Chapter III: A Story Without an End (1)

_The Vignette I owe to the artistic genius of my friend, Arthur Hight._

I

On the Banks of Ganges

BENEDICTION

_What! the Digit of the Moon on his brow, Gangá in his hair, and Gaurí on his knee, and yet proof against all Love's arrows! O wonder of wonders! who but the greatest of all the gods would not have melted long ago, like butter between three fires?_[2]

Now, long ago, it happened, that Párwatí was left alone on Kailàs for a little while, as she waited for the Lord of the Moony Tire. And having nothing else to do, she amused herself by building an elephant of snow, with large ears and a little tail, made of a yak's hair. And when it was finished, she was so delighted with her toy, that she began to clap her hands: and then, not being able to endure waiting, she went off with impatience to fetch the Moony-crested god, to show him what she had done, and revel in his applause. And the moment that her back was turned, Nandi[3] happened to come along: and just as he reached the elephant, which owing to his abstraction he never noticed, taking it for a mere hump, formed at random by the snowdrifts, he was suddenly seized with an irresistible desire to roll. And so, over he rolled, and went from side to side, throwing up his legs into the air. And as luck would have it, exactly at that very moment the Daughter of the Snow returned, pulling Maheshwara along eagerly by the hand. And she looked and saw Nandi, rolling about on the flat snow just where she had left her elephant, which was gone. And she uttered a loud cry, and stood, aghast with rage and disappointment. And she opened her mouth to curse the author of the mischief, and was on the very verge of saying: Sink into a lower birth, thou insolent destroyer! when Maheshwara stopped her in the very act, guessing her intention, by putting his hand upon her mouth.[4] And he exclaimed: Say nothing rash, O angry one, for Nandi did not do it on purpose, after all. And a good servant does not deserve cursing, for an accidental blunder.

And then, Párwatí burst into tears. And she exclaimed: Out of my sight, thou clumsy one! for I cannot bear to see thee. And she turned away, sobbing. And Maheshwara looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and he said to himself: Now, then, I must do something to console her for the elephant, and bring back her good humour. For ill humour in a woman spoils all. And presently he said: Come now, enough! for Nandi has gone off in disgrace, sufficiently punished by banishment for a time, and very sad to have been the unwitting cause of thy distress. And let us roam about awhile, in search of something new, that may help to obliterate recollection, and change thy gloom into a smile.

And he took the goddess in his arms, and set her as she sobbed upon his knee, and rose from the peak of Kailàs, and shot like a falling star down into the plain below. And coming to Haradwára, where Gangá issues from the hills, he began to follow the holy stream down its course, gliding along just above it like a cloud that was unable to refrain from watching its own beautiful reflection in the blue mirror of her wave. And so they went, until at last they reached an island that was nothing but a sandbank in the very middle of the river, covered with crocodiles lying basking in the sun. And then he said: See! we will go down, and rest awhile among the crocodiles on this sand, whose banks resemble nothing so much as the outline of thy own graceful limbs. And Umá said tearfully: Pish! what do I care for crocodiles, that sit for hours never even moving, like a _yogí_ in a trance?

Then said the cunning god: None the less, we will go down: for it may be that the island contains something besides its crocodiles. And as they settled on it, he said again: Did I not say we should find something? for yonder it lies, and it is a very great curiosity indeed. And now, canst thou tell me what it is?

And she looked at it with scrutiny, and presently she said: I can tell this only, that it must have been in the water for a very long time, before it was washed up at last upon this bank by the river's flood: since it is but a shapeless lump, covered with sand and rust and dirt. Who but thyself could even guess what it might be? And Maheshwara said: It has had a very long journey, and been not only in the river, but in a crocodile too. For crocodiles swallow everything. And long ago, this was carried by a man, who was drowned in another stream by the upsetting of his boat, and became with all he carried the prey of an old crocodile, which died long ago, and rotted away, letting this at last escape out of its tomb, and roll along, till at last it got into the Ganges, and was thrown up here in the rainy season, only the other day. And when at last the water sank, lo! there it lay, as it has lain until this moment, as if expecting thy arrival, to provide thee with entertainment. And when all is over, thou wilt very likely bless Nandi, instead of cursing him; since but for his awkwardness in rolling on thy elephant, thou wouldst never have known anything about it.

And Párwatí said peevishly: Where is the entertainment in this foolish lump of flotsam, of which thou hast related the adventures without ever saying what it is?

And the Moony-crested god said: Aha! Snowy One, do not be too sure. For many things hold in their heart things not to be anticipated, judging by their outside: and this lump which thou despisest is like a coco-nut, whose coarse skin is full of nectar. But it has been shut so long, that it would not easily be opened by anyone but me.[5] And he touched it with his foot, saying, Open, and it opened like a shell. And he said: See! it has in it a very strange kernel, preserved safe and sound only because all its adventures added to its case, sheath after sheath. And all the leaves are still there, a very little mouldy, and the silk that tied them, and the seal. And the goddess said: But what is it after all? And Maheshwara said: It is a case of urgency, that all came to nothing in the end, being a letter that never even reached its destination, because the sender was in so great a hurry that he defeated his own object, bidding his messenger go so fast that in his haste his boat turned over, and he and his message were eaten on their way by a river beast. For those who go too fast often go so slow as never to arrive at all, as was the case here. Then said Umá: He that sent it must have been a fool. And Maheshwara said! Nay, O Snowy One, not at all: far from it: and yet he became, as many do, a fool for the occasion, under the influence of passion, which blinds the eyes, and shuts up the ears, and twists the whole character awry, so that it acts in a manner contrary to itself, as if the man had been suddenly changed into another, or his body entered by a Wetála, in the temporary absence of his soul.

And Párwatí said: What was the passion here? And the Moony-crested god said slowly: It was a threefold cord, and very strong: love, and love turned by intense disappointment into hatred, and rage against a rival: each by itself alone enough to turn reason into madness. But the whole story is told, by its hero himself, in the very letter: and if thou wilt, I will read it aloud to thee, exactly as he wrote it, word for word. And the goddess said: Thou knowest all: why not tell it in thy own way, without the trouble of reading? And Maheshwara said: Nay, on the contrary, it is far better to let him tell it for himself: for who knew everything better than he did? And moreover, every story told by a stranger is imperfect, since he is obliged to fill up the gaps in his knowledge by imagination or conjecture: whereas, when the actor in it all is himself the narrator, it is the very truth itself, unless he expressly desires to conceal it, which is not the case here. For he was very anxious indeed to tell his enemy everything, on purpose to offend him: and he only made one mistake, which I will show thee in due time. So I will read it exactly as it stands, omitting absolutely nothing. And the Daughter of the Snow said: Read. But she thought: If it is not worth hearing, I will simply go to sleep as he reads. And Maheshwara said: Nay, O Snowy One, I will guarantee that thou dost not go to sleep.

And then, the goddess suddenly threw her arms about his neck, and hid her face on his breast. And she said: What is the use of trying to hide anything at all from thee? Read. But for all that, I will go to sleep, if I choose. And the Moony-crested god said with a smile: Aye! but thou wilt not choose.

And then he began to read, throwing away the leaves as they ended, one by one into the stream, which carried them away. And the crocodiles all lay round him in a circle, worshipping their Lord, as he read.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: Maheshwara is the ascetic _par excellence_, who punished Love for trying to tempt him by burning him up like a moth with a fiery glance from his third eye. And yet for all that, the Master Yogi was not always proof against feminine fascination: he might be chaste as ice, yet he has not escaped scandal.]

[Footnote 3: Nandi is the divine Bull, on which, or whom, the Great God rides.]

[Footnote 4: Had the awful words passed her lips, Nandi was a doomed bull, as a curse once uttered is irrevocable.]

[Footnote 5: Because he is the Lord of Creatures animate or inanimate, which all obey him.]

II

The heart of a Woman

I

As the black cobra sits up, and puffs his hood, and hisses, giving warning to his prey, ere he strikes: so I, Shatrunjaya[6] the lute-player, son of a king, do send this my menace to thee, Narasinha, the lover of a queen too good for so vile a thing as thou art: that none hereafter may be able to say, I struck thee unwarned, or took thee unawares. Know, that night doth not more surely or more swiftly follow day, than I and my vengeance will follow on the messenger who carries this threat: whom I have bidden to reach thee with his utmost speed, so as to allay my thirst for thy life; since every day that I wait seems to me longer than a _yuga_. And I will slay thee with no other weapon than my two bare hands--

And suddenly, the great god stopped, and he laughed aloud. And he exclaimed: See now, how this poor lute-player deceived himself! For his message not only never reached his enemy at all, but almost as soon as it had left him, he was himself slain by the emissaries of the very man he meant to kill, who never sent him any warning at all, but took him unawares, and slew him, escaping by anticipation the fate that was in store for himself, without even knowing anything of all that this letter would have taught him, and so far from dying, living to a very great age. And this instance shows, that the most dangerous of enemies is the one that never threatens till he actually strikes, resembling not the cobra, but the adder, as Shatrunjaya discovered to his cost, too late.[7]

And the Daughter of the Snow exclaimed, in wrath: Why hast thou stopped, to tell me the end of the story, before even reaching the beginning?

And Maheshwara said: Aha! Snowy One, thou art not yet, as it seems, asleep. Many are the beginnings that never reach an end: but it will do this story no harm at all, to begin with the end, since all the essence of it lies in the middle, and as thou wilt find, it ends in the middle, and yet never ends, even when it is done.

What I have told thee does not matter in the least; what matters is the Queen, for she was the most extraordinary of all women, past, present, or to come.

And Párwatí said: Let the letter speak for itself: and if thou hast anything to say, keep it for the end. For nothing is more unendurable than a commentary upon a text which is unknown.

II

And Maheshwara said: Thus the letter continues:--for there is not room in one world for us both. And well thou knowest the reason why. For the Queen told me, the very last time that I saw her, that it would be the very last time, as indeed it was. And when I asked why she would see me no more, she said, that thine was the order, to send me away. Dog! was she thine to command, or was I? And yet, I knew very well, it was all thy doing, before ever she told me. For never would she have behaved as she did, had she not been pushed from behind: and the very first time that we met, when she told me of thee, I understood, and foresaw, and expected, the very thing that has happened, looking to find thee hiding behind her, to rid thee of a rival whom thou hadst not the courage openly to face. And dost thou dare to condemn me for doing the very same thing thou wast doing thyself? Was not my claim to love her as good as thy own? Or what, O cowardly dastard, does that man deserve, who screens himself behind the clothes of a woman to strike at a foe? I will answer the question, and show thee, by ocular proof, very soon. But now in the meantime, I will open thy eyes, and tell thee, from the very beginning, all that took place. And thou shalt learn how I stole her away from thee, in spite of thee, as presently I will come to rob thee also of thy life. And I will embitter thy life, and poison it, first: and then I will take it away.

III

And yet, strange indeed was the way that I met her. I cannot tell, whether it was a reward or a punishment for the deeds of a previous birth. For the joy of it would have been cheap, bought at the price of a hundred lives: and yet the sorrow is greater than the joy. And it happened thus. I was roaming through the world, with my lute for my only companion. For all men know, as thou must also, that I turned my back upon my hereditary kingdom, and quarrelled with all my relations, and left them, all for the sake of my lute. For ever since I was a child, I have cared for absolutely nothing but my lute, and as I think, I must have been a Gandharwa[8] in the birth before, since the sound of the tones of its strings, touched by the hand of a master musician, leads me like an ox that is pulled by a cord, the very moment I hear it, and I stand still, like one that listens with tears in his eyes to the memory of the voice of a friend that is dead. Ha! very wonderful are the influences of a forgotten birth! For I was an anomaly, behaving not according to my caste, which was that of a Rajpoot; and not music, but fighting, was my proper work, and my religion.[9] And it was as if my mother had been caught sleeping in the moonlight on the terrace of the palace in the hot season by some king of the Widyádharas passing by, and looking down from the air. For heavenly beings often fall into such temptations, and even an ascetic would have found it hard to laugh at the arrows of Manobhawa, coming in the form of such a feminine fascination as hers, lying still in the lunar ooze at midnight, with her head pillowed on her arm. And yet, for all my music, I was the tallest and strongest of all my clan, and a hunter, when I chose, that could bear fatigue even better than a Bhíl.

And then at last there came a day when the King my father sent for me. And when I came, he looked at me with approval, and he said: Thou art a man at last. And yet they tell me, thou dost nothing all day long but sit playing thy lute. Canst thou really be my son, or art thou some musician's brat, foisted into my son's place by some dark underhand intrigue, when I was looking the other way? For who ever heard of a Yuwarájá,[10] destined to sit upon the throne when I have entered the fire, neglecting all his duties for the sake of a lute's strings? Come now, throw thy lute away, and leave music to the professionals who have nothing else to do, and apply thyself to policy, and the things of a king's trade. And I said: What do I care for a kingdom in comparison with my lute? I will not throw it away, no, not for a hundred kingdoms. I am a devotee of Rádhá's lover,[11] and I care nothing for any ráj. Then my father flew into a rage. And he said: Thou shalt do, not as thou wilt, but as I will. Choose, between thy wretched lute, and the ráj: and if thou dost not obey, I will turn thee off, and put thy younger brother in thy place. And I said: There are kings in abundance everywhere, but those who can really play on a lute are very few indeed. And I am one. Let who will be a Yuwarájá: I will choose the lute. And he said, in wrath: Be off! and play dirges to the memory of thy dead succession, for thou art no longer heir. And I laughed in his face, and went away, and got on my horse, and turned my back upon it all, and rode off laughing with my lute hanging round my neck, counting the kingdom as a straw. And thereafter, I wandered up and down, from place to place, living as I pleased, and utterly disregarding the messages that reached me nearly every day from my mother, who sent me bags of money and entreaties to return, all in vain. And my story, like my playing, went from mouth to mouth, and everywhere I went, the people said: Ha! there goes Shatrunjaya, the mad musician, who cares more for a discord than the loss of his hereditary ráj! Ha! and if his policy were only equal to his playing, what a king he would have made! And what a fool he must be, to care for nothing in the three worlds but a lute's strings!

IV

And yet they were all wrong. For there was another thing that nobody knew anything about, that I cared for even more than for my lute. And all the while I wandered, I was looking for a thing that flew before me the more I kept pursuing it, like the setting of the sun. And yet it hung, so to say, always just before my eyes, like a picture on the wall, so that often I used to talk to it, as if it were alive, as I sat. And yet it never answered, looking back at me in silence with strange kind eyes, and seeming to listen to me gazing at it wistfully, and playing on my lute. And this was a woman, that had come to me in a dream. For but a little while before I quarrelled with my father, I was lying, on a day, at noon, when I had been following a quarry in the jungle till I ached with fatigue, resting on a river bank: and so as I lay, unawares I fell asleep. And I thought that I wandered through a palace that I had never seen before, till suddenly I came upon a terrace that stood on the very margin of a lake, that was filled with myriads of lotuses, all turned red by the rays of the setting sun, which stood never moving on the top of a low hill, as if it were watching me to see what I should do, before it went away. And there was such a strange silence that I began to be afraid, as if of something that was just about to happen, without knowing what. And so as we all stood waiting in the dusk, I and the lotuses and the sun, all at once I heard behind me a voice like a _kokila_, saying quietly: I have kept thee a long while waiting: wilt thou forgive?

And I turned round, and looked, and lo! there was a lady, looking at me with a smile. And she was standing so absolutely still, that she resembled an image made of copper, for exactly like the lotuses, she was all red in the rays of the sun, and her dark clothing shone like the leaf of a palm seen at midnight in the glow of a fire. And her hair was massed like that of an ascetic high over her brow, and on its dull black cloud there shone a gem that resembled a star, shooting and flickering and changing colour like a diamond mixed with an opal: while underneath, her eyes, that resembled pools filled with dusk instead of water, were fixed on me as if in meditation, as if half in doubt as to whether I was I. And yet her lips were smiling, not as if they meant to smile, but just because they could not help it, driven by the sweetness of the soul that lay behind them to betray its secret unawares. And the perfect oval of the outline of her face was lifted, so to say, into the superlative degree of soft fascination by a faint suggestion of the round ripeness of a fruit in its bloom, as if the Creator, by some magical extra touch of his chisel, had wished to exclaim: See how the full loveliness of a woman surpasses the delicate promise of a girl! And she was rather tall, and she stood up very straight indeed, so straight, that my heart laughed within me as I looked at her, for sheer delight, so admirably upright was the poise of her figure, and yet so round and delicious was the curve of her arms and her slender waist, that rose as if with exultation into the glorious magnificence of her splendid breast, on which her left hand rested, just touching it very lightly with the tips of her fingers, like a wind-blown leaf lying for a moment exactly at the point of junction of two mounds of snow, as if to chide it very gently for challenging the admiration of the three worlds. And she stood with her weight thrown on her left foot, so that her right hip, on which her right hand rested, swelled out in a huge curve that ran down to her knee, which was bent in, and then turned outwards, ending in a little foot that was standing very nearly on the tip of its toe.

And so as we stood, gazing at one another in dead silence, all at once she smiled outright, holding out both her hands. And at that very moment, the sun sank. And as I strove in vain to move, rooted to the spot like a tree, she faded away, very slowly, back again into the dark, growing little by little paler, till she vanished into the night, leaving nothing but her star, that seemed to glimmer at me from a great distance, low down on the very edge of a deep-red sky. And I strove and struggled in desperation to break the spell that held me chained, and suddenly I woke with a loud cry, and saw before me only the river, on whose bank I was lying alone.

V

Aye! then for the first time in my life, I knew what it meant, to be alone, which had been to me but a mere word, without any meaning at all. For as I sat by the river, I knew I had left my soul behind in the dream that had disappeared. And my heart was burning with such a pain that I could only breathe with great difficulty, and tears rose into my eyes, as it were of their own accord. And I said sadly to myself: Now, beyond all doubt, I have seen some feminine incarnation of a fallen star, and unless I can find it somewhere on earth, I shall lose the fruit of being born at all. So one thing only remains to do, and that is to look for her, and keep on looking until I find her. For if only I was sure, that she was absolutely beyond finding, I would not consent to remain in this miserable body without her, even for a single moment. But she must be alive somewhere, and able to be found: for how could such a thing as she was exist only in a dream? For nobody could possibly have invented her, no, not even in a dream: and it must be that my soul went roaming about as I slept, and actually caught sight of her. And if the soul could find her, then, she is somewhere to be found, even by the body; but alas! the body cannot travel so easily as the soul: since, in his haste, the Creator has forgotten to give wings to anything but birds. And yet, the only thing to do is to hunt for her incessantly, and go from place to place without stopping for a moment: since very certainly she will never be discovered if I remain here as motionless as a hill. So I must escape at once, on some pretence, without letting anybody know why.

And as I said, I did: and this was the very reason why I broke with my relations, and became a vagrant instead of a king's heir. And every night I went to sleep yearning to dream the dream again, and yet it never came, though even in my sleep I seemed in every dream to be roaming everlastingly in jungles, and along roads that never ended, always on the very point of finding something that I never found. And strange! instead of driving me to despair, this constant failure actually gave me courage, for I said: If the dream had really been only a dream and nothing more, it would surely have returned, beyond a doubt: since, as a rule, dreams are only pictures in the night of what men think of in the day. And yet she never comes again, although I think of nothing else, all day long, and she was very certainly no picture of anything that I ever saw before. And clearly, it must be that my soul did actually find her, though now it has lost its way, and does not know how to return.

And in the meanwhile, as time went on, the less I found her, the more I fell back upon my lute, which became the only confidante of my secret, and my sole refuge in my desolation. And I used to sit playing, thinking all the while of nothing but herself, so that she gradually became as it were the theme and the undertone of every air. And the listeners would say: Ha! now beyond a doubt this player on the lute must be some incarnation of a Kinnara, for the sound of his music resembles that of the wind singing in the hollows of the bamboos that wave over waterfalls on the sides of the snowy mountain: and his lute seems to sob, in the vain endeavour to express some melancholy secret that for want of words it cannot articulately tell, wringing as it were its hands of strings, for very grief: And I became a byword, and the fame of my music was carried into the quarters of the world, like the scent of the sandal that the breeze blows from the Malaya hill in the region of the South.

And then at last I came, on a day, tired out with travel, to Kamalapura.[12] And delighted with its trees and its river and its lotuses, I found a little house, and lodged in it, to rest for a while. And one morning, there came to me a musician of the city, who loved me for my playing, and he said: How comes it, O Shatrunjaya, that thou hast not been to play to Táráwalí?[13] And I said: Who is Táráwalí, that I should go to play to her, who never go to anyone at all? And he laughed, and exclaimed: Who is Táráwalí? What! dost thou actually say that thou hast never even heard of her, the Queen of this city? And I said: I did not know that thy Táráwalí was the same as the Queen, of whom indeed I have heard, very often, as everybody must who comes to this city: for as it seems, the citizens never talk of anything or anybody else, never saying anything about her that recommends her to me; since, as I understand, she is an independent[14] woman, who goes her own way, like the wind, caring absolutely nothing where it takes her, or what anybody says. And he said: Let them say what they will, at least she is a connoisseur in music, and plays the lute herself, though not so well as thou. And they tell me, she is very curious to see thee, and to hear thee, of whom she has heard so much. And I said carelessly: The curiosity is not reciprocal, since on my side there is absolutely none. And moreover, independent women are not to my taste, even when they happen to be queens. So it will be better for us both, to leave her curiosity unsatisfied. And he said: Well have they named thee, the mad musician: for thou art utterly unlike all other men. Thou hast thrown away thy kingdom for a lute: and now thou sittest like a stone, unmoved, to hear that even Táráwalí is curious on thy account: a thing that would set any other man dancing for delight, like a peacock at the sight of a cloud. Art thou indeed a stone, or is it sheer ignorance of what Táráwalí is like? And I said: And what then is she like? And he said: She is like absolutely nothing in the world but herself, and cannot therefore be described at all, but only seen. So the only way to get thy question answered is to go, and see her for thyself. And I said: Then it never will be answered, for I will not go and see. I am no tame animal, to go where I am called: I am wild. And he said: Aye! but the wild swans go to the Mánasa lake of their own accord. Thou art like a young wild swan, refusing, for sheer obstinacy, to visit the very place, that, had it only seen it, it would never be induced to desert again. For Táráwalí is exactly a Mánasa[15] for such a swan as thee. And for all answer, I took my lute, and began to pluck at the strings.

And he stood for a while, drumming on the sill of the window as he looked out: and then he turned and said: If thou hast no curiosity, thou hast at least the manners of a king's son. Wouldst thou be so uncivil as to say no to her invitation, if she sent to thee, to come? And I said: Why suppose what never can occur? Surely this independent queen does not go to such a length as to act like an _abhisáriká_,[16] and throw herself of her own accord at the head of every stranger that may wander through her city? And he laughed, and said: Wouldst thou actually shut thy door in her face, even so, if she were an incomparable beauty? Even an _abhisáriká_ might be welcome, to anybody but thyself, who art said to be a hater of all women whatsoever. And I said: Why should I hate all women, who never think of them at all?

And he looked at me for a long while; and then he said: Who knows? Thou art so singular in everything that it is just barely possible that thou art telling me the truth, though it is very hard to believe it, in the mouth of a youth like thee. And yet, if as thou sayest, thy heart be really empty, Táráwalí could fill it for thee, easily enough. Aye! even if it were a desert equal to Marusthalí in dryness and extent, a single glance at her would turn it into an ocean, tossing with agitation, and running over with excess of salt.[17]

And then he went away. And instantly I forgot all about her, absorbed in my lute and the recollection of my dream.

VI

But next morning, when I awoke, his words all came back to me, and filled me with dismay. And I sat long musing over them, and saying to myself: Now after all, it is just possible not only that his words had a meaning, but even that he was acting as an agent of the Queen, who may take measures to make me go and see her, whether I will or no: since she is, as it seems, a musical blue-stocking,[18] ready to force herself on anybody just to gratify her vanity by claiming admiration for her musical proficiency, which nobody would acknowledge unless she were a queen. Out on these queens, that dabble in matters that they do not understand, and meddle in other people's business! But now I will steal a march on her by making my escape betimes, and I will go this very moment and order my horse to be got ready, to give her the slip, in case she may be meditating anything very disagreeable. For if she finds the bird flown, she will give it up, once for all.

And I went to the door and opened it, and lo! there in the street before me stood a woman, who was in the very act of knocking at the door, to get in, so that as I pulled it open, she very nearly fell into my arms. And as she drew back laughing, I looked at her in blank amazement. For she resembled a feminine incarnation of the dawn, being a very Apsaras for beauty, and very young, and very small, and dressed in a garment of red muslin, whose edge of gold ran all about her like a snake.[19] And she had gold bangles, and gold anklets, and gold chains about her neck, and she held the end of her garment drawn over her head with one hand, whose arm resembled a creeper spray, so that I could only just see her long eyes peeping at me through the opening. And I stood awhile, holding the door, and looking at her with dismay, that was very nearly terror, saying to myself: Now, after all, I am caught, for here she is in person, running to me of her own accord. And at last I said with hesitation: Art thou Táráwalí?

And instantly, that strange damsel broke into a peal of laughter. And she exclaimed: I, Táráwalí? Art thou stark mad? Or dost thou imagine Táráwalí would come to people's doors? Ha! then, but as it seems, thy thoughts are already running on Táráwalí. But let me come inside, for why should the whole street listen to our conversation? And she came in quickly and stood just inside the door, holding it by the handle, as if she wanted to make sure of her escape. And she said: Art thou Shatrunjaya, the lute-player? And I said: Yes. Then she said: Thou deservest almost to be slain, for such an extraordinary blunder as to confound such a thing as I am with the Queen. And yet, after all, thy chance arrow is somewhere near the mark: for if I am not Táráwalí, at least I am her shadow, and never very far from her, being her confidential maid. And I have come to thee now with a message from herself: and it is this: Táráwalí the pupil stands in sore need of Shatrunjaya the master, to help her in disentangling the quarter-tones of a theme: and she will await him in her garden, as the sun goes down.

And I said: What, O thou red beauty, is thy name? And she said: Chaturiká[20] Then I said: Go back, O Chaturiká, and tell the Queen that I was not to be found. I will not come. And here is gold for thee.

And Chaturiká brushed away my bribe with a wave of her pretty arm. And she leaned back against the door, holding the handle behind her, and looking up at me from under her long lashes, with sweet crafty eyes, and eyebrows lifted high into a double arch. And she put her head a little on one side, and said, with a smile: Think twice, O Shatrunjaya. Art thou a musician, and hast thou never heard the song: Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away?[21] Or hast thou never tasted nectar, even in a dream? Remember, sunset! And she shook at me her forefinger, and suddenly she opened the door, and slipped out, and shut it, and was gone; leaving me staring at it in stupefaction, and almost believing I was dreaming, so abruptly had she come and gone. And I said to myself in wonder: Beyond a doubt, she spoke at random, knowing nothing of my dream; and yet she made me jump, for her arrow hit the mark exactly in the centre. But if the maid is like the mistress, of whom she said herself, she was the shadow, then very sure I am, it is not either maid or mistress, or anybody the least like them, that could realise my dream. But all the same, I am caught, for the moment, in their noose: and what is to be done now? For she will go straight back and tell it all, to this over-bearing busybody of a queen, and if now I do not go, it will seem an incivility almost equal to an insult. For queens do not like to be refused, and even their request is a kind of order, very difficult to disobey. Out, out, upon this red intrusive jade, and her mistress, and above all on myself, for my delay! For had I only gone away last night, I should have got clean off.

And long I sat debating, balanced in the swing of indecision, as to whether I should go, or not. And at last I exclaimed: I will give her just a chance. And I drew my _kattári_ from its sheath, and I said: Now I will throw it into the air. And if it falls back upon its point, I will go and see her: but if not, not. And I threw it up, like a juggler, so that it spun very quickly like a wheel: and lo! it fell back, and stuck exactly on its point, standing straight up, as if on purpose to imitate Chaturiká's forefinger, and saying as it were: See! thou shalt go, willy nilly, at sunset to the Queen.

And so, seeing that I must absolutely go, I dismissed it, as a thing determined, from my mind. And a little before sunset, I went out, and moved slowly through the streets, making for the palace with unwilling feet. And when I reached it, I stood still, opposite the palace gates, saying to myself: There is still just time to turn back and go away. For my reluctance grew upon me as I went, with every step, as if some presentiment that I could not understand was warning me beforehand of all that would come about. And I said: Now then, I will give myself one last chance. I will stand here still, and count a hundred. And if in the time, I do not see an elephant go by, I will go away, bidding good-bye for ever to the Queen. And then I began to count. And strange! at that very moment, I looked, and saw the _ankusha_ of a _maháwat_, high up above the crowd, coming round the corner. And the elephant on which he sat passed by the palace gates, looking at me as it were with laughter in its little eye, and saying: I am just in time: while yet I had fifty still to count.

So near I came, to never seeing Táráwalí at all!

VII

So then at last, seeing that fate was against me, and that there was absolutely no help for it, I gave up the struggle, and went up to the gate. And learning who I was, the _pratihárí_[22] led me away into the palace, and I followed her through innumerable corridors and halls, until at last we came to a high wall, in which there was a door, screened by a curtain. And she drew aside the curtain, and opened the door with a key. And she said: The Queen is within: knock at the door on thy return. And I went in, and she shut the door behind me, leaving me alone.

And I found myself in a garden, of which I could not see the end, for it rather resembled a forest for its multitude of trees. And after a while, I went on slowly without any guide, going wherever my steps led me, and saying to myself as I went along: Now I wonder where the Queen is; for as it seems, I am far more likely to lose myself than find anything, in such a maze as this. And then, little by little, I utterly forgot all about her, lost in my admiration of the place that I was in, and saying to myself in wonder: After all, I did well to come, and it was well worth while, if only for the sake of this extraordinary wood, which cannot properly be called a garden, since it is like absolutely nothing else in the world. For there were no flowers to be seen at all, but only trees. And even of trees, there were only four kinds, champak, and _shála_, and _nyagrodha_, and bamboo. But every kind of tree was multiplied many times, and each was a very giant, and a marvel of its kind. And the champaks and the _shálas_ were loaded with their blossoms that filled the air with heavy fragrance, and glimmered in the dusk: and the bamboos stood in clumps, like pillars, each as thick as my own body, with their tall plumes waving very gently to and fro like _chowris_ over my head; and the trunks and the roots of the _nyagrodhas_[23] writhed and twisted round me like serpents' coils and women's limbs, pointing at me as it were with weird wooden arms, till I felt as if I were walking in some strange dream forest whose Yakshas and Yakshinís were watching me and mocking me as I went along. And suddenly, I looked, and far away through the trees I saw the moon nearly full rising slowly like a great red nocturnal sun, on the edge of the pallid eastern sky, as if it had come to watch me too, before the sun was down. And a feeling that was almost fear began to creep into my soul, as I moved on slowly, not knowing where I was. And all at once, I came out suddenly upon a terrace and stood still. For just below me was a lake, whose water was black, and absolutely still, and it was filled with innumerable lotuses, that stood straight up out of the mirror that they floated in, all turned red by the rays of the setting sun, which was just about to disappear, taking as it were a last fond look at them, as it stood, blood-red, on the rim of the world.

And then, like a flash of lightning, recollection rushed into my soul. And my heart gave a bound, as if it wanted to leap from my body. And I exclaimed, with agitation: Ha! Why, it is the very lake, and these are the very lotuses, and the very sun that I saw in my dream! And even as I spoke, I heard behind me the low sweet voice of a woman, saying slowly: I fear that I have kept thee waiting for a long time: and canst thou forgive me?

And instantly I cried out: The words! the words! And I turned sharp round, shaking like a leaf, with a heart that beat in my body like a drum. Lo! there, just before me, stood the lady of my dream. And exactly as before, her dark blue garments shone like copper in the red sun's rays, and the star stood trembling in her high dark hair. And exactly as before, she stood up, absolutely straight, as if on purpose to throw into strong relief the undulating curves of her lovely form, and yet she differed from her own dream in this, that her soft round bosom was rising and falling like an agitated wave, as if she had been running very fast with nimble feet, that had stopped short, at the sight of me. And she held her pretty head, with appealing grace, just a very little on one side, looking at me with great sweet eyes, and lips that smiled, half-open, as if to let her breathe, saying as it were: I know that I am very guilty, and yet I am absolutely sure to be forgiven, since you cannot find it in your heart to scold. And somehow or other, there came from every part of her as it were the delicious fragrance of an extreme desire to oblige and please, that exactly corresponded with the excessive gentleness of the voice that had just spoken; and yet it was mixed in some inexplicable way with a very faint suggestion of authority, as though to say: All will willingly obey me; but those who will not, must. And one hand hung down by her side, holding a lute by a yellow string: while the other was playing with the beads of a necklace of great pearls, that lay on the ocean of her surging breast, so that it was carried up and down on its wave. And she looked, as she stood before me, like a faultless feminine incarnation of the essence of a bosom friend, turned into an instrument of supernatural seduction by the infusion of the intoxication of the other sex, and seeming as it were to say: How much dearer is a dear friend, that looks at thee with a woman's eyes!

And I stood for a single instant, looking, with a soul that struggled to leave me, as if it had recognised at once, the moment it caught sight of her, whose claim it should obey. And I made a step towards her, stretching out both my hands: and all at once, I uttered a sharp cry, and fell at her feet in a swoon.

VIII

And when I came back to myself, I opened my eyes, and saw her, standing close beside me, bending over towards me, and watching me with eyes that were full of an expression that was half anxiety and half compassion. And as I rose to my feet, in confusion, she said quietly: Nay, it would be better for thee to sit still, for a little while, until thou art recovered. Art thou ill, or what is the matter with thee? And I looked at her, making as it were sure of her being really there, and I said with emotion: Nay, on the contrary, I am very well indeed, now that I find thee still here, as I never hoped to see thee. For I was terribly afraid, lest I should lose thee as I did before. And the shock was like a blow, for I have waited so long, to see thee again. And she looked at me with astonishment, and she said: Before? Again? What dost thou mean? When have we ever met before? And I said: In a dream. And it may be, even earlier, in some former birth. I cannot tell. But instantly, I knew thee again, and my heart stopped, unable to endure the unutterable joy, and the choking pain, and the suddenness of the surprise: for it came upon me like a thunderbolt, without warning. And as I said, I was white with terror, lest thou shouldst have taken advantage of my swoon, to disappear, as thou didst before. For if I had not seen thee, when I woke up, I should have died.

And she looked at me for a while, with curiosity, and as if meditating over what I said. And then she sighed. And she said in a low voice, as if speaking to herself: This is my fault. Alas! I foresaw that there would be danger in thy coming. And I exclaimed: Danger! Be under no concern. Thou hast nothing at all to fear from me, or indeed from anything whatever, as long as I am near thee. Then she said: Nay, but thou dost not understand. It is not for myself that I was afraid, but for thee. And as I looked at her, as if to ask her what she meant, she said again: It is I who am the danger. For I know by experience that I always act on thy sex like a spell: only in thy case, the spell was very strong: so strong, as almost to destroy thee. And yet, it is not my fault, after all. Blame me not, but rather blame the Creator who made me as I am. And I exclaimed: Blame him! nay, rather worship and adore him, for the wonder of his work: as thou art very certainly his masterpiece. What! wouldst thou have me blame him, for producing a thing that I could worship, instead of himself? And she shook her head slowly as I spoke, and she said: Thou seest: it is exactly as I said. I am a poison to thee. And I looked at her, trembling with sheer ecstasy to look at her and listen to her: and suddenly I burst out laughing, with my eyes full of tears. And I said: Poison! Thou! Ah! let me only drink such poison to its dregs! I ask for nothing more. And she said: Come! let us sit on the step, and thou wilt recover. And when we were seated, she said, after a while: Forget me, if thou canst, for a moment, and listen, and I will tell thee of the difficulty which led me to summon thee to my assistance.

And then she began to speak to me of the musical intervals, while I sat gazing at her, drunk with admiration, and growing hot and cold by turns, never so much as hearing a single word she said, but listening only to the unutterable sweetness of the voice that spoke, that sounded in my ears like the noise of a waterfall coming from a distance to the ear of one that lies dying of thirst. And all at once, I broke in abruptly, without any reference whatever to her words: and I said: O Táráwalí, they named thee well who chose thy name: for thou art indeed like the star on thy brow. And when I think how nearly I never came to thee at all, I shudder for sheer terror, to think I all but missed my opportunity, and lost thee for ever. And I owe thee an apology, for a crime, done to thy divinity in ignorance. Aye! Chaturiká was right, when she told me I was worthy of death, for confounding thee with her.