# The Tamils Eighteen Hundred Years Ago/Chapter 12

The Story of Mani-mekalai.
The Mani-mêkalai, or more properly,Mani-mêkalai-thuravu, as it is named by the author himself, is an epic poem describing the circumstances under which Mani-mêkalai, the daughter of Kovilan, renounced the world and took the vows of a Buddhist nun. The work is specially valuable as a record of the extent to which Buddhism had spread in Southern India, Ceylon and Sumatra, in the early part of the second century A.D. : and its value is enhanced by the fact that it is much older than the Chinese works of Fa Hian and Hwen Thsang, and the Pali chronicles Dipawanso and Mahawanso of Ceylon. It is, I believe, the earliest record extant in any language, with the exception of the Buddhist sacred texts, which furnishes information regarding the objects of worship, the peculiar beliefs and superstitions, and the abstruse philosophy of the followers of Buddha. We learn from the poem that Buddhist monks were numerous in the Tamil-land, and that some of them, at least, claimed wonderful powers, such as the ability to know the past and foretell the future; and that they believed in charms and incantations, and in the existence of spirits which could communicate with human beings. The author, Cheeththalaich-châttanar, who appears to have been a learned and zealous Buddhist, following the traditions then current regarding the journeys of Buddha through the air, and his knowledge of previous births, describes the heroine of the poem also, as travelling through the air and performing various other miracles. I shall now give briefly the story of the Mani-mêkalai, reserving the references to Buddhism till I come to describe the religions which prevailed in Tamilakam.
The yearly festival held in the city of Pukâr in honor of Indra, the king of the celestials, was drawing near. Ever since the festival had been founded by the Chola king, Thodi-thôdchembiyan, renowned as the hero who destroyed the wondrous ​hanging castles, it was performed most punctilliously by successive Chola kings. In accordance with the time-honoured custom, the reigning king Killi-valavan issued orders for the commencement of the opening ceremonies. A brilliant band of warriors, mounted on horses, chariots and elephants, and foot soldiers armed with shining swords, started from the temple of Indra, escorting the big drums of the temple which were placed on an elephant, and marched through the main streets of Kaviripaddinam, announcing with beat of drum the approach of the grand festival. "Sweep the streets and squares” shouted the public-crier who proclaimed the royal commands “and cover them with fresh sand. Plant along the streets sugar-canes and pretty creepers and plantain trees and areca-palms bearing bunches of fruits. Hang out flags and banners. Arrange in front of your houses lamps borne by statues and vases filled with water. Adorn the pillars with strings of pearls and garlands, and set up ornamented gateways. Ye Brahmins! perform your services in all your temples, from the great shrine of Siva to the small fanes of the local deities. Ye preachers of virtue! attend the pavilions erected for you. Ye teachers of the religious sects! ascend the public halls of debate. Let there be no fight, no brawl during the eight and twenty days of the great festival, when even the gods will visit this city in disguise, and mix with mortal men! May there be abundant rain and rich harvests! May our great city prosper for ever! May our sovereign ever wield his sceptre with justice!"
Chitrâpati who heard this announcement with a pang of regret, knowing that her daughter Mâthavi and grand-daughter Mani-mêkalai will not prepare as usual to take part in the festivities, called her daughter’s maid-servant, Vasanta-mâlai, and bid her tell Mâthavi what her friends thought of her entry into a convent. The maid went to the Buddhist convent, where Mâthavi was seated in a hall, with her daughter Mani-mêkalai, stringing flowers, and touched with pity at the altered appearance of the once gay actress, told her how people ridiculed the absurd idea of an accomplished courtezan like her becoming a nun.
“Alas! my maid," replied Mâthavi mournfully, “cursed is ​my soul which did not quit this body the moment I heard of the unhappy fate of my lover. The married women of this land will, on the death of their husbands, die instantly unable to bear their grief, or willingly give up their lives on their husbands' funeral pyre, or by fasts and prayers seek to rejoin their husbands in their future births. Unlike them, the saintly widow of my lover, furious with wrath at the unjust execution of her husband, devoted to the flames the great city of Madura. My daughter Mani-mêkalai, who stands in the relation of a daughter to that. chaste widow, shall never lead a wicked or worthless life, but all her lifetime she shall he a zealous devotee to virtue. Listen to me further, my maid! I visited the Buddhist monastery in this city, and falling at the feet of the venerable abbot, related to him the sad story of my lover. He consoled my afflicted mind, revealing to me the noble truths that:
             Those who are born suffer endless sorrow,
             Those who are not born rest in bliss
             It is desire that causeth birth.
             Those who have no desire cease to be born.
He explained to me, besides, the five kinds of purity which lead to salvation. Tell my mother Chitrâpati and her friends that I have resolved to follow his advice.” Hearing these words, Vayantamâlai returned home with a heavy heart, like one who had dropped a precious gem in the sea.
Mani-mêkalai who had been closely listening to the conversation between her mother and her maid, was moved to tears when she thought of the tragical fate of her father and stepmother. Her tears flowed fast, and falling on the garland which she was preparing, spoilt its brilliancy. Mâthavi, who saw that her daughter was weeping, comforted her, and wiping the tears from her eyes with her faint fingers, observed, "This garland is now unfit for an offering, as it is bedewed with your tears. I wish you will go and gather fresh flowers.” “Will you allow Manimêkalai to go out alone?” enquired Sutamati who was also making a garland to be offered at the monastery. “Her pretty faces and dark eyes will surely attract every one who sees her. Beyond the royal park, she may meet the princes of the ​Chola family, and hence it is not safe for her to go either to Champâti-vanam or Kavêra-vanam: but there is Uva-vanam which, under the blessing of Buddha, is ever full of flowers, and in it there is a crystal alcove, which contains a sacred seat of Buddha. Your daughter may safely go to that garden, and I shall go with her.” Mâthavi having expressed the assent, Manimekalai and Sutamati left the convent, and walked along the chariot road towards Uva-vanam. The festival of Indra having begun, there were crowds of revellers on the public roads. A drunkard stood before a naked Nigrantha monk, who carried a rattan in his hand, a pot siting on his shoulder, and addressed him “We!come, thou reverend Sir; I worship thy feet. Pray listen to me. The soul which dwells in thy unclean body pines like a prisoner confined in a close cell. Drink therefore of this toddy which is drawn from the spaltre of the cocoanut palm, and which will give you pleasure both in this world and see if my words are not true.” In another part of the street, a madman, clad in rags and bunches of leaves, daubed with sandal paste, and decked with the flowers of the wild alari and erukkai, was shouting and dancing and running to and fro, to the great merriment of the rabble. In another quarter, a man was acting the pantomimic play, of the eunuch who danced before the son of Krishna, in Bana’s great city. Groups of people strolled in the streets looking at these scenes, or at the children adorned with tiny jewels, who were riding on toy elephants set on wheels, or at the beautiful lifelike paintings on the walls of buildings, representing gods and human beings, and animals of all kinds. As the groups one by one caught sight of the slender and graceful form of Mani-mekalai, an unspeakable tenderness seemed to light up every face. Struck with her wonderful loveliness they gathered round her, and admired the exquisite beauty of her face and figure. Many of them could not help following her, and expressed their sorrow at the heartless conduct of Mâthavi in devoting her beautiful daughter, in the bloom of youth to the dull and joyless life of a nun. Both Sutamati and Manimekalai passed these crowds silently, the latter stepping so lightly that her footprint was scarcely visible on the soft ground; and they entered the Uva-vanam, which stretched before them like a sheet of ​canvas painted with glowing colours, by a skilful artist. Here the cassia, the laurel, the orange tree, the wild lemon, the screwpine, the sweet-scented jassamine, the ever-green asoka, and the silk-cotton trees with their brilliant scarlet flowers, seemed to vie with each other in the profusion of their blossoms, and presented such a picturesque scenery that Mani-mekalai and her companion spent a long while wandering through the delightful garden.
While Manimekalai and Sutamati were in the park, a huge elephant had broken out of the royal stables, and rushed through the palace road, the chariot road and the market road, scaring the populace who fled for their lives in every direction. Elephant-keepers and drummers ran after the animal, and with their shouts and beat of drum warned the people to keep out of its way. Udayakumaran, the son of the Chola king Killi-valavan, having heard of the accident, mounted a fleet steed and overtaking the elephant, stopped its mad career, and delivered it into the hands of its keepers. He then got into a chariot and, followed by an escort of soldiers, was returning to his palace, through the actresses’ street, looking as handsome as a god, when his eyes fell on a merchant of noble rank seated motionless in the mansion of an actress, near a window facing thc street apparently in great distress of mind. The prince stopped his chariot opposite the gilded doorway of the house, and enquired “What ails you? Why are you and the actress so dejected?" The merchant accompanied by the actress approached the prince, and making a profound obeisance, wished him a long life, and said “I happened to see just now Mâthavi’s charming daughter Manimekalai going to the flower-garden Uva-vanam. Her beauty seems to fade in the close air of the convent like that of a flower shut up in a casket. Her appearance and the recollection of her father's sad death affected me so much that I sat still unable to play on the lute.”
"I shall take the lovely girl in my chariot and bring her here,” said the prince joyously, and drove towards the park. Stopping his chariot and his attendants at the park gate, he jumped down and entered the park alone, scanning with his eager eyes ​every nook and corner of the shady groves. Manimekalai who heard the tinkling bells of the prince’s chariot, as it came near the park, told Sutamati, in her sweet voice, “I have heard Chitrapati and Vayantamalai informing my mother that Prince Uday Kumara had set his heart on me. The bells we hear appear to be those of his chariot. What shall I do?” Sutamati was very much frightened, aad told Manimekalai to enter at once the crystal grove, and to conceal herself in the central chamber. She then stood at a distance, within sight of the building: and the prince who came up to her a little later, said “Though you are standing alone, I know quite well why you are here. Tell me why has Manimêkalai come out of the convent. Is she old enough to feel the passion of love?”
"How can I, a woman, advise a prince who is descended from that illustrious king, who ashamed of his youth, assumed the disguise of an old man and dispensed justice?” said Sutamati, greatly agitated, “Yet shall I speak to thee, valiant prince! Our body is the result of our deeds in former births, and the cause of our deeds in our present birth. Formed of flesh, it decays by age it is the seat of disease, the haunt of desire; the den of every vice; the hiding place of anger; and in it dwells the mind which is oppressed wiih grief, distress, despair and lamentation. Therefore, thou noble prince! view this body with contempt.” Before Sutamati finished her speech, the youthful Manimêkalai came out of her chamber, and stood within the crystal alcove appearing outside like a statue made of coral.
The prince who saw her through the walls of crystal, at first thought her to be a beautiful statue newly placed in the alcove, but afterwards suspecting it to be Manimêkalai, attempted to enter the building, and examined it on all sides, but failed, the crystal door being bolted on the inside.
"There are beautiful sculptures in this building, where is your young companion hiding herself?” asked the prince.
“She must indeed be a saint,” replied Sutamati, evading an answer, "if she does not wish to see your god-like figure.”
“Who can resist surging floods,” remarked the prince, “who can conquer love? If she does love me, let her come to me;" and was about to go away, when he turned to Sutamati again and ​enquired, who she was, and why she accompanied Manimêkalai to the park. On hearing her reply, he observed “I shall obtain Manimêkalai yet, through Chitrâpati” and left her. As soon as he had gone Manimêkalai came out of the alcove, and said “I was not offended with him, although he seemed to think lightly of me as a common harlot, who has no sense of chastity, who has no regard for caste, and who is ready to sell herself for money: but my heart went after this stranger. Can this be the effect of love?" While they were thus conversing the Goddess Manimêkalai assuming the form of a woman residing in the city, visited the garden, and reverently went round the sacred seat praying to Buddha.
The sun had now set, and the full moon rose in all it effulgence, and shed its soft silvery light on the park. In the bright moonlight, the goddess met Sutamati and Manimêkalai and enquired why they were staying in the park after nightfall. Sutamati related to her the meting between herself and Udayakumâran, and the goddess said, "The prince is deeply in love with Manimêkalai and although he left you here, deeming it improper to press his suit in this park, which is assigned to Buddhist devotees, he will not fail to meet you on the public road outside the park. If you leave this garden by the gate in the western wall, you will find, near the public cemetery, a large monastery where many monks reside; and you will be safe from all danger, even if you stay there during the whole night.” She then gave a long account of the origin of the monastery which was called Chakra-vâlak-kôddam. Sutamati fell asleep during her recital, and watching the opportunity, the goddess took hold of Manimêkalai and lifting her into the air carried her to Manipallavam, an island thirty yojanas south of Kavirip-paddinam.
Meanwhile Prince Udaya-kumaran who returned to his palace from Uva-vanam, remained sleepless, tossing in his bed, thinking of Manimêkalai, and devising plans to obtain possession of her. The goddess Manimêkalai appeared to his startled vision and said, “Thou son of the king! if the king fails in his duty, the planets will not move in their orbits: if the planets do not keep in their usual course, seasonable showers will not fall on the earth: if the ​rains fail, men will die of famine: and the saying that the life of all human beings is the life of the king will prove to be untrue. Do not therefore seek to ruin a girl who has devoted herself to a religious life.” The goddess then entered Uva-vanam, and awaking Sutamati informed her "Be not afraid; I am the goddess Manimêkalai and I came to this city to witness the festival of Indra. As it is now time for your young companion Manimêkalai, to become a devotee of Buddha, I have removed her to the island of Mani-pallavam where she is quite safe at present. She will there come to know her former birth, and will return to this city on the seventh day. Though she may appear in disguise in this city, she will not forsake you, and many wonderful events will happen here on her return. Inform Mâthavi of my visit, and the holy path into which her daughter has been led. She knows me. Tell her that I am the goddess of the ocean, whose name was given to her daughter as desired by Kovilan. On the day on which the child was named after me, I appeared to Mâthavi in her dream, and told her that her daughter would grow into a most beautiful maiden, and that she would become most sincere and pious devotee.” Having said this, the goddess left her, and flying up in the air disappeared from her view. Grieved at the mysterious disappearance of Manimêkalai, Sutamati arose and quitting the park through the western gate, entered the wide portals of the adjacent monastery. As she went in and sat inside the gate, she heard with trembling and fear, a voice from one of the statues sculptured on the gateway, addressing her, “Thou Veerai, daughter of Ravi-varman and wife of King Duchchayan! Thou, who, killed thyself on hearing of the death of thy sister Thârai! Thou art now born as Sutamati, daughter of Kausikan of Champai, and come into this town with Mâruta-vekan. On the seventh day from this, your younger sister Lakshmi will return to this city at midnight, after knowing her previous birth.” Sutamati, half dead with fright, left the monastery at early down, and hastened to Mâthavi’s residence and related to her the strange occurrences of the previous day and Mathavi, who was ready dreadfully alarmed about the safety of her daughter swooned away, overwhelmed with grief.
​Manimêkalai awoke in the island of Mani-pallavam, and was astonished to find herself alone on a strange seashore. The sun was rising above the broad blue sea, spreading its countless rays. The rippling sea-waves threw up on the sandy beach pearl-chanks and pieces of coral: and close by were deep pools, on the margin of which bloomed the lily and the violet. She wondered whether it was a part of Uva-vanam or whether Sutamati had deceived her and brought her to a strange place. She called out “Sutamati! Sutamati! come to me! answer me wherever you are!” But no answer came. No house or human being was seen. As she walked over the hillocks of sand, she found only troops of swans, cranes and sea-ducks swarming on the marshes, and standing in long rows, like opposing armies arrayed on a battle field. Frightened at the thought that she had been abandoned on a lonely island, she burst into tears; but as she walked on, along the sea-shore bemoaning her helpless condition, she saw a sacred seat of Buddha built of polished crystal.
The young maiden was beside herself with joy at the sight of the sacred seat. With joined hands raised above her head and tears of ecstasy rolling down her cheeks, she walked round the seat thrice, and prostrated herself in front of it. When she stood up again strange memories of her former birth seemed to flash upon her mind, and she spoke as follows :—
“Thou venerable sage Brahma-dharma! who could foretell coming events, I realise to-day that what thou predicted on the banks of the river Kâyankarai, has come to pass. Thou warned thy brother Attipati, king of Pûrvadesam in the Gândhâra country, that on the seventh day, a frightful earthquake will destroy his capital city Idavayam, and that it should therefore be vacated. The king proclaimed the impending catastrophe to his subjects, and ordered them to quit the city in all haste, with their cattle, and be too left his palace and encamped with the whole of his army, in a grove near the banks of the river Kâyankãrai, on the road to Vasanti, north of his capital. On the day mentioned by you, the city was destroyed by an earthquake as foretold, and when the grateful sovereign and his subjects crowded at thy feet and praised thee, thou preached the Law to them. I was then born as ​Lakshmi, the daughter of Ravi-varman, king of Asodhara, and of his wife Amuta-pati; and had married Râhula, son of the king Attipati and of his wife Nilapati, who was the daughter of Sri-dhara, king of Siddhipura. Myself and Rahula also fell at thy feet on that occasion, and thou foretold that Râhula will die on the sixteenth day from the effects of the bite of a venomous snake and that I will ascend his funeral pyre. Thou told me further that I shall be re-born at Kavirip-paddinam, and that when I am in a serious peril, a goddess will remove me at night from that city to an island in the south: and that I shall there worship the sacred seat where Buddha had once sat and preached the law, and purified the hearts of the Naga kings, who had been furiously fighting with each other for possession of the seat. I then beseeched thee to tell me what will be the re-birth of my beloved husband, and thou told me that the goddess who brought me here will point him out to me. Will not that goddess appear before me now?
The goddess Manimêkalai who knew that her namesake had learnt her previous birth at the sacred seat of Buddha, and that she was now a fit person to receive further favours, appeared before her and said “In your former birth, when you were seated with your husband Râhula, in a pleasant grove, a Buddhist saint Sâdhu-chakra who was returning from Ratna-dvipa after ‘turning the wheel of Law,’ alighted from the clouds in your presence, and you gave him food and water. The effect of that good deed will save you yet from re-births. Your former husband Râhula is now re-born as Udayakumâra, whom you met at Uva-vana: and hence, your heart was attracted towards him. Târai and Veerai, your elder sisters in your former birth, were both wedded to Thuchchaya, king of Kachchayam in Anga-desa. When they were staying with their husband on the banks of the river Gangai, a Buddhist monk visited them, and at his advice they worshipped the sacred feet of Buddha, on the hill where the Buddha had formerly taken his stand and preached his religion. By virtue of this good deed they are now born as Mâthavi and Sutamati. Before being instructed in the true Law, you shall have to learn the tenets of other religions; and the teachers of those faiths may not ​be willing to impart instruction to you as you are a young girl. I shall therefore teach thee the incantations which will enable you to assume any form you like or to fly through the air, wherever you wish to go. Rest assured that you shall attain the true knowledge of Buddha, on the holiest day of the Buddhists.” Having said so, she taught the spells to Manimêkalai, and ascended to the sky: but returned immediately to the earth and said “I have forgotten to teach you one thing more. This mortal body is sustained by food. Learn therefore the great charm by which you can remain without food.” She then taught her the third charm, and then flew away out of her sight.
“After the departure of the goddess, Manimêkalai walked about the island, admiring the strange scenery of the sand hills, flowery groves and glassy lakes. She had hardly gone the distance of a Kâvatham when a Buddhist nun appeared before her, and enquired “who art thou maiden, that appearest on this island like a shipwrecked passenger?
“In which birth do you ask ?“ replied Manimèkalai, "In my former birth I was Lakshmi, wife of Prince Râhula, and in this birth, I am Manimêkalai, the daughter of the actress Mâthavi. The goddess, whose name I beat, having brought me hither, I have learnt my former birth, by worshipping the sacred seat of Buddha. May I ask who art thou?“
“Close by this island, in Ratnadvipa, is the high mountain Samantam, on the top of which are the impressions of the sacred feet of Buddha, the worshippers of which will be freed from the bondage of births. I worshipped the feet and and now returning thence. I guard the sacred seat of Buddha in this island, under the order of Indra, the king of the celestials, and my name is Deeva-thilakai. Opposite the sacred seat is the tank Gomuki, where an alms-bowl which was once the property of Aputra comes up to the surface of the water, once a year, on the birthday of Buddha, that is on the day of the 14th Lunar asterism, in the month of Idapam. To-day is that auspicious day, and that alms-bowl is, I believe, destined for your use. Out of that bowl you may give alms to as many as may appear before you, and ​yet it will ever be full. You may learn further about it from the venerable Buddhist Abbot of your native city.”
Manimêkalai gladly accompanied Deeva-thilakai, to the tank Gomuki, and as soon as she reverently came round it, and stood near the edge, the alms-bowl sprung out of the water and entered her hands. Overjoyed at this miracle, Manimêkalai praised the Buddha’s sacred feet which were conspicuous by the side of the tank, under the shade of a Bodhi tree. Taking leave of Deeva-thilakai Manimêkalai quitted the island, carrying the alms-bowl in her hand and ascending into the air, flew through the sky and descended at Kavirippaddinam, in the presence of her mother, who was counting the days of her separation and anxiously awaiting her arrival. To her mother, and her friend Sutamati, who received her with joy, she related her adventures. “I worship your feet,” said she at last, “you who were my elder sisters in our former birth, when we were born as the daughters of Amutapti, who was the wife of king Duchchaya and daughter of king Ravivarman. You hall, under the guidance of the reverend Abbot of this city, be able to lead a pure life.” She then went to the residence of the Buddhist Abbot accompanied by Mâthavi and Sutamati.
They approached the grey-headed old monk, and bowing thrice at his feet, Manimêkalai introduced herself, and recounted to him all that had transpired from her meeting with Udayakumara at Uva-vana up to her return from Manipallavam. His aged face brightened, and he seemed hardly able to contain his joy. “I met Duchchayan, king of Kachchayam, again, on my way to the sacred hill of Buddha,” said he with trembling accents, “and enquired after the welfare of his queens. He wept bitterly and said that Veerai having gone in front of a wild elephant, newly caught, was killed by that animal, and Târai who loved her sister dearly, unable to bear her loss, died by throwing herself from a lofty terrace. How wonderful! Like actors who change their dress and appear again on the stage in new characters, you are re-born and appear before me in your present bodies.”
“Listen, thou maiden!” he continued, “to the history of Aputra, whose alms-bowl thou carriest. There was a teacher of ​the Vedas at Vâranâsi, whose name was Apanchika. His wife Sâli having proved faithless to him, and afraid of punishment, joined a company of pilgrims, who were going to Kumâri, and while returning from Kumâri gave birth to a child and abandoned it in a dark wood. Attracted by the cries of the baby, a cow approached and licked it, and fed it with its milk for seven days. A Brahmin from Vayanankodu happened to pass with his wife by the wood, and hearing the cry of the infant, he searched for the child and found it. Pitying its helpless condition he and his wife carried it to their home. He brought up the child as his own son and taught him the Vedas and other sacred texts. When he grew up into a young man he happened to go into a neighbouring house occupied by a Brahmin, and was surprised and grieved to find a cow which was tied to a post, lowing piteously like a deer caught in a hunter’s net. It was decked with flowers and intended to be sacrificed on the next morning. Feeling deep horror for the cruel fate that awaited the cow he determined to save it: and in the midnight he stole the cow and led it out of the village. His theft was however discovered, and the Brahmins chased and arrested him, and thrashing him soundly, asked him to confess why he had stolen the cow. Meanwhile the cow burst from its captors, and having gored the master of the sacrifice, fled into the jungle. The boy prayed to the Brahmins not to beat him, and asked them to tell him why they wanted to kill a harmless cow, which had from the day of its birth done no injury to any one: but had eaten of the green grass growing on meadows, and had given its sweet milk for the use of man.
“Not knowing the sacred books revealed to us by Brahma,” said the Brahmins, “you have reviled us You are verily the son of a beast.”
“Asalan was the son of a deer: Siringi was the son of a cow: Vrinji was the son of a tiger: Kesakambalam was the son of a fox: and these you honor, as your sages. Why do you spurn me as the son of a beast?” retorted the youth.
“I know the birth of this boy,” said one of the Brahmins, in indignant tones. He is the son of Sâli, the wife of a Vedic teacher of Varanasi, who having behaved in a manner unbecoming a Brahmin woman and afraid of punishment, came away ​with pilgrims bound to Kumâri, and there gave birth to a child, near a shepherd’s village, and abandoned it. This boy is that child. Touch him not: he is a bastard.”
I shall tell you the origin of the Brabmins,” replied the boy with a scornful laugh. “Were not two of your first patriarchs the Sons of Brahma, by a celestial courtezan? Is this not true? How can you then speak ill of Sâli?”
“Astounded at these words, his foster father declined to receive the youth into his house and the Brahmins set up a hue and cry after him as the thief who had stolen the cow. The youth therefore left the Brahmin village and came to the great city of Dakshina Mathura, where he begged food from door to door, and out of the food so collected he fed the blind and the lame, the old and the infirm, and himself ate the remainder. At night, he took his bed in the hall outside the temple of Chintadevi, with his alms-bowl for his pillow; a beggar in all else, but rich in his boundless love for all living creatures.
“On a dark and rainy night, when he lay fast asleep in the temple of Chinta-devi a few beggars who were weary with travelling arrived there, and being very hungry awoke him and asked for food. The poor youth having no food to give was greatly distressed. The goddess Chinta-devi then appeared to him and handed to him a cup saying, “Grieve not, but take this cup. You will never find it empty though the whole land may be famine-strirken.” The youth praised the goddess and receiving the cup fed the travellers out of it. The wonderful cup was never empty although he fed myriads of poor people who flocked to him, owing to the famine then prevailing in the Pandyan kingdom. Favourable seasons soon followed, and Aputra found that no one came to him for charity. He left Madura and travelled to other towns in search of poor and starving people. He heard from merchants who arrived by sea that there bad been no rain in Chavakam, and that the inhabitants of that country were dying from want of food. Hence he resolved to visit Chavakam and relieve the distress of the people of that land, and went on board a ship bound to Chavakam. As a storm came on during the voyage the ship anchored at Manipallavam, and ​Aputra went ashore on the island. But during the night, a favorable breeze rose, and the captain set sail, not knowing that Aputra was still on the island. The latter finding that the ship had sailed away, and that the island was uninhabited was plunged in grief. Annoyed at the thought that his wonderful cup will remain useless in his hands, he threw it into the tank Gomuki praying that it should appear once a year on the surface of the tank, and go into the hands of a pure minded and charitable person. Unwilling to feed alone out of the cup which had fed thousands of people, he decided to starve himself to death. I happened to visit Mani-pallavam just then and learnt from his own mouth his unhappy tale.
Aputra was reborn in Chavakam in the hermitage of Man-muka. The king of that country being childless obtained the child from Man-muka and brought him up as heir to his throne. In course of time Aputra succeeded his father, and is at present king of Chavakam. His miraculous cup should not remain useless in your hands, and you should therefore feed the beggars of this city, out of the cup, for there is no greater charity than that of feeding the poor”
Manimêkalai took leave of the monk reverently, and as desired by him wished to begin at once the work of charity. When she appeared in the street with the alms-bowl in her hand, in the attire of a Bikshuni or religious mendicant, the people passing in the street gathered round hers wondering why she who was courted by the son of the king should have put on a mendicant’s garb. Being a mendicant, she deemed it proper that she should first receive alms from a married woman, an going to the house of Athirai, the wife of a merchant, accepted alms from her in the miraculous cup.
She then commenced giving out food from the cup, and the first person who received food was Kaya-Chandikai, wife of a Vidyadhara. She had been suffering with a disease which caused insatiable craving for food, and this strange malady was cured by her eating the meal served out of the cup. She blessed Manimekalai most fervently and desired her to go to the ​Buddhist monastery and feed the poor who collect there in large numbers.
Having heard that Manimêkalai was in the dress of Bikshuni or mendicant in the Buddhist monastery, her grandmother Chitrapati was in a furious rage. Vowing that she would induce prince Udaya-Kumara to bring back Manimêkalai in his golden chariot, she hurried to the prince’s palace, accompanied by a few of her servants. Entering the palace, she came into the presence of the Prince who was seated on a throne supported by shining figures of lions, and fanned with chowries by servant maids who were standing on both sides of him. As she bowed low at his feet, the Prince enquired with a smile “Are Mâthavi and Manimêkalai still disposed to remain in the monastery ?“
“Long life to the brave Prince,” said Chitrapati. “Manimêkalai is now in the public hall attached to the monastery outside the city. I pray you will take her with you and enjoy the pleasure of witnessing her skill as an actress."
“When I last saw her in the crystal alcove, she stood with her arms folded on her bosom and her dark eyes seemed to melt with love. Her coral lips revealed the lustre of her pearly teeth, and her smile thrilled through me. That sweet smile and fairy form entered my heart at once never again to leave it. But what puzzles me yet is that, on the following night, a goddess appeared in my sight and warned me not to think of her. Was that a phantom of my imagination, or was it a real goddess that warned me so gravely,” said the Prince.
“Let not such doubts disturb your mind," replied Chitrapati , “surely, you ought to desist, if Manimêkalai was a girl born in wedlock: but she is an actress trained to display her charms on the public stage and to allure and captivate the rich. Need I tell you that it is the duty of a king to bring her back to the profession to which she was born.”
Encouraged by Chitrapati, Udaya-kumara mounted his chariot, and urging the steeds harnessed to it, arrived in no time at the monastery. He saw Manimêkalai appearing in her marvellous beauty, like the divinity of the place, and feeding the poor ​who flocked to her, out of the alms-bowl in her hand. All his love for her seemed to swell in his heart. Going near her, he addressed her, with a look of passionate and adoring love, “Ah! You siren who has stolen my heart, why do you torment yourself with penance, and lead the life of a mendicant? Dearest maid! tell me why you wish to be a nun?”
“I shall answer thee,” said Manimêkalai who trembled lest her own heart should be weak enough to give way to love for him who was her dear Rahulan in a former birth, “If thou hast profited by the converse of the wise, Listen! Knowing that this body is the seat of suffering: that it suffers in birth, in disease, in old age and in death, I have embraced the life of a nun, what more can a woman tell a valiant prince like thee? If thou feelest the truth of my words, do as thy heart bids thee to do.”
She then entered the hut which had been occupied by the mendicant Kayachandikai, and repeating the incantation by which she could transform herself, she assumed the form of Kayachandikai and returned to the presence of the Prince. He was amazed at the disappearance of Manimêkalai. He searched the hut and not finding her there, he vowed that he will not leave that place till he sees again the dear girl whose sweet speech and surpassing beauty have made him a captive.
A voice proceeding from one of the statues of the temple warned him not to make foolish vows. Udaya-kumara was awe-struck and did not know what further he ought to do to win Manimêkalai. The sun had set and the shades of evening were growing darker. He quitted the temple therefore reluctantly, sighing as his attempt to take Manimêkalai with him was unsuccessful. Being certain that the Prince would not leave her if she appeared in her own form, Manimèkalai determined to continue in the disguise of the mendicant Kaya-cbandikai. She was anxious to continue her work of charity, and deeming it proper that she should not wait till the poor seek her assistance, but should herself search for them and relieve their distress, she went to the City Jail, were criminals were confined. With great pleasure she entered the building where the unhappy prisoners were ill-fed and pinched with hunger: and began to feed them ​to their hearts’ content. The warders were astonished to see that she had only one cup in her hand but was able to feed hundreds out of that single cup. They thought it such a wonder that they should report it at once to the king and proceeded to the palace. The Chola king Ma-van-killi had then gone out for a walk in the royal park with his queen Cheerthy, who was the daughter of a king descended from the illustrious Mahabali. Followed by the queen's attendants, the king and the queen stepped slowly along the well-laid-out walks admiring the charming scenes. They were delighted to see, in a cool spot, a peacock spreading its gorgeous tail and dancing on the green turf, while the cuckoo warbled and the honey bees hummed on the wide spreading branches overhead. In a shady bower a female monkey was seated on a swing and the male was swinging it. The king and queen and her ladies burst out laughing at this queer sight, and their merry laughter rang through the park. They invited the deer and mountain goats to come near them; and the king pointed out to the queen, the quails and hares that fled through the shrubberies, frightened at their approach. They ascended the artificial hills and looked at the waterfalls. They enjoyed the balmy breeze blowing around the cool grottoes and romantic fountains, and wandered through labyrinths. Tired with the excursion, the royal party then returned to the palace, and the king entered the throne hall. The guards having announced that the warders of the City Jail were waiting for an audience, the king commanded that they should be admitted. They came and, standing at a distance, made a profound obeisance, and said “Long life to thee, Mighty King Ma-van-killi! thou, whose army, led by thy son, routed the forces of the Pandya and Chera in a battle at Kâriyâru! Know great king that a maiden who wandered in this city as a beggar has now visited the jail and fed countless people out of a single cup! May your Royal Highness reign for ever.’
“Let her come to me, I would be glad to see her,” said the king eager to see the maid. The guards led her into the royal presence, and she exclaimed, “Wise king! may thou be ever merciful!"
“Thou pious maiden! Who art thou,” asked the king, “and whence is this miraculous cup?”
​“I am the daughter of a Vidyadhara,” replied the maiden, “I have lived in this city for some time past. This cup which was given to me by a goddess has wonderful properties. It has cured insatiable hunger; and it will feed any number of people. May Your Majesty prosper for ever.”
“What can I do for the young maiden,” enquired the king pleased with her demeanour.
Emboldened by the king’s courteous enquiry, she said, “Let the City Jail be assigned for a public charity hall, may thou be blessed for ever!”
The monarch graciously acceded to her prayer. The prisoners were set free and Buddhist monks occupied the prison and used it as a charity hall and hospital. These news soon reached the ears of Udaya-kumara who was still infatuated with the love of Manimêkalai. He determined now to seize her wherever she may be found outside the monastery, and to convey her to his palace in his chariot. With this intention, he entered the monastery. Kanchanan, the husband of Kaya-chandikai, who had in the meantime come to Pukar in search of his wife, found Manimêkalai in the disguise of Kaya-chandikai, and believing her to be his own wife, he went up to her and fondly asked whether she had been cured of her disease, and wondered from which God she had obtained the miraculous cup. But Manimêkalai did not care to converse with him: she met prince Udayakumara however, and to him she addressed a few words of wisdom. “Mark this aged matron, thou Prince!” said she pointing to an old woman “her tresses which were once raven black are now turned grey: her shining forehead is now wrinkled: her arched brows are now shrunk like dry shrimps: the eyes bright as the lotus are now dim and dropping rheum: her pearl-like teeth are now decayed and lustreless: her coral lips have lost their colour: such is woman’s beauty” she spoke in this strain and tried to turn the prince’s thoughts from the fleeting objects of worldly desire, to things of eternal moment for his spiritual welfare. Kaya-chandikai’s husband, who followed Manimêkaiai, was fired with jealousy at seeing his wife indifferent to himself, but anxious to engage the attention of the prince. He resolved ​therefore to watch her conduct further and concealed himself in a dark corner of the temple. Udaya-kumara was now convinced that Manimêkalai herself was in the disguise of Kaya-chandikai, but could not understand why Kanchanan dogged her steps, and he too made up his mind to observe their behaviour at night. He returned therefore quietly to his palace and at midnight came out alone and entered the temple. The perfumes on his person however spread through the temple and revealed his presence to Kanchanan who was awake. Finding that it was the Prince who stole into the temple at that late hour, his worst fears regarding his wife’s constancy were confirmed. He got up wild with jealousy and drawing his sword beheaded the Prince upon the spot. He then attempted to enter the room where Manimêkalai was asleep; but a voice from one of the images warned him not to enter the apartment. It said, “Your wife Kaya-chandikai, cured of her disease, went in search of you and died on the Vindhya hills. Although Udaya-kumara has now paid his life as a penalty for his former sins, you have committed a great sin in murdering him, and the effect of this sin will not leave you.” Hearing these words, Kanchanan left the temple gloomy and disheartened. Manimêkalai who had awoke and overheard the words of warning uttered by the spirit, rushed out of her room, crying in tones of deep anguish, “Oh my beloved! for whom I mounted the funeral pyre, when you died of a snake-bite in your former birth; for whom my heart yearned when I saw you first in the Uva-vana: for whom I assumed the disguise of Kaya-chandikai to instruct you in wisdom and to lead you in the path of virtue. Alas! have you fallen a victim to the sword of the jealous Vidyadhara?” Crying thus, she was about to approach the corpse of her lover, when she heard the voice of the same spirit cautioning her, "Don’t go, don’t go, young maiden!” said the spirit. “He was your husband and you were his wife in many former births. Do not give way to your passions, you who seek release from the prison house of re-births!”
“I worship thee, wise spirit!” said Manimêkalai, "knowest thou why he was bitten by a snake in his former birth, and ​now killed by the sword of the Vidyadhara? If you do know it, tell me graciously so that it may console my sorrowing heart.”
“Listen to me maiden!” the spirit replied. “In your former birth, when Brahma-dharma was preaching the Law, you wished to feast him on a certain day, and asked your cook to be ready by early dawn. But when he came in the morning and tripped and fell on the cooking utensils and broke them, enraged at his carelessness, your husband killed the cook. It is that sin that still haunts you. I shall now tell you what is to happen to you in the future. Hearing of the murder of his son, the king will cast you into prison, but the queen will intercede for you, and releasing you from jail, will keep you with her. The venerable Buddhist monk will then plead for you with the queen, and you will be set at liberty. You will then go to Aputra, who is now king of Chavakam, and with him you will again visit Manipallavarn. Leaving that island, you will in the guise of a monk visit Vanji, and there learn the tenets of other religions. You will then proceed to Kanchi and feed the poor during a famine in that city. There you will meet the Buddhist abbot and from him you will learn the Buddhist doctrine and become a nun. In future births, you will be born as a man in Uttara Magadha and eventually become one of the foremost and favorite disciples of Buddha.” Knowing her future, Manimêkalai was greatly relieved in mind and deeply thankful to the spirit.
On the following morning, the visitors to the temple of Champa-pati saw the corpse of Udaya-kumara and reported it to the monks of Chakra-valak-kôddam. They questioned Manimêkalai, and having ascertained from her, how and by whom he had been killed, they concealed the prince’s body in a separate room and proceeded to the palace. Having obtained permission through the guards, they appeared before the Chola king who was seated on his throne, majestic like Indra. “Hail monarch!, may thy reign be prosperous! may all thy days be happy!” said one of the monks, “even in former days, many men have died in this city for the women they loved. When Parasurma was killing all the kings of Jambu-dweepa, in days of old, Kanthan then reigning at Pukâr, deemed it prudent to conceal himself ​and left the kingdom in charge of his illegitimate son, Kakanan, who being the son of a courtezan could not succeed to the crown, and therefore would not be attacked by Parasurama. Kâkanthan’s son, having made an immodest proposal to the wife of a Brahmin who was returning alone through the city gate, after bathing in the Kaveri, was killed by his father. Another son of the same king was also killed by the father, for having insulted similarly a chaste and beautiful woman who was the daughter of a merchant.”
Is there any misfortune of the kind which has occurred now?” enquired the king: and the monk related to him that Prince Udayâ-kumâra had been of late courting Manimêkalai although she had become a nun: that to avoid him she assumed the shape of Kâya-chandikai: and that the husband of the latter killed the prince out of jealousy, as he attempted to enter his wife’s apartment at midnight. The king was shocked and grieved to hear of the melancholy end of his son, and looking at his prime-minister, Choliya-enâti, said, “The punishment that I should have meted out to my wayward son, has been inflicted by Kanchanan. Let the prince’s body be cremated at once and the daughter of the actress be confined in prison.”
The Queen, Raja-maha-devi, bereaved of her beloved prince was disconsolate. She was however bent on taking revenge on Manimêkalai for having been the cause of her son’s death, and said to the king that it was unjust to confine in prison a pious and intelligent maiden like Manimêkalai. The king having consented to her release, she sent for Manimêkalai and directed her to lodge with her in the palace. She then plotted to disgrace Manimêkalai, and inviting an illiterate youth gave him a handful of gold coins, and told him to seduce Manimêkalai, whom she also tried to render unconscious by administering drugs. But Manimêkalai was unaffected by the drugs, and assumed the form of a man, when the youth came to her; and he fled out of the city, afraid that the Queen had attempted to entrap him in some dangerous intrigue. The Queen then shut up Manimêkalai in a room, on the pretence that she was unwell, and gave her no food. Manimêkalai repeated the incantation which could save her from hunger, and remained ​as lively as ever. Disconcerted in all her attempts, and astonished to find that Manimêkalai was not in the least affected by want of food, the queen was now convinced that she was a virtuous and saintly character. She prayed for Manimêkalai’s pardon for having persecuted her under the belief that she was the cause of her son’s death. Manimêkalai who was ready to forgive her said, “When you were Queen Nilapati in your former birth, your son Râhula died, bitten by a venomous snake, and I who was then his wife gave up my life on his funeral pyre. Your son had in a fit of rage killed his cook in his previous birth, and the effect of this sin reacted on him now and he was murdered by the Vinchayan” She related further to the Queen all the events that occurred since she met prince Udayakumara at Uva-vana and explained to her how she was able to preserve her life, with the help of the spells taught to her by the Goddess of the ocean, notwithstanding the persecutions of the Queen. “I could have with the aid of my spells, gone out of the prison, but I did not do so; because, I wished to stay and console you, who are the mother of my departed lover. Those only know true happiness who never cease to love all sentiment beings.” Consoled with these words, the Queen rose and made a profound obeisance to Manimekalai, but the latter would not allow her to do so. “You are the mother of my husband in a former birth and now you are the great Queen of the Monarch of this land. It is not proper that you should bow to me,” she said and bowed low to her in return.
Chitrapati who had heard of the murder of Prince Udayakumara and of the imprisonment of her grand-daughter Manimekalai and her subsequent release, went to the palace and falling at the feet of the Queen represented to her all her misfortunes, and implored that Manimekalai be restored to her. But the Queen informed her that Manimekalai hated intensely the life of a courtezan, and would not therefore reside with her hereafter. Meantime Mâthavi accompanied by the Buddhist abbot also sought an audience of the Queen. When they saw the venerable monk, the Queen and her attendants rose and went forward to receive him. The Queen greeted him respectfully, ​and having led him to a seat, washed his feet, and courteously said, “It is my good fortune that you are pleased to pay me this visit, although this short walk must have given your aged feet no little pain. May you be blessed with health for many years to come!”
“Listen to me Queen!" said the monk “although my life is devoted to religion, I am now like the setting sun.” He then began an eloquent exposition of the teachings of Buddha regarding the cause of birth, ignorance, good and evil deeds and their consequences. He exhorted the Queen and all who listened to him to keep in the path of virtue: and turning to Manimêkalai, he said, “you young maid, who know your former birth! you shall have to learn first the doctrines of other creeds, and then I shall teach you the principles of Buddhism.” As he rose to depart, Manimêkalai bowing at his feet, said “If I stay any longer in this city, every one will curse me as one who caused the death of the king’s son. shall therefore visit the country of Aputra: thence I shall go to Manipallavam, and to Vanji where a temple has been erected to Kannaki.” Looking at her mother and grandmother, she said, “my dear relatives! be not concerned about my safety,” and left them. Proceeding to the temple of Champa-pati, she worshipped the Goddess, and flying through the air, descended in a grove in Chavakam, outside the great city of the king, who is a descendant of Indra. She saluted a, monk, who was living in that grove, and asked “what is the name of this city and who is its ruler?” The monk replied “This is Naga-puram, and the reigning king is Punya-raja, son of Bhoomichandra. From the day of the birth of his king, ​the rain has never failed, and harvests have been plentiful, and no pestilence has visited this country.”
Soon after the king happened to visit the monk Dharmasravaka, with his family, to listen to his preaching of the Law. Surprised to find a young and beautiful maiden in the company of the monk, he enquired "who is this maiden of matchless beauty, who seems to be a mendicant and listens to the preaching of the Dharma?” One of the king’s officers replied, “There is none equal to this maiden in all Jambu-dvipa. I learnt the history of this maid when I went in a ship to Kavirip-paddinam and paid a friendly visit to the Chola-king Killi-valavan. The Buddhist monk then told me all about this maid. She is now come here from that city.”
“The alms-bowl which once belonged to you is now in my hands,” said Manimêkalai to the great astonishment of the king. You do not remember your former birth, nor do you know your present birth. Unless you worship the seat of Buddha at Manipallavam you cannot understand the nature of this prison of re-births. I would advise you to come there.” She then quitted the city, and flew through the air to Mani-pallavam. The king returned to his palace and learnt from his foster mother, Queen Amara-sundari, that he was not her son but was born in the hermitage of the Buddhist monk, and that the late king Bhoomichandra obtained him from the monk, and, brought him up as his own son. Having thus ascertained the truth of Manimêkalai’s statement, he was anxious to lay down the crown, and to lead the life of a recluse. He disclosed his intention to his minister Jana-mitra, who being alarmed at the sudden change which had come over the monarch’s mind, said, “My king! may thou live for ever! Before you were born, this kingdom suffered from severe famine for twelve long years, mothers abandoned, their babes, and myriads of people died of starvation. Like rain in the midst of scorching summer, you were born, and from that time forward showers have fallen in due season, crops have been abundant, and none felt the want of food. If you leave this country, I fear our prosperity will vanish and famine will again appear in the land. Tenderness to other lives is the first duty ​preached by the great Buddha. You seem to forget this duty which you owe to your subjects.”
“Anyhow I am so eager to visit Mani-pallavam that I will not be satisfied unless I go there. You ought to look after the Government and the palace for the period of a month,” said the king, and commanded at once that arrangements be made for his voyage. As soon as a ship was ready, he went on board, and with favourable winds, the ship arrived at Mani-pallavam. Manimêkalai received the king with sincere pleasure, and took him to the sacred seat of Buddha. The king reverently went round the seat and worshipped it, and at once, his former birth came to his recollection as clear as if it had been reflected in a mirror. “I know my former birth and my sorrow is removed," exclaimed the king, “Thou Goddess of Learning! of Dakshina-Mathura in the Tamil-land: on a rainy night when a number of beggars came to me, at thy shrine, for food, and I was at a loss to find meals for them, you were pleased to place in my hands a miraculous cup out of which any number of people could be fed. Ever in my future births I shall worship thee as I have done in the past.” He then left the seat with Mantmêkalai and rested in the shade of a Punnai tree. Deepa-thilakai, the guardian deity of the sacred seat, appeared before them and accosted the king. “Welcome! thou pious man who brought the wonderful cup and died on this island. Behold the skeleton of thy former body which lies at the foot of yonder tree, under a heap of sand thrown up by the waves of the sea.” She then addressed Manimêkalai as follows: “Thou good maid, who now holds the miraculous cup in thy hand! your native city has been destroyed by an eruption of the sea. I shall tell you the cause of the calamity. Peeli-valai, the daughter of the king of Nâga-nâd, visited this island with her son, to worship the Buddha’s seat, which had been placed here by Indra. When she was staying here, a ship belonging to a merchant of Kavirip-paddinam happened to anchor at the island. The princess having ascertained that the ship was to sail to Kavirip-paddinam, entrusted to the merchant’s care her son, to be taken to his father, the Chola-king Killi-valavan. The merchant received the prince with great pleasure on board his ship, and sailed immediately: But violent winds wrecked the ship on an adjacent coast at ​midnight, and the merchant and some of the crew who escaped reported the sad occurrence to the king. Killi-valavan went in search of his son and neglected to perform the annual festival in honor of Indra. The goddess of the ocean enraged at this insult to the king of the gods, sent a huge sea-wave, which submerged Kavirip-paddinarn. The venerable Buddhist monk accompanied by Mâthavi and Sutamati has gone to Vanchi, and you should go there and meet them.” The goddess then departed, and the king desirous of seeing the body in which he was previously born, scooped out the sand at the spot indicated by the goddess and discovered a skeleton in perfect order. At the sight of this skeleton, the king fainted, and Manimêkalai comforted him by telling him that she came to his City and invited him to the island, in the hope that after learning his former birth, he will be the model of a pious and good king, and establish his fame throughout the many islands over which he rules. “If kings themselves wish to turn monks who will help the poor?” she said. “Remember! true charity is to give food and clothing and shelter to living beings.”
“Whether in my own country, or in other lands, I shall perform the charity which you have indicated. You have reformed me by giving me a knowledge of my former births. How can I part from you who have been so kind to me?” replied the king.
“Grieve not for this parting. Your kingdom calls for thee and your presence is needed there. Return therefore at once on board your ship. I shall go to Vanchi” said Manimêkalai and flew into the air.
She arrived at Vanchi and visited the temple erected in honor of her father Kovilan and step-mother Kannaki. Having worshipped them she changed her form to that of a monk, and inspected every temple and hall and platform where men devoted to religion were congregated. She sought instruction from the professors of the Vedic, Saiva, Vaishnava, Ajivaka, Nirgrantha, Sankya, Vaiseshika and Lokayata religions. She met Kovilan’s father who had become a Buddhist monk, and from him she learnt that the Buddhist abbot of Pukar had ​left Vanchi and gone to Kanchi. Her grandfather advised her to go to Kanchi and feed the poor of that city, as a famine was raging in that part of the country. She took her miraculous cup and flew through the air to Kanchi, and visited the Buddhist Chaitya which had been built by king Killi, the younger brother of Killi-valavan. Her arrival having been reported to the king by his officers, he visited her accompanied by all his ministers. “Thou pious maid!” said the king “my kingdom groans under a severe drought, and I am glad therefore that thou hast appeared with this wonderal cup. I have built a tank and planted a grove just like those at Mani-pallavam,” and pointed out the place to her. At her request, the king built a sacred seat for Buddha, and temples for the goddesses Deepa-thilakai and Mani-mêkalai. She then fed all the deformed and aged and destitute persons who came to her. The Buddhist monk arrived later on, with Mâthavi and her friend Sutamati: and Manimêkalai received them with every mark of respect and feasted them Then she sat at the feet of the venerable abbot and learnt the doctrines of Buddha. When she was convinced that the doctrines were true, and was prepared to take refuge in the threefold gem, the Buddha, Dharma and Sangha, the monk initiated her further in the duties of a nun, and she was admitted into the order, with due ceremony, amidst a grand display of lights.
* ↑ Mr.V. Saminatha Iyer, Tamil Pandit of the Kumbakonam College, has lately published an excellent edition of this poem with explanatory notes
* ↑ Mani-mekalai, Canto I.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto I.
* ↑ Ibid.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto v
* ↑ Ibid., Canto VII.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto viii.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto ix.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto x.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xi
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xii
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xiii.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xiv
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xv.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xvi
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xvii
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xviii.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xix
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xx.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxi
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxii.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxiii.
* ↑ Châvaka or Châvaka-dvipa is the island of Sumitra. The king of Châvaka appears to have ruled over also Java and the small islands adjacent to Sumatra. Ptolemy speaks of the Greater and Lesser Châvaka, referring to Sumatra and Java. I have not been able to identify Nâgapura, because the information available regarding Sumatra is at present very scanty. The most important seaport on the East Coast which traded formerly with the Coromandel Coast is Sri Indrapura. It is the capital of a kingdom. See J. Anderson’s Acheen and Coast of Sumatra., pp. 231 and 172. Dr. B. Heynoy’s Account of India and Sumatra, pp. 395 and 398. That Buddhism and Brahminism spread to Sumâtra and Java, at a very early period, is attested beyond a doubt by extensive remains of ancient temples and sculptures on these islands.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto vviv.
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxv
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxvi
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxvii
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxviii
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxix
* ↑ Ibid., Canto xxx.