Puščavnik in sleparski učenec

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Puščavnik in sleparski učenec

Having resolved on this course, he approached him, uttered “Om, homage to Shiva,” and prostrated himself, all eight limbs touching the ground. Then he said humbly, “Holy sir, this worldly existence is without substance. Youth rushes past like a mountain torrent; life is like a fire in dry grass. Pleasures are like the shadow of an autumn cloud, and our ties with friends, children, wives, and servants are like a dream. All this I have understood thoroughly. What, then, must I do to cross the ocean of worldly existence?” Hearing this, Devasharma replied warmly, “My child, blessed are you, to feel such detachment while still so young. For it is said:

He who is tranquil in his youth is truly tranquil, in my view;

For who does not grow calm when the powers of his body fail?

In the good, old age arises first in the mind and then in the body;

In the wicked, it comes to the body, but never to the mind.

“As for your question about the means of crossing the ocean of existence, listen:

Whether a Shudra or anyone else, even a Chandala with matted hair,

Once initiated into Shiva’s mantra and smeared with ashes, he becomes Shiva himself.

Whoever, with the six-syllabled mantra, places even a single flower

With his own hand upon the crown of the linga is never born again.

Hearing this, Ashadhabhuti clasped his feet and said humbly, “Holy sir, then bless me by granting me initiation.”

Devasharma said, “My child, I will grant you that blessing. But you must not enter the monastery at night, for freedom from attachment is commended for ascetics—for you as well as for me. It is said: A king is ruined by bad counsel, an ascetic by attachment, a son by indulgence,

A Brahmin by neglecting study, a family by an ill-behaved son, good conduct by the company of rogues;

Friendship by lack of affection, prosperity by injustice, love by living far apart,

A woman by pride, a farm by neglect, and wealth by giving it away or failing to guard it.

“So, after taking your vows, you must sleep in the grass hut at the monastery gate.”

He replied, “Holy sir, your command is my law. It is the life hereafter that concerns me.”

Then, having laid down this restriction concerning his sleeping arrangements, Devasharma accepted him as a disciple according to the rites prescribed in the sacred texts. Ashadhabhuti pleased him by massaging his hands and feet and performing other services. Yet even so, the sage never let the purse out from under his arm. As time passed in this way, Ashadhabhuti thought, “Ah, he will not trust me, whatever I do! Shall I kill him with a weapon, even in broad daylight? Or give him poison? Or slaughter him like an animal?”

While he was thinking this over, the son of one of Devasharma’s disciples came from a village to invite him. “Holy sir,” he said, “please come to my house for the ceremony of investing the deity with the sacred thread.”

Delighted by the invitation, Devasharma set out with Ashadhabhuti. As they traveled, they came to a river. Seeing it, Devasharma took the purse from under his arm and concealed it carefully inside his patched robe. After bathing and worshipping the deity, he said to Ashadhabhuti, “Listen, Ashadhabhuti. Until I return from relieving myself, guard this robe of the lord of yogis with the utmost care.” With these words he went away. As soon as he was out of sight, Ashadhabhuti took the purse and hurried off. Meanwhile, Devasharma, his heart won over by his pupil’s virtues, sat down in perfect confidence. As he sat there, he saw two rams fighting amid a flock of golden-fleeced sheep. In their fury, the pair would draw far apart, then charge together again and strike each other with their broad foreheads, shedding a great deal of blood. A jackal, greedy for the taste, ventured onto their battleground and licked it up. Seeing this, Devasharma thought, “What a fool this jackal is! If he gets caught between them as they clash, he will surely die.” A moment later, just as he had foreseen, the jackal’s craving for blood drew him between the rams; their heads crashed together, and he was killed. Lamenting his fate, Devasharma slowly made his way back toward his purse. When he could not see Ashadhabhuti, he grew anxious, completed his cleansing, and inspected the robe. The purse was gone. “Alas! Alas! I have been robbed!” he cried, and fell senseless to the ground. After a moment he recovered, rose again, and began to wail, “Ashadhabhuti! Where have you gone after deceiving me? Answer me!” After much lamentation, he set off slowly, searching for the thief’s tracks. Traveling on in this way, he reached a village toward evening. Just then a weaver and his wife were leaving the village for a nearby town to drink liquor. Seeing him, Devasharma said, “Good sir, we come to you as guests overtaken by sunset. We know no one in this village. Please fulfill the duty owed to a guest. For it is said:

When a guest arrives at a householder’s home in the evening, after sunset,

The householder attains divinity by honoring him.

And again:

Grass, a patch of ground, water, and, fourth, a kindly word—

These are never lacking in the homes of the good.

A welcome satisfies the sacred fires; a seat, Indra;

Water for a guest’s feet satisfies the ancestors, and an offering of honor, Shiva.”

Hearing this, the weaver said to his wife, “My dear, take our guest home. Honor him with water for his feet, food, a bed, and whatever else he needs, and stay there yourself. I will bring back plenty of liquor for you.” With these words he went on his way. His wife, an unfaithful woman, took the guest along and set off home with a smiling face, her thoughts fixed on Devadatta. Indeed, it is well said:

A stormy day, thick darkness, city streets hard to pass through,

And a husband’s journey abroad bring the greatest joy to a woman restless for lovers.

And again:

Soft coverings on couches, an affectionate husband, a delightful bed—

Women greedy for stolen love think all these as worthless as straw.

And again:

With her husband, shame scorches her pleasure; adornment is a burden to her bones, and sweet words are bitter;

His embraces are bonds, his satisfaction means nothing: nothing about him pleases her.

The fall of her family, public disgrace, imprisonment, even danger to her life—

An adulterous woman accepts them all, forever clinging to another man.

When the weaver’s wife reached home, she gave Devasharma a broken cot without bedding and said, “Holy sir, I must go and greet a friend who has come from the village. I shall return quickly; until then, please keep a careful watch over my house.” Having said this, she dressed and adorned herself and set out to meet Devadatta. But just then her husband came toward her, his limbs unsteady with drink, his hair loose, stumbling at every step and carrying a jar of liquor. At the sight of him, she turned back at once, hurried into the house, stripped off her finery, and resumed her former appearance. The weaver, however, had seen her running away in all her splendid adornments. He had already heard repeated rumors of her misconduct and, though troubled at heart, had always concealed his feelings. Now, seeing this behavior and believing he had proof, he entered the house in a rage and said, “You wicked slut! Where were you going?”

She replied, “I came home after leaving you and have not gone out anywhere. Why are you talking such nonsense under the influence of drink? Indeed, it is well said:

Confusion, falling to the ground, and senseless talk—

Liquor displays all the signs of a raging fever.

Trembling rays, the loss of its sky-blue garment, fading brilliance, and redness—

Even the sun suffers these effects when it embraces the western quarter, as a man does when he embraces wine.”

Hearing her defiant words and noticing her change of dress, he said, “Slut! I have long heard reports of your misconduct. Today I have seen the proof myself, and I shall punish you as you deserve.” With that he beat her with a club until her body was battered, tied her firmly to a post, and sank into a drunken stupor. Her friend, the barber’s wife, learning what had happened, came to her and said, “My friend, Devadatta is waiting for you at the appointed place. Come quickly.”

She replied, “Look at the state I am in! How can I go? Go and tell my lover that I cannot meet him tonight.”

The barber’s wife said, “My friend, do not say such a thing! That is not the way of an adulteress. For it is said:

Those firmly resolved to gather sweet fruit from perilous places—

Their lives, like those of camels, I consider worthy of praise.

And again:

The next world is uncertain; this varied world is full of scandal.

Blessed are those who reap youth’s fruit with a lover at their command.

And further:

If chance provides a lover in secret, she takes him, however ugly;

But her own handsome husband she will not approach, even in distress.”

She replied, “If that is so, tell me how I am to go there, tied fast as I am. And this wicked husband of mine is close at hand.”

The barber’s wife said, “My friend, he is senseless with drink and will not wake until the sun’s rays touch him. I will untie you. Bind me in your place, hurry to Devadatta, enjoy his company, and come back.”

“So be it,” she replied.

Then the barber’s wife freed her friend from her bonds, had herself tied in the same way in her place, and sent her off to meet Devadatta at the trysting place. Some time after this, the weaver woke. His anger had cooled a little and his drunkenness had begun to pass. He said, “You sharp-tongued woman! If from this day onward you neither leave the house nor speak harshly to me, I will untie you.” Afraid that her different voice would betray her, the barber’s wife said nothing. He repeated the same words again and again, but still she made no reply. At last he flew into a rage, seized a sharp knife, and cut off her nose. “Now stay there, you slut!” he said. “I shall give you more to enjoy before I am done.” With these words he fell asleep again. Devasharma, his throat parched with hunger and sleep driven away by the loss of his money, witnessed all these doings of the women. Meanwhile, the weaver’s wife enjoyed her fill of lovemaking with Devadatta and eventually returned home. She said to the barber’s wife, “My dear, is all well with you? That villain did not wake while I was gone, did he?”

The barber’s wife replied, “All is well with the rest of my body, except for my nose. Now untie me quickly, before he sees me, so I can go home.”

When they had exchanged places, the weaver woke again and said, “Slut! Will you still not speak? Shall I punish you more severely yet by cutting off your ears?”

Then she answered angrily and contemptuously, “Shame on you, utter fool! Who has the power to violate or disfigure a woman of such perfect chastity as I? Let all the guardians of the world hear me:

The sun, the moon, Vishnu, Shiva, Indra, and the rest

Cannot conquer those sources of terrible suffering—

The powerful senses, so difficult to subdue.

Those who master them alone are mighty in this world.

“If I am chaste, if I have never desired another man even in thought, let the gods restore my nose, whole and just as it was. But if even the thought of another man has strayed into my heart, let them burn me to ashes!” Having said this, she addressed him again: “Wretch! Look! Through the power of my chastity, my nose has become exactly as it was.” He took up a burning brand and looked. There he saw her nose unchanged, and a great pool of blood on the ground. Overwhelmed with amazement, he freed her from her bonds, laid her on the bed, and soothed her with a hundred endearments. Devasharma, who had witnessed the whole affair, said in astonishment:

All the magic of Shambara, all the magic of Namuchi,

And that of Bali and Kumbhinasa—women know it all.

They laugh with the laughing and weep with the weeping;

When the occasion serves, they win over even those they dislike with loving words.

The learning known to Ushanas and the learning known to Brihaspati

Do not surpass a woman’s wit. How, then, can men keep watch over them?

They call falsehood truth, and truth they likewise call falsehood.

How, brave man, can men in this world guard such women?

Elsewhere too it is said: A man should not become too attached to women,

Nor wish their power to grow;

For with men who are excessively devoted to them

They play as with crows whose wings are clipped.

With lovely faces they speak sweet words, yet strike with hearts as sharp as blades.

Honey rests upon women’s tongues, but in their hearts lies deadly poison.

That is why men drink from their lips and pound their breasts with their fists,

Deceived by a scrap of pleasure, like bees greedy for honey battering a lotus.

And further:

A whirlpool of doubts, a dwelling of insolence, a city of reckless deeds, a storehouse of faults, a realm of distrust fashioned from a hundred deceits;

A barrier at heaven’s gate, the entrance to hell’s city, a casket of every illusion—who created this contrivance called woman, poison made of nectar, a snare for all living beings?

Firmness in their breasts, fickleness in their eyes, falsehood on their lips, crookedness in their tresses and speech, slenderness at the waist, fullness at the hips,

Timidity forever in their hearts, and cunning toward their lovers—all these faults are praised as virtues in doe-eyed women, and yet men hold them dear.

They laugh and weep to serve their purposes;

They make others trust them, but trust no one themselves.

Therefore a man of good family and character should shun women as he would the vessels of a cremation ground.

Therefore a man of good family and character should always

Shun women as he would the groves of a cremation ground;

Lions, their fearsome faces framed by tossing manes,

And elephants resplendent with streams of rut-fluid.

At first they do whatever pleases a man,

So long as they do not know he is attached;

But once they know him bound in the snare of desire,

They haul him up like a fish that has swallowed the bait.

Fickle by nature as the waves of the sea,

Their passion fleeting as the red streaks of evening clouds,

Women, once their purpose is fulfilled, cast off a useless man

Like a wad of lac-dye squeezed dry.

Falsehood, rashness, deceit, folly, excessive greed,

Impurity, and cruelty are women’s inborn faults.

They bewilder, intoxicate, mock,

Rebuke, delight, and plunge into despair;

Once these lovely-eyed women enter the trusting hearts of men,

What is there they will not do?

Filled with poison within, yet enchanting without—

Who made women like the bright red seeds of the gunja vine?

As the wandering ascetic pondered these things, the night passed with great difficulty. Meanwhile, the go-between, her nose cut off, went home and thought, “What am I to do now? How can I conceal this dreadful disgrace?”

While she was thinking in this way, her husband, who had spent the night at the royal palace on business, returned home at dawn. Standing at the door, eager to attend to his many customers in town, he called to her, “My dear, bring my razor case quickly, so I can go out to do my shaving.” Remaining inside the house, the noseless woman took a single razor from the case and tossed it toward him, hoping to bring her plan to fruition. The barber, impatient to be off, saw the lone razor, grew angry, and flung it back at her. At once the wicked woman rushed out of the house with her arms raised, ready to scream. “Oh, look!” she cried. “This villain has cut off my nose, though I have always been a virtuous wife! Save me! Save me!” The king’s officers came up, beat the barber with clubs until he was battered, bound him tightly, and took him and his noseless wife to the court of justice. There they addressed the judges: “Honorable members of the court, hear us. This barber has mutilated this jewel of a woman without any offense on her part. Let him receive the punishment he deserves.” At this, the judges said, “Barber! Why did you mutilate your wife? Did she desire another man? Did she attempt your life? Or did she commit theft? Tell us what her offense was.”

But the barber, his body racked with pain from the beating, could not speak. Seeing him remain silent, they said, “Ah, the king’s officers have spoken the truth. This man is a villain. He has mutilated this poor, innocent woman. For it is said:

His voice falters, his face changes color, his glance is fearful, and his spirit fails:

Such is a man who has done wrong, terrified by his own deed.

And again:

He comes with stumbling steps, his face drained of color;

Sweat beads upon his brow, and his words are thick with stammering.

A man who has committed a crime speaks with downcast eyes when brought before the court.

By these signs, therefore, the discerning should take care to recognize him.

And further:

The innocent man appears with a clear face, speaks plainly, and looks about in anger;

He addresses the court indignantly and with confidence.

“This man plainly bears the marks of a criminal. For mutilating a woman he deserves death. Let him be impaled.”