Appendix
Description of Ujjayinī
(102) There is a town by name Ujjayinī, the proudest gem of the three worlds, the very birthplace of the golden age, created by the blessed Mahākāla,1 Lord of Pramathas,2 Creator, Preserver and Destroyer of the Universe, as a habitation meet for himself, like a second earth. It is encompassed by a moat deep as hell—as by the ocean, mistaking it for another earth—and surrounded by fenced walls, white with plaster, like Kailāsa, with its many points showing clear against the sky, through joy at being the dwelling of Çiva.
It is adorned with large bazaars, like the oceans when their waters were drunk by Agastya, stretching far, with gold-dust for sand, with conch and oyster pearls, coral and emeralds laid bare. The painted halls that deck it are filled with gods, demons, Siddhas,3 Gandharvas, genii, and snakes, (103) and show like a row of heavenly chariots come down from the sky to behold fair women at ceaseless festivals. Its crossways shine with temples like Mandara whitened by the milk raised up by the churning stick, with spotless golden vases for peaks, and white banners stirred by the breeze like the peaks of Himālaya with the heavenly Ganges falling on them. Commons gray with ketakī pollen, dark with green gardens, watered by buckets constantly at work, and having wells adorned with brick seats, lend their charm. Its groves are darkened by bees vocal with honey draughts, its breeze laden with the sweetness of creeper flowers, all trembling. It pays open honour to Kāma, with banners marked with the fish on the house-poles, with bells ringing merrily, with crimson pennons of silk, and red cowries steady, made of coral, standing upright in every house. Its sin is washed away by the perpetual recitation of sacred books. (104) It resounds with the cry of the peacocks, intent on a wild dance with their tails outspread from excitement in the bathing-houses, wherein is the steady, deep sound of the drums, and a storm caused by the heavy showers of spray, and beautiful rainbows made by the sunbeams cast upon it. It glitters with lakes, fair with open blue water-lilies, with their centre white as unclosed moon-lotuses, beautiful in their unwavering gaze,4 like the thousand eyes of Indra. It is whitened with ivory turrets on all sides, endowed with plantain groves, white as flecks of ambrosial foam. It is girt with the river Siprā, which seems to purify the sky, with its waves forming a ceaseless frown, as though jealously beholding the river of heaven on the head of Çiva, while its waters sway over the rounded forms of the Mālavīs, wild with the sweetness of youth.
The light-hearted race that dwell there, like the moon on the locks of Çiva, spread their glory5 through all the earth, and have their horn filled with plenty;6 like Maināka, they have known no pakshapāta;7 like the stream of the heavenly Ganges, with its golden lotuses, their heaps of gold and rubies8 shine forth; like the law-books, they order the making of water-works, bridges, temples, pleasure-grounds, wells, hostels for novices, wayside sheds for watering cattle, and halls of assembly; like Mandara, they have the best treasures of ocean drawn up for them; though they have charms against poison,9 yet they fear snakes;10 though they live on the wicked,11 they give their best to the good; though bold, they are very courteous; though pleasant of speech, they are truthful; though handsome,12 content with their wives; though they invite the entrance of guests, they know not how to ask a boon; though they seek love and wealth, they are strictly just; though virtuous, they fear another world.13 They are connoisseurs in all arts, pleasant14 and intelligent. They talk merrily, are charming in their humour, spotless in their attire, (106) skilled in foreign languages, clever at subtleties of speech,15 versed in stories of all kinds,16 accomplished in letters, having a keen delight in the Mahābhārata, Purāṇas, and Rāmāyaṇa, familiar with the Bṛihatkathā, masters of the whole circle of arts, especially gambling, lovers of the çāstras, devoted to light literature, calm as a fragrant spring breeze, constantly going to the south;17 upright,18 like the wood of Himālaya; skilled in the worship of Rāma,19 like Lakshmaṇa; open lovers of Bharata, like Çatrughna;20 like the day, following the sun;21 like a Buddhist, bold in saying ‘Yes’ about all kinds of gifts;22 like the doctrine of the Sāṃkhyā philosophy, possessed of noble men;23 like Jinadharma, pitiful to life.
The city seems possessed of rocks, with its palaces; it stretches like a suburb with its long houses; it is like the tree that grants desires with its good citizens; it bears in its painted halls the mirror of all forms. Like twilight, it shines with the redness of rubies;24 (107) like the form of the Lord of Heaven, it is purified with the smoke of a hundred sacrifices; like the wild dance of Çiva, it has the smiles, which are its white markets;25 like an old woman, it has its beauty worn;26 like the form of Garuḍa, it is pleasing in being the resting-place of Vishṇu;27 like the hour of dawn, it has its people all alert; like the home of a mountaineer, it has palaces in which ivory cowries28 are hanging; like the form of Çesha,29 it always bears the world; like the hour of churning the ocean, it fills the end of the earth with its hubbub;30 like the rite of inauguration, it has a thousand gold pitchers31 at hand; like Gaurī, it has a form fit to sit on the lion-throne; like Aditi, honoured in a hundred houses of the gods; like the sports of Mahāvarāha, showing the casting down of Hiraṇyāksha;32 like Kadrū, it is a joy to the race of reptiles;33 like the Harivaṃça, it is charming with the games of many children.34 (108) Though its courts are open to all, its glory is uninjured;35 though it glows with colour,36 it is white as nectar; though it is hung with strings of pearls, yet when unadorned37 it is adorned the most; though composed of many elements,38 it is yet stable, and it surpasses in splendour the world of the immortals.
There the sun is daily seen paying homage to Mahākāla, for his steeds vail their heads at the charm of the sweet chant of the women singing in concert in the lofty white palaces, and his pennon droops before him. There his rays fall on the vermeil floors like the crimson of eve; and on the emerald seats, as though busy in creating lotus beds; on the lapis-lazuli, as though scattered on the sky; on the circling aloe smoke, as though eager to break its dense gloom; on the wreaths of pearl, as though disdaining the clusters of stars; (109) on the women’s faces, as though kissing unfolding lotuses; on the splendour of crystal walls, as though falling amid the pale moonlight of morning; on the white silken banners, as though hanging on the waves of the heavenly Ganges; on the sun-gems, as though blossoming from them; on the sapphire lattices, as though entering the jaws of Rāhu. There darkness never falls, and the nights bring no separation to the pairs of cakravākas; nor need they any lamps, for they pass golden as with morning sunshine, from the bright jewels of women, as though the world were on fire with the flame of love. There, though Çiva is at hand, the cry of the haṃsas in the houses, arising sweet and ceaseless, at the kindling of love, fills the city with music, like the mourning of Rati for the burning of the God of Love. There the palaces stretch forth their flags, whose silken fringes gleam and flutter at night in the wind, like arms to remove the mark of the moon put to shame by the fair lotus-faced Mālavīs. (110) There the moon, deer-marked, moves, in the guise of his reflection, on the jewel pavement, cool with the sprinkling of much sandal-water, as though he had fallen captive to Love at the sight of the faces of the fair city dames resting on the palace roofs. There the auspicious songs of dawn raised by the company of caged parrots and starlings, though they sing their shrillest, as they wake at night’s close, are drowned and rendered vain by the tinkling of women’s ornaments, reaching far, and outvying the ambrosial voices of the tame cranes.39 (111) There dwells Çiva, who has pierced the demon Andhaka with his sharp trident, who has a piece of the moon on his brow polished by the points of Gaurī’s anklets, whose cosmetic is the dust of Tripura, and whose feet are honoured by many bracelets fallen from Rati’s outstretched arms as she pacifies him when bereft of Kāma.