There was once a man who delighted the thirty gods through his devotion to the three holy Vedas and the three sacred fires. He achieved the three aims of life. His name was Bahuladitya.The three holy Vedas: the Ṛgveda, the Yajurveda, and Sāmaveda. The three sacred fires: the domestic (gārhapatya), eastern (āhavanīya), and southern (dakṣiṇa). Three aims of life: doing what is right (dharma), power (artha), and pleasure (kāma). The wafting plumes of smoke from his sacrificial fires left a sooty mark on the surface of the moon—the deer-shaped spot that it bears to this day. This man, an ocean of jewel-like virtues, had one son. Bhushanabhatta was his name, and he was the moon in his family’s sky. The Vedas, which first came from Brahma’s four mouths, took their place in his single lotus-mouth, and honored him like a kinsman. Listen to this jewel of a story, called Lilavati, that his son Kautuhala composed, slow-witted as he is.

It goes like this. In the twilight of an autumn night, when the lion that is the moon had with its raysrays: The word kara- can mean both “paw” and “ray.” split the temples of the elephant that is the darkness, lit up by the stars that are its scattered pearls of rut,pearls of rut: Hardened secretions from the temples of rutting elephants are called “pearls” (muttāhala-) by poetic convention. my beloved was relaxing on the terrace of our house. She said to me:

“Look, my dear!

“The autumn makes the moon all the more beautiful, the moon the night, the night this bed of lotuses, this bed of lotuses the bank, and the bank these geese. Listen to the geese: with their voices softened by the bitter stalks of young lotuses, their calls are like the jingling bangles around the ankles of the goddess of Autumn. A breeze is blowing past, carrying mist from waves of cool water, and thick with the fragrance of fresh jasmine buds mid-blossom. And there on the riverbank is an arcade of trees, swaying in restless waves—henna decorations, as it were, on the cheeks of the girls of the ten directions.the girls of the ten directions: the ten directions (the four cardinal directions, the four intermediate directions, and the zenith and nadir) are often figured as young women. Here the swaying of trees is compared to the designs painted on their faces (viśeṣika). See Subhāṣitaratnakośa 196 for a similar image. Do you see these cakravāka birds? Their hearts set on welcoming the day, they are trying to come together in the waters to free themselves from the pain of separation.cakravāka birds (ruddy shell drakes): by poetic convention, pairs of these birds are separated during the night and reunited during the day. Here the moonlight deceives them into thinking that it is day. Look at how these bees are captivated by the smell of the blossoming saptaparṇa tree, and wander off without even a thought for the fragrance of other flowers. It’s as if the moon was kissing the night, lotuses tied into her hair, the scent of water lilies hanging in the air, her eyes bright like the stars.

“Why should I go on? It’s a beautiful autumn night, you have no work to do, and with our servants around, I’d say there’s nothing we’re missing. So let’s have some pleasant entertainment for the evening. Tell me a story, full of rasa and pleasing to women, in your charming voice.”

When I heard those words come from her lotus-mouth, I said:

“My lily-eyed love,lily-eyed: the author addresses his wife throughout the story with epithets such as this (kuvalaadalacchi ‘whose eyes are like the petals of a waterlily’; ubbiṃbabālahariṇacchi ‘whose eyes are like those of a frightened fawn’; etc.). poets have here distinguished three kinds of stories: ‘divine,’ ‘divine-human,’ and just ‘human.’ Earlier poets have laid down rules for each of them, or so I hear.Anandavardhana in his Dhvanyāloka has reproduced this classification (and cited the Līlāvaī as an example of the “divine-human” type). Probably earlier than the Līlāvaī is Haribhadra’s Samarāiccakahā, which also relates this classification. And further, famous poets recite various kinds of stories in the beautiful sounds of Sanskrit, Prakrit, or a mixture of the two. I’m not so clever as them. The stories that I could tell would hardly meet with anyone’s approval. What is it, then? Are you trying to humiliate me, dear, for not learning the arts of language? I can hardly speak. Do you think I could tell a story that goes on and on?”

My beloved said:

“My love, who needs the ‘arts of language’? All they do is block the path to enjoyment for people like me. In the end, language is just what reveals a meaning clearly, without troubling the heart. Who needs rules? That’s why you should tell a story in the Prakrit language, one that can hold a girl’s interest—a story of the ‘divine-human’ type, with only a few regional words thrown in.”

On hearing this, I replied: “My dear, with your darting fawn-like eyes—if you insist, listen to this story. It has all of the right elements.”

There is on the blessed earth, /whose beautiful hips the four oceans encircle as a belt, whose realms rest stable on Shesha’s coils, who owed her solemnity to the bliss she attained when the boar raised her up from the ocean’s depths at the end of the world, and her weight to all of the gems that adorned her,the boar: when the earth was dragged down to the bottom of the ocean by a demon, Vishnu took the form of a boar, slew the demon, and raised the earth back up. There is a pun ongaruabhāvāe, which means “solemnity” (in the case of her contact with the god Vishnu) and “weight” (in the case of the gems she acquired while at the bottom of the ocean). a famous land called Ashmaka, where farmers rejoice all together in the spectacular wealth of their harvest, where the lowing of cows in villages of pleasant lodging carried to the horizons,of pleasant lodging: suvvasia does not mean “well-settled” but “pleasant to stay in” (a reference to the pleasures that await travellers, much celebrated in Prakrit poetry of the Sattasaī, rather than the foresight of village planners). where joyful people gathered to drink and to sing carcarī-songs carcarī-songs : a particular kind of song accompanied by a dance. See H. C. Bhayani, “Some Specimens of the Carcarī Song”, Sambodhi 1(1): 1972, 15–27 = pp. 34–53 in Indological Studies: Literary and Performing Arts, Prakrit and Apabhraṁśa Studies (Volume 1), Ahmedabad: Parshva Prakashan, 1993. that filled the open spaces, where all pleasures reside, a place which had not left the golden age,golden age: the kṛta-yuga is the first of four mythical “ages” (the others are the treta-, dvāpāra-, and kali-yugas) which are characterized by successive moral decay. which was like dharma in physical form, like the creator’s template,the creator’s template: sikkhaṭṭhāṇaṃ, “place of instruction.” The idea is that Ashmaka was the template from which the creator (Prajapati) copied as he learned how to create the rest of the world. where good deeds are at home, like a lesson in religious merit, like the source of copious pleasures, like the reflection of good conduct, like an ever-fertile field for the seeds of virtue.

What’s more, it is a place where the cattle are well-fed on soft grass and their cowherds rejoice at the sight, where the sky is filled with the sound of singing mixed with that of so many lutes and pipes,After this verse, the text breaks into rhythmic prose. A.N. Upadhye, with the help of H.D. Velankar, has tried to identify portions of verse-forms here (see ed. p. 335–336). where the clear ponds are pleasant to bathe in, where young trees grow dense in beautiful gardens, where every line of sight falls upon a lotus-pond, where at the feet of trees bent down with luscious fruit travellers sleep, where there is not even a suspicion of any trouble, where the four social orders are observed,social orders: the division of society into four distinct orders or varṇas (brāhmaṇas, kṣatriyas, vaiśyas, and śūdras). where joy overflows in constant celebration, where groves adorn every plot of land, where the fragrance of all kinds of flowers perfumes the whole sky, where the present age of wickednessage of wickedness: the kaliyuga, the last and most morally degraded of the four ages (and the present age). has yet to set in, where no sin is seen, where people do not abandon their duties, where people have never seen enemy forces, where beauty is undiminished, where the fear of thieves—and kings—has never arisen, where limitless virtues reside.

It is a place where the cloud-god rains whenever it’s wished for, where cows give milk whenever it’s wished for, where trees always bear fruit, where women are never barren.

There, the rivers—deep and coursing strong, flowing over the soft lotus-stalks, their waters always sweet—resemble the women, their breasts large and heavy, their arms soft as lotus-stalks, their voices always sweet.The three adjectives in this verse each have two meanings (a figure called śleṣa), one that applies to the rivers and another that applies to the women. Farmer’s wives enchant the deer with their captivating song and thus keep them away from not only their own fields, but their neighbors’ as well.

Within such a wonderful country, my love, there lies a beautiful city, the abode of all pleasures, named Pratishtana. It would take all night to just describe that excellent city, so listen and I’ll tell you something short.

It’s a place where royal geese drop the lotus-stalks from their mouths to call out in imitation of the sound of the bracelets around the ankles of beautiful women;

where pet peacocks dance on moonstone-pavedmoonstone: the candrakānta or candramaṇi, a gem said to be formed from the moon’s rays; terraces craning to look at the smoke-blackened sky,smoke-blackened sky: according to poetic convention, peacocks dance at the onset of the monsoon season; the peacocks mistake the smoke rising from sacrificial fires for monsoon clouds.

where women with midnight appointments take off their shining jewelry only to find their cover of darkness retreating from the bright rays of jewel-lamps;women with midnight appointments: the abhisārikā, a woman who goes out at night to meet a lover, requires the anonymity of darkness, but the houses in Pratishthana are lit with jewel-lamps (for gharamaṇi in the sense of “lamp” see Setubandha 10.52 and Rāmadāsa ad loc.). The commentator imagines that the light pours into the streets because the walls of the houses are made of crystal, as noted in verse 65 below.

where a dense canopy of flags atop temple-peaks blocking the sun’s rays renders useless the parasols of the singing girls,

where cuckoos are constantly playing the messenger for couples by stealing away the brooding anger of women at every new offense,

where the wafting fragrances of the garden are so thick with the sweat of women exhausted by merciless lovemaking that nostrils could drink them in,

where geese who crave lotus-fibers are drawn to the circles of moonlight projected on the cheeks of women asleep on the roof,

where the women of Maharashtra wash away their impurity in the Godavari river and dye its waters brown with the turmeric on their breasts.Women washing turmeric off of their bodies—particularly Maharashtrian women in the Godavari river—is a motif of Prakrit literature: see Sattasaī W58, which the present verse echoes (ajjea haliddāpiṃjarāi golāi tūhāiṃ).

There is nothing wrong with that place—except, perhaps, that the fragrance of jasmine on a summer denies women the pleasure of their lovers’ placations.The idea seems to be that the scent of jasmine itself resolves any quarrels between lovers. [or except, perhaps, that the houses’ crystal walls allow bystanders to see the evidence of lovemaking on the women inside,] or except, perhaps, that the wind blows the pollen of blossoming flowers onto the painted walls of the houses.

In that city there is a king who perfectly embodies every virtue, whose fame spreads across the earth, named Satavahana.This text refers to the king as both Sātavāhana (Prakrit sālāhaṇa) or Hāla.

He is handsome, beautiful in every last detail, although formless; he brings joy to the people’s eyes, although terrible to look upon.The figure is apparent contradiction (virodhābhāsa). The word aviggaha can mean “without corporeal form” or, resolving the contradiction, “without war” (because all of his enemies have been conquered); duddaṃsaṇa can mean “terrible to look upon” or, resolving the contradiction, “difficult to look upon” (because of his overpowering brilliance, according to the commentary). He is the favorite of his wives, although a bad husband; he is forceful, although his enemies had submitted; he delights in acts of heroism, although he fears the world beyond.Another apparent contradiction (virodhābhāsa). Kupati means “a bad husband” or (resolving the contradiction) “the lord of the earth”; ṇaavaro means “one whose enemies are bowed down” or (resolving the contradiction) “devoted to good policy.” For the second half, the commentary suggests that the contradictory meaning is “although afraid of the world beyond, he delighted in acts of heroism,” and the resolved meaning is “because he was concerned for the world beyond, he delighted in religious acts.” He is the sun without his seven horses—a fearless man of courage; the moon without his spot—a spotless man of celebrity; a serpent without a split tongue—an honest man of wealth; a lofty tree with low-hanging fruit—a noble man, beneficent to those around him.The figure is once again apparent contradiction; here I have rendered the resolved meaning after the dash.

As the moon becomes wretchedly thin in its first phase, its full disc enveloped in darkness, so he made his enemies wretchedly weak, cut off from their spheres of power. Like the moon, its disc lit up with light, and never passed by the earth, no-one on earth has ever seen his back: for he has conquered the whole world, and his own realms are illuminated by his power.The two adjectives in this sentence can be read differently to apply to both the moon and the king. His enemies retreated to caves, where they spent their nights in the red luminescence of mountain-plants, as if they had been consumed by the fiery brilliance of his might.According to a poetic convention, the plants (osahi) that grow in mountain-caves give off a reddish light at night. With their fingers reddened by rays from their fingernails, his favorite wives paint him on the walls of his palace in the guise of the god of love. Without him, the works of even the best poets, thoughtfully composed over time, would waste away in their hearts like the desires of the poor.This verse probably refers to Hāla’s reputation as a patron of literature. The first chapter of Kathāsaritsāgara, for example, revolves around Guṇāḍhya’s efforts to have Hāla-Sātavāhana publish his story (the mythical Bṛhatkathā). When this man, the lord of the earth, was at the height of his power, springtime arrived like a messenger of the god of love.

The forests seem to herald the march of spring, already suggested by the first appearance of the southern breeze, with the loud sound of cuckoos on the wing. [With a cluster of mango-blossoms, the wandering parrot seems like a herald: run off, king of winter, for spring now holds the earth.] In a single step, spring’s beauty came to all the flowers of the forest—those that were budding and those that had already budded, those that had blossomed and those that were just now budding. The god of love has so many arrows—what for? Won’t a single shoot of mango do the job?The god of love (Kāmadeva) is represented with a bow and arrow made out of flowers. Spring takes the karṇikāra fields and seems to wear them like a golden ornament on his forehead, augmenting their beauty.ornament on his forehead: the word tilaa can refer to a forehead-ornament or a type of plant (sesame). If the wafting scent of jasmine can make the tall trees of the arcades burst into bloom, is there anything it can’t do? The pāṭala first softens lovers’ hearts with its fragrance, then its flower-arrows enter with ease.

Clusters of fragrant blossoming mango-flowers cover the trees so completely that travellers can hardly spot the leaves behind them. The bees force upon the petals of the jasmine flowers before their season, and they fall, pale, from their tendrils, succumbing to the grief of separation from the winter. As tiny clusters of berries form and its calyx starts to weaken, the sinduvāra’s flowers fall away in the gentle breeze. When spring comes into view, and the layer of frost has melted away, the lotus seems to smile as its flower-mouth opens slightly. The branches, with new shoots for hands, dance with delight on the arrival of the southern breeze, and seem to beckon at the Beauty of Spring. In the rows of palāśa trees, the full-blossomed flowers seem to clothe Spring in red garments like a groom on his wedding-day.Upadhye notes that the custom of wearing red garments on a wedding day is mentioned also by Haribhadra in his Samarāiccakahā. As he fills the mango groves, enters bowers of new mādhavī shoots, and rolls around on leaves of aśoka trees, Spring seems truly delighted.

The breeze, carrying the fragrance of all kinds of plants, touches the delicate shoot of the mango-tree, and she turns away, as if crying flower-tears.Here the wind is figured as an unfaithful lover (parimala can refer to both fragrance and sexual union). The forest is in full bloom, and in its midst stands the god of love, bringing lovers under his power by raining flower-arrows down on them.

When Love’s arrows had thus conquered the whole world of living beings, the king came to the place where Springtime Beauty arranges her trysts—his court.The samāgama-tthāṇa or saṃketa-sthāna is a secret place where lovers agree to meet. It is a common motif in Prakrit poetry. Accompanied by the victory-songs of bards, he seated himself on the lion-throne, which was lit up by rays of light from the jewels on the crowns of hundreds of vassals who had come there to serve him. He was surrounded by his consorts, whose faces always blossomed with smiles, like Indra by celestial women and like the golden mountain by the girls of the directions.The golden mountain is Meru, thought to occupy the center of the universe. The directions are usually figured as young women (see note to verse 30 above).

Then, with a broad smile, the lord of men spoke these charming words to one of them, named Chandralekha.

“Here, Chandralekha. Don’t you see? The whole sky is filled with pollen carried by the southern breezes, as if the god of love has turned it into his bedroom.bedroom: The idea is that the sky is suffused with pollen in the same way that a living space is suffused with incense or perfumes. So why is it that today someone thought himself equal to the love-god’s arrows and carefully decorated you from head to toe?The following verses (99–104) describe the designs painted onto a courtesan’s body. Who painted on your face this lifelike bee, which seems to press its own face into a fresh campaka flower, eager to drink its nectar? Who used costly musk-paste to paint these designs on your cheeks, which seem like the paths of the love-god’s arrows?paths: Nimkar translates as “scars.” When did he create this cluster of mango buds at the edge of your cheek, which seems to bring forth flowers at the touch of your hand? Who is it, beautiful girl, who had the privilege of drawing this design on your breasts, which have the color of solid gold?Note the alliteration of the Prakrit: pattattaṃ pattaṃ patta-lacchi pattaṃ. Who painted on your feet these two pairs of geese, who are craning their necks to place lotus-stalks in each other’s beaks? Who was it? Someone, surely, who only had the intention of showing off his own skill, without considering whether it is right or wrong—the king of person who would try to feed milk to a snake.”

When she heard what the king said, Chandralekha’s eyes lit up, and turning her face down slightly out of modesty, she replied:

“King, there is a painter—a specialist in the realist style—who once drew you on a leaf while he was at the gate of your palace.realist style: viddha refers to a realistic mode of representation in painting (see V. Raghavan’s discussion in “Sanskrit Texts on Painting,” Indian Historical Quarterly 9.4 (1933): 898–911. He has just now come back here from the island of Sinhala. He painted all of this during the Spring festival.”

Afterwards, while the king was enjoying himself in a public discussion, the son of one of his ministers found the opportunity to say to him:public discussion: the goṭṭhī is a meeting of poets and scholars at a royal court, and involves public recitation of poetry (and on-the-spot composition of poems), critical evaluation, and so on.

“King, I suspect that man is a spy sent by the king of Sinhala. He has made his way into Chandralekha’s by means of his artistic skills. These kinds of spies, who reside in royal courts in this way,i.e., as artists. are popularly known by the name of Yakshas.”Yakshas: Yakshas are a race of demigods, dwarfish in stature, who are often represented as guards or protective deities. The commentary explains that spies are called Yakshas because (like Yakshas) they know how to disguise themselves. Upadhye suggests that this remark has a double meaning: ṇaresa- could mean “snake charmer” in addition to “king,” and kaḍaa- could mean (a snake charmer’s) “ring” in addition to “court” (were snake-charmers also called Yakshas)?

[Then, my dear, the king replied: “Vijayananda, together with the capable minister Pottisa, have been dispatched to the king of Sinhala.] [Nobody has come back from his court yet to tell me the truth about what the king of Sinhala says, or what my own commander says.”]

“Just today our spies have said that Vijayananda and Pottisa have reached the ocean’s shore with a large army. The king of Sinhala, for his part, began his preparations on that very day. He filled his forts with grain and fuel in high spirits. He created obstacles on the seashore and sought out locations for fighting. He is fearless and eager for a great battle with Vijayananda.”

The king said, “Vijayananda is very experienced in matter of war and peace: it is his concern, not mine. He struck fear into the hearts of other supposedly fearless kings, rulers over large territories.rulers over large territories: mahāmaṃḍalāhivā. The Arthaśāstra presents a theory of kingship based on the maṇḍala or territorial circle. Is this king of Sinhala going to make him tremble?” Find another time to tell me the news from our spies. Right now, let’s enjoy this wonderful festival of the god of love.”festival: the word caccarī primarily refers to the dance performed at springtime festivals, but here it refers to the whole festival.

After these words, the king gave many gifts to all his courtesans and singers for the spring festival. The king honored all of his supplicants, and once a look of satisfaction appeared on his face, my dear, his household priesthousehold priest: purohia, the priest who performs the king’s domestic rituals. quietly approached and apprised him. “King, it’s noon. Your bath is ready, and there is a crowd of hungry Brahmins at your door, waiting for their daily allowance.”daily allowance: I take ṇicca-ṇivesia to be the gifts that the king gives to Brahmins on a daily basis. Then the king dismissed the rest of the supplicants and agreed to begin his bath. He processed to the bathing area, where he was regaled with songs of victory by hundreds of singers.

In the meantime, a crowd had gathered in the assembly-hall, filled with courtesans mixed with guards, jesters, and officers.officers: bhoa on my understanding refers to a particular type of feudal lord.

The sudden crush of people pushed up against an old guard, who fell on his face and started shouting “Help! I’m done for!” With some difficulty, some of the king’s servants fanned him and lifted him up, as if he were an old bull stuck in the mud.

Elsewhere, people moved very slowly, halting in the crush of each other’s bodies, and tripping over the jewels that their constant jostling had knocked out of their headbands. The large breasts of courtesans, which only their lovers are allowed to enjoy, pressed up against the total strangers who stood next to them. One woman, glistening with sweat in the crush of people, struggled to hold up the girdle that came untied and slipped from her wide hips. Another woman broke her necklace of large pearls—and didn’t even mind, because the tight embrace that snapped it was what her heart had wanted all along. Another had plenty of room, but still took a while to find a place in the crowd: she closed her eyes because of the bees that buzzed around her face, drawn by the fragrance of musk. Thus, amid the secretive chatter of their servants, the people went back to their homes from the royal palace, as the breezes lightened their hearts, amid the secretive chatter of their servants.secretive chatter: the commentary understands by saṇṇā the in-group codes such as mūladevī and karapallavī, which operate by a transposition of sounds, much like “pig Latin.” The word could simply mean “hand signals.”

For his part, the king enjoyed a long bath with all kinds of herbs, while the bugles blared with auspicious songs and while groups of singers and Brahmins recited, and after honoring all of the gods to their satisfaction, he returned to the palace.

There he gave gifts to the Brahmins, including cows, land, gold, vestments, and provisions. From there he went to the dining hall. Over delicious foods of various kinds, each appropriate to the season, he received a stream of the day’s petitioners in a gracious manner. After eating, another group of servants accompanied him to his private chamber, where there was a couch made with choice jewels.

The king was sitting there with his courtiers, poets, and servants, happy and content, when at that moment his doorkeeper, who knew his master’s heart well, came with his staff in his left hand and his right hand covering his eyes, and told him:

“King, for some reason your general Vijayananda has returned from the campaign and is waiting at your door, clothed in tattered rags.”

As soon as the heard this, the lord of the earth felt a shock of disappointment. He fixed his gaze on his minister’s face and said to him: “Bhatta Kumarila! Did you hear what the doorkeeper said? Why is Vijayananda in such a state? He holds in his mind the vast expanse of all of the principles of statecraft. So how could it be that he has come back here alone and on foot? [He has no servants with him, no elephants or horses. And where is the minister Pottisa? How in the world could Vijayananda have reached such a state?]”

“King,” said Bhatta Kumarila, “sometimes events take a turn for the worse. If you were to ask me, however, there must be a good reason why he has come back. Why do I say so? Men whose masters have honored them by entrusting them with such monumental tasks prefer death if they cannot accomplish them. So, if in fact he met defeat at the hands of the king of Sinhala, he would certainly not show up at your door alive.”

“Well,” said the king, “there is no point in speculation. He himself can throw some light on what happened. Bring him in without delay, so that I can see his face.”

Then the king gave the doorkeeper the sign, and he returned with Vijayananda behind him. As the king looked upon him, he bowed his head to the ground. The king approached him, my dear, and bade him to make himself comfortable. When he sat down, his eyes did not stray from Bhatta Kumarila’s feet.Bhatta Kumarila’s feet: the commentary explains that Vijayananda, in his current state, is unfit to look upon the king himself.approached: although the commentary gives the meaning “embrace,” Prakrit lexicons define the root aïcch- as “to go.” Then, once the king had gotten him to sit down and told everyone else to leave, he comforted Vijayananda for a moment and asked him earnestly:

“Vijayananda, seeing you come here like this breaks my heart, especially because you came without any explanation.”

When he heard these words of sympathy from his master, his eyes opened wide with delight, and he responded: “King, it’s really a long story, full of wishes that remain unfulfilled.full of wishes that remain unfulfilled: literally, “a source of good desires.” The implication is that the various relationships described in Vijayananda’s story await their fulfillment. I’ll do my best to tell it, and you should give it your full attention.”