{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_49033/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_49033","id":"gutenberg_49033","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49033","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Poetry","Category: Romance","Fantasy fiction"],"text":"[Illustration: Frontispiece]\n\n\n\n\n  A Draught of the Blue\n\n  Together with\n\n  An Essence of the Dusk\n\n\n  Translated from the Original Manuscripts\n\n\n  By\n\n  F. W. Bain\n\n\n\n  G. P. Putnam's Sons\n  New York and London\n  The Knickerbocker Press\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1906\n  BY\n  F. W. BAIN\n\n  (For \"An Essence of the Dusk\")\n\n  Published, January, 1907\n  Reprinted, March, 1907; September, 1908\n  July, 1910; September, 1911\n\n\n\n  The Knickerbocker Press, New York\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\n\nI A Draught of the Blue\n\nII An Essence of the Dusk\n\n\n\n\nA Draught of the Blue\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\nTranslated from the Original Manuscript\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n  _Ah! lotus infinite! ah! wild sweet Blue!\n  Sense, in thy azure ocean dipped, must die._\n\n\n\n\nDesiderio\n\n\n\n\nIntroduction\n\nThe sun goes down, for those alone, who stand on a revolving sphere:\nand so, in Nature's universal life, Death is but a dissolving view, a\nword without a meaning: real only to the accidental unit, to whose\nlocal and momentary combination it sets a term.  Death is a thing of\nnought, phenomenal, kaleidoscopic: a juggle of the Mother of Illusion,\nPrakriti or M\u00e1y\u00e1, whose magic scene not only never dies, but like her\nown wild animals, sleeps even with an open eye.  You never catch her\nnapping.  And often, when you think that you have done it, she winks at\nyou, just as it were to show you your mistake.  As sometimes, on a hot\nmidsummer day, when the delicate blue smoke from cottage chimneys rises\nstraight into the air, and Nature holds her breath: you think, she is\nasleep: and all at once, there comes a little whisper, and a ripple\npasses over all the golden ears of corn, and in another moment, all is\nstill.  Or on a cliff that overhangs a glassy sea, you lie and dream,\nand think, the very water sleeps: and then, a sudden change of colour\nflushes the ocean opal for only a single instant, and is gone.  Or in a\nwood at noon, you listen to the silence, and a rustle suddenly quivers\nin the trees, and dies away.  Murmurs and echoes: moments and emotions\nof the pulses of the world: hints and indications, still, small voices\nmore significant than storms, of the never-sleeping thrill and throb of\nuniversal action.\n\n\"_Every tremor gravitation excites in any planet is immediately\ntransmitted to the farthest limits of the system, in oscillations\ncorresponding in their periods with the causes that produce them, like\nsympathetic notes in music, or vibrations from the deep tones of an\norgan....  The human frame may be regarded as an elastic system, the\ndifferent parts of which are capable of receiving the tremors of\nelastic media, and of vibrating in unison with their innumerable\nundulations._\"\n\nSo far sober modern science, never dreaming that it is exactly\nreproducing (translate the thing only from physics into ethics) the old\nHindoo idea, that moral conservation of energy, whose fundamental axiom\nit is, that no ACTION, good or bad, however small, is or ever can be\nlost, but like a stone thrown into the water, generates innumerable\nconsequences, running in all directions to infinity, producing\npermanent impressions and effects, that follow and fatally determine,\neternal and indelible, the fortunes of their DOER, through the series\nof interminable births and deaths: births that are no beginning, and\ndeaths that are not an end.  Thus do we go on making for ourselves our\nweal or woe: and as we go, _the hounds of deeds long buried in oblivion\nare on our track_.\n\n\nDoubtless a little story might have a more delicious name than the one\nbefore us: but doubtless it never had.  We may understand it either of\na young woman or the moon: and in either case, it means more things\nthan one.  I.  _The new moon, seen for a single instant, in the sky, or\non the lotus, or on the forehead of Maheshwara_.  II.  _A beauty with\neyes like a great blue lotus, or the colour of heaven_.  For all these\nthings have a quality in common, the mystic blue.\n\nStrange, how deep an impression the colour _blue_ seems to have made\nupon the Indian mind.  Gods and peacocks, creepers and lotuses, clouds\nand pools and skies and seas, elephants and maidens' glances are all\nmixed up together in their language by their \"participation\" in this\n\"Platonic idea,\" this transcendental blue.  Something of this, indeed,\nis readily intelligible in every land: but in India, it is more so.\nThe blue is bluer, there.  _Wouldst the poet understand, Travel in the\npoet's land_.  I will not say, with Goethe, Kenst thou that land: but\nsimply tell the reader something that I saw at Mahabaleshwar in 1903.\n\n\nThe month of May, and with it, the hot weather, was drawing to a close.\nThe woods were green, but very, very dry, and all their ferny fringes\nby the red road-sides were parched and powdered thick with ruddy dust.\nEach morning, when I stood in my verandah, looking down the valley, I\ncould see a floor of cloud, now rolled out like a table-cloth, now\ntossing like a troubled sea, now floating, wreath on wreath, like a\nballet dancer's gauzy flounces, half opaque and half transparent, over\nthe distant Konkan, three thousand feet and more below, waiting for the\nrising sun to touch it with a rosy blush and kiss it, into\ninvisibility.  And every evening, just as he went away, the hot haze\nhanging like a filmy veil about the hills thickened back into solidity,\nand beautiful cold mists, reborn, rolled swiftly up the valley,\nblotting out the picture, and hiding all with their ghostly shifting\ncurtain.  And so, from morn to night, and night to morning, it went on,\ntill lines of bullock carts began to gather and wander down the hill,\nand people were preparing to pack and flit and vanish: for the monsoon\nwas approaching, when no one not a native of those parts can remain\nupon the hill, unless he wishes to go mad.\n\nAnd then it began to rain.  Suddenly, like the Day of Judgment, there\nfell from the sky in a solid lump rain, like no rain that I had ever\nseen before, with the roar of an avalanche and the thunder of Indra and\nlightning that hissed like a serpent, crashing and smashing down on the\nroof as if it would break it in.  It was dark at midday, and deadly\ncold, for there went up a mist from the earth, to meet the flood from\nheaven, making as it were a solid wall through which it was impossible\nto see a yard.  There was nothing to be done but to sit and wait.  So\nfor five nights and days that angry rain raged and hammered upon the\nearth, and tore her with savage fury, growing fiercer as it went on[1]:\ntill all at once, just as though the gates above had been suddenly\nshut, it stopped, as abruptly as it had begun, about five in the\nafternoon.\n\nI went out, and wandered slowly up the hill.  The air was soft, and\nquite warm, and heavy with the smell of smells, the fragrance of fresh\nearth.  Here and there, the paths were gone, washed clean away, looking\nlike red skeletons of their former selves, with rock for bones, all\ntheir earthy covering gone.  And here and there, a little off the road,\na pale orchid sheltered beneath a bough, or a dainty cobra-lily,\nnestling snug under an overhanging trunk, peeped with incomparable shy\nreserve through some dark vista in the trees.  A mongoose ran across\nthe road, stopped, just half-way, to stare for an instant at me with\nits startled weasel eye, and leaped into cover on the opposite side.[2]\nIn a few minutes I gained a point of view, and turned to look,--over a\nsea of green, and what a green!\n\nFor every leaf on every tree was washed and wet, and glistened as if\ncoated with fresh paint.  The rich glow of a yellow evening sun\ndeepened and intensified the wonderful red colour of patches of naked\nrock, raw scars laid bare by little slips of land on places on the\nhill.  Cascades of water shot spouting and splashing into the valleys\nfrom innumerable scarps and shelves along the heights; and as I\nlistened, I could hear the streams, hidden in the dense foliage,\nrushing and gurgling down the steep slopes, carrying with them as they\nwent all the loose soil and pebbles they could find.  And all along the\nridges of the hills, to right and left, on Elphinstone and Lodwick\npoints, hung brooding enormous masses of white cloud, the purest, the\nstrangest, the most indescribably magnificent and beautiful clouds that\nI ever saw, whiter than snow, brighter than polished silver, save only\nwhere their lower edges were charged with heavy rain, fleeces of\ncolossal milk-white rams, dipped by the master painter, Deity, in giant\nvats of purple ink.  Down and away below them the staircase of the\nGhauts, long lines of broken hill, were stepping away into the plain,\nwith every distant detail sharp and clear, cut as it were in copper,\ntill all merged in the far horizon, on which a _blink_ of burnished\ngold flashed back from the unseen sea, lying right in the eye of the\nsetting sun.  I listened, and in the silence, broken only by the ruckle\nof the rushing water, somewhere away upon the hill, I heard a cock\ncrow.  And at that moment, right above me, I looked and saw: a mass of\nshining cloud swung slowly open, and through the gap, in the deep abyss\nof heaven, appeared a spot, a panel, a little lozenge, of blue: pure,\nunsullied, silent, elemental, Indian blue.\n\nThere, there, was the unearthly colour, the colour of the mystic lotus,\nand the long-eyed languishing Indian Gods.  I knew in that instant what\nKalidas meant, when he compared the virtue of the just to a patch of\nheaven fallen down to earth, the blue celestial leaven in this world of\nfrenzied storm and weeping rain.  There was the azure paradox, the blue\nthat is all but black, dark, transparent, clear as crystal, shut out\nfrom eyes that live in plains by earth's encircling fog.  But _over\nevery mountain is peace_, and the kosmic blue.\n\nMAHABALESHWAR,\n   _April, 1905._\n\n\n\n[1] In but a part of the last night, there fell eight inches and a half\nof rain!  Time for time, Mahabaleshwar can probably laugh at\nCherrapunji.  The valleys are scooped out as if with a trowel.\n\n[2] This mongoose was, no doubt, wondering \"what the devil I did\nthere\": for during the rains he and his fellows have the hillsides\nentirely to themselves.\n\n\n\n\nContents\n\nPROLOGUE--A DEAD LOTUS\n\nLOVE'S LOOKING-GLASS\n\n  I.  Sky-Crystal\n  II.  Sprung from the Mud\n  III.  Purusha and Prakriti\n  IV.  Bubbles\n  V.  A Painted Lady\n  VI.  Shadows\n  VII.  Twilight\n  VIII.  Quintessence\n  IX.  Echoes and Regrets\n\nEPILOGUE--THE BREAK OF A HEART\n\n_Note_.--The words below the Vignette may be thus translated:\n\n  _Earth, the Root, and Heaven, the Hue;\n  Marsh of Mire, and Flower of Blue;_\n\n\n\n\nPrologue\n\nA Dead Lotus\n\n\n\n\nA Dead Lotus\n\nI\n\n_To the pitchy dark of that awful wood,[1] where plunging Ganges lost\nher way through a night of a thousand years: when the lonely Moon\nturned ashy pale, mocked by a million moons that danced in the hollows\nof the rushing waves: we bow._\n\n\nOn the edge of the great southern forest, there lived, a thousand years\nago, an aged King and Queen, who counted all the world as grass, for\nwant of a son and heir.  And finding all other methods fruitless, in\nthe end they gave themselves wholly up to meditating, night and day, on\nthe sole of the Great God's foot: until at last Maheshwara felt pity\nfor that childless couple, and revealed himself to them both at once,\nin a double dream.  So when he asked them what they wanted, the King\nasked simply for a son.  But the Queen, being smitten with deep\ndevotion at the sight of the Great God's moonlit hair, exclaimed: O\nBoon Giver, let my son resemble thee, were it only in a single fraction\nof an atom of his being.  Touch me now with the very end of one of thy\ntangled locks of hair, and so shall I become instinct with a tiny\nportion of thy divinity.  Then said Shiwa to himself: Even a single jot\nof me will be much too powerful for the rest of this human being's\nsubstance, and disturb the balance of the whole.  But be it as this\nmother wills.  For she has made her choice, and I granted the boon\nbeforehand.[2] And I can see that he has to dree the weird[3] of his\nformer births.\n\nThen he took from his head a single hair, and broke it off, and placed\nit in her hand.  And then he disappeared, and that royal pair awoke,\nand eagerly compared their dreams, which corresponded in every\nparticular.  And when they looked, lo! shut fast in the hand of the\nQueen was a single hair, that glowed like a wire of flame.[4]\n\nThen full of joy, they worshipped the God: and they placed that hair in\na golden shrine, and built around it a temple.  And when in course of\ntime the Queen gave birth to a son, they called him by a suitable name,\nRudr\u00e1laka.[5]  And as the baby became a child, he did not belie his\nname.  For his thick dark hair was shot with a tinge of gleaming red,\nand in the sun it shone like fire, and it resembled the mane of a\nhorse.  And as the boy became a man, his strength became prodigious;\nand his passions were wild and furious and proportioned to his\nstrength.  And he was as unruly and unmanageable as a young colt of\nhigh spirit, and so full of wayward obstinacy and headstrong self-will,\nthat his father said in private to his mother: Now, but that the hair\nin thy hand was red, this son of thine would seem to take after, not\nthe Great God himself, but his bull.[6]\n\nAnd when his manhood was complete, like a river in flood in the rainy\nseason, it overflowed all common bounds.  And he ran wild among men and\nwomen, overcoming all the men in every feat of strength and agility,\nand like a great black bee in a flower garden, rifling all the women of\ntheir honey and their hearts and their good behaviour, and playing\nhavoc among them, till the mischief created by his own red hair began,\nas it were, to turn that of his father and mother white.  Then they\nsaid: Come, we will marry him, and then no doubt he will settle down\nand become clear, like strong wine after fermentation, and turn into a\npillar of his family and the state.  But as soon as they proposed it,\nRudr\u00e1laka laughed in their faces.  And he exclaimed: Who carries a\nflower, when it is faded, and what are women but flowers, fit only to\nbe gathered, in the moment of their bloom, and worn for an hour and\nthrown away?  And he is wise, who knows how to get from the bee its\nhoney, and yet elude its sting.  Now a maiden is all honey, but a wife\nis a buzzing sting.  Moreover, women are like mountains, and like\nsnakes, and fire, and the mirage, beautiful in the distance, and the\nfurther off, the better: and like them, rugged, and biting, and\nburning, and luring to destruction all who come too near.  But of all\nthings this is worst, that every woman wishes, like a king, to reign\nalone, and is utterly unable to endure the very name of rival, even in\nher dreams: so that every husband has in his wife, either a despotic\ntyrant, or an exasperated foe, whom nothing can appease or soothe but\nabsolute submission.  And thus his life is sapped and sucked and drawn\ninto the being of his wife, till it wholly disappears, like that of a\nnoble tree, embraced and treacherously kissed into a premature decay by\na beautiful and clinging creeper.  And no matter how glorious the\nflower, I will not be the tree: nor would I buy a wife, were she ten\nthousand times more beautiful than R\u00e1dh\u00e1, by the slavery even of a\nsingle day.  And what is the need to pay so dear for things that are\nalways ready to give themselves away for nothing, and would rather give\nthemselves away than be bought at any price?  For women are always\nlonging to give themselves away, and care only for men that they do not\nknow: being forgetful of all kindness, and unbound by obligation, and\nseeing in their husband nothing but his faults; while every passing\nstranger has their heart, as soon as he appears, just as long as he is\nstrange.  For Love is himself a stranger, and cannot become familiar\nwithout ceasing to be Love: and women live for Love alone, being, like\nflowers, nothing but his instruments: and he is like the amber, and\nthey are like the grass.\n\nSo when they found that, in spite of all that they could say, he would\nnot be persuaded, but that the more they tried, the harder grew his\nobstinacy, his parents gave it up.  And soon afterwards, their hearts\nbroke with grief, and they died, leaving him unmarried, and fearing for\nhim, and the kingdom, and their ancestors, and themselves, lest all\nshould go to ruin by reason of the incorrigible perversity of this\ncutter of their race's stalk.[7]\n\nAnd then, just as though he had only waited for their death, no sooner\nhad his two parents gone away on the great road, than this\nmarriage-hating son of theirs went hunting in the forest.  And he rode\na horse of spirit like his own, which after a while broke from control\nand fled at full speed, carrying him in an instant out of sight of all\nhis attendants.  And it brought him, deep in the heart of the wood, to\nhis destiny, in the form of a woman, the daughter of an old ascetic,\nwhose beauty, like a deadly snake, bit and slew, in a single moment,\nhis antipathy to the state of marriage, by the poison of its childlike\ncharm.  And utterly beside himself, he wooed her then and there, and\nbrought her home on his own horse, and made her his wife and Queen.\nAnd she changed him so completely, that he to whom a wife was slavery,\nbecame a woman's willing slave: so much so, that he could not bear to\nlet her out of his sight even for a single instant.  And he became,\nlike an image of Arddhan\u00e1ri,[8] inseparable from his wife, holding her\nin his arms night and day, and chafing, like a wild animal kept without\nfood in a cage, if she left him only to drink water.  And the God of\nthe flowery bow laughed, to see his infatuation; and he said softly to\nhimself: A converted scoffer is, after all, the best adorer: for even a\nvery clever swan would fail to separate this milk-and-water.[9] But the\nKing's subjects were overjoyed; and they said: Now, then, his parents\nwill be happy.  And if his passion is so violent, that at present he\nutterly neglects his kingly duties, no matter.  For when it has become\ncool, he will be the very crest-jewel of his race.\n\nAnd then, while he was entirely bewitched and enthralled by his passion\nfor his new young moon of a bride, some neighbouring kings, his\nhereditary enemies, hearing of his condition, and seizing their\nopportunity, combined together, and attacked him.  And after a while,\nhis subjects on the frontier, being ruined, paid no taxes.  So driven\nby necessity, he said to his wife, with a sigh: There is no help for\nit, and now I must absolutely leave thee for a little while, to pull\nthese thorns up by the roots: for if not, the kingdom will be\ndestroyed.  Yet only for a very little while: for I will return almost\nbefore I have started.  And collecting his army, he put himself at its\nhead, and threw himself upon those kings, and scattered them like\nleaves in a storm of wind, and reduced them to beg for mercy: for he\nwas beside himself with rage, seeing in them not so much enemies of his\nkingdom as causes of his unwilling separation from his wife.  And\nhaving speedily gained his object, he sent relays of horses, and posted\nthem at intervals all the way from his camp to his capital.  And then\nat last, one morning, he mounted a horse, and started with but one\nattendant, and a heart on fire, to return to his wife.\n\nSo they rode, all day long, at full speed: stopping only as long as was\nnecessary to let them leap from one horse to another, as if wishing to\nrival the sun in his course; till that unhappy companion of the King\nwas almost dead from fatigue, for he was not supported like his master\nby the burning desire to arrive.  But the King rode on as it were in a\ndream, seeing nothing before him but the edge of the far horizon, and\nthe image of his wife beyond.  And so the day went by, and as the sun\nwas going down, they drew near to the capital, and saw its walls before\nthem, away on the distant plain.  And the King uttered a shout, and he\ndrove his spurs deep into the flanks of his flying horse, and left his\nfollower far behind.  And he rode into the city like a whirlwind, and\ndashed through its streets, scattering the people, and spurning them as\nit were from his horse's hoofs.  And he reached his palace, and rode\nthrough the gates into the court, and threw himself to the ground.  And\nhe stood on the palace steps, and called aloud with a joyous voice: Ho!\ngo quickly, and tell the Queen that the King has come, and waits only\nfor her permission, to kneel at her lotus-feet.\n\nThen the guards, who stood around, gazed at the King and at each other,\nin silence and dismay.  And as they waited, there came to the King an\nold chamberlain, who stood before him with joined hands, and stooping;\nand his face was grey with fear.  And he said, with a shaking voice:\nLet the King show mercy.  Has he not met the couriers?  The Queen died\nof a burning fever, only three days ago.\n\nAnd the King fell to the earth, as though one had struck him on the\nhead with an iron club.\n\n\n\n[1] The hair of Shiwa, who caught the Ganges as it fell from heaven\nupon his head.  It took the river a thousand years to find its way out.\n\n[2] [Greek: Theus anait\u00edos, ait\u00eda d' helom\u00e9nou.]\n\n[3] I must ask the reader to excuse me for using a Scottish expression,\nfor there is no English equivalent.  It means to work out the fate that\nis laid upon him by what has been done in a previous existence.\n\n[4] The English reader should know, not only that the Great God's hair\nis red or tawny, but that he has in his nature a strain of wildness,\nsomething on the border-land of insanity.\n\n[5] _The hair_, or _the abode, of Shiwa_.\n\n[6] Nandi, whose hair is white.\n\n[7] Because, as Lucian said, without an heir to perform the due\nceremonies, the unfortunate shades would have to go hungry and thirsty.\n\n[8] Shiwa and P\u00e1rwat\u00ed combined.\n\n[9] _Kshira nira, milk-and-water_, is a technical term in Hindoo\nerotics for a very close embrace.  The swan is credited by Hindoo poets\nwith the power of separating the two: a curious idea, of which it is\nnot easy to see the origin.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nAnd they took him up, and carried him in, and laid him on a bed.  And\nthere he remained, like a dead man, and for so long, that they begun to\ndoubt whether he were not dead indeed.  But at last, the physicians by\ntheir remedies brought him back to the body.  But his reason had fled.\nFor he raved and fought, struggling with the strength of a giant, and\nbiting like a wild beast, tearing his own hair, and shouting for his\nwife.  And he threw himself upon his attendants, and handled them so\nthat they feared for their lives: and he ran through the palace hunting\nfor his wife, and calling her by name.  And when he could not find her,\nhe fell on all whom he met, and beat them, and came so near to killing\nmany, that at last his ministers took counsel, and caused him to be\nbound.  So after raging for many days, taking neither food nor drink,\nhe fell into a burning fever, as if he wished to follow his wife by the\nvery road she went herself; and he lay for many weeks on the very\nthreshold of the door of death.  But his strength was such that he\ncould not die.  And so, after a long while, he came back, very slowly,\nand as it were against his will, to life and to himself: and little by\nlittle recovered health, and took once more to his kingly duties, and\nthe bearing of the burden of the state.  But it was, as if his better\npart had died, refusing to be parted from his wife, in the other world,\nand leaving behind in this only so much of his soul as was necessary to\nenable him to live at all.  For he never moved from his palace, roaming\nabout its rooms, always silent, and always alone, with his head sunk\ndown upon his breast, and his sad eyes fixed upon the ground: and over\nhis dark face there never passed the whiteness of a smile: for his dead\nwife's shadow lay across it, and her figure moved before him night and\nday; and her sweetness, not to be forgotten, and never to return,\nrankled in his heart like a thorn, and goaded it, and gnawed it, and\nfestered in his soul: and sleep forsook his eyes, which were wild, and\nhaggard, and such that all who saw them feared him, and were wary in\nhis presence: for every now and then he broke out into paroxysms of\ngrief mixed with laughter, during which he seemed, as it were, not to\nknow what he was doing, and was as dangerous to approach as a wild\nmother elephant robbed by hunters of her calf.  And so he lived, and\nmonths went by, and the grey hairs came before their time and settled\nin his head, and sowed as it were its fire with the ashes of grey\ngrief: and age saw her opportunity, and began unheeded and unhindered\nto furrow wrinkles in his brow, and dig deep corners at the ends of his\nstern shut lips.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nNow it happened, on a day, when the Great God was roaming through the\nsky with Um\u00e1 in his arms, that they passed close by the moon.  And\nsuddenly, they heard in the stillness a mournful voice, like the note\nof a _chakraw\u00e1k\u00ed_ bewailing her lost mate, exclaiming at intervals:\nAlas! alas!  So they stopped and alighted on the surface of the\ncold-rayed orb, and wandered about in his camphored air, guided by the\nsound, till they came all at once upon a Siddh\u00e1.[1]  And she was\nsitting under a sandal tree, leaning her head against the trunk, with\nlarge tears in her great blue eyes, and a cloud of dark dishevelled\nhair floating about her bare white bosom, whose two colossal pearls\nrose and fell, heaving and fretting as if regretting their absent ocean\nhome.  Then filled with compassion and curiosity, Um\u00e1 exclaimed: What\ncan be the meaning of this sighing Siddh\u00e1?  And Maheshwara divined the\ntruth.  But he said: Ask her.  Thereupon P\u00e1rwat\u00ed said: O thou lotus\nlady, what is thy trouble?  And the Siddh\u00e1 said: O Daughter of the\nMountain, I have attained, by superfluity of merit, to this position of\na Siddh\u00e1, which notwithstanding is only a grief and no pleasure to me.\nFor I remember my former birth, and I can see my husband, sorrowing for\nmy absence away below.  And now I would give all that remains of my\nunexhausted stock of accumulated merit for a single moment of the time\nthat is past, did it last no longer than the twinkling of an eye.  For\nwhat is the use of my Siddh\u00e1hood, or anything else, without my lord?\nOr why am I cursed with reminiscence, and not rather rewarded with\noblivion?  For memory binds my soul, and links it like a red hot chain\nto the burning fire of a dead delight.\n\nThen P\u00e1rwat\u00ed said in private to the God: Canst thou not do something\nfor this lovely Siddh\u00e1?  And Maheshwara replied: This is the nature of\nwomen, that for the sake of their single lover, they would annihilate\nthe three worlds.  But what has pity to do with the constitution of the\nuniverse?  Or how can time return again, and all be thrown into\nconfusion, simply to allow two foolish lovers to meet once more?  So\nthere is nothing whatever to be done.  But P\u00e1rwat\u00ed coaxed him and\ncajoled him, knowing the power of her two white arms, until at last he\nsaid: Since I can refuse thee nothing, and thou art absolutely set upon\nit, I will, to please thee, cause these two unhappy persons to re-enact\ntheir little drama, and taste again the nectar of that love which they\nso much regret: but only in a dream.  For dreams were established by\nthe Creator for this very reason, that a remedy might be found for the\nirrevocable nature of reality.  For that must be as it has been, and\ncannot be recalled or changed: but anything may happen in a dream.  And\nyet, this pair of lovers would be wiser, were they content to let\nalone, and leave things as they are.  For they will but make their\nmisery more, by the very means they wish to take to lessen and remove\nit.  But be that as it may.\n\nAnd then, he cast upon the Siddh\u00e1 a kindly glance.  And he said: Silly\nchild, that wouldst be wiser than those who framed the three great\nworlds, be now consoled.  Thou shalt, at least, have thy way, for a\nlittle while, and meet the lord of thy heart again, halfway between\nheaven and earth.\n\nAnd hearing this, the Siddh\u00e1 fell before him, and took his foot, and\nkissed it, and placed it in her bosom.  And she said: O saviour of the\nshipwrecked that are sinking in the waves of time, O send me thy\nsuccour soon, for I am like one dying of thirst in the desert for the\nblue water of my husband's arms.\n\n\n\n[1] The moon, according to some philosophers, is the home of those\n_pure spirits_, who have purged themselves in former births\nsufficiently to deserve a certain grade of beatitude or bliss.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nAnd at that very moment, the King her husband on the earth was sitting\nin his palace hall, musing on her memory, and dreaming of the past, and\nlistening to the musicians, playing before him as he sat.  So as they\nplayed, as luck would have it, they fell upon an air, which ran into\nhis heart, and pierced it like a poisoned needle: for it was the\nfavourite air of his vanished Queen.  And as he listened, the tears\ncame rushing into his eyes, blinding them with love-longing and the\nblackness of despair.  And he started up, and called aloud, in a voice\nof thunder: Away! begone!  Wretches, have ye conspired together to\nbreak my heart in two?  And instantly, those unlucky players stopped\naffrighted, and fled before his wrath like hares.  And as all shrank\nbefore him, the domestic chaplain came forward, and said politely: O\nKing, without are waiting certain merchants, jewellers, who have come\nhere by appointment, to lay their jewels at thy feet.\n\nThen the King said, with a sigh: What are all their gems to me?  And\nyet, no matter: let them all come in.\n\nSo in came all the merchants, and showed the King each what he had.\nAnd the King went up and down, saying sadly to himself: Now every\npleasure is a pain, and every joy, a grief.  For what are jewels to me,\nnow that she is no more, on whom I would have hung them till she sank\nbeneath their weight?  And then, as if in irony, he took the jewels and\nbegan to put them on himself.  And taking from the merchants all they\nhad, he hung himself all over, loading himself with gorgeous gems, with\nemeralds and rubies, and pearls and amethysts and diamonds, and\nsapphires, and every other stone, till he flashed as it were with a\nthousand hues, and resembled an incarnation of the spoiling of the sea.\n\nSo as he went from one merchant to another, adding to his store, he\ncame suddenly on an old merchant, who stood a little apart from the\nrest, with nothing visible to sell.  And his head was of enormous size,\nand bare,[1] and bald on the top, and from its sides long thick white\nhair ran down over his shoulders, and mingled with his beard.  And his\nface was wrinkled all over, like the skin of a withered fruit.  And the\nKing stopped and considered him, amazed at the extraordinary size of\nhis head, which resembled a monstrous gourd.  And then he said: Ha!\nmerchant: thou art idle.  Where are thy valuables, and what is thy\ncommodity?  Doubtless that must be a treasure, which thou keepest\nwrapped away so carefully from common eyes.  But come, produce it: that\nI may add it to all these.  Then said the merchant: All these are well\nenough: and yet, the thing that I have brought the King is more than\nall together, and yet again, less than the least.  Then the King said:\nOf what, then, art thou a seller?  And the merchant said: O King, I am\na seller of dreams.\n\nAnd the King looked at him awhile, and was seized with sudden laughter.\nAnd he exclaimed: What is this, and who ever heard of a seller of\ndreams?  Art thou mad, or art thou only an old buffoon?  Then that old\nmerchant fixed his eyes upon the King.  And he said:\n\nO King, who can tell, whether he is mad or not?  But as for me, know,\nthat mine are no common dreams, but they are such as many would give\nall they had, and more than all they had, to dream.  For I can make the\npast present, and I can find that which is lost, and join together whom\ntime has parted, and turn regret to laughing joy: and I can mend the\nbroken-hearted, and bring love's fierce emotion back, and into faded\nflowers of passion I can breathe again their old sweet bloom, and make\nto echo in living ears the music of lips that have long been dead.\n\nAnd as he spoke, the King stood, and his heart rose up into his mouth.\nFor the words of the old merchant played on it, as if it were a lute,\nand tugged at it like a cord; and the memory of his wife surged\nsuddenly in his soul, and swept it like a wind.  And all at once, he\nseized that old man by the throat, with hands that trembled with the\necstasy of rage, and shook him like a leaf.  And his voice faltered\nwith passion, as he said: Old fool, dost thou mock me?  Dost thou\npromise, without performing?  Beware! for thou art playing with a fire\nthat will shrivel thee like a blade of grass.\n\nThen said the old merchant, with laughter in his wrinkled eyes: O King,\nthou art a child, not recognising thy physician, and seeking a quarrel\nwith the only one who can give thee a medicine suited to thy case.  For\nI am a physician, not of the body, but of the soul.  So now, tell me:\nwilt thou buy from me a dream, or not?  And the King looked at him for\na moment; and he drew a long breath, and the tears stood in his eyes.\nAnd he said: Sell me indeed a dream, such as I wish, and thou hast\ndescribed, and I tell thee this, that I will not haggle with thee over\nthe price.  Then the old man laughed softly, and he said: Mah\u00e1r\u00e1j, who\never speaks of the price, before he has seen and tried the goods?\nFirst, thou shalt have thy dream; and as to the price, we will leave\nit: and thou thyself shalt name it, at the end.  For maybe, didst thou\nknow the price, thou wouldst hesitate to buy at all.\n\nThen he put his hand into his breast, and drew out a little flask.  And\nhe held that little crystal flask up in the air, looking for a ray of\nlight.  And when he could not find one, that old man muttered under his\nbreath: Sun, sun, send me a ray.  And at that very moment, there shot\ninto the room a ray of light, right on the little flask.  And then that\nold man said: O King, see! this is a little of the very essence of the\nnectar of the cold-rayed moon, where I have been this morning, to fetch\nit from that lord of herbs.  And the King looked, and lo! there danced\nin that little flask a liquor that laughed and bubbled, and its deep\nblue was exactly the same as the colour of his dead wife's eyes.  And\nlike them, it smiled at him, changing from hue to hue, till it seemed\nto him that those very eyes were looking straight into his own, out of\nthe little flask.  And quickly he put out his hand, and snatched it,\nand took the stopper from its mouth.  And there came from it a perfume\nthat carried to his nostrils the scent of his dead wife's hair.  And\nhis brain reeled, and he put it hastily to his lips, to drink.  And as\nhe did so, suddenly there came into his head a thought.  And he paused\nin the very act, looking at that old merchant, out of the corner of his\neye.  And he said to himself: Ha!  What if this old seeming merchant\nwere an emissary of those foes of mine, whom I defeated, to give me a\ndeadly draught?  Or even so, what matter?  Let me drink quickly, the\nmore poisonous, the better.  For life without her will not be worse,\neven when turned to death.\n\nAnd then, at a single gulp, he drank the contents of the flask.  And\ninstantly, he sank back, and lay on the cushions on which he fell,\nburied in a magic sleep.\n\nBut as soon as he saw that the King slept, that old merchant stooped\ndown, and squatted quickly on the floor, with his two hands grounded\nbetween his feet, and his knees reaching to his ears.  And there he\nremained, with closed eyes, couched in the pitcher posture like a\nlonely, water-watching crane, and still, as if he had been painted on\nthe wall.\n\n\n\n[1] _I.e._ he had no turban on.  In the East, on entering a house the\nhead remains covered; it is the shoes which are removed.\n\n\n\n\nLove's Looking-Glass\n\n\n\nLove's Looking-Glass\n\nI\n\nSKY-CRYSTAL\n\nBut the King's soul rose out of his body, like a snake escaping from\nits slough.  And he hovered for only a single instant, over that empty\nshell of him, lying, loaded with priceless gems, on the floor below,\nand then shot up into the blue sky, like a flame parted from its wick.\nAnd as he flew like a thought through space, going like the wind he\nknew not where, the King said to himself: Ha! so then, I was not\ndeceived.  Certainly, that old impostor was not a merchant, but a\nsecret agent of my foes, and now I am dead, beyond a doubt.  And that\ndelicious poison was as speedy as it was beautiful and sweet.  And now\nI can say farewell to life without regret.  And yet I should like to\nknow, where in the world I can be going.\n\nSo as he floated in the air, bathed in unutterable peace, there came\nover his mounting soul a feeling of supreme disdain and loathing for\nhis body that was lying down below.  And he said to himself, as he\nclosed his eyes: Ah! joy, for I have left behind that wretched sheath,\nwith all its poor surroundings and its miserable mundane ties.  I have\nemerged, as it were, from a charnel ground, and surely that divine\nliquor was, as that old vendor said, a very potent essence of nectar\nand celestial wine, mixed of the icy camphor and the oozy juices of the\nmoon.[1]  For I feel like one intoxicated, and I swim, as it were, in\nperfume, whose pungent and excessive sweetness almost robs me of my\ngiddied sense; and I lie on the azure ether as if on a silken couch,\npoised as it were between earth and heaven, and yet I seem to soar like\nsome earth-despising spirit-roamer in the sky.\n\nThen after a while, he opened his eyes, and looked round, and saw\nhimself alone in the vault of space, surrounded by the stars.  And he\nwas rushing like a comet[2] through the mansions of the moon, and he\nsaw Chitr\u00e1, and Sw\u00e1ti, and Rohini and the Hunter,[3] and the rest, and\nfar in the north, the polar star.  And he looked down on the Seven\nRishis,[4] and saw, far below him, the icy summits of the Snowy\nMountain, with the yellow digit of the moon clinging to the peak of\nKailas, like the earth of old on the horn of the holy Boar.[5]\n\nAnd then suddenly, memory pierced him like a needle.  And he cried out:\nAlas!  I am still alone, and in this respect, even death has brought no\nchange.  And what then is the use of death, if it does not restore me\nto my wife?  And what is the use of this rushing speed?  For I am\nhurrying, against my will, into the very zenith of infinite space.\n\nAnd even as he spoke, he stopped, and hung in the air like a fleck of\ncloud.  And strange! as if the very thought had produced her, suddenly\nhe found his wife in his arms.  And as her own arms glided around his\nneck, and her bosom beat against his own, his hair stood on end with\namazement and delight.  And he heard the beating of his own heart,\nthrobbing like thunder through the realms of space.  And just as he was\ngoing to speak, she stopped his mouth by kissing him with soft lips\nopening into a smile, and eyes that reflected the colour of the sky.\nAnd she said: Quick, let us lose no time.  Then he said: Ah! couldst\nthou die, leaving me without thee in that hell below?  Then she said\nagain: How can mortals disobey, when destiny decrees?  It was from\nnecessity that I left thee, and not from choice.  But let us quickly\nmake the most of a little time, granted only by the favour of the God\nwho has the moon in his hair, and destined to end and disappear almost\nas soon as it has begun.  Dost thou remember how we met, and saw each\nother first of all, away in the wood below?  Come back now once more\nwith me, and let us live and love again, and taste the nectar of\nrepetition, before we part to meet no more.\n\nAnd instantly the King lost his senses, and lay in a dream within a\ndream.  And as they floated in each other's arms, between the heaven\nand the earth, the past rose up out of the dark, before him, spread\nlike a picture before his eyes and breathed like a tale into his ear.\n\n\n\n[1] Three things are essentially associated in Sanskrit poetry with the\nmoon--icy cold, camphor, and the medicinal virtue of drugs.\n\n[2] _Falling meteors_, says the _Brihat Sanhita_, are the _fruits of\nvirtue enjoyed in heaven dropping in visible form_.\n\n[3] Orion.\n\n[4] The Great Bear.\n\n[5] Wishnu, who in his third incarnation became a boar to support the\nearth: _jaya jagadisha hare!_\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nSPRUNG FROM THE MUD\n\nAnd once again, he rode through the forest at headlong speed, and the\ntrees flew by him like frightened shadows, while his horse ran on, and\ncarried him swiftly whither it would, into the forest depths.  And then\nat last, it stopped short, on the very edge of a great river, close to\nan aged banyan tree, whose hanging roots dropped from the branches to\nthe ground, and with their network almost hid a little ruined shrine,\nwhose roof their pillars pierced and split, and whose steps ran down\ninto the stream beneath their sacred shade, where the quiet water was\nlittered thick with lotus flowers and floating withered leaves.  And\nthere he fell from his horse's back and threw himself upon the ground:\nand he and his horse together slaked their intolerable thirst, with\nneither eyes nor ears for aught, till they had drunk their fill.  And\nthen, with a wisp of leaves and grass, he began to wipe the foam and\nsweat from the quivering limbs of that noble horse, dearer to him, till\nthat very moment, than anything else on earth.\n\nSo as he stood, wholly intent on his horse and his work, he heard\nbehind him a little rustle, and a low cry.  And he looked round.  And\nin that instant, like a flash of lightning, he utterly forgot his\nhorse, and himself, and everything else in the three worlds.\n\nFor there, standing a little way off, under that old root-dropping fig,\nwas one who resembled the guardian spirit of that virgin forest's\nenchanted beauty, caught in the very act of changing into a feminine\nform, and leaving him in doubt as he gazed, whether she was a woman or\na tree, or a being mixed of both.  For the coarse red bark that clothed\nher left bare her arms and feet, which were shaped like those of Hari's\ndarling,[1] and it cased and swathed her soft round limbs, allowing\nthem to escape, like the calyx of a new young flower, or a rough hard\nhusk on the very point of bursting open, by reason of the ripeness of\nthe tempting fruit of womanhood, hardly to be held within.  And a spray\nof blue convolvulus[2] hung twining all about her, trailing like a\ncreeper from her hair, which was twisted up into a great dark knot on\nthe very top of her pretty head, and hung there like a purple bank of\nthunder-cloud, out of whose shadow her great blue eyes looked round as\nthe moon with wonder at the thing they saw before them.  And her chin\nwas very pointed, shaped like a _pippal_ leaf, and over it the\nmind-born god had set the seal of his bow in her face, black in the\ntwin-arch of her brow, and red in her juicy _bimb\u00e1_ lips.  And\nastonishment flushed her cheeks, like fruits, with a spot of damask\nblush, like bloom.  And a single lotus, red as blood, nestled in the\nlittle hollow dip between the mounds of her rising breasts, upland\nhills where the robber Love lay lurking, to spoil the traveller of his\nheart.  And the sweeping curve of her heavy hips stole the eyes of the\nKing away from her slender clasp-inviting waist, till it came to an end\nin the nook of her inward-bending knee.  And her left hand rested\ngently on a pillar of the tree, while her right was stretched before\nher, bending back, palm upwards, with all its fingers spread, till the\ntip of its forefinger just touched her lower lip.  And Love fished for\nthe King's soul with her lovely wrist and arm, and took it in their\nnet.  And she was standing bolt upright, poised like a flower on her\nleft foot's toes, with her right foot just behind it, exactly like a\ngraceful fawn suddenly frozen into stone when running at its utmost\nspeed by the sight of danger in its path.  For she stood absolutely\nstill, save that the lotus on her breast was lifted quickly up and down\nby the flutter of the maiden-wave on which it swam.\n\nSo they two stood, still as death, each thunderstruck by the other's\nvision, like a panther and its prey.[3]  And then at last, after a time\nthat seemed to each in spite of its length but a single instant, for\neach was lost in the other, standing on the threshold of Love's\ndream-bower where years are moments and time lies dead, she spoke, and\nbroke the spell.  And she said, softly: It is a man.  Surely, thou art\na man?  And the King said, with a smile: O maid, what else?  Then she\nsaid again: And thy companion, what is he?  And the King said: He is a\nhorse.  Then she clapped her hands together, and exclaimed, as she held\nthem joined: Ah! stand still a little longer, and let me watch both him\nand thee.  For I have never seen before, either a horse or a man.  So\nhe stood still as she desired; and as she watched him, he watched her.\nAnd her blue eyes rested on him, and entered into his soul, and shook\nit so, that he began to tremble all over with the horror of extreme\ndelight.  And he said to himself: I too, I too, see a woman, for the\nvery first time in all my life; which, till this very moment, has been\nwasted and empty and worthless, and contemptible and without a point.\nHa!  I am like a dark black night, that has suddenly been flooded with\nthe rapture of a golden sun.  O hail!  O bright great God, in the form\nof that blue-eyed beautiful thing before me, that fills me with\nastonishment and laughter and supreme delight.  And presently he said:\nO thou with the blue flowers in thy hair and the blue wonder in thy\nenormous eyes, that resemble those of a child, how can it be that in a\nworld so full of them, thou shouldst never yet have set those eyes on\neither a man or a horse?\n\nThen she started as if from a dream.  And she came up close to him, and\nraised her hand, as though she would touch his arm: and barely touched\nit, with a touch like that of a leaf, which struck the King like a\nheavy blow.  And she said, looking up at him, doubtfully: But O thou\ngreat, beautiful, deep-voiced man, how should I see either?  For out of\nthis wood I never was, and into it nothing ever comes, and in it are\nonly its own trees, with the flowers, and the river, and the forest\nbeasts, and my father and myself.  Then the King said: Thy father?  And\nis not he a man?  And she said: Nay, if thou art, he is not.  For he is\nold, very old, and smaller even than myself, and his hair and beard are\nthin and white, and his arms and legs are rough as bark, and dry and\nthin as sticks.  And he sits always stiff and silent, plunged in\nmeditation, resembling the stump of an ancient tree: and it is the same\nas if he were not alive.[4]  And if thou wilt, I will show him to thee,\na little way within the wood: and yet, it were better not, for it would\nbut distract his meditation.  But thou art tall and straight and\nstrong, and glorious, and young like me: and yet far bigger than\nmyself! for see! how even on tiptoe I reach hardly to thy shoulder.\nAnd thy hair is like the lion's mane, and thou art like him to look at,\nand wonderful in every way, and such as I could never have believed.\nFor often I have thought of men, and wondered what they could be like,\nbut never dreamed of one like thee.  Look only at my hand, and thine,\nor at my arm, or foot, and thine, and see how small and weak[5] a thing\nI am, compared with thee!\n\nAnd the King looked at her, as she spoke; and when she ended, he began\nto laugh for very joy.  And he said: O beautiful little blue-eyed\ncreature, thou dost not know thy own strength, nor where it lies, but\nhow as to thy mother?  Hadst thou, indeed, a mother, or didst thou not\nrather grow, like a flower, out of some forest tree?  Then she said:\nNay, I had a mother: but alas! long ago she went away, before I can\nremember.  For she was a heavenly Apsaras, whom Indra sent down here\nbelow, to tempt my father in this wood, and turn him from his\npenance.[6]  And she came and stayed with him awhile, and afterwards\nshe went away, flying up to heaven, and leaving me behind her with my\nfather in the wood.  And the King said: I do not blame thy father: what\nwonder, indeed, if she overcame his resolution, did she resemble her\nfuture daughter, even a very little?  And thy words require no other\nwitness to their truth, except thyself.  For beyond a doubt thou art\nthe very daughter of an Apsaras.  Then she said: And hast thou ever\nseen an Apsaras?  And the King laughed, and he said: Nay, not until\nthis moment.  But come now, let me only tether my horse to yonder tree,\nand then, if thou wilt, we will sit and talk together.  And I will be\nthy playfellow, and will tell thee things that thou dost not know, and\nthou shall tell me of nothing but thyself.\n\nThen she said joyfully: Ah! tie him, and come quickly.  And the King\nstood looking at her for a moment, and then he said: Sweet Blue-eyes,\nand art thou not afraid of me?  And she looked at him enquiringly, with\nno shadow of suspicion, and said: Of what should I be afraid?  For art\nthou not a man, and which of the Creator's creatures injures its own\nkind?  And the King gazed into her soul, through the window of her\nclear and smiling eyes, and again he laughed aloud for sheer delight.\nAnd he said to himself: Ha! exquisite is her intoxicating simplicity,\nin that she does not know, that man alone is the exception to her rule.\nAnd then he said: Sweet forest flower, what if I were tempted to pluck\nthee, and carry thee away with me on my horse?  And yet, fear nothing:\nfor thou art very right, and I am, of all the Creator's creatures, the\none who would be most loth to do thee harm.  And men were made strong\nby the Creator for this very reason, to guard such wonderful weak\nthings as thee.  And he said to himself: Now, let my followers only not\nfind me till the evening, and by the favour of the Deity, I will win\nthe trust of this bewitching maiden, and get her to come away with me.\nOr if not, I will stay in the wood with her for ever, becoming for her\nsake like one of these forest trees, rooted to the spot.\n\nAnd then he took his horse, and tied him to the tree.  And then they\nwent together and sat down upon the moss-grown steps that ran down into\nthe river: he on one, and she on another, just below.\n\n\n\n[1] The Hindoo Aphrodite.\n\n[2] The K\u00e1mal\u00e1t\u00e1 is commonly described as red: this was perhaps some\nkind of Ipom\u00e6a, allied to the great white moon-flower of Ceylon.\n\n[3] An \"old _shikarri_\" told me, that he saw on one occasion a panther\nstalking a goat.  As soon as they saw each other, they both stood\nstock-still, so long, that at last the goat concluded his panther was a\nmere illusion, and recommenced his dinner, browsing with unruffled\nmind.  He would have paid dear for his simplicity, had not his crafty\nstalker been this time stalked himself.\n\n[4] These ancient forest hermits, who lived alone in jungle, doing\npenance and eating nothing, are one of the conventions of Hindoo fairy\nstories.  Such a one, like the medi\u00e6val saint, _a bundle of bones whose\nbreath corrupts the world before his death_, generally has a daughter,\nto whose rare beauty he forms the contrast: that sharp, fierce\ncontrast, which is the essence of the East, like life and death.\n\n[5] _Abal\u00e1_, \"_weak_,\" \"_without strength_,\" is a common Sanskrit word\nfor a woman, _Vas infirmius_.\n\n[6] Indra is represented as jealous of all ascetics, lest they should\nreach his total of _a century of sacrifices_ (_Shatahratu_).  But his\nbattle with Raghu on this head ended in a compromise (_vide\nRaghuwansh\u00e4_, canto iii.).\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nPURUSHA AND PRAKRITI\n\nAnd then, for a little while, he sat in silence, looking now at the\nriver, and now at her.  But she gazed at him with great eyes that never\nleft him for a moment, and saw nothing but himself.  And suddenly he\nsaid to her: Blue-eyes, Blue-eyes, how long is it, since I met thee in\nthe wood?  Then she said: It is but a single moment.  Then he said:\nThou art utterly mistaken: it is more than many thousand years.  And as\nshe looked at him in wonder, he exclaimed: Ha! there it is again, and O\nhow beautiful thou art!  O thine eyes are full of wonder and my soul is\nfull of joy.  Dear child, see, yonder is the river, flowing as it has\nbeen flowing ever since it first began; and here am I, to thee the\nfirst and only man, for thou hast never seen another, and there art\nthou, for me the only woman, and her very type and soul.  And like the\nancient Soul of Man,[1] I have been wandering about, forlorn and\nwretched and lonely in the dark without thee, and now at last I have\nfound in thee my Prakriti, since thou art the very spirit of the beauty\nof this wood, incarnate in a woman's lovely form.  And as I look at\nthee, laughter seems to fill my soul, for joy that I have found thee,\nand I feel as if, like thee, I had suddenly become a child, whereas\nbefore I was a man.  And all this has come about in the moment since we\nmet, a moment which is like a door, opening on one life, and closing on\nanother, and it resembles the beginning and the end.\n\nThen she said: I do not understand thee: yet speak on, without\nstopping: for I could look at thee and listen to thy voice, for ever.\nAnd the King said: Blue-eyes, if thou dost not understand, no matter:\nand possibly I am speaking at random words without a meaning, for thy\ngreat eyes deprive me of my reason, and I know not very well what I\nsay.  But now it is thy turn.  And tell me, what dost thou do with\nthyself alone in this empty wood?  Hast thou companions other than\nmyself?  Then she said: I have for companions the deer of the forest,\nand the parrots that live in this great tree, and the peacock that thou\nseest yonder on the temple wall, and the crows that come to eat the\ndaily offering, and the flowers which I water and wear woven in my\nhair.  And I have many things to do.  For sometimes I ramble in the\nwood, and hunt for flowers, and watch the monkeys and the squirrels\nthat play in the trees: and when I am tired, I sit still, playing with\nmy hair, and rolling and unrolling it, for it is longer than I am\nmyself and a trouble and a hindrance to me, till I knot it up thus out\nof the way on the top of my head, like my father's.[2]  And sometimes I\ngo and see my father, but I am afraid of him, for though his body is\nthere, his soul is almost always absent from the body.  And sometimes I\nsit by the river, when the wind is still, and watch in its mirror the\nclouds that float in the blue sky far below, like the swans upon its\nwave.  And the river itself is a friend to me, for every day I bathe in\nit, and I often sit and wonder whence it comes and where it goes, and\nlook to see what it carries down: and in the rainy season it changes,\nand grows red and angry, and murmurs and chafes, and swells till it\nreaches to the very foot of the tree.  And sometimes when the moon is\nfull, I hide in the hollow trees at night;, and peep out at the\nelephants as they wander down to drink.  And the King said: But do the\nother animals not molest thee?  Then she said: Nay, for they dare not:\nfor they all know my father well, who understands their language, and\nhas warned them.  And they fear him, lest he should curse them if they\nharmed me, and keep them from ever rising up into humanity, being\nprisoned for ever by the power of his curse in the dungeon of their\ncreeping[3] bodies.  And the King said, with emphasis: Aye! they who\nshould injure thee would indeed deserve to be immured for all eternity\nin the lowest of all living forms.  And I thank thy excellent old\nfather for preserving thee under the shadow of his awful curse.  And\nyet, for all this, surely thy life was lonely?  Didst thou never long\nfor a companion of thine own kind, such a playfellow, for instance, as\nmyself?\n\nThen she said: Though I knew it not before, yet now that thou art come,\nI see that I was lonely.  For often I used to watch myself reflected in\nthe water, and talk to my image, and wish that it could answer me.  And\nsometimes in the moonlight I would play with my shadow, and wish, oh!\nso much, that it could come to life.  And often I used to long, not\nknowing what I wanted; but now I am very sure that it was thou.  And\nwhen I look at thee, and hear thy voice, I cannot understand how I\ncould have lived without thee.  For thou art like another self, made\nvisible in a human form: and yet thou art other, and more than that\nfirst self, which is I.\n\nAnd the King gazed at her, with fire in his veins.  And he said to\nhimself: She is innocence itself, in a virgin form of matchless and\nincomparable beauty, and speaks without understanding the meaning of\nher own words.  For love lies hiding, lurking in her soul, and yet she\ndoes not know it.  And yet, though she does not, I know well, and only\ntoo well, now, what it is to be in love: for she burns my heart like a\nflame, all the more, that she is utterly unconscious of the power of\nher own beauty.  And then he said: Blue-eyes, canst thou tell me this?\nSay, wouldst thou rather that I were in very truth the double of\nthyself, like thy image in the water, a woman, and not a man?  And she\nanswered, without hesitation: Nay, it is better as it is.  And the King\ntrembled with joy.  And he said: Yet why?  Then she pondered for a\nwhile, and then she said: I cannot tell.  And yet I feel, that I would\nrather have thee different from myself than the same; and yet I know\nnot why.  But what does it matter, why?  since it is better as it is.\nAnd the King said with emotion: Sweet, thou art right.  Aye! it is far\nbetter, and it does not matter why.\n\nAnd as he spoke, there came a murmur, and a rushing sound in the air.\nAnd he looked up in terror, and listened, and exclaimed: Ah! what is\nthat?  Then she said: It is nothing but the sighing of the wind in the\nhollows of the young bamboos.\n\n\n\n[1] Purusha and Prakriti answer, in a sense, to our Adam and Eve: as\nthe Germans would say, the _Ur-mensch_ and _Ur-weib_ of the world.\n\n[2] Ascetics wear their hair twisted in a knot, in imitation of the\nprince of them all, Maheshwara.\n\n[3] When Ovid contrasted the _os sublime_ of man with that of the\nanimals, he gave expression to the idea that underlies the curious\nSanskrit term for the brute-creation, the horizontal-goers\n(_tiryag-j\u00e1ti_).\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nBUBBLES\n\nAnd the King sighed also, with relief: for he feared that his followers\nhad found him in the wood.  And then he said: Blue-eyes, hast thou a\nname?  Then she said: I have only the name which was my mother's.  And\nthe King said: What was that?  Then she said: Long ago, when my father\nfirst saw my mother in the wood, she was standing by a bush, which had\njust burst into blossom all over, as if by the touch of her foot.[1]\nAnd the bees were humming and bustling eagerly all about it and her, as\nif they wished to kiss her, and my father saw it, and he called her by\na name of his own, that has come by inheritance also to me.  For my\nfather has never called me anything else.  And the King said: And what\nthen was the name?  And she said: Alichumbit\u00e1.[2]  And the King clapped\nhis hands, and exclaimed: Certainly, thy father is admirable, and thy\nname appropriate.  And sure I am, that there must be more than the name\nof relationship between that happy bush and thee.  And I am tempted to\nbelieve that thy story of an Apsaras was false, and that thou hadst for\na mother no other than the very indwelling spirit of that\nsweetly-scented, bee-haunted bush.  Then she said: Nay, my mother was\nan Apsaras.  And the King exclaimed: How shall I believe thee?  For\nalready I am beginning to doubt whether thou ever hadst either mother\nor father, and wert not rather directly compounded by the Deity himself\nin the form of a bee, going from flower to flower, and culling thy\ncomposition out of every flower's fragrant essence and every blossom's\npainted bloom.  And she said laughing: And what then was thy\ncomposition?  And the King looked at her joyously, and said: The Deity\nwas thy creator, and thou art mine.  For I never lived until this\nmoment, and this is all thy doing.  Thou hast found me like an empty\nshell, and filled me with colour and emotion and the salt of beauty and\nthe sound of laughter and the tossing to and fro of the waves of\npleasure and delight.  Now put me to thy ear, and I shall echo like the\nsea.  Then she said: Once more, I do not understand.  And the King\nsaid: O ocean, no matter.  But thy shell must murmur, being full of\nthee, whether it will or no.  And yet, this at least now thou dost\nsurely understand, that I was right, and that ages have elapsed, since\nwe met each other a little while ago in the wood.  For I have utterly\nforgotten every fragment of my life that went before, and as I said, I\nhave begun to live, only since I saw thy face.  And thou hast\ndiscovered that thy life in the wood was very lonely till I came.  And\nit is as though we had both been sleeping, and had just waked up.  And\nnow we are playfellows, and I will be King, and thou shall be Queen.\nOr hast thou never heard of kings and queens?  Then she said: Nay, I\nhave heard.  For formerly, before my father became so utterly devoted\nto asceticism, he used to tell me stories.  And in almost every story,\nthere was a king and queen.  Then the King said: And if then I were\nking, wouldst thou come away with me and be my queen?  And she laughed,\nand said: But what sort of queen should I be, that know nothing of the\nduties and behaviour of a queen?\n\nThen he said: Sweet little Queen, although thou dost not know it, thy\nqualifications for the post of queen are such that they could not be\nsurpassed.  And the duties are easy to be learned, and the pleasures\nmore than thou couldst dream.  Only come with me, and I will show thee\nwhat they are.  Or if thou wilt, I will draw thee a picture in the air,\nand hold it up before thee, to show thee as in a mirror thy life as a\nqueen, and give thee a foretaste of its nectar.  Hast thou never\nwatched the bubbles on the surface of the stream?  Dost thou not know\nhow every bubble is like a little heaven, and glows for a moment with\nevery colour of the sky, and bursts: but the sky remains?  So is it\nwith my picture.  For like a bubble, it will burst as soon as painted,\nbeing only words: but the heaven which it shows thee in its mirror\nshall be thine, as long as life endures.\n\nThen she said: Draw, then, thy picture, and let me see thy heaven.  And\nshe settled herself to listen, leaning her cheek upon her hand, and\nlooking at the King so sagely that he shook with agitation, so intense\nwas his desire to take her in his arms.  And he exclaimed: Blue eyes,\ncome and be my Queen, and I will put thee in a palace, and build it for\nthee seven stories high, of ebony and sandalwood, and of silver and of\ngold.  O come and be my Queen, and thou shalt walk on pavements more\nworthy of thy little feet than this rough ground, on marble of many\ncolours, and on floors of precious stones.  Only be my Queen, and I\nwill strip thee of thy bark, and wrap thee in silky webs and tissues\ncoloured like the rainbow, till like the moon behind a filmy cloud, thy\nsymmetry shall borrow beauty from tell-tale veils of gossamer and\nenvelopes of woven gauze.  Ah! come with me and be my little Queen, and\nI will load thy neck and arms with jewels, and thou shall play with\nheaps of pearl, and coral, and all the riches of the sea.  Aye,\nshouldst thou prick thy finger, I will mend it with a ruby, and\nshouldst thou drop a tear, I will redeem it with a diamond, and try in\nvain to match, with turquoise or lapis-lazuli or opal, the colour of\nthine eyes.  Ah! come, and slaves shall serve my dainty Queen with food\non golden plates, and snow cold drinks in crystal cups, and when thou\nwilt, pour music in thy little ear.  And elephants shall carry thee\nabout, or thou shall ride on horses, or float on silent pools starred\nlike the sky with a multitude of lotuses, or lie on couches softer than\na flower, fanned in the heat of noon with scented leaves, or listening\nat midnight to the moonstones, oozing as they swing in the window's\ntrellised frames.  Ah!  Blue-eyes, come and be my Queen, for I cannot\ndo without thee, and all that I have said is nothing, for it is only\nthe casket for thy soul.  For I will be there, and serve thee all day\nlong upon my knees.  Ah!  I will take thy soul, and steep it in elixir,\nand drown it in the perfume and the fragrance of stories and of dreams,\nand dye it with the colour strained from the subtle essences of far-off\nlakes of passion and emotion, lying in the distant land beyond the blue\nhorizon where the earth and heaven meet.  Aye!  I would turn the three\nworlds upside down, only to be near thee, and watch the shadow of the\npleasures I would find there reflected in thine eyes, O thou na\u00efvest\nand most exquisite of queens.\n\nAnd she watched him as he spoke, and when he stopped, she continued to\nlook at him in silence.  And then to his amazement, she dropped her\neyes, and the colour rose a very little in her cheek, that was\novershadowed by her long soft lashes, and she said: Nay, thou art only\nlaughing at me, knowing my inexperience.  And as thou saidst, thy words\nare only bubbles, beautiful, and bursting as they jostle one another,\nand delusive.  Nor is this the kind of queen that I would be.  And the\nKing said, with curiosity: And what then, O maiden difficult to please,\nis thy conception of a queen?  And she waited for a moment, and she\nsaid, keeping her eyes fixed upon the ground: Once my father told me of\na queen very different from thine.  And I cannot tell thee the story as\nhe told it, for I am not a _pundit_, as is he.  But he told me of a\nking, who was set upon by enemies and driven from his throne.  And when\nall the world abandoned him, a single friend remained to him, and that\none was his queen: who followed him in exile, and lived with him in\npoverty, and wandered through the world behind him like his shadow,\nenjoying never one of the pleasures thou hast mentioned, but sharing\nall his evil fortune, a pleasure infinitely greater than them all.  And\nwhen he died, she would not stay behind him, but followed him through\nthe fire, into the other world.\n\n\n\n[1] There is a beautiful Indian idea, that the foot of a pretty woman\nwill cause a particular tree (I cannot recollect which) to break into\nblossom.\n\n[2] \"_Kissed by the bees._\"  (Note, that the third syllable rhymes, not\nwith crumb, but with room, pronounced rather short.)\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nA PAINTED LADY\n\nAnd the King listened with amazement, and when she ended, he looked at\nher with eyes that glistened, and a heart that swelled towards her as\nshe sat with downcast eyes, as if ashamed of her words, before him on\nthe ground.  And he struck his hands together, and exclaimed to\nhimself: Ha! very wonderful is the way of the Creator, who teaches all\nhis creatures the law of their behaviour, without the means of any\nmaster.  For this mud-born[1] pure white lotus of a maiden has\nunderstood without assistance and as it were by native instinct, the\nwhole duty of a faithful wife, even before she has so much as seen a\nman.  And then he said: Sweet little ascetic, apt pupil of a wise old\nfather, whom thou dost resemble not only in thy hair, thou hast\nadministered reproof to me, deservedly.  And whereas I thought, in my\nfolly, to instruct thee, it was I that received a lesson, in this\nmatter of the way of queens.  And now I see, that I spoke more truly\nthan I knew, when I said that thou wert admirably fitted to be a queen.\nNow, therefore, thou art my _guru_, and I am thy disciple, and thou\nshalt teach me all that I do not know.  Begin then, my pretty little\n_guru_: give me lessons, for I need them.  And she laughed, and\nblushed, and said: Again thou art laughing at me: for how could a\nsimple forest maiden teach anything to one, who like thyself, had lived\nin cities, and mixed with other men and women?  And the King said\nquickly: Ah! dear Blue-eyes, just for that very reason is it that thou\nhast already taught me many things that I never knew before.  For they\nwho live in cities have their souls tainted as it were and poisoned by\nbad associations, whereas thine is as pure as the flowers in thy hair.\nAnd therefore, as thou hast taught me about queens, teach me also about\nkings.  What should he be like, whom thou wouldst be willing to follow\nthrough the world?\n\nAnd she looked at him for a moment, and then she dropped her eyes, and\nturned away her head, and was silent.  And as he watched her, the King\nsaw the colour rising on her neck, till it reached the roots of her\ndark hair, like the flush of eve climbing the snowy summit of Himalaya,\nwhen day is dead.  And he said to himself in ecstasy: Ha! so this pure\ndigit of the ice-cold moon, even in the solitary darkness of the night,\nbefore the dawn of love, has dreamed of a sun which she has never seen.\nAnd O that I could dare to think myself the sunny lover corresponding\nto her dream, destined to touch her soul, as my question did her body,\ninto red!  But let me beware, lest I scare my timid fawn by a too\nabrupt approach.  And then he said: Dear little blue-eyed Queen,\nforgive me, if I roused thy maiden shame by a rash and ill-mannered\ncuriosity.  It is enough for me to know, that the king of thy pure\nfancy must be worthy of his queen: and as much above all other men, as\nthou art different and above all other women.\n\nAnd then, with her eyes still fixed upon the ground, she began to draw\nupon the step with her foot.  And she said softly: And in what do I\ndiffer from all other women?  And the King said: Blue-eyes, ask me\nrather in what respect thou art the same.  For thy points of difference\nare so many, that it would take long to tell them all.  But\nnotwithstanding, if thou wilt, I will try, and paint thy portrait for\nthee in contrast to the others, and hold thy image up before thee,\nreflected on the mirror of my soul.  And she said: Try: for I desire to\nlearn how I differ from the others.  Then he said: Look, then, at me,\nthat I may see thee before I begin.  And she raised her eyes, and\nlooked straight at him, blushing a very little, and then smiled, and\nlooked down, and waited as he spoke.\n\nThen the King said: Blue-eyes, every woman is a woman, and so art thou:\nand this is what thou hast, in common with all others of thy sex.  And\nyet, in every special property of woman thou hast something of thine\nown, which marks thee like a seal, and stamps thee as a thing distinct\nand peculiar, and other than them all.  For others have blue eyes, but\nthine are bluer, and other lips are red, but thine are redder, and\nother brows are black, but thine is blacker, and other smiles are\nwhite, but thine, O thine is like a snowflake or the petal of a new\nyoung lotus bud.  Dark, dark is hair, but thine is like the midnight,\nand many feet are small, but not as thine are.  And O thy arms are\nsofter and more rounded, and thy waist is more enticing, and the two\nproud swelling sister milky foes upon thy breast, more erect and more\nprovoking: and yet thy step is lighter and thy walk is more bewitching\nand thy voice's murmur sweeter and thy laughter more delicious and thy\nsoul fresher and more frank and thy heart it may be harder than that of\nany woman that I have ever seen.  Moreover, all others of thy sex are\ntame, and thou art wild.  Then she said: What is the distinction, for I\ndo not understand?  And the King said: Sweet, I cannot tell thee: and\nyet it is a difference far greater than all the others put together.\nFor all things that are tame are, as it were, an incarnation and\nembodiment of the littleness of men: but all things that are wild, as\nthou art, are, as it were, a portion of the Deity.  For thy behaviour\ndiffers from that of other women, as does a wild vine gadding at its\nwill from the trained flowers in a king's garden, and thy great blue\neyes are utterly without hypocrisy, and resemble those of a falcon or a\nchild.  And thou thyself art like the young beautiful heifer of a wild\nwhite bull.  And I know not how to tell thee what I mean, when I say\nthat thou art wild: and yet it is just this very quality in thee which\ndrives me to distraction.  But see, now, the evening as it falls, and\nthe water of the great river flowing with its surface unruffled by any\nbreath of wind: see, how the cranes here and there upon the brink are\nmirrored in its water, and yonder pair of swans are, as it were, echoed\nby another pair that swim below them upside down; and the peacock on\nthe temple wall glitters in the last rays of the sun with emerald and\nblue and gold: now thou seemest, as it were, a part of it all, and as\nit were the soul of all this body, and like a jewel in its proper\nsetting, and at one with all the creatures of the wood.  And I begin to\nfear, lest thou shouldst suddenly plunge into the water, and disappear,\nleaving me alone.\n\nAnd as he spoke, there came again a murmur and a rustle in the air.\nAnd he listened and exclaimed with anxiety: Ha! what is that?  Then she\nsaid: It is only the beating of the wings of the waterfowl returning to\ntheir roost for the night.\n\n\n\n[1] This single word, a common name in Sanskrit for the lotus,\npossesses an incomparable, moral and \u00e6sthetic, mingled beauty, which\ncan only be poorly rendered in English by five words instead of one.\nMud-born is the word: but the meaning it covers is the pure white lotus\nthat springs out of the thick black mire: just as the brightest rainbow\nis seen against the darkest cloud.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nSHADOWS\n\nAnd the King drew a deep breath, like a man saved from a great danger.\nAnd she saw it, and said to him: Thou art afraid.  Of what art thou\nafraid?  And the King said: Ah! dear Blue-eyes, I am indeed afraid, but\nof this alone, lest something should occur to cut short our\nconversation.  And shall I not be afraid of death?  For as my life\nbegan with the commencement of our converse, so its end will be my\ndeath.  And like a miser, the very treasure that I worship fills me\nwith despair, because the fear of losing it mixes with the joy of its\npossession, and I start at every noise.  And as I said before, more\nthan anything I fear lest thou shouldst suddenly escape into the water.\nAnd I am sorely tempted to take hold of thee, and tie thee like my\nhorse to the tree, to prevent thee from escaping.\n\nThen she laughed and exclaimed: There is no need: for I have no desire\nto escape from thee.  And how could I plunge into the water, unless I\nwere a fish?  Then he said: Dear, did thy father never tell thee of the\nnymphs that have their homes beneath the water?  Or hast thou forgotten\nwhat he said?  Or is it as I said, that thou thyself art one of them,\nseeking to deceive me?  And she said: But what should lead thee to\nbelieve it?  And he said: Every reason.  For they are all marvellously\nbeautiful, as thou art, and like thee, they suddenly appear, seated by\npools and streams, and lure unhappy travellers like me to ruin and\ndestruction.  Then she said: And by what means do they destroy them?\nAnd the King said: Blue-eyes, by showing themselves for but an instant,\nand then disappearing, never to return, carrying away with them the\nhearts of their miserable victims, and leaving them instead\ninconsolable regret, and lovelorn longing for the beauty whose\nmomentary vision robbed them of their soul.  Therefore beware! and let\nme warn thee, that once having shown thyself, thou art absolutely bound\nto remain with me for ever: otherwise I shall be utterly undone.  For\nif not, thou wert very wrong ever to have shown thyself at all, and\ndeservest to be punished as a deceiver and a Thag.\n\nThen she laughed, with laughter that was music to the King's ear.  And\nshe said, softly: But this is very hard: for how can those poor\nwater-women help it, and is it any fault of theirs if they happen to be\nseen by those who happen to pass by and are not blind?  Nor was it my\nfault, if I was seen by thee: rather was it thine, for coming into my\nwood upon thy horse.  Then the King said: Blue-eyes, I blame thee not\nat all, always provided that thou dost not jump into the water, or\nleave me in any other way.  And she said: But is it not rather I that\nhave to be afraid, lest thou shouldst leave me?  Is it my sex only that\ndeceives, and are there no water-men, as well as water-women?  And the\nKing said eagerly: Ah! dear Blue-eyes, and would it be a grief to thee,\nif I should go away?  And she waited a little while, before she\nreplied.  And then she said, looking at him with playful eyes: Didst\nthou not say thyself that this world was full of men?  And if, then,\none has come into the wood to-day, another may to-morrow.  And the King\nstarted, and he looked at her with rapture.  And he said to himself:\nHa! she is provoking me, and ah! she is delicious.  Surely the very\nelements must have in them the nature of a woman, since even in this\nempty wood, this intoxicating maiden has somehow or other managed to\nacquire the coquetry of her sex: most of all charming there, where it\nwas least to be expected.  And then he said aloud: Dear little daughter\nof an Apsaras, let thine other man beware, whoever he may be: for I\nwill set guards about the wood, like a ring, to put to death whoever\nthey may find.\n\nThen she looked at him a little while, and she said: See, I have told\nthee all I have to tell, but thou hast told me absolutely nothing.  Art\nthou then a king, to speak of placing guards about the wood?  And the\nKing said to himself: Ha! she is clever, and has caught me in a trap.\nAnd yet I will not tell her who I am, for if she knew, she might be\ndazzled by my kingdom, and fall in love with that, rather than with me.\nAnd he said: Surely, as we agreed in the beginning, if thou art a\nqueen, I must be a king.  And I will not allow any other man to tamper\nwith my queen.  And I am of good caste, and a Rajpoot, and not ashamed\nof my family.  But what if I were in very truth a king, and banished:\nwouldst thou follow me through the world, as thou saidst?  And she\nlaughed and said: Nay, but I am not yet thy queen, and to follow thee\nis not my duty, but that of thy Queen or Queens.  And the King looked\nat her narrowly, and said to himself: Is she speaking at random, or can\nit be that she is curious, or jealous, and anxious to discover whether\nshe has a rival?  And he said: Blue-eyes, King or not, this is certain,\nthat I neither have nor will have any queen or queens whatever but\nthyself.  Nor have I ever seen any woman in the world, till I came into\nthis wood, that I would wish to make my wife.  And therefore tell me,\nfor as yet thou hast not answered: if I were a king indeed, wouldst\nthou come away and be my Queen?\n\nAnd she said: I am of good family, and not independent[1]; and it is\nnot for myself, but for my father to dispose of me.  And then, the very\ninstant she had spoken, she uttered a sharp cry, and started to her\nfeet, and stood.  And the King leaped up in terror, exclaiming: Alas,\nwhat is the matter?  For he thought she had been bitten by a snake.\nBut he looked and saw nothing.  And he drew near her, and saw that she\nwas deadly pale, and drooping like a flower left without water in the\nheat of noon.  And he said again, with anxiety: Alichumbit\u00e1: what is\nit?  But she never answered, but stood silent, gazing at the river, as\nthough he were not there.\n\nAnd the King stood just beside her, looking at her with affection and\nalarm.  And now the light was changing into darkness, for the sun had\nsunk behind the western mountain, and on the trees across the river the\ndisc of the full-moon was sitting waiting like a thief watching the\nlord of day away before stealing silently up into his domain.  And far\naway down the river, a solitary star was shining in the south, below in\nthe black water, and above in the dark blue sky, over which great bats\nwere flapping noiselessly, like dusky ghosts coming by night to haunt\nthe spots they loved as living birds.  And the voices of the forest day\nhad died away, and in their place the insects of the night were calling\nto one another to begin: and all about the shadows in the trees the\nfireflies were flitting in and out.  And the King heard his horse\nwhinnying and pawing on the ground, impatient at being tied so long,\nand fretting to be gone.\n\n\n\n[1] No woman in India, even in a fairy tale, is ever independent and\nher own mistress, unless she belongs to a class outside the pale of\nmoral consideration.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nTWILIGHT\n\nAnd still as she did not move, at last the King broke silence.  And he\nsaid: Dear, I know not what is wrong, but I would give my life, to save\nthee from even a very little pain.  And now the day is done, and very\nsoon it will be night.  Dost thou not hear the horse, calling, and\ntelling me it is time to be away?  And yet I cannot leave thee, if I\nwould.  And now again I ask thee, wilt thou not come away with me from\nthis dark wood, and live and play with me for ever, as we have done\nto-day?  For in the time that we have been together, thou hast taken\nabsolute possession of my soul, and filled it with thyself, leaving no\nother room in it, so that everything except thee is utterly ousted and\nforgotten and obliterated.  And I feel as if I had known thee, not for\nan hour, but for a hundred thousand years: and it cannot be but that we\nwere King and Queen in many births before, and destined by reason of\nthe depth of our devotion to meet again in this one also.  And I will\nmake thy life all that I said, and more: and I will be thy father and\nthy mother and thy other self, reflecting thee as in a mirror, joyous\nwhen thou art joyous, and sad when thou art sad.  And if thou dost\nregret to leave thy father and the wood, no matter: for I will bring\nthee back to it, as often as thou wilt.  And we will make this little\ntemple as it were a pleasure arbour, to last us till we die, and remind\nme for ever of the moment when I saw thy two great eyes, like two great\nblue lotus flowers, looking at me, out of the magic shadow of the wood.\n\nAnd then all at once, she burst into a passion of tears.  And she said\nsobbing: Now thou must go away, almost as soon as thou art come.  Why\ndidst thou come into the wood, only to destroy me?  For till I saw\nthee, I was happy, and I took pleasure in the river, and the flowers\nand the trees: but now they are all become hateful in my eyes.  For I\ncannot bear to let thee go, and be without thee: and yet I cannot keep\nthee, or go with thee from the wood.  And the King said, in despair:\nAlas! and why canst thou not come away?  Then she said: As my father\nwishes me to marry, so I must.  But thy coming took me by surprise, and\nrobbed me of my reason: and lost in the joy of thy discovery, and\nwatching thee, and listening to thy voice, I had utterly forgotten\neverything but thee; and I suddenly remembered, as I told thee of my\nfather, all about it, and now it is a grief to me that ever I saw thee\nin the wood.  And now all is over, and everything is changed, and thou\nmust go away at once, and leave me to forget, if I can, that ever I\nhave seen thee.  For I cannot disobey my father, or bring discredit on\nmy family, by having anything to do with thee: for I am intended for\nanother.  And the King exclaimed: Ah! no! it cannot be.  Surely thou\nart raving.  Or who can it be, for whom thou art preserved by thy\nfather, as a deposit and a trust?  And he said to himself: Only let me\nlearn who it is, and I will find him, no matter who and where he is,\nand rid the earth of him, and get her for myself.\n\nThen she said: Far away in the north, on the edge of the wood, there is\na King, Rudr\u00e1laka by name: and one day he will come into the wood and\nclaim me for his bride.  For so it was revealed to my father, when he\nenquired of my mother, long ago, to whom he should give me, when I was\nof age.  And my mother went to Indra, and asked him; and Indra asked\nMaheshwara, who knows the present, the future, and the past.  And how\ncan he be deceived, or how can that which he foretold fail to come to\npass?  And now I see very well that it was a crime in me, ever to have\nhad anything to do with thee: and in the madness produced by thy\nappearance, I have acted in a manner unworthy of my caste: for I am the\npromised bride of another man.  And now there is nothing but for thee\nto go away as quickly as thou canst, and forget that ever thou didst\nsee me in the wood.\n\nAnd the King stood still behind her as she spoke, filled with amazement\nand relief.  And he watched her weeping, with pride and delight; and he\nsaid to himself: Certainly she is of good family, and its very\ncrest-jewel, and like a diamond of pure water; for she will not come\naway with me, but is faithful to her duty, even against her will.  But\nonce again I will test her, like gold in the fire, before I tell her\nwho I am.  But what, if she does not stand the test?  Why, then I will\nforgive her: for how could I blame her for yielding and allowing\nherself to be defeated in my cause?  But if she stands firm, and\nresists me, then I shall know that my pearl is priceless, and my\nemerald without a flaw.\n\nAnd then he said aloud: Out upon this Rudr\u00e1laka, for he is like a cloud\nthat has suddenly intervened, to cast a dark and horrid shadow over our\nsunny garden of delight, and an obstacle which only the lord of\nobstacles can move.  And what is this Rudr\u00e1laka, to prevail over the\nlord of the elephant face in conjunction with the God who has flowers\nfor his bow?[1]  And cannot I persuade thee to forget, one whom thou\nhast never even seen, and who is to thee nothing but a name?  And who\nknows even whether he exists at all, and is not merely a dream of thy\nfather's, an illusion brought into his aged head by weakness arising\nfrom severe emaciation?  And wilt thou then sacrifice thy happiness and\nmine to a dream?  And he waited for a moment, and he said: See, thou\nart undecided, wavering between thy duty and my love, like a flower\nshaken by opposing breezes.  A flower thou art, and a flower shall\ndecide for thee.  And this red lotus, which has lingered so long near\nthy heart that it must know it, and resembles it in colour, shall be\nthe oracle of thy destiny.  And he leaned over her, and took very\ngently, without touching her, the lotus on her breast, and drew it\naway, while she offered no resistance.  And he said: One petal is for\nthee, and one for me.  Now will I pluck the petals one by one, first\nfor thee, and second for myself.  And if thine is the last, thou shalt\nstay, and I will go away without thee: and if mine, thou shall cast\naway Rudr\u00e1laka, like the stalk when it is stripped of the leaves, and\nforget him, and come with me and be my wife.\n\nAnd then, one by one, he began to strip the red lotus of its leaves,\nand let them fall upon the ground, saying as he did so: This, for thee:\nthis, for me.  And as he counted, she watched him, with tears sparkling\nin her eyes, till only one remained.  And he held it out towards her,\nsaying, with a smile: This, for me.  And then, all at once she broke\ninto a laugh that was mingled with sobs and sorrow and indignation.\nAnd she exclaimed: Ah! thou art cunning, and thou art very cruel.  Thou\nknewest very well that there were but sixteen petals on the lotus,[2]\nand that thine must be the last.  And thou art unkind, prolonging my\ntorture, and striving, by unfairness, and temptation, to recall my\nresolution: yet if I did, thou wouldst only think the worse of me, even\nthough thine would be the gain.  Go, go quickly, for I may not come\naway with thee.  And as she spoke, she turned paler than the _Kumuda_\nthat opens in the dusk, and staggered.  And she leaned against a pillar\nof the tree, and her eyes shone in the moonlight, and she said very\nquietly: Go now, take thy horse, and go away; and go very quickly: for\nthe decision is too hard for me, and I cannot bear it very long.  And\nit would be a stain on thee, to tempt any longer the wife of another\nman.\n\nAnd the King gazed at her, struck with admiration and amazement.  And\nhe said to himself: Ha! where is the simple forest maiden who sat to\nlisten at my feet, for in her place I see one whose virtue I have\nroused, and who orders me to go with the dignity of an insulted queen?\nAnd I stand before her like a culprit, rejoicing inwardly at the\nfailure of my own attempt.  And as he stood, lost in wonder at her\nmoonlit unearthly beauty, and ready to fall and worship at her feet,\nsuddenly there fell upon his ear a murmur and a rustle in the air.  And\nhe listened, and all at once the horse began to neigh; for it was the\ntrample of horses and the thunder of their hoofs.  And as they looked,\nlo! a band of horsemen issued from the wood, and came towards them; and\nin a moment they were surrounded by the attendants of the King.\n\n\n\n[1] Ganesha and Kama, the gods of good luck and love; certainly two\nformidable antagonists.\n\n[2] It is one of the conventions of Hindoo poetry that the petals of\nthe lotus are eight or sixteen in number.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nQUINTESSENCE\n\nAnd then, with a cry, Alichumbit\u00e1 sprang back, and stood in dismay, on\nthe very brink of the river, looking from the King to his followers and\nback again.  And the King watched her with ecstasy, and he said to\nhimself: Now could I almost forgive my attendants for this exasperating\ninterruption.  For she looks like a stag whose retreat has been cut off\nby the hunters, standing at bay, with every graceful limb quivering and\npoised on the very verge of instant action, striking terror as it were\ninto even the hearts of her pursuers by her magnificent defiance, and\ncowing them by the startled pride of her haughty and yet timid eyes,\nand holding them as it were spellbound by the beautiful agitation\nincarnate in her form, and reaching its supreme expression in the deep\nheave of her glorious bosom.  And I can see that my followers are\ndivided in their minds: for all their respect for me cannot prevent\nthem from transferring their allegiance to her, and doing homage to the\ntrue deity manifest in her lovely shape.  Ha! beauty is the real ruler\nof the three worlds, and all others are usurpers and pretenders and\nemptiness and show.  For if I were unknown to them, my followers would\npay me no regard at all: whereas they have all become slaves to my\nmistress, as I did myself, by a single glance at her goddess mien.\n\nAnd then, as his attendants dismounted from their horses, and stood\nbefore him in attitudes of respect, the King called to his chief\nhuntsman.  And he said to him: Tell this lady who they are that stand\nbefore her.  Then that huntsman said with deference: Lady, we are a\nvery few of the devoted followers of King Rudr\u00e1laka: and having hunted\nfor him all day long, we pray now to be forgiven, if we have succeeded\nat last in finding him only to be troublesome by our intrusion.  And\nthe King said: Now go, taking my horse; and wait for me a little way\noff, yet not beyond a call.  Then those huntsmen all retired, stealing\nglances as they went at the King's companion, and vanished again within\nthe wood.\n\nAnd when they were gone, the King stood awhile in silence, gazing with\naffection at Alichumbit\u00e1, who was lost in confusion and astonishment.\nAnd then he said: Blue-eyes, now thou hast heard.  And will thou now do\nthy duty, and obey thy father, and justify the Great God's foresight,\nand come away with thy true husband and be his Queen?  Or hast thou\nstill a horror of King Rudr\u00e1laka?  Ah! forgive me for trying thee, a\nthing which I cannot, nevertheless, regret.  For thou wert proof\nagainst my bribes, and hast doubled the worth of thy wondrous beauty by\nexhibiting the quality of its inner soul.  And she stood for a moment,\nchanging colour, first red, and then white, as if the blood which had\nmantled in her face had like those huntsmen withdrawn again into the\nwood of her heart from modesty at the sight of him.  And as he took her\nby the hand, she hid her face against his breast, laughing as she wept,\nand raining as it were nectar with her tears into the heart of the\nKing.  So they stood together in the silence, while the King stroked\nher dark hair gently with his left hand.  And at last he said: Sweet\nlittle Queen, thou hast seen men enough now, for one day.  Know, that\nthey are all thy servants, from the King down.\n\nAnd suddenly, she raised her face, and looked at him with eyes that\nwere full of smiles and tears and shyness and playfulness and blue\ncolour and the tremble of the moon.  And she said: Canst thou tell of\nwhat I thought, as I looked upon all those men?  And he said: Of what?\nThen she said: They seemed to me to be worthy only to be servants to\nsuch as thee: and I saw that it was as I had thought, and that mine was\na man even among men.  And then she stopped, and she said again in a\nlow voice: Now, if thou wilt, I wilt give thee an answer to that\nquestion of thine which I left unanswered.  And the King said: Which?\nAnd she said: Dost thou not remember?  Thou didst ask me, what was he\nlike whom I would follow through the world.  Now canst thou guess, or\nshall I tell thee?  And the King leaned over her, bending her a little\nback as she lay in his strong arms, and as she closed her eyes, he\nkissed her trembling lips, which shrank a little from the touch of his\nown.  And after a while, he looked, and saw heaven reflected in the\neyes of his wife beneath him, and beyond them, their two shadows,\nclinging together, black on the moonlit ground.  And suddenly he\npointed, and said to her: See, thy wish is gratified, and thy shadow\nhas come to life.  And she put both her arms round his neck, and drew\nhim down, and kissed him again.  And she said: It is not my shadow, but\nit is I myself that have come to life, and thou art the life that has\ncome to me.  And hadst thou gone away without me, I should not be\nliving now: for I would have thrown myself into the river, the moment I\nwas alone.  And the King said, with a smile: Did I not tell thee, that\nI feared lest thou shouldst plunge into the river?  And she laughed,\nand said: Let me go, and see.  And they looked at each other for a\nmoment, and laughed without a reason.  And they embraced each other\npassionately, and the King said: Give me now another kiss.  So she did.\nAnd he said: Now another, and another.  And so they continued, she\ngiving and he receiving; while the night passed away.\n\nAnd at last he said: Now I must carry my property away with me, for\nthou art no longer thy father's but mine.  And we will come again, and\ntell thy father, but in the meantime, I will take thee, for never will\nI part from thee again.  And she said: Do with me as thou wilt: so only\nthat thou dost not leave me.\n\nThen he said: Blue-eyes, thou hast seen a horse to-day for the first\ntime, and now thou shalt ride one also.  And she said with a smile: But\nhow can I ride without falling?  Then he said: Fear nothing.  Dost thou\nthink that I would trust my treasure on a horse alone?  But that good\nhorse, which brought into the wood to-day a single rider, shall carry\nback a pair.  And he has run a race to-day that will have robbed him of\nhis fire.  Wait, now, there, for a little while, till I return: and\nbeware! that thou dost not jump into the water.  And as she smiled,\nthey kissed each other again with insatiable lips.  And then he went\ntowards the wood, and shouted for his men.  And when they came, he gave\nthem orders, and they brought his horse, and prepared him as he said,\nplacing for her reception soft rugs upon his back.  And the King\nmounted, and he said: Watch me when I go, and follow me at a distance.\nAnd then he rode back to where she waited for him by the river bank.\n\nThen he came close up to her and said: Give me now thy left hand, and\nplace thy little foot on mine, and I will lift thee up before me.  So\nshe stretched out to him her hand, shrinking from the horse as it\ntossed its head and trampled the ground, and seeking with timidity for\nan opportunity to place her foot upon his own.  So as she waited,\ngazing at the horse with doubtful eyes, the King laughed.  And he\nexclaimed: This way will not do, and now I must make another.  And\nsuddenly, he turned the horse towards her with his knee, and letting\nfall the reins, he leaned from the saddle and caught her in his arms,\nand lifted her up before him.  And at that moment the horse started\noff, and the King felt for the reins with his left hand, holding her in\nhis right arm, while she clung to his neck for fear of falling.  And\nfor a while the King let the horse go, for the sweetness of her\nterrified embrace was such that he said to himself: Ah! could this only\nlast for ever!\n\nThen after a while, he checked the horse, and brought him to a walk.\nAnd as they went slowly through the forest, now in the shadow and now\nin the moonlit glades, he let the reins fall on his horse's neck, and\ntook his wife in both his arms, kissing her lips that kissed him again,\nand murmuring inarticulately words without a meaning, and filling his\nsoul to the very brim with the intoxication of her shadowy eyes and the\nperfume of her hair that hung about her escaping from its knot.  And\nsuddenly, there came as it were night over his eyes.  And he felt her\nslipping from his embrace, which closed in vain on empty air.  And\nbefore him her face wavered and flickered, and it lit up like a dying\nlamp for a single instant with vivid brightness, and then went out and\ndisappeared.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nECHOES AND REGRETS\n\nAnd in an instant, he saw before him, no wood and no horse.  But he\nfound himself floating as at first like a cloud in the blue sky, with\nhis wife still in his arms.  And he said: Ha! how is this?  I lost thee\nbut now in the forest, and here we are together in the sky.  But I seem\nto have but just awoken from a dream.  And wert thou then with me in my\ndream?  Then she said: Yes.  And as she spoke, she caught him in a\nconvulsive grasp, for she knew that the end was come.  And as she gazed\nat him with agony in her eyes, he said: Ah!  dost thou remember how we\nrode together, and lingered as I brought thee home, in that delicious\nwood?  Dost thou remember how we laughed, and how we wept for joy?\nDost thou remember how at last thou didst fall asleep from sheer\nfatigue, and I carried thee sleeping home?  Dost thou remember how I\nsat and watched thee in thy sleep, and how at thine awakening thou wast\nfrightened, forgetting where thou wert?  Dost thou remember, how\neverything was new to thee, and strange, and how all day long I laughed\nfor joy to see thee, my plaything and my pretty child?  Dost thou\nremember how we played at King and Queen, counting the whole world as a\nstraw, and never parting, night or day?  Dost thou remember how thou\nwast by day, the sun, and by night, the moon, of all the hours,\nlighting up my gloomy palace with the blaze of thy beauty and the soft\nlight of thy love?  Dost thou remember how thy voice echoed in my empty\nhalls, and thy laughter filled up all its corners with music and\ndelight?  Dost thou remember how I used to follow thee about from room\nto room, and how sometimes, rogue!  thou wouldst hide from me, to drive\nme to despair?  Dost thou remember that last night, when I parted from\nthee to go to war, leaving my soul behind?  But ah! alas! for the day,\nwhen I rode like a whirlwind into the court, and they told me of thy\ndeath!\n\nAnd as he spoke, there shot through his heart a mortal pang like a\nsharp sword.  And at that instant, his wife vanished, and he felt\nhimself falling, falling like a heavy stone, down through empty space.\nAnd he uttered a fearful cry, for he understood that he was returning\nswiftly back to earth.  And struggling with vain and frenzied grief and\nrage, he screamed aloud, in the ecstasy of despair: Ah! my wife! my\nwife!  Ah! not to earth! ah! not again! not without thee! not without\nthee!\n\n\n\n\nEpilogue\n\nThe Break of a Heart\n\n\n\n\nEpilogue\n\nBut in the meanwhile, the King's attendants sat on in the palace hall,\nwaiting while the King slept.  And he slept on, while they waited, and\nthey watched him lying very still, on his couch upon the floor.\n\nSo as they watched and waited, the day slowly passed away.  And hour\nsucceeded hour, as the sun moved steadily on to his home behind the\nwestern hill.  And all the while, the old merchant remained motionless\nin his place, stiller even than the sleeping King, for he never even\nbreathed.  So they watched and waited on, till for very weakness their\nsouls were almost parting from their bodies, and slumber began to steal\nover their eyes.  And day began to turn to twilight, and the darkness\nbegan as it were to gather and creep out of the corners of the room, in\nwhich was heard no sound, save the deep breathing of the sleeping King.\n\nAnd suddenly, like a flash of lightning, there rang through that silent\nroom a cry, that pierced those weary watchers' ears like the point of a\nmolten spear; for it resembled the cry of a woman, forced by the agony\nof abject fear into the very mouth of death.  And as they bounded to\ntheir feet, and looked towards the King, there burst from his heart\nanother cry, and yet another.  And they saw his body, like a worm,\nwrithing and quivering as it lay; and all at once he leaped from the\ncouch and stood erect, and staggered across the floor.\n\nAnd he stood there, swaying like a reed, and gazing straight before\nhim, seeing nothing, with open eyes, that were dazed with the depth of\ntheir own despair.  And every limb of his body shook, and drops of\nsweat stood on his brow, and his breath came hard and fast and hoarse,\nfrom a chest that heaved and trembled like the bosom of a frightened\ngirl.  So he stood, while they all watched him, silent and aghast, and\nlistening as it were to the beating of their own hearts.\n\nSo as they watched him, holding their breath, he began to wail like a\nchild.  And he wept aloud, with great sobs, that shook him from head to\nfoot, till the tears rose and stood in the eyes of all that saw him, as\nif drawn from their sources by the sight of his own, which fell on the\nground like rain.  And all at once, he stopped short.  And he looked\nup, and stared before him, with weeping and imploring eyes, that hunted\nas it were among them for something they could not find.\n\nAnd as they watched him silently, spellbound by those troubled eyes,\nthey saw their expression alter, and over them pass a dreadful change,\ntill like a fire they shone with scorn and hatred and disdain.  And he\nstepped forward, and spat at them all as they stood before him,\nstretching out both his arms.  And as he did so, his gaze was as it\nwere caught by the glitter of the glancing gems that hung upon his\nwrists.  And he looked at them for a moment, and suddenly he took those\njewels and tore them from his hands and arms, and from his neck and\nbreast.  And he broke them all to pieces, snapping asunder cords and\nchains, and tossed all over the palace hall pearls and rubies and all\nthe rest, till they rattled on the floor like hail.  And when he had no\nmore jewels to tear, he fell upon his clothes; and he stripped them off\nhim with giant strength, and rent them into bits and shreds, till he\nstood before them breathing hard, dripping with sweat, and bleeding, as\nnaked as he was born.\n\nAnd as his eyes ran over them all as they shrank before him, they fell\nsuddenly upon the old merchant, who sat still in the self-same place,\nnever having stirred.  So when the King saw him, suddenly he began to\nlaugh, with laughter that was divided from sobbing by only a single\nhair.  And he exclaimed: Ha! old vendor, art thou there, waiting for\nthy price?  For now my dream is over, and it only remains to pay.  Take\nfor thy dream, my whole kingdom, and all that it contains.  And even\nso, thou art unpaid: for such a dream could not be ransomed, even by\nthe three great worlds.\n\nAnd then, with anguish in his eyes, he threw his arms to heaven.  And\nhe uttered a long low cry, like the howl of a dog whose lord is dead,\nand turned, and ran out of the hall.\n\nAnd they stood, like pictures on a wall, while the sound of his\ndisappearing steps died away upon their ears.  And then in an instant,\nthe hall was filled with tumult.  But the King's physician rushed\nforward.  And he exclaimed: The King's frenzy has come again, and much\nI fear, that it will never again depart.  But as for this old merchant,\nwho has given the King a deadly drug, let him not escape.  Seize him,\nand let him answer for the madness of the King.\n\nThen the guards surrounded that old merchant, but he never moved or\nstirred.  And suddenly, seized with anger, the captain of the guards\nstooped down, and seized him by the beard, to drag him roughly to his\nfeet.  And lo! that old man's head came off his neck, and hung by the\nbeard in his hand.  And they looked, and saw, that the body was hollow,\nand empty, and without a soul, like the trunk of a withered tree.\n\nThen they gazed at one another, with open mouths, and eyes that were\ndull with fear.  And after a while, the chaplain spoke.  And he said\nslowly: Surely this was an old R\u00e1kshasa, playing with the King's life.\nOr who knows?  For it may be, the Deity took this form, to punish the\nKing, by means of a dream, for the sins of a former birth.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Frontispiece]\n\n\n\n  An\n  Essence of the Dusk\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\nTranslated from the Original Manuscript\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n  _Love turns venom, now I see,\n  Flouted Beauties vipers be_\n\n\n\n\n  COPYRIGHT, 1906\n  BY\n  F. W. BAIN\n\n\n\n\n  Dedicated\n  to the\n  Other Sex\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\nMore generally known, perhaps, than any other Hindoo legend, is the\nstory of the demon, R\u00c1HU, who brings about ECLIPSES, by devouring the\nSun and Moon.  For when the gods had upchurned the nectar, the\ndelectable Butter of the Brine, R\u00e1hu's mouth watered at the very sight\nof it: and \"in the guise of a god\" he mingled unperceived among them,\nto partake.  But the Sun and Moon, the watchful Eyes of Night and Day,\ndetected him, and told Wishnu, who cast at him his discus, and cut his\nbody from his head: but not until the nectar was on the way down his\nthroat.  Hence, though the body died, the head became immortal: and\never since, a thing unique, \"no body and all head,\" a byword among\nphilosophers, he takes revenge on Sun and Moon, the great Taletellers,\nby \"gripping\" them in his horrid jaws, and holding on, till he is\ntired, or can be persuaded to let go.  Hence, in some parts of India,\nthe doleful shout of the country people at eclipses: _Chor do! chor\ndo!_[1] and hence, also, the primary and surface meaning of our title:\n_A Digit of the Moon in the Demon's grip_: in plain English, an eclipse\nof the moon.  And yet, legend though it be, there is something in the\nold mythological way of putting the case, which describes the situation\nin eclipses far better than our arid scientific prose.  I shall not\neasily forget, how, as we slid like ghosts at midnight, through the\nmiddle of the desert, along the Suez Canal,[2] I watched the ghastly\npallor of the wan unhappy moon, as the horrible shadow crept slowly\nover her face, stealing away her beauty, and turning the lone and level\nsands that stretched away below to a weird and ashy blue, as though\ncovering the earth with a sepulchral sympathetic pall.  For we caught\nthe \"griesly terror,\" R\u00e1hu, at his horrid work, towards the end of May,\nfour years ago.\n\nBut our title has yet another meaning underneath the first, for _Ahi_,\nthe name employed for R\u00e1hu (like all other figures in Indian mythology,\nhe is known by many names), also means a _snake_.  _Beauty persecuted\nby a snake_ is the subject of the story.  That story will presently\nexplain itself: but the relation between _R\u00e1hu_, or eclipses, and a\nsnake is so curiously illustrated by a little insignificant occurrence\nthat happened to myself, that the reader will doubtless forgive me for\nmaking him acquainted with it.\n\nBeing at Delhi, not many years ago, I seized the opportunity to visit\nthe Kutub Min\u00e1r.  There was famine in the land.  At every station I had\npassed upon the way were piled the hides of bullocks, and from the\ntrain you might see their skeletons lying, each one bleaching where it\ndied for want of fodder, scattered here and there on the brown and\nburning earth; for even every river bed was waterless, and not a single\nblade of green could you descry, for many hundred miles.  And hence it\ncame about, that as I gazed upon the two emaciated hacks that were to\npull me from the station, a dozen miles out, and as many more back, I\ncould bring myself to sit behind them only by the thought that thereby\nI should save them from a load far greater than my own, that would have\nbeen their fate on my refusal.  Therefore we started, and did\nultimately arrive, in the very blaze of noon.\n\nThe Kutub Min\u00e1r is a needle of red stone, that rises from a plain as\nflat as paper to a height of two hundred and fifty feet; and you might\ncompare it, as you catch, approaching, glimpses of it at a distance, to\na colossal chimney, a Pharos, or an Efreet of the Jinn.  The last would\nbe the best.  For nothing on the surface of the earth can parallel the\nscene of desolation which unrolls itself below, if you climb its 380\nsteps and look out from the dizzy verge: a thing that will test both\nthe muscle of your knees and the steadiness of your nerves.  Round you\nis empty space: look down, the pillar bends and totters, and you seem\nto rock in air; you shudder, you are falling: and away, away below, far\nas the eye can carry, you see the dusty plain, studded with a thousand\ntombs and relics of forgotten kings.  There is the grim old fortress of\nthe Toghlaks: there is the singular observatory of the r\u00e1j\u00e1 astronomer,\nJaya Singh: and there the tomb, Humaioon's tomb, before which Hodson,\nHodson the brave, Hodson the slandered, Hodson the unforgotten, sat,\nfor two long hours, still, as if man and horse were carved in stone,\nwith the hostile crowd that loathed and feared him tossing and seething\nand surging round him, waiting for the last Mogul to come out and be\nled away.  The air is thick, and sparkles with blinding dust and glare,\nand the wind whistles in your ears.  Over the bones of dynasties, the\nhot wind wails and sobs and moans.  Aye! if a man seeks for melancholy,\nI will tell him where to find it--at the top of the old Kutub Min\u00e1r.\n\nAnd then, that happened which I had foreseen.  We had not gone a mile\nupon our homeward way, when one of the horses fell.  Therefore,\ndisregarding the asseverations of my rascally Jehu that the remaining\nanimal was fully equal to the task alone, I descended, and proceeded on\nfoot.  But a ten-mile walk on the Delhi plain in the hottest part of\nthe day is not a thing to be recommended.  After plodding on for about\ntwo hours, I was, like Langland, \"wery forwandred,\" and went me to\nrest, not alas! by a burnside, but in the shadow of one of the\ninnumerable little tombs that stand along the dusty road.  There I lay\ndown and fell asleep.\n\nNothing induces slumber like exertion under an Indian sun.  When I\nawoke, that sun was setting.  A little way before me, the yellow walls\nof Delhi were bathed in a ruddy glow; the minarets of the Great Mosque\nstood out sharp against the clear unspotted amber sky.  And as I\nwatched them, I suddenly became aware that I was myself observed with\ninterest by a dusky individual, who was squatted just in front of me,\nand who rose, salaaming, when he saw that I was awake.  It appeared\nthat I had, so to say, fallen into a \"nest of vipers \"; that I had\nunwittingly invaded the premises of a snake dealer, who, no doubt for\nsolid reasons, had made my friendly tomb the temporary repository of\nhis stock-in-trade.\n\nThe Indian snake charmer, _g\u00e1ruda, hawadiga_,[3] or whatever else they\ncall him, is as a rule but a poor impostor.  He goes about with one\nfangless cobra, one rock snake, and one miserable mongoose, strangling\nat the end of a string.  My dweller in tombs was richer than all his\ntribe in his snakes, and in his eyes.  I have never seen anybody else\nwith real cat's eyes: eyes with exactly that greenish yellow luminous\nglare which you see when you look at a cat in the dark.  They gleamed\nand rolled in the evening sun, over a row of shining teeth, as their\nowner squatted down before me, liberating one after another from little\nbags and baskets an amazing multitude of snakes, which he fetched in\nbatches from the interior of the tomb, till the very ground seemed\nalive with them.[4]  Some of them he handled only with the greatest\nrespect, and by means of an iron prong.  Outside the Zoo (where they\nlose in effect) I never saw so many together before: and it is only\nwhen you see a number of these reptiles together that you realise what\na strange uncanny being, after all, is a snake: and as you watch him,\nlying, as it were, in wait, beautiful exceedingly, but with a beauty\nthat inspires you with a shudder, his eyes full of cruelty and original\nsin, and his tongue of calumny and malice, you begin to understand his\ninfluence in all religions.  I was wholly absorbed in their snaky\nevolutions, and buried in mythological reminiscences, when my _g\u00e1ruda_\nroused me suddenly, by saying: _Huzoor_, look!\n\nHe leaned over, and administered with his bare hand a vicious dig to a\nmagnificent hamadryad that lay coiled upon itself in its open basket.\nThe creature instantly sat up, with a surge of splendid passion,\nhissing, bowing, and expanding angrily its great tawny hood.  The\n_g\u00e1ruda_ put his _p\u00fang\u00ed_ to his lips, and blew for a while upon it a\nlow and wheezy drone,--the invariable prelude to a little _jadoo_, or\nblack art,--which the beautiful animal appeared to appreciate: and\nthen, pointing with the end of his pipe to the \"spectacles\" on its\nhood, he said, with that silky, insinuating smile which is\ncharacteristic of the scamp: _Huzoor, dekko, namas karta[5]_:--\n\n  N\u00e1gki phani, ch\u00e1nd ka d\u00fakh\n  Uski badi, \u00e1p ka s\u00fakh.[6]\n\n\nI did not understand his lunar allusion, but, judging that his rhyming\ngibberish, like that of the rascally priests in Apuleius, was a\ncarefully prepared oracle of general application, kept in stock for the\ncozening of such prey as myself, I repeated to him my favourite Hindu\nproverb,[7] and gave him in exchange for his benevolent cheque on the\nfuture, a more commonplace article of present value, which led to our\nparting on the most amicable terms.  But I did him injustice, perhaps.\nLong afterwards, having occasion to consult an astronomical chart, with\nreference to this very story, all at once I started, and in an instant,\nthe golden evening, the walls of Delhi, and my friend of the many\nsnakes and sinister eyes, suddenly rose up again into my mind.  For\nthere, staring at me out of the chart, was the mark on the cobra's\nhead.  It is the sign still used in modern astronomy for \"the head and\ntail of the dragon,\" the nodes indicating the point of occultation, the\nsymbol of eclipse.\n\nWhat then induced or inspired the _g\u00e1ruda_ to connect me with the moon?\nWas it really black art, divination, or was it only a coincidence?\nReason recommends the latter alternative: and yet, the contrary\npersuasion is not without its charm.  Who knows?  It may be that the\nsoul grows to its atmosphere as well as the body, and living in a land\nwhere dreams are realities, and all things are credible, and history is\nonly a fairy tale--the land of the moon and the lotus and the snake,\nold gods and old ruins, former births, second sight, and idealism--it\nfalls back, unconsciously mesmerised, under the spell of forgotten\ncreeds.\n\nPOONA, April, 1906.\n\n\n\n[1] _Let go!  Let go!_\n\n[2] Though nothing can be less romantic than a canal, gliding through\nthat of Suez is a strange experience at night.  Your great ship seems\nto move, swift and noiseless, through the very sand: and if only you\ncould get there without knowing where you were, you would think that\nyou were dreaming.\n\n[3] _H\u00e1wa_, in Canarese, is the name of R\u00e1hu.\n\n[4] I did not count them, but there were several dozen, nearly all\ndifferent.  I have reason to believe that this man must have been one\nof the disciples of a former very celebrated snake charmer, who was\nknown all over India.\n\n[5] _See, he makes obeisance_.\n\n[6] Which we may roughly render: _Hood of snake brings joy and rue,\nthis to moon and that to you_.  In all Oriental saws jingle counts for\nmuch.\n\n[7] \"_Tutsi, in this world hobnob with everybody: for you never know in\nwhat guise the deity may present himself._\"  In the original it is a\nrhyming stanza.\n\n\n\n\n  Contents\n\n  I.  A Haunted Beauty\n  II.  A Total Eclipse\n  III.  A Fatal Kiss\n\n\n\n\nA Haunted Beauty\n\n\n\n\nA Haunted Beauty\n\n_May that triumphant Lord protect us, who as he stands in mysterious\nmeditation, bathed in twilight, motionless, and ashy pale,[1] with the\ncrystal moon in his yellow hair, appears to the host of worshippers on\nhis left, a woman, and to those on his right, a man._\n\n\nI\n\nThere lived of old, on the edge of the desert, a r\u00e1j\u00e1 of the race of\nthe sun.  And like that sun reflected at midday in the glassy depths of\nthe M\u00e1nasa lake, he had an image of himself in the form of a son,[2]\nwho exactly resembled him in every particular, except age.  And he gave\nhim the name of Aja, for he said: He is not another, but my very self\nthat has conquered death, and passed without birth straight over into\nanother body.  Moreover, he will resemble his ancestor, and the god\nafter whom I have called him Aja.[3]  So as this son grew up, his\nfather's delight in him grew greater also.  For he was tall as a\n_sh\u00e1la_ tree, and very strong, and yet like another God of Love: for\nhis face was more beautiful than the face of any woman, with large eyes\nlike lapis-lazuli, and lips like laughter incarnate: so that his\nfather, as often as he looked at him, said to himself: Surely the\nCreator has made a mistake, and mixed up his male and female\ningredients, and made him half and half.  For if only he had had a twin\nsister, it would have been difficult to tell with certainty which was\nwhich.\n\nAnd then, when Aja was eighteen, his father died.  And immediately, his\nrelations conspired against him, led by his maternal uncle.  And they\nlaid a plot, and seized him at night, and bound him when he was asleep:\nfor they dared not attack him when he was awake, for fear of his\ncourage and his prodigious strength.  And they deliberated over him, as\nhe lay bound, what they should do with him: and some of them were for\nputting him to death, then and there.  But the prime minister, who was\nin the plot, persuaded them to let him live, saying to himself: In this\nway I shall make for myself a loophole of escape, in case he should\never regain his throne.\n\nThen in the early morning, his uncle and his other relations took him\naway, and laid him bound on a swift camel.  And mounting others, they\nhurried him away into the desert, going at full speed for hours, till\nthey reached its very heart.  And there they set him down.  And they\nplaced beside him a little water in a small skin, and a little bag of\ncorn.  And his uncle said: Now, O nephew, we will leave thee, alone\nwith thy shadow and thy life in the sand.  And if thou canst save\nthyself by going away to the western quarter, lo! it is open before\nthee.  But beware of attempting to return home, towards the rising sun.\nFor I will set guards to watch thy coming, and I will not spare thee a\nsecond time.\n\nAnd then, he set his left arm free, and laid beside him a little knife.\nAnd they mounted their camels, and taking his, they flew away from him\nover the sand, like the shadow of a cloud driven by the western wind.\n\nSo when they were gone, Aja took the knife, and cut his bonds.  And he\nstood up, and watched them going, till they became specks on the edge\nof the desert and vanished out of his sight.\n\n\n\n[1] Being actually smeared with ashes.  The god is of course Shiwa, and\nthe allusion is to his _Ardhandri_, or half male, half female form.\n\n[2] This punning assonance is precisely in the vein of the original.\n\nII\n\nThen he looked round to the eight quarters of the world, and he looked\nup into the sky.  And he said to himself: There is my ancestor, alone\nabove, and I am alone, below.  And he put his two hands to his breast,\nand flung them out into the air.  And he exclaimed: _Bho!_ ye guardians\nof the world,[1] ye are my witnesses.  Thus do I fling away the past,\nand now the whole wide world is mine, and ye are my protectors.  And I\nhave escaped death by a miracle, and the craft of that old villain of a\nprime minister, whom I will one day punish as he deserves.  And now it\nis as though I knew, for the very first time in all my life, what it\nwas to be alive.  Ha!  I live and breathe, and there before me is food\nand water.  And now we will see which is the stronger: Death in the\nform of this lonely desert, or the life that laughs at his menace as it\ndances in my veins.  And little I care for the loss of my kingdom, now\nthat my father is dead and gone.  I throw it away like a blade of\ngrass, and so far from lamenting, I feel rather as if I had been born\nagain.  Ha! it is good to be alive, even in this waste of sand.  And he\nshouted aloud, and called out to the sun above him: Come, old\nGrandfather, thou and I will travel together across the sand.  And yet,\nno.  Thou art too rapid and too fierce to be a safe companion, even for\none of thine own race.  So thou shalt go before me, as is due to thee,\nand I will follow after.\n\nAnd then, he lay down on the sand, covering his head with his upper\ngarment, and slept and waited all day long, till the sun was going\ndown.  And then he rose, and ate and drank a very little, and taking\nwith him his skin and corn, he walked on after the sun, which sank to\nhis rest in the western mountain.  But Aja followed him all night long,\nwith the moon for his only companion.  And as he went, he saw the bones\nof men and camels, lying along the sand, and grinning at him as it were\nwith white and silent laughter, as though to say: Anticipate thy fate:\nfor but a little further on, and thou shalt be what we are now.  But he\nwent on with nimble feet, like one that hurries through the den of a\nsleeping hungry lion, till the sun rose at last behind him.  And then\nagain he lay down, and rested all day long, and started again at night.\nAnd so he proceeded for many days till all his water and corn were\ngone.  And as he threw away the skin, he set his teeth, and said: No\nmatter.  I will reach the end of this hideous sand, which, like the\ndress of Draupadi,[2] seems to roll itself out as I go across it,\nthough I should have to go walking on long after I am dead.\n\nAnd night after night he went on, growing every night a little weaker.\nAnd then at last there came a night when as he toiled along with heavy\nsteps that flagged as it were with loaded feet, faint with hunger and\nburning thirst, he said to himself: I am nearly spent, and now the end\nis coming near, either of the sand, or of me.  And then the sun rose\nbehind him, and he looked up, and lo! it was reflected from the wall of\na city before him, which resembled another sun of hope rising in the\nwest to cheer him.  And he rubbed his eyes, and looked again, saying to\nhimself: Is it a delusion of the desert, to mock me as I perish, or is\nit really a true city?  And he said again: Ha! it is a real city.  And\nhis ebbing strength came back to him with a flood of joy.  And he\nstopped, and took up a little sand, and turned, and threw it back,\nexclaiming: Out upon thee, abode of death![3]  Now, then, I have beaten\nthee, and thy victim will after all escape.  And he hurried on towards\nthe city, half afraid to take his eyes away from it for a single\ninstant, lest it should disappear.\n\nSo as he drew near it, he saw a crowd upon its wall.  And when he was\ndistant from it but a little way, suddenly its great gate's mouth was\nthrown open, and a stream of people shot from it like a long tongue,\nand rapidly came towards him, so that he said to himself: Ha! then, as\nit seems, I am expected by the citizens of this delightful city, who\nare as eager to come to me as I am to get to them.  And they came\ncloser, clamouring and buzzing as it were like bees; and he looked, and\nlo! they were all women, and there was not a man among them all.  And\nas he wondered, they ran up, and reached him, and threw themselves upon\nhim like a wave of the sea, laughing and crying, and drowning him in\ntheir embraces: and they took him as it were captive, and swept him\naway towards the city, all talking at once, and deafening him with\ntheir joyful exclamations, paying not the least attention to anything\nthat he tried to say.  And Aja let himself go, carried away by all\nthose women like a leaf in a rushing stream.  And he said to himself,\nin astonishment: What is this great wonder?  For all these women fight\nfor me, as if they had never seen a man in their lives before.  Where\nthen can the men be, to whom they must belong?  Or can it be that I\nhave come to a city composed of women without a man?  Have I escaped\nthe desert only to be drowned in a sea of women?  For what is the use\nof a single man in an ocean of the other sex?  Or are they dragging me\naway to offer me up to the Mother,[4] having sacrificed all their own\nhusbands already?  Or have I really died in the desert, and is all this\nonly a dream of the other world?  Can these be the heavenly Apsarases,\ncome in a body to fetch me away, as if I had fallen in battle?  Surely\nthey are, for some of them are sufficiently beautiful even for Indra's\nhall.  And anyhow, it is better to be torn to pieces by beautiful\nwomen, even if there are far too many, than to die in the desert, all\nalone.\n\nSo as they bore him along, chattering on like jays and cranes, he said\nagain to the women next him: Fair ones, who are you, and where are you\ntaking me, and why in the world are you so greatly delighted to see me?\nAnd then at last, they replied: O handsome stranger, ask nothing: very\nsoon thou shalt know all, for we are carrying thee away to our King.\nAnd Aja said to himself: Ha!  So, then, there is a King.  These women\nhave, after all, a King.  Truly, I am fain to see him, this singular\nKing of a female city.  And weak as he was, he began to laugh, as they\nall were laughing: and so they all surged on like a very sea of\nlaughter, through the gates of the city, and along the streets within,\ntill they came at last to the King's palace.  And all the way, Aja\nlooked, and there was not to be seen so much as the shadow of a man in\nall the streets, which overflowed with women like the channel of a\nriver in the rainy season.\n\nThen the guards of the palace doors, who were also women, took him, and\nled him in; and all the women who had brought him crowded in behind.\nAnd they mounted stairs, and after a while, they entered at last a\ngreat hall, whose pillars of alabaster were reflected in its dark green\ncrystal floor, giving it the semblance of a silent pool in which a\nmultitude of colossal swans had buried their necks beneath the water.\nAnd there Aja found himself in the presence of the King.\n\nAnd instantly, all the women screamed together: Victory to thee,\nMahar\u00e1j\u00e1! for here have we brought thee another husband for thy lovely\ndaughter.  And Aja started.  And he said to himself: Another husband!\nHow many husbands, then, has this strange King's daughter got already?\nHas she an insatiable thirst for husbands, whose number I am brought to\nswell?  So as he stood reflecting, the King leaped from his throne, and\ncame towards him.  And as Aja looked at him, he was seized with\namazement greater than before.  For the King resembled a very\nincarnation of the essence of grief, yet such that it was difficult to\nbehold him without laughter, as if the Creator had made him to exhibit\nskill in combining the two.  For his long thin hair was pure white, as\nif with sorrow, and his eyes were red, as if with weeping, and great\nhollow ruts were furrowed in his sunk and withered cheeks, as if the\ntears had worn themselves channels in which to run.  And though he was\ntall, he was bent and old, as if bowed down by a load of care.  And he\ntried, as if in vain, to smile, as he said in a mournful voice that\nquavered and cracked: O man, whoever thou art, long have I waited for\nthee, and glad indeed I am to see thee, and inclined to dance like a\npeacock at the sight of a rainy cloud.\n\nAnd as he gazed upon the King, Aja was seized with sudden laughter that\nwould not be controlled, saying within himself: Much in common they\nhave between them, a dancing happy peacock, and this doleful specimen\nof a weeping King!  And he laughed till tears ran down his cheeks also,\nas if in imitation of those of the King.  And when at last he could\nspeak, he said: O King, forgive me.  For I am very weak, and have come\nwithin a little of dying in the desert.  And I laughed from sheer\nexhaustion, and for joy to see in thy person as it were the warrant of\nmy escape from death.  Give me food, and above all, water, if thou\nwouldst not have me die at thy feet.  And afterwards, show me, if thou\nwilt, thy daughter, to whom, as it seems, I am to be married whether I\nwill or no.  And the King said: O thou model of the Creator's cunning\nin the making of man, thy hilarity is excused.  Food thou shalt have,\nand water, and everything else thou canst require, and that\nimmediately.  But as for my daughter, there she is before thee.  And\nshe could teach dancing even to Tumburu himself.[5]\n\n\n\n[1] The _Lokap\u00e1las_, or regents of the world, often thus appealed to,\nare eight: Kubera, Isha, Indra, Agni, Yama, Niruti, Waruna, and Wayu:\nand they ride on a horse, a bull, an elephant, a ram, a buffalo, a man,\na \"crocodile,\" and a stag.\n\n[2] When she was lost in the gambling match, and Duhsh\u00e1sana tried to\nstrip her, as he pulled off one dress, another appeared below it,\nrefusing to leave her naked.\n\n[3] Still the name of Marwar.\n\n[4] Durg\u00e1 or P\u00e1rwat\u00ed.\n\n[5] A Ghandarwa, or heavenly musician, and the dancing master of the\nApsarases.  [Pronounce tum- to rhyme with _room_, rather short.]\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nAnd then, as the laughter surged again in Aja's soul, saying within\nhimself: Out on this pitiable old scarecrow of a King, whose only\nthought is dancing! the King turned, and stood aside.  And Aja looked,\nand instantly, the laughter died out of his heart, which ceased as it\nwere to beat.  And he murmured to himself: Ha! this is the most\nwonderful thing of all.  King and women and desert and all vanished out\nof his mind, as if the sentiment that suddenly seized it filled it so\ncompletely as to leave room for nothing else.  And he stood still\ngazing, feeling as though he were spinning round, though he was\nstanding still as death.  For there before him stood this enigmatical\nKing's daughter.  And like her father, she also seemed an incarnation\nof the soul of grief, not as in his case ignominious and an object of\nderision, but rather resembling a heavenly drug compounded of the\ncamphor of the cold and midnight moon, that had put on a fragrant form\nof feminine and fairy beauty to drive the world to sheer distraction,\nhalf with love and half with woe.  For like the silvery vision of the\nnew-born streak of that Lord of Herbs, she was slender and pale and\nwan, formed as it seemed of some new strange essence of pure clear ice\nand new dropt snow, and she loomed on the soul of Aja out of the\nblackness of his trance like a large white drooping lily, just seen in\nthe gloom of an inky night.  And her hair and brow were the colour of a\nthunder-cloud in the month of Chaitra,[1] and like that cloud, the\nheavy sorrow hung in her great dark mournful eyes, drenching him as it\nwere with a shower of dusky dreamy dewy beauty, and drawing him down\nbewitched and lost like the victim of a haunted pool into the snaky\neddy of their silent unfathomable recess.  And yet her deep red lips\ntrembled, as it were on the very border of a smile, as if they were\nhinting against their will of a mine of laughter and subtle snares that\nthey were not allowed to use.  And she had risen up to come and meet\nhim, yet was hanging back as if reluctant, and so she stood, all\nreflected in the polished floor, with her head thrown back to look at\nhim, for she was very small, like one on the very point of imploring\nhelp, yet shrinking, as if too proud to ask it from a stranger,\nbalanced as it were between reliance on her own pure and pleading\nbeauty and doubtfulness of its reception.  So she halted irresolute,\nwith glorious throat that was hovering still over the swell of her\nlifted breasts, poised as it were on the very verge of tumultuous\noscillation, like that of Rati, preparing with timidity to cast herself\nat the feet of the three-eyed God, to beg back the body of her\nburned-up husband in a passion of love-lorn tears.\n\nAnd Aja stood before her, like the sea when the digit of the moon rises\nsuddenly over its waves, stirred with a tumult of strange emotions, and\nyet lit by a heavenly ray, a mass of agitated darkness mixed with\ndancing, trembling light; all unaware that he was himself to the King's\ndaughter exactly what she was to him, a weapon of bewilderment in the\nhands of the cunning god of the flowery bow, who shot him suddenly at\nher, like an arrow of intoxication, and pierced her through the very\nmiddle of the soft lotus of her heart.\n\nSo they two stood awhile in silence.  And all at once, Aja spoke, not\nknowing that he spoke aloud.  And he said, very slowly: How many\nhusbands, then, have already had this lustrous beauty, who looks for\nall as pure and pale and undefiled as a new young delicate jasmine bud?\nAnd instantly, as if roused from sleep by his reproach, he saw the\ncolour leap up into her cheek, and spread like dawn flushing over her\nburning throat and brow.  And she drew a sudden breath, and her bosom\nheaved abruptly as if with a sob of shame.  And at that moment, the\nvoice of the King her father broke harshly into Aja's dream, saying:\nAlas! alas!  Never a husband has had her yet, though she is now long\npast sixteen, and could even teach Tumburu dancing.\n\nAnd then, as if the King's words had suddenly lifted a weight from his\nsoul, Aja burst into a shout of laughter.  And he tottered, as if to\nfall.  And he caught at the old King's arm, and gripped it so that he\nalmost screamed, exclaiming amid his laughter: Ha!  King, I am also the\nson of a King: and now I will be thy son-in-law.  And she shall have a\nhusband at last, and teach him, if she pleases, dances that even\nTumburu does not know.  And with that, he fell into such a paroxysm of\nlaughter, that weak as he was, he could not stand, but fell: and his\nlaughing turned to sobbing.  Then the King's daughter turned to her\nfather, with an angry flush on her brow.  And she said, with strong\nemotion: O father, wilt thou delay for ever to send for food and water?\nDost thou not see that this King's son, great and powerful though he\nbe, is weak, and it may be, perishing, before thy face, of hunger and\nthirst, having escaped by a miracle out of the desert to die by thy\nneglect?\n\nAnd she clapped her hands, stamping her foot in indignation.  Then the\nwomen ran, and took up Aja, and carried him away.  And they bathed him,\nand tended him, and fed him till he was recovered: and after a while,\nthey brought him back, into the presence of the King.\n\n\n\n[1] April.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nSo he came once more into that hall, looking like another man.  And he\nseemed in the eyes of the King like the rising sun of his daughter's\nmarriage, but in those of his daughter like the very God of Love, newly\nrisen from his own ashes.  And he said joyously: O King, now I am again\nmyself: and my reason and my strength have both again returned to me.\nAnd if in their absence, I behaved strangely and without good manners,\nit behoves thee to lay the blame rather on the desert of sand that\nsurrounds thy city, than on myself.  For I was like one delirious, and\nhalf distracted by wonder and other feelings coming to the aid of\nhunger and thirst.  Then he told the King his name and family, and all\nhis story, looking all the while at the King's daughter, as she did all\nthe while at him, with glances that resembled sighs.  But as he watched\nher, Aja said to himself in wonder: What has happened to her, since I\nsaw her first, and what is the matter with her, now?  For her quiet\ngrief has abandoned her, and she looks like one in a burning fever; and\ntwo red spots, like suns, burn and blaze upon her cheeks, and her great\neyes shine and glow, as if there were a fire within her soul.  So when\nhe had finished his own tale, he said: Now, then, O King, I have told\nthee all that I have to tell.  And now it is thy turn to speak.\nExplain to me all this wonder; for I seem to move in a maze of\nextraordinary events.  Why are there, in thy city, no men, but only\nwomen?  And what is the cause of thy grief?  And, greatest wonder of\nall, how comes it that thou hast found a difficulty in finding a\nhusband for this thy daughter?  For, as for myself, know that, make any\nterms thou wilt, I am ready to marry her, blindfold, on any conditions\nwhatever: nay, would she only be my wife, I should consider the fruit\nof my birth attained.\n\nAnd then, to his amazement, that strange old King began to weep once\nmore.  And tears flowed down his cheeks like rain, as he said: Alas!\nalas!  O son-in-law that would be, so fine a man art thou, that I am\ndistressed indeed to see thee, and to hear thee so eagerly proposing to\ntake my daughter for thy wife.  For all that have preceded thee, and\nthey were many hundreds, have said the very same: and yet all without\nexception have come to a miserable end: and there she is, unmarried\nstill.[1] And yet this is no fault of hers, unless indeed it be a fault\nto be beautiful beyond compare.  Nor has her maiden purity been sullied\nin the least degree by ever a suitor of them all.  But all this has\ncome about by reason of a fault of mine, itself, beyond a doubt, the\nbitter fruit of the tree of crimes committed in a former birth.  For\nknow that long ago, when I was young, I conquered the entire earth, and\nbrought it all, from sea to sea, under the shadow of one umbrella.  So\nwhen I was reposing, after my exertions, one day there came to see me\nN\u00e1rada and another _rishi_.  And N\u00e1rada entered first.  And when he\ncomplimented me, as the chosen husband of the earth, I said to myself:\nNow, I must make him some suitable return.  And accordingly, I\npresented him with the whole earth.  Then he replied: O King, what is\nthe use of the earth to me?  And he gave it back to me, with his\nblessing, saying: Obtain an incomparably beautiful offspring![2] and so\nhe went away.  And then the other great _rishi_ entered, and\ncongratulated me also.  And I presented him also with the entire earth.\nThen that _rishi_ looked at me with eyes that were red with anger.  And\nhe said slowly: What!  Is my merit utterly despised?  Dost thou presume\nto offer me only the leavings of another?  Thou shalt indeed obtain\noffspring, but only of the female sex.  And beautiful it shall be\nindeed: but little shall that beauty profit either thyself or her.  So\nhaving uttered his curse,[3] he laughed, and instantly went away,\nrefusing to be propitiated or to throw any light upon the future.  And\nthereafter in due time there was born to me, not the nectar of a son,\nbut this lump of grief in the form of a daughter.  And as if her sex\nwere not enough,[4] her almost inconceivable beauty and accomplishments\nhave only added to my calamity: nay, they are the very root of it, and\nthe essence of its sting.  For all has come to pass, exactly as that\ntesty old _rishi_ said.  For though she is, as thou seest, beautiful as\nthe moon, and like it, full of arts,[5] and above all, a dancer that\nwould turn even Tumburu green with envy, all this nectar has become\npoison by the curse of that old ascetic, and the very perfection of her\nbeauty has become the means of undoing us both.  For about two years\nago, as we were walking together at midnight, on the terrace of the\npalace, that forms the edge of the city wall, enjoying the cold camphor\nof the moon after the heat of a burning day, suddenly, out of the\ndesert, we heard as it were the rush of wings.  And as we stood and\nlistened, there arose in the air a sound of voices, like those of a man\nand woman in vehement dispute.  But though we could distinguish the\ntones, we could not understand the meaning, for the language was\nunknown to us.  And then, after a while, those two invisible air-goers\nappeared all at once before our eyes, seated on the battlements, in the\nform of a pair of vultures.[6] And immediately, the male vulture spoke\nwith a human voice, saying: O King, give me now this daughter of thine\nto wife.  And instantly I answered rashly: Never will I bestow my\ndaughter on a bird of ill-omen such as thou art.  Thereupon that\nevil-minded suitor laughed like a hy\u00e6na: and instantly my daughter fell\ninto a swoon.  And as she lay in the moonlight, she looked so\nindescribably and unutterably beautiful that even that loathsome bird\nwas moved.  And he said to his companion: Daughter, I was right, and\nthou wert wrong.  Look, and see, and allow, that she is far more\nbeautiful than even thou art.  Thereupon that _gridhri_[7] laughed\nalso, and she said: Time shall show.  Listen, King.  This is\nK\u00edrttisena, a nephew of W\u00e1suki, King of the Snakes, and I am his only\ndaughter.  For this form of vulture was assumed by us, only to converse\nwith thee.  Now he maintained thy daughter to be more beautiful than I\nam.  Thereupon I vowed vengeance.  But I agreed to leave her\nunmolested, if thou didst give her to him for a wife.  So to preserve\nher from my vengeance, he asked her of thee in marriage.  Now, then,\nsince thou hast rejected his suit, despising him hastily for his\noutward form, and since my own beauty has been slighted by his\ncomparison, ye two shall be punished, she for her beauty, and thou for\nthine insolence, and through the means of that very beauty, on account\nof which my father and I have become contemptible.  See, O thou who\ndespisest a suitor, whether thou canst easily procure another.  This\nshall be the condition of thy daughter's marriage.  Whatever suitor\nshall lay claim to her, thou shalt send up to this terrace alone at\nnight.  And if he claims, and does not come, we will swallow thy city\nwhole, houses and all.  Then those two vultures disappeared.  And not\nlong afterwards, hearing that my daughter was to be given in marriage,\nsuitors arrived like swarms of bees from every quarter of the world,\nattracted by her fame.  For she is called Yashowat\u00ed, because the fame\nof her fills the world.  Then all those suitors followed one another,\nlike the days of the year in which they went, up upon the terrace of\nthe city wall: and like those days, not one of them all has ever\nreturned, but they have vanished utterly, none knows how, or where.\nAnd when all the distant suitors were exhausted, and all the\nneighbouring kings, then, in my ardent desire to get her married, no\nmatter how, to no matter whom, I offered her to the men of my own city,\nshowing her to them from the palace windows.  And every man that saw\nher ran to win her; and one by one, the men of the city followed after\nher former suitors, till they grew few in the city.  Thereupon the\nwomen banded together, and took their husbands and their sons and\neverything in the shape of a man, and hid them: and now as thou seest,\nthere is not a man to be seen or found, in the whole city.  But every\nstranger that comes to the city, they catch, and bring him straight to\nme, as they have done in thy case also.  And the mere sight of my\ndaughter always makes him not only willing, but, as thou art, even\neager, to marry her at any cost.  And yet they have all utterly\nvanished, like stones dropped, one after another, into a well without a\nfloor.  And there is my daughter, maiden and unmarried still.  And I\ncan see my ancestors wringing their hands for grief: knowing well that\nas soon as I myself am dead, it is all over with their race.  For who\nwill offer them water, since the fatal beauty of my only daughter has\nset a term to my ancient line?\n\nSo as Aja stood, lost in wonder at the old King's story, his daughter\nsuddenly rose to her feet with a shrill cry.  And she exclaimed: O son\nof a King, fly quickly!  Hence! away! back with thee even into the\ndesert, and leave me and my father and this miserable city to our\ninevitable fate.  And she sank down in a swoon, and would have fallen\nto the ground, but that Aja sprang quickly forward and caught her as\nshe fell.\n\nSo as he stood, holding her in his arms, and wishing that her swoon\nmight last for ever, so only that he held her, for she stole away his\nsenses with the seduction of her fragrance and proximity, her father\nexclaimed, in dismay: Ha! this is something new, and a thing that has\nnever occurred before.  And what can be the matter now?  O son of a\nKing! she must have fallen in love with thee, as well indeed she might,\nfor thy beauty and thy youth.  And doubtless it has grieved her soul,\nto think of thy approaching end.  But alas! alas! this is worse than\nall.  For now, if thou fallest a victim, as cannot fail to be the case,\nlike all thy predecessors, she will herself not survive thee: and then,\nindeed, there is an end of all.  For as long as she was left to be\nmarried, there was still a shadow of hope behind.\n\nAnd he began to ramble about, wringing his hands for grief.  But Aja\nsaid to himself, with joy: Ha! this was all I wanted, if only it be\ntrue.  And he said to the King: O King, it will be time enough to\nafflict thyself for her death or for mine when we have actually died.\nBut count me, in the meantime, as thy son-in-law: and be under no\nanxiety as to the fate of thy ancestors.  For I will guarantee their\ngood condition: and this very night, I will rid thee of the evil demon\nthat molests her.  And tomorrow, I will take this hand, and lead her\nround the fire.[8]\n\nAnd he took her hand, as she lay in his arms, and touched it with his\nlips.\n\n\n\n[1] It may not be superfluous to remind the English reader that,\naccording to Hindoo ideas, there is no disgrace like that of possessing\nan unmarried daughter.  Hence the practice, among the Rajpoots and\nadjacent peoples, of destroying the female infants, to avoid it.\n\n[2] Intending, of course, a son.  Unfortunately he employed a word of\nindeterminate gender: hence the lamentable _d\u00e9nouement_.  For in\nancient India, as in ancient Rome, the spoken word, the letter,\ndetermined everything.\n\n[3] Nothing in Hindoo mythology is more absurd than the implacable fury\nof the most holy men for the most trifling slights, unless it be the\naccuracy with which their most dreadful imprecations are literally\nfulfilled.  This was, I believe, characteristic also of the saints of\nErin.\n\n[4] An English lady having called, not long ago, at the house of a\nHindoo lady, to enquire how she was, after an interesting event, and\n_what was the result_, received for answer: Alas, _memsahib, nothing at\nall_: a girl.  Had she been a partisan of \"woman's rights,\" she would\nprobably never have recovered from the shock.\n\n[5] A play on words, not transferable to English.\n\n[6] It is a very bad omen, in India, for a vulture to settle on a house.\n\n[7] A female vulture.  I retain the original word, because it seems to\nbe peculiarly expressive of the thing.\n\n[8] That is, marry her.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nAnd instantly, as though his kiss had been to her like sandal and like\npalm-leaf fans, she came back to herself.  And when she saw who held\nher, she started up, and stood, blushing the colour of her own lips,\nwith eyes cast upon the ground.  And the King said: O daughter, what is\nthis?  Does it become a high caste maiden outwardly to exhibit her\ninward feelings, and abandon the straight line of virgin modesty by\nbehaviour that betrays her heart?\n\nAnd then, Yashowat\u00ed sighed deeply.  And she looked for a while in\nsilence, first at her father, and then at Aja: and all at once, she\nstood erect, like one seized by sudden resolution, and she clapped her\nhands together, and exclaimed, in a voice that shook and quivered with\nemotion: Ha! who can hide a forest fire by covering it over with a\nlittle straw, or what does maiden conduct matter, in the ruin of the\nthree worlds!  Aye! the fire of grief consumed me, to see this noble\nson of a king, and to think that he escaped the desert only to meet his\ndeath from me.  Now has my punishment come upon me in the form of this\ntall and splendid youth.  For I grieved for the fate of my former\nsuitors, and yet I saw them for all that go, one by one, to their\nuseless doom, and still myself remained alive.  Long ago, beyond a\ndoubt, I ought myself to have left the body, and perished of my own\naccord, rather than consent to live, the cause of death to so many\nothers: and by putting myself to death, I should have cut in two the\nfatal chain of their succession, and saved their lives by the\nsubstitute of my own.  And now, instead, I have been as it were their\nmurderess, and a death to them all in female form.  And now the Deity\nhas avenged them, by sending to me at last the God of Love in human\nshape, whose death will be a grief to me a hundred fold more awful than\nany death I could have died.  And I myself shall not survive him.  Then\nwhy waste time in chiding one who has but one more day to live?  For as\nsoon as night arrives, he must go like the rest to meet his doom: and\ncertain it is, that I shall not live to see the sun rise again without\nhim.\n\nAnd as she spoke, they gazed at her, astonished.  For she seemed like\none that has burst the bonds of all restraint, and thrown all\nconsideration to the eight quarters of the world.  But as soon as she\nstopped, the old King uttered a doleful cry.  And he exclaimed:\nYashowat\u00ed, O daughter, what words are these?  Is it any fault of thine\nthat thou art beautiful?  And wilt thou talk of abandoning the body?\nThen what will become of the family, of which thou art the only hope?\nBut Aja laughed: and he said: O lovely lady, waste not thy grief on\nsuch a thing as I am: and O father-in-law, cease from bewailing\ncalamities that are only the shadows of thy own fears cast upon the\ndark curtain of the future.  For many are they that are doomed to die,\nyet never perish after all.  And I have not escaped the sand to perish\nlightly in any other way.  Be assured that the lamp of thy race is\nburning still with a steady flame, not to be extinguished by a little\npuff of wind.  To-morrow we will laugh together over these idle\napprehensions, which the rising sun will dissipate together with the\nmists of night.\n\nBut Yashowat\u00ed turned, and looked at him with steady eyes.  And she\nsaid: My husband, for such indeed thou art, the first that I have ever\nchosen,[1] and the last that shall ever claim my hand: dost thou think\nthat I would have so far forgotten the reserve that is becoming to a\nmaiden of my caste, as to offer myself like an _abhis\u00e1rik\u00e1_, but that I\nknow, as thou canst not know it, the absolute and utterly inevitable\ncertainty of thy doom, and that this is the very last day we shall\nspend together, though it is also the very first?  And Aja looked at\nher with affection: and he laughed again.  And he said: Sweet wife,\nsince thou art so very certain, then as it must be, let it be.  What\ncare I for to-morrow, if I am with thee all to-day?  Knowing that but\nan hour ago, when first I saw thee, I would have given my life, doubly\ndear as it was by reason of its recent escape from death, to win from\nthee a little love, even a very little.  But as it is, a single day is\nlife enough, provided it is spent with thee, even though I were really\ndestined never to see another.\n\nAnd she looked at him with wistful eyes; and after a while, she said:\nThou art brave, and as I would have had thee.  And thou dost not\nbelieve me: and it may be, it is better so.  And then she turned to the\nKing, and said: O father, go away now: and leave me alone with my\nhusband.  And be not afraid, either for thy honour or my own, for there\nshall be as it were a sword between us.  But I wish to have him all to\nmyself, until the end.  And when the time has come, let the gong be\nsounded, and I will send him out to thee, and thou canst show him the\nway to death.  And thereupon the old King went away as she desired,\nmoaning and muttering, and wringing his hands with grief.\n\nSo when he was gone, those two lovers sat together all day long, gazing\nat each other like the sunflower and the sun.  And he utterly forgot\nthe morrow, but it never left her mind, even for a single instant.  And\nshe made him relate to her his whole life from the very beginning,\ndrinking in his words, and hanging on his lips, and watching him\nkeenly, with eyes that never left his face, holding all the while his\nhand, with the grasp of one who knows that her husband must be led to\nexecution in the evening.  And she said to herself, at every moment:\nStill he is here: still he is here.  And when the sun set, she sent for\nfood and delicacies and wine, and fed him like a child with her own\nhand, tasting herself nothing.  And she surfeited him with the honey of\nher sweetness and the syrup of her kisses and the nectar of the young\nnew moon of beauty bathed in the sun of love, the redder[2] because of\nits approaching set.  And all at once, she started to her feet, in the\nvery middle of a caress.  And she stood, listening.  And Aja listened\nalso: and he heard in the silence the sound of a gong.\n\nSo as he watched her, she turned paler and ever paler, like the east at\nthe break of dawn.  And she put her two hands together, and pressed\nthem tight against her heart, and then against her brow.  And all at\nonce, she came quickly to him, and said in a low voice: It is time.\nAnd she took his head in her hands, and kissed him, with lips that were\ncold as ice, and yet hot as fire, first on the eyes, and then on the\nmouth, and last of all upon the brow.  And then she took his hand, and\nheld it for a little while, with a clutch that almost hurt him, gazing\nat him with thirsty eyes.  And suddenly, she threw away his hand, and\npushed him away roughly, saying: Go.  But Aja caught her in his arms,\nand kissed her yet again, as it were against her will.  And he said: O\nfearful heart, be not afraid.  Very soon, I will return.  And he went\naway quickly, but at the door he turned, and saw her standing still,\nwatching him with dry bright eyes, and lips that were shut tight.  And\nat that very moment, the old King took him by the arm, and said: Come\nnow, and I will show thee the way by which all thy predecessors went\nbefore thee.\n\nThen Aja said: O King, I am unarmed.  Give me a weapon to carry with\nme.  So the King took him into the armoury, and he chose for himself a\nsword almost as long as he was tall.  But he threw away the scabbard,\nsaying: This would only be in the way: and now I am prepared.  And then\nthe King led him away, and up a winding stair.\n\nAnd when they were at the top, he stopped.  And he said: O son-in-law\nthat might have been, now fare thee well.  And even I feel it harder to\npart with thee than with any of thy predecessors.  Thou wouldst have\nmade an altogether appropriate husband for my daughter, and O! that\nthou couldst have seen her dance, before thus disappearing: but now it\nis too late, for I doubt whether Tumburu himself could make her dance\nto-night, so troubled did she seem to be at bidding thee good-bye.  Go\nout, now, through yonder door: and thou wilt be more fortunate than all\nthe others, if thou canst manage to return through it.\n\nThen he went back into the palace.  But Aja passed through the door,\nand found himself on the city wall.\n\n\n\n[1] This was the privilege of kings' daughters.\n\n[2] A play on words: meaning also _more affectionate_.\n\n\n\n\nA Total Eclipse\n\n\n\n[Illustration: Hindu script]\n\n  _Then kith and kin and home forget, and all,\n    To sail beyond the setting sun, with me,\n  Where dead love's dreamy recollections call\n                              Across the sea._\n\n\n\n\nA Total Eclipse\n\nI\n\nAnd he stood on the edge of the city wall, with his naked sword in his\nhand.  And he looked on this side and on that, and saw the turrets of\nthe city jutting out along the wall, like the huge black heads of\nelephants of war advancing in a line.  And behind him lay the city,\ncovered over with a pall of black that was edged and touched with\nsilver points and fringes; and before him the desert stretched away,\nsmeared as it were with ashes, under the light of the moon.  And brave\nas he was, his heart beat, just a very little, in expectation of what\nwas coming.  And he said to himself: My father-in-law's dismissal was\nnot very reassuring.  But where then is the danger, and from what\nquarter is it coming, and what form will it take?  For here is nothing\nwhatever to fight with, except the shadows cast by the moon.  Or is\nthis all merely a trick of the King to test me, before which all my\npredecessors have ignominiously failed?  Yet no.  For were it so, my\nwife would indeed be an actress[1] capable of reducing Tumburu to the\nstate of ashes.\n\nSo as he stood, waiting, and smiling at his own thoughts, it happened\nthat that daughter of K\u00edrttisena, whose jealousy of the King's daughter\nhad caused all the trouble in the King's city, came according to her\ncustom flying towards the city wall.  For every night she came to see\nwhether there was a new suitor.  And whenever she discovered one, she\nhad recourse to a R\u00e1kshasa that was bound to her by obligations, who\ncame as soon as thought of, and swallowed that unhappy suitor whole.[2]\nAnd now for some time, no new suitor had appeared.  So as she came\nflying in the likeness of a bat, she looked towards the city wall,\nexpecting to find it empty.  And she saw, instead, Aja, standing,\nleaning on his sword, and smiling, on the very edge of the wall.  And\nat the very first glance at him, she was struck with stupor, and she\nfell that very moment so violently in love with him[3] that she could\nhardly flap her wings, by reason of the fierce agitation of her heart.\nSo she alighted on the wall, a little distance off, and remained\nwatching him, hardly able to breathe for emotion, in her own form[4]\nbut surrounding herself with a veil of invisibility to escape his\nobservation.  And after a while, she drew a long breath, and murmured\nto herself: Ha! this is a suitor indeed, very different from all the\nothers; and rather than a mere mortal man, he resembles the son of\nDewak\u00ed,[5] with R\u00e1dh\u00e1 caressing him in the form of the moonlight that\nseems to cling affectionately to his glorious limbs.  Ha!  he looks\nlike the tutelary deity of the city come to defy me, bringing the god\nof love to his aid in the form of his own marvellous and incomparable\nbeauty.  Aye! and I feel that I am defeated already, before the battle\nhas so much as begun.  And then, all at once, a spasm of rage shot\nthrough her heart, and she turned pale.  And she exclaimed: Ah! but I\nam anticipated by this accursed King's daughter, who will rob me of\nhim, nay, has already done it, by her undeniable hateful beauty, and\nher priority of claim.  Alas! alas!  O why did I not see him first,\nbefore her abominable loveliness had made an impression on his heart?\nFor he is very young, and it must be, open to the spell of beauty, and\nartless, and sincere.  Ha!  And suddenly, she started up, as if an idea\nhad rushed into her mind.  And she stood for a moment, thinking.  And\nthen she exclaimed, with a gesture of resolution: Yes, I also am\nbeautiful.  Now, then, I will efface her image from his heart, and\nreplace it by my own.  Now I will assault him, by all the power of my\ncharms,[6] and we will see whether he will be proof against the glamour\nof a beauty such as mine, multiplied and magnified by magic sorcery and\nfierce determination.  Aye!  I will move heaven and earth to steal his\nheart from the King's daughter, and turn P\u00e1t\u00e1la[7] upside down to make\nhim mine instead of hers.  But if I fail?  And again she turned deadly\npale.  And after a while, a bitter smile curled over her lips.  And she\nsaid: If, if I fail; no, but I will not fail.  But if I fail, then, I\nwill take another way.\n\n\n\n[1] An actress and a dancer are in Sanskrit denoted by the same word.\n\n[2] This method of disposing of objectionable suitors is unfortunately\nnot available in Europe.  A great swallowing capacity is a feature of\nthe species R\u00e1kshasa.  The \"coming as soon as thought of\"\n(_dhy\u00e1t\u00e1gata_) is the Indian equivalent of \"rubbing the lamp\" in the\nArabian Nights.\n\n[3] _Who ever loved that loved not at first sight_?  Every Oriental\nwould side with Shakespeare in this matter: love, in the East is not\nlove, unless it comes like a flash of lightning.\n\n[4] This might be either that of a woman or a snake, for the Nagas, to\nwhom she belonged, waver between the two.  The Naga, it may be well to\nremind the reader, is a being possessed of magic powers, especially\nthat of _glamour_ or _blearing the eye_, which appealed so powerfully\nto Spenser and Sir Walter Scott.\n\n[5] Krishna, whose colour, it is to be noted, is blue.\n\n[6] In every sense of the word: _mohai\u00e1lam\u00e1y\u00e1_ is stronger than any\nEnglish equivalent.\n\n[7] The Underworld, the home of the snakes.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nSo as Aja stood upon the wall, looking out over the desert, suddenly\nall vanished from before his eyes.  And he saw before him no city, and\nno desert.  But he found himself in a dusky wood, thick with tall\n_tam\u00e1la_[1] trees, and lit by a light that was neither that of the sun\nnor that of the moon.  And all around him huge red poppies waved gently\nwithout a wind, mixed with great moon-lotuses, whose perfume went and\ncame by turns as it hung on the heavy air.  And under the shadow of the\nblack-leaved trees large bats flew here and there with slow and\nnoiseless flap, and on the branches monstrous owls with topaz eyes like\nwheels of flame sat motionless, as if to watch.  And a dead silence\nlike that of space whence all three worlds have been removed left Aja\nnothing else to hear but the beat of his own heart.  And the hair rose\nup upon his head with sheer amazement.  And he said to himself: Ha!\nwhat new wonder is this, and what has become of the city wall?  And\nwhere in the world have I got to now, and how?  Now let me be very\nwary, for the danger is evidently coming near.\n\nAnd as he stood, grasping his sword, prepared, and looking quickly\nright and left, suddenly he saw a thing which rivetted his gaze to it,\nas if with an iron nail.\n\nA little way off, among the poppies, was standing up like a lonely\ncolumn all that was left of one of the walls of a ruined temple, whose\nfallen pillars were lying scattered all around it, half concealed by\ncreeping leaves.  And as he gazed intently at this upright fragment of\na fallen wall, he saw upon it the image of a sculptured woman, which\nstood out so distinctly that he could not take his eyes from it.  And\nafter a while, he said to himself: Surely that can be no stone statue,\nbut a real woman of flesh and blood, actually leaning, who knows why,\nagainst that bit of a broken wall.  And he looked and looked, and after\na while, filled with irresistible curiosity, he went nearer, but very\nslowly, and as it were on his guard, to see.\n\nSo as he gazed, wonder and admiration gradually crept into his soul,\nand stole his recollection unaware.  And he became wholly intent on the\nstone image, and forgetful of his situation.  And he ceased to wonder\nat finding himself in the wood, so great was his new wonder at the\nbeauty of the woman on the wall.  And he said to himself: Surely he was\na master artist, whoever he was, that made this woman out of stone, if\nstone indeed she be.  For even now, near as I am, I can hardly believe\nshe is made of stone.\n\nAnd the more he looked, the more he marvelled.  For she seemed in his\neyes like a frozen mass of lunar camphor, moulded into a female form,\nstanding cold and pure and still, alone by herself in that strange half\nlight, that hovered as it were irresolute between the natures of night\nand day.  And she stood with her right hand on her hip, which jutted\nout to receive it like the curve of a breaking wave: and her bare right\nbreast stood out and shone like a great moonlit sea pearl, while the\nother was hiding behind the curling fold of the pale green garment that\nran around her, embracing her with clinging clasp like a winding wisp\nof emerald foam fondly wrapping the yielding waist of Wishnu's sea-born\nwife.  And she was very tall, and shaped like Shr\u00ed, and she stood with\nher head a little bent, and her sightless eyes fixed as it were on\nempty space, just as though she were listening for some expected sound.\nAnd as he continued to gaze at her, a wonder that was almost horror\ncrept into his mind.  For her face was not like that of an image, but\nrather resembled a mask, or the face of a very beautiful woman, that\nvery moment dead.  For the colour seemed as it were to have only just\nfaded from her cheek, and the blood seemed only just before to have\nleft her pallid lips, and the sight was as it were hanging yet in her\ngreat long open eyes, that were fixed on the distant sky.  And he\nstood, gazing, as if the very sight of her had made of him another\nimage like herself.\n\nAnd then, at last, he stepped forward.  And he put out his left hand,\nand touched her with his forefinger on the shoulder that was bare.\n\nAnd instantly, as if his touch had filled her with a flood of life, a\nshiver ran like quicksilver over her stony limbs.  And as he started\nback, to watch, the colour came back into her face, and red blood\nrushed into her lips, and deep blue suddenly filled her eyes.  And the\ntresses of hair around her head turned all of a sudden a glossy black,\nthat shone with a blue-green lustre, as if reflecting the grassy sheen\nof her winding robe.  And her bosom lifted slowly, and fell again with\na deep sigh.  And all at once, she abruptly altered her position, and\nher eyes fell straight on Aja, standing just before her.  And she\nlifted up, first one eyebrow, and then the other, till they formed a\nperfect bow, for they joined each other in the middle.  And she uttered\na faint cry, as if in joy, exclaiming: Ha! can it be, and is it thou?\nOr am I dreaming still?\n\n\n\n[1] A tree with very black bark and white blossoms, dear to erotic\npoets, such as, _e.g._, Jayadewa.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nAnd Aja stood, staring at her with stony gaze, like a mirror of her own\nsurprise.  And he said to himself: Surely it is not she, but I myself,\nthat am the dreamer.  For here since the sun rose last, I have escaped\nthe desert, and found this city without a man, and acquired a bride of\npeerless beauty: and now here is another, rising as it were from the\ndead, and seeming to expect me.  And he continued standing silent,\ngazing at her, sword in hand.  And after a while, she said: What! is my\nform, then, so frightful as to rob thee of thy tongue?  Or art thou\ngoing to use that sword against me?  Speak: but in the meanwhile, let\nme see whether I have lost the use of my limbs, as thou hast that of\nthy tongue, after so long a sleep.  And she leaped from her little\npedestal, and moved a little way here and there, waving her beautiful\narms about: and after a while, she came back, and sat down just before\nhim, on one of the fallen pillars that were lying about the ground.\nAnd all the while Aja watched her, as if fascinated by a serpent,\nsaying within himself: She moves like nothing I ever saw, save a\npanther or a gliding snake.[1]  And then, all at once, she again put up\none eyebrow, and said to him with a smile: Must I, then, actually tell\nthee, that I am Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed?[2]  Then Aja said: O lady, it is obvious.\nFor thy bent brow would plant arrows even in the heart of the Great\nAscetic.  And she said again: O husband, is this thy welcome, after so\nlong a separation?\n\nAnd Aja bounded, as if bitten by a snake.  And he exclaimed: Thy\nhusband!  What!  Am I then thy husband also?  Does thy whole sex want\nto get me for a husband?  But O thou beauty of bending brows, how can\nhe be thy husband, that never saw thee in his life before?  And only\nthis morning, I was still wifeless, and a day has not elapsed, since I\nbecame another's husband.  And he stopped short, again confounded at\nthe effect of his own words.  For hardly had they passed his lips, when\nNatabhr\u00fakut\u00ed started up, swelling with rage and convulsed with fury,\nwith eyes that blazed like fiery stars.  And she exclaimed: Never!\nnever!  Never shall she possess thee, nor any other than I myself.  And\nthen, like a flash of lightning, her rage vanished as quickly as it\ncame.  And she looked at him with imploring eyes, and said: Slay me\nnow, with thy long bright sword, and send me back to that nonentity out\nof which thou hast just recalled me: but speak not of another woman in\nfront of me.  Alas! and am I all forgotten?  And tears rolled from her\ngreat blue eyes, and fell like suppliants at her feet.\n\nAnd Aja put up his left hand, and tugged at his hair in the extremity\nof his amazement.  And he said: O thou strange offended lady, I am\nutterly bewildered, and resemble one that has lost his way at midnight\nin a wood.  And thy anger and thy grief are alike altogether\nincomprehensible.  How can I possibly have forgotten one, whom as I\njust now told thee, I never saw in my life before?  Then she said: Nay,\nnot in this life, but the last.  For I was the wife of thy former birth.\n\nThen Aja laughed, and he said: O beauty, who remembers his former\nbirth?  For like every other man, and like my ancestor the sun, I have\nrisen up into light out of the sea of dark oblivion, into which I must\nsink again at last.  And then she looked at him with a deep sigh.  And\nshe said: Alas!  This is a punishment indeed, and worse by far than all\nthe rest, if after having endured so long the state of a stone upon a\nwall, I am again become a woman, only to find myself repudiated and all\nforgotten, by him, on whose account I suffered all.  Listen, then, and\nI will tell thee the story of thy former birth.  It may be that, in the\nhearing, some scattered reminiscences will be as it were awakened, to\nstir again in the dark lethargy of thy sleeping soul.\n\n\n\n[1] It is a wonderful thing to see a cobra move.  Nothing can describe\nit.\n\n[2] That is, _the Beauty of the arched eyebrows_.  (Pronounce _Nat-_ to\nrhyme with _but_.)\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nAnd then she began to speak.  And as she spoke, she leaned forward, as\nshe sat upon the fallen pillar, and fastened her great eager eyes like\nmagnets on his own.  And as Aja watched them, they played as it were\nupon his heart.  For their colour wavered and changed and faltered,\nshifting ever from hue to hue, turning golden and ruddy amber, and\nemerald-green and lotus-blue; and over her eyes her arching brows\nlifted and fell and played and flickered, fixing his troubled soul like\nnails, and rivetting his attention, till her singing voice sounded in\nhis head like a distant tune crooned in the ear of a sleepy man.  And\nshe waved slowly her long round arms, all the while she spoke.  And she\nsaid: Far away, over the sea, lies thy own forgotten land, and\npresently I will tell thee, and even show thee, where it is.  And there\nit was, in our former birth, that thou and I were boy and girl.  But\nthou wert the son of a mighty King, and I was only a Brahmani, a poor\nman's daughter, and my father was an old ascetic, far below thee in\neverything else but caste.  And I lived alone with my old father, in\nthe very heart of a great forest, in a little hut of bark, over which\nthe _m\u00e1lati_ creeper grew so thick that nothing was visible of that\nlittle hut, except its door.  And then one day I was seen by thee,\nstanding still in that very door, with my pitcher on my head: as thou\nwert passing through the wood to hunt upon thy horse.  And that moment\nwas like a sponge, that blotted from the mind of each everything but\nthe other's image.  And I made of thee my deity, and forgot everything\nin the three great worlds, for thee alone.  And thou, that day, didst\nclean forget thy hunting: or rather, the God of Love showed thee game\nof another kind,[1] and from pursuing thou didst fall to wooing a\nquarry that wished for nothing so much as to be thy prey.  And we\nmarried each other that very day, which ah! thou hast all forgotten.\nWhat! dost thou not remember how I used to meet thee every day in the\nlittle hut, when my father was away in the wood engaged in meditation?\nWhat! hast thou really all forgotten how it was thy supreme delight to\nbring me garments and costly jewels, which I put on for thy amusement,\nthy forest-queen of the little hut?  Has thy memory cast away every\nvestige of reminiscence of thy old sweet love in the little hut?  So\nthen it happened that on a day we were together, blind and drunk with\neach other's presence, shut within the little hut like a pair of bees\nin a nectared lotus.  And I was standing like an idol, dressed like the\nqueen of a _chakrawarti_,[2] loaded with gold on wrists and feet, with\ngreat pearls wound about my neck; and thou wert contemplating me, thy\ncreature,[3] with intoxication, and hard indeed it was to tell which of\nus two was the idol, and which was the devotee.  And as we woke up from\na kiss that lasted like infinity, lo! my father stood before us.  And\nhe said slowly: Abandoned daughter, that hast forgot thy duty in thy\npassion for this King's son, become what thou hast represented, an\nidol[4] of stone on the wall of a ruined temple far away: and thou, her\nguilty lover, fall again into another birth, and be separated from thy\nguilty love.  Then being besought by us, to fix some period to the\ncurse, he said again: When ye two shall meet again, and thy husband in\nhis curiosity shall touch thee with his finger, she shall regain her\nwoman's state, and be as she was before.  And now all this has come\nabout, exactly as he said.  And I have found thee once again, only to\nfind alas! alas! that thou hast left thy heart behind thee in that old\ndelicious birth.\n\n\n\n[1] In Sanskrit, hunting and wooing can be mixed up together by plays\non words.\n\n[2] An emperor.  Hindoo idols are dressed and undressed, like dolls, by\ntheir officiating priests.\n\n[3] She means, he was her Creator.\n\n[4] The Hindoos have no word, because they have not the idea, of an\n_idol_.  They call it a _god_ or an _image_.  Our word _idol_ implies\nthe antagonism to paganism involved in Christianity, and no two books\nare more alike than S. Augustine's _City of God_ and Ward's _Hindoo\nMythology_.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nSo as he listened, Aja's soul was filled as it were with a mingled\nessence of wonder and irresolution and sheeny beauty and singing sound.\nFor the tone of her voice was like a lute, and before his eyes hovered\na picture of waving arms and witching curves, out of which her dreamy\neyes, from which he could not take his own, seemed as it were to speak\nto him of love reproachful and old regret.  And all at once, with a\nviolent effort, he roused himself as if from sleep with open eyes.  And\nhe shifted his sword to the other hand, and passed his right across his\nbrow.  And he said, in some confusion: O thou strange and sweet-tongued\nwoman, certain this much is, that I am filled by thee with emotion that\nI do not understand.  And yet I know not what to think, or even say.\nFor even apart from the promptings of a former birth, thy beauty and\nthy haunting voice, which I seem as it were to have heard before, are\nquite sufficient to rouse emotion even in a stone, much more in a man\nof flesh and blood.\n\nThen she shook her head sadly, looking at him with glistening eyes; and\nshe said, with a smile of ineffable sweetness: Ah! this is as I\nthought, and the instinct of thy former birth is clouded over and\neffaced, by thy meeting with this other woman in the morning of this\nvery day.  Alas! how small, how very small, the interval of space and\ntime that divides the paradise of joy from the dungeon of despair!  For\nhad this our reunion been sooner by only a single day, I should have\ncaught thy heart before it had been occupied by this all too fortunate\nother woman, who now holds it like a fortress, garrisoned by a prior\nclaim.  But what is this priority of claim?  Can she, who by thine own\nconfession has known thee only a single day, dare to dispute priority\nwith the darling of thy former birth?[1]  Wilt thou break thy faith\nwith me, to keep thy faith with her?  Aye! and wilt thou, after all,\ngain so much by the exchange?  Is she beautiful, then, this other\nwoman?  But I am beautiful, too?  And she stood up, and looked at Aja\nwith her head thrown back and proud eyes, as though to challenge his\ncondemnation of her own consummate beauty.  And she said again: Is she,\nthen, this other beauty, either more faithful or more beautiful than I\nam?  Speak, and tell me if thou canst, in what I am inferior, or why I\nam to be despised, in comparison with her.\n\nAnd Aja looked at her again, and felt abashed, and half ashamed, he\nknew not why.  And he murmured to himself: She does not lie: for\nbeautiful she is indeed, and need not fear comparison with any woman in\nthe world.  And it may be, she is partly right, and if I had met her\nyesterday, before my heart was full, she would have had little\ndifficulty in entering in and capturing it, almost without resistance.\nAnd he stood looking at her silently, uncertain what to say or do, and\nhalf inclined to pity her, and half afraid of her and of himself,\nadmiring her against his will, and as it were confessing by his very\nsilence the power of her appeal.  For notwithstanding the preoccupation\nof his heart, his youth and his sex became as it were allies with her\nagainst his resolution, compelling him to acknowledge the supremacy of\nthe cunning god, and the spell of feminine attraction incarnate in her\nform.\n\nAnd she stood there before him, for a little, with beauty as it were\nheightened by resentful reproach of the slighting of itself, and the\ndisregard of its tried affection.  And then all at once she sank down\nupon the ground, as if she were tired, and remained sitting among the\npoppies, with her chin resting on her left knee, which she embraced\nwith her arms, watching him, and as it were, waiting with humility and\npatience for a decision in her case.  And every now and then, she\nclosed her eyes, and opened them again, as if to make sure that he was\nthere.\n\nAnd Aja looked round in the silence, at the poppies and the lotuses,\nand the great owls that seemed to watch him, and back again at her.\nAnd his head began to whirl, and he muttered to himself: Is this a\ndream, and what does it all mean?  And is she returning to the\ncondition of an image, disgusted by my coldness and disdain?  And what\nis to be done?  And he looked at her face, deprived, by the closing of\ntheir lids, of the moon of her eyes, and resting like a mask upon its\nchin.  And he said within himself: Her eyebrows move, as if they were\nalive.  And he felt as it were unable to look away from them: and at\nlast, annoyed with himself, he closed his eyes also, as though to\nescape their persecution.\n\n\n\n[1] Though, in Europe, this insidious appeal might lack force, it is\notherwise in India: whose millions doubt their former birth no more\nthan they doubt their own existence.  It is not long since a woman in\nCutch burned herself with her own dead son, because, she averred, he\nhad been her husband in her former birth.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nAnd then, he said to himself: This is cowardice, and after all, no\nrefuge; for I seem to see her still, through the shutters of my lids.\nAnd he opened his eyes once more.  And instantly, he leaped from the\nground like a wounded stag, with a cry.  For the wood, with all its\nlotuses and poppies, was gone.  And in its place, he saw before him a\nforest with its great green trees all lit by the shining of the sun.\nAnd just in front of him there stood a little hut, buried in the\nblossom of the _m\u00e1lati_ creeper.  And in its doorway was standing a\nyoung Brahman woman, with a pitcher on her head.  And she beckoned to\nhim with a smile, and he looked, and lo!  it was Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed.  Then\nmoved as if against his will, on feet that carried him towards her as\nit were of their own accord, he approached her.  And as he drew nearer,\nthere came from that creeper a wave of perfume, resembling that of\njasmine, but sweeter, and so pungent that it entered like fire into his\nsoul.  And then she lifted the pitcher from her head, and set it down\nupon the ground, and caught him by the hand, and drew him within the\nhut.  And there she cast herself into his arms, whispering in his ear,\nvery low, so as to caress it as she spoke with her lips: My father is\naway, and now we are alone, and the day is all before us.  Come now,\nwhat shall I do for thy delight?  And she ran and shut the door; and\nthen, taking from a chest rich clothes and splendid jewels, she began\nto put them on, saying as she did so: See! am I becoming more fit to be\nthy queen?  And he watched her, stupefied, like one in a dream, and all\nthe while she bathed him with intoxicating side glances shot like\narrows from the bow of her arching brows.  And at last, she came slowly\ntowards him, walking on tip-toe, and attitudinising, placing herself\nexactly in the posture in which he had seen her first among the poppies\non the wall, with one hand on her hip.  And she said, lifting her brow,\nwith a smile that stole his reason: Now, then, the idol is ready for\nthe devotee.  And at that moment the door opened, and an old Brahman\nentered through it.  And he said slowly: Abandoned daughter, that hast\nforgot thy duty in thy passion for this King's son, become what thou\nhast represented, an idol of stone on the wall of a ruined temple far\naway; and thou her guilty lover, fall into another birth, and be\nseparated from thy guilty love.\n\nAnd then, Aja heard no more.  The world whirled around him; the\nblackness of night closed over his soul; he uttered a terrible cry, and\nfell to the ground in a swoon.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nAnd when he came to himself, he was back again among the poppies in the\n_tam\u00e1la_ wood.  And he was lying on the ground, with Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed\nbending over him, holding him by the hand, with anxiety in her eyes.\nAnd instantly he started up, and seizing his sword, stood gazing at her\nwith stupefaction.  And he said to himself: Am I dead or dreaming?  And\nwhat does it all mean?  Is it a delusion of the Creator, or a mirage\nand a madness of the desert, out of which I have never yet escaped at\nall?  Aye! beyond a doubt, I am wandering still in the waste of sand,\nraving mad, and dying, and haunted by phantoms that are the premonitors\nof approaching death.\n\nSo as he stood, balancing in the swing of perplexity, and doubting his\nown reason, Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed looked at him fixedly, with concern and\naffection and curiosity in her eyes.  And she said: Surely thou art\nill.  And why then dost thou shrink from me, as though I were a thing\nof terror: I, who ask for nothing but to tend thee all my life?  For it\nwas but now, as we spoke together in this wood, I looked up and saw\nthee suddenly close thy eyes.  And as I watched thee, wondering to see\nthee sleeping as it were erect, there burst from thy lips a fearful\ncry, and I had but time to catch thee falling, and let thee sink upon\nthe ground.  And I brought thee to thyself, by fanning thee, as well as\nI might, with this great leaf.\n\nAnd she held it up before him, while he continued to gaze at her in\nsilence.  And as he did not speak, she looked at him curiously, and\nmuttered under her breath, as though speaking to herself, and not\nintending him to hear: Can he have suddenly recollected his former\nbirth, and is this the reason why he is staring at me, as if wishing to\ncompare me with a picture in his head?  And as he still kept silence,\npresently she said aloud: Dear, thou art sick: and much in need of\nmedicines, such as I alone can give thee.  Why wilt thou not confide in\nme?  For I am a cunning leech, and know the virtue of every herb and\nevery vegetable drug better than Dhanwantari[1] himself.  And I have\nmade myself mistress of every species of the art of healing, and in\nparticular, I have fed myself on perfumes, and on the essences of\nflowers, and all the scented odours of aromatic shrubs, till I have\nmyself become as it were a very attar, incarnate in a woman's form.\nDost thou doubt it, and think me to be boasting? then try me, and I\nwill prove to thee my power by experiment, in any way thou wilt.  I\nwill soothe and shampoo[2] thee with a hand softer than a snowflake's\nfall and cooler than the icy moon: or, if thou wilt, I will croon to\nthee old airs, and put thee to sleep like a tired child, resting thy\nhead on this bosom which once was thy delight, with melodies that shall\nspeak to thee of drowzy bees and moaning winds: or I will steal thy\nwaking senses from thee and lure them into slumber as it were against\nthy will by snaring them with fragrances more luscious than that\n_p\u00e1rij\u00e1ta_ blossom, which Wishnu once trailed through the intoxicated\nworld, to drive it into madness at the moment, and leave it filled with\ninconsolable regret when it was gone.  See, take this, and smell it,\nand thou wilt be better even now.  And she held out towards him, in the\nlotus of her hand, a tiny flower, in colour like an atom of the\nconcentrated essence of the sky.  And as Aja looked at it, there came\nfrom it a stream of a sharp and biting scent, that rushed into his\nsoul, coming laden as it were with reminiscence and suggestions of the\npast; so that he said to himself: Ha! of what does this remind me, and\nwhere is it that I smelled its almost intolerable sweet before?  And\nsuddenly, the little hut rushed into his mind, and he exclaimed: It is\nthe very smell of the creeper on its roof.  And instantly, a feeling of\namazement that almost overcame him, mingled with terror, crept like a\nshudder over his limbs, and his hair stood on end.  And he looked at\nNatabhr\u00fakut\u00ed, who was watching him intently, and said, hoarsely: Who\nart thou, thou strange beauty, and what dost thou want of me?  And what\nis the meaning of these inexplicable mysteries, before which I feel as\nif my reason were deserting me, and I were about to faint again?\n\n\n\n[1] The physician of the gods, the Hindoo \u00c6sculapius.\n\n[2] The _Samw\u00e1hanam_ is one of those old Hindoo medical resources which\nwe have only recently been wise enough to copy.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nThen she laughed, and said: Fair boy, I am only that bitter-sweet,[1] a\nwoman: and I want no more than what every woman wants, the man she\nloves, and that is thou.  Aye! dost thou ask me, who and what I am?\nListen then, and I will tell thee.  I am a bee, which not like other\nbees roams roving to flower after flower, but confines itself\nexclusively to one.  I am a breeze, which not like other breezes blows\nfickle and inconstant now hither and now thither, but is fixed and ever\nsteady, coming straight from Malaya laden with the sandal of affection\nto lay it at thy feet.  I am only the echo of a voice which is thyself,\nthe shadow of a substance and the reflection of a sun.  I am like the\nother half of the god that carries the moon upon his head, the twin,\nthe duplicate and counterpart of a deity who is thou.  I am Rati,\nrejoicing to find again the body of her husband, and thou art Love\nhimself returned to life whom I have found.  I am an essence of the\nocean, but unlike it, I hold within my heart not many pearls, but only\none, which is thyself.  I am a wick, consuming in thy flame, and like\nthe music of a lute, I am a thing wholly compounded of melodies and\ntones, whose mood and being are dependent on the player, who is thou.\nArt thou sad? then I am also: art thou joyous? so am I: my soul is\ntossed about, and hangs on thy smiling or thy sighing, as a criminal\ndepends on the sentence of the judge.  And like a crystal, I am\ncolourless[2] without thee, but ready on the instant to assume every\ntinge of the colour of thyself.  Cast thy eyes upon me, and thou shalt\nsee as in a glass thy every mood painted on the surface of my face.\nAh! dost thou ask me what I am?  Alas!  I am a target for the poisoned\narrows which Love shoots at me in the form of thy beauty greater than\nhis own.  And I am like a bare and withered, leafless and frost-bitten\ntree, which has suddenly shot up into blossom at the coming of spring\nin thy form.  But as for thee, why, O why dost thou regard me that live\nfor only thee as if I were a deadly snake, and thou a startled deer?\nIn vain, in vain, dost thou endeavour to repel me, for I will not be\nrepelled.  I will melt thy cold ice in thy despite, by the fire of my\naffection, and drown thee in its flood, and sweep thee away from the\nrocks of thy resistance till thou art lost for ever in its dark and\npearly depths.\n\nAnd as Aja stood, listening in confusion to her words, which poured\nfrom her like a torrent, suddenly she clapped her hands, and exclaimed,\nas he started again at her vehemence: Ha! shall I tell thee, thou\nwilful and reluctant boy, of what thou dost remind me, standing as it\nwere aghast, and obstinately set against me, mute, and yet asking what\nI am?  Know, that long ago there was a king, who had for wives a\nthousand queens.  And it happened that one day, he went with his wives\nto ramble in the heart of a forest.  So after sporting for a while, he\ngrew tired, in the heat of the day, and lay down and fell asleep.  Then\nall his queens stole away and left him lying, and went roaming up and\ndown, very strange creatures in that wild rough wood, looking like\nliving flowers of every hue and kind, that had somehow or other got\nfree from their roots, a body of deer-eyed decoys let loose by Love the\nHunter, to lure into his toils every man that should behold them.  So\nas they rambled here and there, they came suddenly on an old ascetic.\nAnd he was standing still, half buried in the hills of ants, themselves\ncovered over by his long white hair, immersed in meditation.  Then all\nthose fair women went up and stood around him in a cluster of beautiful\ncuriosity, wondering at the sight of him, and asking each other in\namazement, what in the world he could possibly be.  So as they crowded\nround him, that old ascetic emerged from his trance, and as thou art\ndoing, stood silent and aghast, thinking, as perhaps thou dost thyself,\nthat Indra must have sent him all the nymphs of heaven in a body, to\nlure him from the path of liberation.  For, O, thou beautiful\nsuspicious youth, what is there so terrible about me, as to cause thee\nto shrink from my approach?  Know, that many would be glad to be wooed\nas was that old ascetic, and as thou art now.\n\n\n\n[1] _Wish\u00e1mritam_: lit. poison-nectar.\n\n[2] Also means _without affection_.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nAnd then, Aja strove to awake as it were from a dream.  And he shook\nhimself, as if to shake it off, and he said to himself: I feel that I\nam falling as it were a victim to the spell of this passionate and\nsubtle beauty; and now, unless I stiffen and steel myself against her,\nI shall undoubtedly be bewitched and beguiled beyond the possibility of\nescape.  And he summoned his resolution, and said, with a semblance of\ncomposure: Fair one, thou dost thyself no injustice in comparing\nthyself alone to a thousand queens: for thou art a very incarnation of\nall the bewildering fascination of thy sex.  And yet, potent as they\nare, thy charms are wasted, and resemble blunted arrows when directed\nagainst me.  For as I have already told thee, I am pledged to another,\nand proof against thy spell, as doubtless was thy old ascetic against\nthat bevy of straying queens.\n\nAnd then Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed smiled, and she shook at him her finger, as she\nanswered: Rash boy, beware!  Be not too sure of the adamantine quality\nof thy resistance, nor even of thy wisdom in resisting me at all.  And\nbeware of provoking the indignation of slighted Love, who may make of\nthee a signal example of his vengeance.  Take care, lest annoyed with\nthy obstinacy in rejecting what he offers thee for nothing, he should\ndeprive thee even of that other beauty, on whose account alone it is\nthat I am held by thee so cheap.  Poor youth! but that my lips are\ntied, I could enlighten thee.  Art thou, who art so ready lightly to\ndisdain me, art thou, I say, so sure, so very sure, that thou art\nthyself the only lover of this much married beauty, whom thou sawest,\nas thou sayest, for the very first time in thy life to-day?  Art thou\nso sure, so very sure, that she is not deceiving thee, and that thou\nart not merely the last of the many lovers whom she toys with for a\nmoment, and then carelessly casts away?  Art thou so very certain that\nthou hast never had a predecessor?  And Aja started, in spite of\nhimself.  For the word recalled to him the manner of the old King.  And\nNatabhr\u00fakut\u00ed saw it.  And she looked at him as it were with compassion,\nand said: Alas, unhappy boy: thou seest that in thy youth and\ninexperience such an idea had not occurred to thee.  Little art thou\nqualified to cope with a woman's guile.\n\nThen said Aja fiercely, in wrath both with himself and her: It is\nfalse, and she is true.  But Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed answered very gently: Be not\nangry, for I do not question that she loves thee.  I do not even doubt\nit: for if she did not, she would be a fool.  But listen, and learn,\nwhat thou dost not seem to know, that Love is a Master Knave; aye! by\nfar the greatest master of deceit in the three great worlds.  And woman\nis his aptest pupil, and every woman living, were she even as simple as\nthyself, becomes, as soon as she falls under the influence of Love, a\nvery incarnation of policy and craft and wiles.  I tell thee, foolish\nboy, that she that loves in earnest, were she good as gold, pure as\nsnow, and flawless as a diamond, would plunge, to gain her object, to\nthe very lowest bottom of the ocean of deceit.  And what is her object\nbut the esteem of her lover?  Dost thou think she would balance for an\ninstant, between her lover and the ruin of the world? between his good\nopinion, and a lie?  Dost thou think she would forfeit thy esteem, when\nto deceive thee would preserve it?  I tell thee, in such a dilemma, she\nwould lie, till the very sun at noon hid his face out of shame.\nKnow,[1] that long ago there lived at W\u00e1r\u00e1nasi[2] an independent lady,\nof beauty so extraordinary, that swarms of lovers used to buzz\ncontinually about her like great black bees about the mango blossom in\nthe spring.  But independent though she was, she was so fastidious,\nthat none of her innumerable lovers ever touched her heart even for a\nmoment.  And hence she lived like a lamp at midnight surrounded by the\ncorpses of her victims, who fluttered about her lustre and perished in\nits flame.  And then at last, one day it came about that a tall young\nRajpoot almost as beautiful as thou art arrived at W\u00e1r\u00e1nas\u00ed.  And\nKash\u00e1yin\u00ed[3] (for that was her name) saw him from a window as he came\ninto the city; and instantly like an empty pitcher suddenly plunged\ninto the Ganges, she was filled to the very brim by the inrush of\nLove's sacred nectar.  And she said to herself: The very first thing\nthat he will hear of in the city is myself.  And like everybody else,\nhe will come immediately to see me: and that very moment, I shall\nabandon the body out of shame.  For though my beauty might attract him,\nyet he will be convinced that many lovers have preceded him, and\ntherefore, at the bottom of his heart he will despise me.  And this\nwould be worse than any death.  And yet without him, my birth will have\nbeen in vain.  Therefore, I must devise some expedient.  So after a\nwhile, she went out in disguise, and bought for a large sum of money\nthe body of a woman of her own age and size who had died that very day.\nAnd bringing that body home secretly at night, she dressed it in her\nown clothes, and burned it till its identity was obliterated.  And then\nshe set fire to her house, and left it by a back door, and went away,\nabandoning all her wealth but the jewels that she wore, for the sake of\nher picture in the air.[4]  And at that very moment, the Rajpoot came\nalong, led by some of the townspeople to visit her, as it were set on\nfire by the very description of her beauty.  And he looked and saw the\nflames bursting from her house, as though lit by himself.  And they\nfound the half burned body in the ashes, and immediately all the lovers\nof Kash\u00e1yin\u00ed followed her through the fire of grief to the other world.\nBut the Rajpoot managed, in spite of disappointment, to remain alive.\nAnd she, in the meantime, having given every one the slip, found a\nfalse ascetic, and bribed him with jewels, giving him instructions\nwithout letting him know who she was.  So that ascetic went and struck\nup acquaintance with the Rajpoot, pretending to be a discoverer of\ntreasure.[5] And he performed incantations, and, after a while, he said\nto him: Go quickly to Ujjayini, and dig in the north-east corner of the\nburning ground outside the city on the very last day of the dark half\nof the month of Magha, and thou shalt find a treasure.  Take it, for\nwhat is the use of treasure to such a one as me.  Thereupon that\nRajpoot, having nothing else to do, went.  And Kash\u00e1yin\u00ed, having first\nmade sure that the bait had taken, went herself and got there before\nhim.  So when that Rajpoot arrived, he dug exactly as he was told, and\nfound absolutely nothing.  And cursing his destiny, he went out of the\nburning ground in the early morning: and as he went along, suddenly he\nsaw Kash\u00e1yin\u00ed, who was waiting for him, sitting weeping by the wayside,\nunder a great _ashwattha_ tree: beautifully dressed, blazing with\njewels, and adorned with saffron and antimony, betel, indigo, and\nspangles, flowers, minium, and henna, bangles on ankle and comb in her\nhair.  And she said to that Rajpoot, who was as utterly astounded by\nthe sight of her as if she had been water in the desert: O son of a\nking, succour one who is utterly without resource.  And when he asked\nher, what was the matter, she said: I was the only wife of a very rich\nmerchant, and as we travelled from the South, suddenly we were set upon\nby a band of Thags.  And after killing every one but me,[6] they all\nwent to sleep, thinking me secure; but in the middle of the night, I\nwent a little way, and hid myself in a hollow tree.  And in the morning\nthose villains, after hunting for me in vain, all went away, fearing a\npursuit, and I came out of the tree trembling, and reached this road,\nand now I am alone in the world.  Then said the Rajpoot to himself: Ha!\nso, after all, I have found my treasure, and that excellent ascetic was\na true prophet.  And he said: O lady, I am of good family.  And now, if\nthou wilt have me for a husband, I will supply the loss of thy\nmerchant, and all the rest of thy relations.  And she feigned\nreluctance: but after a while, she dried her tears, and consented.  But\nthat Rajpoot almost went out of his mind, so great was his delight.\nAnd one day he told her of W\u00e1r\u00e1nas\u00ed, and the burning of Kash\u00e1yin\u00ed.  And\nshe looked at him with laughing eyes, and said: O my husband, I will\nmake up to thee for the loss of Kash\u00e1yin\u00ed: for I am just as beautiful\nas she.\n\n\n\n[1] In all Oriental stories, statements are proved not by Aristotelian\nsyllogism, but by \"instances\": and we are reminded of the opinion of\nthe artful Retz, that \"_one never persuades anybody, but anybody can\ninsinuate anything_.\"\n\n[2] Ben\u00e1res.  The lady in question was one of those Hindoo Aspasias of\nwhom many similar stories are told.\n\n[3] Which we might translate Aromatic: it includes the ideas of _red\ncolour_ and _pungent perfume_.\n\n[4] Or, as we say, castle in the air.\n\n[5] A regular trade in medieval India.\n\n[6] Everything in this story is exactly in harmony with the manners of\nmedieval India.  The Thags often preserved a woman for her beauty, when\nthey murdered every one else.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nAnd as Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed ended, she leaned forward, and gazed at Aja with\nsoft seductive eyes, till he blushed, and wavered before her like the\nflame of a candle in a wind.  For her beauty bewildered him, and her\ncunning story planted, as if against his will, the seed of suspicion in\nhis mind.  And in spite of himself, he said to himself: What if it were\nas she says, and my wife, like another Kash\u00e1yin\u00ed, were concealing from\nme something that she shrank from avowing, lest I should think the\nworse of her.  And he turned pale at the thought, that any other lover\nshould, even a very little, have occupied her heart before him.  And he\nstood silent, and confused, striving to expel from his mind the doubt\nthat Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed had raised in it, saying to himself: Can I really be\nonly the last of many lovers?  And all the while Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed watched\nhim, devouring him as it were with her eyes.  And at last, she said\nagain: Sweet boy, thou art too young and too honest to cope with women,\nwho were framed by the Creator to deceive.  But Aja said angrily: Thou\nart thyself a woman, seeking at this very moment to deceive me: and as\nfor thy age, it is less than my own.  And she said: Nay, nay: I am\nolder, for I am wiser than thyself.  For when I see my husband, I\nremember him, but me thou hast utterly forgotten, thy true and only\nwife.  Ah! foolish one, thou hast forgotten.  And thou resemblest one,\nwho casts away a costly jewel, for the sake of a bit of glass, shining\nonly in the sunlight of thy ignorance, and trodden by the foot of every\npassing stranger.  What! can I do nothing to rouse thy recollection?\nLook at me well! look hard, and it may be, something of me will touch\nas it were a chord in thy soul.\n\nAnd she came up close to him, so that the warmth and fragrance of her\nbeauty enveloped him like an atmosphere of intoxication.  And she\njoined her hands, looking up into his face, as it were compelling his\nreluctant admiration by her humble submission to his will.  And she\nsaid: Hast thou, hast thou indeed forgotten all?  And as he gazed at\nher, two huge drops of crystal welled into her eyes, and hung poised\nbefore they fell on the net of her long dark lashes.  And she said:\nThou sayest, I am seeking to deceive thee.  I love thee, and where is\nthe deception?  Is it not rather thou that art the deceiver in this\nmatter?  Is it any fault of mine if another has stepped in to defraud\nme of thyself?  Or am I to be blamed, if thy beauty still beguiles me\nas it did long ago?  And yet, dost thou accuse me as if I were a\ncriminal?  O blue black bee, what is this behaviour, that thou seekest\nas it were to pick a quarrel with the poor red lotus who loves thee but\ntoo well?  And she smiled through her tears, and exclaimed: Ah! but in\nspite of thee, I will adore thee, whether thou wilt or no.  Ha! and I\nwill compel thee to remember, and force my way through every barrier\nand obstacle till I reach the recollection[1] in the bottom of thy\nheart.  O canst thou not remember the days of long ago, when my now\ndespised beauty was a joy to thee, and my hair a very net to snare thy\nwilling soul, and my eyes were more to thee than any diamonds, and\nthese two arms were thy prison and thy chain, and this agitated bosom\nwas thy pillow on which I lulled thee to slumber with the music of this\nvery voice?  Hast thou really forgotten the nectar of my kiss? hast\nthou actually forgotten thy own insatiable thirst?  Ah! but if thou\nhast forgotten, I have not: and the innumerable multitudes of thy too\ndelicious kisses come back to me, singing in my memory, and whispering\nin my soul like the lisping of the sea.  Hark!  Dost thou not hear them\nalso, those voices of a former birth?\n\n\n\n[1] The reader should remember that in Sanskrit, _love_ and\n_recollection_ are the same word.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nAnd as Aja gazed at her, stunned and almost overcome by the pathos of\nher irresistible appeal, and as it were swept from his feet by the\nsurge of her passion, suddenly she seized his left hand with her right,\nand stood, grasping it as if convulsively, with the other hand raised,\nand bending her head, as if to listen.  And he listened, and lo! there\nsounded in his ears a murmur resembling that of the sea, mixed with\nfaint strains of music, and echoes of indistinguishable singing voices\ncoming as it were from the ends of the earth.  And a shudder ran\nthrough him, as she turned, and looked at him as if in ecstasy, with\neyes that saw nothing, murmuring in an eager voice that chanted and\ncharmed his ear like the rushing of a stream: Dost thou hear the\nvoices, calling thee over to the other shore?  For the sea is the sea\nof separation, and the other shore is our former birth.  Far away over\nthe setting sun hides the red land[1] of our old sweet love.  And I can\ntake thee back to it, out of this dim and dingy wood.  Only I can carry\nthee back to the land beyond the sunset hill, where love is lying dead.\nOver the sea where monsters lurk, and great pearls grow in sunless\ndeeps, I can carry thee back again to the land of long ago.  Never a\nship with a silken sail could rock thee over across the waves so well\nas I will waft thee there on the swell of this soft breast.  Never a\nbreeze from the sandal hill could ferry thee over a silent sea so\ngently as will I, by breathing into thy raptured ear tales of thy old\nforgotten past with fond and fragrant lips.  What! art thou still\noblivious of that old delicious birth?  Dost thou never behold in\ndreams the paradise of our little hut, and slake again thy raging\nthirst in a long forbidden kiss?  Does she never come back to thee, the\nBrahmani girl with a face like mine, with lips that laughed and eyes\nthat shone, and a mango flower in her hair?  Say, dost thou never dream\nof her?  And she shook his arm with frenzy, and exclaimed: Ha! wake\nfrom thy magic sleep, and tear away the curtain that hides me from thy\nblinded soul.  I will, I will awake thee.  I will not be forgotten.\nAnd all at once, she burst into a passion of tears.  And she reeled, as\nthough about to fall, and tottered, and threw herself, sobbing hard,\nagainst his breast.\n\nAnd while she spoke, Aja stood, like one pushed to the very edge of a\nprecipice, pale as death, and breathing hard, spellbound.  And then at\nlast, when she threw herself upon his breast, again a shudder ran\nthrough all his limbs.  And as if her touch had shattered to pieces the\nlast fragment of his resolution, he caught her around the waist with\nthe one arm that was free.  And with tears in his own eyes, he\nstammered, as if in the extremity of desperation, hardly knowing what\nhe said: Alas!  I have been harsh to thee.  O lovely browed beauty,\ncease to weep.  Why, O why, did I not meet thee sooner by only a single\nday?\n\n\n\n[1] The Sanskrit _dwipa_ has exactly the same connotation as our\nislands of the Blest, and like them it is placed in the setting sun.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nAnd at that very moment, he heard behind him a deep sigh.  And as he\nturned, wood, poppies, and all vanished from before his eyes.  Once\nmore he stood on the city wall; and there before him was the King's\ndaughter.  And she was standing in the doorway through which he had\ncome upon the wall, leaning against the open door, and paler than\nLove's own ashes, while her great dark eyes were frozen as it were to\nice, and yet lit up by the triple fire of sorrow and reproach and\nfierce disdain.  And she looked like the daughter of Janaka, when\nforsaken by the lord of the race of Raghu, and like the heavenly\nUrwashi, when abandoned by Pururawas, a very spirit of despair carved\nby the Creator into a stony female form, to break the heart of the\nthree worlds.  And as if the very sight of her had broken the spell\nthat held him, reason and recollection suddenly returned to Aja, as it\nwere at a single bound.  And he woke, as if from a magic sleep, and on\nthe instant, a sword ran as it were straight into his heart.  And with\na cry, he flung away his sobbing burden like a blade of grass, not\ncaring where it fell: and ran towards the King's daughter.  But she,\nwhen she saw him coming, shrieked, and started, and exclaimed: Away!\nTouch me not, save with the point of thy sharp true sword, to pierce me\nthrough the body as thy perfidy has my soul.\n\nThen Aja tossed away his sword, with a shudder, over the edge of the\nwall.  And he seized himself by the head with both hands, with a groan\nlike the roar of a wounded lion.  And he exclaimed: Ha!  Better now it\nhad been indeed, had I never emerged from the waste of sand.  And he\nturned fiercely upon Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed, saying: This is thy doing, thou vile\nenchantress: and now I am indeed awake.\n\nBut even as he spoke, the words died away upon his lips; and he stood\nstill, like a picture on a wall, for wonder at what he saw before him.\nFor Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed was standing still, exactly where he left her, bolt\nupright, like a spear fixed in the earth.  And her beauty was greater\nthan ever, and yet such, that as he saw it, his heart stopped in his\nbreast.  For every vestige of the nectar of her love-emotion had left\nher, and in its place, the poison of immortal hate shone in her cold\nand evil eyes, which were fastened, as if with a mixture of pain and\npleasure, with a glittering and fiendish stare, upon the King's\ndaughter.  And as he watched them, cold ran in Aja's veins.  For her\neyes shook, and changed colour, and a horrible smile played on her blue\nand twitching lips.  And she looked thin, for her two arms hung down\ntight against her sides, and her fingers opened and shut, slowly, as if\nof their own accord.\n\nAnd after a while, she spoke.  And she turned to Aja, and said, in a\nvoice that resembled a hiss: Fool! thou wouldst not take the blue\nflower I offered thee, though its fragrance could not have been matched\nby anything in the three worlds.  Now, then, I will take another way.\nSo as he watched her, she was gone: and he saw before him nothing but\nthe empty city wall.\n\nAnd as he looked again, not crediting the testimony of his own eyes, he\nheard a sharp cry from the King's daughter.  And he turned, and saw\nYashowat\u00ed sinking to the ground.  And at that very moment Natabhr\u00fakut\u00ed\nstood again before him.  And she looked at him with strange eyes, and\nsaid slowly: Go now, and enjoy thy wife.  But I must give thee just one\nkiss, before I go.\n\nAnd as Aja looked into her eyes, suddenly, like a flash of lightning,\nhe understood.  And he struck his hand upon his brow, exclaiming: Ha!\nNow, now, I understand, too late.  Thou art that very she, that was\njealous of the King's daughter's beauty, and ruined her out of spite.\nAnd I have been befooled by thee, and failed to stand the test.  And he\nground his teeth with rage, that swept through him like a storm.  And\nhe said to himself: Alas!  I threw away my sword.  No matter.  Now,\nthen, as she said herself, I will take another way.  And he looked at\nher, as she stood waiting.  And he held out his arms, saying: Come,\nthen.  And as she put her face close to his own, he caught her by her\nslender throat, with both hands, in a grip like that of death.\n\nAnd then lo! she was gone again.  But in her place, he held in his\ngrasp a huge yellow snake, which struck him, as he clutched it hard,\nonce and twice, upon the lips.\n\n\n\n\nA Fatal Kiss\n\nAnd then, little by little, the night gradually came to an end.  And\nthe sun rose up, out of his home in the eastern mountain, and began\nrapidly to climb into the sky.\n\nAnd all at once, there arose a great hubbub, and an outcry in the\nKing's palace.  And the women ran hither and thither, wailing and\nscreaming and crying out: Haha! haha! the daughter of the King is gone.\nAnd they hunted in all directions, but could not find her anywhere: and\nthey went and told the King.  But he, when he heard it, came running\njust as he was in his night clothes, and hurried about with all the\nwomen, looking into every corner, and finding nothing.  So after\nturning the palace upside down, he stopped short.  And he said: What if\nshe should have followed her lover up on to the city wall, and shared\nhis fate!  For beyond a doubt, like all his predecessors, he has\nvanished never to return.\n\nThen they all went up the winding stair, the King going first.  And he\nstepped out on to the wall.  And instantly, with a piercing cry, he\nfell to the ground in a mortal swoon.\n\nThen terror seized on all those women, and they stood exactly where\nthey were, looking at each other with pale faces, not daring to\nadvance.  But at last, after a long while, supporting each the other,\nthey pushed forward and looked out.  And they saw the King's body,\nlying on that of his daughter; and a little further off, Aja, lying\nupon his face.\n\nThen they went out, and took up those three bodies, and carried them\nin, and examined them.  And after a while, they said: Doubtless the\nheart of the old King broke, when he saw his daughter lying dead.  But\nas for the other two, one snake has evidently bitten both.  And yet,\nthis is a wonderful thing.  For she has been bitten on the foot, but\nher lover upon the lips.  What then?  Was he trying to kiss the snake,\nthat it should bite him upon the lips?  For how could even the biggest\nsnake reach up so high, as this great Rajpoot's mouth?\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n  A Selection from the\n  Catalogue of\n\n  G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n\n  Complete Catalogue sent\n  on application\n\n\n\n\nBooks by F. W. Bain\n\n_Translated from Original Manuscripts_\n\n\n  A Digit of the Moon\n  And Other Love Stories from the Hindu\n\n_Crown 8vo.  Illustrated.  Net, $1.50_\n\n\n  A Draught of the Blue\n  together with\n  An 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\n\n\"Reading this book is like breathing strong refreshing air.\"--_N. Y.\nEvening Sun_.\n\n\nBawbee Jock\n\nBy Amy McLaren\n\nAuthor of \"The Yoke of Silence,\" etc.\n\n\"Amid delightful Highland scenes and charming Highland people a very\npretty love duet is sung in Bawbee Jock....  A refreshing contrast to\nmost novels written nowadays.\"--_New York Sun_.\n\n\"One of the most delightful love stories of the year, as fresh as the\nbreath of heather on the Scottish hills.\"--_Columbus Journal_.\n\n\"Idealistic?  Very.  In a way that makes one glad that stories such as\nit still appear.\"--_Chicago Inter-Ocean_.\n\n\nFifth Impression.  $1.35 net.  By mail, $1.50\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n  _The Most Popular Books in the\n  United States_\n\nBy Florence L. Barclay\n\n_Over 350 Thousand Sold_\n\n\nThe Rosary\n\nPopular Edition.  Cr. 8vo.  $1.35 net.  ($1.80 by mall.) Holiday\nEdition, with Illustrations in Color by Blendon Campbell, and\nDecorations and Cover Design by Margaret Armstrong.  Handsomely printed\nand bound.  Uniform with the Holiday Edition of \"The Mistress of\nShenstone.\"  8vo.  $2.50 net.\n\n\"An ideal love story--one that justifies the publishing business,\nrefreshes the heart of the reviewer, strengthens faith in the outcome\nof the great experiment of putting humanity on earth.  _The Rosary_ is\na rare book, a source of genuine delight.\"--_Syracuse Post-Standard_.\n\n\n\n_Over 550 Thousand Sold_\n\nThe Mistress of Shenstone\n\nPopular Edition.  Cr. 8vo, $1.35 net.  ($1.50 by mail.) Holiday\nEdition, with 8 illustrations in Color by F. H. Townsend, and\nDecorations and Cover Design by Margaret Armstrong.  Handsomely printed\nand bound.  Uniform with the Holiday Edition of \"The Rosary.\"  8vo.\n$2.50 net.\n\n\"An optimistic novel of true love, related with sincerity....  A worthy\nsuccessor to The Rosary.\"--_Phila. Press._\n\n\n\n_First Printing 90 Thousand Copies_\n\nThe Following of the Star\n\nWith Frontispiece by F. H. Townsend.  Cr.  8vo.\n\n$1.35 net.  ($1.50 by mail)\n\nA beautiful Christmas love story, instinct with the same depth of\nfeeling, glowing imagery, and refinement of literary art as \"The\nRosary,\" and is told with all the power and sweetness which won for\nMrs. Barclay's earlier books their place in the front rank of recent\nfiction.\n\n\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n_By the author of \"The Country House\"_\n\nFRATERNITY\n\nBY JOHN GALSWORTHY\n\nAuthor of \"THE MAN OF PROPERTY,\" \"VILLA RUBEIN,\" ETC.\n\n\"The foundation of Mr. Galsworthy's talent, it seems to me, lies in a\nremarkable power of ironic insight combined with an extremely keen and\nfaithful eye for all the phenomena, on the surface of the life he\nobserves.  These are the purveyors of his imagination, whose servant is\na style clear, direct, sane, illumined by a perfectly unaffected\nsincerity.  It is the style of a man whose sympathy with mankind is too\ngenuine to allow him the smallest gratification of his vanity at the\ncost of his fellow creatures, ... sufficiently pointed to carry deep\nhis remorseless irony, and grave enough to be the dignified vehicle of\nhis profound compassion.  Its sustained harmony is never interrupted by\nthose bursts of cymbals and fifes which some deaf people acclaim for\nbrilliance.  Mr. Galsworthy will never be found futile by anyone and\nnever uninteresting by the most exacting.\"\n\nMR. JOSEPH CONRAD in _The Outlook_.\n\n\n_Crown 8vo.  Fixed price, $1.35 net.  (By mail $1.50)_\n\n\n\nG. P. PUTNAM'S SONS\n\nNEW YORK LONDON\n\n\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\n  A Mine of Faults\n\n  The Ashes of a God","title":"A Draught of the Blue, together with An Essence of the Dusk","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":40986}