Bengal Fairy Tales/Malanchamala, the Wreath in a Flower Garden
III
MALANCHAMALA
THE WREATH IN A FLOWER GARDEN
THERE was once a king who was supremely happy save for one thing. He was childless, and this one sorrow dimmed all his happiness. Though he did everything that was enjoined in the Shastras, he knew that Fate was against him. One night he dreamed that a godlike form appeared and told him that he would have a son if he could, on the day of the next full moon, at one attempt, dislodge two mangoes from the tree nearest to the palace. After obtaining them he must eat one and give the other to his wife. Thinking this to be a divine communication, on the morning of the day appointed, the king went to the tree, attended by his friends, ministers, and other important officials. His first attempt to bring down the mangoes failed, and though he shot at them with arrows, and pelted them with stones, they still remained hanging on the tree. All his attendants were also unsuccessful in their attempts, except the kotál, or prefect of police, who at last brought down the mangoes and handed them over to his master, to the latter's infinite delight. The party having returned to the palace, the king ate one of the mangoes and made the queen eat the other, and at the end of ten months and ten days a son was born. There were great rejoicings; a thousand drums and as many trumpets rent the air, and presents and alms were given to all, without distinction. Six days passed in this way, and on the evening of the sixth day the Shetara Puja[1] was performed, after which the whole palace anxiously waited for the advent of the god Bidhátápúrush at midnight, to write the child's fortune on his forehead. The god came in due time, and when, after fulfilling his mission, he was leaving the room, he touched with his feet the gardener's wife, who had come with the flowers required for the Puja, and who after long waiting had fallen asleep at the door of the room. Suddenly aroused out of her sleep, she seized the feet of the god, and threatened to detain him until he told her what he had written on the child's forehead. After much altercation, the god was compelled to reveal the secret, the most important part of which was that the new-born prince was to live only for twelve days. The sad communication was next morning made known to the king, the queen, and all the inmates of the palace; and loud cries of lamentation filled the house. The king consulted astrologers, and they advised him to make an appeal to the gods for the prolongation of his son's life. The advice was followed; and the gods, moved by his prayers, sent, after a long consultation, one of themselves in the form of a Brahmin to tell him that they had reversed the decree of Bidhátápúrush, and that the prince would live a long life, provided he was at once married to a girl twelve years old. Delighted at this communication, the king, without delay, sent men to look for a princess of that age, for he would not marry his son to one of lower rank. But the messengers returned unsuccessful in their mission, and the parents of the child became ill with grief until one day the kotál, partly out of sympathy with his master and mistress, and partly to aggrandize himself and his family, sought their chamber, and with the greatest humility offered to the new-born babe the hand of his daughter, Malanchamala, who was of the prescribed age. The couple in their dire distress could not but accept the proposal. The kotál, however, on reaching home was roundly abused by his wife, whom he had not consulted in the matter. On being informed of her husband's intention she cried out in anger, "What! shall I consent to my daughter's marriage with a babe who is to live only for twelve days? You are determined to ruin my dear daughter, who has never had much happiness in her life as it is. She lay on the bed of illness continually for three years, and this has greatly weakened her; and now to join her fortune with that of one who is to live for only four or five days more is to doom her to perpetual widowhood. Go, tell your king that I will never consent to your proposal." Then turning to her daughter she said, "Come, Malanchamala, let us leave a country where such unhappiness awaits you."
But Malanchamala replied, "Mother! the match is too flattering to be rejected. It is known that the touch of a rough diamond cuts the hand, but still people grasp it with avidity. There is a precious gem within my hold, and if I can possess it, even for a short time, I shall feel myself highly blessed. To be a widowed princess is a matter of rare luck. But one thing, father, I should like to do, and that is to tell the king that I can marry the prince only on condition that he remains with us in our house during the greater part of our wedded life, and that the royal family eat the food cooked by my mother and myself, and further, that if the prince dies while under his parents' guardianship, his body be made over to me."
The kotál arrived at the court, and laid the conditions before the king. The latter, on hearing them, was furious with rage, and had the kotál put into chains and his daughter carried to the palace. The marriage took place, but it was a mere farce. The bridegroom was brought to the place where the ceremony was to be performed, crying at his mother's breast, and the bride soothed him by dangling him in her lap. The rite was hurried through by the priest, and the bride carried her husband into the bridal chamber. Even the elements seemed angry at this mock marriage. A furious thunder-storm broke over their heads, the wind blowing down some portions of the palace, while a fire which suddenly broke out carried on the work of devastation. The prince was seized with a chill, and died in the arms of his wife. The king and queen, with a crowd following them, ran to the door of the room, and bursting it open, dragged out the bride. Attributing their misfortune to her and to her father, they ordered the latter to be beheaded, and inflicted unheard-of cruelties on the former. The next morning she was paraded round the city, astride a donkey, with ghoul poured on her head. She then had her eyes plucked out with red-hot pincers, and ultimately, as if the work of vengeance still remained incomplete, she was cast upon the pyre erected for her husband's funeral. But throughout all these indignities she was unmoved. Calmly she sat on the pyre, with the dead prince in her lap, unhurt by the fire, which after blazing for a time, was suddenly extinguished by an unseen agency. Days and months passed over her head, and she still sat with the dead body of the child at her breast. Demons, ghosts, hob-goblins and other evil spirits came to her, and with jaws wide open, danced round her, saying, "Give us the corpse, and we wall make a feast of it." But the look that she cast upon them was so fierce in its intensity that even they fled before it.
At length a beautiful girl appeared before her and muttered some Mantras over the dead child, which at once recalled it to life. After this, other visitors daily brought milk and other necessaries for the prince; and Malancha passed her days in his company, regardless of her own privations and dangers. The infant smiled, and she smiled with him. He cried, and she was unhappy. She bathed him with her tears, dried his body with her hairs, and putting the black paint beneath his eyes, kissed him a thousand times. The spirits of hell could not bear this happy sight, and to starve him they drank up on the sly the milk on which he lived. Malancha was forced at last to leave the place, and go with the child at her breast in search of fresh milk. She went far without success, and while still seeking, she was waylaid by a tiger, who called upon her to throw the babe to him, saying, "For seven days I have been fasting; give me the child and I will break my fast. You will have many other children in time, and it will be an act of piety if you now give me a meal."
"This is not my son, but my husband," replied Malancha. "Of what use to you will be this small bit of flesh? It will be like a blade of grass given to an elephant for food. Spare this poor infant, and eat me."
To which the tiger replied in surprise, "What! this is your husband? I will eat neither of you. Tell me what has brought you hither?"
Malancha thereupon told the tiger her history, on hearing which he exclaimed, "Mother! I stand as your protector. I will build a hut here for you, and as long as you will remain under my eyes, Death itself will not dare approach you."
"Thank you, tiger," said Malancha gratefully. "Can you tell me where I can get milk for my husband?"
"Milk is very rare here," answered the tiger. "But I will try and get it for you."
So saying, the tiger went on his errand, leaving Malancha crying in great anxiety.
During the tiger's absence, its mate came to the spot and said, "Who is it that is crying for milk in this jungle place? There is no milch cow in this part of the country. I can, however, give you some milk from my breast." Malancha gladly accepted the offer, and the tiger, who soon returned, without having succeeded in obtaining any milk, was delighted at the arrangement.
A hut was built by him for the poor girl, and the boy, who was named Chandramanik,[2] thrived on the milk of the tigress, his playmates being her cubs. Five years passed in this way, when one day Malancha told the tiger that she was weary of her solitary life, and that she had begun to long for human companionship again.
"You want to leave us?" exclaimed the tiger. "What is it that you want? Tell me, and you shall have it."
"My husband is a king's son," replied Malancha, "and now that he is five years old he must be put to school, so that later on he may be qualified to fill his proper position."
"There are learned scholars here," the tiger assured her, "and I can get as many of them as you like to tutor your husband."
"No, uncle, forgive me," Malancha answered him. "I will go and live in the nearest town, where you may visit me as often as you please."
The tiger at length yielded, though with great reluctance, and the objects of his love and care left him. It was a great blow to him, to the tigress, and to the cubs; and they suffered greatly on account of it.
The kotál's daughter and the prince, in the meantime, reached in four days a large stretch of jungle from which there seemed to be no outlet. They were too tired to move on, and so they sat under a tree near a flower garden, belonging to a Malini, which had produced no flowers for many years. The tank in it had become dry, and it was obvious that no one had recently visited the garden. On the approach of the two travellers, however, the garden became suddenly full of flowers, and bees and butterflies crowded there. The malini, noticing the change, ran towards the garden with great delight, and was greatly surprised to find the strangers seated under a tree. She thus addressed Malanchamala—"O Mother! who are you? a human being, a goddess, or a peri?"
"I am neither a goddess nor a peri, but a houseless girl, wandering about with this dear boy," replied Malancha sadly.
"Come into my house," cried the malini, full of sympathy. "This is not a fit place for you. I had a sister's daughter, who has left me these twelve years. She was like you in age, beauty, and every other respect, and you remind me much of her. As a favour, live with me. I will call you niece, and you in return shall call me aunt."
At length it was settled that Malancha and the prince should live with the malini. Malancha thought that though the arrangement would in no way give her access to society, yet from there she might come to know the events of the outside world. At the request of her hostess she ate the stale rice given her, and gave the milk placed before her to Chandramanik. When it was evening she did the domestic duties appropriate to the hour, and retired for the night.
The malini within a short time obtained a modest income from the garden, and had two new rooms built on to her house, in one of which she herself slept, giving the other to her guests, and leaving the old room vacant for the time being. One day Malancha asked the malini if any arrangement could be made for the education of the boy with her, and was told that he might be sent to the Guru in the palace, who besides teaching the princes, received other pupils, no matter whose sons they were. Chandramanik, therefore, went there daily for instruction. Seven years passed in this way, during which the relationship between him and Malancha was kept hid from him, as well as from the malini.
One day, the king's daughter was admitted into the school. After this she attended it daily, but made no progress whatever. Her seven brothers asked her the cause of this; and she coldly confessed that the malini's boy (as Chandramanik was reputed to be) had so beautiful a face that she could not avert her eyes from it, and attend to the lessons. The explanation displeased the princes very much, and they thought of a plan to get rid of the boy. It was suspected by the princes that he, the son of a poor Mali, had but a scanty wardrobe, and therefore, to scare him away from school, they told him that if ever he presented himself before them, except in nicely washed clothes, he should lose his head. Deeply wounded at this, he went home with tears in his eyes, and told Malancha the reason. The latter immediately calling the malini into her presence, asked her to procure him clothes surpassing in quality those worn by the princes, at the same time putting into her hand a diamond which she had brought from her father's house. The girl's desire was fulfilled, and on the next morning Chandramanik was at the pathsala wearing his new dress. The princes were astonished, and their sister, with looks of delight, exclaimed, "See, brothers! Here is before you the moon of heaven in human form. This youth can never be a mali's son." The words cut the brothers to the quick, and they conspired to put him into new difficulties. They told him that, clothed in so gorgeous a dress, he must not walk to the school, but come in a vehicle befitting his clothes, otherwise they would cut off his head.
The poor boy went home more dispirited than before, and being asked the reason, unburthened his mind. Malancha, rich with the money obtained from the sale of the diamond, engaged for him the next morning a Chatúrdola.[3] In this the boy went to the pathsala, to the confusion of the princes and the joy of the princess who now gave out her determination to marry him, since it was evident, she said, that he was no ordinary being. But the princes were still full of venom against him, and proposed a horse-race, on the condition that if he failed to be the first to reach the goal he should forfeit his head.
The circumstances being related to her by Chandramanik, Malanchamala, leaving him with the malini, started in quest of a fleet horse. Her purse was full, and she knew that she could buy an excellent one. The search extended over many days until she reached a kingdom where the king and the people were in deep mourning. She asked the cause, and was told that a great calamity had befallen them. The swift winged mare of the king had gone furiously mad, devouring men and beasts, destroying all that came within its reach. Being under some strange influence which she could not account for, she ventured to approach the mare, and told her that she was wanted by Chandramanik. The mare seemed to be startled at the name, and exclaimed, "O lady, my name is Hari Harikali, and my birthplace is Chandrapur. Can you tell me where Chandramanik is?" Receiving an answer to her query, the mare ran forward, telling Malancha to follow with as much speed as possible. On they ran, until at last the mare led her into the kingdom of Chandramanik's father. The people recognized their kotál's daughter, and reported her arrival to the king. The king and queen rushed out, and being convinced that it was she, were surprised to see that she was still alive, bearing no marks of injury on her body. They ascribed it to the intervention of the gods, and implored her to stop and tell them if a similar miracle had taken place with regard to their son. Malancha gave no heed to what they said, but ran on, till late at night she returned to the malini's house. When the next day dawned, Malancha fully equipped the mare, and Chandramanik, too short to vault into the saddle unaided, was helped up by her; and pretending to see how he looked on horseback she cast a tender look up at him; and under pretence of cleaning his shoes took the dust from under them and put it, as if carelessly, on her head. The boy remarked it and said, "Who are you, and what are you to me?" Malancha said, "I am a kotál's daughter, engaged to look after you."
The mare, with the rider, reached the palace, and the princes were astounded at the sight. So good a horse they had never seen, and they at once set their heads together to devise fresh means of bringing to grief the man whom they supposed to be but a mali's son. At length they came to the conclusion that, since their word had been given, the race must be run, in spite of the superiority of their rival's horse, consoling themselves with the thought that even if he won, by virtue of their position, they could have him beheaded afterwards.
The race was run, and Chandramanik proved the winner. The princes, feigning admiration, asked him to come with them into the palace, with the intention of making away with him. The simple youth was deceived, and turned towards the palace gate; but the mare refused to move in that direction until forced to do so by whip and spur. As soon as they reached the tower at the gate, the princess, from the balcony, cast down a garland of flowers which encircled the young man's neck. The princes were much puzzled. The idea was forced upon them that the garland was of betrothal, and that therefore they could not harm him openly. They racked their brains, however, to discover some means of injuring him; and relating the circumstances to their father, asked him to call a council to determine the course to be taken. At the same time they bribed the councillors to advise him to do something that would remove the man they hated from their sight. They succeeded, and the decision was that the mali's son could marry the princess only on the condition of being after the wedding incarcerated for fourteen years. That night the nuptials were celebrated, and the wedded couple, after three days, were separated, and the bridegroom was cast into a dungeon, with an iron chain round his neck.
Malancha heard of the wedding in due time, but she was not at all displeased at the thought of having a rival. She thought, however, that it would have been better if she had previously informed Chandramanik of the relationship between them. But what had been done could not be undone, and she waited for the return of her husband. But four days passed, and he did not turn up. At length, on the morning of the fifth day, the mare returned without its rider, and the poor wife, suspecting something wrong, threw herself upon the ground in a paroxysm of grief. Recovering somewhat, she called the mare to her, and tied upon her neck a letter addressed to her husband's father, to the effect that his son was to be found in the kingdom of Raja Dudhbaran,[4] married to a princess, but cast into prison. She then left the malini, saying that she would go to her own country and drown herself in her father's tank, so deep was her grief.
In the course of her journey, she reached the place where her old friends the tiger and tigress lived, and falling prostrate before them she cried out, "Oh, dear uncle and aunt, feed upon me; for I am loath to live."
"Mother! what do you say?" replied the tigress. "You are the light of our eyes. See, we are half dead at our separation from you. Where is the child? Where is that jewel of a boy whom I fed from my breast?"
"Uncle and aunt! he was my husband, and I have lost him," she answered. "Raja Dudhbaran's daughter, Kanchi, has married him, and now he has been cast into prison."
Then the tiger spoke. "Follow me," he said, "and I will help you to get your husband back. Take these few hairs of mine and keep them twisted in your hair, and you will pass invisible. Now let us go to Raja Dudhbaran."
In the meantime the mare, Harikali, took Malancha's letter to her father-in-law, and he having read it very attentively, at once started with a large army to liberate his son. After a long and wearisome journey he reached the malini's house, which had been referred to in his daughter-in-law's letter. After some talk with the woman, he wrote to the Raja Dudhbaran, informing him that he had come to demand the safe delivery of his son, Chandramanik, who being mistaken for a mali's son, had been unjustly cast into prison. But the letter did not produce the expected result. Dudhbaran challenged Chandra's father to a fight, and a fierce battle ensued, ending with the total defeat and capture of the latter.
Leaving him in captivity, let us see what Malancha was doing. With the tiger's hair twined into hers, she immediately entered the dungeon where her husband was, lifted his emaciated form from the ground, and embracing him, imprinted a thousand kisses on his cheeks. Delay was dangerous, and she commenced breaking the chain around his neck with her teeth, which had been made sharp and unyielding as a file by her having chewed a leaf the tiger had given her. Link after link fell to the ground, till Chandra, free from the chain, took Malancha by the hand, and strong with the tigress's milk he had drunk while young, burst open the door of the dungeon.
The tiger and the tigress meanwhile entered the palace, and made a feast of the men and the animals they came across. The seven princes were devoured, and the princess Kanchi would have met the same fate if Malancha had not burst in, and overcome with grief cried, "Oh, uncle and aunt! have you destroyed every one here? Are Chandra's relations by his late marriage all killed? Is she who married him out of pure love alone lost to him for ever?"
The tiger replied that no one of the royal family was alive, except the princess; and that she too must fall under his and the tigress's jaws. At this Malancha, beating her head upon the ground, adjured them to spare the girl. Her request was granted, and being told by the tiger to get some water for him to appease his thirst, she went to the nearest tank, where as fate would have it Chandra's father, released by the tiger, had come to wash himself, after having left the company of his son and his newly acquired daughter-in-law, who had a few minutes before been introduced to him. Malancha bowed down to him, and on being asked who she was, told him. Who could then picture the look of terror that he cast upon her? Shouting to his attendants, he cried, "Let us be off at once. We have fallen into the hands of that horrible witch, the kotál's daughter." But they replied, "May it please your majesty to note that this kotál's daughter has saved your son's life, and brought you here. It is she, again, who has got the prince out of the dungeon, and it is not proper to treat her thus." But the king only cried out, "No, no, she is a witch, and I will never permit her to step into my kingdom." Whereupon the king, Chandra, Kanchi and the others started homewards.
Being thus left behind, Malancha went to her friends, the tiger and tigress, and told them how she had been insulted by her father-in-law. They asked her to remain with them, which she did for some months, until the desire of seeing her husband again overcame her.
Taking counsel with the tiger and tigress she asked them to get a dozen Chatúrdolas; one for herself, two others for them, and the rest for friends of theirs whom she would like to take with her to overawe her father-in-law, and thus induce him to receive her. The arrangement was made, and Malancha, with a number of attendants, duly reached her destination. The tiger was the first to visit the king and inform him of the arrival of the guests. He told him also that Malancha was one of them. But the king, without a word, gave the tiger a kick, and ordered his bowmen to shoot down the trespassers. At this the tiger withdrew in a fury, and asked Malancha's permission to devour the whole palace, except Chandra only. Horror seized Malancha at this suggestion and she cried out, "Uncle, do not say so. I will worship my father-in-law's feet. I will wipe them with my hair. The next time I hear you speak thus, I will kill myself." The tiger, loving her as his daughter, was filled with fear at the threat, and remained quietly at the palace gate with her and his other companions. When seven days had passed thus, the tigers left her, and she sought her mother's house. The latter, torn with grief for her husband, was in extreme distress, and the mother and daughter, after living together a few days, resolved to make an end of their lives. With this intent they went one night to a tank, into which the kotál's widow threw herself, and thus put an end to her life and its sorrows. Her daughter, however, shrank from following her example, for the remembrance of Chandramanik's face held her back. To die without a last lingering look at him was impossible for her; and she therefore left the tank. The desire of seeing her husband becoming too strong for her to resist, she devised the expedient of twining the tiger's hair into hers, and of thus becoming invisible, and at midnight resorted to the sleeping-room of her husband. There she found him in a sound sleep, with the ravishing Kanchi by his side. She was enchanted with the sight. So great was her joy that she broke forth into a song, the purport of which was:—
"Oh, my dear, dear husband! to you I gave my hand, when you were only twelve days old, with death staring you in the face. I revived you through the blessing of the gods, fed you with tiger's milk, and brought you up, as your position required. Now I see you happy. May your happiness be everlasting. I pray for your father too, but only because he is your father. I love the girl beside you. May God give you both long life and prosperity."
When in her excitement her voice rose high, and the tiger's hair, disengaged from hers, fell to the ground, Chandra suddenly awoke, and seizing her by one end of her sari, he asked her who she was. She replied that she was a common maidservant. But he said, "No, that cannot be. Your face is imprinted on my mind. You fed and nursed me, and you put me in the way of getting a wife in Kanchi; and though the idea is as faint as a dream, I know that it was you who took me out of that horrible prison. My benefactress! I will never more let you leave me. Tell me to whom I owe my life and this happiness."
Malancha replied that his questions could not be answered, as it was dawn, and the people in the palace would overhear her. But the prince pressed her in so loud a voice as to draw his father there. The latter was amazed to see the kotál's daughter, whom he detested, with his son, and he cried out, "It is the witch! She must be driven out."
"But, father," replied the Prince, "she has been always very kind to me. Why cannot you bear the sight of her?"
The king, however, only grew more angry. "Forget her kindness. She will kill you," he cried and then turning to the kotál's daughter, he rudely drove her away. "Be off, you evil witch. You shall lose your head if in the future you ever again thrust your presence upon my son." No repetition of the order was necessary, for Malancha, greatly alarmed, quietly slipped out. Nothing was heard of her for the next twelve years. But during that time, calamities in quick succession fell upon the king and his house. Earthquakes, recurring time after time, destroyed the greater part of the palace. Diseases seized upon the king's person and undermined his vitality, until at last he became almost a living skeleton. Chandra had had seven sons, and these died one after another, and a thick cloud enveloped the whole kingdom. The king attributed all this to the unseen influence of the kotál's daughter.
But one day Malancha came near the palace and prayed for its prosperity, and all of a sudden things began to take a brighter turn. Fortune once more seemed to smile upon the kingdom. The prince's seven sons, who had long before been turned into ashes, came to life again. The ruined portions of the palace were restored, and the king once more enjoyed health and vigour. Chandra ascribed all this to Malancha, but he was laughed at by his father.
On a certain day the king went out hunting. Tigers waylaid him and his followers, and devoured the latter, leaving the former to find his way alone out of the forest. He walked on, and with lips parched with thirst, drew near a fountain to quench it. There he saw a beautiful and veiled lady with a pitcher full of water, and eagerly begged her to give him some. His request was granted, and he thus poured a blessing on her head: "Whoever you may be, mother, you are a light in your father-in-law's house. May you be happy." The lady was no other than Malancha, who bowed to her father-in-law, put on her head the dust of his feet, and expressed in grateful words her happiness in being kindly spoken to by him. His feelings then were too strong to be restrained, and he wept at the remembrance of the cruelties she had received from his hands. He begged her to follow him home, and she replied, "Oh, how happy am I to-day! I have been recognized by my husband's father. Father, I do not seek the grandeurs of the palace, let me dwell in a hut, but permit me to serve you."
Whereupon the king cried out, "Mother! foolishly have I persecuted you. Forget it, and grace my palace with your presence."
But Malancha excused herself saying that before being shut up in the palace she must visit her uncle and aunt, the tiger and the tigress, and her friend the malini. It would be ungrateful not to tell them how happy the king, her father-in-law, had made her.
To this the king gave his consent. "But return soon," he implored her, "and in the meantime I will garnish my kingdom in your honour. Bring your uncle and aunt back with you." Saying so, he left for home, and Malancha for the habitation of the tigers. They were pining at her absence, but on seeing her their hearts overflowed with joy. She told them of her good fortune, and invited them to her father-in-law's. They promised to come with her, and after appointing a day for their departure, she sped to the malini's. The poor creature had missed her greatly. Fortune had proved unkind to her after the departure of her guests, and she had often sobbed out their names. At the sight of Malancha, she was in a transport of joy, and they embraced each other with assurances of lasting friendship. The malini was then informed of her guest's good fortune, and asked to accompany her to her husband's home.
Malancha visited the neighbouring palace, deserted and partially destroyed, and weeping bitterly in pity, lit seven lamps with ghee and prayed fervently to the powers of heaven for the resuscitation of the king, queen, and their seven sons, and their restoration to their former grandeur. Her prayers were heard, and having completed her good offices there, she returned to her country with the tiger, the tigress and the malini. But her work was not yet finished. She succeeded in making the tank where her mother had drowned herself to disgorge her fresh with life and energy, and with her as well as her friends she repaired to her father-in-law's palace and was received with loud acclamations as the first wife of her husband. The kotál, her father, was also brought back to life. In order to make amends for his wrongs, he was given by the king half of his kingdom, and he passed his days in great happiness.
Raja Dudhbaran, who had followed Malancha, then took his farewell; but he did not omit making very sincere acknowledgments of the manifold benefits she had showered upon him. His daughter became sincerely attached to Malancha and permitted her to share with her the company of her husband. The kotál's daughter, once the object of bitter persecution, became the sole mistress of the kingdom, and nothing was done without her approval. Not only did the royal family enjoy peace and happiness, but the whole kingdom resounded with her praise: "Malanchamala, goddess in human shape, abide with us for ever and ever."