King Citrasena had assembled his retinue and led the Prince’s wedding party.
Blessed be the courage and success of Prince Manohar, blessed his mother and father!
443. Madhurā had made all the arrangements
for the royal ladies in the women’s quarters.
The Queen now went to wed Manohar.
How did Pemā travel with her handmaidens?
She had sixty companions, all of the same age.
Some were in palanquins and others on sedan-chairs.
Some were married, while the other girls
were still in the innocence of youth.
As they played delightfully in youth’s enthusiasm,
they were like buds sprouting on forest creepers.
With lotus-like faces and full, youthful bodies
these girls could kill with their sidelong glances.
Some were in the full bloom of womanhood, while others still had their innocence.
They were adorned in all the sixteen ways, and wore priceless jewels on their breasts.
The Ceremony of Marriage
444. Evening drew on and, at the twilight hour,
the wedding party reached the King’s gateway.
The party was welcomed and settled into quarters
prepared for them by King Vikram’s orders.
By royal decree, a lofty pavilion had been built
within which was placed a golden pitcher.
The King had sent for diamonds and jewels,
and silken cloths to drape the pavilion.
Garlands of mango leaves and flowers
had been arranged on all four sides.
Two girls adorned from head to foot came in singing,
bearing on their heads the vessels for the offerings.
The Prince’s mother-in-law-to-be gave her gifts, together with the lamp for Āratī,*
which Pemā circled around the Prince’s head, then offered in all ten directions.
445. Ten girls then entered and, in melodious tones,
sang the traditional songs of abuse
about the Prince’s mother. They pretended
that King Citrasena was the father,
and took happy delight in abusing him.
They teased Pemā through song and mimicry,
saying she was smitten with Tārācand.
Madhurā was not spared their abuse
for they made her the bridegroom’s mother.
Again, they went after Pemā mercilessly,
called her Madhumālatī’s serving-maid.
Prince Manohar gave them money as their reward, whatever he thought best.
Then, with happiness and delight, they began to sing his praises joyfully.
446. Then King Vikram sent two priests
to bring Manohar to the festal pavilion.
Bringing him in, they seated him
in the middle of the gathering.
Then they fetched Madhumālatī
to be at the Prince’s left-hand side.
The learned priests chanted Vedic hymns
and offered oblations to the fire
full eighty-four times. Maidens sang
auspicious songs in Manohar’s name.
The borders of the couple’s robes
were knotted in the tie of marriage.
Madhumālatī then garlanded the Prince
and Manohar placed a garland
around the neck of Madhumālatī.
The couple circled the fire and Madhumālatī placed her hand within the Prince’s.
King Vikram gave his daughter in marriage, with the gods and ancestors as witnesses.
447. Thus, the wedding ceremony took place
and the couple’s hearts were calmed.
Blessed indeed is the Creator who,
out of disaster, had brought this to be.
After much grief and many obstacles,
the Creator had fulfilled their hopes.
In this world he is truly blessed who,
through the merits of a former birth,
meets his beloved unexpectedly.
They took the Prince to the chamber of joy
where the bed of pleasure was placed.
And, after much persuasion,
her hand-maidens took Madhumālatī
and seated her gently on the bed of love.
Fear stirred in Madhumālatī’s heart, along with the eagerness of the night of union.
Since this was their first time together, the maiden could not look at the Prince.
The Wedding Night
448. Manohar took her arm and said,
‘My sorrowing heart, which longed for you,
is now at peace. Give up your former cruelty,
abandon modesty and embrace me!’
All shyness gone, they spoke of love
Those eyes which had thirsted in hope
now drank in love and beauty to the full.
Their grieving hearts were cooler now,
the fire subsiding as their hearts united.
Their eyes were joined in longing and their hearts enmeshed in love.
As both their hearts became one, their souls began to share in each other.
449. Their eyes drank in beauty till sated.
Somehow this sun and moon became one.
Still they could not turn face to face,
their hearts trembling before their first union.
The Prince sought to kiss her lips
but Madhumālatī averted her mouth
and turned her face away from him.
Mistaking them for lamps, she blew on jewels,
only to make their light even brighter.
She covered her face with both her hands.
When the Prince bit her lips she trembled in fear.
First, their hearts were madly in love; moreover, this was their very first time.
Thirdly, modesty overcame them, so the desire to make love was not aroused.
450. Then a handmaiden hidden there said,
‘Why did you study the arts of love?’
Hearing what the maiden said,
Madhumālatī was truly astonished.
But she remained caught between shame
and her knowledge of what to do.
Should she display her arts, she would lose
her modesty; should she remain shy,
her skills in love-making would go to waste.
She recalled with amusement the story of the woman,
with a snake-charmer for a father-in-law,
who was bitten by a snake in her most private parts
but could not speak out for modesty.
The Prince scratched with the goad of his nails
her breasts, round like the swellings
on the forehead of an elephant.
Like a parrot he bit into her coral lips.
Looking at the depth of the waters of her youth, he could contain himself no longer.
Embracing her golden pitcher-breasts, he swam across the river of their shyness.
451. In the grip of love and passion they embraced,
and then her untouched jewel was pierced.
The bodice on her bosom was torn to pieces,
and the parting in her hair was all washed away.
The vermilion from her parting ran
into the spot on her forehead,
and the mascara on her eyes turned red
from the betel juice on his lips.
So heavily did he press upon her
that the garland round her neck broke,
and the sandal paste on her breasts rubbed off.
Her source of nectar broke forth then,
and the raging fire in their hearts
was quenched, the quest fulfilled.
Under the power of desire they spent the night, unable to turn from one another.
But their burning hearts were only cooled when the heav
ens opened and a stream flowed forth.
452. They spent the night in passion,
savouring the joy of the marriage bed.
In their hearts, separation’s fire was quenched.
The Prince got up and came outside.
He took a bath and rubbed his body
with sandal paste. Combing his hair,
he dressed, then gave away some gifts
to acquire merit. Madhu’s handmaidens
came into the bedroom and woke her up.
She awoke as if she had swum in a sea of bliss.
Her companions then adorned her
and put on her both clothes and ornaments.
They took sweet delight in asking her about the rasa of love. ‘Tell us,’ they said,
‘How was your juicy night of love? Promise us you’ll tell every passionate detail!’
The Secret of Love*
453. Pemā took both her hands and asked,
‘Tell me, how did you pass the night?’
Her other friends joined in, pleading,
‘Tell us how your lover embraced you.
Don’t be shy,’ they insisted,
‘How did the precious love-making go
between you and your darling?’
The Princess bowed her head
and kept on looking at the ground.
Hiding her face in shame, she said nothing.
The handmaidens persisted in their demand,
but she told them nothing about love’s savour.
Then her friends continued to question her in every way. They pleaded,
‘If you won’t reveal the secret of love to us, to whom then will you tell it?’
454. Then the maiden opened her nectar-sweet mouth.
Hear what a priceless thing she said:
‘Never reveal your mystery to anyone.
It is madness to exchange profit for loss.
You should keep love hidden in your heart.
Who would mount the gallows like Manūr*
for revealing his mystery to the world?
If I told you my secrets, what would I gain?
If you put water into a cracked pot
it drips out drop by drop and is lost.
Look at the pen carved of wood—what did it do when it was a reed in the forest?
As long as its head was not cut open, it never revealed its mystery to anyone.’
The Couple Depart
455. At dawn, Tārācand, the King and his nobles,
gathered up all the wedding gifts and dowry.
A hundred thousand horses were saddled up
with golden body armour on their backs.
Maddened elephants resembling dark clouds
were given in dowry, as the world knows.
Ornaments, all studded with jewels,
were arranged and put in a thousand boxes.
Loading up much gold and silver they set off.
The pearls and jewels were beyond counting.
The names for all the different clothes were too much for even a poet to relate.
They were loaded on to ten thousand bullocks and carried in front of the wedding party.
456. Setting out with the Princess Madhumālatī
were her thousand lovely maidservants.
Seeing them, even the moon hid its face in shame.
And with them were the sixty handmaidens
who had played with her since childhood.
All the guests from the groom’s party
were given the finest stitched raiment.
The dishes Madhumālatī received
were all made of gold and silver.
Her garments were too many to describe.
The eight separate parts of her bed
were all studded with precious jewels
and covered in colourful silken sheets
with raised flowers woven into the fabric.
Incense, camphor, deer’s musk, and all the other fragrant substances,
coconuts, raisins, almonds, and dates—all were loaded onto ten thousand bullocks.
457. When the dowry had all been loaded and sent off,
Prince Manohar came to Madhumālatī and asked,
‘In which palace lives your brother Tārācand?
Take me with you and show me where.
I will go to him and dedicate my life to him.
I shall sweep the dust from his feet
with my eyelashes, lay my head at his feet,
and place his feet on my head in gratitude.
He has endured great suffering for me.
I must go and offer my life to him.
I have searched and searched, but found nothing worthy of dedicating to him.
As for my life, it is such a small offering that I am ashamed to worship him with it.’
458. When she heard this Madhumālatī arose
and took the Prince to Tārācand.
When Tārācand saw the Prince,
he stood up. Manohar ran
and threw himself at his feet.
Each time Tārācand raised him up
he ran to fling himself at his feet again.
He said, ‘Who has ever in this age of Kali
done what you have done for me?
For me you left your kingdom and your throne.
You have quenched the fire of separation
which was burning in my heart.
You abandoned your kingdom and brought back my very life to me.
If I cannot offer that life to you, what value does it have any more?
459. ‘With hands joined I beseech you,
if you will fulfil my hopes, O Prince,
that until we are allowed to leave,
we shall stay here together
and pass our days in happiness.
As long as the Creator keeps us here,
we shall remain in this place together.
Here everyone is a native of this land;
you and I alone are strangers.
If you will permit me I shall go
and tell the King of our resolve.’
Tārācand was delighted with the idea and together the two young Princes,
exultant and full of excitement, went to pay court to King Vikram Rāi.
460. Hearing the Princes coming,
the King himself came to the door.
The Princes made their request.
The King said, ‘Do as you wish.
The cities of Mahāras and Citbisarāu
are both your own to live in.
The two of you may stay together
wherever your hearts desire.
You two here are the light in my eyes.
Similarly, there you will be the pearls
within the shells of their eyes.
Wherever your minds wish to be, there you shall both stay together.
My kingdom and throne are all yours, sport happily here with each other.’
461. When they got leave from the King,
the princes bowed their heads respectfully.
Madhumālatī meanwhile had met her parents
and mounted her palanquin to leave.
Her sixty companions, with her since birth,
followed after her making merry and playing.
And there were so many maidservants
that they were beyond the poet’s counting.
They all came playing youthful games,
making music as they entered Citrasena’s house.
I cannot describe the heart-rending scenes as the princess was sent off from Mahāras.
When they both go to their new homes, I shall only tell the tale after thinking hard.
462. The wedding party entered the city,
playing music on their instruments.
Women from the sixteen castes
brought out the lamps for Āratī.
In every house the city celebrated.
Songs were sung in the sweetest voices.
On the outside
the city was adorned
with red silk, and who could describe
how lovely the interiors looked?
Madhumālatī was brought to the place
where the marriage bed had been made ready.
A palace was prepared as a pleasant lodging,
and Prince Tārācand was taken there.
Madhumālatī and Pemā enjoyed themselves happily inside the palace,
while outside Manohar and Tārācand pursued their royal sports together.
The Royal Hunt
463. Together the princes pursued their sports,
happily celebrating their new friendship
in pleasure and entertainment.
They spent their days eating, playing,
and laughing, and passed the nights
in sweet carefree sleep. Never for a moment
were they separated—the two friends
stayed together all the time.
At times they amused themselves by hunting.
Sometimes they competed on the polo-field.
Pemā and Madhumālatī remained in the palace
arranging the dance and music of the dhamār.*
They were always enjoying themselves, and never knew a moment’s sorrow.
At an age between childhood and youth, they were still cared for by their fathers.
464. One day Prince Manohar summoned the hunters,
who ran when they heard his royal command.
The Prince asked the King’s hunters,
‘Is there any good hunting hereabouts?’
They told him that at a distance of five miles
many types of game roamed in abundance:
nilgai,* deer, buffalo, and wild boar,
and also stag, gazelle, and antelope in plenty.
‘Send five stalkers,’ he said, ‘and let me know
when they have prepared an ambuscade.
Tomorrow for a watch or two we shall have some entertainment.
Go and tell the other hunters that no one should go elsewhere.’
465. Early next morning the hunters came.
They announced that the ambuscade was ready
for hunting and that they should proceed.
The moment the hunting party heard
they quickly assembled and let loose
hounds, hunting leopards and cheetahs to run ahead.
Bearers loaded snares and nets onto their shoulders.
Archers set off, fitting arrows to their bows.
Gond beaters stopped the game from fleeing
while the archers drove them from the front.
Within the circle of encircling hunters
loud drums were beaten to direct the game,
and outside the circle nets and snares were laid.
Archers were stationed behind every tree and fires were started in the forest
so that the panicking antelopes leapt over the bowmen as they fled.