
“The king, his father, having in vain waited in painful
suspense for the reappearance of his son from the woods in
which he had lost sight of him, at length grew fearful that
some unforeseen accident had occurred; he therefore, with
his officers and servants, explored all the surrounding caves,
bushes, and hollows, in hope of discovering the prince, but
all to no purpose: they were, after a long and fruitless
search, growing very apprehensive lest some accident had
deprived the youth of his life. They still continued their
search, however, and at last came upon the prince's horse,
which he had left tied to a tree when he approached the
lake to quench his thirst. They went up to the horse, and
found him tied; this so added to their grief that they were
completely overwhelmed, and plunged into the most painful
solicitude at not discovering the slightest trace of the young
prince. Some of the followers, alarmed at the dreadful
agitation evinced by the king, and thinking the prince might
have been drowned in the lake, proposed to dive into it and
bring up the body. They were perfect adepts in diving,
but, notwithstanding all their exertions, not the slightest
trace of the lost prince could be found. Long and painful
was the suspense in which the now miserable and, as he
thought, bereaved father and his followers remained. Various
conjectures were formed of the probable mischance which
had deprived them of their beloved and only prince, and
the king of his heir and successor to the throne, procured
by such an amount of prayer and devotion. Some said

70
that he had been devoured by wild beasts while traversing
the forest; others that he had been carried away by the fairies,
for his rare beauty and perfection; and others, again, that
he had most assuredly been drowned in the lake before them.
In the midst of so much confusion and uncertainty as to
the fate of the prince, the king, overcome by his affection for
his son, began in the most piteous manner to smite his
head and breast, and to throw himself on the ground,
weeping bitter tears, and lamenting his loss in terms of the
most piercing anguish. ‘Oh, what a dire calamity is this
which has befallen me!’ said he; ‘he in whom all my hopes
were centred is suddenly torn away, and I am left lonely
and desolate in the midst of riches and splendour. Alas!
how have I deserved such a fate! May not my subjects
think that I hated to see my successor during my lifetime,
and therefore brought him to this desert to rid myself of
him by foul means? And yet, oh, my God! thou knowest
the sad and desolate state of my heart!’ In this way he
continued for some time, and having worked himself up to
a state of frenzy by continually dwelling on his lost child,
he unsheathed his sword, and meditated putting an end to
his miserable existence with his own hand. The minister,
observing this movement on the part of the king, fortunately
arrived at his side in time to prevent the dreadful purpose,
and, in a soothing tone, addressed the king thus:—‘My
lord and king, what would you do? Consider, I entreat you,
the power of the Almighty Being who at your request granted
you this son. He can, if He choose, restore him to you
again. It is not for us, poor finite beings, the creatures of
a day, to arraign the wise decrees of the great Ruler. If,
as we have but too great a reason to believe, and which we
all equally with yourself deeply lament, your son is by some
mystery or unaccountable accident summoned away from
this life and all its brief and transitory pleasures, let us
hope he is now in a place of happiness. Remember that
we have had innumerable instances of every living creature
being under the influence of some peculiar fate. As the

71
loss you now deplore cannot be remedied, and could not
possibly have been averted by any human agency, let me
entreat you to call your powerful reason to your aid, and
console yourself with the blessings that are still left to you.'
'I am fully sensible,' replied the king, 'and thoroughly
aware of the truth of what you adduce, and the sincerity
with which you put it to me. Your deep sympathy in my
sad bereavement is also not unknown to me; but, alas!
how can I have offended God to such a degree as to merit so
severe a mark of his displeasure? You know not the
intensity of my feelings; you cannot in any manner conceive
the keenness of my sufferings. They are great—very great!
I do not know that I have ever deprived the labourer of his
wages, or injured any one by injustice. I have always
sought to relieve the distresses of my fellow-creatures, to
comfort the afflicted, and to succour the helpless and needy.
All this have I done, and more; and yet, oh, my God! I am
visited with this greatest of all afflictions—the loss of him
I had reckoned upon as the prop of my declining years! It
is more than man can bear. I know I must sink under it,
for my heart is broken!' His feelings here found vent in a
flow of bitter scalding tears. Shortly after, deeming it
useless to proceed any further in search of the prince, as
they had but too many proofs, as they thought, of his
untimely death, they mounted their horses, the king, from
sheer weakness, having to be supported on his, and returned
to the city. When the queen and the prince's wife were
made acquainted with the melancholy news, they were so
affected by it that for a while they found a temporary
refuge from grief in insensibility. Returning animation
only made them feel the more acutely. They in turn
set up a most woeful lamentation, beating their breasts
and smiting their faces, with every other demonstration of
uncontrollable grief, and their cries resounded throughout
the palace. The king, after spending some time in
sad reflection, called to him an aged slave or nurse, an
attendant in the apartments of the queen, and desired her

72

to bestow every possible care on the princess, the sweet
relict of him whom he mourned,—to afford her all the
assistance she stood in need of, to calm the violence of her
grief, and above all, not to lose sight of her on any account.
“ One day the widowed princess, having arrived at the
age of puberty, took a bath, and was proceeding through
one of the corridors of the palace to an upper apartment, to
dry her hair in the rays of the sun, when she overheard an
able astrologer, named Dhanoo Patuckh, saying to his son,
who dwelt close to her mansion, ‘ Oh my son ! you will
confer on me a great favour, and much oblige me, if you
will not as usual go to that strange woman, but remain at
home and share your bed with your true and lawful wife;
for it is predicted, by an auspicious omen in the science of
astrology, that if a man have sexual intercourse with his
wife at the hour of midnight, and she become pregnant of a
son, that this son will become a great and excellent king,
and possess many estimable qualities and much energy of
purpose.’ But the astrologer’s son turned a deaf ear to all
his father had told him, and continued leading a debauched
life. On hearing the advice given by the astrologer to his
son, the princess felt much the loss of her husband.
Throughout the whole of that day she was ruminating on
her sad condition ; and, what with grief for the loss of a
husband she dearly loved, and the other attendant considera-
tions, she found it impossible to rest that night when she
retired to bed. She rose, after in vain trying to sleep, and
paced up and down the room, in a state of feverish anxiety
for something she could not well define. At last she
involuntarily took hold of a vessel filled with water, and
having poured some into the palm of her hand, said,
‘ What bitter cause have I not to curse the author of so
much injury to me,—he who was instrumental in killing my
husband, or depriving me of him, however that might have
been done !’ The water deities at this moment made their
appearance before the princess, whom they found just
as we have described, with the water in her palm and her

73
countenance expressing execration of the deed the conse-
quences of which she had to deplore. The deities appeared,
as we said, before the princess, and one among them
addressed her as follows :—' My dear princess ! stay, stay
awhile, and we will tell you." She paused involuntarily, and
was struck with wonder as she observed the beauty which
these deities displayed, and at their sudden and unexpected
appearance in the privacy of her apartment at that hour of the
night. She however summoned sufficient courage to enquire
of them the purport of their visit. ' I suppose,' said she, ' you
are in possession of my husband. There has been to-day a
favourable prediction revealed to me,—that if I enjoy his
person to-night, I shall bear a son who will possess extra-
ordinary merit. Hearing this, I was about to curse those
who kept my husband from me or killed him.' The deities
said, ' We beg to offer you our services in recovering your
husband, if you will promise to send him back to us after the
accomplishment of your present desires.' Upon hearing
this the princess was much overjoyed, and, without giving
the proposition a single thought beyond the hope of speedily
recovering him she loved, though he was eventually to be lost
to her for ever, replied, ' Here do I give you my faithful
promise that as soon as I shall have realised what I have
just been telling you, I will return my husband to you.
Believe me, I will not forfeit my word, which is as dear to
me as anything can well be.' The deities were satisfied,
and immediately, by some agency peculiar to themselves,
introduced the long-lost prince into the apartment, they
themselves disappearing at the same instant. As soon as
the princess beheld the prince before her, full of life and
health, she rushed into his arms, and he affectionately
embraced her ; they then retired for the night. At early
dawn the deities presented themselves as before in the
apartment, and claimed the fulfilment of the promise made
by the princess the previous night,—to make over her
husband to them, as had been then agreed upon on both
sides. She had no alternative but to comply, and she
K

74

prepared to make the sacrifice. While engaged in parting
with each other, it occurred to the prince that if his wife
should become pregnant it would give rise to unpleasant
rumours, and attach disgrace to her he loved. 'My ever
dear and fair princess,' said he, 'should it be the will of
God that you become pregnant after the occurrences of this
night, my parents may reasonably become jealous of their
honor, and suppose, from my disappearance at this eventful
period of your life, that you have played the harlot and
proved false to your husband's bed; for which reason, and
to prevent unpleasant consequences, take this ring, and in
the event of anything of the kind taking place, produce it,
and they cannot but then be satisfied that I have been with
you since they lost sight of me.' On saying this, after
tenderly embracing her, he disappeared with the deities.
In the usual course of events, the result of her interview
with her husband became apparent: she was found to be
pregnant. One of the slaves' suspicion being roused, she
ventured to enquire the cause of the visible alteration in
her mistress' appearance; but the princess, instead of
deigning her a reply, desired her to hold her tongue, and
not meddle with affairs which concerned her not. The slave,
being displeased at the rebuff she had met with, repaired to
the queen's apartment, and disclosed her suspicion to her;
the queen was astonished, and not a little grieved besides,
to hear this, and she lost no time in visiting the princess,
to see her and judge for herself. She there found unmis-
takeable signs of the actual state of affairs, and became
greatly alarmed as the conviction forced itself upon her.
She suddenly became enraged, after pondering over the
heinousness of the crime which she thought the princess had
committed. 'Oh, wicked princess!' said she, 'what is this
that I see? Have you reflected well on the disgrace you
have brought on yourself and those connected with you, and
on the consequences to which it must lead?' Here she was
touched with grief as the recollection of her son crossed her
mind. 'Oh, my son! you have by some unaccountable

75
means disappeared from us, and, while we are deploring
your loss, see what this wretched wife of yours has done!'
The princess, after allowing the queen to vent her feelings,
addressed her as follows, in vindication of her conduct:—
'Oh, mother! do not think for one moment that I am
faithless to my husband, or that I can ever lose sight of
what is due to me in my position.' She then explained
all the circumstances connected with her present condition,
and showed the queen the ring which had been given to
her by the prince on the eventful night of his visit, and
which she hoped would dispel every unworthy suspicion in
this delicate affair. But it was of no weight: the queen
examined the ring, and asked the princess why she
did not show the prince to her when he appeared. 'I
have a great and, as it appears to me, reasonable doubt
of the truth of your statement,' said the queen. Return-
ing to her palace, she resolved upon laying the whole
case before the king. She was engaged in devising the
best mode for doing so, when he, as was usual with him
after dismissing his council, presented himself at the door
of the queen's apartment, intending to spend half an hour
with her in conversation. On entering, he found her in a
melancholy mood; he therefore desired to be informed of the
cause of her sadness. She then revealed to him the state
of the princess, and her belief, which she had no ground for
doubting, that the child was the fruit of an illicit amour.
At this the king became greatly incensed against the inno-
cent princess, and much grieved when he thought of the
consequences attending it. 'What dreadful news is this
that I hear?' said he; 'I have scarce got over the wound
inflicted by the untimely fate of my dear child, and for
whom I daily renew my lamentations, but I must meet with
another blow, as if to crush me between them. Was not
the death of my son sufficient to bring my grey hairs in
sorrow to the grave? Must this fresh affliction be also
added to it? The princess has indeed been guilty of a
glaring outrage on the honour of our family by her

76
infidelity ; it will prove a lasting shame to me and mine.’
He then sent for the princess, and asked her what induce-
ment she had had for committing a crime of the nature
that she stood charged with. ‘See,’ said he, ‘to what
contempt you have brought the family which has hitherto
been untarnished by even the breath of calumny.’ The
princess, with tears streaming copiously from her eyes, as
soon as she could find utterance, modestly replied, ‘Oh,
my more than father! You feel grieved at my apparent
misconduct, for real it is not. Believe me, sir, I anr not
guilty of violating my husband’s bed; I have ever been a
faithful wife, and trust to remain so. I beg permission to
relate to you a circumstance which occurred in my father’s
court, which may perhaps dispose you to credit me. At
my birth my father had a very eminent astrologer brought
to him, with whom he consulted as to my future destiny.
In casting my nativity, the astrologer said that I would live
happily till my sixteenth year (which you know I have just
entered), and that then I would fall under the worst of all
suspicions, unjustly though it would be, which would give
me much pain, but that ultimately I should become
possessed of the means of exculpating myself to the satisfac-
tion of all. This suspicion has now fallen upon me : it only
remains for me to prove its injustice, to do which I have
not now the means, save this ring,’ and she produced
the one given to her by her husband on the night of
his remaining with her, ‘which was placed on my
finger by my husband himself, in proof of the inno-
cence of his wife as to anything that might be said
regarding the condition in which I now am. I say this,
sir, to you, in the hope that you will do me the justice to
believe that I am not what I appear to be. In either case,
however, I must abide by your decision.’ The king replied
that he did not believe a word of what she had said. ‘It
is ever so,’ said he ; ‘when people commit a fault they try
to screen themselves by falsehood, to which they attempt to
give the semblance of truth. Nothing that you have said

77
can exculpate you. I should this moment have sacrificed
you, but consideration for the innocent fruit of your base
crime withheld me. Go, then, from my presence, and
with tears of repentance wash out the foul stain you have
cast on the hitherto untarnished name of Bhudrasain!' The
king ordered his minister to see her taken to some deserted
and lonely part of the forest, and there left to shift for
herself. On this the princess again addressed the king in
moving terms, and appealed directly to his heart as to a
father. 'I am, sir,' said she, 'though shrouded in mystery
as to my present condition, still an honest and virtuous
woman; and my misfortune, not my crime, has brought me
to this pass,—to fall under your well-meant but unjust
displeasure. I submit to it; but remember,—oh, remem-
ber!—if I should afterwards appear innocent in your eyes,
what will be the feelings that will then agitate the heart of
one so good as you are? Think of that, sir, if you cannot
be induced to have any consideration for me.' The king
turned a deaf ear to all her entreaties, fully believing in her
perfidy. The minister, according to the orders he had
received, prepared a mare for her conveyance, and a horse
for himself. When all was ready, he informed the princess,
telling her to make haste, and that he would take her to
her father's city, where she would doubtless find sufficient
opportunity for assuaging her grief. Before she left the
palace of her husband's father, she again protested in
respectful terms against the violence that was being offered
to her; she reiterated that she was virtuous, and that on
that account God would not forsake her. She then kissed
the feet of her husband's parents, nothing else being vouch-
safed to her, and set out with the minister. At daybreak
they found they had penetrated into a wood, and the
princess becoming exceedingly thirsty and fatigued, was
unable to prosecute her journey. She requested the minister
to procure some water for her use; he accordingly went in
search of it. Having reached a rivulet, and the heat
becoming oppressive, she alighted from her mare, and

sought shelter under the branches of a wide-spreading tree.
There was a stream also hard by, and, having quenched her
thirst, she seated herself on the ground, where, lulled by
the fresh breeze which gently blew across her face, she
soon fell asleep. The minister, seizing the opportunity
thus presented to him, mounted his horse and flew towards
the city of Bhadravutty, where, on his arrival, he informed
the king that he had executed his orders. When the
princess awoke, she was astonished to find that the minister
had disappeared, and left her alone in that lonely place.
She got up and looked everywhere for him, but to no
purpose. She became greatly apprehensive, and said, 'If
I had not slept the minister would not have abandoned me,
and left me alone.' At last, seeing no help for the existing
state of affairs, she resigned herself to the will of God,
calling upon Him and entreating Him to have compassion
on her forlorn state. She then left her mare, and commenced
her travels on foot. In her walk she observed a steep and
rugged mountain, which she was compelled to pass, as it
lay in her way; at first she hesitated, but seeing no
alternative she put up a prayer to the Supreme Being, and
began to make the perilous ascent. Though the stony path
she trod was ill calculated to raise her heart, she yet with
patient endurance dragged her weary frame along, at every
step the sharp stones wounding her tender feet, which were
now profusely bleeding. At last, being exhausted, she
stopped to draw breath, and as she cast her eyes
upwards she despaired of ever being able to gain the
summit. She went on, however, and, by dint of unusual
exertion and persevering energy, gained the top of the
mountain. She there sat down and refreshed herself for a
short time, and while so engaged she reflected on the lot she
was doomed to endure, and the condition she was now
reduced to. From a princess, seated in her palace, with
everything at her command, she was now become a poor
wandering outcast, with neither friends nor home; and,
worse than all, at the mercy of every wayfarer. She wept

79
bitter tears of grief as she thus reflected on her situation.
After a short stay she continued her journey. The moun-
tain on the opposite side consisted of several extensive
cultivated fields. As she descended into the valley below,
she observed before her, in a large plain, a city, with a great
lake, on perceiving which she became delighted with the
prospect of so soon approaching human habitations. Though
she was nearly exhausted by her journey, she made towards
this city. It was called Shewpoory, and the king's name
was Shrimunt. She came near a tank outside the fort,
where the women of the city were engaged in drawing water.
She approached them, and seated herself on one of the
ledges of the rocks. Some few of the women from the city
were also seated there, and observing the miserable plight of
the new comer, whose feet were quite lacerated by the stones
over which she had travelled, and her noble air and carriage,
surrounded her and began earnestly to question her. They
asked her where she had come from, and what had brought
her there. Some even said that they suspected, from her
appearance and dress, that she was a person of exalted rank,
and that they were surprised to find her in that plight. The
unfortunate princess replied to all this, that what was
written in her fate she must go through. 'I am a stranger,'
continued she, 'and have none to depend upon but God. I
will live in any condition He may be pleased to allot to
me, because I am his creature.' Some slaves of a famous
actress in the city were also at the well, and accosted the
princess. They wished to know, like the others, where the
princess had come from, and how she contemplated earning
a living for herself,—whether she had any one with her, or
whether she was alone. She replied, 'I have no other
companion but God, who created me, and I am certain He
will provide for me too.' The slaves on their return home
told their mistress of the arrival of a person in the city, of
great beauty and attraction, but, withal, suffering from her
recent travels, and without any ostensible means of support.
Of her beauty they spoke in no measured terms ; and sure

80

enough the object of their vulgar admiration was deserving
of any amount of praise. On hearing the tale, the actress
immediately repaired to the well, and there found the
princess seated in the same place, beautiful as Hebe, and as
humble in her demeanour as a slave. The actress inquired
into the condition of the wandering princess, and as to how
she intended disposing of herself. Finding that she had
no visible means of support, nor a home to receive her, the
wily actress offered to admit her into her house, where she
would, she said, find every necessary comfort. The unfor-
tunate princess wished to know, before she proceeded with
the actress, what services would be required of her in return
for the asylum offered. 'Dancing, singing, and the enjoy-
ment which wealth and charms will most assuredly secure
for you,' said the actress. The princess felt hurt at this
giddy and unfeeling talk, and replied that she could not
think of accepting the proffered kindness on the terms
proposed; 'but,' said she, 'I will be content to serve you
if you will give me for my trouble a quantity of undressed
corn sufficient to live upon. I must stipulate, however,
that the services I render to you shall be other than those
you propose. You must teach me to grind and pound
corn, and the other domestic arts involved in housekeeping.
If you promise me this I will follow you.' The actress, not
wishing to enter into an argument there, as both the time
and place were unsuited to the purpose, agreed to the
conditions of the handsome traveller, thinking she would
easily bring her round to her own purposes after she had
tasted the comforts of her home, and otherwise experienced
her bounty and kindness. The princess accordingly accepted
the offer, especially as her condition rendered it imperative
that she should remain in some asylum, at least until
after her confinement, after which she purposed devising
some plan for her future guidance. They accordingly
proceeded together to the residence of the actress. The
princess, however, notwithstanding the importunities of the
actress, could not be persuaded to enter into any of the

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projects set before her for becoming rich and admired. She
continued performing the menial offices of the household,
which she contrived to master shortly after she had been
admitted into the house, and for which she received in
payment the undressed corn that had been agreed upon,
which she cooked in a separate shed in the yard, and partook
of in all humility. Thus lived this lovely princess, once
the admiration of all, and almost supreme in power, in the
household of this worthless creature, who had neither name,
character, or reputation. That critical period in the life of
a young woman—the birth of her first-born—was now fast
approaching, and the actress made every preparation for the
occasion. In this she was actuated more by certain designs
she had in view than by any motives of humanity. She had
a midwife ready at hand for the emergency that was now
momentarily expected. But we must here relate the
arrangements that had been entered into by the actress
with this personage: she told the midwife that it was her
desire that the princess should be delivered of a daughter,
but that should it prove otherwise, she calculated upon the
discretion and inventive powers of the matron to devise means
for substituting a girl in place of the boy, who must on all
accounts be removed. At the same time she informed the
midwife that the queen of that city was also far advanced in
pregnancy, and might not unreasonably be expected to
complete her time about the same period as the inmate of
her house. She threw out this hint, and left the midwife
to follow up the suggestion, who did not hesitate to enter
into the transaction with all the zeal and willingness which
the generality of her class not unfrequently display in cases
of this nature, however revolting to a conscientious mind,
when backed by the powerful and irresistible argument
of gold, of which the actress in this instance was very
profuse and liberal. She gave her a large purse for
present use, as she said, and with a promise of doubling
or even trebling it in the event of her success. The
object the actress had in view in this transaction we must
L

82
allow to be developed in its own time in the course of the
narrative.
“The king of that city was very virtuous and exceedingly
rich. He had seven children, all daughters, who were very
handsome in their way ; and the only thing that grieved
him was the want of a male child on whom to bestow the
weight of the crown he had worn for a series of years with
credit and honor. Every time his wife, the queen, became
pregnant, he was buoyed up with hope, and as often had
he been disappointed. In the present case his feelings took
another turn : he was enraged to think that he should be
thus baulked in his expectations, and he swore that if the
queen did not present him with a son, he would discard her
as unworthy to share in the honors of his exalted rank and
position. This cruel mandate threw the queen into great
dejection, and she was heard to say, ‘I do not know what
fate may have reserved for me, but should it be the will of
God again to give me a female child, I must strive to
replace the child with a boy.’ She was, however, at a loss
how to effect this desirable but unnatural end. In this
dilemma she thought of consulting the midwife who usually
attended upon her, and who happened to be the same whose
services had been engaged by the actress. She sent for
this trafficker in children, and disclosed to her what so heavily
weighed on her mind. She said that the midwife would
confer a great obligation on her by attending to her request,
and exhorted her to render her assistance without the least
apprehension in a matter of so great moment. ‘The king,
my lord and husband,’ said the disconsolate queen, ‘has
expressly told me that if in this my eighth confinement I do
not present him with a son, he will abandon me, and never
more see me, on which account I am much troubled in
mind, not knowing what will be the issue. I therefore beg
you will, soon after my delivery, in case I shall have given
birth to a female child, exchange it for a male one, which
you must procure in its stead. I hope you will not refuse
to do me this invaluable piece of service; you are well fitted

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to undertake the task, and I will, rest assured, handsomely
reward you for the same.’ This gave much pleasure to
the midwife, as it promised to assist her in the work she
had already undertaken, as well as add considerably to the
profit; and, what was more, it would effectually silence all
suspicions, and close the door against any conjecture that
might ever arise; of which, however, as the two cases at
present stood, there was not the slightest probability. She
did not therefore hesitate to promise her strict attention to
the queen’s proposition, and her unqualified aid in carrying
it out; and went home in high glee, and with a well-filled
purse, ruminating on the good luck that had attended her.
From this day she became very regular in her attendance on
both the queen and the princess, anxiously awaiting the
time of delivery of each, which, by her observation and
experience, she knew could not be far distant in either case.
While thus engaged, the queen sent for her, requiring her
immediate attendance, being taken suddenly ill. Prior to
this, however, the cunning woman had established two of
her own tried creatures in attendance upon these two preg-
nant women,—the queen and the inmate of the actress’
house,—as she knew that without such aid she could ill
perform the project she had in hand, though in the one case,
that of the queen, it was with her full consent and cogni-
sance. The midwife lost no time in attending upon the
queen, and at an early hour on the following morning she
had the pleasure of witnessing, though to the no small
grief of the queen, the birth of as handsome a princess as
she could have wished to see. Not long after this occur-
rence she was sent for by the actress, as the princess was
also taken ill about the same time, and was delivered of a
beautiful prince. As may well be imagined, the midwife
lost no time, aided by the darkness of the night, speedily to
effect her purpose; and as the day dawned upon the inmates
of either house, the exchange had been made, and the
infants laid beside the mothers who had not given them
birth, but who were in future to be considered and acknow-

84
ledged by the world as having done so. The queen was
transported with joy at the successful termination of an
affair fraught with such fearful consequences to her but for
the timely aid rendered by the midwife ; and the only draw-
back to her otherwise happy condition was, that she was
necessarily in the hands of her accomplices, who could by a
single word blast her fame and reputation, and, possibly,
take away her life also. However, she consoled herself
with the hope that money would purchase their silence.
The exchange was so cleverly accomplished that but four
individuals, who were one and all necessarily involved in it,
were cognisant of it,—the queen, the actress, the midwife,
and her confidante. With the queen it was as we have
above related ; not so, however, with the princess in her
lonely dwelling. Unsuspicious as yet of all around, and
fully expecting, according to the prediction she had over-
heard, to give birth to a son, she was grievously disappointed
to find that it was not so, and expressed herself to that
effect to those who were near her. ' I had received an
assurance,' said she, ' from Dhanoo, the astrologer, that I
should bear a son ; and it is indeed a matter of surprise to
me, that it should turn out otherwise.' The positive
manner in which she spoke totally upset the equanimity of
the actress and her accomplice the midwife : their blunder-
ing and foolish explanations roused suspicion in the
princess' mind that some foul play had been practised upon
her during the hours of insensibility into which she had
been plunged at the moment of delivery. ' However,' said
she, ' though I feel perfectly assured that the astrologer
could not have predicted falsely, and though the care and
anxiety with which I had looked forward to a consummation
of my desires have been thus cruelly disregarded by some
unfriendly hands, who have, perhaps, removed from me my
son, yet will I hope that that son will be happy, and live
prosperously ; that the Almighty will, if it pleases Him,
bring us together ; or if He should in his wisdom ordain
otherwise, his will be done ! Into whomsoever's hand my

85
child may have fallen, may the same care be bestowed on
him as I will bestow on this involuntary intruder.' Saying
this, she took up the infant lying beside her in her arms,
and kissed her, naming her Soomutty.