{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_20935/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_20935","id":"gutenberg_20935","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20935","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"E-text prepared by Thierry Alberto, Sankar Viswanathan, and the Project\nGutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nTHE SUBSTANCE OF A DREAM\n\nTranslated from the Original Manuscript\n\nby\n\nF. W. BAIN\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                 _Mix, with sunset's fleeting glow,\n                 Kiss of friend, and stab of foe,\n                 Ooze of moon, and foam of brine,\n                 Noose of Thug, and creeper's twine,\n                 Hottest flame, and coldest ash,\n                 Priceless gems, and poorest trash;\n                 Throw away the solid part,\n                 And behold--a woman's heart._\n\n                                       NIDRADARPANA\n\n\n\n\n\nMethuen & Co. Ltd.\n36 Essex Street W.C.\nLondon\nSecond Edition\nFirst Published . October 16th 1919\nSecond Edition ... 1919\n\n\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATED\n\nto\n\nTHE INEXPRESSIBLY GENTLE GENIUS\n\nof\n\nMY OWN MOTHER\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nI could almost persuade myself, that others will like this little\nfable as much as I do: so curiously simple, and yet so strangely\nprofound is its delicate epitome of the old old story, the course of\ntrue love, which never did run smooth.\n\nAnd since so many people have asked me questions as to the origin of\nthese stories, I will say a word on the point here. Where do they come\nfrom? I do not know. I discovered only the other day that some believe\nthem to have been written by a woman. That appears to me to be\nimprobable. But who writes them? I cannot tell. They come to me, one\nby one, suddenly, like a flash of lightning, all together: I see them\nin the air before me, like a little Bayeux tapestry, complete, from\nend to end, and write them down, hardly lifting the pen from the\npaper, straight off \"from the MS.\" I never know, the day before, when\none is coming: it arrives, as if shot out of a pistol. Who can tell?\nThey may be all but so many reminiscences of a former birth.\n\nThe _Substance of a Dream_ is half a love-story, and half a fairy\ntale: as indeed every love-story is a fairy tale. Because, although\nthat unaccountable mystery, the mutual attraction of the sexes, is the\nvery essence of life, and everything else merely accidental or\naccessory, yet only too often in the jostle of the world, in the\ntrough and tossing of the waves of time, the accidental smothers the\nessential, and life turns into a commonplace instead of a romance. And\nso, like every other story, this little story will perhaps be very\ndifferently judged, according to the reader's sex. The bearded critic\nwill see it with eyes very different from those with which it may be\nviewed by the fair voter with no beard upon her chin; for women, as\nthe great god says at the end, have scant mercy on their own sex, and\nthe heroine of the story is a strange heroine, an enigmatical Mona\nLisa, so to say, who will not appeal to everybody so strongly as she\ndoes to the Moony-crested Deity, when he sums her up at the close. I\nventure, with humility, to concur in the opinion of the Deity, for she\nholds me under the same spell as her innumerable other lovers. The\nreader, a more formidable authority even than the god, must decide:\nonly I must warn him that to understand, he must go to the very end.\nHe will not think his time wasted, if he take half the delight in\nreading, as I did, in transcribing, the evidence in the case. Only,\nmoreover, when he closes the book will he appreciate the mingled\nexactitude and beauty of its name: for no story ever had a name which\nfitted it with such curious precision as this one. For the essence of\na dream is always that along with its weird beauty, it counters\nexpectation, often in such queer, ludicrous, kaleidoscopic ways. So it\nis, here.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany bitter things, since the beginning, have men said of women,\nthough neither so many nor so bitter, as the witty Frenchman cynically\nremarks, as the things women have said of one another. Poor Eve has\npaid very dear for that apple: the only wonder is, that she was not\nmade responsible also for the Flood: but we have not got the whole of\nthat story: Noah's wife may have dropped some incriminating documents\ninto the water, for the Higher Criticism to unearth by and by: the\nEternal Feminine may have had a hand in it after all, as she is\ngenerally to be found somewhere behind the scenes, wherever mischief\nbrews for mortal man. She comes down the ages, loaded with\naccusations; and yet, somehow or other, they do not seem to have done\nher much harm. And the reason is, that she possesses, in supreme\nperfection, the art of disarming her antagonist, having been very\ncunningly constructed by the Creator for that very purpose: she is\nlike a cork; she will not drown, under any flood of charges: she\nfloats, _quand meme_: (two words that she might very well take, like\nthe inimitable Sarah, for her motto:) so that, be as angry as you\nplease with her, you generally find yourself not only unable to\ncondemn her, but even ready to beg her pardon, and rather glad, on the\nwhole, to get it. It is a hopeless case. And all the more, because no\nwoman ever lived, bad or good, who could be got to understand what is\nmeant by \"playing cricket\": you cannot make her keep the rules in any\ngame: she plays to win, like a German, and invariably cheats, if she\ncan: international law counts, only as long as it is for and not\nagainst her: if you find her out, and scold her, she pouts, and will\nnot play. And then, if, as is commonly the situation, you want her to\nplay, very badly, what are you to do? Yes, it is a hopeless case.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd yet, if we look into the matter with that stern impartiality which\nits public importance demands, we may perceive, that though there is,\nit must be candidly owned, an element of truth in the charges brought\nagainst her, they are founded, for all that, largely on\nmisunderstanding. It is man himself, her accuser, who is very nearly\nalways to blame. His intelligence as compared with her own, is clumsy:\n(it is the difference between the dog and the cat:) he does not\nrealise the unfathomable gulf that divides her nature from his own,\nand for lack of imaginative tact, judging her by himself, he\nenormously overestimates the part played by reason in her behaviour.\nHence when, as she is always doing, she lets him down, he breaks out,\n(obtusely) into denunciation and reproach, taking it for granted, that\nwhat she did, she did, deliberately. But that is his mistake. Women\nnever act by deliberation, least of all in their relations with men.\nReason has hardly anything to do with it. A woman is a weapon,\ndesigned by the Creator, who generally knows what he is doing, to\nfascinate the other sex: that is her essence and her _raison d'etre_:\nthe woman who does not do it is a failure, and she is Nature's triumph\nand entelechy, who does it best. And this every woman knows, by\ninstinct, and feels, long before she knows it, almost as soon as she\ncan stand upon her feet: consequently, no artificially elaborated\ncompliment, no calculated flattery, ever touches her so near, as it\ndoes, when she perceives that her personality _tells_, acts like a\ncharm, on any given man: a point about which no woman ever blunders,\nas a man often so ridiculously does about himself: she invariably\ndetects, by unerring instinct, when her arrow hits its mark. And this\ninvoluntary homage she finds so irresistibly delectable, going as it\ndoes down to the very depths of her being, and endorsing it, that she\nliterally _cannot_ deny herself the pleasure of basking in it, making\nhay, so to say, while her sun shines, revelling in the consciousness\nof her power all the more delicious because she knows only too well\nthat she must lose it later on, as youth flies: old age, _i.e._ the\nloss of her charm, being every woman's ogre, the skeleton in her\ncupboard, which she dreads far more than death, just as the only\ndisease which she shudders to face is the smallpox, for a similar\nreason. And so, when she finds her spell working, she lets herself go:\nnever dreaming what interpretation her victim puts on her behaviour:\nand then, all at once, she awakes to discover with what fire she was\nignorantly playing. And then it is, that she recoils, on the verge:\nand then it is, that thwarted in the very moment that he deemed\ntriumph secured, the baffled lover falls into fury and abuse, because\nhe imagines her to have been all along clearly aware of what she was\nabout, which is exactly what hardly one woman in a million does. Not\nbeing a man, she does not understand: her end is only his beginning:\nhis object is possession, still to come: hers is already gained in the\nform of the tribute to her charm: she was only playing (every woman is\na child), he was in deadly earnest, and took her purely instinctive\nself-congratulation for a promise deliberately made. Suddenly\nilluminated, she lets him down abruptly with a bump, all the harder\nthat she never meant to do it (the _coquette_ does: but she is a\nhorrible professional, methodising feminine instinct, for prey: a\npsychological ghoul, feeding on souls instead of bodies, and deserving\nextermination without benefit of clergy). The real crime of woman is\nnot so much a crime as a defect: she is weak, as all the sages know,\nand all languages prove, though \"democracy\" ignores it; it is her\nstrength, and half her charm, that she cannot stand alone, like a\ncreeper. But that is why you cannot depend on her, good or bad.\nIrresolution is her essence: she will \"determine\" one way, and act in\nanother, according to the pressure. Instinct, inclination or aversion,\nvanity, emotion, pity or fear, or even mere chance: these are her\nmotives, the forces that move her: reason counts with her for\nabsolutely nothing, a thing like arithmetic, useful, even\nindispensable, but only for adding up a grocer's bill, or catching a\ntrain. It has literally nothing to do with her heart. There is no\nfolly like the folly of supposing that it has: yet on this folly rest\nmost of the accusations against her. Reduce her to a rational being,\nand you degrade her to the level of an inferior man. But she is not\nhis inferior: she is his dream, his magnet, his force, his\ninspiration, and his fate. Take her away, and you annihilate him:\nOthello's occupation's gone. Nine-tenths of the great things done in\nthe world have been done for a woman. Why? Exactly because she would\nburn down a street to boil her baby's milk. No rational being would do\nthat: but we all owe our lives to it.\n\nAnd hence, misogyny is only a pique. To fall foul of the sea, like\nXerxes, when it wrecks your ambitions, is to behave as he did, like a\nspoiled child, without the child's excuse. \"If you burn your fingers,\nis the flame to blame?\" You should have known better. When Aristotle\nwas reproved, by some early political economist, for giving alms to a\nbeggar, he replied: I gave not to the man, but humanity. Admirable\nretort! which is exactly in point here. When she requited your homage\nwith such encouraging smiles, it was not _you_ but the man in you,\nthat appealed to her. And because you are _a_ man, are you necessarily\n_the_ man? Not at all. And argument is mere waste of time: reason is\nnot the court of appeal. _If of herself she will not love, nothing\ncan make her._ Yet why draw the poet's ungallant conclusion? Why\nshould _the devil take her_? Because she was weak (were _you_ not\nweak?) is she therefore to be damned beyond redemption? Because\nflattery was sweet, must she give herself away to every male animal\nthat confesses the spell? Surely that is not only harsh, but\npreposterous, even outrageous. Are you sure that your merit is worthy\nof such generosity?\n\nAnd yet, here is the human catastrophe. Why did the Creator scatter\nhis sexual attraction so anomalously that it is so rarely\nreciprocated, each lover pursuing so often another who flies him for a\nthird, as in _Midsummer Night's Dream_, an imbroglio oddly enough\nfound in a little poem identical in the Greek Moschus and the Hindoo\nBhartrihari? Was it blunder or design? Why could he not have made\naction and reaction equal and opposite, as they are in mechanics? For\nif affection could not operate at all, unless it was mutual, there\nwould be no unhappy, because ill-assorted, marriages. What a\ndifference it would have made! Had mutual gravitation been the law of\nthe sexes, as it is of the spheres, this Earth would never have stood\nin need of a Heaven, since it would have existed already: for the only\nearthly heaven is a happy marriage. As it is, even when it is not a\nHell, a marriage is only too often but an everlasting sigh.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd not marriage only, but life. For here lies the solution of a\nmystery that has baffled the sages, who have failed to discover it\nchiefly because they have blinded themselves by their own theological\nand philosophical delusions, idealism and monotheism. Why is it, that\ngazing at Nature's inexhaustible beauty, thrown at us with such lavish\nprofusion in her dawns and her sunsets, her shadows and her moods, in\nthe roar of her breakers and the silence of her snows, the gloom of\nher thunder and the spirit of her hills, the blue of her distance and\nthe tints of her autumns, the glory of her blossom and the dignity of\nher decay, her heights and her abysses, her fury and her peace--why is\nit, that as we gaze insatiably at these never ending miracles, we are\nhaunted by so unaccountable a sadness, which is not in the things\nthemselves, for Nature never mourns, but in some element that we\nourselves import? For if the Soul be only Nature's mirror, her\nlooking-glass, whence the melancholy? It is because beneath our\nsurface consciousness, far away down below, in the dark organic depths\nthat underlie it, we feel without clearly understanding that, as the\nHindoos put it, we have missed the fruit of our existence, owing to\nour never having found our other half. For every one of us, so far\nfrom being a self-sufficient whole, an independent unity, is\nincomplete, requiring for its metaphysical satisfaction, its\ncomplement, apart from which it never can attain that peace which\npasseth all understanding, for which it longs obscurely, and must ever\nbe uneasy, till it finds it. For just as no misfortunes whatever can\navail to mar the bliss of the man who has beside him the absolute\nsympathy of his feminine ideal, so on the other hand no worldly\nsuccess of any kind can compensate for its absence. All particular\ncauses of happiness or misery are swallowed up and sink into\ninsignificance and nullity compared with this: this present, they\ndisappear: this absent, each alone is sufficient to wreck the soul,\nfluttering about without rudder or ballast on the waves of the world.\nDuality is the root, out of which alone, for mortals, happiness can\nspring. And the old Hindoo mythology, which is far deeper in its\nsimplicity than the later idealistic pessimism, expresses this\nbeautifully by giving to every god his other half; the supreme\ninstance of which dualism is the divine Pair, the Moony-crested god\nand his inseparable other half, the Daughter of the Snow: so\norganically symbolised that they coalesce indistinguishably into one:\nthe _Arddanari_, the Being half Male half Female, He whose left half\nis his wife. That is the true ideal: cut in two, and destroyed, by the\ndismal inhuman monotheism of later sophistical speculation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt was long before I understood this: the solution came to me\nsuddenly, of its own accord, as all profound solutions always come,\napparently by accident: like a \"fluke\" in a game of skill, where often\nunskilfulness unintentionally does something that could not be\nachieved by any degree of skill whatever, short of the divine.[1] And\nthe two things that combined to produce my spark of illumination were,\nas it so fell out, the two things that mean most to me, a sunset and a\nchild. The child was looking at the sunset, and I was looking at the\nchild. Some readers of these stories have been introduced to her\nbefore, and will be obliged to me for renewing the acquaintance, as\nthey would be to the postman who brought them news of an old friend.\n\nThe sunset was like every other sunset, the garment of a dying deity,\nand a gift of god: but it had a special peculiarity of its own, and it\nwas this strange peculiarity that arrested the attention of the child.\nFor children are little animals, _terram spectantia_, taking sunsets\nand other commonplaces such as mother, father, home, furniture and\ncarpets, generally for granted, being as a rule absorbed in the great\nthings of life, that is, play. This child was very diligently blowing\nbubbles, occasionally turning aside up a by-path to make a\nbubble-pudding in the soap-dish: the ruckling noise of this operation\npossessing some magical fascination for all childhood. And in the\nmeanwhile, yellow dusk was gradually deepening in the quiet air.\nPresently the tired sun sank like a weight, red-hot, burning his way\ndown through filmy layers of Indian ink. The day had been rainy, but\nthe clouds had all dissolved imperceptibly away into a broken chain of\nveils of mist, which looked with the sun behind them like dropping\nshowers of liquid gold, or copper-coloured waterfalls: while\nunderneath or through them the lines of low blue hills showed now half\nobscured, now clear and sharp in outline as if cut with scissors out\nof paper and stuck upon the amber background of the sky. And then came\nthe miracle. Right across the horizon, a little higher than the sun, a\nlong thin bar of cloud suddenly changed colour, becoming rich dark\npurple, and all along its jagged upper edge the light shot out in one\ncontinuous sheet of bright glory to the zenith, while below there\npoured from the bar a long cascade, a very Niagara of golden mist and\nrain, as if the flood-gates of some celestial dam had suddenly given\nway, and all the precious stuff were escaping in a cataract through\nthe rift, in one gigantic plunge, to be lost for ever in some\nbottomless abyss.\n\nSuddenly, the dead silence struck me: my ear missed the \"ruckle,\" and\nthe occasional exclamations of delight. I turned abruptly, and glanced\nat the child. She was standing still as a stone, with one hand just in\nfront of her holding the forgotten pipe, arrested on the way to her\nmouth, as the heavenly vision struck her: rapt, lost in her eyes,\nwhich were filled with wonder to the brim, open-mouthed, entranced,\nwith a smile on her lips of which she was totally unconscious, faint,\ninvoluntary, seraphic, indescribable. The ecstasy of union had\nswallowed her: she was gone. I called her by her name: she never\nheard: her soul was away at the golden gates.\n\nAnd I said to myself, as I gazed at her with intense curiosity, mixed\nwith regret that I was not Raffael, so marvellous was the picture:\nThis, this is the wisdom of the sages, the secret of Plotinus and the\nBuddhists: this is Nirwana, Moksha, Yoga, the unattainable ecstasy of\nbliss, the absolute fruition, which men call by many names: the end\ntowards which the adult strives, in vain, to recover what he lost by\nceasing to be a child: a child, which is sexless, knowing as yet\nnothing of the esoteric dissatisfaction of the soul that wants and\nhas not found. Aye! to reach the mystic union, the absolute extinction\nof the Knower in the All; to lose one's Self in Infinity, without a\nremnant of regret; to attain to the unattainable, the point of\nself-annihilation where all distinction between subject and object,\nsomething and nothing, disappears, it is necessary to be a child: to\nbe born again. _Rebirth_! the key to the enigma of unhappiness lies\nthere!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd after a while, as I watched her, she came back to herself. Our\neyes met: and she looked at me long, with a far-off expression that I\ncould not define. And at last, she gave a little sigh. Daddy, she\nsaid, why does the golden rain never fall here? Our rain is always\nonly common rain.\n\nAnd I said solemnly: Little girls are the reason why. But she didn't\nunderstand. She looked at me reproachfully with puzzled eyes--such\ngreat, grey, beautiful, sea-green eyes!--and then drew a long breath.\nAnd she went back to her bubbles, and together we watched them go as\nthey floated away into the valley, wild with excitement as to whether\nmy bubble or her bubble would go farthest before it burst--till the\nRhadamanthine summons came, and the Bubble-Blower went to bed.\n\n_Poona_, 1919.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 1: _O quantum est subitis casibus ingenium!_ an exquisite\nline of Martial which ought to be posted on a board on every\nputting-green.]\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nI.       ON THE BANKS OF GANGES\n\nII.      THE HEART OF A WOMAN\n\nIII.     A STORY WITHOUT AN END\n\n\n\n_The Vignette I owe to the artistic genius of my friend, Arthur\nHight._\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nOn the Banks of Ganges\n\nBENEDICTION\n\n_What! the Digit of the Moon on his brow, Ganga in his hair, and Gauri\non his knee, and yet proof against all Love's arrows! O wonder of\nwonders! who but the greatest of all the gods would not have melted\nlong ago, like butter between three fires?_[2]\n\nNow, long ago, it happened, that Parwati was left alone on Kailas for\na little while, as she waited for the Lord of the Moony Tire. And\nhaving nothing else to do, she amused herself by building an elephant\nof snow, with large ears and a little tail, made of a yak's hair. And\nwhen it was finished, she was so delighted with her toy, that she\nbegan to clap her hands: and then, not being able to endure waiting,\nshe went off with impatience to fetch the Moony-crested god, to show\nhim what she had done, and revel in his applause. And the moment that\nher back was turned, Nandi[3] happened to come along: and just as he\nreached the elephant, which owing to his abstraction he never noticed,\ntaking it for a mere hump, formed at random by the snowdrifts, he was\nsuddenly seized with an irresistible desire to roll. And so, over he\nrolled, and went from side to side, throwing up his legs into the air.\nAnd as luck would have it, exactly at that very moment the Daughter of\nthe Snow returned, pulling Maheshwara along eagerly by the hand. And\nshe looked and saw Nandi, rolling about on the flat snow just where\nshe had left her elephant, which was gone. And she uttered a loud cry,\nand stood, aghast with rage and disappointment. And she opened her\nmouth to curse the author of the mischief, and was on the very verge\nof saying: Sink into a lower birth, thou insolent destroyer! when\nMaheshwara stopped her in the very act, guessing her intention, by\nputting his hand upon her mouth.[4] And he exclaimed: Say nothing\nrash, O angry one, for Nandi did not do it on purpose, after all. And\na good servant does not deserve cursing, for an accidental blunder.\n\nAnd then, Parwati burst into tears. And she exclaimed: Out of my\nsight, thou clumsy one! for I cannot bear to see thee. And she turned\naway, sobbing. And Maheshwara looked at her out of the corner of his\neye, and he said to himself: Now, then, I must do something to console\nher for the elephant, and bring back her good humour. For ill humour\nin a woman spoils all. And presently he said: Come now, enough! for\nNandi has gone off in disgrace, sufficiently punished by banishment\nfor a time, and very sad to have been the unwitting cause of thy\ndistress. And let us roam about awhile, in search of something new,\nthat may help to obliterate recollection, and change thy gloom into a\nsmile.\n\nAnd he took the goddess in his arms, and set her as she sobbed upon\nhis knee, and rose from the peak of Kailas, and shot like a falling\nstar down into the plain below. And coming to Haradwara, where Ganga\nissues from the hills, he began to follow the holy stream down its\ncourse, gliding along just above it like a cloud that was unable to\nrefrain from watching its own beautiful reflection in the blue mirror\nof her wave. And so they went, until at last they reached an island\nthat was nothing but a sandbank in the very middle of the river,\ncovered with crocodiles lying basking in the sun. And then he said:\nSee! we will go down, and rest awhile among the crocodiles on this\nsand, whose banks resemble nothing so much as the outline of thy own\ngraceful limbs. And Uma said tearfully: Pish! what do I care for\ncrocodiles, that sit for hours never even moving, like a _yogi_ in a\ntrance?\n\nThen said the cunning god: None the less, we will go down: for it may\nbe that the island contains something besides its crocodiles. And as\nthey settled on it, he said again: Did I not say we should find\nsomething? for yonder it lies, and it is a very great curiosity\nindeed. And now, canst thou tell me what it is?\n\nAnd she looked at it with scrutiny, and presently she said: I can tell\nthis only, that it must have been in the water for a very long time,\nbefore it was washed up at last upon this bank by the river's flood:\nsince it is but a shapeless lump, covered with sand and rust and dirt.\nWho but thyself could even guess what it might be? And Maheshwara\nsaid: It has had a very long journey, and been not only in the river,\nbut in a crocodile too. For crocodiles swallow everything. And long\nago, this was carried by a man, who was drowned in another stream by\nthe upsetting of his boat, and became with all he carried the prey of\nan old crocodile, which died long ago, and rotted away, letting this\nat last escape out of its tomb, and roll along, till at last it got\ninto the Ganges, and was thrown up here in the rainy season, only the\nother day. And when at last the water sank, lo! there it lay, as it\nhas lain until this moment, as if expecting thy arrival, to provide\nthee with entertainment. And when all is over, thou wilt very likely\nbless Nandi, instead of cursing him; since but for his awkwardness in\nrolling on thy elephant, thou wouldst never have known anything about\nit.\n\nAnd Parwati said peevishly: Where is the entertainment in this\nfoolish lump of flotsam, of which thou hast related the adventures\nwithout ever saying what it is?\n\nAnd the Moony-crested god said: Aha! Snowy One, do not be too sure.\nFor many things hold in their heart things not to be anticipated,\njudging by their outside: and this lump which thou despisest is like a\ncoco-nut, whose coarse skin is full of nectar. But it has been shut so\nlong, that it would not easily be opened by anyone but me.[5] And he\ntouched it with his foot, saying, Open, and it opened like a shell.\nAnd he said: See! it has in it a very strange kernel, preserved safe\nand sound only because all its adventures added to its case, sheath\nafter sheath. And all the leaves are still there, a very little\nmouldy, and the silk that tied them, and the seal. And the goddess\nsaid: But what is it after all? And Maheshwara said: It is a case of\nurgency, that all came to nothing in the end, being a letter that\nnever even reached its destination, because the sender was in so great\na hurry that he defeated his own object, bidding his messenger go so\nfast that in his haste his boat turned over, and he and his message\nwere eaten on their way by a river beast. For those who go too fast\noften go so slow as never to arrive at all, as was the case here. Then\nsaid Uma: He that sent it must have been a fool. And Maheshwara said!\nNay, O Snowy One, not at all: far from it: and yet he became, as many\ndo, a fool for the occasion, under the influence of passion, which\nblinds the eyes, and shuts up the ears, and twists the whole\ncharacter awry, so that it acts in a manner contrary to itself, as if\nthe man had been suddenly changed into another, or his body entered by\na Wetala, in the temporary absence of his soul.\n\nAnd Parwati said: What was the passion here? And the Moony-crested god\nsaid slowly: It was a threefold cord, and very strong: love, and love\nturned by intense disappointment into hatred, and rage against a\nrival: each by itself alone enough to turn reason into madness. But\nthe whole story is told, by its hero himself, in the very letter: and\nif thou wilt, I will read it aloud to thee, exactly as he wrote it,\nword for word. And the goddess said: Thou knowest all: why not tell it\nin thy own way, without the trouble of reading? And Maheshwara said:\nNay, on the contrary, it is far better to let him tell it for himself:\nfor who knew everything better than he did? And moreover, every story\ntold by a stranger is imperfect, since he is obliged to fill up the\ngaps in his knowledge by imagination or conjecture: whereas, when the\nactor in it all is himself the narrator, it is the very truth itself,\nunless he expressly desires to conceal it, which is not the case here.\nFor he was very anxious indeed to tell his enemy everything, on\npurpose to offend him: and he only made one mistake, which I will show\nthee in due time. So I will read it exactly as it stands, omitting\nabsolutely nothing. And the Daughter of the Snow said: Read. But she\nthought: If it is not worth hearing, I will simply go to sleep as he\nreads. And Maheshwara said: Nay, O Snowy One, I will guarantee that\nthou dost not go to sleep.\n\nAnd then, the goddess suddenly threw her arms about his neck, and hid\nher face on his breast. And she said: What is the use of trying to\nhide anything at all from thee? Read. But for all that, I will go to\nsleep, if I choose. And the Moony-crested god said with a smile: Aye!\nbut thou wilt not choose.\n\nAnd then he began to read, throwing away the leaves as they ended, one\nby one into the stream, which carried them away. And the crocodiles\nall lay round him in a circle, worshipping their Lord, as he read.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 2: Maheshwara is the ascetic _par excellence_, who punished\nLove for trying to tempt him by burning him up like a moth with a\nfiery glance from his third eye. And yet for all that, the Master Yogi\nwas not always proof against feminine fascination: he might be chaste\nas ice, yet he has not escaped scandal.]\n\n[Footnote 3: Nandi is the divine Bull, on which, or whom, the Great\nGod rides.]\n\n[Footnote 4: Had the awful words passed her lips, Nandi was a doomed\nbull, as a curse once uttered is irrevocable.]\n\n[Footnote 5: Because he is the Lord of Creatures animate or inanimate,\nwhich all obey him.]\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nThe heart of a Woman\n\nI\n\n\nAs the black cobra sits up, and puffs his hood, and hisses, giving\nwarning to his prey, ere he strikes: so I, Shatrunjaya[6] the\nlute-player, son of a king, do send this my menace to thee, Narasinha,\nthe lover of a queen too good for so vile a thing as thou art: that\nnone hereafter may be able to say, I struck thee unwarned, or took\nthee unawares. Know, that night doth not more surely or more swiftly\nfollow day, than I and my vengeance will follow on the messenger who\ncarries this threat: whom I have bidden to reach thee with his utmost\nspeed, so as to allay my thirst for thy life; since every day that I\nwait seems to me longer than a _yuga_. And I will slay thee with no\nother weapon than my two bare hands--\n\nAnd suddenly, the great god stopped, and he laughed aloud. And he\nexclaimed: See now, how this poor lute-player deceived himself! For\nhis message not only never reached his enemy at all, but almost as\nsoon as it had left him, he was himself slain by the emissaries of the\nvery man he meant to kill, who never sent him any warning at all, but\ntook him unawares, and slew him, escaping by anticipation the fate\nthat was in store for himself, without even knowing anything of all\nthat this letter would have taught him, and so far from dying, living\nto a very great age. And this instance shows, that the most dangerous\nof enemies is the one that never threatens till he actually strikes,\nresembling not the cobra, but the adder, as Shatrunjaya discovered to\nhis cost, too late.[7]\n\nAnd the Daughter of the Snow exclaimed, in wrath: Why hast thou\nstopped, to tell me the end of the story, before even reaching the\nbeginning?\n\nAnd Maheshwara said: Aha! Snowy One, thou art not yet, as it seems,\nasleep. Many are the beginnings that never reach an end: but it will\ndo this story no harm at all, to begin with the end, since all the\nessence of it lies in the middle, and as thou wilt find, it ends in\nthe middle, and yet never ends, even when it is done.\n\nWhat I have told thee does not matter in the least; what matters is\nthe Queen, for she was the most extraordinary of all women, past,\npresent, or to come.\n\nAnd Parwati said: Let the letter speak for itself: and if thou hast\nanything to say, keep it for the end. For nothing is more unendurable\nthan a commentary upon a text which is unknown.\n\n\nII\n\nAnd Maheshwara said: Thus the letter continues:--for there is not room\nin one world for us both. And well thou knowest the reason why. For\nthe Queen told me, the very last time that I saw her, that it would be\nthe very last time, as indeed it was. And when I asked why she would\nsee me no more, she said, that thine was the order, to send me away.\nDog! was she thine to command, or was I? And yet, I knew very well, it\nwas all thy doing, before ever she told me. For never would she have\nbehaved as she did, had she not been pushed from behind: and the very\nfirst time that we met, when she told me of thee, I understood, and\nforesaw, and expected, the very thing that has happened, looking to\nfind thee hiding behind her, to rid thee of a rival whom thou hadst\nnot the courage openly to face. And dost thou dare to condemn me for\ndoing the very same thing thou wast doing thyself? Was not my claim to\nlove her as good as thy own? Or what, O cowardly dastard, does that\nman deserve, who screens himself behind the clothes of a woman to\nstrike at a foe? I will answer the question, and show thee, by ocular\nproof, very soon. But now in the meantime, I will open thy eyes, and\ntell thee, from the very beginning, all that took place. And thou\nshalt learn how I stole her away from thee, in spite of thee, as\npresently I will come to rob thee also of thy life. And I will\nembitter thy life, and poison it, first: and then I will take it away.\n\n\nIII\n\nAnd yet, strange indeed was the way that I met her. I cannot tell,\nwhether it was a reward or a punishment for the deeds of a previous\nbirth. For the joy of it would have been cheap, bought at the price of\na hundred lives: and yet the sorrow is greater than the joy. And it\nhappened thus. I was roaming through the world, with my lute for my\nonly companion. For all men know, as thou must also, that I turned my\nback upon my hereditary kingdom, and quarrelled with all my relations,\nand left them, all for the sake of my lute. For ever since I was a\nchild, I have cared for absolutely nothing but my lute, and as I\nthink, I must have been a Gandharwa[8] in the birth before, since the\nsound of the tones of its strings, touched by the hand of a master\nmusician, leads me like an ox that is pulled by a cord, the very\nmoment I hear it, and I stand still, like one that listens with tears\nin his eyes to the memory of the voice of a friend that is dead. Ha!\nvery wonderful are the influences of a forgotten birth! For I was an\nanomaly, behaving not according to my caste, which was that of a\nRajpoot; and not music, but fighting, was my proper work, and my\nreligion.[9] And it was as if my mother had been caught sleeping in\nthe moonlight on the terrace of the palace in the hot season by some\nking of the Widyadharas passing by, and looking down from the air. For\nheavenly beings often fall into such temptations, and even an ascetic\nwould have found it hard to laugh at the arrows of Manobhawa, coming\nin the form of such a feminine fascination as hers, lying still in the\nlunar ooze at midnight, with her head pillowed on her arm. And yet,\nfor all my music, I was the tallest and strongest of all my clan, and\na hunter, when I chose, that could bear fatigue even better than a\nBhil.\n\nAnd then at last there came a day when the King my father sent for me.\nAnd when I came, he looked at me with approval, and he said: Thou art\na man at last. And yet they tell me, thou dost nothing all day long\nbut sit playing thy lute. Canst thou really be my son, or art thou\nsome musician's brat, foisted into my son's place by some dark\nunderhand intrigue, when I was looking the other way? For who ever\nheard of a Yuwaraja,[10] destined to sit upon the throne when I have\nentered the fire, neglecting all his duties for the sake of a lute's\nstrings? Come now, throw thy lute away, and leave music to the\nprofessionals who have nothing else to do, and apply thyself to\npolicy, and the things of a king's trade. And I said: What do I care\nfor a kingdom in comparison with my lute? I will not throw it away,\nno, not for a hundred kingdoms. I am a devotee of Radha's lover,[11]\nand I care nothing for any raj. Then my father flew into a rage. And\nhe said: Thou shalt do, not as thou wilt, but as I will. Choose,\nbetween thy wretched lute, and the raj: and if thou dost not obey, I\nwill turn thee off, and put thy younger brother in thy place. And I\nsaid: There are kings in abundance everywhere, but those who can\nreally play on a lute are very few indeed. And I am one. Let who will\nbe a Yuwaraja: I will choose the lute. And he said, in wrath: Be off!\nand play dirges to the memory of thy dead succession, for thou art no\nlonger heir. And I laughed in his face, and went away, and got on my\nhorse, and turned my back upon it all, and rode off laughing with my\nlute hanging round my neck, counting the kingdom as a straw. And\nthereafter, I wandered up and down, from place to place, living as I\npleased, and utterly disregarding the messages that reached me nearly\nevery day from my mother, who sent me bags of money and entreaties to\nreturn, all in vain. And my story, like my playing, went from mouth\nto mouth, and everywhere I went, the people said: Ha! there goes\nShatrunjaya, the mad musician, who cares more for a discord than the\nloss of his hereditary raj! Ha! and if his policy were only equal to\nhis playing, what a king he would have made! And what a fool he must\nbe, to care for nothing in the three worlds but a lute's strings!\n\n\nIV\n\nAnd yet they were all wrong. For there was another thing that nobody\nknew anything about, that I cared for even more than for my lute. And\nall the while I wandered, I was looking for a thing that flew before\nme the more I kept pursuing it, like the setting of the sun. And yet\nit hung, so to say, always just before my eyes, like a picture on the\nwall, so that often I used to talk to it, as if it were alive, as I\nsat. And yet it never answered, looking back at me in silence with\nstrange kind eyes, and seeming to listen to me gazing at it wistfully,\nand playing on my lute. And this was a woman, that had come to me in a\ndream. For but a little while before I quarrelled with my father, I\nwas lying, on a day, at noon, when I had been following a quarry in\nthe jungle till I ached with fatigue, resting on a river bank: and so\nas I lay, unawares I fell asleep. And I thought that I wandered\nthrough a palace that I had never seen before, till suddenly I came\nupon a terrace that stood on the very margin of a lake, that was\nfilled with myriads of lotuses, all turned red by the rays of the\nsetting sun, which stood never moving on the top of a low hill, as if\nit were watching me to see what I should do, before it went away. And\nthere was such a strange silence that I began to be afraid, as if of\nsomething that was just about to happen, without knowing what. And so\nas we all stood waiting in the dusk, I and the lotuses and the sun,\nall at once I heard behind me a voice like a _kokila_, saying quietly:\nI have kept thee a long while waiting: wilt thou forgive?\n\nAnd I turned round, and looked, and lo! there was a lady, looking at\nme with a smile. And she was standing so absolutely still, that she\nresembled an image made of copper, for exactly like the lotuses, she\nwas all red in the rays of the sun, and her dark clothing shone like\nthe leaf of a palm seen at midnight in the glow of a fire. And her\nhair was massed like that of an ascetic high over her brow, and on its\ndull black cloud there shone a gem that resembled a star, shooting and\nflickering and changing colour like a diamond mixed with an opal:\nwhile underneath, her eyes, that resembled pools filled with dusk\ninstead of water, were fixed on me as if in meditation, as if half in\ndoubt as to whether I was I. And yet her lips were smiling, not as if\nthey meant to smile, but just because they could not help it, driven\nby the sweetness of the soul that lay behind them to betray its secret\nunawares. And the perfect oval of the outline of her face was lifted,\nso to say, into the superlative degree of soft fascination by a faint\nsuggestion of the round ripeness of a fruit in its bloom, as if the\nCreator, by some magical extra touch of his chisel, had wished to\nexclaim: See how the full loveliness of a woman surpasses the delicate\npromise of a girl! And she was rather tall, and she stood up very\nstraight indeed, so straight, that my heart laughed within me as I\nlooked at her, for sheer delight, so admirably upright was the poise\nof her figure, and yet so round and delicious was the curve of her\narms and her slender waist, that rose as if with exultation into the\nglorious magnificence of her splendid breast, on which her left hand\nrested, just touching it very lightly with the tips of her fingers,\nlike a wind-blown leaf lying for a moment exactly at the point of\njunction of two mounds of snow, as if to chide it very gently for\nchallenging the admiration of the three worlds. And she stood with her\nweight thrown on her left foot, so that her right hip, on which her\nright hand rested, swelled out in a huge curve that ran down to her\nknee, which was bent in, and then turned outwards, ending in a little\nfoot that was standing very nearly on the tip of its toe.\n\nAnd so as we stood, gazing at one another in dead silence, all at once\nshe smiled outright, holding out both her hands. And at that very\nmoment, the sun sank. And as I strove in vain to move, rooted to the\nspot like a tree, she faded away, very slowly, back again into the\ndark, growing little by little paler, till she vanished into the\nnight, leaving nothing but her star, that seemed to glimmer at me from\na great distance, low down on the very edge of a deep-red sky. And I\nstrove and struggled in desperation to break the spell that held me\nchained, and suddenly I woke with a loud cry, and saw before me only\nthe river, on whose bank I was lying alone.\n\n\nV\n\nAye! then for the first time in my life, I knew what it meant, to be\nalone, which had been to me but a mere word, without any meaning at\nall. For as I sat by the river, I knew I had left my soul behind in\nthe dream that had disappeared. And my heart was burning with such a\npain that I could only breathe with great difficulty, and tears rose\ninto my eyes, as it were of their own accord. And I said sadly to\nmyself: Now, beyond all doubt, I have seen some feminine incarnation\nof a fallen star, and unless I can find it somewhere on earth, I shall\nlose the fruit of being born at all. So one thing only remains to do,\nand that is to look for her, and keep on looking until I find her. For\nif only I was sure, that she was absolutely beyond finding, I would\nnot consent to remain in this miserable body without her, even for a\nsingle moment. But she must be alive somewhere, and able to be found:\nfor how could such a thing as she was exist only in a dream? For\nnobody could possibly have invented her, no, not even in a dream: and\nit must be that my soul went roaming about as I slept, and actually\ncaught sight of her. And if the soul could find her, then, she is\nsomewhere to be found, even by the body; but alas! the body cannot\ntravel so easily as the soul: since, in his haste, the Creator has\nforgotten to give wings to anything but birds. And yet, the only thing\nto do is to hunt for her incessantly, and go from place to place\nwithout stopping for a moment: since very certainly she will never be\ndiscovered if I remain here as motionless as a hill. So I must escape\nat once, on some pretence, without letting anybody know why.\n\nAnd as I said, I did: and this was the very reason why I broke with my\nrelations, and became a vagrant instead of a king's heir. And every\nnight I went to sleep yearning to dream the dream again, and yet it\nnever came, though even in my sleep I seemed in every dream to be\nroaming everlastingly in jungles, and along roads that never ended,\nalways on the very point of finding something that I never found. And\nstrange! instead of driving me to despair, this constant failure\nactually gave me courage, for I said: If the dream had really been\nonly a dream and nothing more, it would surely have returned, beyond a\ndoubt: since, as a rule, dreams are only pictures in the night of what\nmen think of in the day. And yet she never comes again, although I\nthink of nothing else, all day long, and she was very certainly no\npicture of anything that I ever saw before. And clearly, it must be\nthat my soul did actually find her, though now it has lost its way,\nand does not know how to return.\n\nAnd in the meanwhile, as time went on, the less I found her, the more\nI fell back upon my lute, which became the only confidante of my\nsecret, and my sole refuge in my desolation. And I used to sit\nplaying, thinking all the while of nothing but herself, so that she\ngradually became as it were the theme and the undertone of every air.\nAnd the listeners would say: Ha! now beyond a doubt this player on the\nlute must be some incarnation of a Kinnara, for the sound of his music\nresembles that of the wind singing in the hollows of the bamboos that\nwave over waterfalls on the sides of the snowy mountain: and his lute\nseems to sob, in the vain endeavour to express some melancholy secret\nthat for want of words it cannot articulately tell, wringing as it\nwere its hands of strings, for very grief: And I became a byword, and\nthe fame of my music was carried into the quarters of the world, like\nthe scent of the sandal that the breeze blows from the Malaya hill in\nthe region of the South.\n\nAnd then at last I came, on a day, tired out with travel, to\nKamalapura.[12] And delighted with its trees and its river and its\nlotuses, I found a little house, and lodged in it, to rest for a\nwhile. And one morning, there came to me a musician of the city, who\nloved me for my playing, and he said: How comes it, O Shatrunjaya,\nthat thou hast not been to play to Tarawali?[13] And I said: Who is\nTarawali, that I should go to play to her, who never go to anyone at\nall? And he laughed, and exclaimed: Who is Tarawali? What! dost thou\nactually say that thou hast never even heard of her, the Queen of\nthis city? And I said: I did not know that thy Tarawali was the same\nas the Queen, of whom indeed I have heard, very often, as everybody\nmust who comes to this city: for as it seems, the citizens never talk\nof anything or anybody else, never saying anything about her that\nrecommends her to me; since, as I understand, she is an\nindependent[14] woman, who goes her own way, like the wind, caring\nabsolutely nothing where it takes her, or what anybody says. And he\nsaid: Let them say what they will, at least she is a connoisseur in\nmusic, and plays the lute herself, though not so well as thou. And\nthey tell me, she is very curious to see thee, and to hear thee, of\nwhom she has heard so much. And I said carelessly: The curiosity is\nnot reciprocal, since on my side there is absolutely none. And\nmoreover, independent women are not to my taste, even when they happen\nto be queens. So it will be better for us both, to leave her curiosity\nunsatisfied. And he said: Well have they named thee, the mad musician:\nfor thou art utterly unlike all other men. Thou hast thrown away thy\nkingdom for a lute: and now thou sittest like a stone, unmoved, to\nhear that even Tarawali is curious on thy account: a thing that would\nset any other man dancing for delight, like a peacock at the sight of\na cloud. Art thou indeed a stone, or is it sheer ignorance of what\nTarawali is like? And I said: And what then is she like? And he said:\nShe is like absolutely nothing in the world but herself, and cannot\ntherefore be described at all, but only seen. So the only way to get\nthy question answered is to go, and see her for thyself. And I said:\nThen it never will be answered, for I will not go and see. I am no\ntame animal, to go where I am called: I am wild. And he said: Aye! but\nthe wild swans go to the Manasa lake of their own accord. Thou art\nlike a young wild swan, refusing, for sheer obstinacy, to visit the\nvery place, that, had it only seen it, it would never be induced to\ndesert again. For Tarawali is exactly a Manasa[15] for such a swan as\nthee. And for all answer, I took my lute, and began to pluck at the\nstrings.\n\nAnd he stood for a while, drumming on the sill of the window as he\nlooked out: and then he turned and said: If thou hast no curiosity,\nthou hast at least the manners of a king's son. Wouldst thou be so\nuncivil as to say no to her invitation, if she sent to thee, to come?\nAnd I said: Why suppose what never can occur? Surely this independent\nqueen does not go to such a length as to act like an _abhisarika_,[16]\nand throw herself of her own accord at the head of every stranger that\nmay wander through her city? And he laughed, and said: Wouldst thou\nactually shut thy door in her face, even so, if she were an\nincomparable beauty? Even an _abhisarika_ might be welcome, to anybody\nbut thyself, who art said to be a hater of all women whatsoever. And I\nsaid: Why should I hate all women, who never think of them at all?\n\nAnd he looked at me for a long while; and then he said: Who knows?\nThou art so singular in everything that it is just barely possible\nthat thou art telling me the truth, though it is very hard to believe\nit, in the mouth of a youth like thee. And yet, if as thou sayest, thy\nheart be really empty, Tarawali could fill it for thee, easily enough.\nAye! even if it were a desert equal to Marusthali in dryness and\nextent, a single glance at her would turn it into an ocean, tossing\nwith agitation, and running over with excess of salt.[17]\n\nAnd then he went away. And instantly I forgot all about her, absorbed\nin my lute and the recollection of my dream.\n\n\nVI\n\nBut next morning, when I awoke, his words all came back to me, and\nfilled me with dismay. And I sat long musing over them, and saying to\nmyself: Now after all, it is just possible not only that his words had\na meaning, but even that he was acting as an agent of the Queen, who\nmay take measures to make me go and see her, whether I will or no:\nsince she is, as it seems, a musical blue-stocking,[18] ready to\nforce herself on anybody just to gratify her vanity by claiming\nadmiration for her musical proficiency, which nobody would acknowledge\nunless she were a queen. Out on these queens, that dabble in matters\nthat they do not understand, and meddle in other people's business!\nBut now I will steal a march on her by making my escape betimes, and I\nwill go this very moment and order my horse to be got ready, to give\nher the slip, in case she may be meditating anything very\ndisagreeable. For if she finds the bird flown, she will give it up,\nonce for all.\n\nAnd I went to the door and opened it, and lo! there in the street\nbefore me stood a woman, who was in the very act of knocking at the\ndoor, to get in, so that as I pulled it open, she very nearly fell\ninto my arms. And as she drew back laughing, I looked at her in blank\namazement. For she resembled a feminine incarnation of the dawn, being\na very Apsaras for beauty, and very young, and very small, and dressed\nin a garment of red muslin, whose edge of gold ran all about her like\na snake.[19] And she had gold bangles, and gold anklets, and gold\nchains about her neck, and she held the end of her garment drawn over\nher head with one hand, whose arm resembled a creeper spray, so that I\ncould only just see her long eyes peeping at me through the opening.\nAnd I stood awhile, holding the door, and looking at her with dismay,\nthat was very nearly terror, saying to myself: Now, after all, I am\ncaught, for here she is in person, running to me of her own accord.\nAnd at last I said with hesitation: Art thou Tarawali?\n\nAnd instantly, that strange damsel broke into a peal of laughter. And\nshe exclaimed: I, Tarawali? Art thou stark mad? Or dost thou imagine\nTarawali would come to people's doors? Ha! then, but as it seems, thy\nthoughts are already running on Tarawali. But let me come inside, for\nwhy should the whole street listen to our conversation? And she came\nin quickly and stood just inside the door, holding it by the handle,\nas if she wanted to make sure of her escape. And she said: Art thou\nShatrunjaya, the lute-player? And I said: Yes. Then she said: Thou\ndeservest almost to be slain, for such an extraordinary blunder as to\nconfound such a thing as I am with the Queen. And yet, after all, thy\nchance arrow is somewhere near the mark: for if I am not Tarawali, at\nleast I am her shadow, and never very far from her, being her\nconfidential maid. And I have come to thee now with a message from\nherself: and it is this: Tarawali the pupil stands in sore need of\nShatrunjaya the master, to help her in disentangling the\nquarter-tones of a theme: and she will await him in her garden, as\nthe sun goes down.\n\nAnd I said: What, O thou red beauty, is thy name? And she said:\nChaturika[20] Then I said: Go back, O Chaturika, and tell the Queen\nthat I was not to be found. I will not come. And here is gold for\nthee.\n\nAnd Chaturika brushed away my bribe with a wave of her pretty arm. And\nshe leaned back against the door, holding the handle behind her, and\nlooking up at me from under her long lashes, with sweet crafty eyes,\nand eyebrows lifted high into a double arch. And she put her head a\nlittle on one side, and said, with a smile: Think twice, O\nShatrunjaya. Art thou a musician, and hast thou never heard the song:\nNectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away?[21] Or\nhast thou never tasted nectar, even in a dream? Remember, sunset! And\nshe shook at me her forefinger, and suddenly she opened the door, and\nslipped out, and shut it, and was gone; leaving me staring at it in\nstupefaction, and almost believing I was dreaming, so abruptly had she\ncome and gone. And I said to myself in wonder: Beyond a doubt, she\nspoke at random, knowing nothing of my dream; and yet she made me\njump, for her arrow hit the mark exactly in the centre. But if the\nmaid is like the mistress, of whom she said herself, she was the\nshadow, then very sure I am, it is not either maid or mistress, or\nanybody the least like them, that could realise my dream. But all the\nsame, I am caught, for the moment, in their noose: and what is to be\ndone now? For she will go straight back and tell it all, to this\nover-bearing busybody of a queen, and if now I do not go, it will seem\nan incivility almost equal to an insult. For queens do not like to be\nrefused, and even their request is a kind of order, very difficult to\ndisobey. Out, out, upon this red intrusive jade, and her mistress, and\nabove all on myself, for my delay! For had I only gone away last\nnight, I should have got clean off.\n\nAnd long I sat debating, balanced in the swing of indecision, as to\nwhether I should go, or not. And at last I exclaimed: I will give her\njust a chance. And I drew my _kattari_ from its sheath, and I said:\nNow I will throw it into the air. And if it falls back upon its point,\nI will go and see her: but if not, not. And I threw it up, like a\njuggler, so that it spun very quickly like a wheel: and lo! it fell\nback, and stuck exactly on its point, standing straight up, as if on\npurpose to imitate Chaturika's forefinger, and saying as it were: See!\nthou shalt go, willy nilly, at sunset to the Queen.\n\nAnd so, seeing that I must absolutely go, I dismissed it, as a thing\ndetermined, from my mind. And a little before sunset, I went out, and\nmoved slowly through the streets, making for the palace with unwilling\nfeet. And when I reached it, I stood still, opposite the palace gates,\nsaying to myself: There is still just time to turn back and go away.\nFor my reluctance grew upon me as I went, with every step, as if some\npresentiment that I could not understand was warning me beforehand of\nall that would come about. And I said: Now then, I will give myself\none last chance. I will stand here still, and count a hundred. And if\nin the time, I do not see an elephant go by, I will go away, bidding\ngood-bye for ever to the Queen. And then I began to count. And\nstrange! at that very moment, I looked, and saw the _ankusha_ of a\n_mahawat_, high up above the crowd, coming round the corner. And the\nelephant on which he sat passed by the palace gates, looking at me as\nit were with laughter in its little eye, and saying: I am just in\ntime: while yet I had fifty still to count.\n\nSo near I came, to never seeing Tarawali at all!\n\n\nVII\n\nSo then at last, seeing that fate was against me, and that there was\nabsolutely no help for it, I gave up the struggle, and went up to the\ngate. And learning who I was, the _pratihari_[22] led me away into the\npalace, and I followed her through innumerable corridors and halls,\nuntil at last we came to a high wall, in which there was a door,\nscreened by a curtain. And she drew aside the curtain, and opened the\ndoor with a key. And she said: The Queen is within: knock at the door\non thy return. And I went in, and she shut the door behind me,\nleaving me alone.\n\nAnd I found myself in a garden, of which I could not see the end, for\nit rather resembled a forest for its multitude of trees. And after a\nwhile, I went on slowly without any guide, going wherever my steps led\nme, and saying to myself as I went along: Now I wonder where the Queen\nis; for as it seems, I am far more likely to lose myself than find\nanything, in such a maze as this. And then, little by little, I\nutterly forgot all about her, lost in my admiration of the place that\nI was in, and saying to myself in wonder: After all, I did well to\ncome, and it was well worth while, if only for the sake of this\nextraordinary wood, which cannot properly be called a garden, since it\nis like absolutely nothing else in the world. For there were no\nflowers to be seen at all, but only trees. And even of trees, there\nwere only four kinds, champak, and _shala_, and _nyagrodha_, and\nbamboo. But every kind of tree was multiplied many times, and each was\na very giant, and a marvel of its kind. And the champaks and the\n_shalas_ were loaded with their blossoms that filled the air with\nheavy fragrance, and glimmered in the dusk: and the bamboos stood in\nclumps, like pillars, each as thick as my own body, with their tall\nplumes waving very gently to and fro like _chowris_ over my head; and\nthe trunks and the roots of the _nyagrodhas_[23] writhed and twisted\nround me like serpents' coils and women's limbs, pointing at me as it\nwere with weird wooden arms, till I felt as if I were walking in some\nstrange dream forest whose Yakshas and Yakshinis were watching me and\nmocking me as I went along. And suddenly, I looked, and far away\nthrough the trees I saw the moon nearly full rising slowly like a\ngreat red nocturnal sun, on the edge of the pallid eastern sky, as if\nit had come to watch me too, before the sun was down. And a feeling\nthat was almost fear began to creep into my soul, as I moved on\nslowly, not knowing where I was. And all at once, I came out suddenly\nupon a terrace and stood still. For just below me was a lake, whose\nwater was black, and absolutely still, and it was filled with\ninnumerable lotuses, that stood straight up out of the mirror that\nthey floated in, all turned red by the rays of the setting sun, which\nwas just about to disappear, taking as it were a last fond look at\nthem, as it stood, blood-red, on the rim of the world.\n\nAnd then, like a flash of lightning, recollection rushed into my soul.\nAnd my heart gave a bound, as if it wanted to leap from my body. And I\nexclaimed, with agitation: Ha! Why, it is the very lake, and these are\nthe very lotuses, and the very sun that I saw in my dream! And even\nas I spoke, I heard behind me the low sweet voice of a woman, saying\nslowly: I fear that I have kept thee waiting for a long time: and\ncanst thou forgive me?\n\nAnd instantly I cried out: The words! the words! And I turned sharp\nround, shaking like a leaf, with a heart that beat in my body like a\ndrum. Lo! there, just before me, stood the lady of my dream. And\nexactly as before, her dark blue garments shone like copper in the red\nsun's rays, and the star stood trembling in her high dark hair. And\nexactly as before, she stood up, absolutely straight, as if on purpose\nto throw into strong relief the undulating curves of her lovely form,\nand yet she differed from her own dream in this, that her soft round\nbosom was rising and falling like an agitated wave, as if she had been\nrunning very fast with nimble feet, that had stopped short, at the\nsight of me. And she held her pretty head, with appealing grace, just\na very little on one side, looking at me with great sweet eyes, and\nlips that smiled, half-open, as if to let her breathe, saying as it\nwere: I know that I am very guilty, and yet I am absolutely sure to be\nforgiven, since you cannot find it in your heart to scold. And somehow\nor other, there came from every part of her as it were the delicious\nfragrance of an extreme desire to oblige and please, that exactly\ncorresponded with the excessive gentleness of the voice that had just\nspoken; and yet it was mixed in some inexplicable way with a very\nfaint suggestion of authority, as though to say: All will willingly\nobey me; but those who will not, must. And one hand hung down by her\nside, holding a lute by a yellow string: while the other was playing\nwith the beads of a necklace of great pearls, that lay on the ocean of\nher surging breast, so that it was carried up and down on its wave.\nAnd she looked, as she stood before me, like a faultless feminine\nincarnation of the essence of a bosom friend, turned into an\ninstrument of supernatural seduction by the infusion of the\nintoxication of the other sex, and seeming as it were to say: How much\ndearer is a dear friend, that looks at thee with a woman's eyes!\n\nAnd I stood for a single instant, looking, with a soul that struggled\nto leave me, as if it had recognised at once, the moment it caught\nsight of her, whose claim it should obey. And I made a step towards\nher, stretching out both my hands: and all at once, I uttered a sharp\ncry, and fell at her feet in a swoon.\n\n\nVIII\n\nAnd when I came back to myself, I opened my eyes, and saw her,\nstanding close beside me, bending over towards me, and watching me\nwith eyes that were full of an expression that was half anxiety and\nhalf compassion. And as I rose to my feet, in confusion, she said\nquietly: Nay, it would be better for thee to sit still, for a little\nwhile, until thou art recovered. Art thou ill, or what is the matter\nwith thee? And I looked at her, making as it were sure of her being\nreally there, and I said with emotion: Nay, on the contrary, I am\nvery well indeed, now that I find thee still here, as I never hoped to\nsee thee. For I was terribly afraid, lest I should lose thee as I did\nbefore. And the shock was like a blow, for I have waited so long, to\nsee thee again. And she looked at me with astonishment, and she said:\nBefore? Again? What dost thou mean? When have we ever met before? And\nI said: In a dream. And it may be, even earlier, in some former birth.\nI cannot tell. But instantly, I knew thee again, and my heart stopped,\nunable to endure the unutterable joy, and the choking pain, and the\nsuddenness of the surprise: for it came upon me like a thunderbolt,\nwithout warning. And as I said, I was white with terror, lest thou\nshouldst have taken advantage of my swoon, to disappear, as thou didst\nbefore. For if I had not seen thee, when I woke up, I should have\ndied.\n\nAnd she looked at me for a while, with curiosity, and as if meditating\nover what I said. And then she sighed. And she said in a low voice, as\nif speaking to herself: This is my fault. Alas! I foresaw that there\nwould be danger in thy coming. And I exclaimed: Danger! Be under no\nconcern. Thou hast nothing at all to fear from me, or indeed from\nanything whatever, as long as I am near thee. Then she said: Nay, but\nthou dost not understand. It is not for myself that I was afraid, but\nfor thee. And as I looked at her, as if to ask her what she meant, she\nsaid again: It is I who am the danger. For I know by experience that I\nalways act on thy sex like a spell: only in thy case, the spell was\nvery strong: so strong, as almost to destroy thee. And yet, it is not\nmy fault, after all. Blame me not, but rather blame the Creator who\nmade me as I am. And I exclaimed: Blame him! nay, rather worship and\nadore him, for the wonder of his work: as thou art very certainly his\nmasterpiece. What! wouldst thou have me blame him, for producing a\nthing that I could worship, instead of himself? And she shook her head\nslowly as I spoke, and she said: Thou seest: it is exactly as I said.\nI am a poison to thee. And I looked at her, trembling with sheer\necstasy to look at her and listen to her: and suddenly I burst out\nlaughing, with my eyes full of tears. And I said: Poison! Thou! Ah!\nlet me only drink such poison to its dregs! I ask for nothing more.\nAnd she said: Come! let us sit on the step, and thou wilt recover. And\nwhen we were seated, she said, after a while: Forget me, if thou\ncanst, for a moment, and listen, and I will tell thee of the\ndifficulty which led me to summon thee to my assistance.\n\nAnd then she began to speak to me of the musical intervals, while I\nsat gazing at her, drunk with admiration, and growing hot and cold by\nturns, never so much as hearing a single word she said, but listening\nonly to the unutterable sweetness of the voice that spoke, that\nsounded in my ears like the noise of a waterfall coming from a\ndistance to the ear of one that lies dying of thirst. And all at once,\nI broke in abruptly, without any reference whatever to her words: and\nI said: O Tarawali, they named thee well who chose thy name: for thou\nart indeed like the star on thy brow. And when I think how nearly I\nnever came to thee at all, I shudder for sheer terror, to think I all\nbut missed my opportunity, and lost thee for ever. And I owe thee an\napology, for a crime, done to thy divinity in ignorance. Aye!\nChaturika was right, when she told me I was worthy of death, for\nconfounding thee with her.\n\nAnd she said, with a sigh: Thou art not listening to what I say. And\nthen she smiled, with a little smile that shook my heart for delight,\nand she said: Aye! Chaturika told me of thy error. But trust her not,\nwhen she speaks of me, for she is a flatterer. And yet, thy crime was\nvenial, and one easily forgiven: for she is very pretty, as I am not.\nBut we are wandering from the point, and wasting time, and talking\nnonsense. Forget us both, and listen with attention, and I will begin\nall over again. And I swept away her beginning with a wave of my hand,\nand I exclaimed: It is useless, for I can listen at present to\nabsolutely nothing. There is no room in my soul for anything but thee.\nSpeak to me of thyself, and I will listen never moving for the\nremainder of my life. And once again she sighed, lifting her hands,\nand letting them fall again, as if in despair. And she said gently: If\nthou absolutely wilt not attend, where was the use of thy coming at\nall? And I said: If thou wilt only send for me every day, at sunset,\nfor a year, it may be that I shall at last be able to forget thee\nsufficiently, for a very little while, to attend to something else.\n\nAnd suddenly she laughed, with laughter that exactly resembled the\nlaughter of a child, and she said: Thou art very crafty indeed, but\nthy cunning plan would take a long time, with but little result. And\neven then, I am not sure I could rely on thy forgetting. And I\nexclaimed, with emphasis: Thou art absolutely right, for the moment of\noblivion would never come at all. But O thou miracle of a queen, tell\nme at least one thing about thyself. And she said: What? And I said:\nHow can the King thy husband be so utterly bereft of his reason as to\nlet any other man see his star? Or is he, in very truth, actually\nblind? For I could understand it, if he really cannot see.\n\nAnd she looked at me with surprise: and she said slowly: Dost thou\nactually not know, what everybody knows? And I said: I know nothing\nthat everybody knows, being as I am a stranger. But this I know, very\nwell, that if thou wert _my_ pearl, I would take very good care to\nhide thee. For even an honest man might well turn robber, tempted by\nthe sight of such an ocean pearl. And she said, very quietly: It needs\nno thief to steal the pearl, if indeed it be a pearl, which its owner\ncast away long ago as a thing of no value, for anyone to pick up as he\npasses by.\n\nAnd I stared at her in stupefaction, and I struck my hands together\nand exclaimed: Art thou mad, or am I dreaming? And she said gently: It\nis true. And anybody but a stranger like thyself would have known it,\nwithout needing to be told. And she dropped her eyes, and sat for a\nwhile, fingering the string of her lute, as if on purpose to make\nherself into a picture for my intoxicated gaze: and suddenly she said:\nWhy should I make a secret of a thing that another will tell thee, if\nI do not, adding to the truth slanders that are false? It is better\nfor thee, and for me, to learn from my own mouth what it is impossible\nto hide. There is a relation of the King, whose name is Narasinha. And\none day he saw me by accident, on the roof of the palace, and\ninstantly he lost his reason, as all the men who see me always do. And\nnot long after, the King was set upon by numbers in a battle, and\nwithin a very little of being slain; and Narasinha saved his life,\nvery nearly losing his own. And the King said, when all was over: Now,\nthen, O Narasinha, ask me for anything I have, no matter what: it is\nthine. And Narasinha saw his opportunity. And he shut his eyes, like\none that leaps from a precipice to life or death. And he said: Give me\nthy Queen, Tarawali: or else, slay me, here and now, with this very\nsword that saved thy life. And then, to his amazement, as he stood\nwith his head bowed, expecting death, the King burst out laughing. And\nhe said: Is that all? Aha! Narasinha, we were both frightened, thou\nand I: thou, of asking, and I, of what thou mightest ask. Didst thou\nnot think, I should slay thee, for thinking of her even in a dream?\nBut my life were worth little, if I haggled with its saviour over its\nprice. And Tarawali is thine, to do with as thou wilt. For I have only\none life, whereas queens can be found in all directions, and I can\nvery easily replace her, whenever I choose. Only she must not leave\nthe palace, for after all, she is my Queen, and so she must remain,\nfor everyone but me and thee. And so he gave me clean away to\nNarasinha, in secret, but it is a secret that everybody knows, and\ntells in secret to everybody else. And I have gained by the exchange.\nFor Narasinha risked his life, twice, to win me, and the King would\nnever have risked so much as his little finger to save the life of a\nhundred queens, and gave me away, like a straw, for the mere asking,\nnot even stopping to consider, that in the straw he gave away his own\nhonour lay hidden, which he gave away with me. And I could have\nforgiven him for giving me away, but who could forgive the King who\nvalued his own honour less than his own life? And to the King I was\nnever more than a necessary ornament, a thing like a sceptre and a\nthrone, and a mere piece of royal furniture: whereas I am more than\nthe life of Narasinha, and the apple of his eye.\n\n\nIX\n\nAnd as she spoke, I listened, not believing my own ears, and saying to\nmyself: Is it all real, or can it be that I am only dreaming after\nall? And which is the greater wonder, this miserable King, who,\nleaving honour out of the account, is so utterly besotted as to give\naway a thing like her to the first man who asks for her, or Tarawali\nherself, telling the whole story of her own depreciation with such\ncontemptuous and yet delicious candour to such a one as me? Aye! well\nindeed she might despise a husband so unutterably despicable; and yet\nhis oblivion of his own honour is easier by far to understand than his\nblindness to the value of the thing he gave away. And would she tell\nme anything at all, unless she had come to the conclusion that I was\nworthy of her confidence? And who knows? For why should she consent to\nbe given like a horse to Narasinha? Why might she not prefer to give\nherself, and choose for herself the man who was to be her owner? And\nwhat if I could persuade her to let me be the man? And at the very\nthought, my head began to swim in the delirium of hope and almost\nunimaginable anticipation. And I said: Dear Tarawali, is it the fault\nof the ocean gem, if its boorish owner flings it away, taking it for a\nbit of common glass, and ignoring its inestimable worth? There are\nother and better judges, who would give their very lives, only to be\nallowed to pick it up.\n\nAnd she looked at me with a smile, and she leaned towards me, and she\nsaid, with gentle mischief in her eyes: Shall I tell thee thy very\nthoughts, and it may be, tumble down for thee the unsubstantial\ncastles thou art even already building in the air? Thou art marvelling\nat the King, for giving me so carelessly away: and thou art wondering,\nwhy I am telling thee about it: and last of all, it may be, thou art\ncounting on my independence. Is it not so? And I hung my head in\nsilence, ashamed at being so accurately detected by the subtle\npenetration of this extraordinary Queen. And presently she said, as\nif to console me for my confusion, with unutterable sweetness in her\nvoice: Come, do not allow delusive imagination to run away with thee,\nbut curb him, and rein him up, and stop him, and be wise. For I\nbelong, body and soul, to Narasinha. And yet, for all that, I am my\nown mistress, and act exactly as I choose. And I see anyone I please,\nand at my own time, and go, like a wild elephant, wherever inclination\nleads me. And music is my passion, and I heard of thee, and sent for\nthee, and now that I have seen thee, I like thee. And now, shall we be\nfriends?\n\nAnd as she ended, she put out towards me both her hands, leaning\ntowards me, and looking at me with a smile, and eyes full of an\ninvitation so irresistibly caressing that it swept away my\nself-control, consuming it like a blade of grass in a forest fire. And\nI started to my feet, and instantly she rose herself. And I seized her\nright hand in my own, with a grip that made it an unwilling prisoner\nbeyond all hope of escape. And I exclaimed with agitation: Friends!\nonly friends! Alas! O Tarawali, hast thou given thyself, body and\nsoul, so absolutely to Narasinha, as not to have left even the very\nsmallest atom over, for me, now that I have discovered thee at last? O\nI have dreamed of thee, and thy sweetness, and thy eyes, so long, so\nlong.\n\nAnd as I gazed at her, forgetting everything in the world, but my\nincontrollable thirst for herself, she sighed, and she said with\ncompassion: Poor boy! I did ill, to summon thee at all. Thou art only\ndrinking poison, and yet I know not any antidote, save only to bid\nthee go away.\n\nAnd I stood, bereft of my senses, and without knowing what I did,\npulling her by the hand, that lay reluctantly in mine, endeavouring to\nfree itself in vain. And half resisting, half consenting, against her\nown will, to be pulled, she came slowly towards me, leaning back, and\nlooking at me with eyes that seemed to implore me to release her, and\nyet, unable to be harsh, no matter what I did. And at last, she\nreached me, and she closed her eyes, as I kissed her, with a shudder\nof delight that was almost terror, on the lips. And then instantly I\nlet her go, and stood aghast at what I had done. And I stammered:\nForgive! for I did not know what I was doing.\n\nAnd she shook her head, and said very gently: Nay, it is I myself who\nam to blame: since I might have known that this would be the\ninevitable end. But now, good-bye! for thou hast been here already far\ntoo long. And then, she hesitated for an instant, looking at me as if\nwith pity; and she said with a smile: Thou must absolutely go, and yet\nmy heart is sorry for thee, for I understand, what going means, to\nthee. Come, if thou wilt, I will allow thee, to bid me good-bye.\n\nAnd as she held out her arms, looking at me with a smile, my reason\nfled. And I caught her anyhow, with one arm round her waist, and the\nother round her neck, turning round unawares, so that suddenly I found\nher lying in my arms, gazing up into my eyes, with lips that trembled\nas they smiled. And I drew a deep sigh, and then I kissed her in a\nfrenzy with a kiss that seemed as if it would never end.\n\nAnd then, I almost threw her from me, with a cry. And I turned and\nfled away, without looking back, and found, I know not how, the door,\nand knocked, and it was opened; and I got, somehow or other, into the\nstreet. And I went home like one walking in a dream, with feet that\nfound their way of their own accord.\n\n\nX\n\nAnd I threw myself on my bed, and lay, all night long, asleep or\nawake, I know not which, but gazing with eyes that as it were shone\ninto the dark, and a heart burning with the fire of joy, and a soul\nlost in the ecstasy of recollection, saying to myself without ceasing:\nI have found her, I have found her: and the reality is sweeter far\neven than the dream. And morning arrived, as it seemed, even before\nnight had begun, for time was lost altogether in the abyss of\nreminiscence. And I rose up, and stood still, with my eyes fixed upon\nthe ground, going over every detail, and striving to recall every atom\nof the meeting of the day before. And I said to myself: Ha! and fool\nthat I was, I very nearly missed her, by refusing to go at all. And\nunless that lucky elephant had chanced to come along, I was absolutely\nlost. And yet, how could I possibly have guessed that Tarawali would\nturn out to be the lady of my dream? O joy, that she caught me just\nbefore I went away! O the star in her hair, and the sound of her\nvoice, and O the unendurable torture of being absent for an instant\nfrom the possibility of the nectar of her kiss!\n\nAnd then, all at once, I started, for a thought ran of its own accord\nlike a dagger straight into my heart. And I exclaimed: Alas! I had\nforgotten. How in the world am I ever to see her again? And she said:\nGood-bye! Can it be that she intended I was never to return? Alas!\nbeyond a doubt, good-bye was good-bye, and for all her extraordinary\nkindness, she was offended by my overweening presumption, and sent me\naway, and will not send for me again. Aye! all is over: for like\nDurga,[24] she is absolutely inaccessible, unless she chooses to\nreveal herself to her miserable devotee of her own accord. Aye indeed!\nmy arrogance has ruined me in her estimation, and I cannot even hope\never to see her any more. Fool that I was, and mad, to run away like a\ndeer, never so much as dreaming of providing for my return! Now\nindeed, I have dropped myself into a well without a rope, and she is\nas utterly beyond my reach, as if indeed she were a star.\n\nAnd my knees shook, and I sank down, with my head buried in my hands,\nready to cry, for sheer anguish, at the thought of my inability to get\nat her, and the horror on purpose to keep me in suspense, and torture\nmy impatience. And then at last, she said: Sunset! What! didst thou\nfear I was going to say Farewell?\n\nAnd as she laughed again, I caught her by the hand, in exultation, and\nher laughter suddenly changed into a shriek. And she said, with more\nlaughter: Nay, thou hast come within a little of breaking my hand in\npieces, gripping it like one that catches at a twig, to save himself\nfrom drowning. What! wouldst thou requite a benefit, by injuring thy\nbenefactor? Or hast thou again mistaken one hand for another? And\nagain she began to laugh, looking at me slily, with her provoking\npretty eyes: and she said: No matter, I forgive thee, for as I said, I\nunderstand. But O Shatrunjaya the lute-player, what is it that has\nmade thee change thy mind, since yesterday? Or am I to go back and\ntell the Queen, once more, that her music-master will not come?\n\nAnd she turned, laughing still, to go away. But I sprang forward, and\ncaught her in my arms again, and said: Nay, dear Chaturika, do not go.\nStay just a little longer, for art thou not her shadow?\n\nAnd yet once more she began to laugh, pushing me away, as she\nexclaimed: It is utterly impossible, O Shatrunjaya, for I have many\nthings to do, and very little time. And I am not sure that I care to\nbe embraced, merely because I am the shadow of another. Thou must\ncontrive how thou canst, without me, to restrain thy insatiable\nappetite of embracing other people, till sunset. Patience! thou hast\nnot long to wait.\n\nAnd she went out and shut the door, and suddenly, just as it was\nclosing, she opened it again, and put in her head. And she said: Shall\nI tell her of thy anxiety to embrace me, or leave it to thee? Dear\nChaturika! Ah! ah! Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she\nturns away!\n\nAnd then she shut the door and disappeared.\n\n\nXI\n\nAnd as the door shut behind her, she left the whole room filled to the\nvery brim with the red glow of triumphant love's emotion, and the\natmosphere of the ecstasy of happiness; and the laughter, of which she\nseemed to be the incarnation, hung, so to say, in every corner of the\nroom. And my heart sang and my blood bubbled with the wave of the\nocean of anticipation that surged and swelled within me, so that I was\nutterly unable to sit still, for sheer joy; and my soul began as it\nwere to dance in such excitement, that I could hardly refrain from\nshouting, resembling one intoxicated by the abruptness of a sudden\nchange from certain death to the very apex of life's sweetness. And I\nsaid to myself: Sunset! So, then, beyond a doubt, she has either\nforgiven me, or is willing to forgive. And who knows? For if she has\nforgiven once, she may forgive again: when again, it may be, she will\nallow me to say good-bye. And at the thought, my heart began to burn\nwith dull fire, hurting me so that I could hardly breathe: and yet\nstrange! the pain was divided only by a hair from a sweetness so\nintense that I laughed aloud, without knowing why, like one hovering\non the very verge of being mad. And so I remained, drowned in the\nocean of the torture and the nectar of love-longing, every now and\nthen waking as from a day-dream to wonder at the sun, who seemed to\ndawdle on his way, as if on purpose to separate my soul from my body\nwith impatience. But at last, after all, day began slowly to come to\nan end, and I set out for the palace, with feet that could hardly be\nrestrained from running as fast as they could go.\n\nAnd at the gate the very same _pratihari_ was waiting, and she led me\naway, exactly as before, to the door, and opened it, and I went in.\nAnd I stood, listening to its sound as it shut behind me, hardly able\nto believe that it was not a dream, as I found myself once more in the\ngarden that contained the Queen. And I stopped for a while, for my\nheart was beating so furiously that I was afraid it would break. And I\nsaid to myself, with a sigh of ineffable relief: Ah! now, then, I am\nactually here, once more. And O now, very soon, comes the agonising\nrapture of seeing her again. And I wonder where she is, and how I\nshall find her to-night. And now I must begin to hunt for a very sweet\nquarry. And suddenly I started almost running, paying absolutely no\nattention to the trees at all, with eyes that were blind for\neverything in the world, except one.\n\nAnd then, all at once, I stopped short: for I looked and saw her, a\nlittle way off, under a great _nyagrodha_ tree, sitting crossways in\na low swing[25] that hung down from a long bough, holding one of its\nropes in her left hand that was stretched as high as it could go, and\nleaning back against the other with her head cushioned in her bent\nright arm. And she had her left foot tucked beneath her, so that her\nleft knee stood up in the swing, while her right leg was stretched out\nbelow, so that its foot just reached the ground, to allow her to swing\nvery gently, whenever her toes touched the earth. And the lovely line\nof her great right hip seemed to cry for admiration, running down in a\nsingle unbroken curve from her waist into the ground, balanced as it\nwere above by the slender beauty of her left arm rising from the mound\nof her left breast. And the rising moon which she was watching touched\nher with a faint lustre, lighting up like a lamp the great gem in her\nhair, and making the champak blossom that floated in the hollow of her\nbosom's wave glimmer like the foam on a midnight sea. And after a\nwhile, I began to steal towards her on tiptoe, fearing to disturb her,\nlest the lovely picture should be spoiled, yet yearning to be with her\nwith the whole strength of my soul. But all at once, she heard me\ncoming, and looked round and saw me. And instantly she left her swing,\nand came towards me, walking quickly with undulating steps, as upright\nas a pillar of her own tree. And I stood still, to watch her coming,\nand adore it, and delay it, but she reached me in a moment, and she\nstopped, and said with a smile: I am very glad to see thee. I sent\nthee, by the mouth of Chaturika, a time, and yet I hardly dared to\nhope for thy coming: since doubtless thou hast a better use for thy\nhours than to waste them upon me.\n\nAnd I stared at her, in utter stupefaction: and then, all at once I\nbegan to laugh. And I exclaimed: Waste! I do not understand. What dost\nthou mean? Or what was thy object in bidding me to come to thee at\nsunset? Surely not merely to talk to me of music? And she looked at me\ngently, with surprise. And she said: Of course. What other object\ncould I have? And I looked at her in silence, saying to myself: Can it\nreally be possible that she means exactly what she says, and that this\nwas the only significance of the word she sent to me? And suddenly I\nleaned towards her, with hunger in my eyes. And I said: Then indeed, I\nwas mistaken. It was not so, that I interpreted thy summons. Alas! O\nTarawali, the only music that I came for was the music of thy\nincomparable voice, and I thought it was thy own deliberate intention\nto send for me simply that I might listen to it again, as I gazed on\nits owner with adoration.\n\nAnd she looked at me reproachfully, and she said: Again! Alas! I\nimagined that thou wouldst ere now have recovered from thy shock of\nyesterday, and be able now to help me; and yet, here is thy delusion\nreturning, as it seems, even worse than before. See now, forget\naltogether that I am a woman, and let us talk of music, like two\nfriends. And I laughed in derision, and I exclaimed: Forget that thou\nart a woman! Ask me rather to forget I am a man. Art thou blind, or\nhast thou never even looked into a mirror? Dost thou imagine me less\nthan a man, bidding me forget that she is a woman who stands before\nme, as thou dost, smiling, and bewildering my soul with her maddening\nloveliness, and the absolute perfection of her body and her soul,\nshowing the hungry man food, and forbidding him to eat, and the\nthirsty man water, and requiring him to think of it as something it is\nnot? Or art thou all the time only playing, having no heart in thy\nbody, or a stone for a heart? Didst thou summon me only to torture and\ntorment me? Dost thou not know, canst thou not see, the agony of my\nsuffering, standing close enough to seize thee in my arms, and yet\nkept at a distance, to listen to what I cannot even understand? I tell\nthee, I am drunk with thy beauty, and mad with intolerable desire for\nthe incomprehensible fascination of thy charm, and dost thou dream of\nquenching my fire by talking about friends? I want no friendship from\nthee. I will be more than a friend to thee, or less: aye! I would give\nall the friendship in the three worlds for a single drop of nectar,\nmixed of thy body and thy soul.\n\nAnd as I spoke, she listened, putting up every now and then her hand,\nas if to stop me: and when I ended, she stood, looking at me in\nperplexity, as if utterly unable to decide what to do. And at last, I\nsaid: Why dost thou say nothing? And she said, simply; I do not know\nwhat to say. And I laughed aloud, lost in admiration of the\nextraordinary simplicity of her incomparable reply. And I exclaimed: O\nthou wonderful woman, how can I find words to express what I feel for\nthee? And she said, as if with despair: I counted on thy recovery. And\nI said: Count not on my recovery, for I never shall recover. And she\nsaid, with a smile: Then, as it seems, I shall never have my music\nlesson. And perhaps it would be better, if it ended here, without ever\nhaving begun. And in any case, to-night, thy visit must of necessity\nbe a very short one, since I have other business, unexpectedly arisen,\nto do. And so, shall we say good-night, without any more delay?\n\nAnd I said slowly: If I must go, I must: for I will obey thee, order\nwhat thou wilt. And yet, wilt thou not allow me at least to bid thee\ngood-bye, as thou didst last night?\n\nAnd she looked at me, as I leaned towards her, as if with reproach,\nand she stood for a moment, hesitating, and as it were, balanced in\nthe swing of her own beautiful irresolution. And then, after a while,\nshe sighed, and put out her hand, as if with resignation. And I drew\nher to me with a clutch, and caught her in my arms, showering on her\nlips and her eyes and her hair kisses that resembled a rain of fire:\nwhile all the time she offered absolutely no resistance, allowing me\nto do with her exactly as I pleased. And when at last I stopped to\nbreathe, looking at her with eyes dim with emotion, she said, very\ngently, with a smile, lying just as she was, fettered in my arms:\nHast thou yet bid me good-bye, to thy satisfaction? And I said in a\nlow voice: Nay, not at all. For thou hast not yet kissed me in return,\neven once. And as if out of compassion, she did as she was told:\nkissing me gently, over and over again, for I would not let her stop,\nwith kisses that resembled snowflakes that burned as they fell.\n\nAnd at last, I let her go. And holding her two hands, I gazed at her\nfor a while in adoration, while she looked at me as if patiently\nwaiting to be released, with a little smile. And I said: Now then I\nwill obey thee, and go: for thou hast given me something that will\nkeep me alive. And yet thou art cheating me by sending me away before\nthe time, and thou owest me the rest. Promise me, that thou wilt\nsummon me to-morrow, or I cannot go away, even if I try. For if I go,\nnot knowing when I shall see thee again, I will slay myself on thy\npalace steps.\n\nAnd she drew away her hands, very gently, and turned away, and stood\nlooking down upon the ground, reflecting. And I watched her, as I\nwaited, with anxiety: for she seemed to be meditating, not so much of\nme, as of something unknown to me, that stood in the way of her\ndecision. And then at last, she turned towards me, looking at me, as\nit seemed, with pity. And she said, almost sadly, and yet with a\nsmile: Poor moth, thou wilt only burn away thy wings. Thou little\nknowest, what eyes are on thee, or the danger thou art running by\noverestimating me, and coming here at all. And yet, the mischief has\nbeen done, and thou art greatly to be pitied, having fallen under a\nspell: and thou art suffering from a fever to which nothing can bring\nany alleviation but myself. And it would be far better to refuse thee,\nsince to grant thy request cannot possibly do thee any good. And yet I\ncannot find it in my heart to deny thee what thou cravest, since I am\nmyself the involuntary cause of all thy delusion, and can give thee\nsuch extraordinary pleasure, with so very little trouble to myself.\nAnd so, I will give thee thy desire, and to-morrow's sunset shall be\nthine.\n\nAnd I uttered a cry of joy. And utterly unable to control my emotion,\nI caught her once more in my arms, kissing her passionately with\ntrembling lips. And suddenly I shuddered with delight, for I felt her\nlips kissing me again. And my senses reeled, and I murmured with\nemotion: Ah! thou lady of my dream, art thou real, or am I still only\ndreaming after all? And she stood back, putting me away with her hand,\nand she said, gently: I am real, but thou seest me through the eyes of\nthy dream. For what is there, after all, in me, save what thou puttest\nthere thyself, with the aid of thy fancy, and thy passion, and the\nrecollection of thy dream?\n\nAnd I looked at her in silence for a while, and then I said: Promise\nme yet one thing more. And she smiled, and said: Thou art insatiable:\nand yet, what is it? And I said: Send me Chaturika in the morning,\njust to tell me what I know already. For I shall be dying of\nimpatience, and she is like a foretaste of thyself, and will help to\nkeep me alive.\n\nAnd she laughed, and she said: Ah! thou art very crafty, for Chaturika\nis far prettier than I. But I will send her for all that, to gratify\nthee to the full. And moreover, I am not jealous. But now, thou must\nabsolutely go: for I must also. And she leaned towards me, with eyes\nthat were full of an unutterable caress: and she said: To-morrow, at\nsunset, I will be thy dream. Only remember, not to blame me, for\nanything that may happen when awaking comes.\n\nAnd I turned and went away, with a heart that trembled in the\nextremity of joy. And when I had gone a little way, I looked back, and\nsaw her still standing, looking after me, with her two hands clasped\nbehind her head, as motionless as a tree. And after a little while, I\nlooked again, and she was gone.\n\n\nXII\n\nAnd when I got home, I threw myself on my bed, and instantly fell fast\nasleep, for I was worn out by emotion and fatigue: and my slumber\nresembled the deep peace of my own heart. And a little before the\ndawn, I woke up, and went out, wandering where my footsteps led me,\nwith a soul lost in meditation on Tarawali, bathed in the nectar of\nreminiscence and anticipation, and yet puzzled by a doubt that it\ncould not resolve. And I said to myself as I went along: How in the\nworld can a queen like her, who laughs all other women to utter\nscorn, for beauty and understanding and gentleness and sweetness, and\nsome unintelligible magic charm that is somehow spread all over her,\nand echoes in the tone of her delicious voice that makes every fibre\nof my heart tremble every time I hear it; how can such a queen as she\nshow such extraordinary favour to such a thing as me? For I could\nunderstand it, if it were any other man. For then I should say that\nbeyond all doubt, she actually preferred him to all others in the\nworld, for sheer affection. And yet, as it is, it is quite\nincomprehensible. For, it might seem, that she must be in love with me\nherself, returning my affection: and yet it cannot be. For how could\nsuch a miracle as she is, the supreme achievement of the Creator, and\nthe concentrated essence of the charm of all her sex, think of such a\none as me, even in a dream, as an object of affection? And yet, if\nnot, how is her behaviour to be explained? For I might perhaps believe\nthat she was merely playing with me for her own amusement, were she\nany other woman than exactly the one she is: but as it is, no one\ncould believe it that had ever seen her for an instant: and she needs\nno other argument in her defence than every glance at her supplies.\nAnd it may be, after all, that she took up with Narasinha merely out\nof pique, at being so unceremoniously slighted and cast off as a thing\nof no value by her booby of a husband, and, as it were, also out of\ngratitude to find herself appreciated at her true value, which she\nmust very well understand notwithstanding all her own beautiful\nself-depreciation, which is an extra charm enhancing all her other\ncharms: and afterwards, it may be, she has changed her mind, as women\ndo, about Narasinha, without being willing to admit it, even to\nherself; and come, only the other day, suddenly on me. Aye! beyond a\ndoubt, this would be the true conclusion, and the answer to the\nriddle, but for one consideration that makes it utterly impossible,\nthat I am only I.\n\nAnd so as I debated with myself, all at once I heard my own name\ncalled aloud in the air. And I looked up, and lo! there was my old\nfriend Haridasa,[26] on a camel. And he said: Ha! Shatrunjaya, art\nthou thyself indeed, or another exactly like thee, or hast thou lost\nthy senses and thy ears? For here have I been calling to thee, all\nalong the street, without succeeding in waking thee from thy dream,\ntill now. And what can it be, that can so fill thy mind as to stop up\nall its entrances?\n\nAnd I exclaimed in delight: Ah! Haridasa, thou art come in the very\nnick of time, the very man, at this moment, that I need most. Get off\nthy camel, for a while, and come and sit beside me, and find me, if\nthou canst, an answer to a question that I cannot find myself. And so\nhe did. And as soon as we were seated by the roadside, I said to him:\nHaridasa, listen. Thou knowest me well. Now tell me thy opinion: am I\none that a woman might choose out of many for a lover?\n\nAnd Haridasa began to laugh. And he looked at me shrewdly, and he\nsaid: Aha! Shatrunjaya the lute-player, so this was thy preoccupation?\nArt thou one to catch a woman's fancy? O Shatrunjaya, why not? For art\nthou not a musician, famous in the world, and a man among men, into\nthe bargain? All women love a giant, such as thou art. Any woman of\nthem all might do worse than fall in love with thee. And yet thy very\nquestion shows, that in this matter of women, thou art little better\nthan a child, as indeed thou always wert. For even the Deity himself\ncan never tell what man any woman will prefer, or why: as how should\nhe, seeing that she does not even know, herself? And there never yet\nexisted any man whom some woman would not worship, let him be as ugly\nas you please, or even for that very reason: and yet, let a man be a\nvery Kamadewa, woman after woman will pass him by, without even so\nmuch as casting a glance at him out of the very corner of her eye. For\na woman's affection depends on her fancy, and that is like the wind,\nthat comes and goes and wavers how and where it will, without a reason\nthat anybody can discover. And it is sheer waste of time to sit and\nwonder, whether thou art or art not a man that a woman might love.\nThou art both, or neither: for the only way to settle thy question is\nto try. And she will, or she will not, of her own accord. And now, who\nis she, this beauty who has set thee so knotty a problem to solve?\n\nAnd I said with indifference: There is no such beauty; for all my\nperplexity arose from the line of an old song: Nectar when she turns\ntowards thee: poison when she turns away.\n\nAnd Haridasa turned sharp towards me, and looked at me intently for a\nvery long while, saying absolutely nothing. And we sat talking of\nother things till he rose to go away. And then, at the very moment he\nwas mounting on his camel, he turned, and came back. And he said:\nListen! Thou art hiding from me something that maybe I could startle\nthee by guessing: but no matter. Keep thy secret: but listen to a\npiece of good advice, which may serve thee at a pinch. If ever thou\nwouldst have a woman prize thee, never let her see that thou settest\nany store by her. Treat her as a straw, and she will run after thee as\nif thou wert a magnet: make thyself her slave, and she will hold thee\ncheap, and discard thee for another. For women think meanly of their\nsex, and utterly despise the man who places them above himself: since\nin her heart every woman longs to be a man, bewailing her misfortune\nin being born a woman, and praying all her life for one thing only, to\nbe born a man in another birth. And one thing above all she cannot\nunderstand, how or why any man should make a fuss about any woman, as\nall men do: which, just because she is not a man herself, she cannot\ncomprehend. And like jugglers, that are not taken in by their own\ntricks, women look upon men as mere fools, for being taken in at all.\nFor a woman's charm, to a woman, is not only not a charm at all, but a\ntrick, and a lure, understood, and utterly despised. So now, be a\nman, and whatever folly thou art meditating, at least beware of being\nguilty of the very greatest of them all, by doubting of thy own\nsuperiority of manhood to the womanhood of any woman, no matter who\nshe be: and earning her contempt, by lying at her feet. And now,\nfarewell! for I have business with Narasinha.\n\nAnd at the name of Narasinha, I pricked up my ears. And I said, with\nfeigned indifference: Who is Narasinha?\n\nAnd Haridasa spat upon the ground. And he said: One, whom thou art\nlucky not to know: and yet, his name is _apropos_. For he is the\nQueen's lover, and an instance in point: since he leads her by a\nstring, just because he treats her as a trifle, and not, as all her\nother lovers do, as a gem not to be matched by any other in the sea.\nAnd yet he is not, like thee, a man among men, but a man among women.\nFor just as a dancing-girl loves to be treated as a queen, so does a\nqueen love to be treated as a dancing-girl.\n\nAnd then, all at once, he struck me on the shoulder. And he said, in a\nlow voice: Why didst thou start, when I named Narasinha?\n\nAnd without waiting for any answer, he got quickly on his camel, and\nrode away, never looking back.\n\n\nXIII\n\nAnd I stood, looking after him, with a startled heart, and then I went\nhome slowly, saying to myself: How in the world did he guess my\nsecret, and what did he mean? Was there a warning in his words? And\nwhat is all this about the Queen? Did he ever see her in his life? for\nif he had, he would long ago have discovered that all his rules have\nexceptions, of which Tarawali is one: being not only the very gem\nbeyond comparison that he spoke of with contempt, but a woman of women\nwho very certainly never would despise any one at all, least of all\nthe man who thought her exactly what she is, a star, far, far above\nhis own muddy earth: a thing made of some rare celestial matter,\ndiffering altogether from anything to be found here below, fetched by\nthe Creator when he meant to make her from some abysmal intermundane\nmine, where ocean foam and lunar ooze and sandal-wood and camphor lie\njumbled up together with the essence of all curves and smiles and\nwhispers and soft kisses and sweet glances and irresolution and long\nhair. And the image of the Queen rose up before me, laughing as it\nwere in scorn at Haridasa, and utterly obliterating everything he\nsaid. And I said to myself in ecstasy: Sunset will be here, very soon.\nAnd I reached my house, and looked, and lo! there was sitting at the\ndoor a Rajpoot, covered with the desert's dust, and holding by the\nrein a horse that hung its head, trembling still, and white with foam.\n\nAnd as I came towards him, he stood up, and made obeisance. And he\nsaid: Maharaj, thou art come at last, and it was time. And I said:\nWhat is the matter? Then he said: Thy mother sent me, and I have\nridden night and day. The King thy father is dying, and every moment\nhe may be dead. And now, if thou carest, either for thy father, or thy\nmother, or thy throne, there is only one chance for thee, to fly to\nthem as fast as any horse can take thee, without the delay of a single\nmoment. So my message is delivered, and the Maharaj is judge.\n\nAnd again he made obeisance, and went away on foot, leading his horse\nbehind. And I stood, looking after him in a stupor, like one struck by\na bolt from heaven, in the form of his appalling news. And I said to\nmyself: Go I must, or my mother is ousted, and the _raj_ lost. And yet\nif I go, the sun will set in the Queen's garden, and I shall not be\nthere.\n\nAnd I pushed my door wide open, and went in, and sat down, with my\nface buried in my hands. And my own words sang in my head, over and\nover again: Go I must, or the _raj_ is lost, and my mother ousted. And\nthe sun will set in the Queen's garden, and I shall not be there.\n\nAnd I heard a laugh beside me, and I looked up. Lo! there was\nChaturika, standing in the open door! And she looked at me with\nlaughing eyes, and she said: Ha! as it seems, I am just in time to\nsave thy life: for thou art apparently all but dead. And, beyond a\ndoubt, the Queen is a cunning doctor, who understands her patient's\ncase. For she sent me to thee, saying: Go to him, O Chaturika, since\nwithout thee he will die: and help him, how thou canst, to live until\nthe sun has set.\n\nAnd I stood up, and seized my hair with both my hands. And I groaned\naloud, and said: Alas! O Chaturika, what is a man to do, when two suns\nset, in opposite directions? And instantly, all the laughter died out\nof her face. And she looked at me with dark eyes, and she said: Two\nsuns! What dost thou mean? And I told her all, and she listened in\nsilence, till I ended. And then she said, with a sigh of relief: Ah!\nis that all? And I exclaimed: All? is it not enough for thee? And she\nsaid: I was terrified, by thy talking of two suns. For I began to\nthink the Queen had a rival in thy affection. And I laughed, in anger\nand derision, and I exclaimed: A rival! Thou little fool! I am sorely\ntempted to beat thee, for daring to think anything of the kind, even\nin a dream. What! a rival! to Tarawali! Thou art stark mad. How could\nshe possibly have a rival in the three worlds? But what am I to do?\nAnd she said: It is thy choice, not mine. Only when once a sun has\nset, who can tell, if it will ever rise again? And what am I to say to\nthe Queen?\n\nAnd as she stood, looking at me, for an answer, there rose into my\nrecollection the image of Tarawali, leaning towards me in the\nmoonlight, and saying: To-morrow, at sunset, I will be thy dream. And\nsuddenly I exclaimed: Go back to her, O Chaturika, and tell her that\nmy only sun is the sun that sets in a Queen's garden.\n\nAnd then, to my astonishment, that singular Chaturika suddenly threw\nherself into my arms, and kissed me without waiting to be asked. And\nseeing me look at her in perplexity, she burst out laughing, and she\nsaid with delight: Ah! ah! So then, after all, there is a difference,\nas it seems, between Chaturika and Tarawali. No doubt some kisses are\nfar sweeter, but the sun must set, ere the lovely digit of the moon\nrises, and I must do what I can meanwhile, to help thee to keep alive.\nIt was her own order. And moreover she will not be jealous, and will\nnot scold me when I tell her all about it on my return. And I said:\nNay, thou saucy little beauty, tell her with all my heart, and add,\nthat her drug was efficacious, since sandal-wood and camphor turn\neverything that touches them into a little bit of fragrance exactly\nlike their own. And take her hand, and kiss it, and say I send the\nkiss, like her message, by thy mouth, and here it is.\n\nAnd I caught her in my arms, and kissed her as she struggled, not\nwilling this time to be kissed at all, exactly on her laughing lips,\nand then she went away.\n\n\nXIV\n\nAnd I said to myself in ecstasy, as she disappeared: Out on the very\nnotion of leaving Tarawali in the lurch, and losing the very essence\nof the nectar of the lady of my dream, so kind, so clever, and so\nwonderful as she is! Well did she understand, how the very sight of\nthis audacious little _cheti_ would act like a balm on the fever of my\nlonging for herself: carrying about with her, as she does, a\nreminiscence of the intoxicating fragrance of the great champak\nflower, whose messenger she is, like a female bee, scattering\nanother's honey as she goes. Aye! Chaturika is like a letter, smelling\nof the sandal of the hand that wrote it, far away. And Tarawali\nunderstood it all, and sent her; not being jealous, as Chaturika says,\nand indeed, as she said herself, last night. As if a star of heaven\ncould possibly be jealous of a little Ganges pot![27] Aye! little did\nmy mother dream, when she sent to fetch me, what influence she had\nagainst her. As if I would purchase any kingdom in the world at the\nprice of sacrificing my sunset with the Queen! And how can I help it,\nif the King my father chose just this unlucky astrological\nconjunction, to die? Or what good can be done by haste? For if he is\ndead already, as is very likely, all is lost, and it is useless to go\nat all. And if on the contrary, he lives for a little longer, I shall\nfind him still alive, if I start to-morrow. And is it likely he will\nlive or die exactly so, as to make my starting now either necessary or\nadvantageous? And shall I take the risk, and throw away the very fruit\nof my birth, for nothing at all? And what would Tarawali think of me,\nif I left her in the lurch, counting her inestimable favour as a\nstraw? Beyond all doubt, she would wipe me from her memory as a thing\nbeneath even contempt, like a sieve, all holes, into which it is\nfutile to pour anything at all. No, I will keep my sunset, even if I\nlose my kingdom. And yet, why should I, after all? For to-morrow when\nI actually start, I will go very fast indeed, preparing everything\nbeforehand, and having my horse waiting for me, so as to lose no time\nwhen I leave the Queen, carrying with me as I ride the memory of\nto-night: whereas if I threw her over, and set off to-night, the\nthought of what I was leaving behind would be so heavy as utterly to\nprevent me from going along at all.\n\nAnd so I mused, waiting all the time with fierce impatience for the\nsun to sink, till at last day came to an end. And then I rose in\ndelight, exclaiming: At last, at last, separation is over, and now it\nis time! And I went very quickly to the palace, and found the\n_pratihari_: and she led me away straight to the door, and opened it,\nand I went in.\n\n\nXV\n\nAnd then, once more, I stood still, listening in ecstasy to the door\nas it shut behind me, and tasting, as it were, for an instant the\ndelicious promise that the dusky garden gave me, standing like a diver\non the edge of ocean, just before he plunges in, knowing well that it\nholds a pearl. And I stretched my arms towards the trees, saying to\nmyself: This is not like the other times, but far, far better: for\nto-night she will not ask me to give her a music lesson, but she said\nherself, she would be my dream. And I wonder how she will do it, and\nwhat she is going to do. And then I went on through the trees, looking\nfrom side to side, with a soul as it were on tiptoe with curiosity and\nanticipation. And far away through the trees I saw the red rim of the\nfull moon rising in a great hurry as if like myself he was dying with\nimpatience just to see her, and saying as it were: I am the only lamp\nfit to light her, and I am just coming in another moment, like\nherself. And I passed by her swing that hung drooping, as it were,\nsadly from its tree, because she was not there. And little by little,\nmy heart began to crave for the sight of her, growing restless and\nuneasy, and saying to itself with anxiety: What if something had\nactually prevented her from coming, and the garden were really as\nempty as it seems, and she were not here at all. And then at last I\nreached the terrace by the pool, exactly where I saw her first, and\nlooked round with eager eyes, and she was not there. And then, just as\nI was on the verge of sinking into the black abyss of disappointment,\nall at once she came out of the shadow of a clump of great bamboos, in\nwhich she had been hiding, as it seemed, just to tease me into the\nbelief she was not there, in order to intensify the unutterable\ndelight of her abrupt appearance. And she stood still, as if to let me\nlook at her, between two bamboo stems, just touching them with the\nvery tips of the fingers of each hand, and saying in her soft sweet\nvoice with a smile: Was I not right in choosing this as the only\nproper place for thee to meet the lady of thy dream, where we met each\nother first?\n\nAnd I stood, confounded and as it were, dazed, by a vision so\nmarvellously lovely that it puzzled me, murmuring to myself: Can this\nbe Tarawali after all, and what has she done to herself, for she has\nchanged, somehow or other, into the incarnation of some deity exactly\nlike her, and she looks like an image of the wife of Wishnu[28] that\nhas somehow or other come down from its pedestal on a temple wall? For\nshe was clothed in some strange colour that hovered between pallid\nyellow and deep red, seeming to have been borrowed from the setting\nsun and the rising moon. And it was all pulled forward, so that it\nclung somehow or other tight to her rounded limbs, making her whole\noutline from head to foot look like soft marble in the moonlit dusk,\nand it was collected in front into one great heavy fold that hung\nstraight down like a red pillar from the very middle of her small\nwaist, ending just above her feet in great gold tassels, that nearly\ntouched the huge anklets of green jade with which her two little bare\nfeet were loaded, as if to help them to stand firm. And a soft broad\nband of gold ran right round her just below her lovely breast, that\nlay held in its gold cup like a great double billow made of the creamy\nlather of the sea, prevented from escaping as it swelled up by the\ndelicious dam formed by the curve of her shoulders meeting the soft\nbulge of the upper part of her rounded arms, which came out from each\nside and seemed as it were to wave gently in the air like creeper\nsprays, free and unconfined, and not like her feet, chained down, but\nabsolutely bare of any ornament at all. And on her hair was not a\nstar, but a great yellow moonstone, that shone with a dull glimmer\nlike a rival moon of her own, and over her left shoulder a long coil\nof dark hair came out from behind her head and hung down like a\nserpent, ending in a soft wisp like a yak's tail that was tied round\nwith yellow silk. And the only thing that she retained of what she was\nbefore was the intoxicating charm of the upright poise of her whole\nfigure, which seemed to say to me as I saw it: I am the one thing\nabout her which she cannot possibly hide or alter, let her do what she\nwill.\n\nAnd she stood quite still, as I gazed at her in ecstasy, lost in the\nwonder of my own eyes, looking back at me with her head just a little\non one side, and her eyebrows just a very little raised, as if with\nappeal, and great soft sweet caressing smiling eyes. And then, after a\nwhile, she said, looking down: See, my feet are prisoners to-night, to\ndo thee honour, as their lord, and they cannot walk fast or far, but\nit does not matter, as they will not be wanted, for I have a surprise\ncoming for thee, by and by. But as to my arms, I thought it better to\nleave them without the encumbrance of any ornament at all. And she\nwaved them gently in the air, and a little smile stole over her lips,\nand she said: It would only have been in the way, if the fancy should\ncome upon thee to say good-bye in thy own fashion. And now, it was\nvery difficult for me to know exactly what to do, so as to place the\nlady of thy dream before thee, since thou hast never told me what she\nlooked like in the dream. And so thou must forgive me, if I have come\nin anything short of thy expectation, for I have done what I could.\nArt thou satisfied with her, as she stands? For if not, I must call my\nsoul to the assistance of its body.\n\nAnd I stood, unable to speak or move, gazing at her almost in a swoon\nby reason of the excess of my intoxication; and after a while, I drew\na very deep sigh. And she came towards me, very slowly, as I stood\nrooted to the ground; and she put up her arms, and laid one hand on\neach shoulder, with a touch like the fall of a flake of snow. And she\nsaid: I know what is the matter: thou art spellbound by a return of\nthy original delusion. But it will leave thee, and thy senses will\nreturn to thee, once thou hast said good-bye. And then, seized with\nfrenzy, I caught her in my arms, and suddenly she prevented me from\nkissing her by putting her hand over my mouth. And she said with a\nsmile: Wait! Am I equal to Chaturika, for as it seems, thou hast been\nplaying me false? And for all answer, I took her hand, and kissed it,\nand put it round my neck, and then fell to kissing her in madness,\ncontinuing for I know not how long, bereft of my senses by the perfume\nof her hair and the touch of her arms. And then at last, I took her\nface in my hands. And I said: Away with Chaturika! Thou knowest all,\nand art only jesting: and my soul quivers in my body at the sound of\nthy name. And she laughed, as I kissed her very gently on her two\neyes, and she said: Perhaps I know: and yet, I will not forgive thee\nfor Chaturika, but on one condition. And I said: Ask anything thou\nwilt: it matters not. Then she said: Look at me very carefully, and\nthink ere thou speakest: and tell me, exactly what it is, in me, that\nchains thee so to me, which Chaturika and others are without.\n\nAnd I said: Stand still, and let me look at thee, and think. And I put\nher away, and stood back, examining her very carefully just as she had\nwished, walking round and round her, and saying to myself: It is\nabsolutely useless, for I know what to say without any need of\nlooking, and yet I do not know if I can ever bring myself to stop,\nsince she has given me, as if on purpose to delight me, a task more\ndelicious than I ever had to do before. And all the time she stood\nabsolutely still, patiently waiting till I ended, and looking at me\nevery time I came round, with raised eyebrows and a smile. And at\nlast, I could not endure it any longer, and I said: Ah! come back into\nmy arms, which hunger for thee, and I will answer. And instantly, she\ncame and stood, listening attentively, and caressing my ear unawares,\nas she listened, with her hand. And I said: Thy question is\nunanswerable, and my examination nothing to the purpose: since where\nwas the use of looking at thy lovely body to find what is only to be\nfound in thy soul, to which thy body owes the essence of even its own\nintoxication? For thy soul peeps out, from behind it, in the poise of\nthy head, and the straight erectness of its carriage, and the aroma of\nthe royalty of sex that oozes, as it were, from its every gesture,\nmixed, in some unintelligible way, with a soft grace that seems to be\nall its own. But the spell thou art asking me to catch for thee looks\nfrom thy eyes, and lurks in thy lips, and murmurs in thy marvellous\nvoice, which was silent all the while I was considering: and it is,\nsome naive and submissive gentleness in the quality of thy soul, which\nturns all thy other perfections into instruments of delirium, and yet\nnotwithstanding contradicts them all. For any other woman but thyself\npossessing even one of them would be proud, whereas thou dost not even\nseem to be aware that there is anything about thee other than the\ncommon. And as it seems to me, it is this, which is the core of thy\nirresistible fascination, giving to all thy particular elements of\nloveliness a kind of salt, that mixes with their sweetness to drive me\nmad.\n\nAnd she looked at me silently with meditative eyes; and after a while\nshe said slowly: I wish I were a man, only for a moment, to judge of\nmyself and thy answer: for in one way thou art right, since I cannot\nunderstand why all men seem to lose their reason, as soon as they see\nme. And I said: There it is again, the very thing I spoke of, in thy\nwords: and it is so simple, and yet so indescribably delicious, that\nvery glad indeed I am that thou art not a man, but a woman, and that\nit is I that am the man. And it would be a crime in the Creator to\ngratify thy wish by making thee a man, who art the very essence of all\nwomanly perfection and attraction. And for satisfaction of thy wish,\nlook at thyself through my eyes, and thy wish is attained, since I am\nmyself the very mirror provided thee by the Creator for that very\npurpose. And so learn, by my mouth, that thy spell is something in\nthee that resembles the peace of a forest pool. And even to-night, all\nthe while we have been together, thou hast been, and art, so curiously\nquiet, like the breast of a swan, bathing in the water of passion and\nemotion without even getting wet, and like the snow of Kailas, never\nmelting even in the sun of noon.\n\nAnd again she looked at me with curiosity: and she sighed, as if to\ndismiss what she could not comprehend. And she said: See! the moon has\nclimbed high, and is gazing on the lotuses, and I am tired of\nstanding, and the time has come to give thee thy surprise. And she\ndrew me away by the hand along the terrace, and down its marble steps,\ntill we came to a great tree that hung down over the water like an\numbrella, leaning from the bank of the pool, so that nothing could be\nseen through its wall. And she took me and turned me with my face to\nthe water, and she said: Stand here absolutely still, and do not look\nround, and I will bring thee thy surprise. And then she went quickly\ninto the trees.\n\nAnd I stood waiting, exactly as I was told, listening to her steps as\nshe went away, and wondering where she was going, and what she was\nmeditating, and what the surprise was, when it came. And so as I\nstood, I said to myself: Can I really be awake, or is it all only a\nlong dream? For I seem to have been dreaming ever since I saw her\nfirst. And time slipped away, and still I stood, straining my ears for\nthe sound of her steps returning, and dying to look round, but never\nlooking, and haunted by a feeling that was almost terror, saying to\nmyself: Why is she away so long, and what if she never returns at all?\n\nAnd so as I stood, with my soul in my ears, turned as it were behind\nme, suddenly there came round the tree upon the water a great boat of\nthe colour of a lotus leaf, turned up at each end like the neck of a\nswan. And it came straight towards me, and as it reached me, its\nboatman stood up, looking at me with a smile.\n\nAnd I started, and all at once I laughed aloud, for amazement and\ndelight: and even so, I hardly knew her to be herself. For she had\ncast away all her deity, and turned herself into a _cheti_, resembling\na fragrant essence of midnight without a moon, clothed with absolute\nsimplicity in soft dead black, with her own dark hair for her only\ndecoration, tied in a knot around her head like a cloud of misty\nintoxication, and floating about her shoulders in confusion. And she\nlooked at me with questioning eyes that shone bright in the moon's\nrays, and said naively, with a smile that almost broke my heart in\ntwo: Now I am within a little of being equal to Chaturika? Is the maid\na substitute for the queen that has disappeared?\n\nAnd as I gazed at her in rapture without giving any answer, she said\nagain: See! now we will float for a little while among the\nmoon-lotuses, before we say good-bye. And this is thy surprise. And it\nis a delight that I keep for myself alone, and very few indeed are\nprivileged to share it: but to-night, I am the lady of thy dream, and\nI will not do my favours by halves: and so thou shalt be my partner.\nAnd this is my swan's nest, and my floating cradle, in which I do my\ndreaming: for I can dream dreams as well as thou. And now I am going\nto dream a little, and we will dream together. And come, for the\nlotuses are waiting for us.\n\nAnd I got into the boat, and pushed it out upon the water, and she\ncame to me of her own accord, and locked her arms around my neck. And\nwe drifted to and fro, exactly as the boat chose, on the silent black\nmirror of the pool, never saying a single word, but kissing each other\ninsatiably with lips that were never tired, lost in the bottomless\nabyss of the ecstasy of mutual union. And all the time she bathed me\nwith the beauty of her eyes, that like the pool, drew the moonlight\ndown into their dark depths, caressing me with soft hands that touched\nme like the fall of a leaf, and lips that smiled and trembled like the\nshadows of the lotuses in the still water's swirl. And the moon rose\nhigher and higher, and the night crept unobserved away, for I was\nutterly unconscious of the passage of any time. And then at last as I\nlay, worn out and overcome by the excess of my own emotion, and\nlulled by the gentle drifting of the boat, and wrapt in the delirium\nof oblivion arising from the unimaginable reality of the lady of my\ndream, unawares I fell asleep.\n\n\nXVI\n\nAnd when I awoke, lo! the moon was standing on the very edge of the\nwestern sky, and dawn was glimmering in the east. And the Queen was\ngone! And I leaped out of the boat, which was fastened to the bank,\nand ran up into the garden, which was as dark and as empty of anything\nliving as a tomb. And after looking for her a long time in vain, at\nlast in despair I went away to the door, and knocked, and it was\nopened; and there stood, not the _pratihari_, but Chaturika. And I\nsaid: Chaturika, what has become of the Queen? And she said, with\nemphasis: Forget the Queen, and remember thy father: it is time.\n\nAnd I started, as if she had run a poisoned needle into my ears; for I\nhad utterly forgotten all about him. And no sooner had I got out of\nthe palace than I ran all the way home through the empty streets. And\nI found my horse waiting, and I sprang on him, just as I was, and I\nwent out of Kamalapura, making for the desert as if I were running a\nrace with the god of death, to determine which of us should reach my\nfather first. And yet as I rode, I was thinking all the time of one\nthing only, to return, quicker even than I went away, and listening\nto my heart that sang without ceasing Tarawali, Tarawali, as if\nkeeping time to the rattle of the hoofs of the horse. And after a\nwhile, I began to say: If I am to return, it will have to be on\nanother horse: for whatever else dies, or does not die, this horse\nwill die, beyond a doubt, either at the end of his race, or it may be,\neven before.\n\nAnd it happened as I said. For suddenly the horse fell, to rise no\nmore, while yet there was far to go: leaving me alone in the desert,\nwith the sun right over my head. And I exclaimed: Alas! out upon fate,\nand out upon my own folly, for now I have killed my horse, that I\nloved better than my own soul! Alas! my horse was like my good\nfortune.[29] And if I had only started in the night, he would have had\nan easy journey, going slower in the cool hours. And I have offered my\nhorse a sacrifice, and it may be, my kingdom also, to my deity\nTarawali. And yet, what does it matter, after all? Is she not worth\nall the horses, and all the kingdoms in the world? Aye! I would give\nthem all, for another sunset like last night, with the lady of my\ndream. But what is to be done now? There is absolutely no help for it,\nand I must finish my journey how I can, going slowly on my own feet.\n\nAnd as I said, so I did: and so it came about, that faint and tired\nand overcome, by hunger and thirst and the long journey and the\nfierceness of the desert sun, I began to reach my own city only as he\nwas going down. And as I slowly drew near it, making all the haste I\ncould, suddenly there fell on my ear a sound, coming to me from the\ncity, that smote it like a blow. And I stopped short, to listen; and\nall the hair on my body stood erect. And I said slowly to myself: I\nhave lost the race, after all, for they are wailing in the city, and\nit can be for one thing only, that it is widowed of its King. Aye! I\nam too late. And I have killed my horse for nothing, since Death has\narrived before me, after all, having annihilated my competition, by\ntaking my horse upon the way. And I have reached my journey's end,\njust in time to hear the wailing, as if Death were jeering at me,\nsaying as it were in irony: They must travel very fast who think to\noutstrip me.\n\nAnd I went on to the palace, never stopping at the gate to ask what I\nalready knew. And they ran to warn my mother, and she came out of the\nwomen's quarters, and stood looking at me grimly, covered as I was\nwith dust and perspiration, and almost ready to fall down, for sheer\nfatigue. And then she said: Fool! thou art too late, and thy brother\nhas the throne. And now thou art little better than an outcast, and\nhast lost thy father, and thy crown, and me.\n\nAnd I looked at her, and I said: When did the King die? And she said:\nSunset.\n\nAnd I uttered a shout of laughter, and threw my hands into the air,\nand fell at her feet in a swoon.\n\n\nXVII\n\nAnd when I had recovered, in a day or two, I came, so to say, to terms\nwith my loss and my condition: saying to myself: After all, my father\nhad to die, whether I came to him in time, or not: and I could not\nhave saved his life, by my coming, no matter when I came. And so, the\nonly thing I lost, by coming late, is my _raj_. But what do I care for\nany _raj_, which, in comparison with Tarawali, resembles a mere pinch\nof dust, thrown into the other scale? Away with the miserable _raj_!\nas if another sunset with the Queen would not be cheaply purchased at\nthe price of all the kingdoms in the world! And I passed my days of\nabsence in doing absolutely nothing but thinking of Tarawali, and\nwaiting, with a soul almost unable to endure, till the moment of\nreturn. And I sent a secret messenger to Kamalapura, saying to him: Go\nto the palace gate, and ask the _pratihari_ for a _cheti_ called\nChaturika. And when she comes, tell her by word of mouth, so that\nnobody may hear thee but herself: Greetings to the Queen from\nShatrunjaya, who has lost his throne on her account, and does not\ncare. And when the obsequies are over, he will return to Kamalapura,\non the night before the moon is full.\n\nAnd having sent him off, I waited, while the obsequies went slowly on,\nwith a soul that almost parted from its body with impatience for an\nanswer to my message that might help me to keep alive, saying to\nmyself: She cannot send Chaturika, as she did before, since it is too\nfar off for anything but a letter or a message, which will have to do\ninstead. But neither a letter nor a message ever came: though in the\nmeanwhile, my messenger returned with empty hands. And I tortured him\nwith questions, but all he had to say was that Chaturika had listened,\nand bidden him to go away. And notwithstanding my bitter\ndisappointment, I racked my brain to find excuses for them both,\nsaying: I am a fool. How could I expect any reply, since after all I\nnever put a question, and silence was the only answer to be given: and\nbeyond all doubt, she is waiting till I come? And is it likely that\nshe would trust a message to a man she did not know? She is keeping\nher answer to be sent in the form of a summons on the eve of the full\nmoon, which was the only answer I was asking for. And yet, in spite of\nall that I could think of to cool the fever that burned in my heart, I\nchafed and pined, sick with anxiety and disappointment, and longing in\nvain for the thing that never came. And I said sadly to myself: Well,\nonly too well, she knew, that the very shadow of a sign of any kind,\nfrom her, would have set my heart dancing like a peacock at the first\nsymptom of the coming of the rain. Or can it be, after all, that she\nreally did send an answer, which has somehow or other lost its way?\nAye! no doubt, it must be so, for she is kind, and could not bear to\nthink of the misery she knew I must be suffering every moment that I\nam not by her side.\n\nAnd so, perforce, I waited, gnawing at my own heart, until at last\nthe funeral ceremonies were over. And instantly, I took leave of my\nmother, and turned my back on my relations, and set off at a gallop\nfor Kamalapura, with my heart singing for delight, like an arrow from\na bow.\n\n\nXVIII\n\nAnd I reached it, exactly as I said, on the eve of the full moon. And\nI said to myself, with exultation: Ha! to-morrow night, it will be\nfull, and red, and round, exactly as it was a month ago, and shining\nas it did before, upon the boat, and Tarawali, and me. And at the\nthought, I laughed aloud, for sheer joy, and came to my own door, and\nwent in. And lo! the very first thing that I saw, when I entered, was\nmy lute, lying on the floor with a broken string, and looking at me,\nas it were, with reproach. For a ray of moonlight fell exactly on it\nas it lay, as though to say: See! the moonlight falls not alone on\nhappy lovers, but on those that are deserted! And my heart smote me,\nas I looked at it, and I exclaimed: Alas! my old love, thou art indeed\ndiscarded for another; for I have not given thee a single thought,\never since I saw her first. Bitter indeed must be the sorrow of one\nthat is cast, like thyself, aside! And then, I threw myself upon my\nbed, forgetting instantly my lute and every other thing in the delight\nof the anticipation of the coming day. And I slept all night, floating\nas it were on a dark wave of the ocean of sweet expectation, and\nsmiling so to say in my sleep.\n\nAnd when morning came, I arose, and went to and fro, singing aloud for\njoy, and saying to myself: Now the moment of reunion approaches, and\nthe miserable fever of separation is nearing its end, for the sun has\narisen and is rushing to his home in the western mountain, and his\nrace, and my desolation, will finish exactly together. And now,\nChaturika is on her way, and will soon be here, looking like the dawn\nof my delight in a delicious feminine form. And she will look at me\nwith her laughing eyes, and murmur, Sunset, exactly as before: and\nexactly as before, I shall kiss her, and send her back to the Queen.\nAnd so I waited eagerly, on the very tiptoe of expectation, with my\neyes fixed upon the door. But day slowly travelled on, and yet she\nnever came. And little by little, my delight slowly turned into\nperplexity, and anxiety, till at last, as hour succeeded hour, each\nlonger than a _yuga_, my heart began to sink, lower and lower still,\nand I became actually sick with the agony of my disappointment. For\nthe sun was indeed rushing down into the night, and yet she never\ncame. And time after time, I went to the door, and opened it, and\nlooked out, but no Chaturika was there, and nothing was to be seen but\nthe people in the street.\n\nAnd when at last night actually fell, and found me still waiting, I\ncould endure no longer, but I threw myself upon my bed, and lay in a\nstupor in the dark, abandoning all hope, and on the very verge of\ncrying like a child. And I said to myself: Is she ill, or is she dead,\nor has she gone away, or what on earth can be the matter? Or can it\nbe, after all, that my messenger played me false, and never went? For\nif she really got my message, long ago she would surely have sent\nChaturika to summon me, knowing that it was impossible for me to come\nof my own accord, and that I should be sitting waiting with my heart\non fire for her summons to arrive. And so I lay, tossing all night\nlong sleepless on my bed, and cursing the moon, which poured as if to\nmock me a silver flood of light upon the floor, seeming to say: Think\nwhat a night it must be in the garden! until in an agony of\nreminiscence and humiliation, I turned my back to it, and lay with my\nface to the wall. And when at last day returned, I arose and sat, in\ndeep dejection, worn out, and at my wits' very end, never even daring\nto look towards the door, which remained obstinately shut. And all day\nlong I sat still in a kind of dream, neither eating nor drinking, and\nhopelessly waiting still. And at last once more the sun went down,\nafter a day that was longer than a year, leaving me lying in the dark.\n\nAnd I know not how I got through the night, which I shudder even to\nremember; but when morning came, I was within a very little of being\nmad. And burning with fever, hot and cold by turns, for sheer\nimpotence I got up and went out, and wandered up and down the streets,\ntill at last for weariness I was obliged to return, though the thought\nof my deserted house was almost more horrible than death. And all at\nonce, I looked up, and lo! there was Chaturika herself, coming towards\nme in the street.\n\n\nXIX\n\nAnd at the sight of her, my heart leaped into my mouth, for she\nresembled the very last link that joined me to the Queen, in a\nfeminine form. But at the very moment that I saw her, she saw me also;\nand she turned away, pretending not to see me, and went round the\ncorner into another street. And instantly, I leaped after her like a\ndeer, and caught her, almost running to escape me. And then, seeing\nthat there was absolutely no help for it, she stopped, and stood\nlooking at me with defiance, like an animal at bay.\n\nAnd presently I said: Dost thou not know me, that thou runnest so fast\nto get away? And she said: I never saw thee: I was only in a hurry.\nAnd I said: Now, from bad, it is worse; thou art lying. And why,\ninstead of running away, art thou not rather hastening to meet me?\nHast thou no message for me from the Queen? And she said: No: none.\nAnd I exclaimed: What! none? Did not my message come to thee? And she\nsaid, reluctantly: It came. Then I said: Then the Queen must know that\nI am here. And why has she never sent? And Chaturika said: Is it for\nme to give orders to the Queen? How can I know why she does not want\nthy presence? If she did, she would send. I am not the mistress, but\nonly the maid: is Chaturika the equal of Tarawali?\n\nAnd as she spoke, the tears rose into my eyes, for I remembered the\nwords of Tarawali, as she stood up in the boat. And I took her by the\nhand, and looked into her eyes. And I said slowly: Thou knowest only\ntoo well, for if thou art not her equal, thou art at least her\nfamiliar. And now, then, cheat me not: since the matter is to me one\nof life or death. Am I thy enemy, or art thou mine? Was it not only\nthe other day that thou didst kiss me of thy own accord, as I have\nsat, these last two days, hoping against hope for thee to come and do\nagain? And what have I done, to bring about such change? I liked thee\nbetter, far better, laughing: thou wert so joyous, and so pretty, and\nlike the ecstasy in my own heart, in a woman's form. Aye! as I looked\nat thee, it made my heart echo, to hear thee laugh, since we were both\nof us devotees of one and the same deity, Tarawali, thy Queen and\nmine. And now, something has come about, I know not how, to spoil it\nall.\n\nAnd as I spoke, all unconsciously I gripped the hand that I held of\nhers in mine, and it may be, that my hand whispered to her own what my\nvoice alone strove in vain to say. For as I gazed at her in anguish,\nwith tears in my eyes, strange! all at once I saw her face change, and\nher lip quiver, and tears stealing, as if against her will, into her\neyes too. And she tried to laugh, without succeeding: and all at once,\nshe squeezed my hand that held her own, with force. And she said, in a\nvoice that trembled as it spoke, half laughing and half weeping:\nNectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away. And\nsuddenly she snatched her hand away from mine, and turned as if to\ngo.\n\nAnd I took her by the shoulder as she stood with her face averted, and\nI said: See, Chaturika, my life is in thy hands. Come, do me this last\nfavour, and I will never trouble thee any more. Wilt thou go straight\nto the Queen, and say I met thee in the street, and somehow or other,\nby hook or crook, contrive, that she shall send for me again, and very\nsoon, for otherwise I cannot live much longer? Wilt thou? Wilt thou?\nAnd she hung her head, and said in a voice so low that I could hardly\nhear it: I will try. And I said: Go then, for I will delay thee no\nlonger. And yet, listen! Come to me often, as thou art passing by, for\nthe very sight of thee is life.\n\nAnd without speaking, she rolled her head up in her veil, and went\naway very quickly. And I stood, looking after her as she went: saying\nto myself: There goes my last hope. And lucky for me it was that I\ncaught her: for without her, I would by this have driven my own sword\nhome into my heart.\n\n\nXX\n\nAnd I went home feeling like a man saved from the very mouth of death,\nsaying to myself: Now then, happen what will! for at least I have\nsecured the key of the door leading to Tarawali, in the form of her\nmaid. And now, it may be, I shall see her very soon. For beyond a\ndoubt, there has been some blunder, or perhaps she was occupied with\nbusiness of moment, that left her no leisure for affairs like mine.\nAnd all my fears may have been in vain. And at least, I can wait with\nhope, and not as I did before, in horrible despair, cut off from every\nmeans of communication. And I sat with a heart almost at peace,\nprepared to wait till the coming of Chaturika on the following day.\nBut it turned out contrary to my expectation. For I had been waiting\nfor little more than a single hour, when there came a knock at the\ndoor. And when I opened, there stood Chaturika again. And she said\nrapidly: The Queen will await thee in the garden to-night at sunset.\n\nAnd I exclaimed, with a shout of joy: Ha! sunset! It is as I thought.\nWell I knew there was some mistake, and that she could not fail. And\nbeyond a doubt, she had forgotten the time, remembering only when\nreminded by thee. Victory to thee, O Chaturika! for to thee alone I\nowe the sunset, and now I will give thee for it almost anything thou\ncanst ask. And Chaturika said: Give me nothing. And she stood in\nsilence, looking at me with strange eyes, in which, as it seemed, pity\nand curiosity seemed to be mingled with compunction and some element\nthat I could not understand. And suddenly she came to me, and laid her\nhand upon my arm. And she whispered very quickly, as if she was half\nafraid of what she said: Do not go. And then, she turned and vanished\nfrom the room, as if to escape before I had time to ask for\nexplanation.\n\nAnd I said to myself, looking after her in wonder: What! do not go? So\nthen, as it seems, there will be danger. But little does she know me,\nif she thinks that any danger would keep me from the Queen. And\nindeed, in the garden there is room for any number of assassins, if\nNarasinha or anybody else were jealous of my visiting Tarawali.\nDanger! And I laughed in derision, that was mixed with intoxication,\nas if the very notion of danger from a rival added, somehow or other,\nto the sweetness of anticipation, by stamping me as a claimant to the\naffection of Tarawali who was greatly to be feared. And all at once,\nlight broke in, as it were, upon my soul. And I cried out in ecstasy:\nDanger! Ha! at last, all the mystery is solved. It was danger that\nprevented my Tarawali from sending me any message or bidding me to\ncome. And all the while she knew it, and she had to be very careful,\nfearing for my life. And suddenly, I struck my hands together, and I\ncried: Ha! what a fool I am! Why, she told me so herself, when I saw\nher for the second time, and yet I had forgotten it. And all this\nwhile, in the peevishness of my own oblivion and presumption, I have\nbeen blaming her, expecting things utterly unreasonable, and loading\nher extraordinary sweetness with miserable suspicions arising from my\nown imagination, and the blindness of my insatiable passion. Ah!\nTarawali, forgive me if I wronged thee! But I will make it up to thee\nto-night, and beg for thy divine forgiveness at thy feet. And all this\nhesitation was all the while only on my account: and yet, brute that I\nwas! I never guessed it, till Chaturika gave me, as it were, a hint,\nand put me upon the scent. And what else was her delay but an\nirrefutable proof of her affection, showing that she chose even to\nallow herself to be misinterpreted rather than let me run on her\naccount into the danger that she knew.\n\nAnd instantly, all the clouds of darkness and desolation rolled away\nin a body from my soul, leaving it bathing in the ruddy glow of\nsunset, and passion, and emotion, exactly as it was before. And I\nwaited, plunged in the ecstasy of reminiscence and anticipation, till\nat last the sun began to sink. And then, once more I went, on feet\ndancing with agitation and delight, to the palace gates, and saw the\n_pratihari_ standing waiting as before. And as I entered, never\ndoubting that she had instructions of my coming, she barred the way,\nsaying: What is thy business? And I said: I have come by appointment\nto see the Queen. Then said the _pratihari_: Thou must come another\ntime, for the Queen is not here.\n\nAnd I stopped short, as if she had suddenly run a dagger into my\nheart. And I said in a low voice: Not here? It cannot be. Thou art\nmistaken. And the _pratihari_ said: There is no mistake at all. She is\ngone. And I said: Gone? Where? When? And she said: She went within\nthis hour, to visit her maternal uncle; for want, as I think, of\nsomething better to do. And when she will return, I cannot say.\n\nAnd then, my heart stopped. And I stood for a single instant, erect,\nand I turned, as if to go away. And all at once, there came from the\nvery middle of my heart, a cry, that tore me as it were to pieces,\nand I fell in the street like a dead man.\n\n\nXXI\n\nAnd when I came back to myself, I looked, and saw an old man with a\nlong white beard gazing at me with anxiety, sitting by my bed in which\nI was lying, having been brought home I know not how as I lay in a\nswoon. And when he saw me look at him, he began to rub his hands\ntogether, with a little laugh. And he said: Ha! then, as it seems,\nafter all, thy soul has returned at last: and it was time. For it had\nbeen away so long that I was beginning to doubt whether it had not\nsaid good-bye to thy body, for good and all. And now it has come back\nafter all, by the favour of Ganapati, and the help of the Ayurweda,\nand one of Dhanwantari's[30] most unworthy devotees. And I said\nslowly: How long have I been dead? Then said that old physician: It is\nnow nearly sunset again, and thou hast lain there without moving ever\nsince they brought thee here from the street, about the time of\nsunset, yesterday. And now what is it, that has struck thee down, as\nif by a thunderbolt? For how can the physician cure, unless the\npatient tells him of his case?\n\nAnd I closed my eyes for a while, as if to rest: and after a while I\nsaid: O father, there is nothing to tell, to one of thy experience and\nskill: for since childhood, it happens to me, every now and then, to\nfall down and lie in a trance: and when once I come back, all is over,\nand I go on as before, till next time. And now there is nothing to be\ndone, but for me to reward thee for thy care, to which I owe my life.\nAnd though it is a thing of little or no worth, I will count it, for\nthy sake, as if it were a thing of price. And I gave that old man\ngold, and sent him away delighted, for all I wanted was to be rid of\nhim as quickly as I could, lest I should fall into a fever and begin\nto rave, and betray my secret against my will.\n\nAnd then, for many days, I lay, living very slowly, like one in a long\ndream, drinking water, and eating almost nothing, and going over in my\nmind every detail of my life since first I saw the Queen. And it\nseemed to me, as I mused, as if I had died long ago; and everything\nappeared to me like something that had happened long ago, to some\nother than myself. And day very slowly followed day, and life came\nback to me as it were with hesitating steps, as though it knew that it\nwas coming to one that scarcely cared to bid it welcome. And then at\nlast there came a day when I looked about with curiosity to see what\nmight be seen, and lo! there in a corner lay my lute upon the floor.\n\nSo, after a while, I said: Lute, canst thou tell me, how it feels to\nbe discarded? And I went and took it up, and strung it, and began to\nplay. And as fate would have it, there came over the strings as I\ntouched them a sadness like my own, that seemed to say: Come, we are\nfellow-sufferers, and now let us weep together, since there is\nabsolutely nothing else to do. And suddenly, the lute fell from my\nhands of its own accord, and I fell with it upon the floor. And I\nwept, as if my very soul was about to abandon my body, for sheer\ndespair. And as I wept, I came slowly back to the self I was before;\nyet so, that the half of me was left behind, and lost for ever. And I\nsaid to myself: I have been robbed by Tarawali of all that was worth\nanything in my soul, and it only remains to consider, what is the next\nthing to be done.\n\nAnd that very evening, I went out of my house for the first time since\nI fell down. And avoiding the streets, I wandered along by bypaths,\ntill I reached the river bank. And I hid myself in the bushes, and lay\nwatching the sun go down across the river, and thinking of Tarawali\nand her pool, till unawares I went to sleep. And how long I slept I\nknow not, but I woke suddenly in the night, roused by the voices of\ntwo that were talking close beside me, not knowing there was anyone\nby, to overhear. And as I listened carelessly without curiosity, all\nat once there fell on my ear the name of Narasinha.\n\nAnd instantly, I crawled, like a panther, little by little, nearer to\nthose two talkers, until I could easily hear everything they said. And\none was saying to the other: It will be very easy, and the reward is\nvery large. Then the other said: But why does Narasinha want to have\nhim slain at all? And the first voice answered: What a question!\nAnyone can see that thou art a stranger to this city. Dost thou not\nknow that he is the lover of the Queen, aye! and so, that she is more\nthan his life? And yet, for all that, he cannot keep her to himself,\nsince she is not only a Queen, and above all his controlling, but also\na lady of many lovers, roaming like a bee, from flower to flower, as\nshe will, and yet leaving each in the lurch almost as soon as it is\ntasted, being as unsteady as the flame of a lamp in the wind, and as\ndeep and as crooked as a river, amusing herself as if she were a\nfemale _trinamani_[31] by watching the irresistible effect of her own\nattraction on the straws that she finds and throws away, as soon as\nshe has tested them, regardless of what afterwards becomes of them,\nsince they are then absolutely useless, resembling mere husks, whose\nkernel she has eaten. And if he could bear to do without her,\nNarasinha would slay her out of jealousy with his own hands: but as it\nis, he cannot, however much she laughs in his face. And so he repays\nhimself by wreaking his vengeance on her lovers, in lieu of herself:\nand one by one, they all pay the penalty of their presumption, in\nhaving anything to do with her, with their lives: giving him hard work\nto do, since she finds and casts off a new lover almost every day. And\nof all, the only one that has escaped is Shatrunjaya, the mad player,\nwho lost his reason altogether when he found himself cast adrift\nwithout knowing why: and was accordingly passed over by Narasinha, as\nnot even needing to be killed, since he was as good as dead already,\nand beyond the reach of revenge.\n\nAnd the second voice said: What a fool must this Shatrunjaya have\nbeen, to go mad, over such an _abhisarika_ as this Queen! Then said\nthe first with emphasis: Thou art thyself the fool, speaking at random\nwithout ever having seen her: for she is a very Shri, laughing all the\nother women to utter scorn; and small wonder that he fell a victim to\nsuch a spell, being as he is very young. And moreover, she is the\ncleverest woman in the three worlds, and easily persuades every lover\nthat she is doing as he wishes to oblige him, and not as is really the\ncase making him a puppet of her own. And not one of them all ever even\nknows of the existence of any other lover than himself. And\nShatrunjaya is all the more to be excused, because she really took a\nmomentary fancy to him, and cloyed him for a day or two with nectar\nthat soon turned poison, as Chaturika says.\n\nAnd the second voice said: Who is Chaturika? And the first replied:\nShe is the niece of my cousin on the mother's side, and she tells me\nall. And Tarawali took her for a confidential _cheti_ on account of\nher cleverness and beauty: as well she might, since the little jade is\nvery pretty, and clever enough to be prime minister to any king. And\nbetween the two of them, who are more than a match for any man that\never lived, Shatrunjaya had no chance at all. Little did he know\nTarawali, thinking to keep her beauty to himself, or confine the\nocean of her charms to a tank! Poor fool! what a trick they played\nhim! For Chaturika says, that Tarawali gave another lover the very\n_rendezvous_ she fixed for him, bidding her _pratihari_ say she was\ngone. Well he might go mad, for as I think, any other man might lose\nhis reason, to be kept standing outside the door, while his mistress\nwas kissing another man!\n\nAnd he laughed out loud, as he ended: but I rose up from the ground,\ndrawing my _kattari_ from its sheath. And I leaped out of the bushes\nsuddenly upon those two laughers, who took me for a ghost in the form\nof the god of death. And I struck at one with the knife, and as luck\nwould have it, I all but severed his head from his body at a single\nsweep. And I turned upon the other as he stood terror-stricken,\nstaring at me with open mouth, and I said: Thy jest was very good, but\nmine is better still. I am Shatrunjaya, and not mad after all: but\nthou shalt not tell my secret to Narasinha; whom I will send after\nthee in good time. And I struck the knife into his eye, so hard, that\nI could scarcely pull it out again by putting my foot upon his head.\n\nAnd I left them lying, and went home quickly, laughing to myself, and\nsaying: Now they are paid beforehand, with their work still to do, in\ncoin very different from that of Narasinha. And his own turn will\ncome, by and by. And I wonder whose life I have saved, for I never\ncaught his name. But no matter: I have learned, what is left for me to\ndo: and it only remains to determine on the way. Alas! Narasinha, thy\nstar is beginning to decline. Thou hast just lost thy assassins, and\npresently I will deprive thee of Tarawali, and last, I will rob thee\nof thy life.\n\n\nXXII\n\nAnd then, day by day, I rose early in the morning, and ate the\nbreakfast of a bull-elephant, and went out into the streets, hunting,\nnot for a forest beast, but for a human quarry. And I roamed up and\ndown through the city all day long, examining everything I met that\nhad the shape of a woman with the eye of a hunting leopard. And so I\ncontinued, day after day, without success. And then at last, on the\nnight of the Dipawali, when the streets were full of people, suddenly\nI saw her coming straight towards me. But she never saw me, by reason\nof the crowd: and the prey is not thinking of the hunter, when the\nhunter is thinking of the prey. And I hid myself in a doorway, and let\nher pass by; and I followed her with stealthy steps until at last she\nturned away into a narrow lane that resembled the jaws of death. And I\ncaught her up with silent tread, and all at once I took her by the\nwrist as she went, with a grip like an iron band.\n\nAnd she turned and saw me, and she started, and uttered a faint cry.\nAnd instantly I said: Cry out, even once, and I will sever thy head\nfrom its body. Make absolutely no noise, and I will do thee absolutely\nno harm. But come with me, for I need thee for a little while. I have\nbeen at pains to find thee, and now I will not let thee go. But unless\nthou dost exactly as I tell thee, I will treat thee as I did thy\naccomplice on the river bank, a little while ago. And she turned a\nlittle paler as she listened, understanding that I did not speak in\njest. And I said: Go on before me, in silence, to my house, for well\nthou art acquainted with the way. And I will follow, just behind, and\nif thou makest, as thou goest, so much as a sign, thy head will roll\nfrom its shoulders on the instant. And she bowed her head, and went.\nAnd when we reached the door, I opened it and we went in. And I shut\nthe door, and there was no other light than the moonlight, which fell\nin a flood upon the floor. And I said: Sit there in the moonlight, for\nI have something to say to thee. And she sat upon the floor, watching\nme with fascination like a bird before a snake.\n\nAnd I walked to and fro before her, and suddenly I stopped, and I\nsaid: Tell me, O Chaturika, what would the Queen say, if I told her of\nthy habit of babbling to thy relations of her secrets? And for answer,\nChaturika began to sob, grovelling upon the floor at my feet. And I\nsaid: Sit still, thou little fool, and listen: for thou shalt earn my\nforgiveness by doing as I bid thee: and if not, I will save the Queen\ntrouble by becoming thy executioner myself. To-morrow night, I must\nsee her in the garden as before: and it can only be by thy\ncontrivance. And now, how is it to be done?\n\nAnd Chaturika said, weeping: To-morrow night it cannot be, since she\nhas given that evening to another. And moreover, for thee every night\nis equally impossible, for she will not see thee any more. And how\ncanst thou pass the _pratihari_, or enter by the door, without her\npermission? And now between the Queen and thee, I am in the jaws of\ndeath. For thou wilt slay me, if I do not find thee entrance into the\ngarden: and she will, if I do.\n\nAnd I looked at her with scrutiny and I said: I will help thee out of\njeopardy. There must be another entrance to the garden. Is there no\nother door? And she said unwillingly: There is, but none can enter\nfrom without, unless he has the key, which the Queen trusts to no\ncustody but her own.\n\nAnd I said: Then the way is found, luckily for thee: and thou art\nsaved, since none will ever guess thy part in the arranging for my\nentry, if as I imagine thou art only sufficiently adroit to procure\nfor me a key without her knowledge. And that I leave to thee, only be\ncareful to bring it in good time, before to-morrow evening. And in the\nmeanwhile, go and tell that other lover that the Queen has changed her\nmind: and put him off to any other day, it does not matter which,\nseeing that it will never come at all: since for the future, I am\ngoing to be the only lover of the Queen.\n\nAnd then, Chaturika looked at me in such amazement that it deprived\nher for an instant of her terror, and suddenly she began to laugh. And\nI stooped and lifted her, and whirled her in the air, and stood her\nbreathless on her feet. And I took her two hands and held them tight,\nand I said: Dost thou feel what thou art in hands like mine, a\nfeather, and a nothing, and a straw? Now listen and be wise. Stand out\nof the way, between the Queen and me, for we shall crush thee, and the\nbattle is one that I mean to win. And now I am going to show her\nsomething that she never saw before, the strength of a man: for a\nwoman presumes, forgetting altogether that she owes all to the\nforbearance of one who can sweep her away if he chooses, like a wild\nelephant snapping a twig. And if anything goes amiss by any treachery\nof thine, I will break thee in pieces with my bare hands, hide where\nthou wilt, making it unnecessary even to betray thee to the Queen. And\nnow, what have I ordered thee to do?\n\nAnd Chaturika said humbly, quivering like a wild heifer that is\nsuddenly tamed by the sound of a tiger's roar: To put off a lover and\nbring thee a key.\n\nAnd I said: Thou hast still forgotten the thing without which both are\nuseless, and that is, to show me the outside of the door to be opened\nby the key. And that thou shalt do at once. Go out now, and walk\nwithout stopping straight to the door: and I will follow in thy steps.\nAnd do not look back, until thou art standing just beside it, and then\nturn for a single instant, and meet my eye without a sign. And then\nbegone where thou wilt until to-morrow.\n\nAnd I opened the door and let her out, and she went away very quickly,\nleading me through the city and past the palace gates, and a long way\nround the palace wall, until at last she suddenly came to a dead stop,\nbeside a little door in the wall, that stood exactly opposite a ruined\ntemple of the great god. And there she turned and looked at me, and\nthen continued on her way until she disappeared. And I stood and\nwatched her go, saying to myself: I think she will bring me the key\nto-morrow, without dreaming of betraying me: for I scared her almost\nto death, and she is frightened. And I was very sorry for her, and yet\nit was the only thing to do, for there was no other means of reducing\nher to absolute submission. And yet she was beautiful to look at, even\nso, resembling as she did a feminine incarnation of audacity suddenly\nchanged into unconditional obedience by standing between two appalling\ndangers, and only doubting which was the most to be feared. And very\nstrange is the difference fixed by the Creator between a woman and a\nman: since the very timidity that makes him utterly contemptible only\nmakes her even more beautifully delicious than she was before.\n\n\nXXIII\n\nAnd next day, I waited all the morning for Chaturika to come, and noon\narrived without her coming. And I said to myself as I sat waiting: She\nwill come by and by, and I cannot expect her very early, for she may\nhave many other things to do as well as mine. And it may be no easy\ntask that I have given her to do. And now, what am I to say to\nTarawali, when I come upon her in the garden, and see her, O ecstasy!\nagain? And strange! at the very thought of seeing her again, my heart\nbegan to burn, as if turning traitor to my own determination. And I\nsaid sadly to myself: Alas! I am afraid, or rather I am sure, that the\nvery sight of her will be like a flood, in which every fragment of my\nresentment against her for treating me as she has done, and every atom\nof my resolution, and every recollection of all that I have heard to\nher discredit, will be swept away like chips and straws. Do what she\nmay, I cannot drive my affection for her out of my heart, which\nobstinately clings to her image, utterly refusing to be torn away. And\nnotwithstanding all that those two rascals said in her disparagement,\nmy soul laughs them to utter scorn, telling them they lie. And who\nknows? For who could believe that a body so unutterably lovely could\nharbour a soul so unutterably base as they said, on evidence such as\ntheirs? Aye! my recollection of her soul is an argument in her favour\nthat nothing that they said can overcome, and I could forgive her\nabsolutely anything, when I think of the gentle sweetness that echoed\nin her every word, resembling a perfume somehow mixed with her voice.\nAnd yet if my resolution wavers, even now, how will it be when she\nactually stands before me as she will to-night? And yet, how is it\npossible to absolve her for her inexplicable behaviour to me?\n\nAnd so as I mused, touching all unconsciously the strings of my lute\nwhich was lying in my hands suddenly a thought came into my mind of\nits own accord. And I took the lute and unstrung it, and chose from\namong its strings one, which I rolled like a bangle on my wrist. And I\nsaid to the lute aloud: Old love, we will work together: for if indeed\nshe is my enemy, she is thine as well. And if, as those assassins\nsaid, she is only a body without a soul, playing on us both merely for\nher own amusement, then we will give her together a music lesson of a\nnovel kind, and teach her that the deadliest of all poisons is a love\nthat has been betrayed.\n\nAnd suddenly I heard loud laughter, like an echo to my words. And I\nlooked up, and lo! there was Haridasa, standing in the open door. And\nhe said: What is this, O Shatrunjaya? Whom art thou about to poison,\nor who is going to poison thee? And hast thou solved thy problem,\nsince I saw thee from the camel's back, pondering on thy own beauty?\nOr hast thou arrived already at the poison in the bottom of love's\ncup? How is good advice thrown away upon a fool! Did I not warn thee?\nWilt thou never understand that the nectar of a woman is like the red\nof dusk, lasting for but an instant, and like the cream of milk,\nturning sour if it is kept, and like foam of the sea, which exists\nonly during agitation, melting away into bitterness and ordinary water\nas soon as it is still? As indeed every woman well knows, without\nneeding to be told, and therefore it is that she is nectar always to a\nstranger, and insipid, even when she is not very disagreeable, to her\nfriends, losing her fascination, like the thirst of the antelope[32]\non Marusthali, for all that approach her too near: since all her\ndelusion depends upon her distance, and vanishes altogether by\nproximity. Keep her always at a distance, O Shatrunjaya, if thou art\nanxious to remain under the spell.\n\nAnd I said: Haridasa, I am only a fool, as thou sayest, but thou art\nwise. And now, wilt thou serve me at a pinch, by something more than\ngood advice? And he said: By what? Then I said: To-night, I have\nbusiness that I cannot avoid, and yet I cannot go out, unless I can\nfind one whom I can absolutely trust to remain here till morning in my\nplace, to guard a deposit. And so, wilt thou be my guard? And Haridasa\nsaid: I cannot refuse, if thy need be extreme. For men to be\nabsolutely trusted are very rare, and I am one. And is thy deposit\nlarge? And I laughed, and I said: Nay, on the contrary, it is very\nsmall. And it will be here in another moment, for I have been waiting\nfor it all day long. And as I spoke, lo! Chaturika appeared in the\ndoor, as if by a toss of the curtain,[33] And I said to Haridasa: Here\nit is.\n\nAnd seeing that I was not alone, Chaturika turned, as if to go away.\nAnd I called out to her, saying: Wait but for a single instant, O thou\ndestitute of patience, and give me back my key that I gave thee last\nnight, since I am in sore need of it. And then she came to me in\nsilence and gave me a key. And I said: Hast thou put off the\npetitioner as I desired, to another day? And she said: Yes. And then I\nwent to the door, and shut it. And I said to Haridasa: I have an\nappointment, with one who may be friend or foe, for I cannot tell. But\nhere is a hostage, that I leave behind me. Keep her for me, and never\ntake thy eyes off her, and give her back to me, safe and sound, on my\nreturn. But if the sun rises to-morrow, and I am not here, cut her\nhead off, for she will have led me into a trap, all unaware that she\nwas setting it for herself as well.\n\nAnd Haridasa looked thoughtfully at Chaturika as she stood aghast,\nrubbing his chin with his hand. And he said slowly: It would be a\ngreat pity, my pretty maiden, if he came late, for thy head looks very\nwell as it is on thy little body, which without it would look as\nmelancholy as a palm broken short off by the wind.[34] And yet, do not\nweep. For Shatrunjaya is a bad judge of men and women, and I am a very\ngood one. And if, as I think, he is altogether wronging thee by his\nsuspicion, thou hast absolutely nothing to fear from me, and I will be\nthy father and thy mother till he returns to free thee in the morning.\nSo dry thy tears, and I will return to thee in a moment to make thee\nlaugh.\n\nAnd he led me away out at the door, and shut it behind him. And he\nsaid: Shall I tell thee the name of thy very pretty deposit? Dost thou\nthink I do not know what thou art endeavouring so clumsily to hide?\nNectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away?\n\nAnd as I started, staring at him in stupefaction, he said with a\nlaugh: Ha! thou hast heard it before? Didst thou not betray to me thy\nsecret unawares, repeating it before? What! dost thou not know, it is\nthe Queen's verse, which all the people in the city sing of every man\nwho dooms himself by becoming the Queen's lover? I could have told\nthee, even without seeing Chaturika at all, that it was Tarawali\nherself who was thy nectar, and is going to be thy poison; and well I\nunderstand who is the friend or foe to whom thou art just about to go.\nIt is the Queen.\n\nAnd he took me by both hands, and looked straight into my eyes. And he\nsaid: Fool! and art thou actually hoping still for the nectar that is\ngone? Thy hope will be in vain. I told thee, without naming her, to\nhold her very cheap, if ever thou wouldst have her hold thee dear. It\nwas useless to restrain thee, for thou wouldst not have believed me,\nno matter what I said. There was but a single chance. For the moment\nthat she sees that her fascination works, and that her lover lies\ngazing without reason or senses at her terrible beauty, she is\nsatisfied, and throws him away: whereas had he only the strength to\nresist it, she might against her will fall in love with him herself\nfor sheer exasperation at her impotence, in his case alone. But she\nswept thee clean away like a straw in a flood, and thou art lost. Thou\nhast been playing unaware with a queen-cobra, that has smitten thy\nsoul with the poisonous fascination of its magnificent hood and its\ndeadly eyes, and bitten thy heart with its venomed fang; and now all\nremedies are worse than useless, and come too late. I can see death\nwritten on thy brow, and almost smell its odour in the air. Beware of\nNarasinha!\n\nAnd he went in, and shut the door upon himself and Chaturika, leaving\nme alone in the street.\n\n\nXXIV\n\nAnd I stood in the street, staring at the door as it shut behind him,\nas motionless as a tree. And I murmured to myself: Nectar when she\nturns towards thee: poison when she turns away! So then, it is the\nQueen's verse, sung of others and sung of me! And this was the meaning\nall the time! And this is what Chaturika was thinking of, every time\nshe said it, laughing at me in her sleeve, as beyond a doubt she has\nlaughed at many another man before! And this is what the people say!\nAnd all the time I thought myself exceptional, I was only being made a\nfool, and one of a large number, and a laughing-stock for the whole\ncity, and branded, as it were, with ridicule and ignominy as a\nplaything of the Queen, and going about unconsciously with her label\nround my neck: Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she\nturns away!\n\nAnd suddenly, rage rushed into my heart in such a flood that it felt\nas if it were about to burst. And from motionless that I was, I began\nall at once to run in the direction of the palace, as though about to\nwreak my vengeance on the Queen without waiting for a single instant.\nAnd then I stopped abruptly and began to laugh. And I exclaimed: Am I\nactually going mad, for as yet it is still day, and I cannot even get\ninto the garden till the sun has set. And after thinking for a moment,\nI went away to the river bank to wait till the sun was down. And there\nI threw myself down at full length upon the ground, with my chin upon\nmy hands.\n\nAnd then, strange! as I lay, little by little my heart began to cool,\nand all its fury ebbed gradually away. For as I thought of Tarawali,\nit seemed as it were to say to me: I cannot find room, on second\nthoughts, for any rage at all, since I belong absolutely to the Queen.\nAnd all my rage turned slowly into such unutterable longing that her\nimage seemed to grow dim, seen through the mist of eyes that were\nsuffused with tears, as recollection brought her back to me saying:\nThis is how she looked when she saw thee first, and this again, is how\nshe lay in the swing, and this again, when she stood up before thee,\nas a _cheti_, in the moonlit boat. And I exclaimed in desperation:\nAlas! O Tarawali, must I then condemn thee, whether I will or no? For\nthey all say the same of thee, and as it might seem, it must be true,\nand yet no matter, for I absolutely cannot either hate thee or\nbelieve them, when I think of thee as I saw thee myself. And my heart\nlaughs in scorn at all the efforts of my reason, never wavering for an\ninstant from thy side, like an incorruptible ally, that cannot be\ninduced by any bribe whatever to abandon its allegiance. Aye! would\nshe but open her arms to me again, I should forget everything else in\nthe three worlds, to snatch her in my own. How is it possible to hate\nher? And beyond all doubt, that rascal I slew hit the mark, when he\nsaid that Narasinha cannot quarrel with her, being utterly unable to\ndo without her, disarmed in all his attempts to oppose her by his own\nconviction that she is absolutely indispensable to his own life. For\nshe may have deserved ten thousand deaths, and yet what does it\nmatter, if for all that she is a thing that once lost or destroyed can\nnever be replaced, as indeed she is, resembling the _Kaustubha_,[35]\nor the third eye of the Moony-crested god, of which in the three\nworlds there is only one. And so since he cannot do without her, she\nis beyond all reach, and invulnerable, doing with impunity exactly\nwhat she pleases, caring nothing whether he loves or hates her, and\nlaughing at the very notion of being brought to book, secure in the\nmagic circle of her own irresistible attraction, whose very power of\ndestroying all others is her own protection, like a spell with a\ndouble edge, such that, as that rascal said, she cannot refrain from\namusing herself by trying its effect on all.\n\nAnd who could find it in his heart to blame her for delighting in the\nexercise of her own spell, like a child rejoicing in its toy, aye!\neven were he himself its victim, as its effect would be the same, no\nmatter what she did, seeing that she must attract whether she will or\nno? Being what she is, she cannot help it: it is involuntary and\nbeyond her control. And alas! I fell before it without a shadow of\nresistance, enslaved even before I saw it by her own dream, not even\naffording her the pleasure of watching her fascination gradually\novercoming opposition, and asserting its power, and subduing me to her\ndomination, against my will. And so I became a thing of no value to\nher at all, since in my case there was nothing to overcome. Ah! had I\nonly been capable of seeming to be one on whom her charm would not\nwork, then indeed, as Haridasa says, I might have prevailed: and she\nmight herself have fallen victim to the man who defied her fascination\nand laughed in her face, out of pique and irritation at her own\nimpotence. And all the more, if what that rascal said have any truth,\nthat she actually took a momentary fancy to me, strange as it seems.\nBut alas! as he said, it is all too late.\n\nAnd suddenly I started to my feet with a beating heart. And I\nexclaimed: Too late! But what if it were not too late, after all?\n\nAnd as I stood, thinking of it, struck into sudden agitation by my own\nidea, hope glimmered in the darkness of my soul like the first faint\nstreak of rosy dawn at the end of a black night. And the dream of the\nbare possibility of bringing back Tarawali with all her old\nintoxicating sweetness almost took away my breath. And after a while,\nI said to myself: Yes, indeed, he actually said, that she took a fancy\nto me, even though it were only for a moment. And how could he have\nknown it, if she had not herself confessed it to Chaturika, from whom\nalone he could have heard it, since very certainly he never learned it\nfrom Tarawali herself? Aye! and was not Chaturika herself far sweeter\nat the beginning, just as if she knew I was no ordinary lover, but one\nwith a little foothold in the Queen's heart? And if, then, I was ever\nthere, why could I not return? And if her fancy has gone to sleep,\ncould I not awake it? Can it be already so absolutely dead as never to\nrevive, with not a single spark among the ashes to be refanned into a\nflame? How would it be, could I but manage to persuade her she was\nutterly mistaken, in supposing that I was only a miserable victim of\nher spell? How, if I could convince her that I valued all her\nfascinations at a straw? Would she not at least be tempted to try them\nall on me again, if only to test them and discover whether I was lying\nor in very truth proof against all the power of her charm? And if only\nshe did, what then? For once she began, it would all depend on me,\nwhether she ever stopped any more.\n\nAnd all at once, I uttered a shout of hope and exultation and\nexcitement, suddenly taking fire at the picture painted by my own\ncraving imagination. And I exclaimed: Ha! who knows? And at least, I\ncan try. And even if I fail, it cannot possibly be worse than it is\nalready, drowned as I am in misery without her: whereas, if I could\nsucceed! Ah! I would barter even emancipation for a single kiss! And O\nthat my courage may not fail, turning coward at the very first sight\nof her again! For the struggle to appear indifferent, in such an ocean\nof rapture, will be terrible indeed, since even now, the very thought\nof it makes me tremble, being enough to make me fall weeping at her\nfeet. And now the sun is setting, and it is time to go: and in a very\nlittle while, fate will decide, whether she and I are to die or live.\nFor I cannot live without her, and unless she will allow me to live\nwith her, she shall not live at all, either alone, or with anybody\nelse. For she will kill me, by driving me away, and I will take her\nwith me, if I am to die.\n\n\nXXV\n\nAnd then I went away with rapid steps, all through the city, till I\nreached the little ruined temple, that stood exactly opposite the door\nthat Chaturika had shown me the night before. And I hid myself behind\nthe image of the Moony-crested god, and watching my opportunity that\nnone should see me, all at once I crossed the street and tried the key\nin the door, almost shaking with anxiety, lest after all she had\nplayed me false, by giving me at haphazard some key that would not\nfit. But O joy! the key turned, and the door opened, and I went\nthrough. And very carefully I closed it again, and then, first of\nall, I hid the key in a hole in the wall, making sure of my return.\nAnd then I drew a deep sigh, almost unable to believe myself once more\nin that garden which held Tarawali hidden somewhere in its dark\nrecesses. And I said to myself, with emotion: Ah! now, come what may,\nat least I shall look upon her again, and very soon. And even for that\nalone, I am ready to die. And it may very well be that death is close\nat hand. For if Chaturika is in the pay of Narasinha, as she very well\nmay be, and has betrayed me, I may be walking straight into a trap.\nFor his assassins may be posted in the trees in almost any number. And\nlittle should I care to die, so long as they only slew me on my\nreturn; but I am terribly afraid of being slain before I see her. For\nthen indeed I should suffer the agony of a double death.\n\nAnd I went on slowly in the shadow of the trees, guessing my\ndirection, for I was going by a way I did not know, fearing not at all\nthe death that might suddenly spring out upon me, but dreading far\nmore than death the possibility of its anticipating my discovery of\nthe Queen. And little by little, as nothing happened, I forgot my\nfears, saying to myself: To-morrow I will give Chaturika anything in\nthe world, and beg her pardon for suspecting her of breaking faith.\nBut in the meantime, I must above all manage to come upon Tarawali\nunawares, and escape her observation until I catch sight of her\nmyself: for if she saw me first, she might hide, or even go away\naltogether, leaving me to look for her in vain, and making all\nassassination superfluous, since if I do not find her I shall simply\ndie of my own accord, long before morning, of disappointment and\ndespair. And so I went on very slowly, making absolutely no noise,\nlike a Shabara stalking a wild elephant in the forest, dying of\nexpectation, and yet not daring to make haste, for fear of losing all:\nuntil at last, after a very long time, I came to the terrace by the\npool once more. And then I looked, and suddenly I caught sight of her,\nstanding alone, like a pillar, on the very verge of the terrace steps.\n\nAnd I stopped short in the shadow of a tree, to watch her for a little\nand master my emotion, holding my breath, and lost, not only in the\necstasy of being close to her again, but in sheer admiration of the\nwonder that I saw. For she was dressed as it seemed all in silver\ngauze, looking ashy pale in the moonlight, and she was standing\nabsolutely straight up, with her two hands clasped behind her head,\nturning half towards me, so that I could just see her dark hair\nbetween her two bent arms, lit up not by a star, but a diadem like a\nyoung moon, that shone all yellow as if made by a row of topaz suns,\nso that she looked like a feminine incarnation of the Moony-crested\ngod, smeared with silver sheen instead of ashes. And as she stood\nstill with her two feet close together, gazing at the pool, with her\nhead leaning a little back against the pillow of her hands, alone in\nthe very middle of the terrace on the very edge of its top step, with\nnothing but the dusk for her background, resembling a great jar, her\nsolitary silent figure, rising from its narrow base into lustrous\nmoonlit curves that ended in the tall bosses of her breast, spread\nwide by her opened arms, stood out in a vision of exact and perfect\nbalance, so marvellously lovely, that as I gazed at it, remembering\nhow I held it in my arms, unable to contain my agitation, I uttered a\ndeep sigh.\n\nAnd instantly, she spoiled the picture, by changing her position, and\nlooking straight towards me. And not being able to see me clearly by\nreason of the deep shadow that obscured me, she came back along the\nterrace in my direction, walking exactly as she did before, with the\nsame intoxicating straightness of carriage, and the same rapid and\nundulating step, till I could have laughed aloud for very joy to see\nher coming to me, like the desire of my own heart incarnate in her\nround and graceful form. And as she reached me, she said, with exactly\nthe same low and sweet and gentle voice that I was yearning with all\nmy soul to hear again: Thou art late, for I have been waiting for thee\na long time.\n\nAnd suddenly I came as it were to myself, on the very verge of ruining\nall, by falling at her feet:[36] saying to myself with an effort: Now\nthen, all is lost beyond redemption, unless I play the man. And I came\nout of the shadow, saying with obeisance: O lovely Queen, that is thy\nown fault, and not mine.\n\nAnd she started back, with a faint cry, exclaiming in the extremity of\nsheer amazement: Shatrunjaya! How in the world hast thou got in here?\n\nAnd I answered with a smile, though my heart beat like a drum within\nme: Ah! thou delicious Queen, in this lower world many things come\nabout contrary to expectation, of which this is one. And if thy own\nsurprise is extreme, so is mine: since, as it seems, my coming is not\nonly unexpected, but unwelcome. And yet how short a time it is, since\nthou didst entertain me with a sweetness so extraordinary, and so\nspontaneous, and so mutually tasted, that I thought only to give thee\npleasure by repeating the experience, and that is why I came. And if\nthou art sorry to look at me again, I do not share in thy feeling,\nsince all the pains I have taken to arrive are repaid by even a single\nglance at thyself. For surely even Indra's heaven cannot hold anything\nso unimaginably lovely as thou art to-night.\n\nAnd still she stood, gazing at me with strange eyes, and she murmured\nto herself, half aloud: Shatrunjaya! It cannot be! And I said: Nay,\nthou very lovely lady, but it can: since here I am, and I am I. And\nwhy not? Didst thou think I had forgot, what could not easily be\nforgotten, how we floated together in thy cradle among the lotuses? Or\nis it any wonder if I have thought of nothing else, ever since, but\nhow to return? But as to how I came, it is a secret, that I do not\nchoose to tell, since the fancy may take me to come again. And judging\nby thy excessive condescension when we met before, I did not think\nvery much to displease thee, if I ventured to substitute myself this\nevening for another, who cannot even hope to rival me in the only\nthing that matters, my unutterable adoration of thyself: since of thy\nfavour we are both of us equally unworthy. And yet, if, as it seems, I\nwas utterly mistaken and the substitution is not to thy taste, I can\nvery easily atone for my blunder by going away again at once. Dost\nthou really imagine me one to force himself upon a lady who wishes him\naway? O thou very lovely Queen, not at all. For I am just as good a\nman among men, as thou art a woman among women: and if I am not to thy\ntaste, then, O thou fastidious beauty, neither art thou to mine. For\nthe essence of every lovely woman's charm is her caress, which springs\nfrom her affection, and the desire to make herself nectar to her\nlover, without which salt, even beauty is beautiful in vain. And I\ncare absolutely nothing for a beauty that does not take the trouble to\nbe sweet. And well I know, by experience, how sweet thou canst be,\naye! sweeter by far than any honey whatsoever, if it pleases thee to\ntry. So choose for thyself, whether I shall stay, and revel like a\ngreat black bee in thy sweetness, as once I did before; or go away.\nBut let me tell thee, pending thy decision, that if thou dost not take\nthy opportunity when it offers, it will never more return; for as I\nsaid, I do not like coming where my coming is met with distaste. But\nas I think, if thou wilt allow me to advise thee, and help thee to\ndecision, we may as well make the most of one another, now that we\nare here, otherwise the moonlight will be wasted altogether, since\nto-night at least, thy other lover will not come. For I have taken\ncare to exclude him, and we shall not be disturbed by any disagreeable\ninterruption. And so, either thou wilt have to do without a lover\naltogether, or take me, for sheer want of something else. And the\nfirst would be a pity, and all the delicious trouble thou hast taken\nto deck thy beauty for its proper object, the delight of a lover,\nwould be lost. For in thy silver ashes and thy moony tire, thou\nneedest no third eye to destroy thy enemies, since thy divinity is so\noverpowering that not to employ it as it was designed to be employed\nwould be a crime.\n\n\nXXVI\n\nAnd all the while I spoke, she stood, as curiously still as if she\nwere made of marble, looking at me quietly, with her head thrown just\na little back, and her left hand pressed very tight against her\nbreast, and eyes that I could not understand. For they rested on me\nabsolutely without anger, seeming as it were not to see me at all, but\nfilled with some strange perplexity, as if she were hunting for\nsomething in her recollection that she could not find. And when I\nended, she continued to stand, exactly in the same position, for so\nlong, that I began to wonder what could possibly be passing in her\nsoul. And I said to myself, as I waited in terrible suspense: Now very\nlikely, in another moment, she will summon her attendants, and have\nme ejected, as well she might, for my almost inconceivable\nimpertinence, which almost broke my own heart in two, to utter it at\nall. And if so it seems, even to myself, what must it seem to her? Aye\nindeed! for every word, I deserve ten thousand deaths, and I could\nforgive her, no matter what she did. Aye! and if, in a very little\nwhile, she does not speak, I shall be throwing myself at her feet and\nbegging to be forgiven, unable any longer to endure.\n\nAnd then at last, all at once, her tension relaxed, and she sank back\nsuddenly into her old soft sweetness, with a deep sigh. And her eyes\nseemed, as it were, to come back to me, and find me for the first\ntime, and there stole over her lips a little smile. And as I saw it,\nmy heart almost broke with delight, for I said to myself: She has\nchanged her mind about me; after all, and now my plan is beginning to\nsucceed. Alas! little did I fathom the unfathomable intelligence of\nthat extraordinary Queen! And presently she said, with exactly the\nsame gentleness in her low voice that made my heart tremble exactly as\nbefore, every time it spoke: Thou art, beyond all doubt, the very\nfirst man in all the world, not only for effrontery and impertinence,\nbut also, for this, that thou hast succeeded in imposing upon me,\nwhich no man ever yet did before. For in my simplicity I had thought\nthee quite another, making in thy solitary instance a mistake, unusual\nwith me, and making me ashamed: since as a rule, men's hearts are no\nsecret for my own, and I read them at a glance.\n\nAnd she looked at me with a smile, and inscrutable clear eyes, whose\nexpression was a puzzle to my soul. And I said: Then, since thou\nreadest hearts so easily, why couldst thou not read mine also, as it\nis very plain thou didst not? And she said: Why very plain? And I\nsaid: Why didst thou send no answer to my message, and why didst thou\nsummon me at sunset, and yet go away, leaving me nothing but the scorn\nof thy servants at thy gate?\n\nAnd she looked at me in blank amazement, and she said: What dost thou\nmean? I never got any message, and if any summons came to thee, it was\nnot sent by me. For I have not heard anything of thee at all, since I\nleft thee at midnight in my boat.\n\nAnd as she spoke, there came a mist before my eyes, and all the blood\nin my body rushed suddenly into my heart, as if to burst it, and then\nas suddenly left it, so that I almost swooned. And all at once, I\nexclaimed with a shout: Chaturika! Ah! then I was deceived! Ah! then\nit was not thou! Ah! then I was not slighted by thee as a thing to be\ndespised! Ah! then thou art not as they say, one that forgets and\nthrows away her lovers almost as soon as she has seen them first! Ah!\nhad I only known, I never would have stolen unawares into thy privacy\nto-night! Say, say, that thou art not such a woman as they say!\n\nAnd again she looked at me, with those strange quiet eyes; and after a\nwhile, she said with a sigh: Thou art right. They say, but they do not\nunderstand. And yet, what does it matter what they say? Is it my\nfault, if every man that sees me is seized as it were with madness,\nand instantly steps over the line that divides friendship from\npassionate affection, asking me for what I cannot give him, with such\neager insistence, that in my own defence I am driven to dismiss him\naltogether? And she smiled, and she said, with playfulness and wistful\neyes: Must I belong to everyone, merely because he claims me as his\nown, and his property, and give myself to everyone that sees me in a\ndream?\n\nAnd I trembled from head to foot, and I said in a voice that shook\nwith entreaty and emotion like a leaf: Ah! then have I thy permission\nto stay with thee to-night, notwithstanding my overweening presumption\nin coming of my own accord without an invitation? Ah! I did not know:\nmy heart is breaking: do not send me away!\n\nAnd as she stood, looking at me with irresolution, I stretched my\nhands towards her, absolutely senseless, and not knowing what I did.\nAnd she hesitated for yet a little while; and then, with a sigh, she\nput her two hands into my own. And with a shudder of joy, I pulled her\nto me, and caught her once more in my arms, and began to kiss her,\nwith hot tears that fell upon her face, quivering all over with the\nextremity of my agitation, and not believing that it was not a dream.\n\nAnd then, after a long while, I came, somehow or other, to my senses,\nand became, a little, master of myself. And I looked at her with eyes\ndim with affection, and I took her two arms, and put them round my\nneck. And I whispered in her ear: Now give me a kiss for every day\nthat I have not seen thee, since I fell asleep in thy boat. And as if\nwith resignation and compliance and submission to my will, she did\nexactly as I told her, stopping time after time, but I would not let\nher stop. And at last, I stopped. And I said: There are more still\nowing, for thou hast not counted right. But now I will ask thee a\nquestion, just to give thee time to breathe.\n\n\nXXVII\n\nAnd as I held her still in my arms, with her own arms round my neck,\nshe said: Ask. Then I said: Didst thou know, when I came to thee last\ntime, that my coming delayed me in a matter of life and death? And she\nsaid: Something I knew, from the chatter of Chaturika. And I said:\nDidst thou know that my kingdom depended on my going fast? For as it\nis, I lost it, all by coming late. And she said: It was no business of\nmine. And I said: What! wouldst thou deprive me of a kingdom, by\nplacing thyself, for a single sunset, in the other scale? And she\nsaid: I did not bid thee stay. I had sent to thee already, asking thee\nto come: and if another summons called thee, after mine, the choice\nwas thine, between them. I told thee only, I awaited thee: and it was\ntrue. And I said: What if I had not come? And she said: Then it may\nbe, thou wouldst have kept thy kingdom, and lost thy interview with\nme. That is all. It was not I, who had anything to do either with\ncausing thy dilemma, or determining its conclusion. And I said: Beyond\na doubt, the loss of any kingdom would be a trifle in comparison with\nthy affection: and yet the loss is certain, and the affection\ndoubtful. For I showed thee very plainly which I chose, and my kingdom\nis gone. I have thrown it clean away for thy sake. And have I its\nequivalent? Wilt thou make it up to me by giving me thy soul? And she\nsaid, gently: It is not mine, to give away, for I belong to Narasinha,\nbody and soul, as I told thee long ago.\n\nAnd I said: How canst thou say so, when I hold thee in my arms? And\nshe said, quietly: Thou art but a momentary accident, due rather to my\nyielding myself, against my own will, and of pity for thy unhappy\npassion, than to any hold that thou hast on my heart. And Narasinha\nlearned of thy former visit to me in this garden, as very soon he will\nlearn of this also, since I tell him every detail of my life, great or\nsmall. And he made me promise never to see thee any more. And so I had\nintended: but thou hast managed to steal in, somehow or other, of thy\nown accord. It is not by my doing that thou art here now at all.\n\nAnd I let her go, and stood gazing at her with amazement, that was\nmixed with bitter disappointment and irritation, and fierce\nexasperation at this obstacle of Narasinha, who, out of my reach, and\nhiding behind her as a screen, issued orders that I was to be shut out\nof her garden and banished from her presence, whether she would or\nnot. And my heart swelled with resentment and indignation, and I said:\nO Tarawali, Narasinha may shut his eyes, or not, as he chooses, but I\nam very different, and will not take orders as to thee, from him or\nanybody else. Thou art my mistress and not his. And she shook her\nhead, and she said, very gently: Nay, thou dost not understand. I am\nnot anybody's mistress. I am my own mistress, and do exactly as I\nplease, whether he or any other like it or not. There lives not the\nman who shall say to me: Here is a line, and over it, thou shalt not\nstep. And whatever I do, I do, of my own free will, not of obedience,\nbut of my own consent. I have given my body and soul away, but my will\nis mine.\n\nAnd I said with emphasis: I have bought thee at the price of a\nkingdom, and become a beggar on thy account, and mine thou art, by\nright. Dost thou actually tell me, I am to lose my kingdom, and get\nabsolutely nothing in exchange? And she said, always with the same\nsweet and quiet voice, whose tone never varied, adding by the very\ncharm of its gentle music fire to the exasperating sting that lay in\nthe words it said: I have nothing at all to do with thy kingdom, and\nif thou hast lost it, I am very sorry: yet blame not me for its loss,\nbut thyself alone, for the choice was thine. And moreover, I am not\nfor sale. I give myself, or part of me, to anyone I choose. It is for\ndealers and merchants to bargain. I never bargain. I am a Queen. And I\nsaid in wrath: Thou shalt give thyself no longer to anyone but me.\nThou hast already cheated me by making me the loser in a bargain where\nI lose all, gaining nothing in exchange. But I will have either my\nkingdom or thyself: and if not the kingdom, which is gone, then thee.\nAnd she said quietly: Say nothing rash, or harsh, or ill-considered.\nIt is not I that have cheated thee out of thy kingdom: it is no one\nbut thyself.\n\nAnd I exclaimed: What! didst thou not cheat me by telling me thou\ndidst love me long ago? And she broke in instantly, and said: I said\nnothing of the kind: it is thy own imagination. I never told thee\nanything so false as that I loved thee. And I said: Nay, not in words,\nbut in a language deeper far than any words. What woman ever gave a\nman what thou hast given me, without telling him very plainly, he was\nthe object of her love? And she said quietly: It was but thy own\ninference, and utterly unwarranted. And I said: Why didst thou then\nallow me to make love to thee at all? And she said, very gently: I did\nnot ask, nor even wish thee, to make love to me at all. But I was\ntouched by thy emotion, and thy passion, and thy miserable longing,\nand willing to soothe it, and gratify it, for an instant, letting thee\ntaste that nectar for which thou wert so obviously dying: for I am\nkind.\n\nAnd I exclaimed with a shout: Kind! Why, what is thy kindness but the\nvery extremity of unkindness? What! and did all thy caresses mean\nabsolutely nothing? And she said, very gently: They meant exactly what\nthey were, gifts and boons, bestowed of sheer compassion: and if from\ntheir receipt, thou hast drawn the conclusion that thy affection was\nreturned, it is not so: it is only thy own unjustified construction,\nfor thou art not, and never can be, anything to me, but the thing that\nthou wilt not be, a mere friend. And I said: What kind of a woman art\nthou to betray me with kisses? And she said: I am only what I am: but\nthou art most unfair to me, and instead of peevishly demanding of me\nwhat I cannot give, and growing so unreasonably angry, thou oughtest\nrather to be very grateful to me, for giving thee anything at all. I\ntold thee almost as soon as I had seen thee, in the very beginning of\nall, that I belonged, body and soul, to Narasinha: and yet\nnotwithstanding, I took pity on thee, for thy misery, and gave thee,\nby concession, what I might very easily have refused, humouring thy\nweakness like that of a child, crying for what he cannot have. But\nnever did I promise thee anything beyond: and I even told thee, if\nthou canst remember it, that it might injure thee and could not do\nthee any good. But thou wert blind, and as it were buried in thy\ndream. Did I not warn thee, and entreat thee beforehand, not to blame\nme, when the dream was over, and reality returned? And when I had\nsurfeited thy longing, and dismissed thee, I meant it to be the end,\nfor it was all I had to give. In all, it is not I, that have in any\nway whatever deceived thee: thou hast all along only deceived thyself.\nAnd if I have deceived at all, it is myself alone I have deceived, by\nexpecting any gratitude for the boon of my compassion, and the favour\nthat I poured on thee with no miser's band, because I blamed myself\nfor being innocently guilty of becoming the unintentional object of\nthy passion, and its involuntary cause.\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nAnd I listened, so utterly confounded by the very simplicity of her\napology, which overturned all my accusations, and put me in the wrong,\nthat I stood in silence, unable to find anything to say. And in my\nstupefaction, I began to laugh. And I said: Ha! Nectar when she turns\ntowards thee: poison when she turns away! Hast thou never heard the\nQueen's verse? And she said: What! wilt thou actually lay on me the\nburden of refuting the silly slander of a rhyme, circulated by little\nrascals merely for want of something else to say? Can I help what they\nsay, or shall I even stoop to listen when they say it, who will say\nanything of queens, without shame for the envious venom of their own\nbase insignificance, knowing all the time absolutely nothing, but\nmaking mere noise, like frogs all croaking together in a marsh? Or if\nI must absolutely answer, in spite of my disdain, how can I prevent\nany lover, such as thyself, from persuading himself of what he wishes\nto believe? For all of them resemble thee, behaving like unreasonable\nbulls, the very moment that they see me, and pestering me like flies,\nto my torment, and yet would blame me for driving them away. And every\none of them, exactly like thee, imagines me his own, for no reason\nthat I am ever able to discover, although I tell them all, exactly as\nI told thee, that I belong to Narasinha.\n\nAnd I said in wrath: I will slice off the head of Narasinha, by and\nby, as I have done already for some of his tools. And I will not be\nthe plaything of a moment, to be cast aside the next. I have lost a\nkingdom for thy sake, and will have thee to repay me, whether thou\nwilt or no. And she said with a smile: Thou art angry, and talking\nnonsense in thy anger, as angry men will. Dost thou not see that thou\nart bereft of thy senses? For, kingdom or no kingdom, how canst thou\nbe so silly as to propose to force me, willy nilly, to love thee when\nI do not love? If I loved thee, I should say so, and all force would\nbe superfluous: if not, it would be not only useless, but injurious to\nthy own cause, seeing that the more thou forcest, the less wilt thou\nobtain: nay, whereas now thou art indifferent, thou wilt bring it\nabout that I shall hate thee in the end, as I am beginning to do a\nvery little even now. And then it will be worse for thee in every way.\nFor thou dost not seem ever to remember that I am, after all, not only\na woman, but a queen.\n\nAnd I looked at her as she spoke, saying to myself: She is wrong, for\nnobody looking at her ever could forget it, even for a moment, just\nbecause, like the grace of a lily, it is forgotten by herself, and she\nwould still be a queen, even if she were not a queen at all. And she\nlooks at me, notwithstanding the biting reproof in her words, with\nexactly the same intoxicating and caressing sweetness, as if I were\nstill a dear friend with whom she were unwilling to quarrel. And I\ngazed at her, yearning towards her with every fibre of my soul, and\nyet exasperated almost beyond endurance at the thought that she was\nkeeping me like a stranger at a distance from her heart, in order to\npreserve it for another. And after a while, I said slowly: If thy\naffection is not to be given to me, it shall never be given to anybody\nelse. And she said, as if with curiosity: Thou art surely mad. For how\ncanst thou prevent any other from following thy own example, and doing\njust what thou hast done thyself, losing thy reason at the sight of\nme, as all men always do? Dost thou not see that my power to excite\naffection is far greater than thine to prevent it? And I said: It\nwould be very very easy for me to prevent all others from ever loving\nthee again.\n\nAnd she looked at me with eyes, in whose unruffled calm there was not\neven the faintest shadow of any fear. And she said quietly: I\nunderstand thee very well, and yet for all that I tell thee thou art\nraving, and thou art, without knowing it, very like the very man thou\nhatest most, Narasinha. For often he has said to me the very same\nthing that thou art saying now: and yet, though according to thee, the\nthing is very easy, he finds it so difficult as to be utterly\nimpossible. For he cannot endure to do without me, even in a dream,\nand cannot therefore bring himself to slay me, as he is constantly\nthreatening to do, knowing very well that he might rather slay\nhimself, since once I am gone, he will never find another me, to put\nin my place. And this is true, even though I cannot understand it:\njust as I cannot understand what it is that makes me indispensable to\nthee or to anybody else. For I know it only by its effect. And so I am\nmy own protection, against all his threats, or thine. And if I had\nthought otherwise, what could have been easier, since thou talkest of\neasy things, than to have summoned my attendants and bade them put\nthee out, when it may be, thy life would have paid for thy marvellous\nimpertinence, in intruding unbidden, as perhaps it still may, without\nany instigation of my own at all? Thou dost not seem to understand\nthat all this while thy own life is in far greater danger than mine;\nsince thou hast done a thing that will not be forgiven thee by others,\nthough I myself have not only forgiven thee, but well understanding\nthe fiery goad that drove thee into my presence, have treated thee,\nfor yet once more, with kindness and condescension far beyond any\ndeserts of thine. And for all return, thou art threatening even to\nslay me. But I am destitute of fear.\n\nAnd she stood before me in the moonlight, that turned her as it clung\nto all her limbs into a thing beautiful beyond all earthly dreams,\nabsolutely fearless, and with a dignity whose royalty was not only\nthat of a queen, but of loveliness laughing to scorn all possible\ncomparison, seeming to say without the need of any words: Art thou\nbrave enough, and fool enough, to lay rude hands on such a thing as I\nam, or even if thy folly were equal to thy courage, canst thou find it\nin thy heart to think of violence offered to it, by thyself or any\nother, even in a dream? And my heart burned, for sheer adoration, and\nyet strange! it began to sink at the very same time, as I gazed at\nher, looking at me quietly in return. For there was something\nabsolutely unanswerable, not only in herself, but in everything she\nsaid, and yet her very simplicity that overwhelmed me with its soft\nirrefutable sweetness increased the torture of my hopeless admiration\nevery time she spoke. And suddenly I struck my hands together in\ndespair. And I exclaimed: Ah! thou marvel of a woman and a queen, I am\nconquered by thee, and I am on the very verge of falling at thy feet\nin a passion of tears, craving thy forgiveness as a criminal, so\nbewildering is the double spell of thy beauty and thy intelligence,\nand the candour of thy strange soul, which drives me mad with its\ninexplicable charm. But what does it matter to me, hate me or love me,\nif I am never to see thee any more? Aye! Narasinha may not find it in\nhim to slay thee for thy wayward and beautiful independence, but then\nhe can see thee every day, exactly as he chooses: whereas I, once I go\naway this night, am outcast: for well I understand that thou or he\nwill see to it that I never come again. Dost thou imagine I can bear\nit? And again I struck my hands together with a cry. And I exclaimed:\nCurse on my birth, and the crimes of the births that went before it,\nthat I was not born Narasinha! for he has cut me from my happiness,\nand stolen from me the very fruit of being born at all!\n\nAnd in my frenzy, I seized her in my arms once more, desperately\nclutching, as it were, at the bliss escaping from my reach in her form.\nAnd I said to her, as I held her tight: Tell me, had Narasinha never\nlived, could I have been to thee what he is now? And she extricated\nherself, very gently, from my arms, and stood back, looking at me with\nmeditative eyes; and after a while, she said doubtfully, yet with a\nlittle smile on her lips: Perhaps. But I am not sure. Thou art a little\nover-bearing. And yet I like thee, somehow, but I love thee not at all.\nAnd yet again, it may be, that had I met thee sooner, I might have\nlooked at thee with other eyes. And I bear thee no malice, if indeed\nthou art a criminal, for any of thy crimes, since I was their occasion.\nBut what after all is the use of supposition as to what might be were\nNarasinha away, since as it is, he is here, an obstacle in the way, not\nto be surmounted by any means whatever? And so, thy case is hopeless.\nAnd I tried to make thee understand, in vain: since thou wilt not take\ndenial or listen to any reason. And I went to such a length, out of\nkindness, as to give thee one single evening, packed as full as it could\nhold with all the sweetness I could think of, giving myself up, so to\nsay, to the insatiable thirst of thy arms, and thy craving desire to be\ncaressed and kissed by only me, and embodying thy dream, and turning\nmyself into an instrument of that nectar of feminine intoxication for\nwhich thou wert ready to die, and putting myself without reserve\nabsolutely at thy disposal, only to find my kindness miserably requited\nby ingratitude and undeserved reproaches, and even menaces and threats.\nAnd as I said, to-night, when by underhand contrivance thou didst force\nthyself upon me, I never punished thee at all, as many another queen\nmight do, but took pity on thy desolation and forgave and overlooked all\nthy insolence, without being in the very least deceived by thy fustian\nbeginning, which I easily discerned to be a _ruse_, to enable thee\nperhaps to steal back into my favour, all founded on a misinterpretation\nof the woman that I am. For had I really been what people say, and what,\nlistening to them, thou didst imagine me, thy foolish plan might perhaps\nhave been successful, but I am very different indeed. And yet, even so,\nthy part was played so poorly, that it failed almost as soon as it\nbegan, since it needed but a touch of my finger to make thee drop thy\nmask, and reveal thyself to be, what all the time I knew thee, a lover\nin the depths of despair. For love is very hard to hide, and thou\ncouldst scarcely hope to deceive even those who are very easy to\ndeceive, as I am not. And as I watched thy clumsy effort, sitting as it\ndid so ill on one so simple and direct as thou art, I could not prevent\nmy compassion from mixing with a very little laughter, remembering the\nass in the Panchatantra, who clothed him in a lion's skin, forgetting\nthat his ears betrayed him, to say nothing of his voice. And now for the\nsecond time I have given thee something that I would have refused thee\naltogether, had caresses of compassion been any argument of love. But\nunderstand well, that there will be no third opportunity: for this is\nthy farewell. Go as thou hast come, for I will not attempt to penetrate\nthy secret, nor have thy footsteps dogged.\n\n\nXXIX\n\nAnd as I listened, I knew that all was over, and that her words were\nmy doom: for I understood that she was stronger far than I, and in a\nposition absolutely impregnable by any efforts I might make. And I\nstood gazing at her silently with a tumult in my soul that could find\nno utterance in words. And I said at last, in a very low voice: Is thy\ndecision irrevocable, and am I really never to see thee any more? And\nshe said: Even this time is more than I had allowed thee, and I am\nafraid for thee. Aye! I fear that thy life is the forfeit thou wilt\npay. Yet blame not me for anything that may occur. For Narasinha would\nhave slain thee already, as he is furiously jealous of anything that\ncomes near me in the form of a man, had I not myself expressly\ninterfered in thy behalf, making him swear to overlook thy former\ntrespass on a ground that he considers as his own. But he will not\nlisten to me now. And to-morrow, as soon as he discovers what has\ntaken place to-night, for I cannot hide it, he will take measures to\nprevent thy ever coming back, very likely such as thou thyself hinted\nat, of me, a little while ago. Thou art looking at me now for the\nvery last time; and remember, I told thee myself, I will take no\nblame, if thy temerity turns out to have cost thee dear. Farewell, and\nif thou canst, forget me, and go away to a great distance, without the\nloss of a single moment. For in a very little while, thou mayst find,\nthere will not even be the chance, and it will be too late.\n\nAnd instead of going, I stood, rooted to the spot like a tree, gazing\nat her thirstily, in a stupor of despair, and saying to myself: What!\ncan it really be possible that I am actually looking at her now, as\nshe says, for the very last time in my life, doomed to go here, or\nthere, in the world, without ever seeing her again, knowing all the\nwhile that she is, still, somewhere to be seen, and actually being\nseen, only not by me? Out upon such horror, for it would be less, even\nif she were dead! And she, so kind, so gentle, how in the world can\nshe stand there, bidding me with a wave of her hand, in that low sweet\nvoice of hers, to go away to a great distance, to save my life,\nknowing well, for she is very clever, that she is taking it away, by\nbanishing me for ever? And am I just to be thrown away at the bidding\nof Narasinha?\n\nAnd at the thought, all at once I began to laugh with sheer rage. And\nI said to myself: What! must I turn my back on heaven, and go meekly\ndown to hell, at the order of Narasinha? Would she banish me at all,\nbut for Narasinha? Who in the world is Narasinha? Is Narasinha my\nmaster? Is he even her master, for as it seems, she is rather his?\nAre these his orders, or her own? Ha! now, I wonder. What if after all\nthis Narasinha were only a man of straw, doing exactly as he is told,\nand acting as her agent and her instrument, for the sake of what she\ngives him? Is it likely, after all, that he orders, and she obeys? And\nam I being fooled, and handed over by herself to banishment, or even\ndeath, behind the screen of Narasinha?\n\nAnd I looked at her as she stood, patiently waiting for me to go, with\na soul torn to pieces by rage, and suspicion, and love-longing, and\nflat refusal to go away. And suddenly there came into my recollection\nHaridasa, saying as he stood outside the door: Nectar when she turns\ntowards thee: poison when she turns away. And I said to myself: So\nnow, she turns away. And can she possibly not know, what becomes of\nall her lovers?\n\nAnd I went up to her, all at once, and took her by her two hands, and\nlooked straight into her eyes. And I said: Tarawali, thou choosest thy\nservants well. I know the use of Chaturika. And now dimly I begin to\nsee the use of Narasinha. Does he never tell thee where he throws the\nbodies of thy old lovers, when thou hast finished with their souls?\n\nAnd then, strange! her eyes wavered, as if unable to meet my own. And\nlike a flash of lightning, I understood. And I exclaimed: Ha! have I\nfound at last the question that thou canst not answer, and laid my\nfinger on the flaw in thy consummate skill? So then, this was all but\na comedy that thou wert playing, to shift the blame from thy own\nshoulders and turn me over to extinction at the hands of Narasinha?\nAh! thou art thy own mistress, and not one to obey. But ah! thou\nlovely lady that hast no pity for thy poisoned lovers, it is not the\nlover this time that shall die. And thou shalt meet thy master for the\nfirst time in thy life.\n\nAnd I looked at her for a single instant in a frenzy of fierce hatred\nthat suddenly blazed up from the ashes of my dead devotion, lying\nscorned and cheated and betrayed by the idol it adored. And I seized\nher in the grip of death, and tore from my arm the lute-string that\nwas wound about my wrist. And I said: Dear, I never gave thee thy\nmusic-lesson: but now I will give thee a very long one on a single\nstring. And in an instant, I twisted it about her neck, and drew it\ntight, holding her still as she struggled, in an ecstasy of giant\nstrength. And so I stood, trembling all over, for a very long time.\nAnd at last, I felt that she lay in my arms like a dead weight,\nhanging as it were against her will in the terrible embrace of a lover\nthat loved with hatred instead of love.\n\nAnd I laid her down very gently, turning carefully away, that I might\nnot see her face. And I went away very quickly, and all at once, as I\nwent, I fell down and began to sob, as if my heart would break. And at\nlast, after a long while, I got up, and stood, thinking, and looking\nback under the trees. And I crept back on tiptoe, and looked and saw\nher at a distance, lying in the moonlight, very still, like the tomb\nof my own heart. And then I turned sharp round, and went away for\ngood and all, without a soul. And I said to myself in agony: Now I\nhave made the whole world empty with my own hand, and it was myself\nthat I have killed, as well as her. And now I will go after her as\nsoon as I possibly can. But there is one thing still to do, before I\ngo, for I have to give another lesson to Narasinha. Only this time I\nwill not use a lute-string, but crush out his soul with my bare hands.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHa! Narasinha, I have told thee, and thou knowest all. And now thou\nhast only to count the hours that are left to thee, for I am coming\nvery soon.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 6: Pronounce in three syllables _Shut-roon-jye_: it means,\n_one who triumphs over his foes_. So again, in three syllables,\n_Narasing_: which means, _man-lion_, alluding to one of Wishnu's\nincarnations. (Europeans do not adequately realise that the short\nfinal _a_, in Sanskrit, is always mute. They pronounce e.g. _Rama_,\n_Krishna_, as if the last letter were long. They are monosyllables.)]\n\n[Footnote 7: \"The menace prevented the deed,\" observes Gibbon, of a\nwould-be assassin of Commodus. That was also the error of the Germans,\nin 1914.]\n\n[Footnote 8: A heavenly musician.]\n\n[Footnote 9: _Dharma_ does not mean religion in our sense of the word.\nIt means, for every man, that set of obligations laid on him by his\ncaste or status: thus everybody's _dharma_ is different.]\n\n[Footnote 10: A crown prince. Palace intrigues were common in the old\nHindoo courts. Each wife thought of nothing but providing the heir to\nthe throne, if not by fair means, then by foul.]\n\n[Footnote 11: Krishna, the lute-player, and flute-player, _par\nexcellence_. He resembles Odin in this particular.]\n\n[Footnote 12: i.e. _the city of lotuses._ The final _a_ is mute.]\n\n[Footnote 13: i.e. _a line of stars_; _a constellation_; _a star\nintensified._]\n\n[Footnote 14: That is to say, abandoned, dissolute: independence\nbeing, in old Hindoo ears, a synonym for every possible species of\ndepravity.]\n\n[Footnote 15: There is here an untranslatable play on _manasa_ and\n_manasi-ja_ = a feminine god of love.]\n\n[Footnote 16: There is no vulgarity in this idea: it is a poetical\ndegree in the scale of passion. An _abhisarika_ is a lady so mastered\nby her love that she cannot wait for her lover, but goes to him of her\nown accord. There are all sorts of conditions laid down to regulate\nher going: she must not go in broad daylight, but in a thunderstorm,\nor dusk.]\n\n[Footnote 17: _Lawanya_ means loveliness as well as salt.]\n\n[Footnote 18: The exact equivalent, and indeed the only possible\ntranslation of _kupandita._]\n\n[Footnote 19: This is due to the peculiar dress of Hindoo women, all\nin one piece, and put on so that the edge that runs around the feet\nafterwards runs up diagonally and winds around the whole figure. No\nnational costume was ever better calculated to set off the sinuosities\nand soft grace of a woman's figure to advantage than the marvellous\nsimplicity of the _sari_ which is nothing more than a very long strip\nof almost anything you please.]\n\n[Footnote 20: i.e. _the clever one_: a name, like Nipunika, employed\nin Hindoo plays to denote the qualities of a _grisette_: _Suzanne._]\n\n[Footnote 21: _Anuraktamritam bala wirakta wisham ewa sa._]\n\n[Footnote 22: A female door-keeper. This appears to have been\ncustomary in old times. Runjeet Singh had a body-guard of women,\ndressed like boys.]\n\n[Footnote 23: The roots of these great figs \"grow down\" (hence their\nname) from the branches, often coalescing with the trunks into the\nmost extraordinary shapes: it needs no imagination to see Dryads under\nthe bark: they are visible to the naked eye. The huge leaves and great\nwhite blossom of the _shala_ make it one of the most beautiful of\nearthly trees: as the champak is one of the most weird, like a great\ncandlestick of innumerable branches whose pale flower-cups grow out of\nthe end of its clumsy fingers without leaves.]\n\n[Footnote 24: Durga, _the inaccessible one_, is one of Parwati's\ninnumerable names. It has reference to a mountain steep, with\naccessory meanings, moral and theological.]\n\n[Footnote 25: There are constant references in Hindoo poetry to\nswinging, which is a national pastime in India, with a special\nfestival in its honour.]\n\n[Footnote 26: Pronounce as a trisyllable: Haridas.]\n\n[Footnote 27: The Indian women used to send little earthenware dishes,\nwith a lighted wick in their oil, floating down the Ganges, to\nsymbolise their children's lives. Perhaps they do it still: but all\nthese beautiful old superstitious practices are dying away, in the\nlight of \"representative institutions.\" New lamps for old ones!]\n\n[Footnote 28: That is Shri, the Hindoo Aphrodite. Only those who have\nstudied Hindoo goddesses on the old temple walls, where they stand\nwith everlasting marble smiles in long silent rows, buried in the\njungles that encircle their deserted fanes, will enter into the\natmosphere of this strange description.]\n\n[Footnote 29: _Daiwatam hi hayottamah_, says Somadewa: _a good horse\nis a divine thing._]\n\n[Footnote 30: The Hindoo AEsculapius. Ayurweda, the science of\nmedicine.]\n\n[Footnote 31: A gem that attracts straws, presumably amber. It is\nalways employed by Hindoo poets as an equivalent of our _magnet._]\n\n[Footnote 32: _i.e._ the mirage.]\n\n[Footnote 33: That is, as if she were a character in a play, coming at\nher cue. The phrase is common in the Hindoo plays.]\n\n[Footnote 34: This is due to the coal-black stem, which gives to a\npalm tree shorn of its head the look of a tumble-down smoke-grimed\nchimney. Unshorn, leaning to the wind, it is the most graceful thing\nin the world, especially seen against the setting sun.]\n\n[Footnote 35: The great jewel on Wishnu's breast.]\n\n[Footnote 36: Literally, with a _sashtanganamaskara_: i.e. _with an\nobeisance made by falling prostrate with the eight corners of the\nbody_, a form of profound reverence made as to a divinity.]\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nA Story without an End\n\n\nAnd then, Maheshwara tossed the last leaf into the air. And as it\nfloated away down the stream, he said to the goddess, as she listened\nwith attention: And yet he never came, as I told thee at the\nbeginning. For Narasinha was beforehand with him, after all.\n\nAnd the Daughter of the Snow sat silent, looking away down the river\nafter the floating leaf, until it was lost to sight. And then she said\nslowly: Why didst thou say in the beginning that Tarawali was the most\nextraordinary of all women, past, present, or to come? For I was\ndeceived by thy encomium, expecting a woman altogether different from\nher, who was only but a specimen of her sex.\n\nAnd the Moony-crested god burst into loud laughter. And he exclaimed:\nSpeak low, O Snowy One: for if thy mortal sisters overheard thee\nbetraying their secrets and their cause, they would be very angry, and\nperhaps begin to curse thee as a traitor, instead of offering thee\nworship, as they all do now. What! dost thou actually deem her to be\nbut a type of all the rest? Surely, thou must have been asleep all the\ntime that I was reading, after all: since thou hast either\nmisunderstood her altogether, or it may be, wilt not do her justice,\nout of jealousy: since no woman in the three worlds can ever be\ntrusted to judge another fairly, treating her always as a criminal and\na rival, and falling on her tooth and nail, especially if, like\nTarawali, she sets custom at defiance, going by an independent\nstandard of her own. But now, let me help thee to see how utterly\nmistaken is thy estimate of a character so rare as hardly to be\nmatched in the whole of space and time for her cleverness and her\ncandour and her tranquillity of soul, leaving her beauty out of the\naccount, as that one element in her common to a very host of others.\nFor the Creator was not such a bungler as to confine all feminine\nbeauty to a single instance, but scattered it universally, since\nalmost every woman in the world, no matter what her face be like,\nshares in the wonderful fascination exerted over men by the shape\nessential to her sex, which is far the most important thing of all,\nbeing general instead of special, as every woman seen dimly in the\ndark, or at a distance, or with her face hidden by a veil, will prove,\nbeing then above all most attractive when her face cannot be seen at\nall: as the story that I told thee of the ugly lady, not long ago,\nshows, if thou hast not forgotten it.[37] Whereas the thing special to\nTarawali was her incomparable soul, in which were mingled elements\nhardly ever to be found combined, gentleness and strength, and\nsimplicity almost naive, with subtlety beyond all comparison, and\npride that never took offence, and superlative beauty with humility,\nand submissiveness with extreme independence of spirit, and kindness\nwithout weakness, and feminine sweetness of disposition with the\nintellectual vigour of a man, and his courage, and his candour, all of\nwhich combined with her extraordinary bodily beauty to make her a\nparagon of intoxication utterly irresistible to every male[38] she\ncame across, like a very Prakriti in a woman's form.\n\nAnd Parwati said: How canst thou lavish such praise on a woman so\ndeservedly slain by her infuriated lover, when he suddenly awoke to\nthe discovery of the real nature behind the mask?\n\nAnd the great god laughed again, and he looked at her shrewdly and he\nsaid: Aha! Snowy One, said I not that thou wert asleep as I read? I\nshall have to repeat to thee the story all over again another time.\nDost thou actually not see that all she said, from beginning to end,\nwas absolutely true? For Shatrunjaya told the whole story very well,\nas he understood it; but he did not understand completely, and made a\nterrible error in the most important point of all, being led astray by\nwhat he had heard, and easily taken in. For blinded by his rage\nagainst his rival Narasinha, he came suddenly to the wrong conclusion,\nand slew her by mistake, never so much as giving her time for any\nexplanation. For her eyes never wavered, as he thought, for guilt, but\nfor quite another reason. And Narasinha really was, exactly as she\nsaid, her tyrant, nor had she anything to do with his assassination of\nher lovers, which he committed all on his own account, out of\njealousy, paying no attention at all to her intercession. But in her\ngentleness, she shrank from the very idea of any violence, and this\nwas the true cause of the wavering of her eyes, foreseeing as she did\nanother attempt on Shatrunjaya, which she could not avert. And my\nheart was grieved at her death at the hands of a lover whose life she\nhad saved, and would have saved again if she could. For she was worth\nfar more than he.\n\nAnd the Daughter of the Snow said: But what was she doing with such a\nmultitude of lovers at all?\n\nAnd Maheshwara said: Thou art like Shatrunjaya himself, biased against\nher by the insinuations of Haridasa, and the discreditable behaviour\nof that little liar Chaturika, who betrayed her as well as others, and\nby the idle talk of the people, which she rightly compared herself to\nthe croaking of so many frogs. For low people always put the very\nworst interpretation upon the actions of kings, and especially of\nqueens, of whom all the time they know less than nothing, exactly as\nshe said. And Shatrunjaya's opinion of her wavered, in spite of all\nhis worship, being coloured by the scandal that he heard, so that he\nsaw her through its mist, as strangers always do. And if she had too\nmany lovers, it was all the fault of the Creator, who endowed her with\nsuch fascination, combined with the kindness of her heart: since she\nblamed herself for their misery, and could not bear to send them away\nwithout making them as it were some reparation for her crime of being\nbeautiful beyond all resistance. And this was her only fault.\n\nThen said the Mountain-born, with emphasis: I hate her: for a woman\nshould confine herself to one.\n\nAnd Maheshwara said, looking at her with affection: Ah! Snowy One,\nthou art right, and thou art wrong. For not every woman is a\ncounterpart of thee. And moreover, to be rigidly inaccessible[39] is\nterribly hard, when a woman is as she was, a very incarnation of\nbewildering intoxication, and kind into the bargain. For then she\nresembles a fortress, besieged night and day and mined everlastingly\nby innumerable hosts absolutely determined to get in; and sleepless\nindeed must be the garrison that guards it; and often it yields of\nsheer weariness and fatigue, unable any longer to endure the strain.\nAnd Tarawali was absolutely right when she said that her lovers drove\nher, against her inclination, into the reputation of a lady of many\nlovers, since they were all so infatuated by the very sight of her\nthat they never let her alone. For love that really finds its object\nwill face ten thousand deaths to reach it, and is very hard to repel.\nAnd it laughs in utter scorn at arguments, and bribes, and barriers,\nand dangers, and refusals, bent with a burning heart upon one thing\nonly, to reach its goal, dead or alive, no matter which. And when a\nwoman is an incarnation of that object, she moves the whole world with\nher little finger, and is fatal, and raised into a category above all\nordinary rules. And Tarawali was moreover in a peculiar position, for\nher husband had thrown her away of his own accord, so that she\nactually belonged to nobody but herself, and injured herself alone, if\nshe could not always help yielding when a lover pushed her terribly\nhard, by touching her heart like Shatrunjaya in the matter of his\ndream. And very few indeed are the women who would not have done the\nsame, for he was a great musician, and a man among men, and very\nyoung. And very rare indeed is the woman who is qualified to censure\nher. For most women keep their wheel upon the track, either because\nnobody ever tries to make them leave it, or simply for fear, either of\nbeing punished, or of other women's tongues. And not one in a crore\ncould have resisted half the pressure that Tarawali had to bear, for\nthe very greatest of a winning woman's charms is exactly the one which\nshe possessed in supreme perfection, her soft and delicious\nwillingness to oblige and please, and place all the sweetness of her\npersonality at the absolute disposal of her lover, as Shatrunjaya\nunderstood at the very first sight of her: a thing so utterly\nirresistible, that when it is combined, as it was in her, with\nintelligence masculine in its quality, its owner sweeps away every\nman's reason like a chip in a flood. And there was a special reason\nfor Tarawali's intelligence.\n\nAnd the goddess said: What was the reason? And the Moony-crested god\nsaid: It was the necessary consequence of the actions of a former\nbirth. For in the birth before, she was a man, doomed by _gati_[40] to\nbecome a woman in the next, by reason of a sin. And she said again:\nWhat sin? Then said Maheshwara: Ask me another time, O thou cajoler:\nfor it is a long story, and now I have no more leisure: since I must\ngo and bestow the favour of my presence on a ceremony performed by a\npious devotee who has built me a new temple at Waranasi. And canst\nthou guess who it is?\n\nAnd the Daughter of the Snow said: How in the world can I guess his\nname, of whom I never heard before?\n\nAnd the Moony-crested god said: It is not a he, but a she: being no\nother than Tarawali herself, in yet another birth. And she is still\nonly a woman, for she has not yet succeeded in raising herself by\nmerit into the condition of a man. And it may be long before she\nsucceeds. For it is easy to sink, but it is hard for any creature to\nrise into a status of being superior to its own, and the women who\nemerge into manhood are very rare. For the goodness that is synonymous\nwith real existence[41] is only to be found in those who have behind\nthem the accumulated effort and desert of ages, standing on a peak\nloftier by far than any of thy father's snowy summits, which cannot be\nattained in any single birth by no matter what exertions or\nausterities. But when once any being has attained it, emancipation\ndawns, touching it into colour more beautiful by far than any tints\nthe rising sun has ever thrown on newly fallen mountain snow.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[Footnote 37: A very beautiful story in the MS., which has not yet\nseen the light. The opinion of the deity is corroborated by that very\nclever woman, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, who says in one of her\nletters from Constantinople that if women went without clothes, the\nface would hardly count at all. Nearly all of them would gain\nimmensely by wearing a permanent veil, but the pretty ones would never\nconsent to it.]\n\n[Footnote 38: Purusha is the philosophical term for the Primordial\nMale, of which Prakriti is the female antithesis. The god is combining\nGoethe and Swinburne: the \"eternal feminine\" and the \"holy spirit of\nman.\"]\n\n[Footnote 39: See note _ante_, p. 47.]\n\n[Footnote 40: A very short word for a very long process, and\nuntranslatable by any English equivalent. It means the whole system of\nthe laws of metempsychosis, running in a long chain forward into the\nfuture, and back into the past.]\n\n[Footnote 41: That is, _sat_ or _sattwa_ = goodness, or true being.]","title":"The Substance of a Dream","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":44608}