{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48910/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48910","id":"gutenberg_48910","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48910","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Romance","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Frontispiece]\n\n\n\n\nA\n\nDIGIT OF THE MOON\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n_A HINDOO LOVE STORY_\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL MS.\n\nBY\n\nF. W. BAIN\n\n\n\nNINTH EDITION\n\n\n\n  METHUEN & CO. LTD.\n  36 ESSEX STREET W.C.\n  LONDON\n\n\n\n\n  Originally Published by Messrs. James Parker & Co. 1898\n  Second Edition ................................... 1901\n  Third Edition .................................... 1902\n  Fourth Edition ................................... 1904\n  Fifth Edition .................................... 1906\n  Sixth Edition .................................... 1909\n  First Published by Methuen & Co. Ltd. ....... June 1910\n  Seventh Edition ........................... August 1910\n  Eighth Edition ........................... January 1911\n  Ninth Edition ........................... November 1911\n\n\n\n\n  TO\n  MY WIFE.\n\n\n\n\nPREFATORY NOTE TO SECOND EDITION.\n\nThe better to illustrate how, in Hindoo mythology, the ideas of _a\nbeautiful woman_, _the Moon_, _and the Sea_, dissolve and disappear\ninto one another, I have placed on the fly-leaf of this edition a\nsingle stanza, drawn from another part of my MS., which\ncharacteristically exemplifies that _dissolving view_: subjoining here,\nfor the benefit of the uninitiated, a literal translation:\n\n\n_O thou lovely Incarnation of the Nectar-dropping Moon, come down from\nHeaven to lighten our Darkness: Delight of the Race of Man: retaining\nin thy Womanhood the dancing Play of the Waves of that Sea of Milk out\nof which thou wert originally churned by the Gods: we the Three Worlds_\n(_i.e. of Childhood, Manhood, and Age_) _do worship the Orb of thy\nBosom that possesses for us a Threefold Mystical Feminine Energy[1]\nbeing a Pitcher of Milk for us, when we are Born: a Pillow for us, in\nthe Middle of the Path of Life: and a Shrine, in which we take refuge\nto die at the last._\n\n\nBut we lose, in a literal prose version, the reverberation, and the\necho of the Sea, which undertones the meaning of the words like the\naccompaniment to a song.  This _sound_ we might make some attempt to\npreserve, without doing violence to the _sense_, as follows;\n\n  Like a New MODE'S exquisite Incarnation,\n    In the Ebb and Flow of a Surging Sea,\n  Wave-breasted Beauty, the whole Creation\n    Wanes, and waxes, and rocks on thee!\n  For we rise and fall on thy Bosom's Billow\n    Whose heaving Swell is our Home Divine.\n  Our Chalice at Dawn, and our hot Noon's Pillow,\n                          Our Evening's Shrine.\n\n_Woolacombe Bay, April_ 29, 1901.\n\n\n\n[1] The last lines contain recondite philosophical allusions to the\nCreation, Preservation, and Destruction of the World, and other\nmatters, in technical terms which defy translation.  Life in Hindoo\nphilosophy, as in that of the Middle Ages, carries about with it a\nperfume of death: there is in its atmosphere something melancholy, and\neven a little morbid, like the slow tolling of a bell.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE TO FIRST EDITION,\n\nA Digit of the Moon is the sixteenth part of a much longer work,\nentitled _The Churning of the Ocean of Time_[1].  A well-known Hindoo\nlegend recounts how the gods and antigods assembled to churn the ocean\nof milk[2] for the nectar of immortality.  After throwing in herbs of\nvarious kinds, they churned it with Mount Mandara, and obtained the\nnectar, with certain other things, one of which was the MOON, who by\nthe way is often called 'the Lord of Herbs.'\n\nBut in Sanskrit, the Moon, like the Sun, is a male.  Hindoo poets get\nover this difficulty, when they want a female Moon, by personifying his\nattributes, or making a part do duty for the whole.  Thus, his disc is\ndivided into sixteen parts, called '_streaks_' or '_digits_' and a\nbeautiful woman is '_a digit of the moon_.'\n\nThe whole work, then, called '_The Churning of the Ocean of Time_,' is,\nlike the Moon, divided into sixteen parts, each named after one of the\ndigits of the Moon.  The one now before the reader is called _A Digit\nof the Moon, turned red by the rays of the dawning Sun_[3].  The point\nlies in the play on the word red, which in the original also means\n'_enamoured_,' '_in love_.'  That is to say, that the heroine of the\nstory 'turns red,' _i.e._ falls in love with the hero, whose name, it\nwill be found, is S\u00fcryak\u00e1nta, or 'Sunstone.'\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\nI little thought, ten years ago, that it would ever be my lot to play,\nas it were, the part of Boccaccio, and bring forth meat from the eater,\nstories from a plague.  Yet here also the unexpected came about, in the\nfollowing way.\n\nConsidering how recently Europe has become aware of the very existence\nof a Sanskrit literature, I had often wondered whether there might not\nbe hidden away, here and there, in the vast ocean of India, literary\ntreasures still undiscovered, which future 'churning' might bring up.\nBut I did not expect that my question would ever receive a practical\nanswer.  However, a few years ago, when the plague was decimating the\ncity of Poona, carrying off its victims by hundreds a day, personal\nacquaintance with some of the officers appointed by Government to cope\nwith the enemy put it into my power to do a slight service to an old\nMar\u00e1tha Brahman, whose name, by his own particular desire, I suppress.\nMy 'service' was indeed a mere trifle, a thing of which no Englishman\nwould have thought twice.  Hindoos, however, look on these matters with\nvery different eyes.  An Englishman's house may be his castle, but a\nHindoo's house is a shrine, a holy of holies, which for unhallowed\nfootsteps to invade is desecration.  I was amused to find that my old\nBrahman regarded me almost as though I had preserved his family from\nnameless and everlasting infamy.  And when he subsequently discovered\nthat I was a humble student of the 'polished, sacred' language, and\ncould make shift to admire his beloved K\u00e1lid\u00e1s in the original, his\nesteem for me rose to a degree almost embarrassing.  He came two or\nthree times to see me, and took an obvious pleasure in dilating on the\nbeauties of his ancient authors to one who was at least a good\nlistener.  But it struck me as curious, that every time he went away he\nseemed as it were labouring to deliver himself of some important\ncommunication, which nevertheless he shrank from discovering to me; and\nhe always eventually departed, with an air of some confusion, and his\nsecret left untold.  I thought at the time that he was only nerving\nhimself to make some request of me, of which he doubted the reception,\nand was unable to screw his courage to the sticking-point.  But I was\nmistaken.\n\nOur interviews came to an abrupt conclusion.  The plague stepped in and\nswept his family clean away, carrying off his wife, all his children,\nand various others of his kin, leaving him alone untouched--but not for\nlong.  One evening, when I came home late, having been out nearly all\nday, I found on my doorstep a messenger who had been waiting for me,\nwith the inexhaustible patience of an Oriental, for many hours.  The\nplague had remembered my old Brahman at last, and he had sent to ask me\nto come and see him, 'on business of importance.'  I went off\naccordingly to a segregate camp, whither he had been removed, and, much\nto my relief, arrived in time to find him conscious: for he was a fine\nold gentleman, and when a Brahman is a gentleman, he is a striking type\nof humanity.  He confused me by thanking me, for the hundredth time,\nfor my good offices, adding, however, that they had been, in a certain\nsense, wasted, as he was the only one left of his family, and now he\nalso, he was glad to say, was going the same way.  He said, that he had\nbeen anxious to see me before he died, because he had something of\nvalue to give me.  Hereupon he produced what the uninitiated might have\ntaken for a packet of ladies' long six-button gloves, pressed together\nbetween two strips of wood about the size of a cheroot box, and tied\nround with string; but which from experience I knew to be a\nmanuscript[4].  He handed it to me, observing that it had been in the\npossession of his family from a time beyond memory, and that nothing\nwould ever have induced him to part with it, had any of that family\nremained to possess it; but as they were all gone, and as, moreover, it\nwould certainly be burned by the plague authorities as soon as he was\ndead, it was mine, if I cared to accept it.  If not, he said, with an\neffort to smile, no matter: it could, like a faithful wife, enter the\nfire on the death of its owner: yet that would be a pity, for it was\nworth preserving.  I accepted his present, and he bade me farewell.  I\ntook leave of the old man, not without emotion, for grief and\napproaching death had converted his face to the very incarnation of\nmisery; and I learned on enquiry that he died, about thirty-six hours\nafterwards, in the early morning.\n\nNotwithstanding the hints let fall by its former owner, I own I was\ndubious as to the value of my MS., for Hindoos will admire anything in\nSanskrit.  But when--after having redeemed it with difficulty from the\nordeal of fire and the plague authorities by subjecting it to severe\nfumigations--I fell to examining it[5], I apologised to the _manes_ of\nmy old Brahman for doubting his judgment, and blessed him for his\npresent, which is, I will venture to say, unique in literature.  But I\nwill leave the reader to judge of it for himself[6], warning him only\nthat no language loses so much by translation as the Sanskrit; and\nadvising him, for his own sake, to read it consecutively through, or he\nwill lose much[7].  I cannot refrain from observing, however, that it\ndiffers from the general run of classical Sanskrit productions in two\nvery striking particulars--the simplicity of its style, and the\noriginality of its matter.  As to the last, every body knows that\nclassical Sanskrit authors have no originality.  They do but\nrhetorically reset and embellish notorious themes: such originality as\nthey exhibit lying, not in their subject, but its treatment.  Our\nauthor is an exception.  Whoever he was, he must have possessed the\ngift of imagination: for though the plan of the story was doubtless\nsuggested by the _W\u00e9t\u00e1la-panchawimshatik\u00e1_, yet so novel and poetical\nis the use made of it that it may fairly claim to owe but little to its\nsource, while all the particular stories are curious and original.  The\nbook differs, again, in a remarkable manner from other classical\nproducts of the Hindoo Muse in the simplicity of its style.  The author\nwould seem to have deliberately chosen the epic[8] rather than the\nclassic style as his model.  We find here none of that artificiality,\nthat straining and effort at style for its own sake, that perverse\nelaboration, those insipid intolerable _shl\u00e9has_ and interminable\ncompounds which reach a climax in the appalling concatenations of e.g.\nthe _K\u00e9dambar\u00ed_.  Mature Hindoo literature exhibits precisely the same\ntendency as its architecture: ornament is piled on ornament with\naimless, tasteless extravagance, till the whole becomes nauseous, and\nall unity is smothered and annihilated under a load of rhetorical\ngewgaws.  Just as the rank and luxuriant growth of a creeper will\nsometimes drain of its juices, dry up, and destroy the tree it was\ndesigned to adorn, so the over development of gaudy rhetorical blossoms\nand effeminate literary prettinesses has desiccated and broken the\nspring of the Hindoo mind.  The best things in the literature are just\nthose which are simplest, and therefore as a rule oldest.  Literary\narabesque nearly always indicates and springs from the absence of\nanything to say; a poverty of creative ideas.  But our author has\nreally a story to tell, and can therefore afford to exhibit it in naked\nunadorned simplicity.\n\nFinally, the words which stand as a motto on the title-page have a\nhistory of their own.  They are the closing lines of the _Shakuntal\u00e1_,\nand they mean, briefly: _O Shiwa, grant that I may never be born\nagain_.  There is a _curiosa felicitas_ in their application to the\nconclusion of the story, where indeed I found them, scribbled in the\nmargin by another hand; and though it cannot be proved, I am convinced\nthat they were placed there by my old Brahman himself (who had K\u00e1lid\u00e1s\nby heart), when he took his farewell of the MS., in an access of grief\nand despair at feeling his family annihilated and himself deprived of\nall that had made his life worth living, by the plague.  Let us hope\nthat the old man has had his wish, and that '_the purple-tinted god_'\nhas '_destroyed his rebirth_.'\n\n_Mah\u00e1baleshwar_, 1898.\n\n\n\n[1] _Sans\u00e1ra-s\u00e1gara-manthanam_.\n\n[2] For _milk_ the author has substituted a technical word which means\n_the world considered as the scene of never-ending transmigrations_.\n('_O world!  O life!  O time!_')  By this he implies that the _nectar_\nof his work it the residuum of much churning of life and experience of\nthe world, and that it is destined to be immortal.\n\n[3] I have never experienced a stranger or more delightful sensation\nthan when, as I was translating this work, I saw this very phenomenon\non the Ghauts at Mah\u00e1baleshwar: a blood-red Moon going down into the\nhills at early dawn, with the Sun rising on the opposite peaks.  Only\nthe redness which the poet ascribes to the Sun was of course due to the\nhaze of the atmosphere.\n\n[4] Though I make no attempt to assign a date to this MS., the reader\nshould observe that in India printing has not superseded hand work.\nThe Hindoos have religious prejudices against printed books, and they\nwill not use them in their temples, or for sacred purposes.\n\n[5] A well written MS. in the _D\u00e9wan\u00e1gari_ character, is hardly if at\nall, inferior to print.\n\n[6] At some future time I hope to translate the remainder, or part of\nit.\n\n[7] Its principal beauty lies in the skill of its climax, which is lost\nby neglecting the order.\n\n[8] The poem is written in _shl\u00f3kas_, or _anushtubh_, with occasional\ndeviations (as e.g. the conclusion) into more elaborate metres.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n[_For the convenience of the English reader I have drawn up this table.\nThe original contains none._]\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.  The Story of the Creation of Woman\n\n  Day  1.  The Story of _Gan\u00e9sha_ and the _Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka_\n  Day  2.  The Story of the Brahman's Cows\n  Day  3.  The Story of the Baby R\u00e1j\u00e1\n  Day  4.  The Story of _Bimba_ and _Pratibimba_\n  Day  5.  The Story of Suwarnask\u00edl\u00e1\n  Day  6.  The Story of the Three Queens\n  Day  7.  The Story of the False Ascetic and the King's daughter\n  Day  8.  The Story of the Pilgrim and the Ganges\n  Day  9.  The Story of the Repentant Wife\n  Day 10.  The Story of the Wrestler's Pet\n  Day 11.  The Story of the Domestic Chaplain\n  Day 12.  The Story of the Elephant and the Ants\n  Day 13.  The Story of the Mirage Hunter\n  Day 14.  The Story of the Red Lips\n  Day 15.  The Story of the Lotus and the Bee\n  Day 16.  The Story of the Gem in the Snake's Hood\n  Day 17.  The Story of the King's Dream\n  Day 18.  The Story of Love and Death\n  Day 19.  The Story of _Krit\u00e1krita_\n  Day 20.  The Story of Conclusion\n\n\n_Note_.--The Vignette is a rude sketch by the translator from an old\nbust of Gan\u00e9sha.  He has only one tusk, and should have four arms, but\nthey have got broken.  His favourite vehicle is a mouse or rat, and his\ntrunk is always considered to be smeared with vermilion.  He is the God\nof Success, and the Remover of Obstacles, and woe to the man who should\nneglect to conciliate him, at the opening of any undertaking!\n\n\n\n\nA Digit of the Moon\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nINVOCATION[1].\n\n\n_May the kindly three-eyed god[2], who stained his throat deep-purple\nby the draught of deadly poison which he swallowed for the preservation\nof the world, preserve you.  May the Elephant-faced One[3] sweep away\nwith his trunk all impediments to my thoughts, and may W\u00e1n\u00ed[4] inspire\ninto my mind for every thought its proper word._\n\n\nThere lived formerly, in a certain country, a king, called\nS\u00faryak\u00e1nta[5].  And his armies, guided by Valour and Policy, had\npenetrated in all directions to the shore of the ocean, and his\nintellect had gone to the further shore of all the sciences, so that\none thing only was unknown to him, woman, and the love of woman.  He\nwas, as it were, the very incarnation of the spirit of misogyny,\nbeautiful exceedingly himself, to scorch with the hot rays of his glory\nthe despairing hearts of all fair women who might chance to cast eyes\nupon him, yet himself cold as snow to their own melting glances.  And\nas time went on, his ministers became full of concern for the future of\nthe kingdom, for they said: The King has no son, and if he should die,\neverything will go to ruin for want of an heir.  So they took counsel\namong themselves, and sending for them wherever they could find them,\nthey threw in his way temptations in the form of beautiful women,\nraining on him as it were showers of the quintessence of all the female\nbeauty in the world.  But all was of no avail: for no matter what shape\nit took, the celestial loveliness of those ladies made no more\nimpression on the King's mind than a forest leaf falling on the back of\na wild elephant.  Then the ministers fell into despair, exclaiming:\nTruly there is a point at which virtues become vices.  It is well for a\nKing to avoid the wiles of women; but out on this woman-hating king!\nthe kingdom will be undone for him.  And they took counsel again among\nthemselves, and made representations to the King, exhorting him to\nmarriage.  But he would not listen to anything they could say.  So\nbeing at their wits' end, they caused it to be bruited about without\nthe King's knowledge, by means of their spies, that they would give a\ncrore[6] of gold pieces to any one who could produce a change in the\nmind of the King, and inspire him with an inclination for marriage.\nBut though many charlatans presented themselves and performed\nincantations and other such devices, no one could be found able to\neffect the desired end.  On the contrary, the King's hostility to the\nother sex increased so much, that he punished every woman who came\nwithin the range of his sight by banishing her from the kingdom.  And\nin their fear lest the kingdom should be wholly deprived of its women,\nthe ministers had to place spies about the King, who ran before him\nwherever he went, and made all the women keep out of his way.  And this\ntask was as difficult as standing on the edge of a sword, for all the\nwomen in the kingdom were drawn to see him by love and curiosity as if\nhe were a magnet[7] and they so many pieces of iron.\n\nThen one day there came to the capital a certain painter[8].  And he,\nas soon as he arrived, made enquiries as to the wonders of that city.\nThen the people told him: The greatest wonder in our city is our King,\nS\u00faryak\u00e1nta, himself.  For though he is a king, nothing will induce him\nto have anything to do with women, from the peacock of whose beauty he\nflies as if he were a snake.  And yet he is himself like a second god\nof love, so that here is the marvel: that one whom the Fish-bannered\ngod[9] has created as a sixth weapon to cleave the hearts of the female\nsex should have no curiosity to exert his power.  Should the sun refuse\nto warm, or the wind to blow?  But when the painter heard this he\nlaughed, and said: I possess a charm that would act like the sun upon\nits gem[10].  And one of the spies of the ministers heard him, and went\nand told them of his arrival and his brag.  And they immediately\nsummoned that painter and questioned him, telling him the whole state\nof the case, and promising him the reward if he could make his words\ngood.  And the painter said: Contrive that the King shall send for me,\nand leave the rest to me.\n\nSo the ministers went and told the King: Sire, there has arrived in\nyour capital a painter, whose equal in skill is not to be found in the\nthree worlds.  And when the King heard it he was delighted, for he was\nhimself skilled in the art of painting and all other arts; and he\ncaused the painter to be brought into his presence.  But he, when he\ncame, was amazed at the extraordinary beauty of the King, and he\nexclaimed: O King, you have caused me to obtain the fruit of my birth\nin bestowing on me the priceless boon of a sight of your incomparable\nbeauty.  And now only one more thing remains.  I implore your Majesty\nto let me make a copy of it, in order that in future I may never be\nwithout it.  For the sun warms even when reflected in a poor mirror.\nThen the King said: Show me first specimens of your skill.  But beware\nthat you show me no women, otherwise it will be worse for you.  So the\npainter showed him a collection of pictures of all the countries in the\nworld, but among them he had secretly placed the portrait of a woman.\nAnd as the King was turning over the pictures, one by one, he suddenly\ncame upon that portrait.  But the moment he looked at it, he fell to\nthe ground in a swoon.\n\nThen the painter laughed, and said to the ministers: The cure is\neffected: pay the physician his fee.  But they replied: We must first\nbe sure that the patient is really cured.  The painter replied: You\nwill soon find that out.  Look to the King, and restore him, and see\nwhat he says when he comes to himself and finds that I am not here.\nFor in the meanwhile I will go out of the room.\n\nThen the ministers summoned attendants, who fanned the King with\npalm-leaves, and sprinkled him with water scented with sandal.  And the\nKing revived, and instantly looking round, exclaimed: The painter, the\npainter!  The ministers said: Sire, he is gone.  But when the King\nheard that, he changed colour, and his voice trembled, and he said: If\nyou have allowed him to escape, I will have you all trampled to death\nby elephants before the sun goes down.  So they went out quickly and\nfound the painter, and fetched him in again before the King.  And he\nfell at the King's feet, saying: May the King forgive me!  Alas! my\nevil fortune must have mixed up that lady's portrait among my other\npictures, to bring me to destruction.  But the King said: O most\nadmirable of all painters, past, present, or to come, know that you\nhave conferred a benefit upon me by exhibiting that portrait to me,\nwhich I could not repay even with my whole kingdom.  And beyond doubt,\nthat lady must have been my wife in a previous existence, for emotions\nsuch as these point unmistakeably to a former life.  Now then, tell me,\nof what land is her father the king?  For certain I am, that it is a\nportrait, for such beauty as hers could not have been conceived by any\nmortal brain.  None but the Creator himself could have fashioned her.\nThen the painter smiled, and said: O King, be warned by me.  Dismiss\nthis lady from your mind, and think of her no more; otherwise my\ncarelessness may turn out to have been the cause of your ruin.  But the\nKing said: Painter, no more.  Choose, either to tell me who she is, and\nbe loaded with gold; or not; an I will load you with chains, and\nimprison you in a loathsome dungeon, with neither food nor water, till\nyou do.\n\nThen the painter said: King, since there is no help for it, and your\nfate will have it so, learn, that this is the portrait of\nAnangar\u00e1g\u00e1[11], the daughter of a brother of the King of the Nagas[12],\nwho lives by herself in a palace in the forest, two months' journey\nfrom here.  And what her beauty is, you yourself partly know by\npersonal experience of the effect which even in a picture it produced\nupon you: yet what picture could be equal to the reality?  For every\none that sees her instantly falls in love with her, and many swoon\naway, as you did, and there are some who have even died.  And yet the\nCreator, when he made her a casket of beauty so inimitably lovely,\nplaced within it a heart of adamant, so hard, that it laughs at all the\nefforts of the flowery-arrowed god to pierce it.  For innumerable\nsuitors have sought her in marriage, coming from all the quarters of\nthe world, and she receives them all with scornful indifference, yet\nentertains them magnificently for twenty-one days, on this condition,\nthat every day they ask her a riddle[13].  And if any suitor should\nsucceed in asking her something that she cannot answer, then she\nherself is to be the prize; but if within the stipulated time he fails,\nthen he becomes her slave, to be disposed of how she will.  And no one\nhas ever yet succeeded in asking her anything she cannot answer; for\nshe is of superhuman intelligence, and learned in all the sciences; but\nof the countless suitors who have tried and failed, some she has sent\naway, and others she retains about her person as slaves, pitilessly\nshowing them every day that beauty which is for ever unattainable to\nthem, so that their lot is infinitely worse than that of beasts.  And\ntherefore, O King, I warned you, lest the same thing should happen also\nto you.  O be wise, and shun her, before it is too late.  For I think\nthat no lot can be more wretched than that of those who are doomed to\neverlasting regret, for having lost what nevertheless they see ever\nbefore them, as it were within their reach.\n\nThen King S\u00fcryak\u00e1nta laughed aloud, and he said: Painter, your judgment\nis not equal to your skill in your own art.  For there is a lot\ninfinitely more miserable, and it is that of one who passes his whole\nlife in regret for an object which, with daring and resolution, he\nmight have attained.  Let me rather pine for ever miserable in the\ncontemplation of such beauty, than weakly abandon my chance of enjoying\nit.  Then the King gave that painter three crores of gold pieces, as\nthe price of the portrait of the Princess, which he took away from him;\nand, after allowing him to paint his own portrait, dismissed him.  And\nhe said to his ministers: Make all ready: for this very night I start\nin quest of the Princess Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1.  Then his ministers deliberated\ntogether, and said to each other: Certainly, if the King should fail in\nhis object and never return, the kingdom will be ruined.  Yet, the same\nwill be the case if he remains here, and scorning the society of all\nother women, never has a son.  Therefore it is better as it is.  For of\ntwo evils, the least is a good.  Moreover, he may possibly succeed.\n\nSo that very night, burning with the fierce fire of impatience, the\nKing transferred the burden of his government to the shoulders of his\nministers, and set out, with the portrait of his beloved, to win or\nlose her.  And he would have taken nobody with him.  But as he was\npreparing to depart, his boon companion, Rasak\u00f3sha[14], said to him:\nSire, would you go alone?  And the King said: My friend, I may fail,\nand never return.  Why should I drag others with me into the jaws of\ndestruction?  I will go by myself.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha said: King, what are\nyou about?  You leave yourself behind, if you leave me.  That half of\nyou which inhabits your own body is altogether gone upon[15] the\nPrincess, and wholly intent upon her, so as to think of nothing else:\nthen how will you baffle her, without that other half of you which\nlives in me, and is always ready for your service?  And what am I to do\nwithout my better half?  And even if you _do_ fail, what will you do\nwithout me? for even prosperity without a friend is tasteless[16]: how\nmuch more adversity!  Then the King said: Well, be it so.  Come, let us\nbe off.  But Rasak\u00f3sha said: Did I not say that your mind was\nwandering?  Would you start on such a perilous adventure, without first\nsecuring the aid of Win\u00e1yaka[17]?  Who ever succeeded in anything that\nneglected him?  And the King said: It is true.  In my eagerness I had\nalmost forgotten him.  So he praised Gan\u00e9sha, saying: Hail, O thou lord\nof the Elephant Face, whose trunk is uplifted in the dance!  Hail to\nthee, before whom obstacles melt away like the mists of night before\nthe morning sun!  Hail to thee, aided by whom even the weak triumph\nover the strong!  Hail to thee, without whom all prudence is vain, and\nall wisdom, folly!  Hail, O thou whose basket ears flap like banners of\nvictory in the wind!\n\nThen they set out on their journey.  And they fared on day and night\nthrough the forest, full of wild beasts, apes, and Shabaras[18] as the\nsea is of jewels: but the King in his preoccupation for many days\nneither spoke nor ate nor drank, living only on air and the portrait of\nthe Princess, which night and day he devoured with his eyes.\n\nThen one day, as they rested at noon beneath the thick shade of a\n_Kadamba_[19] tree, the King gazed for a long time at the portrait of\nhis mistress.  And suddenly he broke silence, and said: Rasak\u00f3sha, this\nis a woman.  Now, a woman is the one thing about which I know nothing.\nTell me, what is the nature of women?  Then Rasak\u00f3sha smiled, and said:\nKing, you should certainly keep this question to ask the Princess; for\nit is a hard question.  A very terrible creature indeed is a woman, and\none formed of strange elements.  _Apropos_, I will tell you a story:\nlisten.\n\nIn the beginning, when Twashtri[20] came to the creation of woman, he\nfound that he had exhausted his materials in the making of man, and\nthat no solid elements were left.  In this dilemma, after profound\nmeditation, he did as follows.  He took the rotundity of the moon, and\nthe curves of creepers, and the clinging of tendrils, and the trembling\nof grass, and the slenderness of the reed, and the bloom of flowers,\nand the lightness of leaves, and the tapering of the elephant's trunk,\nand the glances of deer, and the clustering of rows of bees[21], and\nthe joyous gaiety of sunbeams, and the weeping of clouds, and the\nfickleness of the winds, and the timidity of the hare, and the vanity\nof the peacock, and the softness of the parrot's bosom, and the\nhardness of adamant, and the sweetness of honey, and the cruelty of the\ntiger, and the warm glow of fire, and the coldness of snow, and the\nchattering of jays, and the cooing of the _k\u00f3kila_[22], and the\nhypocrisy of the crane, and the fidelity of the _chakraw\u00e1ka_; and\ncompounding all these together, he made woman, and gave her to man.\nBut after one week, man came to him, and said: Lord, this creature that\nyou have given me makes my life miserable.  She chatters incessantly,\nand teases me beyond endurance, never leaving me alone: and she\nrequires incessant attention, and takes all my time up, and cries about\nnothing, and is always idle; and so I have come to give her back again,\nas I cannot live with her.  So Twashtri said: Very well: and he took\nher back.  Then after another week, man came again to him, and said:\nLord, I find that my life is very lonely since I gave you back that\ncreature.  I remember how she used to dance and sing to me, and look at\nme out of the corner of her eye, and play with me, and cling to me; and\nher laughter was music, and she was beautiful to look at, and soft to\ntouch: so give her back to me again.  So Twashtri said: Very well: and\ngave her back again.  Then after only three days, man came back to him\nagain, and said: Lord, I know not how it is; but after all, I have come\nto the conclusion that she is more of a trouble than a pleasure to me:\nso please take her back again.  But Twashtri said: Out on you!  Be off!\nI will have no more of this.  You must manage how you can.  Then man\nsaid: But I cannot live with her.  And Twashtri replied: Neither could\nyou live without her.  And he turned his back on man, and went on with\nhis work.  Then man said: What is to be done?  for I cannot live either\nwith or without her[23].\n\nAnd Rasak\u00f3sha ceased, and looked at the King.  But the King remained\nsilent, gazing intently at the portrait of the Princess.\n\nAnd thus travelling on, day by day, through the forest, at length they\ndrew near to the palace of the Princess Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1.\n\n\n\n[1] Some such benedictory exordium as this is regarded as indispensable\nby every Sanskrit author: yet it is remarkable that K\u00e1lid\u00e1s is careless\nof the rule; _e.g._ his _Cloud_ and his _Seasons_ begin at once without\nany invocation at all.\n\n[2] Shiwa.\n\n[3] Gan\u00e9sha or Ganapati.  See Day 1.\n\n[4] Saraswat\u00ed, the goddess of speech.\n\n[5] _i.e._ 'sun-beloved;' the name of a fabulous gem 'sunstone' (cp.\n'moonstone'), said to possess magical properties and exhibit them when\nacted upon by the rays of the sun.\n\n[6] Ten millions.\n\n[7] A kind of play on the King's name: _l\u00f3hak\u00e1nta_ means a loadstone.\n\n[8] This method of bringing lovers together is part of a Hindoo\nstory-teller's romantic machinery.\n\n[9] The Hindoo Cupid, who is said to possess five bewildering weapons.\n\n[10] Alluding to the King's name: see n. p. 1.  [11] _i.e._ 'the\npassion, or the rosy-blush, of love.'  (Pronounce the two first\nsyllables to rhyme with 'among,' with a north-country g.)\n\n[12] These Nagas are beings of serpent nature, but often confounded\nwith men: _e.g._ in Kath\u00e1 Sarits\u00e1gara, I. 6, the nephew of the King of\nthe N\u00e1gas is said to be a Brahman.  Their women are of inconceivable\nloveliness.\n\n[13] Very few of the stories are really riddles, but they all give the\nPrincess an opportunity of displaying her ready judgment and acumen.\nIt will also be seen, that owing to the device with which the story\nconcludes, there are really only nineteen days, instead of twenty-one.\n\n[14] Pronounce _Russak\u00f3sh_.  The name refers to the part he will play\nin the story: it means both 'a ball of mercury,' and 'a treasury of\ntaste, wit, literary sentiments or flavours,' a sort of walking\nencyclop\u00e6dia.  The King's companion is a salient figure in Hindoo\ndrama: he is a sort of Sancho Panza, _minus_ the vulgarity and the\nhumour.\n\n[15] This colloquialism is an exact facsimile of the Sanskrit\nexpression.\n\n[16] A play upon his own name.\n\n[17] Gan\u00e9sha, the god of obstacles and success.  See Day 1.\n\n[18] An old name for Bh\u00edls and other wild tribes.\n\n[19] 'A tree with orange-coloured fragrant blossoms.'\n\n[20] The Hindoo Vulcan, sometimes, as here, used for the Creator,\n_dhatri_ = Plato's [Greek: demiourgos].  Sanskrit literature is the key\nto Plato; much of his philosophy is only the moonlike reflection of\nHindoo mythology.\n\n[21] Hindoo poets see a resemblance between rows of bees and\neye-glances.\n\n[22] The Indian cuckoo.  The crane is a by-word for inward villainy and\nsanctimonious exterior.  The chakraw\u00e1ka, or Brahmany drake, is fabled\nto pass the night sorrowing for the absence of his mate and she for him.\n\n[23] The very echo of Martial.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 1.\n\nThen, when the towers of the palace rose over the trees, and gleamed\nlike gold on their eyes in the beams of the morning sun, King\nS\u00fcryak\u00e1nta suddenly exclaimed: Ha!  I am undone.  And Rasak\u00f3sha said:\nHow is that?  Then the King said: Alas!  I have been absolutely\npossessed by the image of my beloved, night and day, waking and\nsleeping, so that I have thought of nothing in the world beside.  And\nnow here we are at the end of our journey, but at the beginning of\ndifficulties.  For as to what I shall ask the Princess, I have not the\nshadow of an idea.  And if the thought of her has such power to\nbewilder me at a distance, the sight of her will utterly deprive me of\nmy reason, so that I am lost already.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha said: O King,\nthis is exactly why the Princess has hitherto baffled all her lovers.\nThe spell of her beauty robs them of their intellect, and chains up\ntheir invention, and thus they fall an easy prey.  But fortunate are\nyou, that while your best half has been absent from its body, your\nother half[1] has been watching over the empty case.  Be under no\nconcern: but when we are introduced into the presence of the Princess,\ntell her that you speak by my mouth, and leave all to me.  So the King\nwas relieved, and dismissing all other subjects from his mind, he again\nbecame wholly immersed in meditating on his mistress.\n\nThen drawing nearer by degrees, at length they entered the precincts of\nthe palace.  And there they were met by warders, who enquired who they\nwere.  And they went and announced to the Princess that King S\u00faryak\u00e1nta\nhad arrived as a suitor for her hand.  So she sent chamberlains and\nothers, who conducted the King to a pleasure-house of white marble in a\ngarden beautiful with a lake and crystal baths, shady with trees,\nperfumed with breezes loaded with the fragrance of flowers, and musical\nwith the songs of innumerable birds.  There they passed the day.  But\nthe King, consumed with the fever of his burning desire to see the\nPrincess, had neither eyes nor ears for anything but the portrait.\n\nAnd when the sun set, King S\u00fcryak\u00e1nta and Rasak\u00f3sha went to the palace\nof the Princess, and entered the hall of audience, whose floor, inlaid\nwith slabs of dark-blue crystal, reflected their feet, and whose walls\nflashed back from the facets of their jewels the light of innumerable\nlamps.  And there they saw Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1, sitting on a golden throne, clad\nin a robe of sea-green, and a bodice studded with coral, looking like\nLakshmi[2] fresh from ocean.  And her eyes were as long as a row of\nbees, and their lashes jet black with collyrium, and her lips were like\nfreshly painted vermilion, and from her high bosom came the fragrance\nof sandal.  And round her slender waist was a girdle of gold, and on\nher wrists and ankles gold bangles and anklets, and the soles of her\nlittle feet were red with lac, and in her black hair was a gold tiara\nin the form of a snake, with eyes of rubies, and a tongue of emerald.\nAnd in the radiance of her beauty she looked scornfully at the King,\nand, turning away her head, said, without waiting to be addressed:\nPropose your question.  But the King, struck by the thunderbolt of her\nstupefying loveliness, sank mute and trembling upon a couch opposite to\nher, and gazed at her like a bird fascinated by a serpent.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward, and prostrated himself at her feet, and said:\nLady, this unworthy mortal is the King's mouth.  Is it permitted him to\nspeak?  So the Princess said: Proceed.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha rose up, and\nstood before her, and began:\n\nLady, there lived formerly, in a certain country, a Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka[3], who\nwas about to be married.  And while he was making preparations for the\nceremony, one of his friends came to him, and gave him advice, saying:\nPropitiate Gen\u00e9sha, in order that nothing untoward may occur to\ninterfere with your marriage.  Then that Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka laughed in derision,\nand replied: My good Sir, you are a fool.  Do I not know that knaves\nand fools invented the _W\u00e9das_, and instituted the sacrificial rites\nfor their own advantage?  All these foolish tales about the gods are\nmerely the dreams of madmen, or the livelihood of rogues.  As for this\nGan\u00e9sha that you speak of, what is the use of him?  Or how can there be\na man with the head of an elephant?  And what has he to do with\nsuccess?  He, who forms his plans with prudence, and executes them with\nwisdom, may count on success.  Out on your Gan\u00e9sha!  I will ensure my\nown success.\n\nSo he spoke, but that lord of the Elephant Face heard him, and laughed\nto himself, gently waving his trunk.  And the Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka went on with his\npreparations.  But when all was ready, and the lucky day fixed, then on\nthe morning of that day Ganapati spoke to a certain cow that used to\nwander at will about the streets, saying: Cow, go and drop your sacred\nexcrement on that Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka's doorstep.  And the cow went and did so.\nAnd when the Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka came forth from his house, he put his foot on the\ncow-dung, and slipped and fell, and broke his leg.  So they took him up\nand carried him in again.  And before his leg was cured, his bride died.\n\nThen his friend came to him again, and said: See what comes of\nneglecting to worship Ganapati.  But the Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka answered: Go to; you\nare an idiot.  Who could possibly foresee that a miserable cow would\ncast its dung on my doorstep?  What has Ganapati to do with it?  Does\nhe, forsooth! look after and direct the excretions of all the cows in\nthe world?  A pleasant idea, to be sure!  So saying, he drove his\nfriend away, refusing to listen to him.  And when his leg was well, he\nfound another bride, and made preparations for another marriage.  And\nhe hired a band of sweepers to go before him and sweep all clean before\nhis feet.  But when the day came, Ganapati sent for a crow that eat the\ndaily offerings, and said to him: Crow, there is a Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka going to be\nmarried to-day.  Now, there is an arch over a certain street, beneath\nwhich he will pass: and on it there is an image of myself, of stone,\nwhich is very old, and the rain and heat have loosened and cracked it,\nso that it is on the point of falling.  Do you watch, therefore, and\nwhen you see the Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka passing under, then seat yourself upon me,\nand I will fall.  So the crow flew off, and watching his opportunity,\nseated himself upon the stone image of Ganapati; and it fell on the\nCh\u00e1rw\u00e1ka as he passed below, and broke his arm.  So they took him up\nand carried him back to his house.  And before his arm was well, his\nbride died.\n\nThen his friend came once more to him and said: Is this your wisdom?\nWhat did I tell you?  Is it not plain now, who it is that is thwarting\nyour efforts?  Then the Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka flew into a rage, and said: Enough of\nyour babbling!  I will get married in spite of Ganapati.  But what can\nbe anticipated in this miserable city, whose cows befoul the streets,\nand whose buildings are tumble-down.  I will provide against any\nsimilar accident happening again.  So when he was well, he discovered\nanother bride, and again made preparations for his wedding.  And he\narranged to go to the bride's house by a circuitous route outside the\nwalls of the city, avoiding the streets altogether.  But on the morning\nof the day, Ganapati went to Indra, and said: Wajradhara[4], there is a\nCh\u00e1rw\u00e1ka going to get married to-day.  But he must pass over a certain\nwater-course, which is now dry.  Lend me your rain-clouds, for I must\nteach this infidel a lesson.  So Indra sent his clouds, and rained\nfuriously on the hills.  And as the Ch\u00e1rw\u00e1ka was passing over the\nwater-course, the river rose suddenly, and swept down in torrents from\nthe hills and carried him away and drowned him.\n\nAnd Ganapati saw it and smiled.  But on a sudden he wept violently.\n\nNow tell me, Princess, why did the lord of obstacles laugh and weep?\nAnd Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess answered: He laughed when he\nthought of the folly, blindness, and insolence of that miserable\ninfidel.  But suddenly great pity came over him, when he remembered the\nterrible punishment that awaited that foolish fellow in the future, and\nall those who like him prepare by their own actions a fearful\nretribution in other lives and another world: and so he wept[5].\n\nAnd when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out,\ndismissing the King without looking at him, with a wave of her hand:\nand the King's heart went with her.  But the King and Rasak\u00f3sha\nreturned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] _i.e._ Rasak\u00f3sha himself.  The allusion is to a power, possessed by\nadepts in Yoga, of detaching the soul from the body.  See Day 11.\n\n[2] The goddess of fortune and wealth, who was churned up out of the\nocean, and according to some, appeared reclining on an open lotus.\nCoral is one of the nine gems.\n\n[3] _i.e._ an atheist.  The opinions of this philosophical school may\nbe found sketched in the Sarwa-Darshana-Sangraha, \u00a7 1.\n\n[4] 'Wielder of the thunderbolt,' an epithet of Indra, the god of rain.\n\n[5] Perhaps only a Hindoo could appreciate the dexterity with which\nthis story is placed first, and thus the favour of Ganapati, as it\nwere, secured for the rest.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 2.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, although the Princess has\nanswered your question, and you have lost me a day, yet I forgive you,\nfor the sake of the wave of her hand which she made as she went away.\nOh! it resembled the bowing of a blossom-loaded spray of creeper in a\nbreeze.  But if it were not for the portrait, it would be utterly\nimpossible for me to endure the torture of separation from her till\nto-morrow.  And he passed the night in a state of intoxication[1],\ndrunk with the beauty of the Princess, gazing incessantly at the\nportrait.  And he said: Certainly, this painter was master of his art.\nThis is no picture, but a mirror.  There is the very scorn on her lip.\nAnd when at last the sun rose, the King rose also, and passed the day\nwith Rasak\u00f3sha in the garden, longing for the moment of reunion.  Then\nwhen the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there\nthey saw the Princess, clad in a red robe, with a bodice studded with\npearls, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And\nthe King trembled as she looked at him, and he sank upon a couch,\nspeechless and fascinated, gazing at her loveliness.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha\ncame forward, and standing before her, began again:\n\nLady, once upon a time there lived, in the country of a king called\nDharm\u00e1sana[2], an old Brahman who had three sons.  And he possessed\nnothing in the world but nineteen cows.  And when he was about to die,\nhe called his sons around him, and said to them: My sons, I am in the\nmouth of death, therefore listen attentively to what I am going to say.\nAll that I have to give you is these cows.  Divide them amongst you;\nand let the eldest of you take half of them; and the next, a quarter of\nthem; and the youngest, a fifth part of them.  But if there should be\nany remainder left over, you must all three of you eat it; if not, all\nthe cows are to be given to the King, and my curse will rest upon you,\nfor disobedience to my last wishes.  And having said this, that old\nBrahman died.  And his sons performed his obsequies, and burned him in\naccordance with the rites.\n\nThen they assembled together for the division of the property.  And the\neldest brother said: Half of these cows, that is, nine cows and a half,\nare mine.  And the next brother said: One quarter of these cows, that\nis, four cows and three-fourths of a cow, belong to me.  Then the\nyoungest said: One-fifth of these cows, that is, three cows and\nfour-fifths of a cow, are mine.  Then the eldest said: But the sum of\nall these, added together, amounts only to eighteen cows and a\nfraction.  Thus there will remain over a portion of the last cow.  And\nin that case we must eat it.  But how is it possible for Brahmans to\neat the flesh of a cow?  Or even, how are we to take various portions\nof any cow, and leave it still alive[3]?  But then, what is to be done?\nFor unless we share in our due proportions, all the cows are to go to\nthe King, and our father's curse will fall upon us.  And yet what can\nhave been the meaning of our father in placing us in so terrible a\ndilemma?  Thus they disputed among themselves, and the day passed away,\nbut not the difficulty, and night found them still arguing without any\nsolution of the matter.\n\nNow, Princess, tell me, how is this to be settled, so as to satisfy\nequally the father, the three brothers, and the King?  And Rasak\u00f3sha\nceased.  But the Princess bent down her head, and remained a moment in\nmeditation, while the King's soul almost quitted his body.  Then after\na while, raising her head, she replied: Let the brothers borrow another\ncow.  Then of the twenty cows, let the eldest take half, or ten cows;\nthe next, a quarter, or five cows; and the youngest, a fifth, or four\ncows.  Then let them return the borrowed cow.  Thus the nineteen cows\nwill be exhausted without leaving a remainder, and the father\nsatisfied: each brother will receive more than under their own\ndivision; and finally, the King will be pleased.  For he was a just\nKing: and what could displease such a king more than that, in his\ndominions, Brahmans should kill and eat cows, or disregard their\nfather's orders[4].  Rather would he lose, not nineteen cows, but ten\nmillions[5].\n\nAnd when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, casting\na glance, as she went, at the King, whose heart went with her.  But the\nKing and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] Just as the clothes of the Princess change colour every day, so\ndoes the state of the King's mind, which goes through a regular series\nof transitory emotions (wyabhich\u00e1ri).\n\n[2] _i.e._ 'seat of justice.'  The meaning is important, as the sequel\nshows.  It does the Princess credit that she notes and remembers it.\n\n[3] To kill, let alone to eat, a cow, would be of course one of the\nmost deadly sins of which a Brahman could be guilty.\n\n[4] See _Manu_ II., 227, _sqq._\n\n[5] I remember to have heard a very inferior version of this story from\nan old Pundit with whom I read Mar\u00e1thi.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 3.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though the Princess has\nanswered your question, and yet another day has been lost, yet I\nforgive you, for the sake of the glance she gave me as she went away.\nOh! it was cooling to my burning soul as the drops of rain to the\nparched and thirsty earth.  And but for the portrait, it is certain\nthat my life could not last till the morning.  Thus the King lamented,\nand passed the night in a state of longing, gazing at the portrait of\nhis beloved.  And when at last the sun rose, he rose also, and passed\nthe day with Rasak\u00f3sha in the garden, longing for the moment of\nreunion.  And when the sun set, they went again to the hall of\naudience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad in a yellow robe, and\na bodice studded with diamonds, and her crown and other ornaments,\nsitting on her throne.  And she looked intently at the King, who sank\nupon a couch, speechless and fascinated, gazing at her loveliness.\nThen Rasak\u00f3sha came forward, and stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, in a former age there was a king who died of a fever.  And his\nheir was a baby, too young to speak or walk.  Now that king had a\nbrother, who desired the kingdom for himself.  And in order to compass\nthis object, he determined to make away with the little R\u00e1j\u00e1, thinking\nto himself: There will be no difficulty in this, for he is but a baby,\nand can easily be put to death in a thousand ways.\n\nSo one night he persuaded the child's attendants, by means of an\nimmense bribe, to leave him alone in his room.  And he hired an\nassassin to kill him, posting him in a secret place within the palace,\nand telling him: At such an hour, enter the king's room, where you will\nfind him alone, and kill him.  But this assassin was a Rajpoot from the\nDeccan, who had but just come to that city, and did not know who the\nking was.  And expecting a man, at the appointed hour he entered the\nking's room, and saw nothing but a baby playing on the floor with a\nfruit.  And the fruit, escaping from its hands, rolled to the feet of\nthe assassin as he came in.  And the little R\u00e1j\u00e1 put out his hand, and\ncried, _Bh\u00f3, Bh\u00f3_.  So the assassin rolled it back, and the baby\nlaughed and clapped its hands.  Thus they remained, playing with the\nfruit, till the guards came in and found that assassin.  And when they\nasked him who he was, he said: I have a message from my master to the\nking.  Then they laughed, and said: The king is dead: there is the\nking.  But he was amazed, and said: Then I must return and tell the\nnews to my master.  For how can I deliver a message to one who cannot\neven speak?  And they suffered him to depart, and he went out, and\nfearing for his own life, left that city without delay.\n\nThen the king's brother, finding that his plot had failed, hired a\nwhole band of robbers.  And watching his opportunity, he posted them by\nthe side of a road leading to a temple, and said: There will come by\nthis road a baby, magnificently dressed, and ornamented with jewels,\nattended by servants.  Fall on them and plunder them, and if you\nplease, kill them, but make sure that you kill the baby.  But while\nthey waited, in the meanwhile some other robbers, attracted by the\nrichness of the little R\u00e1j\u00e1's ornaments, set upon his retinue.  And\nkilling all his servants but one, who fled naked, they stripped the\nlittle R\u00e1j\u00e1 of all he had on him, but left him alone alive, saying: He\ncannot tell any one, let him live.  So they hastily departed.  Then\nthat fugitive crept back, and finding the baby in the road, picked it\nup, and wrapping it in a cloth, carried it home.  And he passed before\nthe eyes of the gang that was waiting to kill the baby R\u00e1j\u00e1, but they\nthought that he was some beggar, and took no notice of him.  And thus a\nsecond time the child escaped.\n\nThen the king's brother bribed a cook, who put deadly poison into the\nlittle R\u00e1j\u00e1's milk.  And it was given to him in a crystal goblet.  And\nhe took it in both hands, and put it to his mouth, to drink; and at\nthat instant, one of the attendants standing before him sneezed.  And\nthe little R\u00e1j\u00e1 dropped the goblet, and began to crow and clap his\nhands in delight; but the goblet fell to the ground and broke into a\nthousand pieces, and all its contents were spilled upon the floor.\nThus he escaped the third time.  And before the king's brother could\nform another plot, he was himself slain by the husband of a woman of\nthe Kshatriya caste, whom he had carried off and dishonoured.\n\nNow tell me, Princess, how was it that the schemes of that villain\ncould never succeed against the little king, being but a mere child?\nAnd Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess said: It was its very\nchildhood that baffled him.  For just as a stone, lying openly on the\nground, is more secure than a costly jewel, though protected by\nadamantine bars, because it is worthless and arouses no cupidity; so is\na thing so feeble that none would attack it more powerfully protected\nby its very feebleness than strength possessed of many enemies though\ndefended by a thousand guards.  No antidote so good, as the absence of\npoison: no virtue so good, as the absence of beauty: no fortification\nso good, as the absence of enemies: and no guard so potent as the\nhelplessness of a child.  For where are the enemies of the fragile\nlotus?\n\nAnd when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, looking\nback as she went at the King, whose heart went with her.  But the King\nand Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 4.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, your question was again\nanswered by the Princess, and of my days now three are gone, yet freely\ndo I forgive you, for the sake of the glance she gave me as she went\naway.  Oh! it snared my soul as it were in a net.  And but for the\nportrait to keep me alive during the period of separation, beyond\nquestion I should never see the light of day.  So he passed the night\nin a state of lovelorn recollection[1], an enemy to sleep, gazing at\nthe portrait.  And when the sun rose, he rose also, and got somehow or\nother through the day, by the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  Then\nwhen the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there\nthey saw the Princess, clad in a sable robe and a bodice studded with\nsapphires, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.\nAnd she looked kindly at the King, who sank trembling upon a couch,\nspeechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward, and standing before her, began again:\n\nLady, there lived formerly in a certain country two brothers, Brahmans,\ncalled Bimba and Pratibimba[2], who were twins.  And I think that the\nCreator, when he made one, had gone under water to make the other.  For\nthe moon does not more closely resemble her own image in a lake, nor\none leaf on a branch another, than each of them did the other.  Between\nthem, when they were children, the sole point of distinction was the\ncharm tied for that purpose round their necks; and when they grew up,\nthose who saw them together imagined that their own eyes had become\nenemies, and were each giving a separate reflection of the self-same\nobject.  And as their external forms, so were their voices, and their\ninternal dispositions: they corresponded in every atom, from the\nextremity of the skin to the inmost recesses of the heart.\n\nNow one day it happened that Bimba saw a young woman[3] at the spring\nfestival.  And she looked at him at the same moment.  And then and\nthere the god of love penetrated their hearts, employing their mutual\nglances as his weapon.  So having discovered her family and place of\nresidence, Bimba used to go and visit her three days in every week.\nBut in the excess of his own happiness, proud of the extraordinary\nbeauty of his love, he could not contain himself, nor endure to keep\nthe secret of his own good fortune.  So he told his brother the whole\nstory; and contriving a suitable opportunity, he exhibited to him his\nmistress, who was all unconscious of what he was doing.  But\nPratibimba, being as he was but the double of his brother, instantly\nconceived an equally violent passion for her.  And without scruple--for\nwhat has love to do with honour?--he used to go himself, on the other\nthree days of the week, to visit her.  But she in the meanwhile,\nbelieving him to be Bimba himself, for she could not see any\ndifference, only rejoiced in gaining as she thought the company of her\nlover twice as often as before.\n\nBut when some time had passed by, it fell out that Bimba, not being\nable to endure separation, went to visit his mistress on one of his\nbrother's days.  And when he got there, he saw Pratibimba, who had\narrived before him, and was lying asleep on a couch while his beloved\nfanned him with a palm leaf.  But she, when she saw Bimba come in,\nuttered a shriek of astonishment and terror, which woke Pratibimba.\nAnd while she looked in amazement from one to the other, Bimba rushed\nupon Pratibimba, mad with jealousy and howling with rage, while\nPratibimba did the same to him.  And grappling with one another, they\nrolled upon the floor, fighting and kicking each other, till, hearing\nthe shrieks of the woman, the King's officers came in and separated\nthem, and carried them all three to the judge.  Then Bimba said: This\nman is my brother, and he has stolen my beloved from me.  But\nPratibimba said: No, she is mine: it is you that are the thief.  Then\nBimba howled: I was first, and you are a villain.  And Pratibimba\nechoed his words[4].  So the judge said to the woman: Which of them is\nyour lover?  But she answered: Sir, I cannot tell which is which, nor\ndid I ever know that there were two till to-day.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, how shall the judge distinguish between them?\nAnd Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess said: Let him take all three\napart, and ask each to describe in detail the circumstances under which\nhe saw the woman first.  For though the impostor may have heard that it\nwas at the spring festival, yet the eye that saw, aided by the heart\nthat remembers, will convict the ear that only heard.\n\nAnd when she had said this, the Princess rose up and went out, smiling\nat the King over her shoulder, and she drew away the King's heart after\nher.  But the King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] _Smara_ means both love and memory.\n\n[2] Both words mean _image, reflection_.\n\n[3] The _het\u00e6ra_ plays in old Hindoo stories a still larger part than\nshe did in Greek.\n\n[4] There is an untranslateable play on the word here.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 5.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though my mistress guessed\nyour question, and now four days have gone, yet I forgive you, for the\nsake of the smile she gave me when she went away.  Oh! it irradiated\nthe gloom of my soul like as the moonlight illuminates the forest\nglades: and when she disappeared, darkness again prevailed.  But for\nthe portrait, I were a dead man before morning.  And he passed the\nnight in a state of impatience, gazing at the portrait.  Then when the\nsun rose, he rose also, and passed the day by the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and\nthe garden.  And when the sun set, they went again to the hall of\naudience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad in a pale red[1] robe,\nand a bodice studded with emeralds, and her crown and ornaments,\nsitting on her throne.  And she dropped her eyes when she saw the King,\nwho sank with a beating heart upon a couch, speechless and fascinated,\nunder the spell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood\nbefore her, and began again:\n\nLady, in former times there was a king, who made war upon a\nneighbouring king, and went out and fought a great battle with him.\nNow there was in his army a certain Kshatriya, who, fighting all day\nlong in that battle, after slaying multitudes of the enemy with his\nsingle arm, at length grew tired and faint from exhaustion.  And\nperceiving this, many of the enemy set upon him at once, and\noverpowered him, and after mangling him with innumerable wounds, left\nhim for dead upon the ground.  But when the moon rose, that Kshatriya\nrecovered his senses, and as it were came back to life.  And he dragged\nhimself with difficulty as far as a neighbouring village.  And then his\nstrength failed, and sinking down exhausted at the door of a certain\nhouse, he struck one great blow upon it, and fell down senseless.\n\nNow there lived in that house a Brahman woman, whose husband was away\nfrom home.  And she was beautiful as a jasmine blossom, and pure as\nsnow, and her name was Suwarnash\u00edl\u00e1[2].  And hearing the knock, in the\ndead of night, she was frightened; but she looked out of a small round\nwindow, and saw in the bright moonlight a man lying still at her door.\nThen she thought: This may be a snare.  Alas! the neighbours praise me\nfor my beauty, and to whom is not beauty an object of cupidity?  Or how\ncan beauty, like a great pearl, be safe when its guardian is away?\nThen she looked again, and saw a dark stream trickling from the body\nalong the white ground.  And her heart was filled with compassion, and\nshe thought: Doubtless the man is wounded, and perhaps dying.  The\ngreater[3] sin would be, to leave him to die at my door.  So she\nsummoned her maid, and went out, and took in the wounded man, and\ndressed his wounds and nursed him, keeping him in her house till he was\nwell.\n\nThen that Kshatriya, seeing her daily, was burned to a cinder by the\nglory of her beauty, and he made evil proposals to her.  But she\nstopped her ears, and would not listen to him, but said: What! would\nyou repay benefits with treachery and ingratitude?  Know, that to a\nvirtuous woman her husband is a god.  Depart, and let me alone.  Then\nfinding that he could not prevail upon her, the Kshatriya said to her:\nIt is you, not your husband, that is the divinity.  Your beauty would\nturn even a holy ascetic from his penance.  And though I owe you my\nlife, yet you have robbed me of it again.  And now I must depart\nquickly, otherwise my passion will master me, for love is stronger than\ngratitude.  Then he went away hurriedly, but with reluctance, somewhere\nelse.\n\nBut when the husband returned, a certain barber's wife, who was jealous\nof Suwarnash\u00edl\u00e1 for her beauty, met him and said: Happy are those who\npossess treasures.  In your absence another man has been wearing your\ncrest-jewel.  So the husband, burning with jealousy, went home and\nasked his wife.  And she said: It is true, but listen; and she told him\nthe whole story.  But he would not believe her.  Then she extended her\nhand to the fire, and said: I appeal to the fire, if I have ever been\nfaithless to you for a moment, even in a dream.  And the fire shot up,\nand a bright flame licked the roof, and two tongues of flame crept out\nand kissed that saint, one on the mouth, and the other on the heart.\nBut blinded with jealousy and rage, the husband said: This is a trick.\nAnd taking his sword, he said to his wife: Follow me.  So she said: As\nmy lord pleases.  Then he led her away into the forest, and there he\ntied her to a tree, and cut off her hands and her feet, and her nose\nand her breasts, and went away and left her.  And after a while she\ndied alone in the forest, of cold and pain and loss of blood.\n\nBut that Kshatriya heard of what he had done.  And filled with rage and\ndespair, he went to that husband, and said to him: O fool, know, that\nyou have murdered a saint.  And but that I know that life will\nhenceforth be a punishment to you worse than any death, I would slay\nyou where you stand.  But as it is, live, and may your guilt bring you\ndeath without a son.  Then the husband, learning the truth, and\ndiscovering the villainy of that lying barber's wife, was filled with\nremorse.  And he abandoned the world, and went to the Ganges to expiate\nhis guilt.  But the Kshatriya killed himself with his own sword.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, why does fate inflict such terrible\npunishment on the innocent[4]?  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the\nPrincess said: Can emancipation be attained, save by those who are\nworthy of it?  And how can gold[5] be tested, save by fire?  And\nSuwarnash\u00edl\u00e1 stood the test, and proved her nature: and doubtless she\nhas her reward.  For even death is not so sure as the consequences of\neven the minutest action.\n\nThen a bodiless voice[6] fell from the sky, and said aloud: Well\nspoken, dear child.  And the Princess rose up and went out, looking at\nthe King with glistening eyes, and the heart of the King went with her.\nBut the King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] _Goura_ cannot mean white, because _dhawala_ comes on a later day.\n\n[2] See below.\n\n[3] _i.e._ to take him in, with her husband away, would be bad enough,\nbut, &c.  A Hindoo even at the present day would murder his wife for a\nmuch smaller crime than this.\n\n[4] This appalling question, which has puzzled the wise men of all\nages, is answered by the Princess as well as by any one else.\n\n[5] An allusion to the name Suwarnash\u00edl\u00e1, which means 'good as gold.'\n\n[6] This is an everyday phenomenon in Hindoo stories; and its\nappearance in the _Golden Ass_ of Apuleius puts it beyond all doubt\nthat his story came originally from India.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 6.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though your question was\nagain answered by the Princess, and now five days are lost, yet fully\ndo I forgive you, for the sake of the tear that glistened in her eye as\nshe went away.  O! it was like a drop of dew in the blown flower of a\nblue lotus.  It is beyond a doubt that but for the portrait my life\nwould fail before the morning.  And he passed the night in a state of\nstupefaction, gazing at the portrait of his mistress.  Then when the\nsun rose, he rose also, and got through the long hours of day with\ndifficulty by the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  And when at length\nthe sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there they\nsaw the Princess, clad in a blood-red robe and a bodice studded with\nopals, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And\nshe was looking for the King when he came in, and the King sank upon a\ncouch, speechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, there was once a king who had three queens, of such indescribable\nbeauty, that at night in the light fortnight it was impossible to\ndecide which of the four was the true moon.  And one night, when the\nking was sleeping in the hot season on the terrace of his palace in the\ncompany of his queens, he woke up while they were asleep.  And rising\nup, he stood in the moonlight looking down upon his sleeping queens.\nAnd he said to himself: Various indeed is the form assumed by the\nbeauty of woman.  But I wonder which of my queens is the most beautiful\nof the three.  So he went from one to the other, considering them\nattentively.  And one queen lay on her back in the full light of the\nmoon, with one arm over her head, and one breast raised, and every now\nand then a light breeze stirred and lifted her garment, disclosing it.\nAnd another lay in the shadow of the trellis-work with alternate\nstripes of shadow and light turning her into curves of ebony and ivory.\nAnd the third lay all in deep shadow, save that a single streak of\nmoonlight fell softly on the shell of her little ear.  So the king\nwandered all night from one to another, puzzling over his difficulty,\nthinking each queen to be the most beautiful till he came to another.\nAnd before he had decided it, the sun rose.\n\nThen when, after performing his daily ceremonies, he was going to take\nhis seat on his throne, his prime minister, named Nayan\u00e9tri[1] said to\nhim: O king, why are your royal eyes red with want of sleep?  So the\nking said: Nayan\u00e9tri, last night it came into my head to ask myself,\nwhich of my three queens was the most beautiful.  And I could not sleep\nfor my perplexity, and even now I have not been able to solve the\nproblem.  Then Nayan\u00e9tri said: O king, be content that you have queens\nbetween whom there is no distinction in beauty, and no cause of\njealousy.  Idle curiosity destroys peace of mind and produces evil.\nBut the king said: I am determined, at whatever cost, to settle this\npoint.\n\nSo finding that the king's heart was set upon the matter, Nayan\u00e9tri\nsaid to him: King, ministers are like riders: a horse which they cannot\nrestrain they must at any rate guide, or it will be the worse for both.\nSince it is absolutely necessary for you to decide between your queens\nin respect of beauty, listen to me.  There has recently arrived in your\ncapital a dissolute young Brahman called K\u00e1nt\u00edgraha[2], who is famous\nin the three worlds as a judge of female beauty.  Send for him, and let\nhim see your queens, and he will certainly tell you which is the most\nbeautiful.  For a swan cannot more accurately separate milk from\nwater[3], than he can distinguish the shades of beauty.\n\nAccordingly the king, much pleased, had K\u00e1nt\u00edgraha fetched; and as they\nstood conversing, he caused his three queens to pass in order through\nthe room.  And when the first queen passed, the Brahman stood as if\nrooted to the ground.  And when the second passed, he trembled\nslightly.  And when the third passed, he changed colour.  Then when all\nhad gone, the king said: Brahman, tell me, for you are a judge, which\nof those three is the most beautiful?  But K\u00e1nt\u00edgraha said to himself:\nIf I tell the king, I may displease him, by slighting his favourite:\nmoreover, the other two queens will certainly hear of it, and have me\npoisoned.  So he bowed, and said: King, I must have time to decide:\ngive me leave till to-morrow.  So the king dismissed him.  And\nK\u00e1nt\u00edgraha went quickly away, intending to quit that city before\nnightfall, yet with reluctance, for he said to himself: There is one of\nthose queens I would give much to enjoy.\n\nBut Nayan\u00e9tri, who could read the heart from the external signs, said\nto the king: King, this Brahman means to give you the slip, for he is\nafraid, and will probably endeavour to leave the city before night.\nBut I can tell you what to do, so as to discover his opinion.  So the\nking did as his minister told him.  And discovering which of his queens\nwas the most beautiful, he loved her the best, so that the other two,\nbeing jealous, poisoned her.  And the king, discovering it, put them to\ndeath.  Thus through curiosity he lost all his queens, as Nayan\u00e9tri\npredicted.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, what did the king do to discover the opinion\nof K\u00e1nt\u00edgraha?  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess said: He need\nnot have done anything: the third queen was the most beautiful.  For\nthe first queen's beauty astounded that Brahman; that of the second\nstruck him with awe: but that of the third touched his heart.  However,\nNayan\u00e9tri wished to make sure.  And so, knowing the character of\nK\u00e1nt\u00edgraha, he caused the king to send him false letters, one from each\nqueen, feigning love and appointing a meeting, but all for the same\nhour.  And he, being only one, would go to that queen whom he judged\nmost beautiful, and be caught by the guards set to watch by the king.\nFor the actions of men are a surer indication of their hearts than\ntheir words.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out, with a look\nof regret at the King, whose heart went with her.  But the King and\nRasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] A master of policy.\n\n[2] Meaning both 'a connoisseur,' and 'a devourer of beauty,' with an\nallusion to _R\u00e1hu_, who causes eclipses by devouring the moon.\n\n[3] A fabled power of swans, frequently alluded to in Sanskrit poetry.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 7\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though the Princess has\nagain baffled you, and now six days are lost, yet I forgive you, for\nthe sake of the opportunity that your story gave my beloved of\nexhibiting her wonderful intelligence.  Oh! she has the soul of\nBrihaspati in a woman's body.  But my heart was racked by the regret in\nher glance as she went away.  And even with the portrait, I cannot\nunderstand how I shall endure the period of separation.  So he passed\nthe night in a state of restlessness, gazing at the portrait.  And when\nthe sun rose, he rose also, and managed to get through the day, aided\nby Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  Then when the sun set, they went again to\nthe hall of audience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad in a robe\nof azure and a bodice studded with crystal, and her crown and other\nornaments, sitting on her throne.  And she sighed when she saw the\nKing, who sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, under the spell\nof her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her, and\nbegan again:\n\nLady[1], there was in former times a rogue, who had lost his all by\ngambling with other rogues like himself, and who became an ascetic in\norder to make a living by seeming piety.  So he smeared his body with\nashes, and matted his hair into a knot, and put on a yellow rag and a\nnecklace of bones and a rosary, and went about hither and thither in\nthe world practising hypocritical asceticism when anybody was looking\nat him, and begging.  And one day, when he was sitting by the roadside,\nthe daughter of the king of that country passed by on her elephant.\nAnd the wind blew aside the curtain of her _howdah_, and revealed her\nto his eyes.  And she struck him with the fever of fierce desire, so\nthat he uttered an ejaculation, and exclaimed: The fruit of my birth\ncertainly lies in obtaining possession of that beauty.  But how is it\nto be done?\n\nSo after meditating profoundly on the matter for a long time, he went\nto a large tree just outside the king's palace, and hung himself up\nlike a bat[2], head downwards, from a branch.  And thus he remained for\nhours, muttering to himself.  And this he continued to do every day, so\nthat the people came in crowds to see him.  And news was carried to the\nking that a great ascetic had come, and was practising penance in a\ntree in front of his palace.  So the king, much pleased, and thinking\nhimself fortunate, went to examine him, and the ascetic blessed him,\nupside down, from the tree.  Then the king was delighted, and sent food\nand other offerings to the rogue.\n\nThen one day it happened that the king's daughter, whose name was\nHasam\u00fart\u00ed[3], came by on her elephant, and saw the ascetic hanging like\na bat in the tree.  And the sight tickled her and she laughed aloud;\nand the ascetic heard her.  So getting down from the tree, he went to\nthe king.  And having effected an entrance, he said to him: King, your\ndaughter laughs at me, thus disturbing my devotions in the tree.  Now\nin former times many great sages, irritated by scorn or neglect, have\ncursed the offenders, and inflicted terrible punishments on them.  But\nI am long-suffering, and will spare your daughter.  Nevertheless, I am\nabout to curse your kingdom, so that no rain will fall on it for twenty\nyears.  Now the king was a great simpleton.  And when he heard this, he\nwas dreadfully alarmed: and he prayed so earnestly to the ascetic that\nthe rogue, pretending to be mollified, said: Well, for this time I will\nabandon my design of cursing your kingdom.  Only beware that it does\nnot occur again.  Then he went back to his tree, and the king scolded\nhis daughter in private.\n\nBut the very next day the king's daughter passed again by the tree.\nAnd seeing the ascetic hanging, in spite of her promises to her father,\nher former hilarity returned upon her mind, and she laughed louder and\nlonger than before.  So the ascetic went again to the king, who, pale\nwith terror, managed with difficulty and the most abject apologies once\nmore to appease his wrath.  And he returned to his tree, and the king\nagain scolded his daughter, who promised never to offend again.\n\nThen for two days Hasam\u00fart\u00ed went and came by another road, to avoid the\nopportunity of giving offence to the ascetic.  But on the third day she\nforgot, and once more came past the tree, and saw him hanging.  And\nsuddenly, as if inspired by Shiwa himself[4], she burst into a peal of\nlaughter, and she continued to laugh as if she was mad, even after she\nhad entered the palace.\n\nSo the ascetic got down from the tree, and went to the king.  And he\nsaid: O king, certainly your kingdom is doomed, and your daughter is\npossessed by an evil spirit.  For she has laughed at me again, even\nworse than before, and cancelled years of my reward, by disturbing my\nmeditations.  Now therefore, prepare to suffer the extremities of my\nvengeance.  Then the king, at his wits' end, said: Holy man, is there\nabsolutely no remedy?  The ascetic replied: Am I ever to be disturbed\nin my devotions?  There is none; your daughter is clearly incurable.\nBut the king said: Can nothing be done to cure her?  Do you know no\npotent spell to conquer her malady?  Then that rogue, inwardly\ndelighted, said: Well, I will do this, out of mercy I will see your\ndaughter, and perform incantations over her.  And if I can drive out\nthe evil spirit of unseasonable laughter that possesses her, it is\nwell: but if not, nothing remains but the curse.\n\nSo the king carried him to his daughter's apartments, and said to his\ndaughter: My daughter, your laughter incessantly disturbs this holy man\nat his devotions.  And now he has come, out of mercy, to exorcise the\nlaughing demon that possesses you: otherwise, my kingdom, cursed by\nhim, will perish for want of rain.  Then the ascetic said: Let all\nothers depart, and leave me in private with the king's daughter.  But\nthe king said aside to the ascetic: Sir, my daughter must not be left\nalone with any man.  Then the ascetic replied: Fear nothing on my\naccount: I am not a man: it is many years since I sacrificed my\nmanhood[5] to the Dweller in the Windhya hills.\n\nBut Hasam\u00fart\u00ed heard him, and she said to herself: My father is a fool,\nand doubtless this man has some design against my honour.  He shall\nfind I can do more than laugh.  So she said to her father: Have no\nfear: this is a holy man.  But she secretly stationed all her maids in\nreadiness in the next room.  Then when the ascetic found himself alone\nwith the king's daughter, his evil passion rose to such a pitch that he\ncould scarcely contain himself.  Nevertheless he drew a circle, with\ntrembling hands, and placing the king's daughter in it, he muttered\nawhile, and then said: My daughter, you must have the quarters of\nheaven for your only garments[6], or the spell will not work.  Remove\nyour clothes.  But Hasam\u00fart\u00ed said: Reverend Sir, it is impossible.\nThen he caught hold of her.  But she clapped her hands, and her maids\nran in and seized him.  And she said: Examine this ascetic, and see\nwhether he is a man or not.  So they did so, and said, laughing: Madam,\nhe is very much a man indeed.  Then Hasam\u00fart\u00ed said: Take this knife,\nand deprive him of his manhood.  And they did as she commanded them.\n\nThen Hasam\u00fart\u00ed said to him: Now go, for the incantation is finished.\nAnd if you please, complain to the king, my father: I have the evidence\nto convict you.  So the maids released that ascetic.  But he, as soon\nas they let him go, began to laugh, and continued to laugh till he\nreached the king.  And he said: O king, do not hinder me: we have\nsuccessfully performed the incantation, and see, I have caught the\nlaughing demon, and am carrying him away.  And he went away laughing,\nwith death in his heart.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, why did that ascetic laugh?  And Rasak\u00f3sha\nceased.  Then the Princess frowning slightly, replied: He laughed, in\nthe cowardice of his soul, with exultation at having escaped from those\nmaids as from the mouth of death: counting the failure of his scheme\nand the loss of his manhood as nothing, in comparison with the\npreservation of bare life.  For cowards count the loss of life as the\ngreatest of evils: but the great-souled esteem it as the least, and\nwould forfeit it a thousand times, rather than fail in the object at\nwhich they aim.\n\nAnd when she had said this, the Princess looked significantly at the\nKing, and rose up and went out, and the King's heart went with her.\nBut the King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] Should any reader be of opinion that I ought to have omitted or\nemasculated this story, I can only reply that I wish all Bowdlerisers\nno worse fate than that of the ascetic in the tent.\n\n[2] History repeats itself.  M. Rousselet, who travelled in India in\nthe sixties, mentions, in his _L'Inde des Rajas_, a case that he saw in\nR\u00e1jput\u00e1na of a holy man who suspended himself in a tree 'like a ham.'\n\n[3] _i.e._ 'laughter incarnate.'\n\n[4] _Attahasa_, 'loud laughter,' is a name of Shiwa.  K\u00e1lid\u00e1s (in his\n_Cloud_, v. 62) compares the snowy peaks of Mount Kailas to the\nlaughter of Shiwa 'rolled into a ball.'  (Note, that laughter is always\n_white_ in Sanskrit poetry.)\n\n[5] _Spado factus sum_.  The 'dweller' is P\u00e1rwat\u00ed, or Durg\u00e1, Shiwa's\nother half, in the strict sense of the term.\n\n[6] _Digambara, i.e._ you must be stark-naked, or in a state of nature.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 8.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though my beloved has\nanswered your question, and now seven of my days are gone, yet I\nforgive you, not only for the sake of her frown--oh! it played on her\nface like a dark ripple over the surface of a lake--but still more for\nthe sake of her words.  For surely she meant to encourage me in my\nsuit.  Oh! she is a paragon of wisdom, and yet it is just her wisdom\nthat makes her inaccessible.  Even the portrait scarcely suffices to\nkeep my soul alive during the long hours of separation.  Thus he passed\nthe night in a state of trepidation, gazing at the portrait.  And when\nthe sun rose, he rose also, and got somehow or other through the day by\nthe help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  Then when the sun set, they went\nagain to the hall of audience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad\nin a saffron robe and a bodice studded with carbuncles, and her crown\nand ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And she smiled at the King as he\ncame in, and he sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, under the\nspell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her,\nand began again:\n\nLady, there lived formerly in a certain country a very stupid Brahman\nhouseholder, who inadvertently committed a deadly sin.  And his\nspiritual adviser told him, that his guilt could be cleansed and his\nsin atoned for, only by going and spending the remainder of his life\nbathing in the Ganges.  So he handed over his goods to his son, and set\nout, with his pot and staff, on his pilgrimage to the Ganges.  And\nafter travelling for some days, he came to the bank of a small mountain\nstreamlet, whose waters in the hot season were all but dry.  And he\nsaid to himself: Doubtless this is the sacred Ganges.  So he took up\nhis abode on the banks of that stream, bathing every day in such water\nas he could find.  And thus he remained for five years.\n\nThen one day there passed by that way a P\u00e1shupata[1] ascetic.  And he\nsaid to the Brahman: My son, what are you doing here?  So he replied:\nReverend Sir, I am performing penance, for the expiation of sin, on the\nbanks of the Ganges.  Then the ascetic said: What has this miserable\npuddle to do with the Ganges?  And the Brahman said: Is this, then, not\nthe Ganges?  And the ascetic laughed in his face, and said: Truly, old\nas I am, I did not think that there had been folly like this in the\nworld.  Wretched man, who has deluded you?  The Ganges is hundreds of\nmiles away, and resembles this contemptible brook no more than Mount\nM\u00e9ru resembles an ant hill.\n\nThen the Brahman said: Reverend Sir, I am much obliged to you.  And\ntaking his pot and staff, he went forward, till at length he came to a\nbroad river.  And he rejoiced greatly, saying: This must be the sacred\nGanges?  So he settled on its bank, and remained there for five years\nbathing every day in its waters.  Then one day there came by a\nK\u00e1p\u00e1lika[2], who said to him: Why do you remain here, wasting precious\ntime over a river of no account or sanctity, instead of going to the\nGanges?  But the Brahman was amazed, and said: And is this, then, not\nthe Ganges?  Then the K\u00e1p\u00e1lika replied: This the Ganges!  Is a jackal a\nlion, or a Ch\u00e1nd\u00e1la[3] a Brahman?  Sir, you are dreaming.\n\nThen the Brahman said sorrowfully: Worthy K\u00e1p\u00e1lika, I am indebted to\nyou.  Fortunate was our meeting.  And taking his pot and staff, he went\nforward, till at length he came to the Nermada.  And thinking: Here, at\nlast, is the sacred Ganges; he was overjoyed; and he remained on its\nbanks for five years, bathing every day in its waters.  But one day he\nobserved on the bank near him, a pilgrim like himself, casting flowers\ninto the river, and calling it by its name.  So he went up to him and\nsaid: Sir, what is the name of this river?  And the pilgrim answered:\nIs it possible that you do not know the holy Nermada?  Then the Brahman\nsighed deeply.  And he said: Sir, I am enlightened by you.  And he took\nhis pot and staff, and went forward.\n\nBut he was now very old and feeble.  And long penance had weakened his\nframe and exhausted his energies.  And as he toiled on in the heat of\nthe day over the burning earth, the sun beat on his head like the\nthunderbolt of Indra, and struck him with fever.  Still he gathered\nhimself together and struggled on, growing weaker and weaker day by\nday, till at last he could go no further, but fell down and lay dying\non the ground.  But collecting all his remaining strength, with a last\ndesperate effort he dragged himself up a low hill in front of him.  And\nlo! there before him rolled the mighty stream of Ganges, with countless\nnumbers of pilgrims doing penance on its banks and bathing in its\nstream.  And in his agony he cried aloud: O Mother Ganges! alas! alas!\nI have pursued you all my life, and now I die here helpless in sight of\nyou.  So his heart broke, and he never reached its shore.\n\nBut when he got to the other world, Yama said to Chitragupta[4]; What\nis there down against him?  And Chitragupta said: I find against him a\nterrible sin.  But that he has expiated by fifteen years' penance on\nthe banks of Ganges.  Then that Brahman was amazed, and said: Lord, you\nare mistaken.  I never reached the Ganges.  And Yama smiled.\n\nNow tell me, Princess, what did Yama mean by his smile?  And Rasak\u00f3sha\nceased.  Then the Princess said: Yama is just, and cannot err: and\nChitragupta cannot be deceived.  But what is this whole world but\nillusion!  And just as penance performed in an improper spirit, even on\nthe actual banks of Ganges, would be no true penance, so that poor\nsimple Brahman's penance, performed in the belief that he had reached\nthe Ganges, was counted by that holy One as truly so performed.  For\nmen judge by the fallacious testimony of the senses, but the gods judge\nby the heart.\n\nAnd when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out, smiling\nat the King, whose heart went with her.  But the King and Rasak\u00f3sha\nreturned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] A particular follower of Shiwa.\n\n[2] Another sect of Shiwa worshippers.\n\n[3] The lowest of all the castes, a synonym for all that is vile and\nimpure, like the 'Jew dog' of the Middle Ages.\n\n[4] Yama (pronounce Yum) is the judge of the dead, and Chitragupta his\nrecorder, who keeps account of man's actions.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 9.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, the Princess is again\nvictorious, and now eight days are lost, yet I cannot but forgive you,\nfor the sake of the smile she gave me when she went away.  Oh! it\ngleamed on my soul like the dazzling whiteness of a royal swan\nilluminated by the sun on the M\u00e1nasa lake.  Alas! even the portrait\nwill scarce enable me to live till the morning.  And the King passed\nthe night in a state of bewilderment, gazing sorrowfully at the\nportrait.  Then when the sun rose, he rose also, and got through the\nlong day by the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  And when the sun\nset, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there they saw the\nPrincess, clad in a purple robe, with a bodice of burnished gold, and\nher crown and ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And she looked at the\nKing with joy, and the King sank upon a couch, speechless and\nfascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward\nand stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, in a certain city there was a wealthy merchant, who possessed a\nvery beautiful wife; and he loved her more than his own soul.  But she\nwas of light conduct, and walked in a path independent of her\nhusband[1], and looked after other men, and her virtue under temptation\nwas like a blade of grass in a forest conflagration.  And though out of\nhis great love for her, that merchant forgave her all her faults, she\nonly despised him for it, and disliked him the more.\n\nAnd one day, she looked out of her window, and saw in the street a\nhandsome young Rajpoot.  And smitten with passion, she instantly left\nher husband and her home, and ran away with him.  But when he found\nthat she had gone, that merchant, her husband, in his despair almost\nabandoned the body.  But the hope that she would one day return kept\nhim alive: hope alone binds those whom separation has made miserable to\nthe world.  Nevertheless, from the day she departed, all other things\nbecame abominable in his eyes.  And neglecting his business, he sank\ninto poverty, and became an object of contempt and derision to his\nfriends.  And forsaking all occupation or pleasure, he remained alone\nin his empty house, with the image of his runaway wife in his heart,\nnight and day.  And thus he lived for three years, every hour of which\nseemed to him as long as a _kalpa_, in the black darkness of desolation.\n\nBut she, in the meanwhile, after living with that Rajpoot for some\ntime, grew tired of him, and left him for another paramour, and him\nagain for another, flitting from one to another like a bee from flower\nto flower.  And it happened that one night, when she was living with a\ncertain merchant's son, he, in the new ardour of his admiration for her\nbeauty, suddenly stooped down to kiss her feet.  But not being aware of\nhis intention, she drew her foot abruptly away, and it caught on the\njewel of a ring in his ear, and was torn.  And even though it was\ncured, the scar remained.\n\nAnd one day, when three years had gone by, her husband, the merchant,\nwas sitting by himself in his deserted house, gazing with the eye of\nhis heart[2] at the image of his wife, when there came a knock at the\ndoor.  And as his servants had all long ago left him, for he had no\nmoney to give them, he went to open it himself.  And when he did so, he\nlooked, and there before him was his wife.  She was worn, and old, and\nthe flower of her beauty was gone, and she was clothed in rags and\ndusty with travel, and she looked at her husband with eyes dim with\ntears and shame and fear, as she leaned against the doorpost, faint\nfrom hunger and thirst and fatigue.  But when he saw her, his heart\nstopped, and his hair stood on end, and he uttered an exclamation of\nwonder and joy.  And taking her in his arms, he carried her in, and put\nher on the bed which she had abandoned and disgraced; and fetching food\nand water, with feet that stumbled from the ecstasy of his joy, he\nwashed the dust off her, and dispelled her anxiety and fear, and\nrevived her heart, and uttered no reproaches, but blessed her for her\nreturn, with laughter and tears; and it was as though she had never\nbeen away, even in a dream.  And as he was gently cherishing her, and\nshampooing her all over to soothe her fatigue, his eye fell on the scar\nthat had remained on her foot from the wound caused by the merchant's\nson.  And putting his finger on it, he said to her with a smile of\ncompassion: Poor wounded foot, it has found a resting-place at last.\nBut she looked at him silently, with large eyes, and suddenly she\nlaughed, and then and there her heart broke and she died.  And he, when\nhe found that she was dead, fell down on the floor at her feet, and\nfollowed her.\n\nSo now, tell me, Princess, why did that woman's heart break?  And\nRasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess said: It broke with grief.  For\nwhen she saw that her husband repaid her evil conduct with kindness,\nand remembered the occasion that had caused that wound upon her foot,\nrepentance came suddenly and flowed into her, like a river too great\nfor her heart to hold it, and it split and broke, and she died.\n\nAnd when she had spoken, the Princess rose up and went out slowly,\nlooking regretfully at the King, whose heart went with her.  But the\nKing and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] An independent woman is a synonym for a harlot, in Sanskrit.\n\n[2] _Smara_ means 'love' and also 'memory.'\n\n\n\n\nDAY 10.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, now nine days are gone, and\nI begin to fear: and certainly, I never will forgive you if I lose my\ndarling.  For she looks at me now, not as she used to look, but kindly,\nas if she also felt the pang of separation.  Now, therefore, devise\nsome cunning question that she cannot answer, while I endeavour by\nmeans of the portrait to keep my soul from parting from my body till\nto-morrow.  So the King passed the night in a state of doubtful\nperplexity, gazing at the portrait.  And when the sun rose, he rose\nalso, and got somehow through the day, aided by Rasak\u00f3sha and the\ngarden.  And when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.\nAnd there they saw the Princess, clad in a robe of dazzling white, and\na bodice studded with amethysts, and her crown and other ornaments,\nsitting on her throne.  And she looked at the King and drew a long\nbreath, and the King sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated,\nunder the spell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood\nbefore her, and began again:\n\nLady[1], there lived formerly in a certain village, a tawny-haired\nwrestler, who kept in his house a pet.  And one day he returned home\nand found that it had gone out.  So he ran out into the street to look\nfor it.  And seeing a man sitting at the corner of the street, he asked\nhim: Have you seen my pet?  The man said: Had it a string tied round\nits neck?  The wrestler said: Yes.  Then the man said: It went this\nway.  So the wrestler went on, and enquired again.  And one said: I saw\nit standing on two legs, endeavouring to climb that wall.  Then another\nsaid: And I saw it on all fours crawling along by the wall.  And a\nthird said: And I saw it, on three legs, scratching its head with the\nfourth.  So going still further, he met a washerman, who told him: It\ncame this way and made faces at its own face in the water.  And going\nstill further, he met a fruit-seller, who said: I saw it sitting under\nthat tree, pulling out the feathers of a bleeding crow[2], and I gave\nit a handful of monkey nuts.\n\nThen going on, he met two men conversing together, and he asked them.\nAnd one said: I saw it with another of its own species searching for\nfleas in its hair.  And the other said: What was the colour of the\nhair[3]?  The wrestler answered: The same as mine.  So the other\nreplied: It is over yonder in the tree, swinging on a branch.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, what kind of creature was that wrestler's\npet?  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess smiled and said: It was\nno ape, but a child; perhaps his own son.\n\nAnd when she had said this, she rose up and went out, as if with\ndifficulty, looking reproachfully at the King, whose heart went with\nher.  But the King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] The point of this crafty little story almost evaporates in\ntranslation.  It is artfully contrived to entrap the Princess into\nsaying 'an ape:' but she is too cunning.  Tawny-haired means,\nliterally, 'ape-coloured.'\n\n[2] The pun is untranslateable: it may mean also, 'tossing up its gory\nlocks' (_k\u00e1kapaksha_).\n\n[3] This is the critical point.  These words may also mean: What is the\ncaste of the child?  The wrestler's answer fits both.  The searching\nfor fleas, as applied to the child, will surprise no one who has been\nin India.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 11.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though the Princess is\nstill unconquered, and ten of my days are gone, yet I would have\nforgiven you, had you not made this day's story so short.  For no\nsooner had it begun than it ended; and now not only is my delight cut\nshort, but, like a thirsty man who has drunk insufficiently, I have not\nhad enough to last me till I see my beloved again.  At least endeavour\nto lengthen your stories, otherwise I am wholly undone.  For now must I\nendure another night of separation, by the feeble aid of the portrait,\nwhich loses its power daily by contrast with the original.  Thus the\nKing spent the night in a state of fearfulness, gazing at the portrait.\nAnd when the sun rose, he rose also, and hardly got through the day\nwith the assistance of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  Then when the sun\nset, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there they saw the\nPrincess, clad in a robe of emerald hue, and a bodice studded with\nmoonstones, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.\nAnd she looked at the King affectionately, and he sank upon a couch,\nspeechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her and began again:\n\nLady, there lived formerly, in a certain country, a king.  And he had a\ndomestic chaplain, who was smitten with an evil passion for another\nman's wife.  And she was a wicked woman and returned his love.  But\nowing to the watchful jealousy of her husband, they could find no\nopportunity for private interviews.  So at last, finding himself unable\nto visit his beloved in his own person, that chaplain adopted the\nfollowing scheme.  He feigned great friendship for her husband, and\npaid him many attentions.  And being an adept in Y\u00f3ga, he cultivated\nhis goodwill by exhibitions of his superhuman power.  And one day he\nsaid to him: I know by my art how to enter other people's bodies, and I\ncan cause you to do the same, if you have any curiosity about it.  Than\nthat foolish husband, not perceiving his intention, eagerly consented.\n\nSo the chaplain took him away one night to the cemetery, and there by\nmeans of spells and magic power he caused both of them to abandon the\nbody.  But no sooner had the husband quitted his body than the chaplain\nentered it himself.  And without losing a moment, he hurried away,\nrejoicing in the success of his stratagem, to the house of his beloved\nin the form of her husband.  But the husband, finding himself deprived\nof his own body, exclaimed: Alas!  I am undone.  But having no other\nresource he was obliged against his will to enter the body of the\nchaplain, which lay empty near him.  And he returned slowly from the\ncemetery, full of grief, homewards.  But as chance would have it, his\nmind being wholly occupied with other reflections, his feet led him as\nit were of their own accord to the house of the chaplain, whose body he\nwas occupying.\n\nIn the meantime, his wife, consumed by the fever of desire, and unable\nany longer to endure separation, seized the opportunity afforded by her\nhusband's absence, and went like an _abhis\u00e1rik\u00e1_[1], to the house of\nher Brahman lover.  And so it happened, that when the chaplain arrived\nat her house, she was not there.  So he remained there, cursing his\nfate, and devoured by impatience, all night long.  But she on her part\narrived at his house, just before her husband, in the form of the\nchaplain, came there also.  And when he went in, he was astonished to\nsee his own wife.  But she, not recognising who he was, but imagining\nhim to be her lover, ran towards him and threw her arms round his neck,\nexclaiming: At last I have you.  And that foolish husband was so\ndelighted, for for a long time his wife had treated him coldly, that he\nforgot everything in the joy of the moment, and remained with her all\nnight, enjoying the company of his own wife.\n\nThen in the morning she rose up early while he was still asleep, and\nwent secretly back to her own house.  And the chaplain, on his part,\nwearied out with waiting, and in a very bad humour, left her house\nbefore she arrived, and returned home.  And when he got there, he saw,\nto his astonishment, the husband in his body, lying asleep on his bed.\nSo he woke him and said angrily: What are you doing in my bed?  Then\nthe husband replied: What do you mean by running away with my body?\nThe chaplain said: Enough of this!  I have suffered the tortures of\nhell in your abominable body, and I have a good mind to burn it.  So\nthe husband trembled for fear, and said humbly: I had no body but yours\nto enter, and I was cold; give me back mine, and take your own as soon\nas possible.  So the chaplain carried him away to the cemetery, and by\nhis magic power caused them to quit their bodies, and each re-entered\nhis own.\n\nBut no sooner had the husband got back into his own body than he woke\nas it were from a dream, and remembered all: and he exclaimed: Rogue of\na Brahman, it was you my wife embraced.  But the chaplain replied: What\nhave I had to do with your wife?  But mad with rage, the husband laid\nhold of him, and dragged him to the king's officers.  And he fetched\nhis wife, and told the judge the whole story, and said: Punish these\nwicked persons: for they have robbed me of my honour.  Then the\nchaplain said: I have not touched your wife.  And she said: Of what are\nyou complaining?  Was it not yourself that I embraced[2]?  But the\njudge was puzzled, and did not know what to say.\n\nNow, Princess, decide for him.  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the\nPrincess said: The chaplain was a rogue, and intended wickedness, yet\nhe was not amenable to the pains of law; for though he had planned, he\nhad not executed, his scheme.  And the woman, though she had done\nwrong, yet did it under the eye and sanction of her own husband, who\nacquiesced in and approved of her act.  But that husband, whose\npassions were so little under control that he could aid and abet his\nwife in soiling his own honour, well knowing what he was about,\ndeserves nothing but contempt and derision as the author of his own\nmisfortune.  Therefore let all three be dismissed unpunished.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out,\nreluctantly, and the King's heart went with her.  But the King and\nRasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] A term, very common in Sanskrit poetry, for _a woman who goes of\nher own accord to her lover_.\n\n[2] It is not clear how she knew this, unless she heard him tell the\njudge.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 12.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, though I hear but little of\nyour stories, for the beauty of my beloved holds me spellbound and\nstops my ears, yet methinks her intelligence must be more than human,\nfor as yet even you have not succeeded in posing it.  And now eleven of\nmy days are gone, and only ten remain.  Never will I forgive you if I\nlose her.  For day by day her looks grow kinder, and the moment of\nseparation more appalling, and the efficacy of the portrait less potent\nto soothe me in her absence, so that it is doubtful whether I can live\ntill to-morrow.  And the King passed the night in a state of sickness\ngazing at the portrait.  And when the sun rose, he rose also, and\npassed the day with difficulty, aided by Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.\nThen when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.  And\nthere they saw the Princess, clad in a robe of rose colour, and a\nbodice studded with ox-eyes[1], and her crown and other ornaments,\nsitting on her throne.  And she leaned eagerly forward to see the King\ncome in, and he sank upon a couch, speechless and fascinated, under the\nspell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her,\nand began again:\n\nLady, there was once a lordly elephant, the leader of a forest herd.\nAnd he rushed through the forest, like a thunderbolt of Indra, and the\nrain of ichor poured down from his mighty temples in streams, as he\nbroke down the bushes and young trees in his charge.  And then, having\nsported to his heart's content, he marched slowly through the glades\nlike a mountain, with his herd behind him.  And coming to an ant-hill,\nhe drove his tusks into it, and cast up the earth.  And then going\nonward, he stood at rest in a little pool, and drenched his sides with\nclear water collected in his trunk: and running his tusks into a bank,\nhe stood leaning against a lord of the forest[2], swaying gently to and\nfro, with his eyes shut, and his basket-ears cocked, and his trunk\nhanging down.  And the ivory of his tusks showed against his great\ndark-blue body like a double row of white swans against a thunder-cloud.\n\nBut meanwhile, the ants were thrown into confusion by his destruction\nof their hill, which killed many thousands of them.  And they said:\nWhat! are we to die for the wanton sport of this rogue of an elephant?\nSo they determined to send a deputation to the elephant, to demand\nreparation.  And they chose seven of the wisest among them, So the\nambassadors went and crawled in a row up the bole of the great tree\nagainst which the king of the elephants was leaning, till they reached\nthe level of his ear.  Then they delivered their message, saying: O\nking of the elephants, the ants have sent us to demand reparation from\nyou for causing the death of great numbers of their caste.  If not,\nthere is no resource but war.  But when the elephant heard this, he\nlooked sideways out of the corner of his eye, and saw the row of ants\nupon the trunk of the tree.  And he said to himself: This is a pleasant\nthing.  What can these contemptible little ants do to us elephants?\nAnd taking water in his trunk, he discharged it with a blast against\nthem, and destroyed them.\n\nBut when the ants saw the destruction of their ambassadors, they were\nenraged.  And waiting till night, they crept out of the ground in\ninnumerable myriads while the elephants were asleep, and gnawed the\nskin of their toes and the soles of their feet, old and young[3].  Then\nwhen in the morning the elephants began to move, they found their feet\nso sore as to be almost useless.  So trumpeting with rage and pain they\nrushed about the forest destroying the ant-hills.  But they could not\nreach the ants, who crept into the earth, while the more they ran about\nthe worse grew their feet.  So finding all their efforts useless, they\ndesisted: and fearing for the future, they resolved to conclude peace\nwith the ants.  But not being able to find any, they sent a mouse, who\nwent underground, and carried their message to the ants.  But the ants\nreplied: We will make no peace with the elephants, unless they deliver\nup their king to be punished for slaying our ambassadors.  So the mouse\nwent back to the elephants, and told them.  And seeing that there was\nno help for it, they submitted.\n\nThen the king of the elephants came alone into the forest, with\ndrooping ears, to deliver himself up to the ants.  And the ants said to\nthe Shami[4] creeper: Bind this evil-doer, or we will gnaw your roots\nand destroy you.  So the creeper threw its arms round the elephant, and\nbound him so tightly that he could not stir.  And then the ants crawled\nout in myriads and buried him in earth, till he resembled a mountain.\nAnd the worms devoured his flesh, and nothing but his bones and his\ntusks remained.  So the ants remained unmolested in the forest, and the\nelephants chose another king.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, what is the moral[5] of this story?  And\nRasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess pondered awhile and said: Even\nunited, the weak are not always stronger than the strong.  For an\nelephant is still an elephant, and an ant but an ant.  But the strength\nof the strong is to be estimated by their weakness[6].  For if the\nelephants had known this, and protected their feet, they might have\nlaughed at all that the ants could do to them, and even a single\nelephant would have been more than a match for all the ants in the\nworld.\n\nAnd when the Princess had said this, she rose up and went out slowly,\nlooking sorrowfully at the King, whose heart went with her.  But the\nKing and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] It is not clear what _gom\u00e9da_ means.\n\n[2] _i.e._ a tall tree.  Our idiom is the same.\n\n[3] The author probably knew that the elephant's feet are very apt to\ngo wrong and cause trouble: but whether 'white ants' or any other ants\ncould produce the disease is a point for the natural historian to\ndetermine.\n\n[4] Famous in poetry for its extraordinary toughness.\n\n[5] Literally, what is the error of policy (_n\u00edt\u00edd\u00f3sha_) in the story.\n\n[6] _i.e._ 'a chain is no stronger than its weakest link.'  The\nPrincess's answer is exceedingly clever: and there are few who would\nnot have given the obvious answer which she rejects.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 13.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, unless I am blinded by love\nand egoism, the Princess exhibits signs of a disposition to favour me.\nBut alas! now twelve of my days are gone, and only nine remain.  Oh\nbeware! lest you lose me my beloved.  And even the portrait now brings\nme no relief, for day by day it grows less like her.  It looks at me\nwith scorn, but she with tenderness.  Even with it, I know not how I\nshall endure separation till the morning.  So the King spent the night\nin a state of lassitude, gazing at the portrait.  And when the sun\nrose, he rose also, and passed the long hours of day with the help of\nRasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  Then when the sun set, they went again to\nthe hall of audience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad in an\norange-tawny robe, and a bodice studded with rubies, and her crown and\nother ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And a shadow fled as it were\nfrom her face when she saw the King, and he sank upon a couch,\nspeechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, once upon a time, the master of a caravan was crossing the great\ndesert.  And as he went along, he suddenly looked up, and saw before\nhim in the distance the walls of a great city, with a beautiful lake of\nheavenly blue before it.  And he was amazed; and with a soul on fire\nwith longing for the nectar of that lake and that city, he urged on his\ncamels in that direction.  But he could not reach it: and suddenly it\ndisappeared, and he found himself alone in the desert, with the sun and\nthe sand, and no water and no city.  Then he said: This is a wonderful\nthing.  I would not lose that city for all my wealth.  Then his\nfollowers said to him: Sir, this is a delusion: it is the mirage: there\nis no such city and no water.  But he would not believe them.  And\nremaining where he was in the desert, he waited till next day.  And at\nthe same hour he saw it again.  So he mounted his swiftest camel, and\npursued it for hours far into the desert, but he could not overtake it:\nbut as before, it disappeared.\n\nThen he abandoned his journey and encamped in the desert.  And day\nafter day he gave chase to that beautiful city with its water, but\nnever got any nearer to it.  But the more he pursued it, the more his\nyearning to reach it grew upon him, so that at last he forgot\neverything else in the world.\n\nAnd meanwhile his affairs went to ruin through neglect.  And hearing of\nhis proceedings his relations came to him in the desert, and said: What\nis this that you are doing?  What madness has smitten you?  Do you not\nknow that this is the mirage, and that you are wasting your time in\npursuing phantoms while your wealth goes to ruin?  But he answered:\nWhat are words in comparison with the testimony of the eyes?  Do I not\nsee the city and its water as I see you yourselves?  Then how can it be\na delusion?  Then his relations flew into a rage, and said: You fool,\nit is the mirage.  But he said: If it is nothing, then how can I see\nit?  Explain this to me.  But they could not.  So they abused him and\nlaughed at him, and went away leaving him alone in the desert.  And he\nremained there, spending his all in purchasing camels, and every day\npursuing that city till it disappeared.  And this he continued to do,\ntill his wealth was exhausted, and his camels died, and he himself was\nlost and died in the desert, and the sun whitened his bones.\n\nThen his story went abroad, and the people said: What difficulty is\nthere in this?  The sun of the desert made him mad.  But his relations\nsaid: Out on this madman! he has destroyed us with his folly.  And a\ncertain ascetic heard the story: and he laughed to himself, and said:\n_Trashy trishy washy wishy_[1].  Says the pot to the pipkin: Out on\nyou, miserable clay!\n\nNow tell me, Princess, what did that ascetic mean?  And Rasak\u00f3sha\nceased.  Then the Princess said: His relations blamed the madness of\nthat caravan-leader, in that he took mirage for reality, not knowing\nthat they were themselves no less mad, in taking this world and its\nperishable wealth for reality, and pursuing, as he did, phantoms.  For\nwhat is this world but illusion?  Thus they resembled pots of clay\nabusing clay pipkins for being made of clay.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken she rose up and went out slowly,\nlooking at the King sadly, and the King's heart went with her.  But the\nKing and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] I have slightly modified the original jingle, which means: The\nthirst for delusion is the bane of the universe.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 14.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, this day also is lost, and\nnow but eight days remain behind.  And each day the moment of\nseparation becomes more terrible, and the period of absence more\ninsupportable: while the virtue of the portrait wanes, like the moon,\nthreatening to leave my soul in total darkness.  And yet what is a\nsingle night of separation to the whole of my life, if I lose her!  So\nthe King passed the night in a state of anxiety, gazing at the\nportrait.  Then when the sun rose, he rose also, and managed to get\nthrough the day with the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  And when\nthe sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there they\nsaw the Princess, clad in a robe of cloth of silver, and a bodice\nstudded with beryls, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her\nthrone.  And her bosom heaved when she saw the King, who sank upon a\ncouch, speechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, there was in former times a king, who collected rarities from all\nquarters, purchasing them at no matter what price: and his palace was\nthe resort of merchants of every land, who flowed into it like the\nrivers into the sea.  And one day there came a merchant, who said to\nhim: O king, I bring you a thing which has not its peer for rarity or\nbeauty in the three worlds.  And I procured it for you, knowing your\ngenerosity, at the risk of my life.  Then he took from a chest a cup,\nmade of the tusk of an elephant, white as snow, but round its rim ran a\nblood-red ring.  And he said: This is the cup out of which\nBimboshth\u00e1[1], the daughter of the King of Lanka[2], a R\u00e1kshasi famous\nin the three worlds for her incomparable beauty, drank every day.  So\nexquisitely is she formed that it seems as if the separate perfections\nof all other women have been collected together to make her members.\nBut the apex and crest-jewel of all her charms is her mouth.  The very\nsoul of vermilion is pale compared with her lips; redder than blood\nthemselves, they banish all blood from the faces of all who behold\nthem, pallid with passion at the sight of them.  And whatever she\ntouches with them bears ever afterwards the stain, like the stain of\nfruit: and as you see, the edge of this cup has been turned by the\ntouch of her lips to a colour which nothing in creation can parallel.\nAnd I bribed her doorkeeper to steal it, for an immense sum of money,\nand came away fearing for my life; and now it is a present to your\nMajesty.  Then the king, overjoyed by the singularity and extraordinary\nbeauty of that cup, ordered his treasurer to pay to the merchant ten\ntimes the amount he had given the doorkeeper, and dismissed him.\n\nBut it happened that the king's son was present at their conversation,\nand heard what the merchant said.  And an overpowering passion\ninstantly came upon him for that lady of the ruddy lips.  And thinking\nof nothing else, he went to bed at night, and fell asleep, and dreamed\na dream.  He thought that he mounted a horse, and rode without ceasing\nat full gallop, till he came to the shore of the sea.  And there\ndismounting in haste, he entered a ship, and set sail for Lanka.  And\nthe ship carried him swiftly over the sea, and on arriving, he leaped\nout, and ran quickly through the streets, till he came to the palace of\nthe daughter of the Rakshas.  And as he reached it, that instant the\nsun set on one side of the sky, and the moon rose, like another sun, in\nthe opposite quarter, and, lit up with his[3] radiance all the front of\nthe palace.  And he looked, and lo! there on the terrace he saw before\nhim that daughter of the Rakshas, illuminated by the amorous moon, whom\nshe rivalled in beauty; and on the yellow disc of her face her two lips\nshone like two leaves of fire.  And the king's son, unable to bear the\nlustre of their beauty, fell down in a swoon.  But in his swoon he saw\nbefore him those lips without intermission, and they swelled up till\nthey became like two huge mountains, and then, breaking into\ninnumerable pairs which filled the sky like the stars, they crowded in\nupon him, and he felt them gently kissing him all over.  And on a\nsudden, he saw the palace again before him, and he entered it, and saw\nthe daughter of the Rakshas at the end of a long hall, and he ran up to\nher and sank down at her feet.  But she, bending over him, approached\nher lips to his cheek.  And as they came nearer and nearer, they\nsuddenly became a pair of hideous jaws, with lips thin and green as a\nblade of grass, and a double row of teeth white as ivory and sharp as\nsaws, and a black pit between.  And as they loomed larger and larger\nupon him out of the darkness, he uttered a loud shriek--and awoke.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, why did that King's son shriek?  And\nRasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess said with a smile: He was afraid\nof being bitten.\n\nAnd when she had spoken, she rose up and went out, looking with longing\neyes at the King, whose heart went with her.  But the King and\nRasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] _i.e._ 'red lipped.'\n\n[2] Ceylon: reputed to be the home of a certain kind of demons called\nRakshasa.\n\n[3] The moon is not feminine in Sanskrit.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 15.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, that merchant was a liar;\nfor no lips in the world could match the beauty of those of my beloved.\nAlas! that the sweetness of her smile should be the means of conveying\nsuch bitterness to my soul, as she answers your questions with unerring\ndexterity, and so annihilates my hopes each day.  And now but seven\ndays remain, and the thought of losing her is like poison in the\ndraught of nectar which I drink daily from her beauty.  Even the\nportrait is becoming hateful to me, for it mocks me with its scorn, and\nassuredly my life will be extinct before the morning.  So the King\npassed the night in a state of wretchedness, gazing at the portrait.\nAnd when the sun rose, he rose also, and got somehow through the day,\nby the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  Then when the sun set, they\nwent again to the hall of audience.  And there they saw the Princess,\nclad in a copper-coloured robe, and a bodice of burnished silver, and\nher crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And her eyes\nsparkled when she saw the King, who sank upon a couch, speechless and\nfascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward\nand stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, once upon a time a young and handsome bee, that had till then\ngrown up at home and been fed by his parents, set out for the first\ntime in his life on an expedition to fetch flower-nectar for the\npurpose of making honey.  And attracted by its fragrance he flew to a\nred lotus, growing on a pool in the forest, and was about to drain her\nof her sweetness.  But the lotus closed her flower, and would not let\nhim enter, saying: O bee, you come here, after the manner of your\n_caste_, insolently pushing into me, and seeking to rob me of my\nnectar, expecting to get all for nothing.  Learn that you must buy my\nnectar of me.  Then the bee buzzed and said: What shall I give you for\nit?  What is there that you can want?  Is it not enough for you to blow\nand bloom on this pool, scenting the air?  Then the lotus said: There\nis still something wanting.  Out upon you, foolish bee!  You, a bee,\nnot to know what I want!  Go away, and find out, and then come back to\nme, if you want any of my nectar.\n\nThen the bee buzzed violently in anger, and flew away, to find out what\nthe lotus wanted.  And he saw a beetle busily grubbing in the earth at\nthe foot of a tree.  So he said: O beetle, tell me what the lotus\nwants.  But the beetle answered: What is a lotus to me?  Go elsewhere;\nI have no leisure.  So the bee flew off and saw a spider, building a\nweb in a branch.  And he asked him.  And the spider said: What she\nwants is doubtless a fly.  But the bee thought: It cannot be a fly.\nThis spider judges others by himself.  And seeing a cloud floating in\nthe air above him, he flew up and asked it: O cloud, what does the\nlotus want?  The cloud said: Rain-drops.  So the bee flew back and\noffered water to the lotus.  But she said: I get that from the cloud\nand from the pool, not from you.  Try again.  So he flew away, and saw\na sunbeam playing on a blade of grass, and asked it what the lotus\nwanted.  The sunbeam said: Warmth.  So the bee flew back bringing with\nhim a fire-fly, and tried to warm the lotus.  But she said: I get\nwarmth from the sun, not from you.  Try again.  Then the bee flew off\nagain, and saw an owl blinking in a tree; and he buzzed in his ear and\nroused him, and said: O owl, tell me what the lotus wants.  The owl\nsaid: Sleep.  And the bee flew back, and said to the lotus: I will lull\nyou to sleep by humming to you, and fanning you with my wings.  But the\nlotus answered: I get sleep from the night, not from you.  Try again.\n\nThen the bee in despair flew away, crying aloud: What in the world can\nthis niggardly and capricious lotus want of me?  And as fate would have\nit, his cry was overheard by an old hermit, who lived in the forest,\nand knew the language of all beasts and birds.  And he called to the\nbee, and said: O thou dull-witted bee, this is what the lotus wants:\nand he told him Then the bee was delighted, and flew away to the lotus,\nand gave her what she wanted And she opened her flower, and he went in\nand stole her nectar.\n\nNow tell me, Princess, what did the bee give the lotus?  And Rasak\u00f3sha\nceased.  And the Princess blushed[1], and said: He gave her a kiss.\n\nAnd when she had spoken, she rose up and went out without looking at\nthe King, and the King's heart went with her.  But the King and\nRasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] This is not a strict translation.  Hindoo ladies, as far as my\nexperience goes, do not blush: they 'exhibit shame.'  But as the\nemotion is clearly the same, I have employed the English equivalent.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 16.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha in ecstasy and despair: My friend,\nthough owing to the answer of the Princess five days only now remain to\nme, yet I would not have had to-day's answer otherwise for all my\nkingdom; and freely do I forgive you.  Oh! her confusion when she spoke\nalmost broke my heart in twain, and if I dared, I would venture to\nthink that she does not view me with indifference.  But alas! how am I\nto survive the period of separation!  For all virtue has gone out of\nthe portrait, and from snow to cool my fever, it has now become a fire\nto increase it.  And the King passed the night in a state of\napprehension, alternately gazing at and flinging aside the portrait.\nAnd when the sun rose, he rose also, and hardly managed to get through\nthe day with the aid of Rasak\u00f3sha and the garden.  And when the sun\nset, they went again to the hall of audience.  And there they saw the\nPrincess, clad in a robe of pearl-grey, and a bodice studded with\nagates, and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on her throne.  And\nshe looked shyly at the King, who sank upon a couch, speechless and\nfascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward\nand stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, outside the wall of a certain city there was an old sacred banian\ntree.  And in its hollow root there lived a black cobra.  And every day\nit used to come out and lie in the sun before the tree, coiled round\nupon itself, and the people brought it offerings of milk and sweetmeats.\n\nNow in that city there lived a very rich jewel merchant, who had a very\nbeautiful daughter.  And she was very fond of gems and precious stones,\nof which she possessed a very great number.  But there was one which\nshe had not got, and that was the jewel in the head of a snake.  And\nthis she desired so much that she thought all her other jewels of no\naccount in comparison with it.  And she heard of the sacred cobra, and\nbeing filled with cupidity, she hired a man of the D\u00f3mba caste to go by\nnight and kill it, and bring her the gem in its hood.  And when she had\nobtained it, she considered that she had obtained the fruit of her\nbirth, and she valued it above all her other jewels, and wore it\nincessantly as a crest-jewel in her hair.\n\nBut W\u00e1suki[1] heard of the slaughter of his subject, and he was wroth,\nand determined to punish the criminal.  So he assumed the form of a\nman, and went to that city.  And he made enquiries, till at length he\ndiscovered that a certain merchant's daughter possessed the hood-gem of\na snake.  Then the lord of snakes assumed the form of a young and\nhandsome jewel merchant.  And he hired a house, close to that of the\njewel merchant, and giving out that he was travelling on business, he\nlived magnificently, and gave feasts and banquets to all whom he met.\nAnd becoming acquainted with that jewel merchant, he charmed him by his\nwealth and accomplishments, and gave him many rare and inestimable\njewels.  And finally, he asked him for the hand of his daughter in\nmarriage.  And the merchant joyfully consented, thinking that nowhere\nin the world could he find such another son-in-law.  And when he told\nhis daughter, she was beside herself with delight, for she had seen\nthat young merchant from a window, and heard of his great wealth and\naccomplishments; and she thought she was going to get as it were the\nvery ocean itself for a husband[2].\n\nThen an auspicious day was chosen, and the preparations for the wedding\nwent on: and every day the lord of snakes sent baskets of jewels to his\nbride, whose senses almost left her in her joy.  And at last the day\ncame, and the nuptial ceremony was over, and the bridegroom went with\nhis bride into the nuptial chamber.  And he lifted her on to the\nmarriage bed, and called her by her name.  And as she turned towards\nhim, he approached her slowly, with a smile on his face.  And she\nlooked and saw, issuing from his mouth and disappearing alternately, a\nlong tongue, thin, forked, and quivering like that of a snake.\n\nAnd in the morning the musicians played to waken the bride and\nbridegroom.  But the day went on, and they never came forth.  Then the\nmerchant, her father, and his friends, after waiting a long time,\nbecame alarmed, and went and broke the door, which was closed with a\nlock.  And there they saw the bride lying dead in the bed, alone, and\non her bosom were two small marks.  And they saw no bridegroom.  But a\nblack cobra crept out of the bed, and disappeared through a hole in the\nwall[3].\n\nSo now, Princess, tell me, what was there in the snake's hood-jewel to\nmake that merchant's daughter so desirous of it?  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.\nThen the Princess said: The attraction lay not in the jewel itself, nor\nits magic properties.  But in this that she had not got it.  For this\nis the nature of women, that they make light of what they have, and\nsigh for what they have not got.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out, looking at\nthe King with a deep sigh, and the King's heart went with her.  But the\nKing and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] The king of the snakes.\n\n[2] _i.e._ 'the mine, or receptacle of jewels,' a common appellation of\nthe sea.\n\n[3] The _d\u00e9nouement_ of this story has a most singular resemblance to\nthat of Prosper Merim\u00e9e's _Lokis_.  But apparently he drew that\nadmirable story (as he did his _Carmen_ and his _Venus_) from older\nsources, of Lithuanian, Gipsy, possibly even Hindoo origin.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 17.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, all doubt is over: my doom\nis sealed: for the intellect of the Princess is invincible.  And yet\nunless my desire blinds me, she intended that sigh to point at me the\nsignificance of her words.  Oh! the fear of losing her almost deprives\nme of my reason, and breaking loose like a _must_ elephant from every\nrestraint I shall destroy you, as he does his friend the _mahout_, by\nthe most terrible of deaths.  And yet my own lot will be worse than any\ndeath: for I shall die by inches, starving in the sight of food.  Out\nupon the portrait that has brought me to ruin, and on the painter that\npainted it!  For now I see clearly that it is not in the least like\nher; for she is kind, and only compelled by destiny in the form of her\nown intellect to ruin hopes that she would perhaps otherwise encourage.\nSo the King passed the night in a state of exhaustion, averting his\ngaze forcibly from the portrait.  And when the sun rose, he rose also,\nand passed the day with difficulty in the garden, aided by Rasak\u00f3sha.\nThen when the sun set, they went again to the hall of audience.  And\nthere they saw the Princess, clad in a robe of russet[1] and a bodice\nstudded with amber[2], and her crown and other ornaments, sitting on\nher throne.  And she looked at the King with eyes whose lids were red\nwith want of sleep, and he sank upon a couch, speechless and\nfascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha came forward\nand stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady[3], there was once a king, who laughed at his kingly duties, and\npassed his time in evil courses, lying in bed, neglecting Brahmans,\ndrinking wine, hunting, and idling in the society of fair women.  And\nwhosoever ventured to remonstrate with him, him he straightway banished\nfrom his kingdom.  And as time went on, he grew worse and worse, for\ndissatisfaction and satiety came over him, and the only refuge open to\nhim from their torture lay in drowning reflection by still more\nabominable orgies.\n\nThen it happened that one day he went a-hunting.  And the ardour of the\nchase drew him far out of his way, so that when the sun fell, he was\ndeep in the forest, far from his palace.  And while he was considering\nwhere he should pass the night, he came upon the hut of an aged hermit.\nSo leaving his followers in the forest, he remained in the hut of that\nhospitable hermit for the night.  And after making his supper on roots\nand fruits, he lay down to sleep on a bed of leaves and _Kusha_ grass.\n\nAnd in his sleep he had a vision.  He thought he found himself on the\nbank of a great river, lit up by the sun where he stood, but emerging\nfrom black darkness, and running into it again in a circle.  And he\nheld in his hand a seed.  And digging a hole, he planted that seed, and\nwatered it from the river, and it became a shoot, and grew rapidly into\na tall tree.  And the tree put forth leaves, and blossoms, and at last\na single fruit.  And the fruit grew larger and larger, till it was as\nbig as a gourd: and it became green as an emerald, and then red as a\nruby, and shone in the sun: and its weight caused it to sink down\nwithin reach of his hand.  So he put out his hand, and plucked, and ate\nit.\n\nAnd in an instant he saw a colossal hand stretched out of the darkness,\nand it grasped him and whisked him away, and suspended him over an\nabyss by a slender string.  And looking down, he gazed into\nunfathomable depths, and looking up, he saw a vulture pecking at the\nstring with its beak; and an icy chill froze his heart, while burning\nfire tortured his extremities, and black darkness enveloped him: and it\nseemed to him that infinite ages passed in each instant of ineffable\nagony.  Then on a sudden he awoke with a cry, and saw only that old\nhermit standing in the moonlight that fell through the roof,\nmeditating, and muttering to himself.\n\nThen he lay down again on the bed, and slept and dreamed again.  And\nagain it seemed to him that he planted a seed, and watered it on the\nbank of that river: and again it became a tree, and put out leaves and\nblossoms and a fruit, which as before grew green and red, and sank down\ninto his hand.  And he plucked and ate it again.  And in an instant, a\nfeeling of inexpressible bliss flowed in upon his soul, and he sank\ninto a deep sleep, and lay as if he were dead, till that old hermit\nroused him in the morning with the sun streaming in through the door of\nthe hut.\n\nThen that king went home and changed his ways.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, why?  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the\nPrincess said: He was afraid.  For the tree was the tree of his own\nevil actions, and the eating of its fruit the ripening of their\nconsequences, dooming him to a punishment of which the agony he endured\nin his dream was but a faint shadow.  But had he lived otherwise, and\naccumulated virtue rather than vice, he would have obtained ultimately\nthe bliss of emancipation, resembling the deep sleep which came upon\nhim and obliterated his individuality, the second time he slept.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken, she turned and looked at the King\nwith tears in her eyes, and rose up and went out, and the King's heart\nwent with her.  But the King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own\napartments.\n\n\n\n[1] _Kapisha_.\n\n[2] _Trinamani_, a gem that attracts grass.\n\n[3] This story is only the embodiment of an idea familiar to every\nHindoo, but in the original it is very pithily told.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 18.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, now in very truth am I\neating the fruit of my own crimes in a former birth, since four days\nonly remain; and well did you say that I am suspended by the heels over\nan unfathomable abyss, with ice at my heart.  For only too well do I\nsee that the Princess will stand the test, seeing that the sharp arrows\nof your cunning questions rebound from her as if, instead of a jewelled\nbodice, she was clad in a coat of mail.  And the nectar of the portrait\nhas become a poison, which will certainly put an end to me before\nmorning.  So the King passed the night in a state of despondency, with\nhis back to the portrait.  And when the sun rose, he rose also, and\nhardly contrived to pass the day by the help of Rasak\u00f3sha and the\ngarden.  Then when the sun set, they went again to the hall of\naudience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad in a robe of Indian\nred[1], and a bodice studded with sea-gems, and her crown and other\nornaments, sitting on her throne.  And she looked at the King, and\ndrooped her head like a flower, and the King sank upon a couch,\nspeechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her, and began again:\n\nLady, a certain lover was bewailing the death of his mistress, and he\nexclaimed: O Death, thou art strong; but O Love, thou art stronger.\nAnd it happened that Yama[2] heard him.  So he said to the god who has\na row of bees for a bowstring[3]: Hear what nonsense that foolish\nfellow is prattling.  But Kamad\u00e9wa replied: It is not nonsense, but the\ntruth.  I am the stronger.  So a dispute arose between them, as to\nwhich of them was the stronger.  And after a while, Kamad\u00e9wa said: What\nis the use of talking?  Let us put the matter to the test, and make\ntrial of our power.  And Yama said: So be it.  And they chose for the\nsubjects of their experiments three things: a hero, a _nyagr\u00f3dha_[4]\ntree, and the heart of a sage.\n\nThen Yama went first to the tree, and smote its roots with death.  But\nas fast as they died, the branches, inspired by K\u00e1ma, let down roots\nfrom above, and they struck into the earth, and became new trunks, and\ngrew up and produced new branches, which did the same continually.  So\nafter a while Yama was tired and stopped, and there was the tree as\nstrong as ever.\n\nThen K\u00e1mad\u00e9wa said: See, I have conquered.  But Yama said: Wait and\nsee.  And he went to the hero, and struck him down when he was fighting\nin the front of the battle, and he died.  But Smara[5] inspired the\npeople of that country; and they mourned for that hero, and built him a\nsplendid pillar; and poets sang his glorious deeds, and mothers called\ntheir children by his name, and they worshipped him as an incarnation\nof deity in the temples.\n\nThen K\u00e1mad\u00e9wa said: See, again I have conquered.  Acknowledge that I am\nthe stronger.  But Yama said: Wait and see.  And he went to the sage,\nas he was practising terrible austerities in the forest, and struck his\nheart and killed it.  But even as he did so, Desire sprang up in it[6]\nagain ever anew, and ever fresh attachments to the objects of sense,\nand so the battle went on continually in the heart of that sage, as it\nalternately became dead to the world, and then again alive, and subject\nto the influence of the pleasures of mundane existence.\n\nThen K\u00e1mad\u00e9wa said: See, once more I am proved to be the strongest.\nThe victory is mine.  Confess that you are beaten.  But Yama said: For\nall that I am the stronger, and that lover was a babbler.  And K\u00e1mad\u00e9wa\nlaughed at him and mocked him.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, which is the stronger?  And Rasak\u00f3sha ceased.\nThen the Princess turned very pale[7], and said in a low voice:\nK\u00e1mad\u00e9wa is cunning, and like a dishonest gambler, loaded his dice to\nwin.  For in particular instances and limited times, he appears to be\nthe stronger.  And therefore it was that he challenged Yama, knowing\nvery well that all instances must of necessity be limited to a place\nand time.  But nevertheless Yama is stronger than he.  For he is\nunlimited, being Time itself without beginning or end[8], and that\npower, whose nature it is to be unsusceptible of bounds, can no more be\nexhibited by particular instances than the ceaseless flow of Ganges can\nbe contained in a single jar.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out, looking at\nthe King with eyes of sorrow, and the King's heart went with her.  But\nthe King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] L\u00f3hita.  The sea-gem is perhaps some kind of pearl.\n\n[2] The god of death (pronounce Yum).\n\n[3] K\u00e1ma, or K\u00e1mad\u00e9wa, the god of love.  His names are innumerable.\n\n[4] 'Down-grower,' the banian, which lets down roots from its branches.\n\n[5] A name for Love which also means memory.\n\n[6] One of the common names of Love is 'the mind-born.'\n\n[7] She turned pale, possibly because she saw that her love for the\nKing must have an end: but still more probably because she was afraid\nof offending the God of Love by not deciding in his favour.\n\n[8] K\u00e1la, Time, is another name for Yama.  The answer of the Princess\nis clever in the extreme.\n\n\n\n\nDAY 19.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, now I may offer water[1] to\nmy happiness, and this is the beginning of the end.  For three days\nonly now remain to me, and these will assuredly follow in the footsteps\nof their predecessors, and so shall I[2].  Then will my sun set for\never.  Alas!  I read my fate in the sorrow that filled my beloved's\neyes, as she looked at me like a frightened fawn.  O that she were\neither less beautiful or less intelligent, for in the union of these\ntwo virtues lies my destruction.  Away with the portrait, which burns\nme like a fire.  So the King passed the night in a state of delirium,\npaying no heed to the portrait.  And when the sun rose, he rose also,\nand passed the day, half living and half dead, in the garden with\nRasak\u00f3sha.  And when the sun set, they went again to the hall of\naudience.  And there they saw the Princess, clad in a robe of cloth of\ngold and a bodice studded with turquoises, and her crown and other\nornaments, sitting on her throne.  And she looked at the King with eyes\nin which joy and grief fought for the mastery: and the King sank upon a\ncouch, speechless and fascinated, under the spell of her beauty.  Then\nRasak\u00f3sha came forward and stood before her and began again:\n\nLady, there was once a Brahman named Krit\u00e1krita[3], who neglected the\nstudy of the W\u00e9das, and walked in the black path, abandoning all his\nduties[4], and associating with gamblers, harlots, and outcasts.  And\nhe frequented the cemeteries at night, and became familiar with ghosts\nand vampires and dead bodies, and impure and unholy rites and\nincantations.  And one night, amid the flaming of funeral pyres and the\nreek of burning corpses, a certain Vampire[5] of his acquaintance said\nto him: I am hungry: bring me fresh meat to devour, or I will tear you\nin pieces.  Then Krit\u00e1krita said: I will bring it, but not for nothing.\nWhat will you give me for it?  The Vampire replied: Bring me a newly\nslain Brahman, and I will teach you a spell for raising the dead.  But\nKrit\u00e1krita said: That is not enough.  And they haggled in the cemetery\nabout the price.  At last that abandoned Brahman said: Throw in a pair\nof dice that will enable me always to win at play, and I will bring you\nthe flesh you require.  So the Vampire said: Be it so.  Then Krit\u00e1krita\nwent away, and knowing no other resource secretly murdered his own\nbrother, and brought him to the cemetery at midnight.  And the Vampire\nkept his word, giving him the dice, and teaching him the spell.\n\nThen some time afterwards, Krit\u00e1krita said to himself: I will try the\nefficacy of this spell that the Vampire has taught me.  So he procured\nthe body of a dead Chand\u00e1la[6], and taking it at the dead of night to\nthe cemetery, placed it on the ground, and began to recite the spell.\nBut when he had got halfway through, he looked at the corpse, and saw\nits left arm, and leg, and eye moving horribly with life, the other\nhalf being still dead.  And he was so terrified at the sight, that he\nutterly forgot the rest of the spell, and leaped up and ran away.  But\nthe corpse jumped up also, and a vampire entered its dead half, and it\nrushed rapidly after him, shuffling on one leg, and rolling its one\neye, and yelling indistinctly: _Underdone, overdone, undone_[7]!  But\nKrit\u00e1krita fled at full speed to his house, and getting into bed lay\nthere trembling.  And after a while he fell asleep.  And then suddenly\nhe awoke, hearing a noise, and he looked and saw the door open, and the\ncorpse of that dead Ch\u00e1nd\u00e1la came in, and shuffled swiftly towards him\non its left leg, rolling its left eye, with its dead half hanging down\nbeside it, and crying in a terrible voice: _Underdone, overdone,\nundone_!  And Krit\u00e1krita sprang out of bed, and ran out by another\ndoor, and mounting a horse, fled as fast as he could to another city a\ngreat way off.\n\nAnd there he thought: Here I am safe.  So he went day by day to the\ngambling hall, and playing with his dice, won great sums of money, and\nlived at his ease, feasting himself and others.  But one night, when he\nwas sitting among the gamblers in the gambling hall, throwing the dice,\nhe heard behind him a noise of shuffling.  And he looked round, and\nsaw, coming swiftly towards him on one leg, the corpse of that dead\nCh\u00e1nd\u00e1la, with its dead half rotting and hanging down, and its left eye\nrolling in anger, and calling out in a voice of thunder: _Underdone,\noverdone, undone_!  And he rose up with a shriek, and leaped over the\ntable, and fled away by an opposite door and left that city, and ran as\nfast as he could, constantly looking behind him through the forest for\nmany days and nights, never daring to stop even to take breath, till he\nreached another city a long way off.  And there he remained, disguised\nand concealed, as it were in a hole.  But all the gamblers in that\ngambling saloon died of fear.\n\nAnd after some time he again accumulated wealth by gambling in that\ncity, and lived in extravagance at his ease.  But one night, when he\nwas sitting with an _het\u00e6ra_ whom he loved, in the inner room of her\nhouse, he heard the noise of shuffling.  And he looked round, and saw\nonce more the corpse of that dead Ch\u00e1nd\u00e1la coming swiftly towards him\non one leg, with its dead half, from whose bones the flesh had rotted\naway, hanging down, and its left eye blazing with flames of rage,\ncalling out with a voice like the scream of R\u00e1wana: _Underdone,\noverdone, undone_!  Then that het\u00e6ra then and there abandoned the body\nin her terror.  And Krit\u00e1krita rose up, and ran out by a door, which\nled out upon the balcony, while the Ch\u00e1nd\u00e1la hastened after him.  And\nfinding no other outlet, Krit\u00e6krita flung himself down into the street,\nand was dashed to pieces, and died.\n\nSo now tell me, Princess, what did that corpse mean by his words?  And\nRasak\u00f3sha ceased.  Then the Princess said: There is no difficulty in\nthis.  Woe to the feeble souls that have not courage to carry through\nwhat they have the presumption to begin!  They do indeed either too\nlittle or too much, and are themselves their own undoing.  For the\nstrong in virtue avoid sin altogether: while the daring in vice face\nthe consequences of their own conduct: those attain heavenly rewards,\nand these the good things of this world; but the coward souls who are\ntoo weak to be either virtuous or vicious are punished by that very\nweakness in the form of their consciousness of guilt, and lose both\nworlds.\n\nAnd when the Princess had spoken, she rose up and went out, looking and\nyet as it were not looking at the King, whose heart went with her.  But\nthe King and Rasak\u00f3sha returned to their own apartments.\n\n\n\n[1] _i.e._ it is all over with me.  Water is offered to the spirits of\ndeparted ancestors.\n\n[2] _i.e._ I shall fail in my suit, like the others.  The following\nsentence is a play on his own name.\n\n[3] 'Done and not done.'\n\n[4] Ach\u00e1rabhrashta, an apostate or decasted person.  See Manu, I., 108.\n\n[5] _W\u00e9t\u00e1la_, an uncanny being, generally possessing magic powers,\ngiven to occupying empty corpses and devouring human flesh.\n\n[6] The lowest caste, whose very proximity was pollution to a Brahman.\n\n[7] This is all one word in the original, \u00fan\u00e1dhik\u00e1kritamkritam, 'what\nhas been done is too little, too much, and not done at all.'\n\n\n\n\nDAY 20.\n\nThen the King said to Rasak\u00f3sha: My friend, I have been bitten by the\nbeauty of this incomparable woman as by a black cobra, and now the\npoison works.  I have but two more days to live.  For certain it is\nthat her answer to your last question will be my sentence of death, and\nequally certain it is, that she will give that answer; for her\nintellect is like the edge of a sharp sword, which while it cuts the\nknot of the problem will at the same moment pierce me to the heart.\nAnd the King passed the night in a state of despair, leaving his bed\nuntouched.  And when the sun rose, he rose also, and went out alone\ninto the garden and wandered about, dreading the setting of the sun yet\nlonging for reunion with his beloved, till his soul was almost riven in\ntwain with opposite emotions.  And he reproached Win\u00e1yaka, saying: O\nthou of the Ruddy Trunk, I have been deceived by thee: and instead of\nclearing my road to success, thou hast blocked it by an insurmountable\nobstacle in the form of this lady's piercing acuteness of\nunderstanding.  And then he said: This is no time for despair.  Let me\nnot, like Krit\u00e1krita, leave my work half finished, but rather endeavour\nmyself to discover some riddle that she cannot answer.  And yet what\nhope is there that where Rasak\u00f3sha has failed, I should succeed?  For\nthe Princess is not more skilful in answering his questions, than he in\ncomposing them, being as it were a very ocean of stories in human form.\nOr rather, no mortal, but only a god, could pose the ingenuity of this\nlovely lady.  Then he prayed to Saraswat\u00ed, saying: O goddess of speech,\nmy only refuge is in thy favour.  O befriend me, and either cloud the\nmind of my beloved with temporary bewilderment, or else reveal to me\nsome puzzle which she will be unable to answer.  Truly, my puzzle is\nworse than hers.\n\nAnd on the instant, Saraswat\u00ed put a thought into his heart.  And he\nsprang up with a shout of joy, exclaiming: Ha!  I am favoured.  Victory\nto Saraswat\u00ed.  The Princess is mine.  And he ran quickly to find\nRasak\u00f3sha, whom he discovered buried in profound meditation on a story\nfor the coming evening, and said: My friend, away with meditation.\n[Greek: Eureka][1]!  I will myself propose a riddle to the Princess\nthis evening.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha said: O King, I congratulate you.  But\nstill, in a matter of such importance, let us risk nothing by\npresumptuous confidence.  So propound your riddle to me first that we\nmay make trial of its difficulty.  Then King S\u00faryak\u00e1nta laughed in\ndelight, and said: Your very doubt shows that it is unanswerable.  My\nown case is the very problem.  I will go to the Princess, and ask her\nwhat I ought to do.  And if she tells me, then I will ask her to-morrow\nwhat she tells me to-day: and if she does not tell me, then she is mine\naccording to the terms of the agreement, to-day: and so in either\nalternative, the bird[2] is caged.\n\nThen Rasak\u00f3sha said with a smile: Victory to your Majesty.  Truly\nwonderful is the power of love: like a stone it at once blunts and\nsharpens the edge of intellect.  For it formerly blinded you to\neverything in the world, and now it has sharpened your sight so as to\ndiscover what has escaped us all this time, though lying as it were on\nthe road before us.  But unless I am deceived by the external signs, I\npredict that the god of love will also blind the Princess; or rather,\nthat she will throw herself gladly into the cage.  For none are so\neasily caught as those who wish to be; and though the Princess has been\nadamant to my questions, she will be soft as a flower to yours.\n\nThen in his impatience the King could hardly endure the remainder of\nthe day, burning with desire to put his question to the Princess.  But\nat last the sun set.  Then Rasak\u00f3sha said: O King, go you alone to the\nhall of audience.  For my absence will do you more service to-day than\nmy presence did before.  There are cases, when a friend shows his\nfriendship rather by his absence than his presence.  _Apropos_, I will\ntell you a story: Listen.  But the King said: My friend, this is no\ntime for stories, even though told by you.  And though I will go alone\nto-night, without you, yet know, that should I achieve success by the\nfavour of Saraswat\u00ed and the Lord of obstacles, I shall nevertheless owe\nit to you rather than myself.  For not only have you sustained my life\ndaily, during the hours of separation, but your stories have been as it\nwere a ladder, by which I have ascended step by step to the window of\nmy beloved's chamber.  And does not the lowest rung of the ladder\ncontribute equally with the highest to the attainment of the summit of\nhope?  Then Rasak\u00f3sha laughed, and said: O King, it is well.  Now go,\nand though you have not heard my story, yet I have attained in some\nmeasure the end I had in view in proposing it.  For you have kept the\nPrincess waiting, and expectation increases desire.  Good luck be with\nyou!\n\nThen the King left him and went very quickly by himself to the hall of\naudience.  And his right arm throbbed as he drew near the door, and\nrejoicing at the omen, he went in.  And there he saw Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1, clad\nin a robe of the hue of indigo[3], and a bodice rainbow-hued like the\nneck of a pigeon, and studded with yellow sunstones, and her crown and\nother ornaments: but she had left her throne, and come towards the\ndoor, and was looking with anxiety for the King.  But when she saw him\nshe blushed[4], and returned in confusion to her throne.  And King\nS\u00faryak\u00e1nta went up to her, and fell down before her and took her by the\nhand, and said: Lady, there was once a King, who became suitor to a\nPrincess, lovely like thyself, on this condition, that if he could ask\nher a question that she could not answer, she should be his.  Now tell\nme, O thou lovely incarnation of wisdom, what should he ask her?\n\nAnd instantly the Princess rose up quickly, and exclaimed in delight: O\nclever one, thou hast guessed.  And she threw round his neck the\nnecklace of her arms, and so chose him as her husband[5].  And she\nsaid: See, thy image is reflected a thousand times in these gems that\nresemble thee; yet look in my eyes, and thou shalt see thyself through\nthem reflected in my heart.  Then the King looked into her eyes, and\nsaw himself reflected in them like the sun in a deep lake.  And he\nwhispered in the shell of her ear: Thou hast robbed me of myself: give\nme back myself in thy form.  Then the Princess said, in a low voice,\nlooking down: Would'st thou take my sweetness for nothing?  What did\nthe bee give the lotus?  And the King trembled with passion, and\nputting his hand beneath her chin, he raised her face and kissed her on\nher ruby mouth.  And in that moment he forgot everything, and he felt\nhis life surging through him like a wave of the sea, and he became\nblind and deaf, and tottered on his feet.  Then Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1 roused him\nfrom his stupor by saying: Wert thou afraid of losing me?  And he said:\nO my beloved, I am saved from the mouth of death.  Then she laughed\nlow, and said: There was no cause for fear.  For had I again answered a\nquestion to-day, I would have refused to answer to-morrow, even though\nthou hadst asked me nothing but my own name.  But I could scarcely\nendure to wait till to-morrow, and it is better as it is.  Then the\nKing said: And why, O thou rogue, didst thou not refuse to answer\nbefore, and save me from torture?  And Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1 said: It was torture\nalso to me.  And yet I know not why, but there was nectar in the\npoison, and know, O my lord, that this is the nature of women, that\nthey love to torment their lover, and refuse him what they themselves\nmost of all desire.\n\nThen King S\u00faryak\u00e1nta almost swooned away from excess of joy.  And he\nsaid: Come, let us leave this place, which is hateful to me as the\nscene of my sufferings, and let us return without delay to my capital.\nAnd the Princess said: As my lord pleases.\n\nThen the King sent Rasak\u00f3sha, with all the retinue of the Princess, on\nbefore.  But he himself set out at night alone with his bride.  And\nthey rode on slowly, side by side, through the forest in the moonlight,\nhe on a white horse, and she on a black, looking like the beauty of day\nand night incarnate in mortal form.  And at midnight they stopped to\nrest in the forest.  And the King lifted Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1 from her horse, and\nplaced her in a bower of creepers under a great tree.  And the moon\nshone with warm rays through the interstices of the leaves as through\nthe marble trellis of a palace terrace.  And there on a bed of leaves\nand flowers, he made her his wife by the G\u00e1ndharwa[6] marriage rite.\nAnd he played with the nooses of her blue-black hair, through which her\neyes shone like moonstones in the moonlight; and he wove red _ash\u00f3ka_\nflowers in her hair, and hung blue lotuses on her bosom, and put a\ngirdle of white lotuses round her waist, and tied anklets of jasmine\nblossoms on her feet.  And in the ecstasy of his passion, bewildered by\nher beauty, he exclaimed: Well are thou called Anangar\u00e1g\u00e1, O my\nbeloved; and yet a single name is insufficient to describe the infinite\nvariety of thy thousand-rayed loveliness.  Thou art Mrigal\u00f3chan\u00e1, for\nthine eyes are lustrous and frightened like the antelope's; and\nN\u00edlanalin\u00ed, for thy dark hair is like a pool for the lotuses of thine\neyes; and Madanal\u00edl\u00e1l\u00f3lat\u00e1, for those eyes dance with the tremulous\nlight of love; and Shashil\u00e9kh\u00e1, for thou art fair and fragile as a\ndigit of the moon; and Bujalat\u00e1, for thy arms are curved and cling like\ncreepers; and Kusumayasht\u00ed, for thy body is straight and slender like\nthe stalk of a flower; and Kambukanth\u00ed, for thy neck is like a shell;\nand Rajan\u00edch\u00e1y\u00e1, for the sheen of thy beauty is like that of the night;\nand L\u00e1wanyam\u00fart\u00ed, for thou art the very incarnation of the perfection\nof loveliness: and Man\u00f3h\u00e1rin\u00ed, for thou ravishest my soul; and\nMadalahar\u00ed, for thou art a wave of the sea of intoxication; and\nAlipriy\u00e1, for the bees resort to the honey of thy lips, mistaking them\nfor a flower; and Wajras\u00fach\u00ed, for thy intellect is like a diamond\nneedle: and H\u00e9makumbhin\u00ed, for thy bosom resembles a pair of golden\ngourds; and Pulin\u00e1krit\u00ed, for the curves of thy hips are like the swell\nof a river bank; and N\u00e1n\u00e1r\u00fapin\u00ed, for thy beauty is infinite; and\nBhr\u00fakut\u00edchal\u00e1, for the play of thy brows is like the lightning in the\nclouds; and yet all these names are powerless to paint thy celestial\nand overpowering fascination, which maddens me as I gaze at it.  Then\nAnangar\u00e1g\u00e1 said, with a smile: O my lord, thou hast omitted, among all\nthese names, the only one that really belongs to me.  And the King\nsaid: What is that?  Then she said: Thou art my deity, and I am\npossessed by thee in every particle of my being; and therefore call me\nN\u00edl\u00edr\u00e1g\u00e1, for my devotion[7] to thee shall be constant and indelible as\nthe dye of indigo.  And know, O sun of my soul, that without this all\nthe beauty of women is but nectar-poison.\n\nThen the King's heart almost broke in his joy, and he exclaimed: Ha!  I\nhave obtained the fruit of my birth.  All else is nothingness and\nfutility.  What can the future hold for me but this, or its absence,\nwhich would be worse than a thousand deaths?  And he prayed to the all\npowerful and self-existent One[8], saying: O Mah\u00e9shwara, let this\nheaven continue for ever, and let the chain of my existence be broken\nat this point!  Or rather, let Time be destroyed for me, and let me\nremain, beyond its influence, for evermore in this present, this moment\nof union with my beloved!\n\nAnd that moon-crested god heard him, and granted his wish.  And he shot\nat that pair of lovers, as they slept in one another's arms in the\nmoonlit creeper bower, a glance of his third eye, and reduced them to\nashes.  But he said: The chain of their existence cannot yet be broken,\nfor they have not yet earned emancipation by penance and austerities.\nBut they shall meet again, and be husband and wife, in another birth.\n\n\n\n[1] Literally, 'the object is attained.'\n\n[2] Here there is a pun.\n\n[3] This has a meaning: see below.  The sunstone is probably a topaz.\n\n[4] See note, p. 88.\n\n[5] This is an allusion to the _swayamwara_, an old ceremony by which a\nmaiden chose her own husband by throwing a garland round his neck.\n\n[6] See _Manu_, III. 26.  Though recognised as a legitimate marriage,\nespecially for Kshatriyas, it was simply the union of two lovers\nwithout any rites at all.  This suits it admirably for fairy tale and\nromance, and makes it a great favourite with the poets.\n\n[7] _Bhakti_ is almost untranslateable.  It means the absorbed and\ntotal love, faith, devotion of a worshipper for his god.\n\n[8] Shiwa.\n\n\n\n\n  _Printed by_\n  MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED\n  Edinburgh","title":"A Digit of the Moon: A Hindoo Love Story","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":29286}