{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48911/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48911","id":"gutenberg_48911","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48911","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: Frontispiece]\n\n\n\nA Mine of Faults\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n\nTranslated from the Original Manuscript\n\nBy\n\nF. W. Bain\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n\n  _Was it a Swoon or the Wine in her Eyes?\n  Ha! the whole World is one Azure Abyss._\n\n\n\n  G. P. Putnam's Sons\n  New York and London\n  The Knickerbocker Press\n  1910\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1910\n  BY\n  F. W. BAIN\n\n  The Knickerbocker Press, New York\n\n\n\n\nDEDICATION\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\nsic barbare vertendum.\n\n  _uxor-mater-amica-soror-dea-filia-concham\n        vas infirmius hanc, helleborose, vocas?_\n\naut sic\n\n  _What! this mother-sister-daughter-goddess-wife-secreting Shell\n  This, the weaker vessel, holding Love and Life and Heaven and Hell!_\n\n\n\n\nIntroduction\n\nThough the old literature of the Hindoos is deficient in the department\nof politics--it has no history, no orators, no Demosthenes, no\nPolybius, no Aristotle; for the dialectic of politics appears to have\nbeen invented by the divinely discontented Greek--though, I say, it has\nno politics, it is permeated with policy.  The ancients, says\nAristotle, wrote politically, but we rhetorically: and his remark is\nadmirably illustrated by _e.g._ the old _Panchatantra_, whose author\ncertainly had in him as much policy as Thucydides, although he chose to\ndeliver his wisdom in apologues, rather than in the prosaic and\nsomewhat pedantic photography of actual affairs.  The Hindoo term,\n_n\u00edti_, means, not so much policy, as diplomacy, and so their\n_n\u00edti-shastra_, or doctrine of policy, refers rather to the clever\nconduct of affairs in negotiation, than to anything else.  And\ntherefore, love-affairs, which we should hardly include under politics,\nfall in with the Hindoo conception, and in this sense women are, as the\nHindoos think, and their annals abundantly testify, at least the\nequals, in policy, of men.  When the author of _Eothen_ commended\ncertain women of the \u00c6g\u00e6an isles for their admirable [Greek: politiue],\nhe was using the term exactly in the sense of _n\u00edti_.  And this\ncorrelation of diplomacy and love is the substance of the present\nstory, the story of a love-affair, in which, if we may believe a great\nauthority, the poet-king, Bhartrihari, the special quality required and\nexhibited is craft.  The Hindoos in fact resemble women, and women the\nHindoos, in this particular, that they are both of them apt to identify\npolicy with craft, and like rivers, generally prefer to reach desired\nends by crooked ways: and this is why both of them, though often very\ndexterous negotiators (like Wellington's \"Old Brag,\" whom he thought\nsuperior to Talleyrand), have too much _finesse_ to make really solid\nstatesmen.  For intrigue may be good, in war, and it may be good, in\nlove, but it is not good, save in a subordinate and secondary sense, in\nstate-affairs.  Nothing durable was ever built upon it.  Strength is\nsimple, but cunning is the weapon of the weak: and there is probably\nmore consummate \"policy,\" _i.e._ diplomacy and tact, exhibited by women\nin the conduct of their love-affairs in every century, than has ever\nbeen displayed by men on the great stage of politics in the whole of\nhuman history.\n\nAnd though the title of our story, _A Mine of Faults_, might lead the\nreader to expect, not without alarm, something geological and mineral,\nand hard, and stony, it really plays lightly with a somewhat softer\nsubstance, which only disconsolate lovers in the depth of their\ndejection ever venture to compare with rocks or flints--a woman.  For\nhere, as usual, the Sanskrit epithet conveys two meanings in one word:\nbeing, in one sense, a poetic synonym of the Moon: the _maker of eve_,\nthe _lender of beauty to the dusk_: while, according to the other, it\nmeans a _mine_, or inexhaustible store, of _blemishes_, _defects,_ or\n_faults_.  And thus, as applied to a particular digit of the moon, that\nis, a lovely woman, it keeps the mind ambiguously hovering between her\nlustrous lunar beauty, and her _faiblesse_:[1] the malicious\nimplication being, that she owes her attraction as much to her weakness\nas her beauty: a paradox, to which the modern world, anxious about the\nsuffrage, seems disposed to turn at present a deaf ear.  Dogmatism, on\nsuch a subject, would be dangerous and unbecoming: yet it would not be\neasy to deny that her faults and imperfections, even if they do not\ndetermine the attraction of the _vas infirmius_,[2] at least do not\ndiminish, but increase it.  _Infida, sed pulchra_, said the ancient of\nhis mistress: who knows, whether she would have been quite so lovely in\nhis eyes, had she been true?  A doubt, or dispute, about possession\nlends value to the property, in every loser's eyes: and doubtless\njealousy, while it diminishes and tarnishes affection, increases charm.\nAnd indeed, no philosopher has ever told us exactly what it is that\nexcites the passion of the lover to his \"most emphatic she.\"  Take any\nman you will, and you will find that ninety-nine women in a hundred\nwill leave him unelectrified, unmoved: the next, a very mine of faults,\ninferior, to every other eye than his, to her ninety-nine ineffectual\nsisters, will nevertheless act upon him so, that her very presence will\nsend the blood rushing into his face--\n\n  Up his cheek the colour sprang,\n        Then he heard,\n\nand for her sake, it may be, he will cast into the fire his family, his\nfriends, his property, his honour, or his life, or whatever else is or\nis not his to cast.  No analysis will discover to you the secret of the\ncharm.  And yet, let no man rashly call him mad, for is not every lover\nmad, and does not this touch of Nature make the whole world kin?  Only,\neach requires somewhat different ingredients, to make up that\nparticular _mass of imperfections_ that appeals to him.  Who but a fool\nwould fall in love with faults?  Ah! but Nature, or as the old Hindoos\nwould say, the Creator is so cunning; so well he knows how, by some\nalmost imperceptible distinction, some unanalysable curve or touch or\ngrain of composition, nay, by a spot, a fleck, a blemish, an\nirresistible defect, a \"mole cinque-spotted,\" on the body or the soul,\nto turn even the sage into a fool.  Explain it as we may, it is not\nperfection that has inspired the great passions of the world.  Unless,\nindeed, anyone should choose to say, that perfection consists precisely\nin a mass of imperfections--and then he would agree with the author of\nthis tale: the Moony-Crested God.\n\n\nBeing at Bombay, by accident, a little while ago, I went down to the\nharbour, as my custom is, to find a boat.  But as it happened, such a\ngale was blowing from the east, that not a boat would come.  They were\nall cowering, as it were, huddled together on the lee side of the quay,\ndancing madly on the tossing waves, like corks.  Here, however, as long\nago in the case of the Macedonian Philip, silver arguments prevailed:\nand at last I put forth \"in the teeth of the hard glad weather, in the\nblown wet face of the sea,\" with feelings which those only can\nappreciate who love the sea beyond all earthly things, and live away\nfrom it against their will.  So, then, we fared on in the eye of the\nwind, tacking to and fro, and shipping half the water that we met.  The\nrace is very strong, in Bombay harbour, at the turn of the tide, in\nrough weather; we were crossing it aslant, and in the turmoil, our\n\"patron\" made a blunder with the tiller, which drew down upon his grey\nhairs such a storm of execration from his crew, who were baling for\ndear life, that in his confusion he lost his head and very nearly ended\nall.  We got across, however, but the violence of the wind made it\nafter all utterly impossible to make the north coast of Elephanta,\nwhere the landing-stage is, and therefore I had to land where I could,\nupon the south.\n\nI wandered through the woody isle, startling equally the monkeys, and\nthe men who were constructing a new battery on the apex of the hill;\nwho, taking my method of arrival, with the weather, into view, were\nstrongly inclined, as I imagine, to consider me a Russian spy.[3]  But\nfinally that came about, which I had foreseen: when I reached the cave,\nfor once I had it to myself.  The weather had effectually protected it\nfrom all intrusion but my own: and those bands of pleasure seekers, who\nmake it a place of horror and defilement, and desecrate its holy\nsolitude, were missing.  About it, and in it, was no noise whatever but\nthe noise of the wind.\n\nI went into the cave, and sat down, at the feet of Deity, close beside\nthe shrine.  It was growing late, for we had taken long to come, and\ndusk was beginning to settle over its dark interior recesses, making\nits projections stand out strongly in the gloom.  Just before me was\nthe Marriage of Shiwa and P\u00e1rwat\u00ed, dim and huge, upon the wall: the\ngigantic figure of the Great God, holding by the hand, to lead her\nround the sacred fire, the Daughter of the Mountain, whose attitude is\na triumph of artistic skill: coy, bashful, and reluctant, with averted\nhead, she seems as though unwilling to place her hand in his, to gain\nwhom she had endured so many self-inflicted tortures.  And a little way\noff, in the darkness, I could just discern the colossal Trim\u00farti, the\nthree-headed bust of Shiwa, whose central countenance is filled with\nsuch majestic, beautiful, immense repose: divine, immortal calm.  And\nall round me stood about, here and there, huge Dwarap\u00e1las, Pish\u00e1chas,\ngrinning Kirttmukhas demons and lesser deities, satellites and servers\nand ministers of the Moony-Crested God.\n\nAnd as I sat, so little, among those great Shadows, with the darkness\ngrowing deeper, in the silence, was it fancy, or did they whisper to\none another: Who is this strange white-faced unbeliever, who sits alone\namong us, as if half out of devotion, yet without the flowers, and the\nwater, and the camphor, and the lamps, and the mantras, and all the\nother customary rites?\n\nAnd I said in a whisper: O Moony-Crested, be not angry: for surely I\nwas thy worshipper of old, in some forgotten former birth.  And even\nnow, is there among thy dusky millions, even one, who has so sincere a\nregard for thy dead divinity, and for that of thy delicious little\nsnowy bride, as I?  And at least I worship with true devotion the digit\nof the moon, that shines in thy tawny tangled hair.\n\nSo I made peace with those old ghosts, and we sat together in the\ndarkness, and their Lord put a thought into my heart, as I gazed at\nhim, while Bombay seemed to have faded away into another world.\n\n\nAnd then, after a while, I got up: and I bowed to my Companions, and\nwent away.  The wind had dropped, and blew us gently home.  Night had\nfallen, before we reached the quay: lights and shadows came and went on\nthe quiet water, dimpling round the tired boat.  I stepped out, and\ndisappeared in the motley crowd of English ladies, native coolies,\nChristians, pagans, Musulmans, Parsees, negroes, Arab horse-dealers,\nBritish sailors, and all the other national ingredients that it takes\nto make Bombay.\n\nMAHABLESHWAR,\n  _May_, 1909.\n\n\n\n[1] There is yet a third application, to the book itself, indicative of\nthe modesty of the author, with respect to the merits of his production.\n\n[2] The ordinary Sanskrit term for woman is the exact equivalent, and\nmay possibly be the origin, of this medi\u00e6val label, in which we detect\nhomage and fear lurking under the disparagement.\n\n[3] As I subsequently gathered from my friend, the gallant officer in\ncontrol, I ought to have been shot, hanged, or otherwise destroyed, for\nbeing there at all.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nAn Instrument of Policy\n\nA Diplomatic Interview\n\nA Cordial Understanding\n\n\n\n\nAn Instrument of Policy\n\nI\n\n_Hail to the Lord of the Moony Tire, whose throat derives its blue less\nfrom the Kalakuta which he drank but once to save the world, than from\nthe cloud of colour that rests for ever like a ring around his neck,\nformed of dark glances from the shadowy eyes of the Daughter of the\nSnow, permanently fixed with indelible affection[1] on his face!_\n\n\nLong ago, as the God of gods was playing in the evening on the edge of\nan awful precipice in Him\u00e1laya with his wife, it happened, that, all at\nonce, that lotus-eyed Daughter of the Snowy Mountain fell into a brown\nstudy.  And Maheshwara, by his magic power, penetrated her thoughts.\nNevertheless, after a while, making as if he did not know, he enquired\nof her politely: Of what is my beloved thinking, with such intense\nabstraction?  And hearing him speak, P\u00e1rwat\u00ed started, and blushed, and\nhesitated.  And presently she said: I was but thinking of my Father.[2]\nAnd then, the Great God smiled.  And he said, looking at her with\nunutterable affection: O thou Snowy one, I see, that thou also art but\na mine of faults.  Thou hast not told me the literal truth!  For thou\nwast thinking, that thy own eyes resembled that great blue chasm in\nyonder ice, but that the eyes were superior.  And it was true.  Then\nP\u00e1rwat\u00ed blushed again, while the god watched her with attention.  And\nafter a while, she said: Why didst thou say, that I also am a mine of\nfaults?  Then said Maheshwara: Every woman is a mine of faults, and\nthou art thyself a woman, although a goddess, being, as it were, Woman\nincarnate, the very type and pattern of them all.  And it is very well.\nFor if women had no faults, half their charm would disappear.  For,\n_apropos_, thou hast already blushed twice, which thou wouldst not have\ndone, at all, but for thy feminine preoccupation about thy own\nincomparable beauty, which led thee to compare thy lotus-eyes with the\nblue mountain ice, to its inferiority, and for thy shame, which led\nthee to endeavour to hide from me thy self-approval by telling me a\nfib.  And thy blush is an ornament to thee, which I love to look at,\nresembling as it does the first kiss of early Dawn on thy father's\nsnowy peaks.\n\nAnd then, that lovely one blushed in confusion for the third time,\ndeeper than before.  And again she said: But why is every woman a mine\nof faults?  Then said her lord: I could tell thee many instances to\nprove it, had I leisure: but as it is, just now, I have not time.  And\nthe goddess exclaimed: Out upon thee!  Thou dost only tease me.  What\nis Time to thee?  Do I not know that thou thyself art Time itself?  And\nshe began to coax and wheedle and caress him, to gain her end, knowing\nher own power, and certain of success.\n\nSo then, after a while, Maheshwara said: See now, if even I, who am a\ngod, even among gods, am utterly unable to resist the feminine cajolery\nincarnate in thy form, what are the miserable mortal men below to do,\nagainst it?  Come, then, I will humour thee, by telling thee a tale.\nBut first, I must provide against the mischief that would otherwise\ncome about, by reason of my delay on thy account.  For I can remedy the\nill, which thou dost overlook, preferring thy own amusement to the\nbusiness of the three worlds: but it is otherwise with men, who,\ncajoled and befooled by thy sisters in witchery below, often lose\ngolden opportunities.\n\nAnd then, by his magic power, he suspended the operation of the three\nworlds, so that everything, animate and inanimate, fell as it were\nsuddenly into a magic sleep, and all action stopped, remaining\nsuspended on the very brink of coming into being, like a mountain\nwaterfall suddenly turned to ice.  And he said: When the story is told,\nI will release things from the spell, and all will go on just as it\nwould have done before.  For time, uncounted, is the same as none at\nall.  And then, he turned towards his wife, and said: And now, where\nshall we sit, to tell and hear?  Then she said: I will listen on thy\nlap, as thou roamest through the air, for so I love to listen to thy\ntales.\n\nAnd Maheshwara took her in his arms.  And as they floated in space, she\nlaid her head upon his breast, and played with his rosary of skulls,\ndrinking his ocean-story[3] with the shell of her little ear.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\nAnd he said: There lived of old, in the northern quarter, two kings,\nwho were neighbours, and hereditary enemies; and one was of the race of\nthe Moon, and the other of the Sun; and one was king of the hill\ncountry, and the other, king of the plains.  And the name of the one\nwas Mitra, and that of the other, Chand.[4]  And as fate would have it,\nKing Mitra was a man of peace, and a lover of songs and pictures, and\npoetry, and ease.  And he married a beautiful wife, whom he loved\nbetter than his own soul, and lived with her deliciously until at last\nshe died, leaving him with a broken heart and nothing to console him\nexcept her recollection, as it were incarnate in a daughter who\nresembled her exactly in everything but years.  But on the contrary,\nChand was a lover of war.  And he spent his whole life in fighting\neverlasting battles with all surrounding kings, never resting for a\nmoment: and he reduced them, one by one, to submission and obedience,\nbending down their stubborn heads till their crowns were reflected all\ntogether in a ring in the jewels of his toes as they humbly knelt\nbefore him, like a crown composed of crowns: for his military skill was\nlike his stature, gigantic.  And he married unwillingly, only for the\nsake of continuing the line of his descent; and having once obtained a\nson, he turned his back upon his wife, and went away, leaving her\nbehind him, alone in his capital, and carrying away with him his son,\nwhom he brought up in his camp, making him a warrior, and teaching him,\nboth by continual precept and his own example, utter contempt for every\npeaceful occupation, and above all, for women.  And so he went on, year\nby year, until at last, when his son was eighteen, and still\nunmarried,[5] for his father kept putting off his marriage, saying:\nWhat is the need of hurry? a necessary evil is better still deferred:\nKing Chand was suddenly killed, in the field of battle.  And he just\nhad time to murmur to his son: Follow in my footsteps: recollect my\nlessons: guard the kingdom: conquer the regions, and above all, beware\nof women: when Death took him, as it were, by the throat while he was\nspeaking, and he set out instantly along the Great Road.\n\nSo, then, when his son, who was named after his father, had performed\nhis father's obsequies according to the rites, he continued to live,\nexactly as his father had, before.  And after a while, his ministers\ncame to him one day, and said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, this is well, that the son\nshould continue to run, like a wheel, in the rut his father made.  But\nstill there is a difference, between thee and thy father, which escapes\nthy observation.  Then said Chand: What is that?  And they said: He\ncarried about with him everywhere, a son.  And Chand said: Ha! so he\ndid.  Then said his ministers: It is high time that thy marriage also\ntook place: and then in due time, the parallel between thy father and\nthyself will be exact, and thou wilt resemble him as closely as the\nmoon resembles his own image in the water.\n\nAnd then, Chand laughed, and he exclaimed: As if it were necessary to\nget married, in order to obtain a son!  And his ministers said: It is\nabsolutely necessary.  For a son that is truly a son can be begotten\nonly of a wife truly a wife, led by thee around the sacred fire.\n\nThen said Chand: Ye are all mere fools.  For if I choose, cannot I\nadopt a son, as many of my ancestors have done before me?  And this is\nby far the better way.  For who can tell beforehand what his own\nbegotten son will be like?  For many times a bad son has issued from\nthe loins of a good father.  But he who chooses a son, like one that\nchooses a horse, knows what he is doing: since he takes him for his\nqualities, visible and sure, out of all that he can find.  And in this\nway, the object is attained, without having recourse to the expedient\nof a wife.\n\nThen said his ministers: O King, if all men were to follow thy example,\nthe world would come to an end.  For even adopted sons cannot be\nadopted, until they are begotten.  And if thou wilt not marry, others\nmust: or else thy plan is impossible and vain.\n\nThen said Chand: Let the others all do exactly as they please, and so\nwill I: for I at least will be an exception to this universal rule of\nmarriage.  For if women, as it seems, are indispensable, in this matter\nof procuring sons, I see no other use in them whatever.  What is a\nwoman but a mine of faults?  For she cannot fight, and is destitute of\nvalour; and she is absolutely nothing whatever but a man deprived of\nhis manhood, a weakling, a coward, and a dwarf, and as it were, a\nmisincarnation of impotence, accidentally formed by the Creator in a\nmoment of fatigue, or forgetfulness, or hurry, or it may be, out of\nirony and sport: for there is absolutely nothing whatever worth doing,\nwhich a woman can do: nor can she do anything whatever, which a man\ncannot do far better than herself.  And linked to a man, what is she,\nbut a load, and as it were, a fetter or a chain to him, and like a very\nheavy burden tied to the leg of one running in a race?  And therefore,\nI see no use in her at all, but very much the contrary.  For in\naddition to her incapacity, she is as it were endowed by the Creator\nwith a multitude of positive defects: for she is everlastingly shedding\ntears, and scolding, and what is utterly intolerable, never stops\ntalking about absolutely nothing, so that the mere presence of a woman\nis a curse.  Moreover, she is as fickle and inconstant and capricious\nas the wind, and less to be trusted than a cobra; and over and over\nagain, women have deceived and betrayed even their own husbands, both\nin love and war.  But the very worst of all is, that they love a man\nless, in exact proportion to his worth, preferring almost anyone, no\nmatter what he be, who flatters and courts and overvalues them, to even\na hero who does not, abandoning, like flies, everything, to flock to\nthat honey which alone attracts them, and demanding the sacrifice of\neverything noble to their craving appetite for frivolity and sweets.\nTherefore for my part I will live, never having anything whatever to do\nwith any one of them: nor shall any jackal of you all persuade me to\nput off the natural colour I was born with, and by plunging into the\nvat of matrimony, come out dyed all over an intolerable blue.[6]\n\nAnd hearing him speak, his ministers looked at one another, laughing in\ntheir sleeves.  And they said to one another, behind his back: How well\ndoes this young lion roar, repeating by rote, as if he were a parrot,\nexactly what the old one taught him!  For what, forsooth! does he know\nof woman, who has hardly been allowed to see were it even so much as\nher shadow?  Truly, he resembles a young black bee, kept in ignorance\nof flowers and their honey, and taught to call it poison, conceitedly\nlecturing older bees, his brothers, about what he does not understand.\nBut we shall see, whether, in due time, we shall not have the laugh on\nour side.  And in the meanwhile, always provided he is not killed like\nhis father, beforehand, his error is, at any rate, an error on the\nbetter side.  For many a young king-bee, in his position, would long\nago have rushed into the opposite extreme, rifling every lotus within\nhis reach, till he died of intoxication and exhaustion and excess.  But\nas for him, lucky will that lotus be, that first succeeds in opening\nhis eyes to what a lotus really is: for he will give her, not the dregs\nof his satiety, but real devotion springing from an uncontaminated\nwell, pure and delicious, of which no one has ever been allowed to\ndrink before.  And in the meantime, we will wait, in expectation of the\nchange, which is certain to arrive.\n\nSo they waited: but time went on, and Chand still continued as before,\nthinking only of battle, and observing the _brahmachari_[7] vow, just\nas if there were no such thing as a woman in the world.\n\nThen said P\u00e1rwat\u00ed softly to her lord: Sure I am, that the god of the\nflowery bow[8] would have punished him severely for his presumption,\nhad he only heard him so outrageously vituperating his sworn allies and\ndarling weapons as thou sayest.\n\nAnd Maheshwara said: O Daughter of the Snow, he was punished,\nsufficiently, as thou wilt learn in due time.  For few indeed are the\nyoung men or women that the Bodiless god overlooks, seeing that of all\nof us, he is by far the most jealous in exacting homage to his\ndivinity, as if he doubted it himself, and greedy of extorting from\neveryone acknowledgment, like a woman uncertain of the affection of her\nlover, insatiably craving to hear its avowal, over and over again, from\nhis lips.  And yet, perhaps the greatest punishment of all would have\nbeen, to leave him alone: since of all my creatures, those are most to\nbe pitied, whom love utterly neglects, leaving them as it were in a\nnight to which there never comes a dawn.  And who knows this better\nthan thyself, by reason of thy own extraordinary torture,[9] before I\nhad to burn Love's body for his own presumption, with fire from my eye.\nBut now, hush! and lie still, and listen to the remainder of the tale.\n\n\n\nII\n\nNow in the meantime, all this while King Mitra continued, living in his\ncapital among the hills, just as if King Chand had never been born,\nwith a soul that was divided, as it were, with exact precision, between\nhis dead wife and his living daughter, who resembled one another like\nthe two Twilights,[10] so closely, that he could not look at his\ndaughter, without thinking of his wife, nor call his wife back to his\nrecollection without bringing his daughter with her, like a shadow of\nherself.  And between them his soul hovered, going backwards and\nforwards, till he was hardly able to discern, of the present and the\npast, which was the reality, and which only a dream.  And so as he\ncontinued, one day there came to see him in his palace his prime\nminister, Yogeshwara.  Now this minister was well named, being very old\nand very crafty, and in spite of the King's inattention, he had borne\nthe kingdom on his own shoulders all his life, preserving it intact.\nFor his wisdom resembled his white head, and there was not a black hair\nin the one, nor a weak spot in the other: since both had reached the\nperfect state of being without a flaw.\n\nSo when he entered, he said slowly to the King: O Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, certainly\nthy kingdom hangs over the very brink or ruin.  And then, the old King\nlooked at him with a smile.  And he said: O Yogeshwara, I know of\nnothing in the world that could utterly destroy this kingdom, except\nthy own death.  For then, indeed, it would be not merely on the brink,\nbut lost and already lying at the very bottom of the abyss.  But as it\nis, I see thee there before me, in vigour and health.  How, then, can\nany ruin be impending?  And Yogeshwara said: O King, here is Chand, the\nson of Chand, the very image of his father, for he has all his father's\nwarlike ability, with youth and its energy superadded, about to fall\nupon thy kingdom like a thunderstorm.  And during his father's\nlifetime, though my hair turned white, as if with terror, and my\near-root wrinkled, as if with anxiety, nevertheless I managed, somehow\nor other, by the aid of thy royal fortune and the Lord of Obstacles, to\nturn his attack always upon others, and keep him busy at a distance\nfrom our territory.  But now, all other kings being subdued, this young\nChand, burning to outdo his father, has determined to fall at last on\nthee, being as it were ravenous for still more earth,[11] in the form\nof these thy hills.  And he has sent a message, saying: That unless\nKing Mitra will instantly make submission and pay tribute, he will hear\nthe tread of King Chand's armies coming up towards the hills[12] like\nthe roar of the rains in the burst of their flood.  Nor is there any\nhope that he can be resisted by force, for he and his armies will sweep\naway ours, like a wind scattering a heap of leaves.\n\nSo when he had spoken, the old King looked at him again, smiling\nexactly as before.  And he said: O Yogeshwara, certainly this cloud\nseems to threaten a devastating storm.  And yet, I am ready to stake my\nwhole kingdom, that thou hast already devised a means of averting the\ncatastrophe: nay, of even turning it to our advantage, so that this\nChand-cloud, instead of sweeping away all our crops in ruin, will on\nthe contrary water all our fields for another harvest.\n\nThen said Yogeshwara: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, something indeed I have meditated.  And\nyet, all search would have been vain, and all deliberation idle, had I\nnot, by the special favour of the Elephant-faced deity, discovered a\ndiplomatist far abler than myself.  And the old King laughed; and he\nexclaimed: Ha! that is news indeed!  O Yogeshwara, tell me quickly,\nwhether this wonder of diplomacy is young.  For the time must come,\nthough long may it be coming, when, like every other man, thou too wilt\nhave to change thy birth for another: and then I shall require him to\nreplace thee.  And little did I dream, that my kingdom contained within\nit another such as thou art.  Truly, I am curious to see him.  Then\nsaid Yogeshwara: Say rather, her: and often hast thou seen her, for it\nis no other than thy own daughter.\n\nAnd as the King started, Yogeshwara said again: O King, there are\ncircumstances, in which sex makes all the difference between wisdom and\nfolly: and cases, in which a woman, just because she is a woman, will\nmake a more invincible negotiator than all the ministers, from\nDhritar\u00e1shtra[13] down, that ever lived.  And this is such a case, and\nall the more, because the woman is such a woman as thy daughter, whom I\nthink that the Creator must have framed, with an eye to this very\nsituation.  And now, then, I will tell thee, that I foresaw this from\nthe first, and I kept it as it were stored in reserve as a resource in\nthe hour of exigency, to be, if the Lord of Obstacles were only\nfavourable, the triumph of my policy and its crown, and the copingstone\nof my career.  And with this very object it was, that long ago, as thou\nknowest, I obtained thy permission to cultivate thy daughter, and to\ntrain her, and to tutor her; and as I watched her growing, I said\nwithin myself: Some day, this sowing of thine, aided by my culture,\nwill be fruitful, and it may be, she will prove an instrument of\npolicy, to save the kingdom from destruction, when every other\ninstrument has failed.  And very apt indeed was my pupil, and yet there\nis another Master, who has done infinitely more for her, in this matter\nof diplomacy, than I.  For I think that the very God of Love himself\nhas befriended this kingdom, and conspired to assist it in its need,\nlending his aid to supplement my own insufficient efforts, and mixing\nin thy daughter's composition some bewildering ingredient, peculiar to\nherself.\n\nAnd then, all at once, the King exclaimed: Ah! no, not so.  O\nYogeshwara, thou art mistaken, for he took it from her mother.  Ah!\ncunning god, well he knew, where to find the fascination he required.\nO her voice! and her eyes! and the smile upon her lips! and O alas! for\nthe sweetness that is gone for ever!  Aye! indeed, there breathed from\nevery part of her something that I cannot name, some spell, some\nproperty, some fragrance, flung as it were from some intoxicating\nsource within her soul, to drive me to despair.\n\nAnd as the King stopped, sadly fixing his eyes upon the ground,\nYogeshwara said again: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, whether the Deity took it, as thou\nsayest, from the Queen her mother, or invented it afresh, I cannot\ntell: but certain it is, that the feminine delusion in thy daughter is\nthe very masterpiece of a Deity skilled beyond all others in the\nproduction of the irresistible: and old as I am, and versed in all the\nvarieties and ways of women, I never saw anything that resembled it\nbefore.  And often, as I have watched her, innocently casting what thou\nhast called her fragrance about her in the air, with none to note it,\nand all unconscious of her own inexplicable charm, like a great blue\nlonely lotus-flower growing on a silent mirror of black water in an\nundiscovered forest-pool, never even dreaming of looking at its own\nreflection in the water, towards which all the time it bends, as if to\nkiss it, absolutely blind to the loveliness that almost touches it, and\nissues from itself, depriving everyone that sees it of his reason, I\nhave striven in wonder to discover, exactly in what the charm\nconsisted, and in what part of her it lay: and yet I could not, so\ncraftily has the Creator distributed it everywhere about her.  And yet,\nmusing over it alone, it has seemed to me to be a thing compounded, as\nit were, of contradiction.  For as you listen to her, you are amazed by\nher intelligence, and when you look at her, you smile as it were\nagainst your will, and yet with an inclination to laugh, from pure\ndelight, so strange and so surprising and somehow or other, absurdly\ndelicious does it seem, for such sagacity to lodge, incongruously, in\nsuch a casket, so dainty, and so delicate, and so curiously and\nbeautifully mocking as it were the cruder mould of all her ordinary\nsisters, that it leaves you puzzled and perplexed and doubtful, whether\nto treat her as a woman or a child, or something altogether different\nfrom both.  And there is a sort of exhilarating, and as it were,\ncaressing sweetness, and a sound resembling liquid laughter, falling\nfar away and yet lurking, somewhere or other, in the tone of her voice,\nas it gives utterance to aphorisms worthy of Brihaspati,[14] that\nflatters and intoxicates the ear, stealing through it straight into the\nsoul, and lending to everything she says, even were it nonsense, a\npower of persuasion not its own.  And as if this, coupled to her\nbeauty, were not enough, there is something affectionate, and\nconfiding, and as it were, an appealing submission that is mixed, I\ncannot tell how, with a kind of proud and half playful, half serious\ndefiance, that flatters and delights and bribes and corrupts you in her\nbehaviour, and would utterly disarm you, even if you were, what is\nabsolutely impossible, her enemy; so that if once you looked at her,\nyou would be helpless, and wholly unable to be angry with her, no\nmatter what she did; for she would laugh at your anger and beguile it,\nlike a bewitching child endeavouring to play with incomparable grace\nthe part of a woman, and challenging you to find fault with her on any\nground whatever.  And yet she has the cunning of her sex in so large a\nmeasure, that she seems to have monopolised it all.  And now I am a\nbooby, and all my experience is of less value than a straw, if there is\neven one young man in the eight quarters of the world capable of\nlooking at her for an instant without losing all his senses at one\nblow; were he even the very incarnation of asceticism.  But as to this\nyoung Chand, I have followed him from his childhood, by means of my\nspies, and know him; and very cheap do I hold his professions of\nmisogyny and _brahmacharyam_, now that his father is away.  For an old\nmisogynist may be in earnest, and actually mean what he says, having\nbeen deceived and betrayed and disgusted, by reason of his experience\nof some women in particular, with all.  But the man whose wisdom is\ntaken at second-hand from another, and who is filled only with the\nconceit of a knowledge not drawn from his experience, finds it crumble\nto pieces as a rule at the very first touch of reality and life, like\nsand: since a single shock to any part of his imaginary fortress brings\nthe whole to the ground with a run.  For finding it untrustworthy in\nany one point, he distrusts it all, and is left utterly defenceless, at\nthe mercy of his antagonist.  And of all kinds of conceit, that of a\nyouth, himself, as Chand is, formed as it were of amber, on purpose to\nattract the sex, like grass, who boasts himself proof against a woman's\nglamour, never even dreaming what it is or what it means, is the\ngreatest, and the shortest, and the most easily annihilated, and the\nmost easily abandoned, and forgotten and forgiven, both by women and\nthe world.  And thy daughter will bring him to his senses, and deprive\nhim of his reason, in the same instant that he sees her: for then he\nwill suddenly discover what a woman means: since till now, she has been\nto him nothing but a word.  And now, O King, I have told thee: and now\nall rests with thee alone.  For thy daughter must in any case marry\nsomebody: and where could be found for her a better husband than this\nvery Chand, whose alliance would be the salvation of the state?\n\nAnd when he ended, after a while, the King said, very slowly: Old\nfriend, thy words resembled a sword, driven into my heart.  And as I\nlistened to thy voice, holding up before me, like a skilful painter,\nthe picture of my daughter's charm, I saw in it, as in a mirror,\nanother standing all the while beside her, looking at me all the while\nwith the affection in her eyes that I shall never see again.  And I\nflew back in an instant, carried on thy voice, to old sweet idle hours,\nwhen like thee I used to sit and watch and muse, striving to discover\nthe essence and the secret of that very self-same charm.  And I would\ngive a hundred lives only to be young Chand, and have that charm\nemployed on me, again.  And if he is able to resist it, I do not envy\nhim, nor think the more of him on that account.  But let us try, and\nsee.  For as to the wisdom and the policy of what thou hast proposed,\nthere cannot be a doubt of it: and my daughter must alas! be married,\nas thou sayest, either to another, or to him.  Only they say, that this\nyoung Chand is so declared an enemy of women, as never even to suffer\nany one of them so much as to approach him.  And how, then, is the\ncharm to work?  For in magic of this kind, the spell will not act,\nunless the magician be in contact with his object.  And how, then,\nshall we bring about the meeting of the charmer and the charmed?\n\nThen said Yogeshwara: O King, I have a stratagem to meet that very\ndifficulty, which, if my experience is not utterly at fault, is the\nreal, and the only one before us.  For could we only place them in\nproximity, I am ready to cut my own head off, if he can ever get away.\nAnd thy daughter will fall into the scheme, and understand it, almost\nbefore we begin to tell her, and require no instructions, since this is\na matter in which she is wiser than us all: and to go about to tell a\nyoung beauty how to lay her snares for her natural and proper prey\nwould be to give lessons to the spider how to make his web.  Moreover,\nI do not doubt that she will take part in the plot not merely with\navidity, but something more.  For she has heard, as who has not? of\nthis young Chand, and nothing is so attractive to the curiosity of a\nwoman as a young woman-hater: since every woman thinks, in her heart,\nthat she could perhaps persuade him to count her an exception to his\nrule, and every woman in her heart partly agrees with him, since, if\nshe could have chosen, she would have preferred to be a man.  And women\nhave been adorers, since the beginning, of exactly such young warriors\nof whom he is the type.\n\nSo, then, by Yogeshwara's advice, King Mitra sent an answer to the\nmessage of King Chand, saying: That King Mitra was ready to accede to\nall King Chand's demands, and pay him tribute in any such form as he\nmight choose, if only King Chand would come up in person, under the\nsafe-conduct of King Mitra, to require it.  For the matter would touch,\nin its adjustment, the honour of both families, and the hereditary\ndifferences could only be determined by personal arrangement on the\nspot.\n\nAnd when Chand got his answer, he said to his ministers: See, now,\neverything is settled, though I would rather have settled it by arms.\nBut as it is, now, by all means, I will go up, and give him the\npersonal interview he asks.  For I have never yet been among his hills,\nnor seen his capital: moreover, it is only fair to make concessions to\npride willing to be humbled, and families careful of their honour.\n\nAnd his ministers consulted together, and they said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j,\ndoubtless, the safe-conduct of King Mitra is unexceptionable, and above\nsuspicion: for he is a man of his word.  And yet, be on thy guard.  For\nthough King Mitra be incapable of deceit, his minister, Yogeshwara, has\nalmost as much craft as the Creator.  For though he could not make a\nworld, he could preserve it, once it was made, almost as well as its\nmaker, so unfathomable is his policy and guile.  Moreover, King Mitra\nhas a daughter, who resembles his minister in being an incarnation of\ndeception, only in a different form.  For feminine beauty has befooled\nmore men than were ever beguiled by any other form of fascination or\nillusion.  Therefore beware! for we think it probable that a snare has\nbeen prepared for thee.\n\nAnd Chand laughed, and exclaimed: I am obliged to ye all, for your\nwisdom and advice, and now I am warned.  But the matter is very simple,\nbeing wholly an affair of force, and mine is by far the greater.\nTherefore there is no room at all for me to be beguiled, even by\nYogeshwara.  And as to the daughter, little do I fear her.  For I have\nan armour of proof around my heart, so thick, that never an arrow from\nher quiver can so much as reach it, were it sharpened even by the very\nGod of Love.\n\nAnd then, the God, whose banner bears a bull on it,[15] paused.  And he\nsaid: O Snowy one, it chanced, that when Chand uttered this brag, it\nwas the season of Spring, who, with his flowers and his buds, was all\naround him as he spoke.  And as fate would have it, he was overheard by\nLove himself, who was hovering near him in the air; for he happened to\nbe paying a visit to his friend.[16]\n\nSo when that god of the bee-strung bow heard him, he said to Madhu: O\nMadhu, who is this boaster, who claims, notwithstanding his extreme\nyouth, to be proof against me and my weapons?[17]  For thou hast been\nhere longer than I, who have only just arrived.\n\nAnd Madhu told him all about King Chand, and his antipathy to women.\n\nAnd when Love heard it, he looked at Chand for a long time, with very\ngreat attention.  And after a while, he said: O Madhu, it is very\nsingular to hear such overweening and presumptuous words, falling from\nthe mouth of such a youth as this.  For he is exactly the man who in my\nhands would be a deadly weapon against almost any member of that sex,\nwhich he fancies himself able to resist.\n\nThen said Madhu: Perhaps it is not only fancy.  For often have I laid\nsnares for him, but always without success.\n\nAnd Love laughed, with lips that curled in derision like his own bow.\nAnd he said: Dear Madhu, thou shouldst have come to me, for aid.  Thou\nart but half thyself, without thy friend.  And he looked at Chand, out\nof the long corner of his eye, that resembled a woman's.  And he said:\nI have an affection for these arrogant youths, for it is my hobby and\nmy delight to bring them to submission.  And now I will teach him a\nlesson, in his own art of war, that he has still to learn, not to\ndespise his enemy; and prove to him, by my own favourite method of\nocular demonstration, that a woman and my deity are more than match for\ngreater force than his.  And indeed, the conjunction[18] is altogether\nfortunate.  For it so happens that I have by me, just ready for him, a\nnew just-opened flower-intoxicant in the form of a young woman, whose\nexasperating eyebrows alone, unless I am much mistaken, will shoot, in\nspite of his glorious brag, a poisoned shaft into his heart, and\nsticking there, will sting it, with such intolerable pain, as will\nhardly be assuaged by a very storm of secret kisses, rained on the\nflame of his desire, or dropped on his fainting soul, one by one, with\nsnow-flake touch, of pity and compassion, from her dainty and reluctant\nlips.\n\n\n\n[1] The word here used for _indelible affection_ means also _deep blue_.\n\n[2] _i.e._, the Him\u00e1laya mountain.  This was, in a sense true: and yet,\nshe prevaricated.\n\n[3] This epithet refers to his story-telling abundance.  Shiwa is\ncredited with the invention of all the stories in literature.\n\n[4] Pronounce to rhyme with \"stunned.\"  (As these names will constantly\nrecur, I have, for the benefit of the English reader, cut them down,\nretaining only their core.  At length, they are names of the moon and\nsun, meaning respectively the Friend of the Lotuses, and the _Fierce_\nfire of the Sun.)\n\n[5] Notwithstanding the system of very early marriage, cases of this\nkind are common in the old stories: as is necessary: for in fairy\ntales, unmarried heroines and heroes are _sine quibus non_.\n\n[6] This refers to a story in the _Panchatantra_, well known in Europe\nas the fable of the fox who had lost his tail.\n\n[7] _i.e._, of virginity.\n\n[8] _i.e._, the God of Love.\n\n[9] _v._ the _Kum\u00e1ra Sambhawa_, for a full account of P\u00e1rwati's wooing.\n\n[10] Dusk and Dawn.\n\n[11] The special duty of a king, according to the old Hindoo sages, is\nto hunger and thirst after earth, like Ovid's Eresichthon.\n\n[12] The monsoon which travels N.E.\n\n[13] One of the heroes in the Mahabh\u00e1rata.\n\n[14] The preceptor of the gods; as we should say, a Solon.\n\n[15] _i.e._, Maheshwara.\n\n[16] _i.e._, Spring.  K\u00e1ma and Madhu--Love and Spring--are sworn\nfriends in Hindoo mythology: an obvious poetical allegory, like the\n_ver_ and _Venus_ of the old Romans.\n\n[17] _i.e._, women.\n\n[18] An astrological term, which in modern Marathi, well known to the\ngod, means a marriage.\n\n\n\n\nA Diplomatic Interview\n\nI\n\nAnd Maheshwara said: So then, on a day appointed, in the light half of\nthe month of Chaitra,[1] King Chand and his retinue arrived at the\ncapital of King Mitra, just as his ancestor the sun was rising over the\nhills on which it stood.  And at the gates, Yogeshwara was waiting,\nbarefooted, with an escort, to do him honour, and food and drink of\nevery description, to refresh him.  And he introduced himself by name\nand family, and said: O King, thy coming here is altogether fortunate.\nFor see, the Lord of Day rises auspiciously on one side, as if to greet\nand welcome his descendant and rival on the other.  And now my old eyes\nare as it were dazzled, by two rising suns.  And Chand said: I marvel,\nthat my very great grandfather has not long ago died, of sheer fatigue,\nbeing obliged to climb up here every day to reach thee, as I have now.\nFor thy capital is one that deserves to be inhabited by birds, rather\nthan by men, and now the world lies, as it seems, beneath us in the\nclouds.\n\nAnd when they were sufficiently refreshed, Yogeshwara handed over King\nChand's attendants to his own, and said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, as for thee, I will\nmyself be thy guide, for I have matters to say to thee in private,\nwhich, but for his age, our King would have been here to say to thee\nhimself.  And as he led the King away, Chand said to him: O Yogeshwara,\nthough to-day I see thee for the very first time, fame has told me of\nthee much; and they say, that thou art a very mine of craft, with a\nsoul as full of snares as is a hunter's net of holes.  And now I am\nafraid of thee and of thy net.\n\nAnd Yogeshwara laughed, and he said: King, those who transact the\nbusiness of states, even for a very little while, make enemies: how\nmuch more one who like me has borne the burden of this kingdom on his\nshoulders all his life!  And it is these enemies of mine, who\ncalumniate me, saying that I am crafty: for all my friends know that I\nam a very simple old man, who desires nothing more than to shift his\nburden on to other shoulders, and spend his life's evening in the\npractice of austerities: which, if only the Lord of Obstacles be\nfavourable for just a very little longer, I shall presently do.  But as\nfor difficult affairs, the King my master leaves them in abler hands\nthan mine, as in the present case, with which I have no more to do than\njust to be thy guide, as now I am, to the minister entrusted with its\nmanagement.  For our King's family and thine are hereditary enemies,\nand there are some matters to be settled of extreme delicacy, such as\ncan only be adjusted by one, in whose especial care the honour of the\nfamily is placed.  And there is but one, qualified to deal with this\naffair, and it is, as thou hast doubtless anticipated, no other than\nthe Guru[2] of the King: to whom, therefore, I am commissioned now to\nlead thee.  And Yogeshwara paused, for a moment, and he said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j,\nit is known to thee, who art versed in affairs, how important, in\nmatters of this kind, is absolute secrecy.  Now, eavesdroppers and\nbusybodies abound, in this city.  And therefore, it is given out, that\nthy reception will take place in the palace hall, where everything has\nbeen accordingly prepared, to throw everybody off the scent.  But in\nthe meantime, while all faces are turned in that direction, I am\ninstructed to conduct thee, at the very instant of thy arrival, to a\nplace least of all to be suspected as the scene of a diplomatic\ninterview, and chosen with that object by the Guru himself, where he\nwill personally settle everything beforehand, with thee alone.  And in\nthis way, no one will have had any time to penetrate the design, and\nthe object is attained.\n\nAnd all the while he spoke, Yogeshwara led the King away, by winding\npaths that climbed about the hill, through a wood, till at last they\nreached a garden, whose air was loaded with the fragrance springing\nfrom the jostling spirits of innumerable flowers wandering about at\nrandom like _wyabhich\u00e1ris_[3] looking for their lover, the mountain\nbreeze, out of jealousy lest he should be sporting with their rivals.\nAnd they came in time to a terrace that was hanging as it were\nsuspended on the very edge of a precipice, about which the early\nmorning mists still floated, drifting here and there, rising up out of\nthe valley, that stretched like a cloudy ocean, far away below.  And on\nthe very brink of that terrace there stood a little arbour, almost\nburied in a bushy clump of trees.  And there came from that half-hidden\narbour the sound of the humming of innumerable bees, that were hanging\nlike clouds of another kind about the branches that concealed it, and\nclustering around them like troops of black lovers struggling for the\nfavour of the snowy blossoms which kept tumbling from their places to\nlie strewn about the ground like pallid corpses slain in the madness of\nexcitement by those boisterous wooers, the bees.  And the delicious\nscent of those blossom-laden mountain bushes was wafted towards them in\nyet other clouds that were invisible to the eye, seeming to say by\ntheir irresistible aroma: What though you cannot see us, we are not\ninferior to our visible rivals, the mists and the bees, in making this\narbour a place without a peer.  And Yogeshwara stood still, and looked\ntowards it, and he said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, it is well chosen by the Guru.  Who\nwould ever dream of a diplomatic interview, in such a place as that?[4]\n\nAnd he looked at the King, and laughed softly, rubbing his hands\ntogether.  And he said: O King, the Guru, though he is very old, would\nhave been here before us, had not thy activity in climbing taken us by\nsurprise, and even anticipated the sun.  But now I will go very\nquickly, and bring him; and in the meantime, the arbour is empty, and\nthou canst go in without fear of any intrusion, before his arrival.\nFor I have taken special care to secure it this morning from all\ninterruption, even of its owner.\n\nAnd the King went forward, pushing his way among the trees.  And as\nsoon as he was lost among them, Yogeshwara went quickly round those\ntrees, and entered them on tiptoe on the opposite side, and hid himself\nin an ambush carefully prepared beforehand for that very purpose by\nhimself, from which he could see and hear everything that passed\nwithin, being himself unseen.  And he said to himself: Now will I\nmyself play the eavesdropper, unknown to them both.  For in matters of\npolicy, nobody should be trusted, but one's own eyes and ears.  And the\nbest way to hear, is to overhear, and to see, is to peep.  And so will\nI make a third party to their interview.  And though my own diplomatic\ninterviews could be numbered by the score, certain it is, that I cannot\nrecollect one, to which I looked forward with even half such anxiety as\nthis.\n\n\n\nII\n\nBut in the meanwhile, Chand went through the trees, towards the arbour.\nAnd he said to himself: Is it a snare?  Or can King Mitra be intending\nto break his own safe-conduct?  But in any case, I cannot exhibit any\nfear, or even suspicion.  For what this old man says, is plausible, and\nmay, possibly, be, after all, the truth: and then, I should be utterly\nashamed.\n\nAnd then he came to the arbour, and saw, in the wall towards him, a\ndoor.  And as he looked carefully about, he saw, that the arbour stood\nexactly on the edge of the cliff, having only three walls, and being\nabsolutely without a wall on the side that ran along the cliff, looking\ndown into the gorge.  And he paused, before he entered, saying to\nhimself: Ha!  From this arbour, as it seems, it would not be difficult\neven to fall, without intending it.  And now, a man might also very\neasily be thrown from it, down into that dizzy gulf below.  And\ntherefore, it becomes me to be very wary, and on my guard.\n\nAnd then, he went up, and entered, cautiously, the door.  And no sooner\nhad he set his foot upon the marble floor within, than he started, and\nstood still, saying to himself: Ha! there is a woman in the arbour.\nAnd now, I see, that it is exactly as I thought, a snare, though not of\nthe kind that I anticipated.  And as my ministers said, this Yogeshwara\nhas led me straight into a trap, with a woman for a bait.  For as he\nlooked, he saw, at the far end of the arbour, what seemed to be a\nwoman, kneeling on the floor, with her back towards him, and bending\nover a great basket that resembled an enormous yellow gourd, filled\nwith flowers to the brim.  And the whole floor was strewn all over with\nflowers of every kind and colour, lying everywhere in heaps.\n\nAnd at the very moment that his foot on entering touched the floor, as\nif roused by the sound of its tread, she turned her head as she\nkneeled, and looked round, and saw him.  And instantly she sprang like\na flash of lightning to her feet, with a shrill cry.  And she bounded\nlike a deer to the precipice, and stood, facing him, balanced on its\nextreme verge, with both hands full of flowers, and both eyes opened\nwide, like circles, filled to the very brim with blue dismay, and her\ntwo brows lifted to her hair with utter amazement, and terror as it\nwere written on every line of her body, that quivered all over as if on\nthe very eve of another bound.  And she looked exactly like a wild\nmountain antelope, suddenly taken by surprise, cut off from its\nretreat, and just in the very act of escaping its pursuer, by leaping\nstraight into the gulf below, and taking, as it were, one last look of\nterrified despair at the cause of its destruction, just before she\ndisappeared.\n\nSo as she stood, absolutely still, like a virgin incarnation of\noutraged seclusion, the King's suspicions vanished, at the very sight\nof her, and his heart reproached him for her coming death.  And he said\nto himself: I was wrong: for it is beyond all doubt that I have\nfrightened her, almost to the point of self-destruction: as what are\nwomen, after all, but cowards to the core?  And if I stay another\nmoment, it seems certain that she will fall, even if she does not leap\nin terror, into that awful gulf, on whose very verge it makes me dizzy\neven to see her standing, how, I cannot think.  Therefore I will go\naway at once, without delay.  And as he so determined, he cast upon her\na single glance of contempt mingled with disdain, just before turning\nto go away.\n\nAnd in that brief moment of hesitation, he gave the God of Love his\nopportunity, and was lost beyond recall.  For as he looked carelessly\ntowards her, all at once, all his contempt and disdain suddenly\ndisappeared, giving place to curiosity, that gradually changed into\namazement, and then wonder, so that instead of turning, he stood\nhimself absolutely still, as if to imitate her, lost in his own eyes,\nand resembling a picture painted on a wall.  And all at once, a doubt\nsuddenly rose into his heart, so that he said to himself silently: Is\nit a woman after all?  For as he gazed at her, her figure stood out,\nsharp and clear, against the background of the sky, and the empty space\nall round her and below her, so that she seemed to hang in air, poised\nsomehow on the border of her garments that concealed her feet on the\nvery edge of that dizzy steep.  And she was clothed in one long soft\nrobe of dark red silk, out of whose mass her two bare slender arms that\nheld in their clenched hands her flowers stood like incomparable curves\nof alabaster, round, and miraculously still, and edged as it were with\ndelicate distinctness as if by a sudden stroke of the Creator's chisel\nagainst the void behind them.  And all about the graceful upper portion\nof her body and her head was clinging, like a cloud that had crept up\nto embrace her out of the misty sea below and settled affectionately in\nsoft and loving folds about her, a veil, that was woven as it seemed\nout of golden films of the gauze of the setting sun, fastened to her\nhead by what seemed to be an inverted silver moon, and through it he\ncould just discern against the slender slope of her shoulder the\nswelling outline of her shy right breast, shrinking beneath it as if in\nutter shame at the outrageous immodesty of its sister on the left,\nwhich owing to her attitude was thrown out defiantly towards him, as if\nto invite his admiration, and saying to him: Find fault with my pure\nand perfect maiden circle if you can.\n\nAnd then, that very thing happened, which had been predicted by the God\nof Love.  For all at once, the tall twin semicircles of her curving\ninky brow, on which astonishment sat motionless, as if unwilling to go\naway, struck him also with extreme surprise, so that like a mirror of\nherself he gazed at it, with his own brow raised in imitation unaware,\nsaying to himself: Why, it exactly resembles a bent bow, drawn to the\nvery breaking point, as if to discharge a shaft.  And at that very\nmoment, her blue eyes struck him to the heart.  For there suddenly\nbegan to pour into his soul, from underneath that strange intoxicating\nbow, a flood of deep blue, and he utterly forgot, as he looked straight\ninto it, what he was about, or where he was.\n\nAnd at that exact moment, the Agitator of the Soul,[5] who, unseen\nhimself, was watching him intently, poised in the abyss, a little way\nfrom the arbour's edge, became himself violently agitated.  And he\nmurmured softly, clasping his two hands together, with entreaty and\nemotion: O Wayu,[6] help me now, by some trick of thy art.  For yonder\nmy victim stands, balanced, exactly like herself, on the very brink of\nthe precipice of passion, and a single touch will plunge him, headlong,\ninto its boiling whirl.\n\nAnd the Wind heard his prayer, and came suddenly to his assistance.\nFor all at once, there leaped up out of that valley of mist a gust,\nthat caught the garments of that slender beauty standing still upon its\nedge, and tossed them into folds that fluttered round her lovely limbs,\nbetraying all their undulating lines and hills and hollows, making her\nround breasts rounder, and adding curve to her curving hips, tearing\naway the curtain from her beauty, and carving as it were her statue out\nof the soft substance of her clinging red silk robe.  And it lifted,\njust a very little, that provoking curtain's lower edge, and showed\nhim, for only a single instant, her two tiny feet, with their ankles,\nstanding timidly together, and then dropped it again, as if ashamed.\nAnd K\u00e1madewa murmured in delight: Well done, O admirable Wayu; again,\nonce more.  And once again the Wind obeyed him.  For it caught up,\nsuddenly, a wisp of cloud, floating past as if on purpose to oblige the\nGod of Love, and tore it and sent it, driving and curling, a little way\nabove her pretty head, between her and the sun.  And the shadows of\nthat broken cloud suddenly ran over her, and showed her for an instant\nto the King, now bathed in the kisses of the young sun's colour, now\ndarkened, as if by jealousy, by the shadows of the cloud, that envied\nas it were the kisses of the sun.\n\nAnd all at once, as the King gazed at her like one in a trance, she\nspoke.  And she said, in a low voice, that trembled as if at its own\nsound: Sir, this arbour is mine, and sacred, and forbidden to all but\nme alone.  And doubtless, thou hast intruded by accident, rather than\ndesign.\n\nAnd Chand looked at her as she spoke, like a man stunned by a blow: all\nunaware that she, and the Wind, and Love, and Spring were all in\nconspiracy against him.  And he hardly understood the meaning of her\nwords.  But he said to himself, as he looked at her in confusion: Was\nthere ever before heard in the world a sound like that low delicious\nfrightened voice?\n\nAnd for a single instant, he looked straight into her eyes.  And he\nwavered, and hesitated, knowing neither what to say, nor what to do.\nAnd all at once, he bowed to her, and turned round, and went away\nwithout a word, the way he came.\n\nAnd seeing him go, Yogeshwara in his ambush bit his lip with annoyance.\nAnd he said to himself: Why, what on earth is she about?  For she has\nactually driven him away, almost before he had arrived.\n\nBut the son of Brahma[7] looked after him, as he went, with exultation,\nand a mocking smile.  And he said: Excellent Wayu, thy delicious\ntouches have finished him.  And now, my business is done, and I need\nstay no longer.  Let him go, if he will: he will soon be back, of his\nown accord.  Now, there is nothing in the three worlds strong enough to\nkeep him away.\n\n\nAnd the Daughter of the Mountain said softly to her lord: See, how\nKandarpa[8] is always just the same, merciless, and jeering at his\nunhappy victims, and adding insult to his injury, and fearing no\nretaliation, secure of impunity.  For well he knows, that his body\ncannot again be reduced to ashes, seeing that men and women have only\ntwo eyes each.[9]\n\n\n\nIII\n\nBut in the meanwhile, no sooner had the King turned his back upon the\nterrace with its arbour, than all at once, his feet stopped, as it\nwere, of their own accord, as if in their unwillingness to go away,\nthey had suddenly become rooted in the ground.  And so he remained\nstanding, with his eyes fixed upon the ground before him, and a soul,\nout of which everything had utterly disappeared, except the picture of\nwhat he had left behind him, standing on the edge of the cliff.  And he\nhad totally forgotten Yogeshwara, and the King's Guru, and everything\nelse, so intense was his preoccupation and his endeavour to reconstruct\nthat picture in his mind.  And as he stood striving to recall it, all\nunawares he smiled, so great was his pleasure in its recollection.[10]\nAnd he murmured to himself: Strange! that I cannot, I know not why,\nrecollect anything about her, with exact accuracy, except those\ndelicious, and, somehow or other, bewildering, and as it were,\nprovoking brows of hers, with their two surprising arches.  For I had\nno time to examine the rest of her attentively; and moreover, the blue\ncolour of her eyes, in which I seemed to flounder, confused my soul,\nand stood before it like a mist, in which I could see absolutely\nnothing else.  And yet, if I recollect correctly, the double curve of\nher brow was as it were repeated, in her lips, which resembled a\nminiature reproduction of her brow, only red instead of black, and in\nher soft round bosom, and even all about her, so that she seemed to be\na thing composed entirely of twin curves, beginning from her brow.\n\nAnd so as he stood, all at once there arose in his soul an intense\ndesire to look at her again, mixed with extreme regret, and sorrow, for\nhis own abrupt departure.  And he was enraged with himself, feeling\nlike one that had missed an opportunity that could never again recur,\nand he stood with a soul sick with longing to return, and\ndisinclination to go away, mixed with shame at the thought of\nreturning.  And he muttered to himself: Alas! where was the necessity\nof going away with such extraordinary precipitation?  Why did I not\nwait a little while?  Surely I was a fool.  And what is to be done now?\nAnd I wonder what she is doing.  Who knows, whether she is still there,\nhaving perhaps gone away herself, somehow or other, as soon as I had\ngone?\n\nSo as he stood, in perplexity, debating with himself, all at once, his\nface lit up, as it were, with a smile of satisfaction.  And he\nexclaimed in delight: Ha!  I have suddenly discovered a pretext, under\ncover of which I can return, and thus create another opportunity of\nseeing her, if only she is still there.\n\nAnd instantly he turned round, and went back towards the arbour as it\nwere with joyous step, and a soul in exultation at the anticipation of\nseeing her again, mixed with intense anxiety, lest, when he entered,\nthe arbour should be empty, and she have gone away.\n\n\n\nIV\n\nAnd when he entered the arbour once more, and saw her again, this time,\nat the very sight of her, his heart trembled with delight, saying to\nitself, as if with relief: Ah! she is still there.  And she was\nstanding almost exactly in the attitude in which she stood before, save\nonly, that she was not quite so close to the brink of the abyss.  But\nshe made a step towards it, as he entered, turning, and taking, as it\nwere, her stand beside it, as much as to say: Here is my friend, and my\ndefender, and my refuge.  And all the surprise had vanished from her\nface: and instead of it, the eyes, with which she looked at him in\ndoubt, were full of dark suspicion and distrust, mixed with\napprehension.  And they watched him, with close attention, as if she\nexpected that, like a panther, he might make a sudden spring upon her,\nbefore she could escape.  And she seemed to say to him, with silent\nalarm and indignation: What! has he actually returned?  Ha! it is as I\nfeared.  And now, my only refuge lies at the very bottom of the gorge.\n\nAnd then, as if afraid lest she should put her threat into execution,\nout of terror, before he could prevent her, the King said hastily: O\nmountain maiden, do not be afraid, to see me return: for I have done\nso, only because I was ashamed, first, for having broken in upon thy\nprivacy, and then again, still more, for having left thee so abruptly,\nwithout explaining or excusing my intrusion.  And if I am guilty, I am\nnot without excuse: nor myself the one to blame: since I was brought\nhere by the minister, Yogeshwara, who told me to expect in this arbour\nthe arrival of the Guru of the King.  And being an utter stranger, I\nknow not, if I go away alone, whither to turn my steps.  But in any\ncase, I do adjure thee, to dismiss thy apprehension: since thou hast\nabsolutely no occasion at all for alarm.\n\nAnd while he spoke, she stood, listening, with suspicion, to his\napology: and when he finished, all at once, she turned upon him like a\nfury, and exclaimed, stamping her little foot upon the ground: And how\ndared Yogeshwara bring thee to my arbour?  Did I not refuse, when he\nbegged me to lend it him, and yet, has he had the audacity to borrow\nit, against my will? and use it, as an inn, for passing strangers?  And\nas the King stood, aghast, amazed at the sudden storm of indignation\nthat fell upon him, like a traveller overtaken by a thundercloud, yet\nall the while wondering at the beauty of the lightning threatening to\nstrike him, all at once, recollection suddenly brought into his mind,\nwhat Yogeshwara had said to him, just before he went away.  And he\nmurmured to himself: Apparently the owner of this arbour,\nnotwithstanding Yogeshwara's diligence, is before me after all, and\ncertainly this arbour is, as it seems, the very last place to which I\nshould have come.  And as he thought, all at once she said to him, with\nirritation: And who then art thou, whom he has placed here, as if on\npurpose to disturb me, and terrify me and annoy me?\n\nAnd as the King looked at her, he said to himself: Now I shall pay for\nYogeshwara's impertinence.  And I feel like a culprit before her, and\nyet, somehow or other, her anger is delightful, like that of a child\nwhose toy is broken, about to fly into a passion with anyone it sees.\nAnd he said: O maiden, be not angry with the innocent.  For I am only\nChand the son of Chand, arrived here this very morning on a visit of\nimportance to thy King.\n\nAnd as he spoke, she started with surprise: and then all at once, as he\nwatched her, all her anger suddenly disappeared.  And a smile, like\nthat of one who recollects, crept over her face: and she dropped all\nher flowers upon the floor, and began to clap her hands.  And she\nexclaimed: Ha! now I remember, and who else could it be?  And I wonder\nthat I did not think of it before: since they say, King Chand is a\ngiant, and thy size is, as it were, thy guarantee, and the proof of thy\nwords.  And now, then, I will solve thy problem, in the matter of this\narbour, by instantly going away myself, and leaving it to thee: to\nawait by thyself the arrival of the Guru: for as to Yogeshwara, he\nshall learn another time, the danger of employing my arbour as an inn.\n\nAnd instantly, she drew her veil around her face,[11] and came very\nquickly towards him, to pass by him, and escape by the door.  But Chand\nput out his hand, as though to stop her, exclaiming: O daughter of King\nMitra, for I cannot doubt that thou art she, I should be altogether\ninexcusable, if I came here only to deprive thee, and as it were, expel\nthee from thy arbour by my coming.  See now, I will myself depart the\nvery moment that the Guru arrives: and in the meantime, wilt thou not\ndismiss thy alarm and indignation, and suffer me to remain with thee,\ntill he appears?\n\nAnd as he spoke, Yogeshwara in his ambush exclaimed in delight: Ha!  I\ndid her wrong, and she is very clever.  For now she has brought him to\nthe point of begging for permission to remain, never dreaming, that\nthat is exactly what she wishes him to do herself.  And I thought that\nshe had driven him away: but she, like a skilful angler, knew, that the\nhook was already in the jaws of her royal fish.\n\n\n\nV\n\nSo as the King spoke, with imploring eyes, and entreaty in his voice,\nshe turned suddenly towards him, and began as it were to examine him,\nwith curiosity and amazement.  And after a while she said, as if with\nincredulity: Have my own ears turned traitors, and is it now, that they\nare playing me false, or was it then, when, as I thought, I heard thee\nname thyself King Chand the son of Chand?  And Chand said: Nay, but I\nam actually he.  And she laughed scornfully, and exclaimed: Art thou\nabsolutely sure, that thou hast not mistaken thy identity?  Can it be,\nthat thou art really Chand?  For I have heard, that of all companions\nin the world, women are those from whom he most desires to escape.\n\nAnd she looked at him awhile, with eyes, of which he could not tell,\nwhether that which filled their blue was disbelief or derision or\namusement; and all at once, she turned away, and went back to her\nbasket, and began once more to busy herself about its flowers, kneeling\ndown beside it.  And after a while, she turned her head towards him,\nand said, shooting at him a glance out of the very corner of her eye:\nKing Chand has my permission, if he chooses, to remain, till the Guru\narrives: and in the meanwhile, I crave his permission to return to my\nwork among my flowers, in which his uninvited entrance interrupted me:\nsince such a thing as I am is not fit for such a hero as is he: nor can\nit be supposed that conversation such as mine could possibly amuse him.\nAnd yet, would the King deign to be advised by such a thing as me, he\nwould go instantly away, without losing any time: for there is danger\nin remaining.\n\nAnd Chand said: Where, and of what nature is the danger?  And as he\nspoke, she turned round, and bent her great blue eyes upon him, with\nher two lips closed, as though determined not to smile, almost into a\nball, so that they exactly resembled a ripe _bimba_ fruit.  And she\nseemed as it were to say to him: Dost thou not recognise, who is the\ndanger?  And after a while, she turned away, saying: The danger is,\nthat King Chand may utterly wreck his reputation for misogyny, by\nbetraying an inclination for the society of women.  For I think that\nhis friends in the plains would be very much astonished; if they knew\nthat he had actually gone so far as to return of his own accord to an\narbour, out of which the unsuspected and abominable presence of one of\nthat insignificant and useless sex had originally driven him.\n\nAnd then she sat in silence, stealing at him every now and then glances\nfrom eyes he could not see, that resembled soft flashes of lightning in\nthe form of blue and silent laughter, from under the long lashes which\nas he watched her he could see standing out from her round soft cheek\nlike the roof of a house.  And though she never laughed, he knew that\nshe was laughing at him, by that very cheek, from which he could not\ntake his eyes, resembling as it did a very incarnation of round, soft,\ndelicious, unpunishable impertinence, that attracted him with so\nirresistible a longing for its owner that he could hardly breathe.  And\nyet he was filled with shame, and confusion, and rage against himself,\nand also against her; and all the while he felt, that his anger against\nher was as it were impotent and helpless, for his soul began as it were\nto turn traitor to him, going over in spite of himself to her side.\nAnd so he stood, gazing at her in wrath that was mixed with a smile of\ndelight, utterly unable either to say or to do anything at all.  And he\nstrove to be offended with her, in vain, in spite of the shame and\nexasperation that she was pouring into his heart.  And so as he stood,\nlike a picture of wounded pride and helpless irresolution, all at once,\nshe looked round, and as it were caught him unawares, standing at her\nmercy, abashed and ashamed, the very target of her mocking eyes.  And\nutterly unable to endure it any longer, he suddenly turned and ran out\nof the arbour, as if he were escaping from a foe.\n\n\n\nVI\n\nAnd then, strange! hardly had he gone a few steps from the terrace,\nwhen again his feet stopped, as if utterly refusing to carry him away.\nAnd he stood, burning with shame, and anger, and yet unable to move.\nAnd he thought no longer, as at first, of her beauty, but simply of\nherself: and he was absolutely miserable, feeling that somehow or other\nshe had mastered him; and his soul was filled to the very brim with\nnothing but her, and as it were kept on repeating obstinately, she,\nshe, she, as if her personality had filled it to the exclusion of his\nown.  Alas! by reason of his youth and inexperience he was all unaware,\nthat the poison of Love was in his heart, and beginning to work.  And\nshe danced as it were before his eyes, and whirled all round him, and\nsat in his soul, and seized upon it and its faculties and senses, and\nit was as though the world had vanished, leaving in its place nothing\nbut a void, composed of a blue that was the very substance of herself.\nAnd so he stood, still, like one torn by strong chains in opposite\ndirections, determined to go away, and yet never moving, and ashamed to\ngo back, and yet drawn by an irresistible spell, that whispered as it\nwere in his ear: Return: return.  And so he stood a long while, as\nutterly unconscious of everything around him, as if he had become a\ntree, fanned by the wind.\n\nAnd at last, he turned, and went back, very slowly, with sad and heavy\nfeet, that moved, as if they were carrying a guilty criminal to his own\nexecution.  And when he reached the arbour door, again he stopped, and\nstood irresolutely near it, looking out over the valley, like one\nparalysed by his own indecision.  And then at length, unable to endure\nthe separation from her any longer, he said to himself with a sigh: Now\neverything is quiet: and doubtless, she has utterly forgotten all about\nme, thinking me gone, not again to return.  And now no doubt she will\nbe working with her flowers, just as she was at first, and with her\nback towards me.  Therefore, if I stoop down, very carefully, making no\nnoise, I shall be able to watch her, unobserved.  And he stooped,\nstealthily, and peeped round the edge of the door.\n\nAnd lo! when he looked, she also was standing, stooping, almost exactly\nlike himself, on the other side, close to the door, and leaning forward\neagerly, with a great bunch of flowers in one hand, and the other\nstretched, like a creeper, bowing in the wind of excitement, a little\nway before her, watching, as if with eager desire, to see him return.\nAnd when, all at once, their eyes met, she stood a little while looking\nat him exactly like a child in the extremity of delight.  And all at\nonce, she began to laugh, with low, long, joyous and unrestrainable\nlaughter, that went on and on, sounding in his ears like the murmur of\na waterfall, and seeming as though it would never stop.  And the King,\nreduced as he was to the very lowest depth of utter shame, and\nblushing, till the very hair seemed to stand up upon his head, found as\nit were a refuge in his very desperation.  And he said to himself: I\ncare not, for now I am at the very bottom of the abyss of shame: and\nlet her laugh, if she will, at me, or anything in the three worlds: so\nonly that I listen to her, and am here, to look at her again.\n\nAnd at last, she said, with her laughter still hanging as it were in\nthe music of her voice: O King Chand, if thou art really he, come in,\nsince as it appears, thou absolutely must, for I have a question to put\nto thee.  And the King entered, like a culprit, and stood looking at\nher like one ready to submit to any punishment she chose.  And she came\ntowards him and stood, with her two little bare feet exactly together,\nside by side, and her two hands clasped behind her back, and her head\nthrown right back upon her shoulders to look up at him, so that her two\nsmall breasts jutted out like round bosses on the edge of the delicious\nterrace of her throat.  And she said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, wilt thou, to whom all\nwomen are equally contemptible, only tell me, for I am curious to know,\nwhy thou art so utterly unable to go away from this arbour of mine?  Is\nit these flowers that attract thee?  For here there is absolutely\nnothing other than these flowers, and myself.\n\nAnd as she spoke, her small mouth, that resembled the incarnate\nfragrance and colour of a flower, with its two intoxicating lips parted\nin the curl of a smile, just over the leaf-like point of her small soft\nchin, bewildered him so, that he could hardly listen to the meaning of\nher words.  And he stammered, and hesitated, and said: I came, because\nI had nowhere else to go.  Then she said: And why, then, didst thou go\naway at all?  And suddenly he said: I went, in order to escape, alas!\nfrom thee.  And she said, shaking her head slowly from side to side:\nNay, not from me, but it may be, from thyself.  Art thou sure that it\nis not thy own self, from which thou art vainly endeavouring to escape?\nDost thou know thyself so well, as to be certain what it is, that thou\nart shunning or desiring?  Stand, now, there a little while, and\nexamine for thyself thy condition, while I finish my work.\n\n\n\nVII\n\nAnd as she spoke, once more she went back to her flowers.  And she\ndragged her great basket, with difficulty, to the very edge of the\ncliff, and knelt, sitting on her own feet, beside it.  And taking out\nits flowers, one by one, she began rapidly and skilfully to weave them\nin a garland, crooning to herself all the while a kind of song, in a\nvoice so low as to be all but inaudible.  And she paid absolutely no\nattention to the King at all, wholly absorbed as it seemed in her work,\nand ignoring his presence altogether.  And every now and then, she took\na flower, and held it up before her, speaking as it were to it, before\nshe wove it in among its fellows; and now and then she looked, with\nattention, at a flower, and as if condemning it, threw it away into the\nvalley.  So she continued, weaving, and muttering as it were a spell.\nAnd all the while she swayed to and fro, a very little, as if keeping\ntime to her own unintelligible song.\n\nAnd so as she sat and wove, the King stood watching her, leaning\nagainst the door-post, with his arms folded, absolutely still.  And he\nresembled a rock, against which the sea of her beauty came beating,\nwave after wave, as if to shake it from its base.  And his soul went\ntravelling, by the means of his eye, slowly and carefully about her,\nlike a painter.  And like a bee, it hovered about the flower of her\nmoving lips, and flew circling all about the slowly moving curve of her\nbosom, and wandered in and out about her slender waist, lost, as she\nsat kneeling, in the folds of her heavy limbs, and then rose and\nrepeated its journey, ending where it first began, and going round and\nround her, as if unable to go away.  And as he gazed, he became as it\nwere himself a sea, and began as it were to surge in agitation, under\nthe soft mysterious attraction of that moonlike mass of grace and\nsymmetry and curve and colour, floating as it seemed before him in the\nair, on the edge of that cliff.  And all the while, there was silence\nin the arbour, broken only by the low sound of the singing of the\nKing's daughter.  And in that silence, the humming of the bees outside\ncame, every now and then, drifting in upon the breeze, that carried\nalso the scent of the blossoms of the trees, and floated about the\nKing, charming at once by a double spell, like billows of the essence\nof intoxication rolling in on his already intoxicated soul.  And he\nheard the wind below in the valley sweep sighing among its trees, and\nnow and then, the note of the wild pigeon calling to his wife.  So he\nstood, wrapped in a dream, lifted as it were on that cloud-loved\nterrace above the world, and bathing in the nectar-poison of the\nnervous apprehension of pure passion that was absolutely lost, in the\necstasy of self-annihilation, in its object, the maiden form before\nhim, singing and swaying as she wove.\n\nAnd then, at last, she finished her work, and stopped.  And she stood\nup, and took the garland she had made, and laid it carefully aside, in\na corner.  And then she turned towards him, and pointed with her finger\nto the marble seat that ran like a long bench all along the arbour\nwall.  And the King instantly went and took his seat, as if obeying her\ncommands, upon it, while she returned and remained, half sitting, half\nkneeling, beside her basket with fragments of flowers all around her,\nand her two hands joined together on her lap.\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nAnd at that moment, there came a great eagle, that passed in the air\nclose beside them, and flew away over the valley.  And seeing him, she\nsaid: O King Chand, would thy friends below believe him, were he to fly\ndown and tell them, he had seen thee sitting on a mountain cliff,\nconversing with a woman!  Then said Chand with a sigh: Art thou indeed\na woman, and not rather some mountain witch that has destroyed me by a\nspell?  For it is but a moment since first I entered this enchanted\narbour, and already I am changed, into something other than I was: and\nshort as it has been, yet that moment has contained within it as it\nwere the power of years of alteration.  Then she said: If this arbour\nof mine has wrought a change in thee, to thy dissatisfaction, surely\nthe fault was all thy own, for coming in, and thrusting thyself upon\nme, as it were, not once alone, but many times, not by my invitation,\nbut of thy own accord.  Blame, therefore, thyself alone, if thou hast\nsuffered, by reason of thy intrusion, a change for the worse.  And the\nKing said hastily: I said not that the change was for the worse, but\nonly, that I had undergone a change.  Then she said: But if, then, thy\nchange is for the better, of what art thou complaining?  Surely thou\nart in that case a gainer, by me and by my arbour.  And he said: Nay,\nneither did I say that the change was for the better.  And she laughed,\nand exclaimed: What! canst thou not even tell, whether this\nextraordinary change that has befallen thee is good or bad?  Dost thou,\nthen, not even know, which to prefer, thy former condition, or thy\npresent?  And he said: No.  Then she said: Of what nature, then, is\nthis inexplicable change, that leaves thee neither better, nor worse,\nnor even yet the same, but something indeterminate, of which thou canst\ngive no account at all?  And the King remained silent, with his eyes\nfixed upon her face.\n\nSo then, after a while, she said softly: Come now, shall I come to thy\nassistance, and like a physician, probe for thee thy soul, and show\nthee, what thou canst not unriddle for thyself?  Art thou not angry\nwith thyself, and only for this reason, that thou art beginning to\ndoubt, whether, after all, a woman is exactly only what thou hast\nhitherto determined to consider her?  Say, is it not so?  And thy\nconfidence in thyself wavers, and thy soul is endeavouring to make, if\npossible, someone else, rather than thyself, culpable for the wound\ngiven to thy vanity?  And the King exclaimed, as if stung by her words:\nDid I not say, thou wert a witch?  Then she said: What need is here of\nany witchcraft?  Art thou not, by thine own avowal, Chand, and who is\nthere that has not heard alike of Chand's delight in war, and his\nantipathy to my sex?  And she paused a moment, and she said: Come now;\nsince fortune and thy own insistence have cast thee for a moment in my\nway, and this Guru seems long in making his appearance, shall I in the\ninterval do battle against thee, for myself and for my sisters?  Thou\nart fond of battles: art thou ready to try thy fortune in this field?\n\nAnd the King said in confusion: Nay, for the combatants in this case\nare unevenly equipped.\n\nThen she laughed ironically, and exclaimed: What!  Chand! and afraid of\na combat with a woman!  Shall I compare thee, then, to a general who\nhas long ago taken up a position of which he boasts loudly as\nimpregnable, yet dare not expose it to the test?  And all at once she\nleaned towards him, and said, with a smile, in a tone of irresistible\nsweetness: Come, bring thy charges against me, one by one, and I will\ndo what I can, in my weakness,[12] to refuse and repel them.\n\nAnd as she spoke, Yogeshwara said to himself, within his ambush: Ha!\nnow, let us see what he will say.  And well did he object, that the\ncombat was uneven, and its result, a foregone conclusion.  For this\ncrafty little daughter of a King knows just as well as he does, that\nshe is herself the formidable argument, against which he has not only\nno weapons of attack, but absolutely no defence at all.  And even\nbefore the battle has begun, she has annihilated all his force\nbeforehand, by that bewildering glance from those blue irrefutable\neyes, which stealing into his heart, have bribed and corrupted it,\nmaking it her own ally, and a traitor to himself.\n\n\n\nIX\n\nSo, then, as she leaned towards him, with her head a little on one\nside, and her neck a little curved, and her eyes a little closed, and\nher lips a little parted in a caressing smile, the appeal of her soft\nentreating beauty struck the King so hard, that in his agitation, his\ntongue refused to speak.  And just as if it had heard what Yogeshwara\nhad said, his heart, drawn towards her through his eyes, deserted him,\nand going over to the enemy, nestled like a fugitive bird in the little\nhollow between the twin wave of her breast, saying as it were: Here\nwill I dwell, close to her own, rocked to sleep on the rise and fall of\nthis gentle sea.  And he looked at her in silence, overcome with his\nown emotion, and at last he said with difficulty: Did I not say that I\nwas changed?  For but a little while ago, before I entered this magic\narbour, my mind was made completely up, with reference to thy sex, and\nI could have told thee I know not how many unanswerable reasons for\ncondemning it: but now my soul is in confusion, and as I look at thee,\nI cannot bring against it any arguments at all.  Aye! who could bring a\ncharge of any kind against such a thing as thee?\n\nAnd as he sighed, she said, with gaiety: Ha! does the enemy surrender,\nbefore even so much as attempting an attack?  And what can have been\nthe strength of a fortress, which its garrison abandons at the very\nsign of danger?\n\nBut the King, for answer, leaned his chin upon his hand, that rested on\nhis knee, and gazed at her in silence, for so long, that the smile died\naway upon her lips, and she dropped her eyes upon the ground.  And all\nat once he said: As I look at thee, my weapons of arguments seem as it\nwere to bend and become blunted, and even to crumble to pieces in my\nhand: and I resemble one in a dream, fighting in vain with a phantom\nsword, that turns to water or disappears whenever he attempts to strike\na blow.  For I used to think, that women were weak, and worthless in\nthe day of battle, and so it is: and yet, looking at thee, weak as thou\nart, for I could crush thee in a moment, I would not have thee other\nthan just the thing thou art, and thy very weakness seems, I know not\nhow, to be a merit and a virtue in thee, and stronger than my strength;\nand in thy case, the very notion of a battle seems utterly abominable,\nand ludicrous, and out of place.  And again, I used to think that a\nwoman was a burden, and as I look at thee, I think that thou art a\nburden I would willingly carry, for as long as my strength would\nendure.  And women's voices seemed to me made only for chattering and\nscolding, but thine is a music, strange, and soft, and unimaginably\nbeautiful, that plays upon my heart, and gladly would I listen to it\nfor ever, never so much as noting the passage of any time.  And but\nyesterday I would have told thee, a woman was a traitor, but to-day,\nlooking at thy soul in the colour of thine eyes, I doubt not women, but\nmyself.  For they seem to me like two great black tanks, filled with\nunearthly liquid drawn from some deep P\u00e1t\u00e1la well, where ocean mixes\nwith the azure of the skies.  And but an hour ago, I would have told\nthee, a woman was an ugly little thing, a deformity of man, in every\npoint inferior to him: but as I look at thee, remorse comes over me,\nand horror, as I recollect and shudder at my crime, and I see that I\nresemble one blaspheming a divinity that ought rather to be worshipped\nand adored.  For I am but a clod, and a coarse and rough and rude\nmisshapen lump, compared with thee, and every morsel of thy fairy\nfigure, from thy masses of dark hair to the sole of thy little foot,\nfills me with agitation and feeling that I cannot utter, and fierce\ndesire as it were to devour thee, and thirst to drink of thy\nunutterable loveliness, that increases as I watch thee till I am likely\nto die of its intolerable sting.  For I am burning as if with fire, and\nI know not what to do.  And but an hour ago, I thought my soul a strong\ntower, but as I look at thee, struck by a stroke of lightning in the\nform of thy little figure, it has all tumbled to pieces, and lies in\nblack miserable ruin at thy feet.\n\n\n\nX\n\nAnd the King's voice trembled a little, as he spoke: and when he ended,\nshe remained silent a little while, while the colour came and went upon\nher cheek.  And at last, she laughed a little laugh, and she looked,\nnot at him, but away into the valley, as she said: Nay, but this is a\nthing altogether incredible and strange.  For King Chand, instead of\nattacking women, has suddenly become, on the contrary, their partisan.\nAnd yet I think, that his partisanship is greatly to be distrusted,\neven more than his old uncompromising enmity.  For just as formerly he\nutterly despised and denounced all women without exception, never\nhaving had anything to do with even one: so now he suddenly becomes\ntheir champion, on the evidence of only a single instance, seen only\nfor a single instant.  And so his new opinions seem even more\nsuspicious, and will probably be still more rapidly evanescent, than\nhis old.\n\nAnd Chand said hastily: I swear to thee, that my mind is made up on\nthis matter for ever, never again to waver, even for an instant.  Thou\nart----But she interrupted him, holding up at him her forefinger, with\na smile.  And she exclaimed: O King, is it good policy, in matters of\nwar, for a warrior to stake his life on so momentary a glimpse of his\nenemy?  Stay, was that a footstep that I heard?  And she listened for a\nmoment, bending round in an attitude that almost broke the King's heart\nas he watched her, exclaiming within himself: O that the King's Guru\nwere only at the bottom of the sea!\n\nAnd hearing absolutely nothing, but the sighing of the wind, after a\nwhile, she turned once more towards the King, and she said, playfully:\nMust I, then, remind thee, that all this while, thou art merely an\nIntruder, present only by my sufferance and condescension, and that\nthough it has come about, I know not how, that thou art actually\nsitting here talking to me, in an arbour where no other has ever come\nbut me, yet, that should the Intruder become forgetful of his true\nposition, he will be immediately expelled?\n\nAnd hearing her speak, Yogeshwara in his ambush exclaimed within\nhimself: Ha! wonderful beyond imagination is the craft of women, and\nabove all, of the one before me!  For now, so far is he from dreaming\nthat he was brought here expressly for her purpose, that she has\nconvinced him that he is an interloper, indebted to her grace, and she\nhas even filled him with the nectar of unutterable delight, by allowing\nhim to suppose that she permits him to remain!\n\n\n\nXI\n\nBut in the meanwhile, the King exclaimed piteously: O daughter of King\nMitra, well indeed I know, that I am only an intruder: out upon me, if\nI was tempted to forget it, even for a moment!  And yet I was not\nwithout excuse, for how could I remember anything whatever, with a mind\nbewildered by the colour of thy great eyes?  But now, I will swear to\nkeep myself within any bound or limit that thou choosest to impose, so\nonly that thou dost not bid me go away.  For then I could not answer\nfor myself, and sorely indeed should I be tempted to disobey thee,\nthough I long for nothing so much, as to obey any orders whatever, so\nonly that they are thine.\n\nAnd she said: On these terms, I will allow thee to remain: though,\nshould I perceive any symptom of disobedience, I shall immediately go\naway myself: as in any case, I must do, as soon as the Guru has arrived.\n\nAnd the King said, carelessly: There is no longer need for any Guru,\nfor I have altogether changed my mind, on the matter which he was\ncommissioned to discuss.\n\nAnd then, she laughed joyfully, and exclaimed: Aha!  O King, much I\nfear, that thou, who but an hour ago, wast ready to bring charges of\nlightness and frivolity against every member of my sex, art thyself\nmore changeful and inconstant than any woman of us all.  For here art\nthou, changing thy mind once more, no longer about women and their\ncrimes, but even about matters of state-policy, and all in but a\nmoment.  Art thou not ashamed of thyself, and in presence of a woman?\nAnd the King said: O thou beautiful and tormenting being, I am not in\nthe least ashamed: for it is all thy fault, and thy doing, and thou art\nthe cause of all.  And now I wish from the very bottom of my heart,\nthat thou wert thyself the Guru.  For I wish to transact no business of\nany kind, except with thee: and moreover, the concern is far less, in\nthis matter, with the Guru than with thee.\n\nAnd she thought for a moment, and she said: And what if I were actually\nthe Guru?  What then?  Come, what can be so easy as to gratify thy\nwish?  Shall we, like children, make believe?  Suppose me, if thou\ncanst, to be the Guru, and tell me, what is thy business of State.\n\nAnd she changed, all at once, her position, and sat, as though upon the\ncarpet of a Durbar, cross-legged, assuming an air of dignity, with mock\nsolemnity, as if preparing to listen with profound attention to what he\nwas about to say.  And as he watched her, the heart of Yogeshwara in\nhis ambush almost burst within him, and he exclaimed within himself:\nHa!  Surely I am a baby, in matters of diplomacy, compared with this\nextraordinary woman!  For she has reached, at a single bound, the very\nobject of her meeting, and has actually presented herself to him, in\nher true capacity, spreading open, as it were, the very truth naked\nbefore his eyes, without his so much as suspecting anything at all!\n\n\n\nXII\n\nBut in the meanwhile, the King gazed at her, intoxicated with\nadmiration and delight.  And he murmured to himself: Where has the\nwoman gone, of whom, at first, I think, I was actually afraid?  For now\nshe has turned, so to speak, into a child, playing at a game.  And all\nat once, he began to tremble.  For like a flash of lightning, the dark\nocean of love-rapture in which he was plunged suddenly became\nilluminated with a ray of sunlight in the form of hope, so that he said\nto himself: Am I mistaken, or is she a little kinder than she was?  And\nall at once, a thought came into his heart.  And he leaned towards her,\nand said: Dear little Guru, thou art new to state-affairs, of which the\nfirst axiom is this, that the discussion of matters of importance\ndemands above all things absolute secrecy, and freedom from\ninterruption.  Is there no attendant of thine somewhere within call,\nwhom we might summon, and bid him tell the true Guru, that he is not\nrequired, until our deliberation is concluded?\n\nAnd hearing him speak, the King's daughter broke into a peal of\nlaughter.  And suddenly abandoning all her dignity, she began to clap\nher hands in delight, looking at him joyously, as if she were really\nnothing but a child.  And she exclaimed: Ah! thou art crafty, and\ncunning indeed.  Ah! that would indeed be a stroke of policy, to oust\nthe true Guru in favour of the sham.  But, O King Chand, I fear that it\ncannot be.  Thou must resign thyself to making the best of the time\nstill at thy disposal, afforded thee by his delay.  Therefore lay thy\nmatter very quickly before me, for due consideration.\n\nAnd the King said: O most reverend Guru, I came here to deliberate on\ncertain preliminary difficulties, in the matter of thy father's\nsubmission to myself.  For he is, of all the kings, the only one that\nhas not yet submitted.  Then she said: But what if he should refuse?\nThen said Chand: He will not refuse, for if he did, I should compel\nhim, by force.  And he will never bring the matter to that test, for\nwell he knows, that my strength is a hundred times greater than his\nown.  Aye! had he dreamed of resistance, I should have been delighted:\nand we should long ago have swept him away, as an angry river does a\nblade of straw.\n\nAnd she looked furtively at him as he spoke, saying to herself: Now he\nis himself, no longer like a bashful lover, but resembling that great\ncopper-coloured eagle that recently swept by us as it searched for\nprey.  And as he thinks of a battle, he has for the moment forgotten\nall about me, proud, and confident of his own strength.  And then, as\nthe King looked at her, she placed her finger on the very point of her\nchin, and said: O King, this is a matter requiring for its settlement\nage, and experience, and policy of the very deepest kind.  And\ntherefore the King my master entrusted it to me, as being, in all his\ndominions, the oldest and most crafty of his advisers.\n\nAnd she looked at the King with a smile, while Yogeshwara in his ambush\nlaughed to himself for joy: saying to himself: She is utterly deceiving\nhim, by telling him the very truth.  But the King said: O wrinkled,\ngrey-haired Guru, sure I am, that the King thy master could not\npossibly have entrusted the matter to a more irresistible negotiator\nthan thyself, whose years are a guarantee for thy incomparable\ndexterity.  Then she said, looking at him with large eyes full of grave\nreproof: Such compliments are, we know, the indispensable preliminary\nin all negotiations, meaning, as their employers know well, absolutely\nnothing at all.  And the King said: Dear Guru, thou art altogether\nmistaken.  For I do not speak by proxy, but am my own ambassador, and\ntherefore empower myself to say exactly what I mean, as in this\ninstance.  Then she said: Let us pass over all preliminaries, and come\nto the business in hand.  Can we not offer inducements to the enemy,\nwhom we are not strong enough to meet in the field, to come to terms?\nAnd the King said eagerly: Aye! that you can.  For often, on the very\neve of battle, timely alliances and bribes have warded off disaster;\nand for this very purpose it was, that, as I think, kings' daughters\nwere invented by the Creator.  For many times, the gift of a daughter\nhas turned an enemy into a friend.  Then she said: Ah! but in this\ncase, such an expedient is altogether futile, and out of the question.\nFor King Chand is known to be an enemy of women, and kings' daughters\nare, after all, only women, and therefore less than nothing, and of no\nvalue in his eyes.  And the King said hastily: Sweet Guru, thy spies\nhave misinformed thee, and led thee astray.  For I can positively\nassure thee that circumstances of very recent occurrence have so\naltered the complexion of King Chand's opinions, that the offer of a\ndaughter by King Mitra would certainly render all submission entirely\nsuperfluous.  Go back and tell thy master, that King Chand would\ninfinitely prefer his daughter to his submission, or anything whatever\nin the world.\n\nAnd she looked at him, gravely shaking at him her pretty head, and she\nsaid, with indecision in her voice: O Intruder, remember! and beware!\nIt is time now, to bring this game to a conclusion.  For what is it,\nafter all, but child's-play?  And it is even more than time for the\ntrue Guru to appear.  And the King exclaimed: Nay, dearest Guru, not\nso.  For I swear to thee, that though the game might be a game, my\nterms are no jest.  And she said: Then, as Guru, I reply: Who shall\nconvince King Mitra, and still more, his daughter, that King Chand has\nchanged his mind?  For in love, as in war, promises may be deception,\nand oaths but a snare.\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nAnd then, as Chand suddenly rose to his feet, and stood up, she also\nstarted up, exclaiming: O King, stand still now, for a little while,\nand listen to me.  And as she stood, with each hand firmly clenched\nbeside her, and her head thrown back upon her shoulders, she resembled\na picture of determination.  And she turned just a little paler, and\nher eyes grew just a little darker, as she fixed her glance upon the\nKing.  And Yogeshwara, as he watched her from his ambush, said with\nanxiety to himself: What in the world is she going to do now?  For she\nhas completely gained her end, and brought the negotiation to a\nsuccessful issue; and now all she has to do is, to break off the\ninterview and go away: and everything will settle of its own accord for\nour advantage.  Can it be, that having hitherto played her part with\nthe most consummate skill, she is just about to spoil all by some false\nstep, or, that as her sex gave her victory, so now it is going to tempt\nher into losing all gained, by some unhappy blunder, springing from\nfeminine caprice?  Or does she, for all her cleverness, not yet\nunderstand, that the essence of all wisdom lies in knowing where to\nstop?\n\nSo then, as Chand watched her, also with anxiety, all unaware of what\nwas passing in her mind, she said: O King Chand, it may very well be,\nthat should you make your proposal to the King my father, he will\naccept it, to secure his own advantage.  For many times a daughter has\nbeen sacrificed, to save a State; tossed like a ball backwards and\nforwards from hand to hand, and like a bag of money, changing owners in\nthe market, with no voice in the matter of its own.  But now there is\nanother person to be considered.  For since the beginning, it has been\nthe privilege of all kings' daughters to choose their husbands for\nthemselves.[13]  And though my father may be willing, and even all too\nwilling, to close with your offer, and hand me over like a cow to the\nbest bidder, perhaps I may not be equally pleased with the bargain\nmyself.  And what guarantee canst thou give me, that I shall not be a\nloser in the matter, and a victim, and a dupe?\n\nAnd as she spoke, she fixed her eyes sternly on the King, as though to\nsearch him, with penetrating interrogation in their glance.  And the\nKing said sorrowfully: Alas! dear Guru, what can I say to thee to\nconvince thee of my sincerity?  And she said, with energy: Nay, in this\nmatter, I am no Guru, but like thee, my own ambassador.  And what hast\nthou to say, then, for thyself?  Thou art a known enemy of women.  And\nhast thou, then, any ground for thy dislike?  Hast thou bought thy bad\nwisdom in the market of experience, and drawn thy bad opinion of my sex\nfrom association with evil specimens of womankind?  And as she spoke,\nshe shot at him a glance that resembled a flash of dark lightning in\nthe form of suspicion, and entered his soul like a sword.  And the King\nsaid earnestly: May I never see thee again, if I have any such\nexperience at all: for I do assure thee, that I have hardly ever seen,\nmuch less spoken to, any woman but thyself.\n\nAnd as he stood, with his hand stretched towards her, and timidity\nmixed with entreaty in his eyes, she plunged into them her own, as if\nendeavouring to read to the very bottom of his heart.  And all at once,\nshe sighed a little sigh, as if with unutterable relief.  And she sank\nback, changing suddenly all over as it were from the hardest stone into\na substance softer than the foam of the sea.  And her clenched hands\nrelaxed, opening like flowers, and the cloud vanished from her face,\nand there came into her eyes a smile that ran as it were like sunshine\nover her whole body.  And she exclaimed: Why, then, thou art altogether\nfraudulent.  And pray, by what authority didst thou dare to assume,\nlike a severe judge, the right of condemning all women in the lump,\nnever having had anything to do with them?  And the King said: I\nlearned my lesson from my father, and with him was my whole life\npassed, in camps, and battlefields, and the chase of wild beasts.  Then\nshe said: Thou hast indeed something in thee of the wild animals\namongst which thou hast lived, and art in sore need of training in\ngentler arts.  And could I but consider thee a true diamond, I have\nhalf a mind to be thy polisher, myself.\n\nAnd she looked at the King with eyes, in which the sweetness was within\na very little of affection.  And instantly, fire leaped from the King's\nheart, and ran like a flame all through him.  And he exclaimed: Ah!\nwith thee for my teacher, I would very quickly learn anything whatever.\nThen she said: Go back, O Intruder, to thy seat: for it is not good for\nthe pupil to be in too great a proximity to his Guru:[14] and I will\ngive thee thy first lesson.\n\nAnd as the King returned joyously to his seat, she took her flower\nbasket, and turning it over, emptied all its remaining flowers upon the\nfloor.  And choosing one from among them, she placed the basket, upside\ndown, a little way from the King, and seated herself upon it, with the\nflower in her hand.  And she said: Now the judge is on the seat of\njudgment, to try thee.  And yonder is my garland, and now it is to be\ndetermined, whether thou art worthy to have it placed about thy\nneck,[15] or not.\n\nAnd Yogeshwara in his ambush said softly to himself: Now she is playing\nwith him, after the manner of her sex.  And who knows, whether it has\nnot come about, that the biter has been bit, and the snarer taken in\nthe snare, and she has partly fallen in love with him herself: as well\nshe might.  For love is dangerous, and double-edged, and catching, like\na fever, and it will be long before she sees another, better fitted\nthan this young lion's cub, to touch her heart.  And she looks at him\nnow, not as she did before, but as if she were beginning to wish to\ncoax him, and to tease him, and to play the tyrant over him, as much as\nhe wishes it himself.  For the longing that stretches, as it were,\nimploring hands towards her, out of his intoxicated eyes, resembles a\nwhirlpool, out of which she may not find it easy, and perhaps does not\neven desire, to escape.\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nSo she sat awhile, looking at him with mischief in her laughing eyes,\nat which he gazed with senses that began to leave him out of joy.  And\nall at once, she held up before him the lily in her hand.  And she\nsaid: Dost thou recognise this flower?  And the King looked at it\ncarefully, bending forward half to see it, half in order to get closer\nto the hand that held it up.  And he said: No: it is a flower of a kind\nvery singular indeed, and of strange beauty, that I have never seen\nbefore.  Then she said: It is my flower, chosen by me, and preferred to\nall the others, to be mine, and like myself, a native of the hills.\nAnd if ever, in any former birth, I was myself a flower, beyond a\ndoubt, I was this: for as I see it, when I wander in the forest, I am\ndrawn as it were towards it, whether I will or no, and it speaks to me,\nin its language, of a long forgotten state when we were one.  And now,\ncanst thou employ it in battle as a sword?  And yet, for all that, is\nit good for nothing?  Then he said: O Guru, I see thy meaning and thy\nmalice.  It would indeed be a folly and a sin, to employ the sweet\nflower as a sword.  And were it mine, I would place it in a shrine, and\nworship it as it deserves, since it exactly resembles the hood of the\nsnake that overshadows Maheshwara, save only that it is white.[16]  And\nnow, since it is thy flower, it shall also be mine.  Then she said: But\nas yet it is not thine.  And whether I give it thee, or not, depends on\nmy decision in thy case.  And I incline to think, not.  For it is but\nan hour, since thou wert ready to condemn all flowers whatever as\nthings of naught, only because the poor flowers were not swords.  And\nthe King said: Dear Guru, be not hasty and unjust.  Could he be blamed\nfor not appreciating flowers that had never seen one in his life?  Then\nshe said: And what, then, had he seen one, and only one?  Much I fear,\nlest, once having experienced the sweetness of one flower, he might be\ntempted to run riot among them all.\n\nAnd the King said, with emphasis: Guru, thy fear is vain, and void of\nsubstance, and like my own antipathy before.\n\nAnd she stooped, and picked up at random another flower from the floor.\nAnd she said: See! is not this one just as beautiful and tempting as\nthe first?  But the King put up his hands before his eyes, exclaiming:\nI will not even look at it at all.  Then she said, softly: Who will\nbelieve the bee, that swore a deadly feud against all flowers, now\nswearing to confine himself to one?  Are not all bees naturally rovers,\nand hard to satiate, such is their appetite for variety?  And he said:\nI know nothing of the bees, but this I know, that for myself, I want no\nflower but one.  Then she said: And for how long?  And he said: For a\n_yuga_.  And she exclaimed: What! only a single _yuga_?[17]  And he\nsaid: A _kalpa_.  And she said: Thy desire for the flower has then,\nafter all, a limit, if a long one?  And the King said: Multiply _yuga_\nby _yuga_, and _kalpa by kalpa_, it is the same.\n\nAnd she said: And what, during all these _yugas_ and _kalpas_, wouldst\nthou be doing with thy flower?  And he said: Nay, I will show thee,\nthen, when it is mine.  Of what use are the words of one unworthy of\nbelief?\n\nAnd she waited for a while, with a hesitation compounded half of\nindecision, half of the wish to keep him in suspense.  And then all at\nonce she laughed, and blushed, and threw the flower towards him,\nsaying: Come, I will try thee, for a single _yuga_.  And if, at its\nend, my flower is still with thee, who knows what I may give thee in\nthe next?\n\n\n\nXV\n\nAnd then, as the King seized the flower with avidity, and put it to his\nlips, looking at her with longing eyes, she looked back at him for a\nsingle instant with the shadow of a smile trembling on the very corner\nof her lips: and then all at once, it vanished, and she dropped her\neyes, and just a very little colour came into her cheek.  And so, for a\nwhile, they remained silent; she with her eyes fixed upon the ground,\nand he with his own fastened upon her face.  And there was dead silence\nin that arbour, just as if nobody was there.  Only the humming of the\nbees seemed as it were to murmur to them, like the echo of their own\nthoughts, which neither dared to speak.  And the wind sighed in the\nvalley, and died away, leaving behind it a silence greater than before,\nin which they heard nothing but the beating of their own hearts.\n\nAnd all at once, she rose abruptly from her basket, as if\nhalf-frightened at the very silence, and moved away, a little way,\ntowards the edge of the abyss.  And at that moment, the King suddenly\nstruck his hand upon his knee.  And he exclaimed, Ha! so vehemently,\nthat she started, and turned and stood, looking at him, in alarm.  And\nshe said, in a voice that faltered with timidity: What is the matter?\nAnd the King exclaimed: Alas! dearest Guru, I have frightened thee.\nAnd yet I think, that I shall frighten thee again, as often as I can,\nso much does thy fear become thee.  Then she said: But what caused thee\nto exclaim?  And he said: I have made a discovery.  Then she said, with\na smile: And what hast thou discovered?  And the King said: Alas! now\nall thy beautiful timidity has flown away.  And with reason: for thou\nhast little indeed to fear, so long as I am near thee.  Aye! woe to\nwhatever threatens thee, while I am by thy side!  But as to my\ndiscovery, it is, that thou art an impostor and a cheat.\n\nAnd she looked at him, fixedly, turning just a little paler: and she\nsaid: I do not understand.  Then he said: Here all this while, I have\nbeen before thee like a culprit, rated by thee for my opinion of thy\nsex: and reduced to utter shame before thee, falsely representing\nthyself to be a woman.  And as I looked at thee, all at once, like a\nsudden flash of lightning, the truth appeared: and now I know thee to\nbe a rogue, and a cheat, and not a woman after all.  And now I am\nredeemed, in my own eyes, and feel no longer any shame at being drawn\nagainst my will to one who has absolutely no claim to be classed among\nthe sex.\n\nAnd she laughed, as if with relief; and she said: What, then, am I, if\nnot a woman?  And the King said: How can I tell?  But doubtless thou\nart some mountain incarnation of loveliness and fascination, distinct\nand altogether different from the race of men and women, and peculiar\nto thyself.  And now I have a great mind to punish thee for thy\nvillainy, in falsely playing the woman for my confusion.\n\nAnd she laughed again, softly, and said: What wilt thou do to me, to\npunish me, for I am at thy mercy?  And the King said: Thou speakest\ntruly: for see!  I could crush thee to pieces with this hand, or throw\nthee from the cliff.  And yet, that were indeed a sin, and I should\nresemble one placing his heel upon a flower.  Nay, but I will presently\ngo to thy father, and bid him cast thee into prison, for luring to\ndestruction strangers that come by invitation to his capital, against\nhis own safe-conduct.  And now I am sorely tempted to look upon thee as\na Yakshi, or a R\u00e1kshasi, devouring human bodies, and doubtless,\nYogeshwara is thy agent, who draws travellers to thy den, and I myself\nthy victim, only the last of many, whose bones it may be lie scattered\nat the foot of yonder cliff.  And Yogeshwara said, within his ambush:\nNow, without knowing it, he is getting very dangerously close to the\ntruth, and his words, undesignedly, will touch her to the quick.\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nAnd she was silent for a while, and then she said with a sigh: What! am\nI then to thee but a R\u00e1kshasi, and only an impostor?  And the King\nsaid: Dear Guru, every R\u00e1kshasi can assume at will a form of more than\nmortal beauty, and this very beauty of thine makes thee suspicious in\nmy eyes, for nothing like it was ever seen.  And yet I would rather be\ndevoured by thee than die in any other way, or fall, as is probable, in\nbattle.\n\nAnd she looked at him a moment, and then she said: Thou art very young,\nand as I think, hardly older than myself: and hast thou, then, been\npresent in many battles?  And he said: In some.  Then she said: How is\nit, then, that thou art still alive?  And the King laughed, and said:\nDearest little Guru, there would be no battles, if in every battle all\nwere killed.  And she said: But thy own father was killed in battle,\nand one day, it may be thy case also.  And Chand said: Who knows?  For\nsome fall, on their very first field: and others spend their whole\nlives on battle-fields, and Death flies from them continually, as if he\nwas afraid of them himself.  Or, it may be, he chooses whom he pleases.\nThen she said: And art thou, then, not afraid, lest he should choose\nthee?\n\nAnd Chand looked at her, for a while, in silence.  And all at once he\nsaid: Who can escape what is written on his forehead?  And if a brave\nman fall in battle, what harm?  For he must die somehow, and in that\ncase, at any rate, the Apsaras appointed for him waits, to carry off\nhis soul.  But I have found my Apsaras, while I am alive.  Ha! and now\nthat I bethink me, surely that is what thou art.  Aye! doubtless I am\ndead, having died somehow or other, unawares, and thou art the very\nApsaras that has come to fetch away my soul.  And who knows but that\nthis arbour of thine is a very bit of heaven, lifted as it is above the\nlower world, among the clouds?\n\nAnd all at once, she exclaimed, with emphasis: Never shall the\nApsarases take thee.  Thou shalt never fight on any battle-field again.\nAnd then again, she stopped short, while the colour rushed over her\nface like dawn.  And instantly, the King started to his feet,\nexclaiming with rapture: Ah!  Guru of my heart!  What! would my death\ndisplease thee?  And she said, with confusion: Nay, I did but fear for\nthy life, on some future day.  But look! where my flower lies, that I\ngave thee, to treasure for a _yuga_.  Already dost thou neglect it?\nFor in his emotion, the King had thrown it to the ground.  And she said\nagain: See! in the confusion caused by matters of more moment, how the\npoor flower falls neglected to the ground!\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nAnd the King picked the flower up, and laid it carefully upon the seat.\nAnd he said: Lie thou there, my flower, securely: I will see to it,\nthat thou dost never fall to the ground again.  And then, he turned to\nthe King's daughter, and made a step towards her, with such\ndetermination, that she drew back in alarm.  And she faltered, half in\nplay and half in fear: Beware!  O Intruder: thou art transgressing the\nconditions.  But the King swept away her expostulation with a wave of\nhis hand.  And he exclaimed: Nay, I care not any longer whether I am\nhere by right or wrong: it is enough that I am here, and thou art\nthere.  And well didst thou ask me, whether I feared to fall in battle\nlike my father.  For never hitherto had I fear of any kind, but at thy\nvery question, I suddenly understood that I was changed.  Did I not\nsay, thou wert a witch, transforming me into another man by spells?\nFor now I know I am a coward, and afraid to die, since should I die, I\nshould never see thee any more.  And all at once he stooped, till his\nleft hand rested on her basket, to look up into her face, which was\nturned towards the ground.  And he said with a voice that shook with\nemotion: Dear Guru, come, wilt thou not choose me, and throw round my\nneck the garland of thy choice?  And I will be thy slave, and do\neverything according to thy bidding, and abandon, if thou wilt, my\nbattles and my kingdom and my life, and every other thing, counting the\nworld as grass, only to sit beside thee and listen to thy voice, and\nwatch thee, and thy eyes and thy hands and thy hair and whatever else\nis thine and part of thee.  Aye! and what does it matter, if formerly I\nthought lightly of thy sex?  I was but a fool, that did not know, and\nnow I will make up to thee for all, and serve thee, and follow thee\nabout, and obey thee like a dog.  Aye!  I have cast my whole life into\nthe fire, and thrown it behind me like a dream, out of which I have\nawoken, as thou hast waked me, with a start: for now I see that it was\nhorrible, and black, and cold and vain and worthless; for what is any\nlife in which thou art not but a death, and worse than any death, to\nhave seen thee, and to be without thee, even for an hour.  Aye! now I\nknow, though then I knew it not, that the very first moment I set eyes\non thee, I ceased to be myself, for it is thou that art myself, and my\nsoul, and without thee I am nothing but a corpse.  Only tell me what\nthere is of me which thou dost not like, and I will change it, if only\nthou wilt help me: for thou art powerful to change.  For I am very\nrude, and need teaching, and thou shalt teach me anything thou wilt.\nAnd if there is anything thou longest for, I will search the world to\nbring it to thy feet, and fetch for thee no matter what from the very\nbottom of the sea.  Only let me serve thee, no matter how: see, I am\nvery strong, and if thou wilt, will carry thee about; and O, that only\nsomeone would attack thee, that I might show thee by experience that I\ncould fight for thee like never another in the world!  Aye! death\nitself would be delicious, were it only given as a ransom for thy life.\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nSo as he spoke, she listened, standing as if rooted to the ground, with\na bosom that rose and fell in agitation, and eyes that did not dare to\nleave the floor.  And when he ended, all at once, she looked up.  And\nshe cast a single glance, rapid as a flash of lightning, at his face,\nthat resembled the face of one that begged for mercy, for his eyes were\nfull of tears; and then once more she bounded like a deer towards the\ncliff, and stood again upon its very verge, with her back towards him,\nlooking out over the gorge.  And all at once she stooped, and covered\nher face with her hands.  And so she stood awhile; and at last, she\ntook her hands from her face, and turned round.\n\nAnd she looked at the King, with hard eyes, and a face paler than the\nashes on the body of a Pashupata ascetic.  And she said, very low, and\nvery clear, and very slowly: O King Chand, the Guru has arrived.\n\nAnd instantly, the King turned like lightning to the door.  And seeing\nnothing, he listened, and he said: Here there is nobody.  Then she\nlooked at him strangely, and said again: There is no Guru.  I am myself\nthe Guru.  And as he continued to gaze at her, in perplexity, not\nunderstanding, she continued: O King Chand, thy original opinions about\nwomen were, after all, the truth.  For a woman is after all, nothing,\nbut a mass of deception, and a traitor, and now I have betrayed thee,\nand led thee straight into a trap.\n\nAnd as the King still remained gazing silently at her in amazement, she\nsaid yet again: Thou hast all along imagined, that I was here by a\nchance, and our meeting was unpremeditated, and accidental: and yet it\nis not so.  For I came here by express design and policy, to catch\nthee: and Yogeshwara led thee to my arbour by my advice and\nprearrangement, hoping to hook thee, and snare thee, by means of me,\nthe bait and the decoy, in the meshes of his policy, making thee his\ninstrument by means of me.  And now, thou hast learned a lesson, and\nverified thy faith by experience, and thy dislike of women is, as thou\nseest, altogether solid, and founded on the truth.\n\nAnd as she ended, the King stood staring at her, in a stupor, and like\none whose senses have been annihilated by an overwhelming blow.  And he\nsaw before him not the woman that she was immediately before, but\nanother altogether different.  For her face resembled a very beautiful\nand stony mask, ice-cold, suddenly put on, as it were to hide the soul\nconcealed below.\n\nSo as he stood, recollection suddenly came back into his heart.  And he\nsaid to himself: Thus, then, the very thing predicted by my ministers,\nhas actually occurred.  And like a silly fowl, I have actually rushed\ninto the trap, so skilfully prepared by Yogeshwara to catch me, with\nopen eyes, forewarned.\n\nAnd at the thought of Yogeshwara, all at once, pride, and utter shame,\nand rage rushed as it were all together into his soul, and the blood\nleft his heart, and surged up into his brow, and lifted the very hair\nupon his head.  And suddenly, he bowed before the King's daughter,\nstanding absolutely still before him, like a picture painted on a wall.\nAnd he said slowly: King Mitra is very fortunate in possessing such a\nminister, and such a daughter; and I did very wrong, in remaining even\nfor a single instant, in an arbour to which I never should have come.\n\nAnd then, he turned, and left the arbour.  And she stood, absolutely\nstill, watching him go.\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nSo as he went away, the soul of Yogeshwara, in his ambush, almost\nleaped from his body, so extreme was his rage, and disgust, and\ndisappointment, to see him go.  And he exclaimed within himself: Ha!\nwhat! am I awake, or only dreaming?  What! after lifting the matter to\nthe very topmost pinnacle of success, has she actually dashed it, with\na single stroke, to the very bottom, making everything worse by far\nthan it was at the beginning?  Is she mad, or what in the world can be\nthe matter with her?  Ha! now she has very effectually ruined herself,\nand her father, and me, and the kingdom, and all.  Could she not hold\nher woman's tongue, and keep the secret?  Ha! now indeed, all is lost.\nFor now like a mad elephant he will be back upon us, in a very little\nwhile, to wreak his rage upon us all, and tear up the kingdom and the\ntree of my policy, by its very roots.  Fool that I was, to stake all\nupon the discretion of a girl!\n\nAnd all at once, he stopped short, struck with the thunderbolt of\nastonishment at the behaviour of the King's daughter.  For when the\nKing was gone, she stood awhile, looking at the door, by which he had\ndisappeared, motionless as a tree, and turning paler and ever paler,\ntill her face resembled the marble floor on which she stood.  And\nsuddenly she turned round.  And as fate would have it, at that moment,\nher eyes fell on the seat, where he sat, and on the flower, that lay\nthere, exactly as he placed it, when he lifted it with such affection\nfrom the floor.  And she looked at it, for a single instant, and all at\nonce, she flung herself upon her knees, with her face buried in her two\narms, that rested on her basket, and she began to sob, as if, her heart\nbeing broken, she was about to break herself in pieces also.\n\nAnd as he watched her, tears of compassion for her and her condition\narose, as if against his will, in Yogeshwara's soul: for he had a\ndaughter of his own.  And he gazed at her distracted, and seizing his\nright ear with his hand, he began to pull it, utterly confounded and\nperplexed as to what was to be done.  And he said within himself:\nSurely some assistance should be rendered to this unhappy maiden, no\nmatter what blame she has incurred by her incomprehensible and utterly\ndisastrous behaviour.  For she seems about to abandon the body, in\ngrief about something or other, as great as I have ever witnessed in my\nlife.  And yet if I go to her assistance, it will come out that I was a\nparty to their interview, and that will never do.  And yet I cannot\nstay here and watch her, as it were, dying before my eyes, in the very\nagony of grief.\n\n\n\nXX\n\nAnd then, once again he stopped short, and so great was his amazement\nthat he came within a very little of betraying himself by a loud\nexclamation.  For as he looked, lo! the King appeared again, standing\nin the door, having returned unheard with silent steps.  And as he\nstood, he looked towards the King's daughter, all unaware of his\nreturn.  And when he saw that she was sobbing, like a very incarnation\nof despair, all at once his face was lit up as it were by the ecstasy\nof joy.  And he went noiselessly, on tiptoe, towards her, and when he\nreached her, he stood for a moment looking down at her, with compassion\nthat was mingled with unutterable affection.  And then, he stooped\ndown, and touched her on the shoulder, very gently, with his hand.\n\nAnd at his touch, she started to her feet, and stood, with downcast\neyes, from which great tears rolled, chasing one another, along her\ncheeks, and a bosom that heaved like the ocean after a storm.  And the\ncolour came and went upon her face, like the shadows of the clouds\ndriven furiously over the hillsides by a strong wind.\n\nAnd the King leaned towards her, and said softly: See, it is fated,\nthat I cannot leave thy arbour, however often I may try.  And now, thou\nart mistaken.  For it was my old opinions of women that are wrong, and\nmy new ones that are right.  And now, dear Guru, wilt thou choose me\nfor thy husband, or not?\n\nAnd as he stretched his hands towards her, she glanced at him, and all\nat once, she lost control over herself, and abandoned, as it were, the\ndominion of her soul to him.  And she fell into his arms, and remained,\nsobbing on his breast, and quivering with emotion, and joy, and shame,\nwhile the whole world swam in mist before the eyes of the King,\ntrembling like a leaf in the whirlwind of passion roused by her\nagitation and her surrender and her touch.  And after a while, he said:\nListen, for I wish to ask thee a question, and tell thee why it was\nthat I returned.  For it was not only thy beauty that drew me back\nagain, though that alone would have made it utterly impossible for me\nto go away: notwithstanding Yogeshwara, whom, at the thought of his\ndeception, I was ready to strangle with my own hands.  But all at once,\nas I went, I stopped.  And I said: Ha! why did she betray herself, and\ntell me, when she had completely gained her object, what without her, I\nmyself should never have discovered?  Could it be, because her heart\nsmote her, to receive the husband of her choice?\n\nAnd then, with a cry, she gripped him by the arm.  And she sobbed aloud\nas she exclaimed: Ah! thou hast guessed it, thou hast guessed.  Ah!\ntill I knew thee, to deceive thee seemed to be a little thing.  And\nfool!  I laid a snare for thee, never dreaming of danger to myself, nor\nthinking that I should be the first myself to fall into the snare, laid\nfor me by the Deity in thy dear form.  And as I looked at thee, and\nlistened to thee pleading, all ignorant of my deception, all at once I\nbecame a thing of horror to myself, and saw myself a traitor, to thee.\nAh! no, not to thee.  Ah! to thee, to thee, ah! to thee I could not lie.\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nSo those two lovers stood together in that arbour on the edge of the\nhill, not knowing where they were, and all ignorant of time.  And the\nKing's daughter sobbed, until she laughed, and laughed until she\nsobbed, till at length the King took her in his arms, and seating\nhimself in his old seat, set her on his lap, and held her like a child,\nrocking her to and fro, and wishing that her agitation might never have\nan end, so only that he might continue rocking her for ever on his knee.\n\nAnd at last, becoming once more mistress of herself, she said to him in\na whisper: Thou didst well to return, without losing any time.  For\nhadst thou remained absent but a very little longer, I would have\nthrown myself to the bottom of the cliff, and then they would have\nfound there not, as thou saidst, thy bones, but mine.  But as it is, I\nam alive, to be already a burden to thee, and as yet, the _yuga_ has\nonly just begun.  And he said: O burden, I am not in any hurry to set\nthee down.  And I will carry my flower, thou shalt find, to the\n_yuga's_ very furthest end.\n\nAnd as he spoke, she turned in his arms, and looked towards the flower,\nand she said, very low: When, after thy departure, suddenly I saw the\nflower that I gave thee lying, left by thee, despised, alone, there\ncame into my heart such an agony, that death itself would have been\nrelief.  And the King said, with emotion: I will build for it a shrine\nof gold: but as for thee, thy shrine is in my heart.  But now, O Guru\nof my heart, there is still something to be done: for thou hast not yet\nplaced thy garland on my neck.\n\nAnd instantly she jumped up and brought it.  And she said: With my own\nhands, I wove it for thee, and the charm that I sang to it, unknown to\nthee, for thee, has produced its result.  And as the King stood before\nher, she reached up, with a smile, on tiptoe, and put the garland round\nhis neck, together with the other garland of the creeper of her arms.\nAnd the King drew her, with his own arms, towards him, and their souls\nmet upon their lips, and lost in each other, became inextricably\nunited, in the paradise-oblivion of a kiss without an end.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\nAnd old Yogeshwara, in his ambush, said softly to himself, with tears\nin his eyes: Now it is time for me to go, for now I am superfluous; and\nthis is the end, and the battle is won.  And she was right, and I was\nwrong; and she alone knew her way to the only true and perfect end,\nwithout which all was incomplete; and I am nothing but an old fool.\nAnd in my folly I actually ventured to chide her, and reprove her, not\nperceiving that it was not she, but I, who was to blame, coming within\na very little of utterly destroying all, by my presumptuous and\nimpertinent interference, unable to appreciate her incomparable skill,\nand conceitedly deeming myself a better judge as to how this matter\nought to be conducted to a successful termination, than herself: as if\na woman and the Deity of Love did not know how to manage their own\nbusiness better than all the grey-haired dotards in the three great\nworlds!\n\n\n\n[1] A spring month, our April, devoted especially to marriages.\n\n[2] There is no English equivalent for this term.  A guru is the\nspiritual guide of the Hindoo family: a kind of father confessor.\n\n[3] A woman who goes to meet her lover of her own accord.\n\n[4] The deception of Yogeshwara was all the more likely to deceive the\nKing, in that it was based on Hindoo traditional maxims.  Manu says:\n[vii. 147] \"_Let the King, for secret council, ascend to a\nmountain-top, or a lofty terrace, or repair to some lone wood, where\nthere are not even any talking birds._\"\n\n[5] _Manmatha_: the God of Love, the _Churner_ of the Soul.\n\n[6] The God of the Wind.\n\n[7] _i.e._, Love.\n\n[8] _i.e._, Love.\n\n[9] _i.e._, they all lack Maheshwara's third eye, which consumed Love's\nbody with a fiery glance, when the audacious little deity dared to\ninspire the Great God himself with passion for P\u00e1rwat\u00ed as she stood\nbefore him.\n\n[10] The English reader should bear in mind, that, in Sanskrit,\nrecollection and love are often, as here, denoted by the same word.\n\n[11] Nothing in India is so delightful as the grace with which the\nwomen, even the oldest and the ugliest, handle that part of their\ngarment that serves them for a veil.  It is an everlasting beauty to\nsee them, as they walk along the street, quietly drawing it around\nthem: a thing lost among us altogether, like its motive.\n\n[12] There is a play on the word, which means also a woman.\n\n[13] This is the swayamwara, or self-choice of a bridegroom, everywhere\nexemplified in old Hindoo tales.\n\n[14] This is substantially a quotation from Manu: only it is not the\nGuru, but the Guru's wife, whom the pupil is there forbidden to\napproach.  The princess plays upon the sex.\n\n[15] In the swayamwara ceremony, the mark of selection was the placing\nof a garland around the successful wooer's neck, by the hands of the\nbride herself.\n\n[16] A species of Aris\u00e6ma, which we call \"cobra-lily,\" and the natives,\n_snake-root_.  Though there are many flowers intrinsically more\nbeautiful, I do not know one more quaintly original, than this:\nshooting up, in dark wet woods, by roots of trees, old walls, or among\ndead leaves, pure and white and lonely and strangely suggestive of some\nwild individuality, silently symbolical of old sweet stories of Naiads\nand Dryads and Russian Rusalkas and Heine Loreleis.\n\n[17] (Pronounce _yuga_ and _kalpa_ as monosyllables, to rhyme with\nfugue and pulp.)  A _yuga_ is, as we should say, a geological Age: a\n_kalpa_, a whole series of such ages.\n\n\n\n\nA Cordial Understanding\n\nAnd the very next morning, King Mitra's capital went as it were wild\nwith joy, with smiles in the form of red banners hung from every\nhousetop, and laughter in the form of drums beaten in every street, and\nshouts of victory in every mouth: since all had heard that King Chand\nwas going to marry the King's daughter, and so would the hereditary\nenemy become a friend.[1]  And the marriage was celebrated with all its\nrites, with speed that did not however keep pace with King Chand's\nimpatience, who almost lost his reason on account of the delay of the\nastrologers in fixing the auspicious day.  And as soon as he had led\nhis bride with trembling hand around the fire, he took her away to his\nown home.\n\nAnd as he went away, Yogeshwara said to him, at the city gate: O King\nChand, dost thou bear a grudge against the old minister that lured thee\ninto a snare?  And Chand laughed, and said: O Yogeshwara, I wish I had\na minister like thee.  And as to the grudge, I owe thee what I am\nanxious to repay.  Come to my capital below, when thou hast leisure,\nand ask me for anything whatever of most value to thee in the three\nworlds, and it is thine.  And Yogeshwara said instantly: I choose thy\nbride.  And Chand laughed again, and said: It is well chosen: and now I\nsee, that thy reputation for wisdom is well deserved.  Nevertheless,\nthou wilt have to choose again, for thou hast asked for the only thing\nI will not give.\n\nSo then, as they went away, Yogeshwara said softly to himself: Now,\nwere I only a young man, my fortune would be made.  But as it is, I am\nold, and my work is done: and I have attained the fruit of my birth.\nAnd see! how the Deity, in this case, as frequently before, has brought\nabout things contrary to all expectation, and such as no man could have\nbelieved even to be possible, by the very simplest means.  For King\nChand and his son have done nothing all their lives, but subdue the\nregions of the earth: whereas King Mitra has done absolutely nothing,\nexcept marry a wife and beget a daughter.  And yet, aided by my policy,\nthis daughter has, like a wishing-tree, dropped all Chand's gains into\nour lap, and so far from losing anything, we have gained all.  So much\nmore powerful has proved this slender digit of the moon than all the\nfury of the sun.  And now, then, I will put off the burden of the\nState, and spend the days that still remain to me in accumulating\nmerit, by penance and austerities.\n\nAnd he handed over everything to his son, and becoming a pilgrim, went\nto W\u00e1r\u00e1nasi.  And there he took up his station on the margin of the\nholy stream, and sat there, motionless and speechless, till he died.\nAnd they made a pyre and burned him on the Ghat: and his soul entered\nanother body, while the ashes of the old one floated down the river,\nand were lost at last in the waters of the sea.\n\n\nAnd then, Maheshwara stopped.\n\nAnd after a while, the Daughter of the Mountain said softly: O\nMoony-Crested, thy story, after all, proves absolutely nothing.  For\nbeyond a doubt, Chand would have loved his beautiful and crafty\nmountain-bride every whit as much, had she never committed any fault at\nall.\n\nThen said the God: O Daughter of the Snow, thou art altogether\nmistaken.  For the fact that he had, as it were, to forgive her for a\nfault, in the very crisis and ecstasy of his passion, increased it not\nmerely a hundred, but a thousand-fold, and enriched it with a sweetness\nwhich otherwise it could never have possessed.  And so it is in every\nother case: for therein lies the flattery of sex.[2]  And each sex\nloves the other better, if it love at all, for having something to\nforgive.  For nothing augments affection so much as the forgiveness of\nits object.  And the tests of love are only two, the power of\nrecollection, and the capacity to forgive.  For false love forgets at\nonce, and cannot forgive at all.  But love that is really love forgives\nfor ever, and never forgets.\n\nThen said the mountain goddess: But in what, then, lies the superiority\nof sex to sex, and man to woman?  And why is not he a mine of faults,\nas well as she?\n\nAnd as she spoke, she was conscious of a change: and all at once she\nlooked, and found that she was lying, not on the Great God's breast,\nbut on the green side of a hill.  And instantly she exclaimed, in a\npet: Now he has cheated me again, suddenly substituting this green hill\nfor his own body, and going somewhere else, leaving me in the lurch,\nwithout an answer to my doubt.  And now I shall have to wait, until he\nchooses to return.  And doubtless he thinks, that after a little while,\nI shall have utterly forgotten all about it; but on the contrary, I\nwill very carefully remember to make him answer, and I will take my\nhair down, and keep it so, until he does.  And in the meantime, I will\ngo, and listen to my own praises; and show myself, it may be, for a\nmoment, in return for them, to my worshippers in the Windhya hills.\n\n\n\n[1] The _upah\u00e1ra sandhi_, or alliance produced by a gift from one of\nthe contracting parties, is, according to Wishnusharma, of the fourteen\ndifferent kinds of alliance, the best.  I have selected _Cordial\nUnderstanding_ as its nearest equivalent.\n\n[2] _Abhim\u00e1nika_ is a piece of profound psychology, utterly beyond\ntranslation.  It means the intense self-gratification, or egoistic\npride felt by either lover, conscious of monopolising the other's love,\nin being that other's adequate and reciprocal opposite and\nsatisfaction: the strange and sweet emotion, half bashful, half\ntriumphant; that seethes and bubbles in a young man's soul, when first\na woman falls in love with him.\n\n\n\n\nTHE END\n\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\n  _A Selection from the\n  Catalogue of_\n\n  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n\n\n  Complete Catalogues sent\n  on application\n\n\n\nBooks by F. W. Bain\n\n_Translated from Original Manuscripts_\n\n\nA Digit of the Moon\n\nAnd Other Love Stories from the Hindu\n\n_Crown 8vo.  Illustrated.  Net, $1.30_\n\n\nA Draught of the Blue\n\ntogether with\n\nAn Essence of the Dusk\n\n_Crown 8vo.  Illustrated.  Net, $1.50_\n\n\nAn Incarnation of the Snow\n\n_Crown 8vo, Illustrated.  Net, $1.25_\n\n\nA Mine of Faults\n\n_Crown 8vo.  Illustrated.  Net, $1.25_\n\n\nThe Ashes of a God\n\n\n\"Mr. Bain's stories are full of wistfulness and beauty.  There is a\ntenderness, a richness of color, a warmth of passion, and an elemental\nunderstanding of men and women....  They seem to me to place Mr. Bain\non an eminence isolated and unique....  No words that I can write can\nfittingly express the fascination of these books.\"--Mr. E. V. Lucas in\nthe _London Bookman_.\n\n\"Charming love stories that will be absolutely novel to most readers.\nThey are delicate, vivid, and told in beautiful English.  They show\nHindu life and thought in the true light, a thing worth doing in view\nof the mushy mysticisms and theosophical gibbering that have obscured\nit in this country.\"--_N. Y. Sun_.\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n_A Fascinating Romance_\n\nGREAT POSSESSIONS\n\nBy MRS. WILFRID WARD\n\nMrs. Ward's latest book is the romance of a mysterious bequest.  Sir\nDavid Bright, a distinguished soldier and prominent figure in London\nsociety, has died leaving the bulk of his immense fortune not to his\nwife, but to an unknown woman living in Florence.  Starting with this\nsomewhat melodramatic situation, the author has told a fascinating\nstory of London life marked by pictures of the great world, a\npresentation at court, and all the lesser observances of fashionable\nsociety, with moving and sympathetic character studies, and throughout\na strong and striking plot.  _The Great Possessions_ might be called\nthe English _House of Mirth_.\n\n_Crown 8vo.  Fixed price, $1.35 net_\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\"_A Remarkable Book_\"\n\nSAN CELESTINO\n\nBY JOHN AYSCOUGH\n\nAuthor of \"MAROTZ,\" \"DROMINA,\" etc.\n\n\nIn form, it is almost exactly like a novel with frequent conversations,\nand going, in minor matters at least, far beyond the record of history.\nThe narrative opens with Petruccio as a child in the home of his\nparents, who belong to the minor nobility of the Abruzzi.  It follows\nhis career at Salerno, where he attended the University as a lonely\nfigure making few friends.  Afterwards he became a hermit and the story\ntells how disciples gathered round him, beginning with two worldly\nyoung men who had known him at Salerno.  The Order of the Celestines\nthus founded grew in numbers and importance through fifty quiet years,\nwhen the call to the Papacy came.  From this point, Mr. Ayscough's\nchronicle moves swiftly and dramatically--the poor simple old man\ndragged weeping from his hermit's cave and borne to the triumph from\nwhich he shrank in horror,--the miserable weeks in Rome, touching\nexamples of his simplicity and guilelessness.  Then the peace which\ncame with the renunciation, and his last days passed quite happily as a\ncaptive in a prison cell.\n\n_Crown 8vo.  $1.50_\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n  \"_Bound to be one of the most popular novels\n  of the year_\"\n\n  THE WIVING OF\n  LANCE CLEAVERAGE\n\n  BY ALICE MACGOWAN\n\n  Author of \"JUDITH OF THE CUMBERLANDS,\"\n  \"RETURN,\" \"LAST WORD,\" ETC.\n\n\nBy its stirring dramatic appeal, its varied interest, its skilful\nartistry, Miss MacGowan's new Tennessee mountain story marks a long\nstep in advance of her earlier novels.  It is an interesting company\nthat is brought together in this book--notably the proud high-spirited\nmountain beauty who is the heroine, and the bold and fiery young hero,\nwho will surely stand high in the good graces of readers of the\ntale--and a company of distinct types drawn with a graphic and spirited\nhand, a company moved by strong passions--love, and hate too, green\njealousy and black revenge.\n\nWith Illustrations in Color by ROBERT EDWARDS\n\n_Fixed price, $1.35 net_\n\n\n  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n  NEW YORK LONDON\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n  By F. W. BAIN\n\n  _Translated from the Original Manuscripts_\n\n  A Digit of the Moon\n  And Other Love Stories from the Hindu\n\n  A Draught of the Blue\n  together with\n  An Essence of the Dusk\n\n  An Incarnation of the Snow\n  A Mine of Faults\n  The Ashes of a God","title":"A Mine of Faults","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":26981}