For a moment King Dantawat’s heart was ready to break. But he was accustomed to master his feelings; he speedily applied the reins of reflection to the wild steed of passion. He thought to himself, “the affairs of one’s household, the intentions of one’s heart, and whatever one’s losses may be, should not be disclosed to anyone. Since Padmavati is a witch, she is no longer my daughter. I will verily go forth and consult the spiritual preceptor.”
With these words the king went outside, where the guru was still sitting upon his black hide, making marks with his trident on the floor. Having requested that the pupil might be sent away, and having cleared the room, he said to the yogi, “O holy man! what punishment for the heinous crime of witchcraft is awarded to a woman in the Dharma-Shastra?”71
“Great king!” replied the devotee, “in the Dharma-Shastra it is thus written: ‘If a Brahman, a cow, a woman, a child, or any other person whatsoever who may be dependent on us, should be guilty of a perfidious act, their punishment is that they be banished the country.’ However much they may deserve death, we must not spill their blood, as Lakshmi72 flies in horror from the deed.”
Hearing these words the Raja dismissed the guru with many thanks and large presents. He waited till nightfall and then ordered a band of trusty men to seize Padmavati without alarming the household, and to carry her into a distant jungle full of fiends, tigers, and bears, and there to abandon her.
In the meantime, the ascetic and his pupil, hurrying to the cemetery, resumed their proper dresses; they then went to the old nurse’s house, rewarded her hospitality till she wept bitterly, girt on their weapons, and mounting their horses, followed the party which issued from the gate of King Dantawat’s palace. And it may easily be believed that they found little difficulty in persuading the poor girl to exchange her chance in the wild jungle for the prospect of becoming Vajramukut’s wife—lawfully wedded—at Benares. She did not even ask if she was to have a rival in the house—a question which women, you know, never neglect to put under usual circumstances. After some days the two pilgrims of one love arrived at the house of their fathers, and to all, both great and small, excess in joy came.
“Now, Raja Vikram!” said the Baital, “you have not spoken much; doubtless you are engrossed by the interest of a story wherein a man beats a woman at her own weapon—deceit. But I warn you that you will assuredly fall into Narak (the infernal regions) if you do not make up your mind upon and explain this matter. Who was the most to blame amongst these four? the lover,73 the lover’s friend, the girl, or the father?”
“For my part I think Padmavati was the worst, she being at the bottom of all their troubles,” cried Dharma Dhwaj. The king said something about young people and the two senses of seeing and hearing, but his son’s sentiment was so sympathetic that he at once pardoned the interruption. At length, determined to do justice despite himself, Vikram said, “Raja Dantawat is the person most at fault.”
“In what way was he at fault?” asked the Baital curiously.
King Vikram gave him this reply: “The Prince Vajramukut being tempted of the love-god was insane, and therefore not responsible for his actions. The minister’s son performed his master’s business obediently, without considering causes or asking questions—a very excellent quality in a dependant who is merely required to do as he is bid. With respect to the young woman, I have only to say that she was a young woman, and thereby of necessity a possible murderess. But the Raja, a prince, a man of a certain age and experience, a father of eight! He ought never to have been deceived by so shallow a trick, nor should he, without reflection, have banished his daughter from the country.”
“Gramercy to you!” cried the Vampire, bursting into a discordant shout of laughter, “I now return to my tree. By my tail! I never yet heard a Raja so readily condemn a Raja.”
With these words he slipped out of the cloth, leaving it to hang empty over the great king’s shoulder.
Vikram stood for a moment, fixed to the spot with blank dismay. Presently, recovering himself, he retraced his steps, followed by his son, ascended the siras-tree, tore down the Baital, packed him up as before, and again set out upon his way.
Soon afterwards a voice sounded behind the warrior king’s back, and began to tell another true story.
The Vampire’s Second Story
Of the Relative Villany of Men and Women
In the great city of Bhogavati dwelt, once upon a time, a young prince, concerning whom I may say that he strikingly resembled this amiable son of your majesty.
Raja Vikram was silent, nor did he acknowledge the Baital’s indirect compliment. He hated flattery, but he liked, when flattered, to be flattered in his own person; a feature in their royal patron’s character which the Nine Gems of Science had turned to their own account.
Now the young prince Raja Ram (continued the tale teller) had an old father, concerning whom I may say that he was exceedingly unlike your Rajaship, both as a man and as a parent.
