When the lord Bhoja once again wished to ascend the throne, a statuette restrained him with sweet words: ‘Your Majesty may mount this lion seat only if you have such courage, fortitude and magnanimity as did Vikramaditya.’
‘When Vikrama was king, his chaplain was Vasumitra.1 He was exceedingly handsome, versed in all the arts, and very dear to the king. He was also a benefactor of others, much loved by all people, and extremely rich.
‘Once Vasumitra proceeded abroad to visit various places of pilgrimage. He went to Vārānasī and paid homage to Viśveśvara, the lord of the world, and then to Prayāga where he had the ritual bath during the month of Māgha.2 After performing the ceremony for the ancestors at Gayā, he turned homewards and halted at a city on the way.
‘This city was ruled by a celestial nymph who was under a curse and had no husband. A wedding pavilion stood there at a great temple to the deities Lakshmi-Nārāyaṇa. By the gate of the temple was an enormous iron cauldron of boiling oil. The men appointed there would tell the people coming from outside: “If some hero will throw himself into this boiling oil, the nymph Manmatha Sanjivini will place the nuptial garland round his neck and take him for her husband.”
‘Vasumitra was enchanted by the beauty of the nymph. Returning home, he met all his kinsmen who were glad to see that he had come back safely. In the morning he went to the royal palace and met the king, presenting him with water from the Ganga and sacred mementos of Viśveśvara, before taking a seat.’
“‘Well, Vasumitra,” the king asked, “did your pilgrimage go well?” “By your favour, master,” he replied, “I have returned safely after performing the pilgrimage.” “And what new things did you see in those other lands?” the king asked further. Vasumitra then told him about the celestial nymph and the pot of boiling oil.
‘The king’s mind was filled with curiosity. He went to the city with Vasumitra, saw the situation there and realized that his friend had fallen in love with the nymph. He then leapt into the cauldron. His body turned into a lump of flesh as the people there raised a mighty hue and cry. Hearing it, the nymph Manmanha Sanjivini arrived with nectar which she sprinkled on the fleshy mass, reviving the king with even greater beauty and radiance than he had before.’
“‘O best of heroes,” said the nymph, “this vast kingdom is yours. All that I have belongs to you. I am your slave. Use me as you will.” The king was pleased with her words. As the siren was about to put the garland round his neck, he said: “O Manmatha Sanjivini, if you have become mine, then listen to me.” “Speak master,” she replied, “and I will obey you in every way.” “If you will do what I say,” the king told her, “then marry this chaplain of mine.”
“‘Blessed are you, king of kings,” said the nymph,
“All this triple world is subject
to that steadfast man, whose heart
cannot be pierced by the arrows
of beauty’s sidelong glances, nor
burnt by the fire of anger, nor
pulled out by the noose of greed.
“‘So be it,” she said, and placed the nuptial garland round the chaplain’s neck. The king then had them married and appointed Vasumitra as the ruler of that kingdom, before returning to his own capital.
‘O King, if any man had such courage, prowess and magnanimity, he would be competent to mount this throne.’