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Kathasaritsagara (the Ocean of Story)

by Somadeva | 1924 | 1,023,469 words | ISBN-13: 9789350501351

This is the English translation of the Kathasaritsagara written by Somadeva around 1070. The principle story line revolves around prince 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ and his quest to become the emperor of the Vidhyādharas (‘celestial beings�). The work is one of the adoptations of the now lost ṛhkathā, a great Indian epic tale said to have been composed by ...

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Terminal essay

WHEN, in the summer of 1919, I first approached Mr Tawney with the suggestion of reissuing his Magnum opus, little was decided about the form the Terminal Essay was to take. At that time there were so many immediate points connected with the work to be considered that any questions relating to the final volumes were to be deferred to a later date.

My own idea was to discuss briefly the manners and customs of the Hindus as illustrated in the work, together with some account of the different religious systems introduced. I then intended to speak of the debt Western literature owes to the East, and conclude with a few paragraphs on the classification of the world’s folk-tales. If room could be found, I was also going to give extracts from Speyer’s work on the ٳ-sarit-.

At that time, however, the idea of a Foreword to each volume by some eminent scholar had not been formulated, nor had the number or length of my own notes been determined.

As the scheme of the work began to take definite shape, matters became more established, and a precedent was gradually formed in accordance with what seemed to be the best way of dealing with subjects as they arose. Thus, whenever some custom, ceremony, name or incident was thought to require a note, it seemed most practicable to give it on the same page, or, if too long, at the end of the chapter.

Following this plan, all the notes which would have been used for the Terminal Essay were given in their respective places. It also proved much better to give Speyer’s translations and suggestions in situ, and not relegate them to the present volume.

My idea of inviting a different scholar to write a Foreword to each volume has proved a great success, and my work is now enriched by nine excellent Essays, each dealing with the great collection from a different angle.

With the appearance of the present volume, and its most interesting Foreword by Sir Atul Chatterjee, which approaches the K.S.S. from the economic standpoint, I find practically every subject which I might have treated in this present Essay already dealt with in a manner which I could never have equalled.

All general questions have been dealt with by Sir Richard Temple, Sir George Grierson and Dr Thomas; the study and classification of folk-tales has received expert attention from Dr Gaster, Mr Wright, Professor Bloomfield and Professor Halliday; while Sir Denison Ross has contributed original research work on the Persian recension of the ʲñٲԳٰ. I think it will thus be agreed that, on the face of it, there seems little left to write about.

There is, however, one subject which, as yet, we have not discussed in sufficient detail—the “frame-story� of the ٳ-sarit-岵, the arrangement and order of its contents, the sequence of events in the history of Udayana and 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ, the introduction of the numerous substories, and the resemblance the whole bears to the original ṛh-첹ٳ of ҳṇāḍⲹ.

I shall, therefore, devote this Terminal Essay to a brief discussion of this subject.

 

The “Frame-Story� of the ٳ-sarit-岵

In order to determine, as far as possible, the changes any recension of a lost original text may have undergone, two distinct methods at once suggest themselves: a critical examination of the version in question; and a reconstruction of the original with the help of other versions known to be derived from that same original.

In some cases it may happen that both these methods cannot be applied, and until quite recently this has been so with Somadeva’s work. Thanks, however, to the researches of Professor Lacôte, the Nepalese recension of the ṛh-첹ٳ, known as the ṛh-첹ٳ-śǰ첹-ṃg, supplies us with evidence which can be compared with the results obtained from a close examination of the text of the ٳ-sarit-岵.

If the evidence from the one source corroborates that from the other, some definite conclusions will result. It is, of course, unnecessary to discuss all the points raised by Lacôte in his Essai sur ҳṇāḍⲹ, but I shall endeavour to lay before my readers the main arguments for his conclusions, as far as they concern the present work.

The method I have adopted throughout of affixing a number to each story has not only enabled the thread of a tale long since suspended to be picked up again with ease, but facilitates the separation of the Main Story from the mass of sub-stories introduced on every possible occasion.

Readers will have noticed to what a great extent the latter are in excess of the former. This fact alone should make us suspicious, particularly when we remember[1] how, after the adventures of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ had been brought to a successful close by his coronation, the long series of Vikrama tales are introduced for no apparent reason. The final return to the Main Story[2] is purely conventional, and clearly betrays the hand of a later editor.

Although many of the shorter sub-stories justify their position and introduction sufficiently well, there is a large number that fit uneasily into the places where we find them, and display no reason whatever for being there rather than anywhere else. This, of course, specially applies to whole collections, such as the ʲñٲԳٰ. Since studying Lacôte’s Essai, I am now convinced that it could never have been included in ҳṇāḍⲹ’s original poem. A closer examination of Somadeva’s text of the Main Story will reveal many inconsistencies and inaccuracies which are largely hidden and unnoticed with the inclusion of so many sub-stories.

 

Book I: ٳpitha (Vol. I, pp. 1-91).

Let us first, then, consider the Introduction to Somadeva. It will be remembered that it consists of a strange legend in which ҳṇāḍⲹ himself plays a part. This fact did not diminish the belief of Brockhaus, Wilson and Lassen that such a person as ҳṇāḍⲹ never existed in reality. Since their day, however, the advance in Sanskrit literary research has proved his existence beyond a doubt.

The evidence contained in the ṛh-첹ٳ-śǰ첹-ṃg only strengthens this opinion. We are introduced to Ś and ī on Mount . In reply to a request from his wife for a story, Ś relates his own history in one of his former lives. This is received with scorn as an age-worn tale, and Ś is called a fraud. As compensation he promises to tell an entirely new tale that ī could never have heard before—the history of the վ󲹰. Thus the hackneyed tales of gods, on the one hand, with their usual accompanying laudatory eulogies, and of men, on the other hand, with their sad and commonplace happenings, would both be avoided.

ī is placated, and, we are led to conjecture, listens in silence and interest to the long tale which Ś unfolds.

This fact is significant as showing that the author puts forward strong claims to originality. The well-known Vedic and Puranic legends are not to be given—there is something that even a goddess would get a thrill over!

Yet this high standard is hardly borne out when we see later what old tales have crept in.

ṣeԻ is more cautious, and allows ī to raise no objections to Ś’s first tale about himself, thus at once disarming criticism if well-known tales are introduced.

But let us proceed with the story.

ʳṣp岹Գٲ, one of Ś’s Ҳṇa, overhears the tale by a trick and repeats it to his wife, who in turn tells it to ī. Thus ʳṣp岹Գٲ is discovered, and ī’s wrath is pitiless. Both the eavesdropper and his friend , who pleaded on his behalf, are cursed to fall into mortal wombs.

ʳṣp岹Գٲ, now to be born in ś峾ī under the names of Vararuci and ٲⲹԲ, will obtain release from the curse only when he meets a ۲ṣa named ܱī첹 residing in the Vindhya forest under the name of ṇaūپ, and tells him the Great Tale. ⲹ is to be born in ܱپṣṭ󾱳ٲ under the name of ҳṇāḍⲹ, and will be freed from the curse only when he has heard the tale from ṇaūپ.

In course of time ʳṣp岹Գٲ-Vararuci-ٲⲹԲ meets ܱī첹-ṇaūپ and tells him the Great Tale; then, after also relating his life-story in detail, reaches his heavenly home once again.

It is, however, with the history of ⲹ-ҳṇāḍⲹ that we are mainly concerned, for the legend may contain some clue to the real ҳṇāḍⲹ. According to the story he is of semi-divine birth, his mother being a Brāhman girl and his father a prince. Thus he takes rank with the two other semi-divine authors�ī쾱 of the 峾ⲹṇa and ղ of the Ѳٲ—and he is actually mentioned in Sanskrit literature as forming the third of the Epic trio.

ṣeԻ wrote ṅjī (abridged versions) of them all. The ٳⲹ draws a comparison between the (Nepalese) versions of the legends of ī쾱 and ҳṇāḍⲹ, showing how both men had to visit Nepal by divine command, the former to find a sacred spot worthy to be the cradle of the 峾ⲹṇa, and the latter to fulfil certain conditions necessary for his return to his previous semi-divine state. Both men erect ṅg before leaving Nepal.

To return to Somadeva’s version, we find that ҳṇāḍⲹ becomes a minister of King ٲ󲹲Բ in a city named ܱپṣṭ󾱳ٲ, capital of the ʰپṣṭԲ (Vol. I, p. 60). On one occasion the king shows his ignorance of grammar (p. 69), and ҳṇāḍⲹ offers to teach him Sanskrit grammar in six years. Thereupon another minister, Ś, promises to do it in six months, or carry his shoes on his head for twelve years. ҳṇāḍⲹ considers this impossible, and says that if he succeeds, he, in his turn, will renounce for ever Sanskrit, Prakrit, and his own vernacular dialect.

By the favour of the god ٳپⲹ a grammar known as ٲԳٰ and Kālāpaka (on account of its conciseness) is revealed to Ś, who, with its help, wins the bet. In accordance with his vow, ҳṇāḍⲹ, now reduced to silence, retires to the Vindhya forest. Here he learns the language of the ʾś峦, and, on meeting Vararuci, writes down the Great Tale, as it is told him, in his own blood. (p. 89). This done, he sends it to King ٲ󲹲Բ, who, however, rejects it as being written in a barbarous language. On hearing this, ҳṇāḍⲹ is in despair, and reads out the whole work to the animals of the forest, who crowd round, lost in admiration at its beauty. As he reads, so he bums the tale page by page.

Meanwhile the king, owing to a sudden and unexplained lack of nutritive qualities in his food, has fallen sick. He is informed that the explanation of this curious state of affairs is to be found in a Brāhman who is reciting a wonderful story in the forest, to which all the animals are listening motionless. Out of curiosity he goes to see for himself, and recognises ҳṇāḍⲹ. He is, however, too late to save the Great Tale. All has been burnt, with the exception of the Adventures of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ. This ٲ󲹲Բ takes back to his palace, and, in order that these strange happenings shall not be lost to the world, himself composes “the book named ٳpīṭha, in order to show how the tale came to be first made known in the ʲś峦 language� (p. 91).

Thus the first book of the ٳ-sarit-岵 ends. But what does it all mean? Who is this ٲ󲹲Բ, at whose Court ҳṇāḍⲹ became a minister? And what is the point of introducing a kind of grammatical controversy on the respective qualities of Sanskrit and Prakrit?

These are some of the queries that present themselves.

ٲ󲹲Բ is the family name, in inscriptions, of the Andhra dynasty, whose home lay in the Deccan, between the rivers Ҵǻ屹ī and Kistna. Their capital was ʰپṣṭԲ, the modern Paithan on the north bank of the Ҵǻ屹. Thus ҳṇāḍⲹ’s connection of king and capital is historically correct, although (as far as we can judge from Somadeva) he omits to mention which ٲ󲹲Բ is meant.

The third of the line, Śٲ첹ṇi, is perhaps the most important of these kings. For he it was who wrested Ჹ⾱ī from the Śṅg king, ʳṣyٰ. The evidence for this is numismatic, but the horse-sacrifice performed by him would find justification only in some such important feat of arms. Śٲ첹ṇi gave his name to many subsequent Andhra kings, so that altogether his pre-eminence is undoubted.

But it seems most unlikely that our author would have omitted to mention, and even to enlarge on, such great victories, or to allude to the ś. It looks, therefore, as if we must search among other ٲ󲹲Բs. A most important point to notice is that the Andhra kings were patrons of Prakrit, and that it was only late in the history of the dynasty that Sanskrit was finally accepted as the Court language, and Prakrit was ousted from its former place of honour. Among the ٲ󲹲Բs there was one king who became specially famous for being the centre of a literary Court and for being himself a poet of no mean order[3]—and that was . His date, though still uncertain, is considered to have been about the second or third century A.D.[4] Whether he finally became a convert to the use of Sanskrit we do not know, but grammatical controversies could not have been unknown. If it was not himself whom the legend of ҳṇāḍⲹ makes ignorant of Sanskrit grammar, it is one of the succeeding ٲ󲹲Բs; but in connecting any tale about the introduction of Sanskrit in the place of Prakrit with a ٲ󲹲Բ, it is that at once would be thought of.

A change so important and far-reaching as the use of a different language at the Court, and in literature generally, would, of course, take a considerable time to effect.

As patrons of Prakrit the ٲ󲹲Բs would be the most vigorous opposers of such an innovation, and it is only in the time of ٲṇḍ (sixth century) that we find the use of Prakrit becoming rare. The fact that in subsequent centuries native opinion looks upon as the central figure of Prakrit literature is surely a sufficient explanation of why ҳṇāḍⲹ himself is represented in the legend as a native of ʰپṣṭԲ. Such evidence as exists points to Ჹ⾱ī, or rather ś峾ī, as the birthplace of the real ҳṇāḍⲹ; but once he is connected with , the champion of Prakrit, no further excuse for the work being in Paiśāchī would be needed.

It is only after the ٲԳٰ grammar has converted the king to Sanskrit that he regards Paiśāchī as a barbarous language. Whether the real ҳṇāḍⲹ and , or and Ś, were contemporaries or not in no way affects the argument, but it seems highly probable that ҳṇāḍⲹ antedates , and that the growing legend used as an introduction to his work came into being later. It was well known by the sixth century, as ٲṇḍ not only refers to the ṛh-첹ٳ, but to the legend of ҳṇāḍⲹ as well.

It now remains to mention Vararuci and his strange story, which, for some reason or other, has become connected with the legend of ҳṇāḍⲹ. The stories of the two men are quite distinct. They never meet in the tale, and Vararuci could disappear, with his complete history, without upsetting the story in the least.

But the name of Vararuci is famous in connection with both Sanskrit and Prakrit grammar, and its introduction would merely assist in bringing the most famous grammarians on the stage at once. It then needed some clever invention to link the two entirely separate tales together as a single legend. On earth ṇaūپ is the common point of contact. But in the realms of heaven the person of ҳṇāḍⲹ has been divided into two. It will be remembered that it is ʳṣp岹Գٲ-Vararuci who originally overhears the tale and is cursed by ī. Surely, then, it is he who should have been made to repeat it on earth. Yet not only is it not so, but he receives less punishment than his friend ⲹ-ҳṇāḍⲹ, whose only crime was to plead for him.

Finally, Vararuci is born at Ჹ⾱ī, the very place where internal evidence places the birthplace of ҳṇāḍⲹ. From all these considerations Lacôte has come to the conclusion that the form of the legend as reproduced by the Kashmirian poets is purely a Kashmirian work.

�... dans la forme originate,� says Lacôte (Essai sur ҳṇāḍⲹ, p. 33),

“Vararuci n’y paraissait pas et un seul ṇa était maudit, le futur ҳṇāḍⲹ. C’est ce dernier état de la légende qui devait être courant dans l’Inde.�

All the evidence certainly seems to point to this conclusion —the compiler or editor has been at work, and has produced a composite legend which, by its inclusion of grammatical disputes on the one hand, and lively sub-stories on the other hand, would appeal to both savant and bourgeois. The legend of ҳṇāḍⲹ, as told in the Nepalese version by Budhasvāmin, confirms the belief in a much simpler original form than we find in Somadeva. There is only one Gaṇa, and he is known as ҳṇāḍⲹ in his mortal life. Such alterations as there are can easily be explained by remembering that one of the chief objects the Nepalese had in view was to connect the names of heroes with their holy places of pilgrimage, and allow their actions to further sanctify those places.

The important point of this evidence is that Budhasvāmin dates from the eighth or ninth century, and thus antedates the Kashmirian poets. The work had not received the attention of editors who padded out the text with other collections, and thus the form of tales in the ṛh-첹ٳ-śǰ첹-saṃgr aha is much more likely to be closer to the original of ҳṇāḍⲹ.

The title of this first Book of Somadeva is ٳpīṭhā, which means “Introduction� or “Preface.�

The second Book has a very similar name: in fact the two words 첹ٳīٳ and 첹ٳ峾ܰ differ in meaning little more than our “Introduction� and “Foreword.� But why should a work contain two introductions? Lacôte suggests that if, as is probable, the legend was added to the work later, a ٳmukha was already there. The next best thing would be to use another word with almost exactly the same meaning.


Book II: ٳmukha (Vol. I, pp. 94-189).

In accordance with the title of this Book, we should have expected it to contain merely introductory matter, such as the name of the narrator, the scope and object of his work, with possibly some laudatory reference to King Udayana and his son 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ. In fact we should have expected it to have resembled other �ٳmukhas,� such as that which introduces the ʲñٲԳٰ. We have already seen that Somadeva omitted the ٳmukha of the ʲñٲԳٰ, probably because the tales could quite easily be put into the mouths of characters in the Main Story. In this case, however, he has retained the title which he doubtless found in the texts he followed, although in the original ṛh-첹ٳ the subject-matter may have been different and more in accordance with the usually accepted contents of a ٳmukha. More than half the Book contains sub-stories which have but little connection with the Main Story, which, in order to make room for them, has had to be very considerably condensed. Otherwise the Book would have swelled to an undue size.

Thus we find the Main Story in this second Book crowded with incidents. We are hurried through the hero’s birth and childhood, and are introduced to 䲹ṇḍԲ, King of Ჹ⾱ī, who is anxious to marry his daughter 岹ٳ to our hero. The schemes and counter-schemes to obtain this end follow, and finally the wedding takes place at ś峾ī. Udayana proves a fickle husband, but we are clearly given only a very condensed form of his amours. The Book ends, then, on a dramatic note, and we naturally turn to the next one to discover how things turn out.

 

Book III: 屹ṇa첹 (Vol. II, pp. 1-116).

We are not disappointed. The Book opens with the lamentations of Udayana’s ministers at his desultory life—spent either with women or in the hunting-field. They fear he will never enlarge his realm, and are anxious for him to begin a series of conquests. Their eyes are first fixed upon Magadha, and their knowledge of political statecraft tells them that a marriage with ʲ峾屹ī, daughter of Pradyota, King of Magadha, would be the easiest method to employ in the winning of their object. 岹ٳ is naturally rather in the way for such an alliance, but a plot is cleverly engineered, and finally Udayana marries his second wife.

After all is smoothed over, and everyone is conciliated, the king, now roused from his idleness, determines on conquest. Accordingly he marches east to the sea, and circles India in a clockwise rotation, finally returning to ś峾ī.

The Book being almost entirely devoted to the ʲ峾屹ī incident is much more easily condensed than was the case in the former Book. Hence ample opportunity occurs for the inclusion of a large number of sub-stories. The chief feature of interest in this Book, from an historic point of view, is Udayana’s conquest. We hear very little about it really, and, with the one exception of Brahmadatta, no particulars of the conquered kings, their countries, or deeds of prowess of the conquerors are forthcoming. The first point to be considered is the names of the people he conquers. He sets out eastwards to Benares, turns south, sweeps westwards and occupies Sindh. Among the tribes defeated are the Mlecchas, ճܰṣk, ī첹 and ūṇa (Vol. II, pp. 93, 94).

Now Udayana was an ancient king of legendary times, yet here we find him fighting with peoples of comparatively recent times—Mohammedans, Turks, Persians and Huns. In fact the ūṇa did not appear till the second half of the fifth century. Surely he should have fought with such peoples as the Yavanas and Ś첹. The explanation seems simple. The peoples mentioned by Somadeva are those of the western and north-western frontiers, whose names would be known and appreciated in Somadeva’s time, and which, moreover, a Kashmirian would be most likely to employ.

Lacôte points out that the places supposed to have been conquered by Udayana constitute a 岹ṣiṇa: the campaign is arranged like a pilgrimage. Central India is always kept on the right; and finally he visits , the city of the god Kuvera. Not a word is said as to how he gets there. No aerial chariot, magic shoes or any similar contrivance appears. Now several of the sub-stories in this Book are concerned with spells to enable one to fly through the air, yet we are given no clue as to why especially they are found in this Book. Might it not be that ancient tradition associated together Udayana’s campaign and some story of aerial transit? This would certainly explain the journey to . So perhaps in the original ṛh-첹ٳ Udayana made a kind of aerial pilgrimage. In support of such a theory we have the fact that nothing more is said of all these vast conquests.

In fact, when finally Udayana leaves the world of mortals and gives all his possessions to ҴDZ첹, we find (Vol. VII, p. 102) that these consist only of ś峾ī. Surely we should be justified in expecting a long list of conquests to be enumerated!

The Kashmirian editors seem to have been very busy with this Book.

 

Book IV: 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲjanana (Vol. II, pp. 125-165).

The story continues in due chronological sequence. 岹ٳ longs for a son, and, after her pregnant whim for aerial chariots has been satisfied, 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ is born.

As in previous Books, the sub-stories occupy a very large part of the text.

 

Book V: 䲹ٳܰ (Vol. II, pp. 170-239).

As we have already seen, Books II, III and IV form an uninterrupted series of events in the history of Udayana, but now comes a very distinct break.

󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ has been proclaimed a future king of the վ󲹰, and this fact is an excuse for Śپ𲵲, a վ󲹰 prince, to relate in full how he reached his present high position. The tale, with its sub-stories, occupies the whole Book, and is a unity in itself. Whether it was in ҳṇāḍⲹ’s original work in the same form as it appears here, or whether it has been compiled out of some of the adventures which formed part of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s own adventures, are questions it seems impossible to answer.

The only point to stress is that the contents of this Book are entirely unconnected with previous or subsequent matter, and could be removed and inserted anywhere else without upsetting the text at all.

 

Book VI: Ѳ岹Բñܰ (Vol. Ill, pp. 1-149).

The curious thing about this Book lies in the opening lines. Here we are informed that it is 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ[5] himself who from this point onwards is the true narrator, and that he tells his own history on a certain occasion after his coronation.

The actual words are:

“Now hear the heavenly adventures which 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ, speaking of himself in the third person, told from the very beginning, after he had obtained the sovereignty of the վ󲹰 and had been questioned about the story of his life on some occasion or other by the seven Ṛṣis and their wives.�

What does it all mean? It looks like the beginning of a new tale altogether, yet it is in reality a direct continuation of the story of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ when last he was mentioned. So far it has been told in the third person, yet here is a note which specially tells us that henceforward 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ will narrate the tale in the third person. Now if it had said, in the first person, a distinct difference would naturally have been noticed at once. The value of this curious sentence, then, is quite inexplicable. If it had not appeared at all, we should have noticed nothing, for the tale would have gone straight on—still in the third person.

Why this sudden wish to introduce 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ as the teller of his own story? Perhaps the author of the Kashmirian recension thought that this was in accordance with tradition, and he was anxious at least to give some indication of this well-known fact. Even if this were so, we are still in the dark as to why it is inserted at this particular place, making it look like the very beginning of the whole work.

We are told nothing as to the occasion on which 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ was asked questions by the Ṛṣis. In fact the whole matter would remain a mystery if we were not to look ahead and find that full details of the visit to the Ṛṣis are given in Book XVI, chapters cxi, cxii.

Here we learn (Vol. VIII, p. 103) that after Udayana’s death, 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ spent the rainy season at śⲹ貹’s hermitage with his uncle, ҴDZ첹. Here it is that the Ṛṣis are assembled, and, in answer to their questions, he begins to relate his adventures.

Yet, if we are to believe the opening lines of Book VI, it was 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ who had been speaking all the time!

It is obvious, then, that Book XVI must have originally stood before Book VI, and, in fact, have led up to the statement that has caused all the trouble. It is not Somadeva who is to blame. He has merely followed his texts. It is the Kashmirian compilers who have purposely changed the order of the Books. Perhaps they worked from composite and incomplete texts, or perhaps they considered that the new order was better fitted to embrace all the new matter to be incorporated. Whatever may have been the true explanation, there can be no doubt that the order of the Books in the Kashmirian recension does not agree with that originally laid down by ҳṇāḍⲹ.

The early part of the Book is taken up with the story of the Buddhist king, ṅg岹ٳٲ, and his daughter, ṅg-. Many sub-stories are introduced, several of obvious Buddhist origin. The tale now centres on Kaṅgenā. With the help of her Apsaras friend dz she sees Udayana, who immediately falls in love with her.

His faithful minister, ۲ܲԻ󲹰ⲹṇa, however, considers such a marriage undesirable for reasons of state, and finally manages to make it impossible by proving Kaṅgenā to be unchaste. A daughter is born to her by her lover, the վ󲹰 Madanavega. This child was in reality a son, but by Ś’s orders was replaced at birth by a girl who was an incarnation of Rati. Her name is to be Ѳ岹Բñܰ, and she is the destined wife of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ All this is told in detail, but the rest of the Book is greatly condensed, and the events of the next ten or twelve years—the time to allow Ѳ岹Բñܰ to grow up—are all crammed into Chapter XXXIV. In the next chapter we are in Book VII, and our hero is a full-grown man!

Although by far the greater portion of the Book deals with Kaṅgenā, yet it takes its title from Ѳ岹Բñܰ. It seems obvious that the original work must have been much longer, and that the second half of the Book as it appears in Somadeva is a mere summary.

In fact there are places where we can clearly see the ruthless hand of the Kashmirian compiler, reducing what must have been incidents of considerable length to a single sentence.

For instance, we read in Chapter XXXIV (Vol. Ill, p. 140) that one day 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ goes to a garden called 岵vana. What for? Nothing happens at all, except that he worships the snakes. It surely must have been the beginning of some adventure now entirely suppressed.

Even in the first part of the Book there are signs of mischievous alterations in the work. Why is ṅg岹ٳٲ such a nonentity, and why does he make no effort at all to protect his daughter after her trouble with Madanavega and the childish scruples of ۲ܲԻ󲹰ⲹṇa? Numerous other examples of improbabilities in the text could be given, but I think sufficient has been said to show that ҳṇāḍⲹ’s original must have been very different to what we find in the ٳ-sarit-岵.

 

Book VII: 鲹ٲԲ (Vol. III, pp. 155-300).

The first part of this Book is taken up with 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s marriage to a վ󲹰ī whose name gives the Book its title. He is taken in a magic chariot to heaven for the wedding. This is the first time we hear of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ leaving the earth. There is no connection between this adventure and the end of the previous Book.

With Chapter XLII (Vol. Ill, p. 259) begins the adventures of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ in search of Princess ū. They are far more important than the affair with 鲹ٲԲ, and would much more fitly have given their name to the Book. It seems likely that the two parts formed separate Books in the original ṛh-첹ٳ.

 

Book VIII: ūⲹ (Vol. IV, pp. 1-121).

Like Book V, this stands alone, and could be inserted anywhere as a separate story. It exhibits the highest flights of an unbridled imagination, and can be regarded as a great hotchpotch of ancient Buddhist myths and popular Hindu beliefs.

 

Book IX: ṅkī (Vol. IV, pp. 122-251).

The first part of this Book is taken up with another վ󲹰ī marriage—this time to ṅkī, who gives her name to the Book. It is in no way connected with Book VIII, and could go in anywhere. The second part of the Book, beginning with Chapter LIV (Vol. IV, p. 184), stands as a complete entity, and is of considerable interest. It deals with 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s visit to վṣṇ, and resembles the journey of the brothers Ekata, Dvita and Trita and of to the same “white island,� as related in the Ѳٲ (xii, 138, 139). The allusion in these passages to the worship of Christian communities in the East has already been pointed out.[6] Lacôte considers that the accounts of the visit to the “White Island,� as found in the Ѳٲ and the K.S.S., agree sufficiently well to suspect a common origin. Either the latter has borrowed from the former, or the Ѳٲ has taken the episode from the ṛh-첹ٳ, or possibly both versions have been independently developed from a narrative derived from some traveller who had visited the Christian communities in Bactria.

 

Book X: Śپⲹś (Vol. V, pp. 1-192).

There is no connection between this Book and the previous one. After a series of tales dealing with the favourite subject of “fickleness of women,� introduced on the slightest pretext, we once again find 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ marrying a վ󲹰ī. The wedding cannot be arranged for a month, and so an exceptionally large number of stories, including the whole of the ʲñٲԳٰ, can be successfully introduced.

 

Book XI: ձ (Vol. V, pp. 196-204).

This deals with 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s visit to ղś and his subsequent marriage to Jayendra. The story of the merchant and his wife, ձ, gives its name to the Book. But why it is so very short and devoid of any continuity is impossible to say.

It looks as if it had been purposely compressed out of all recognition, in order, perhaps, to make up for the very long Books that precede and follow it.

 

Book XII: Śśṅkī (Vol. VI, pp. 1-221, and Vol. VII, pp. 1-193).

This Book has been discussed already in Vol. VII, pp. 194-196. We saw there that it is obviously in its wrong position, because we are continually told that 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ has lost his beloved Ѳ岹Բñܰ; yet not only do we know nothing about this, but we are definitely told at the beginning of the Book (Vol. VI, p. 9) that it is ٲdz who is lost.

Our attention, however, is taken off such trifles (!) by the appearance of the hermit ʾśṅgᲹṭa, who proceeds to relate the huge tale of ṛgṅk岹ٳٲ (Vol. VI, p. 10 et seq.), which stretches to p. 192 of Vol. VII.

The Book finishes without solving the mystery in the least.

 

Book XIII: Ѳ徱屹ī (Vol. VIII, pp. 1-17).

This short Book is a continuation of the last, for we find 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ still disconsolate at the loss of his beloved, who is now definitely stated to be Ѳ岹Բñܰ, and not ٲdz. The latter unhappy lady also is lost, but 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ seems to care little about her.

He meets two Brāhmans who tell tales of how they have successfully overcome difficulties, and so encourage 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ in his search. The heroine of the first Brāhman’s story gives her name to the Book. When the stories are finished, lo! 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s ministers turn up, and so does ٲdz (nobody knows how or whence, and nobody seems to care!), and all proceed to ś峾ī. We have no clue whatsoever as to the loss of Ѳ岹Բñܰ.

 

Book XIV: Pañca (Vol. VIII, pp. 21-69).

The long-awaited explanation of the loss of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s chief wife, Ѳ岹Բñܰ, is found at the very beginning of this Book. She suddenly disappears without a trace, leaving 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ distracted with grief. He searches for her in vain. ձ𲵲ī, a certain unmarried վ󲹰ī, is anxious to obtain 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ for a husband, and, taking the form of his lost wife, manages to trick 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ into going through the marriage ceremony again. The fraud is soon discovered, but she is soon forgiven on promising 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ to help to find the real Ѳ岹Բñܰ, who, it appears, has been carried off by her brother, a վ󲹰 named Բ𲵲.

Accordingly ձ𲵲ī carries him through the air to the mountain Āṣāḍ󲹱ܰ, whither Բ𲵲 has hastened to kill them both. A magical combat ensues, in which ձ𲵲ī is victorious. For safety she places 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ in a dry well in the city of the Gandharvas, and there leaves him (Vol. VIII, p. 27). He is soon rescued and, by his skill of playing the lyre, wins the king’s daughter ҲԻ󲹰岹ٳ for his wife. He seems to have entirely forgotten all about Ѳ岹Բñܰ, and settles down to a married life of heavenly bliss. Suddenly a վ󲹰ī appears, and takes 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ through the air to the city of Ś屹ī, with the intention of marrying him later to her daughter ᾱ屹ī.

While waiting in a garden, King Prasenajit comes along and marries him to his daughter 󲹲īٳ󲹲ⲹś. One night 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ hears a low voice outside his sleeping-room. It is that of a beautiful վ󲹰ī named ʰ屹ī, who moans the unhappy fate of Ѳ岹Բñܰ in having so fickle a husband. At last 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ is roused by the mention of her name, and begs to be led to her presence. Accordingly ʰ屹ī flies with him through the air, and, by cleverly flying round a fire, becomes the wife of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ Although 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ is anxious to consummate the marriage, ʰ屹ī says he must wait, and takes him to Ѳ岹Բñܰ (Vol. VIII, p. 36). General rejoicings follow; but 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ, who is now wearing the shape of ʰ屹ī, is soon threatened by Բ𲵲, who discovers his presence as 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ assumes his own shape. The supreme court of the վ󲹰 judge the case, and 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ wins. Բ𲵲 is far from satisfied, and a quarrel ensues. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ escapes with ʰ屹ī, but Ѳ岹Բñܰ remains a prisoner with Բ𲵲. While 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ and ʰ屹ī are living together, ᾱ屹ī turns up with her mother and marries 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ He returns to ś峾ī with the two wives, where he is soon joined by ձ𲵲ī and ҲԻ󲹰岹ٳ and all the relations of his various wives. A great campaign is decided upon, before which 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ has to obtain certain magical sciences from Ś. While so engaged five (貹ñ) վ󲹰īs vow to marry him all together. This incident gives the name to the whole Book. After another marriage a great battle is fought. More marriages follow, including that to the five վ󲹰īs. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ is now informed that before overcoming his final vow it is necessary for him to become possessed of the seven jewels of the Cakravartin. He wins the magic sandalwood-tree, but his obtaining of the other “jewels� is reserved for Book XV.

It has been considered necessary to give a somewhat detailed éܳé of this Book, because, with the exceptions of the brief sub-stories 164, 165 and 166, it is entirely devoted to the Main Story.

There are several important points to notice. In the first place, the Book is crowded with detail. Marriages and adventures follow one upon the other at an enormous rate. In the second place, we must remember that they are all centred round the disappearance of Ѳ岹Բñܰ. The Book, then, is really a cycle of marriages, with intermediate adventures. In this cycle the incident of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s marriage to the five վ󲹰īs is comparatively unimportant, yet it gives its name to the whole Book. This fact, added to the obvious condensing of so many incidents in order to cram them into a single Book, makes it practically certain that ‘originally each marriage must have formed the subject and title of a separate Book.

We have had several examples of this already�e.g. Books VII, IX and X. Any doubt as to the probability of this is surely removed by finding that this is exactly what has happened in the case of the ṛh-첹ٳ-śǰ첹-ṃg. Each marriage has a Book to itself, and is recorded with far greater detail than in the K.S.S. On the evidence given by the K.S.S. itself we can definitely state that the present Book (and also Book XV, q.v.) originally must have come before Book XII, and consequently also Book XIII, which is a continuation of Book XII.

If this were not so, the events in Books XII and XIII could never have happened, for Ѳ岹Բñܰ would not have been lost, and consequently the search, leading to all the other marriages and adventures, would never have taken place.

 

Book XV: Ѳṣe첹 (Vol. VIII, pp. 70-93).

This is a direct continuation of the previous Book. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ obtains the seven jewels, and starts on the last of his expeditions. After sundry adventures and vicissitudes he conquers his sole remaining enemy, Mandaradeva. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ proceeds to consolidate his empire. He marries five վ󲹰īs (a repetition of a similar incident in the last Book), and prepares for his coronation on the Ṛṣ mountain.

The coronation takes place, and of his two dozen odd wives, Ѳ岹Բñܰ alone is crowned with 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ Udayana, 岹ٳ and ʲ峾屹ī are invited, and with a blare of trumpets and general rejoicing the Book ends. Not only the Book, we would imagine, but the entire work.[7] Yet we find three more Books still unopened.

 

Book XVI: ܰٲñᲹī (Vol. VIII, pp. 94-131).

Years have passed. One night 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ has an evil dream, and, on awakening, calls upon the science named ʰñپ for an explanation. He is told all the news of his family in ś峾ī. Udayana, his wives and ministers are dead, ҴDZ첹 has given his kingdom to , and has retired to the Black Mountain in company with the hermits of śⲹ貹. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ hastens there to see his uncle, and remains during the rainy season.

With Chapter CXII begins the incident of Ityaka’s attempted ravishing of ܰٲñᲹī, who gives her name to the Book. An inquiry is started. It turns out to be a family matter, and the evidence of 첹, his son, and his minister are needed. They accordingly are sent for, and the court sits. Evidence is found against Ityaka, but, by the request of the hermits, his life is spared.

The next chapter, the last of this Book, deals with the history of 屹ǰ첹, and has nothing whatsoever to do with what precedes or follows. At the end of it 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ is still on the Black Mountain among the Ṛṣis. Here, then, is the occasion on which he is among the Ṛṣis already referred to in Book VI, and on which he is requested to relate “from the beginning� all his adventures.

If, then, Chapters CXI and CXII preceded Book VI, all would be clear.

 

Book XVII: ʲ峾屹ī (Vol. VIII, pp. 132-209).

The Ṛṣis now ask 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ how he could bear his separation from Ѳ岹Բñܰ. This is merely an excuse to introduce the story of ѳܰ󲹱ٳ and Padmavatī, which takes up the rest of the Book. It is supposed to have been told during the period covered by Book XIV. Thus it is not in its proper chronological order.

 

Book XVIII: Viṣamaśila (Vol. IX, pp. 1-86).

This last Book also is out of place, as it is merely another tale told to 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ while he was separated from Ѳ岹Բñܰ. But it is even more extraneous, as it deals with վ徱ٲⲹ, who was much later than the period to which Udayana and 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ must be assigned.

Somadeva (and perhaps even the Kashmirian compilers) places this Book at the very end as a kind of Appendix, for it would at once be apparent that heroes who were supposed to date from the time of Buddha could not listen to tales about a king as recent as վ徱ٲⲹ.

As already mentioned, the final return to the Main Story is purely conventional. So tame and unconvincing is the conclusion of this work, especially after the “grand finale� at the end of Book XV, that the most casual reader must at once suspect textual commutation on a fairly large scale.

 

(Conclusion)

Before we compare the order of the Books as found in the ṛh-첹ٳ-ñᲹī and ṛh-첹ٳ-śǰ첹-ṃg, with a view to reconstructing as far as possible the original work of ҳṇāḍⲹ, it will perhaps be best to arrange in tabular form the points we have noticed in the foregoing pages:

Name of Book (comments)

1. ٳpīṭha
(Legend of ҳṇāḍⲹ. Complete in itself.)

2. ٳmukha
3. 屹ṇa첹
4. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲjanana
(Uninterrupted series of events describing period from birth of Udayana to that of his son N.)

5. 䲹ٳܰ
(վ󲹰 tale. Quite separate. Could go in anywhere.)

6. Ѳ岹Բñܰ
(Unconnected. Apparently a fresh beginning. Must originally have stood after the first part of Book XVI, because of Ṛṣis incident.)

7. 鲹ٲԲ
(Two love adventures. Probably once formed two separate Books.)

8. ūⲹ
(Like Book V. վ󲹰 tale. Quite separate. Could go in anywhere.)

9. ṅkī
(Two distinct divisions. Both separate and unconnected.)

10. Śپⲹś
(Unconnected. Another marriage. Excuse for numerous sub-tales.)

11. ձ
(Another marriage. Very, and suspiciously, short.)

12. Śśṅkī
(Text shows Book must be in its wrong place. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s chief wife is lost.)

13. Ѳ徱屹ī
(Direct continuation. Wife is still lost.)

14. Pañca
(Mystery of loss explained. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ marries several other women.)

15. Ѳṣe첹
(Direct continuation. Leads to coronation. Finale.)

16. ܰٲñᲹī
(Another unconnected Book. First part helps to explain Book VI and should precede it. Second part quite separate. Could go in anywhere.)

17. ʲ峾屹ī
(Out of place. Told during period of Book XIV.)

18. Viṣamaśila
(Out of place. Told during period of Book XIV, but is also an obvious addition, and could not have been in the original.)

We can now see the situation at a glance. Books II, III and IV form a group; V and VIII are unconnected and both վ󲹰 narratives; VI looks like a new beginning, but lacks any explanatory introduction; VII, IX, X and XI are marriages, more or less unconnected; XII and XIII are closely connected, but must come after XIV and XV (also connected), and consequently also after XVII and XVIII, because the events they relate happened during the period covered by XIV. The remaining Book, XVI, must be regarded as of two distinct divisions, the first supplying the necessary introductory matter to VI, and the second being quite unconnected.

It will thus be seen that the critical inspection of the work as presented by Somadeva shows without doubt that the work has undergone much reshuffling as far as the order of Books is concerned.

We can now turn to the ṛh-첹ٳ-ñᲹī and see if the order followed by ṣeԻ in any way confirms our theories.

The first five Books correspond to those of Somadeva. Then the differences begin. We notice Books V and VIII are put together. This is followed by ձ, the very short Book, but the chief interest here lies in the fact that it finishes with the loss of Ѳ岹Բñܰ. In the K.S.S. this incident is found at the beginning of Book XIV, Pañca. Thus, so far, we find ṣeԻ’s order much better than that adopted by Somadeva. After ձ he has placed Books XII, XVIII, XIII, XVII, thus obtaining a correct sequence of events, which is lacking in Somadeva. Book XIV follows, but with its opening incident transferred to the end of Book XI (ձ), as has been already mentioned.

Thus we see that our complaints about the order of the Books in the K.S.S. are fully justified by what we find in ṣeԻ. The question which at once presents itself is, Why did not Somadeva copy the order in ṣeԻ instead of changing it and so introducing muddling anachronisms? The answer would appear to be that he took what he considered to be the lesser of two evils; for although ṣeԻ has followed a better order of Books dependent upon the loss of Ѳ岹Բñܰ, he has had to pay dearly for it in the rest of his work. For here we find chaos, and no attempt made to remove it. Such inconsistency makes us chary of giving ṣeԻ credit for the arrangement of the first part of the work. He probably left it as he found it. Somadeva, on the other hand, saw how unconnected his material was, but preferred to put together only such chapters as were undoubtedly connected. We have seen how Book XV follows directly on to XIV; but ṣeԻ, by his placing of Pañca, has been forced to separate them by other three Books, thus introducing all kinds of improbabilities and chronological impossibilities.

The incident of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ relating his adventures to the Ṛṣis in the third person must have seemed entirely upsetting to ṣeԻ, and he gets over the difficulty by omitting it altogether. As Lacôte has remarked, the above clearly shows that the Kashmirian ṛh-첹ٳ was a compilation and not an original work.

I think we must attribute the unsatisfactory state of the text of the Kashmirian work very largely to the simple fact that the compilers (there may have been several at different dates) were not trying to reconstruct in their entirety the adventures of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ They had a very different object in view—namely, to use the story as a frame for all the tales they could collect together. The better-known incidents would have to appear in some detail, while many of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ’s love-adventures could be ignored or highly compressed. The result has its pros and cons. On the one hand we are given a jumbled and very defective version of the story of 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ, but on the other hand we have that huge mass of tales which sheds so much light on the manners and customs, the folklore and beliefs of a country so poor in historical documentary evidence.

True, the ʲñٲԳٰ and Vetāla貹ñviṃśati are found in separate collections, but scholars are not yet agreed as to the respective values of the different versions.

That Somadeva was very conscious of the difficulties in the text or texts he was using is clear from his introductory remarks (Ocean, Vol. I, p. 2), where he says:

�... the observance of propriety and natural connection, and the joining together of the portions of the poem so as not to interfere with the spirit of the stories, are as far as possible kept in view....�

The meaning of this is not perfectly clear, and great importance should be laid on the correct translation of the passage.

Many suggestions have been made, but Lacôte alone has treated it in the light of his extensive critical examination of the whole subject, taking into consideration all debatable grammatical queries and all possible modes of construction.

His translation of the full passage is as follows:�

“Tel l’original, telle cette copie; pas d’une ligne même elle ne s’en écarte. Je comprime le volume du recueil et je traduis, voilà toute la différence. Attentif à observer, autant que je le puis, les convenances (littéraires) et l’ordre logique, en ayant soin de n’interrompre ni le récit ni le ton des sentiments, je ne le suis pas moins à disposer une portion de poème régulier. Mes efforts ne vont pas à gagner une réputation d’artiste consommé; je veux simplement qu’on puisse retenir sans peine ce vaste ensemble de contes de toute espèce.�

This clearly means that he has been accurate as far as the subject-matter is concerned, but has found it necessary to alter the order of some of the Books. Here he surely must refer to Books VI-XVIII, while the “portion de poème régulier� which he has been so careful to arrange in proper order can be none other than Books XIV-XV.

When we turn to the ṛh-첹ٳ-śǰ첹-ṃg[8] we at once find ample support for our theories. The order of the Books is reasonable and clear, and what in the Kashmirian versions was passed over with little more than a mere reference is now detailed in full. In fact, we not only meet with entirely new adventures, but find certain of the characters presented in quite a different light.

For the first time the improbabilities found in the Kashmirian accounts of Ѳ岹Բñܰ’s marriage and the romance of Kaṅgenā entirely disappear. Their social standing is certainly much lower, but this only adds to the strength of the plot.

ձ𲵲ī, being of much higher birth, has been accepted by the Kashmirians practically unaltered. Their desire to raise the social standing of the principal characters to the detriment of the tale is manifest. In some cases where they have raised merchants to the rank of princes, or mortals to the degree of Gandharvas, we are able to detect the fraud, for the same names have been retained with suffixes which violate the accepted rules of Sanskrit etymology.

So great appears to be the wish of the Kashmirian compilers to raise the social tone of the work, that tales which cannot escape their low-type settings are altogether omitted, but appear in detail in the Nepalese version.

Without giving other evidence of the accuracy of Budhasvāmin’s work as detailed by Lacôte, I would mention one point which seems to me of great importance. We have, of course, noticed that throughout the whole of the Ocean the chief deity is Ś. Now, in the Śloka-ṃg it is not Ś, but Kuvera. The name of the hero alone tells us which is correct. 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ means “given by 󲹲Բ.�

󲹲Բ is one of Kuvera’s, and not Ś’s, titles. So, when Udayana was praying for a son, it must have been Kuvera whom he worshipped, otherwise our hero’s name would have been Śdatta or some other name compounded from one of Ś’s many titles.

It is obvious that the Kashmirian compilers have altered the name of the deity in accordance with local contemporary beliefs.

Numerous other examples of the reliability of Budhasvāmin’s work could be quoted, but full details will be found in Lacôte’s Essai. With the help, then, of the Śloka-ṃg, we are able to get a fairly shrewd idea of what ҳṇāḍⲹ’s original work must have been like. The first Book corresponded to Book XVI of the K.S.S. It contained the history and abdication of ҴDZ and 첹, which led up to the incident of Ityaka and ܰٲñᲹī. The subsequent trial brought 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ on the scene, who later was asked to relate his history. After some hesitation (only in the B.K.S.S.) he commenced (K.S.S., Bk. VI, ch. xxvii) by relating his family history (K.S.S., Bks. II, III—with possibly another, now lost, giving further details of Udayana’s amours[9]).

The story of his own birth (K.S.S., Bk. IV) follows. Ignoring the two վ󲹰 Books (K.S.S., Bks. V and VIII), which, as we have already seen, could go in anywhere, we come to the heroine of the whole story, Ѳ岹Բñܰ.

N. sees her as a child and falls in love with her (K.S.S., Bk. VI, ch. xxxiv). Various adventures follow (only in the B.K.S.S.), leading up to the marriage (K.S.S., Bk. VI, ch. xxxiv-end). Then comes the sudden disappearance of Ѳ岹Բñܰ (K.S.S., Bk. XIV, ch. cv), resulting in numerous adventures, usually terminating in a fresh marriage. The order and number of Books thus formed cannot be determined for certain, but in the K.S.S. they certainly included Books XIV (chaps, cvi, cvii), VII, IX-XIII, XIV (ch. cviii) and XV.

We can also add Books XVII and XVIII, if, as Lacôte thinks is the case, they are not apocryphal.

The plan of the ṛh-첹ٳ resembles that of the 峾ⲹṇa to a certain extent—the setting out of the hero to recover his lost love, acquiring others on the way, the constant help of a trusty friend, the purity of the captive wife, and the final triumph on her safe recovery.

We must not press the comparison further; but to disregard it would be a mistake, because then we would miss the due appreciation of the genius of ҳṇāḍⲹ. Not that it is evident from the fact that he has copied the plan of the great Epic, but because, having copied it, he proceeds to treat his subject-matter in a way unheard of and absolutely original.

His heroes are not borrowed from the great national epics, the deity is not the omnipotent Ś or վṣṇ, and the incidents in the tale are not confined to kings, princes and gods.

In place of this usually accepted precedent we find the heroes are but petty princes who rub shoulders with merchants, artisans, sailors, adventurers and beggars. The heroine is the daughter of a prostitute, but her desire to raise the level of her caste and be worthy of her husband gives great strength to the character that ҳṇāḍⲹ has created. The chief deity is Kuvera, the god of merchants and treasures.

All this must have struck contemporary audiences as most original and novel. But there is another point that we must not miss. The nature of the work would reach a much wider public—the kind of public, in fact, which would flock together at the annual festivals held at ś峾ī and Ჹ⾱ī. Perhaps long extracts from the ṛh-첹ٳ were recited at these events; anyway I notice Lacôte thinks it likely.

We can now more readily understand that the Kashmirian compilers would find much to alter and suppress. The necessity for an Introduction also becomes more apparent.

Thus at the end of our short inquiry we find that the K.S.S., as we have it to-day, is but a poor and badly arranged version of the original work. This Somadeva must have known; and though we see he has done his best to rearrange certain portions of it, he was well aware that any attempt to reconstruct it entirely would mean little less than composing a new work.

There was, I think, another factor which prevented Somadeva from making too drastic alterations—namely, his wish to retain all that mass of sub-stories added by the Kashmirians. The frame-story had been altered in order to take them in as naturally as possible. Although in many cases they are introduced in the most clumsy fashion, it is clear that considerable alterations would have to be made in ҳṇāḍⲹ’s text before it was ready to receive so many new stories.

But we must not complain—far from it—for the result has been that in about a.d. 1070 Somadeva has presented us with one of the greatest collections of tales the world has ever seen —tales which not only mirrored contemporary customs and beliefs, and exhibited the versatile genius of the story-teller, but tales which were destined to inspire the genius of unborn giants of European literature—Boccaccio, Goethe, La Fontaine, Chaucer and Shakespeare.

As to ṣeԻ, we should have lost little if he had not lived, or at any rate had not produced a version of the ṛh-첹ٳ.

But with Somadeva matters are very different. We must hail him as the Father of Fiction, and his work as one of the masterpieces of the world.

Footnotes and references:

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[1]:

See Vol. VIII, p. 93.

[2]:

Pp. 85, 86 of this volume.

[3]:

In the article on “Prakrit,� by Sir George Grierson, in the Ency. Brit., vol. xxii, p. 253, he says:

“�'s work is important, not only on its own account, but also as showing the existence of a large Prakrit literature at the time when it was compiled. Most of this is now lost. There are some scholars (including the present writer) who believe that Sanskrit literature owes more than is generally admitted to works in the vernacular, and that even the Ѳٲ first took its form as a folk-epic in an early Prakrit, and was subsequently translated into Sanskrit, in which language it was further manipulated, added to, and received its final shape.�

[4]:

See further Wintemitz, Geschichte der Indischen Litteratur, vol. iii, pp. 102, 103.

[5]:

In future I shall thus refer to the hero 󲹲Բ岹ٳٲ.

[6]:

Sir George Grierson, “Modern Hinduism and its Debt to the Nestorians,� Journ. Roy. As. Soc., 1907, p. 7 et seq.

[7]:

See Vol. VIII, p.93n2.

[8]:

Discussed in detail by Lacôte, Essai, pp. 146-198, and edited by him, with a French translation, the same year (1908).

[9]:

It seems probable that ҳṇāḍⲹ used only a portion of the widely known Udayana cycle of legends current at the time.

Reference should be made to Burliṅgame’s Buddhist Legends, Harvard Oriental Series, vol. xxviii, pp. 247-293; Synopsis, pp. 79-84; parallels, pp. 62-63.

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