Chapter III: A Story Without an End (3)

And I stood, confounded and as it were, dazed, by a vision so marvellously lovely that it puzzled me, murmuring to myself: Can this be Táráwalí after all, and what has she done to herself, for she has changed, somehow or other, into the incarnation of some deity exactly like her, and she looks like an image of the wife of Wishnu[28] that has somehow or other come down from its pedestal on a temple wall? For she was clothed in some strange colour that hovered between pallid yellow and deep red, seeming to have been borrowed from the setting sun and the rising moon. And it was all pulled forward, so that it clung somehow or other tight to her rounded limbs, making her whole outline from head to foot look like soft marble in the moonlit dusk, and it was collected in front into one great heavy fold that hung straight down like a red pillar from the very middle of her small waist, ending just above her feet in great gold tassels, that nearly touched the huge anklets of green jade with which her two little bare feet were loaded, as if to help them to stand firm. And a soft broad band of gold ran right round her just below her lovely breast, that lay held in its gold cup like a great double billow made of the creamy lather of the sea, prevented from escaping as it swelled up by the delicious dam formed by the curve of her shoulders meeting the soft bulge of the upper part of her rounded arms, which came out from each side and seemed as it were to wave gently in the air like creeper sprays, free and unconfined, and not like her feet, chained down, but absolutely bare of any ornament at all. And on her hair was not a star, but a great yellow moonstone, that shone with a dull glimmer like a rival moon of her own, and over her left shoulder a long coil of dark hair came out from behind her head and hung down like a serpent, ending in a soft wisp like a yak's tail that was tied round with yellow silk. And the only thing that she retained of what she was before was the intoxicating charm of the upright poise of her whole figure, which seemed to say to me as I saw it: I am the one thing about her which she cannot possibly hide or alter, let her do what she will.

And she stood quite still, as I gazed at her in ecstasy, lost in the wonder of my own eyes, looking back at me with her head just a little on one side, and her eyebrows just a very little raised, as if with appeal, and great soft sweet caressing smiling eyes. And then, after a while, she said, looking down: See, my feet are prisoners to-night, to do thee honour, as their lord, and they cannot walk fast or far, but it does not matter, as they will not be wanted, for I have a surprise coming for thee, by and by. But as to my arms, I thought it better to leave them without the encumbrance of any ornament at all. And she waved them gently in the air, and a little smile stole over her lips, and she said: It would only have been in the way, if the fancy should come upon thee to say good-bye in thy own fashion. And now, it was very difficult for me to know exactly what to do, so as to place the lady of thy dream before thee, since thou hast never told me what she looked like in the dream. And so thou must forgive me, if I have come in anything short of thy expectation, for I have done what I could. Art thou satisfied with her, as she stands? For if not, I must call my soul to the assistance of its body.

And I stood, unable to speak or move, gazing at her almost in a swoon by reason of the excess of my intoxication; and after a while, I drew a very deep sigh. And she came towards me, very slowly, as I stood rooted to the ground; and she put up her arms, and laid one hand on each shoulder, with a touch like the fall of a flake of snow. And she said: I know what is the matter: thou art spellbound by a return of thy original delusion. But it will leave thee, and thy senses will return to thee, once thou hast said good-bye. And then, seized with frenzy, I caught her in my arms, and suddenly she prevented me from kissing her by putting her hand over my mouth. And she said with a smile: Wait! Am I equal to Chaturiká, for as it seems, thou hast been playing me false? And for all answer, I took her hand, and kissed it, and put it round my neck, and then fell to kissing her in madness, continuing for I know not how long, bereft of my senses by the perfume of her hair and the touch of her arms. And then at last, I took her face in my hands. And I said: Away with Chaturiká! Thou knowest all, and art only jesting: and my soul quivers in my body at the sound of thy name. And she laughed, as I kissed her very gently on her two eyes, and she said: Perhaps I know: and yet, I will not forgive thee for Chaturiká, but on one condition. And I said: Ask anything thou wilt: it matters not. Then she said: Look at me very carefully, and think ere thou speakest: and tell me, exactly what it is, in me, that chains thee so to me, which Chaturiká and others are without.

And I said: Stand still, and let me look at thee, and think. And I put her away, and stood back, examining her very carefully just as she had wished, walking round and round her, and saying to myself: It is absolutely useless, for I know what to say without any need of looking, and yet I do not know if I can ever bring myself to stop, since she has given me, as if on purpose to delight me, a task more delicious than I ever had to do before. And all the time she stood absolutely still, patiently waiting till I ended, and looking at me every time I came round, with raised eyebrows and a smile. And at last, I could not endure it any longer, and I said: Ah! come back into my arms, which hunger for thee, and I will answer. And instantly, she came and stood, listening attentively, and caressing my ear unawares, as she listened, with her hand. And I said: Thy question is unanswerable, and my examination nothing to the purpose: since where was the use of looking at thy lovely body to find what is only to be found in thy soul, to which thy body owes the essence of even its own intoxication? For thy soul peeps out, from behind it, in the poise of thy head, and the straight erectness of its carriage, and the aroma of the royalty of sex that oozes, as it were, from its every gesture, mixed, in some unintelligible way, with a soft grace that seems to be all its own. But the spell thou art asking me to catch for thee looks from thy eyes, and lurks in thy lips, and murmurs in thy marvellous voice, which was silent all the while I was considering: and it is, some naive and submissive gentleness in the quality of thy soul, which turns all thy other perfections into instruments of delirium, and yet notwithstanding contradicts them all. For any other woman but thyself possessing even one of them would be proud, whereas thou dost not even seem to be aware that there is anything about thee other than the common. And as it seems to me, it is this, which is the core of thy irresistible fascination, giving to all thy particular elements of loveliness a kind of salt, that mixes with their sweetness to drive me mad.

And she looked at me silently with meditative eyes; and after a while she said slowly: I wish I were a man, only for a moment, to judge of myself and thy answer: for in one way thou art right, since I cannot understand why all men seem to lose their reason, as soon as they see me. And I said: There it is again, the very thing I spoke of, in thy words: and it is so simple, and yet so indescribably delicious, that very glad indeed I am that thou art not a man, but a woman, and that it is I that am the man. And it would be a crime in the Creator to gratify thy wish by making thee a man, who art the very essence of all womanly perfection and attraction. And for satisfaction of thy wish, look at thyself through my eyes, and thy wish is attained, since I am myself the very mirror provided thee by the Creator for that very purpose. And so learn, by my mouth, that thy spell is something in thee that resembles the peace of a forest pool. And even to-night, all the while we have been together, thou hast been, and art, so curiously quiet, like the breast of a swan, bathing in the water of passion and emotion without even getting wet, and like the snow of Kailàs, never melting even in the sun of noon.

And again she looked at me with curiosity: and she sighed, as if to dismiss what she could not comprehend. And she said: See! the moon has climbed high, and is gazing on the lotuses, and I am tired of standing, and the time has come to give thee thy surprise. And she drew me away by the hand along the terrace, and down its marble steps, till we came to a great tree that hung down over the water like an umbrella, leaning from the bank of the pool, so that nothing could be seen through its wall. And she took me and turned me with my face to the water, and she said: Stand here absolutely still, and do not look round, and I will bring thee thy surprise. And then she went quickly into the trees.

And I stood waiting, exactly as I was told, listening to her steps as she went away, and wondering where she was going, and what she was meditating, and what the surprise was, when it came. And so as I stood, I said to myself: Can I really be awake, or is it all only a long dream? For I seem to have been dreaming ever since I saw her first. And time slipped away, and still I stood, straining my ears for the sound of her steps returning, and dying to look round, but never looking, and haunted by a feeling that was almost terror, saying to myself: Why is she away so long, and what if she never returns at all?

And so as I stood, with my soul in my ears, turned as it were behind me, suddenly there came round the tree upon the water a great boat of the colour of a lotus leaf, turned up at each end like the neck of a swan. And it came straight towards me, and as it reached me, its boatman stood up, looking at me with a smile.

And I started, and all at once I laughed aloud, for amazement and delight: and even so, I hardly knew her to be herself. For she had cast away all her deity, and turned herself into a _chetí_, resembling a fragrant essence of midnight without a moon, clothed with absolute simplicity in soft dead black, with her own dark hair for her only decoration, tied in a knot around her head like a cloud of misty intoxication, and floating about her shoulders in confusion. And she looked at me with questioning eyes that shone bright in the moon's rays, and said naively, with a smile that almost broke my heart in two: Now I am within a little of being equal to Chaturiká? Is the maid a substitute for the queen that has disappeared?

And as I gazed at her in rapture without giving any answer, she said again: See! now we will float for a little while among the moon-lotuses, before we say good-bye. And this is thy surprise. And it is a delight that I keep for myself alone, and very few indeed are privileged to share it: but to-night, I am the lady of thy dream, and I will not do my favours by halves: and so thou shalt be my partner. And this is my swan's nest, and my floating cradle, in which I do my dreaming: for I can dream dreams as well as thou. And now I am going to dream a little, and we will dream together. And come, for the lotuses are waiting for us.

And I got into the boat, and pushed it out upon the water, and she came to me of her own accord, and locked her arms around my neck. And we drifted to and fro, exactly as the boat chose, on the silent black mirror of the pool, never saying a single word, but kissing each other insatiably with lips that were never tired, lost in the bottomless abyss of the ecstasy of mutual union. And all the time she bathed me with the beauty of her eyes, that like the pool, drew the moonlight down into their dark depths, caressing me with soft hands that touched me like the fall of a leaf, and lips that smiled and trembled like the shadows of the lotuses in the still water's swirl. And the moon rose higher and higher, and the night crept unobserved away, for I was utterly unconscious of the passage of any time. And then at last as I lay, worn out and overcome by the excess of my own emotion, and lulled by the gentle drifting of the boat, and wrapt in the delirium of oblivion arising from the unimaginable reality of the lady of my dream, unawares I fell asleep.

XVI

And when I awoke, lo! the moon was standing on the very edge of the western sky, and dawn was glimmering in the east. And the Queen was gone! And I leaped out of the boat, which was fastened to the bank, and ran up into the garden, which was as dark and as empty of anything living as a tomb. And after looking for her a long time in vain, at last in despair I went away to the door, and knocked, and it was opened; and there stood, not the _pratihárí_, but Chaturiká. And I said: Chaturiká, what has become of the Queen? And she said, with emphasis: Forget the Queen, and remember thy father: it is time.

And I started, as if she had run a poisoned needle into my ears; for I had utterly forgotten all about him. And no sooner had I got out of the palace than I ran all the way home through the empty streets. And I found my horse waiting, and I sprang on him, just as I was, and I went out of Kamalapura, making for the desert as if I were running a race with the god of death, to determine which of us should reach my father first. And yet as I rode, I was thinking all the time of one thing only, to return, quicker even than I went away, and listening to my heart that sang without ceasing Táráwalí, Táráwalí, as if keeping time to the rattle of the hoofs of the horse. And after a while, I began to say: If I am to return, it will have to be on another horse: for whatever else dies, or does not die, this horse will die, beyond a doubt, either at the end of his race, or it may be, even before.

And it happened as I said. For suddenly the horse fell, to rise no more, while yet there was far to go: leaving me alone in the desert, with the sun right over my head. And I exclaimed: Alas! out upon fate, and out upon my own folly, for now I have killed my horse, that I loved better than my own soul! Alas! my horse was like my good fortune.[29] And if I had only started in the night, he would have had an easy journey, going slower in the cool hours. And I have offered my horse a sacrifice, and it may be, my kingdom also, to my deity Táráwalí. And yet, what does it matter, after all? Is she not worth all the horses, and all the kingdoms in the world? Aye! I would give them all, for another sunset like last night, with the lady of my dream. But what is to be done now? There is absolutely no help for it, and I must finish my journey how I can, going slowly on my own feet.

And as I said, so I did: and so it came about, that faint and tired and overcome, by hunger and thirst and the long journey and the fierceness of the desert sun, I began to reach my own city only as he was going down. And as I slowly drew near it, making all the haste I could, suddenly there fell on my ear a sound, coming to me from the city, that smote it like a blow. And I stopped short, to listen; and all the hair on my body stood erect. And I said slowly to myself: I have lost the race, after all, for they are wailing in the city, and it can be for one thing only, that it is widowed of its King. Aye! I am too late. And I have killed my horse for nothing, since Death has arrived before me, after all, having annihilated my competition, by taking my horse upon the way. And I have reached my journey's end, just in time to hear the wailing, as if Death were jeering at me, saying as it were in irony: They must travel very fast who think to outstrip me.

And I went on to the palace, never stopping at the gate to ask what I already knew. And they ran to warn my mother, and she came out of the women's quarters, and stood looking at me grimly, covered as I was with dust and perspiration, and almost ready to fall down, for sheer fatigue. And then she said: Fool! thou art too late, and thy brother has the throne. And now thou art little better than an outcast, and hast lost thy father, and thy crown, and me.

And I looked at her, and I said: When did the King die? And she said: Sunset.

And I uttered a shout of laughter, and threw my hands into the air, and fell at her feet in a swoon.

XVII

And when I had recovered, in a day or two, I came, so to say, to terms with my loss and my condition: saying to myself: After all, my father had to die, whether I came to him in time, or not: and I could not have saved his life, by my coming, no matter when I came. And so, the only thing I lost, by coming late, is my _ráj_. But what do I care for any _ráj_, which, in comparison with Táráwalí, resembles a mere pinch of dust, thrown into the other scale? Away with the miserable _ráj_! as if another sunset with the Queen would not be cheaply purchased at the price of all the kingdoms in the world! And I passed my days of absence in doing absolutely nothing but thinking of Táráwalí, and waiting, with a soul almost unable to endure, till the moment of return. And I sent a secret messenger to Kamalapura, saying to him: Go to the palace gate, and ask the _pratihárí_ for a _chetí_ called Chaturiká. And when she comes, tell her by word of mouth, so that nobody may hear thee but herself: Greetings to the Queen from Shatrunjaya, who has lost his throne on her account, and does not care. And when the obsequies are over, he will return to Kamalapura, on the night before the moon is full.

And having sent him off, I waited, while the obsequies went slowly on, with a soul that almost parted from its body with impatience for an answer to my message that might help me to keep alive, saying to myself: She cannot send Chaturiká, as she did before, since it is too far off for anything but a letter or a message, which will have to do instead. But neither a letter nor a message ever came: though in the meanwhile, my messenger returned with empty hands. And I tortured him with questions, but all he had to say was that Chaturiká had listened, and bidden him to go away. And notwithstanding my bitter disappointment, I racked my brain to find excuses for them both, saying: I am a fool. How could I expect any reply, since after all I never put a question, and silence was the only answer to be given: and beyond all doubt, she is waiting till I come? And is it likely that she would trust a message to a man she did not know? She is keeping her answer to be sent in the form of a summons on the eve of the full moon, which was the only answer I was asking for. And yet, in spite of all that I could think of to cool the fever that burned in my heart, I chafed and pined, sick with anxiety and disappointment, and longing in vain for the thing that never came. And I said sadly to myself: Well, only too well, she knew, that the very shadow of a sign of any kind, from her, would have set my heart dancing like a peacock at the first symptom of the coming of the rain. Or can it be, after all, that she really did send an answer, which has somehow or other lost its way? Aye! no doubt, it must be so, for she is kind, and could not bear to think of the misery she knew I must be suffering every moment that I am not by her side.

And so, perforce, I waited, gnawing at my own heart, until at last the funeral ceremonies were over. And instantly, I took leave of my mother, and turned my back on my relations, and set off at a gallop for Kamalapura, with my heart singing for delight, like an arrow from a bow.

XVIII

And I reached it, exactly as I said, on the eve of the full moon. And I said to myself, with exultation: Ha! to-morrow night, it will be full, and red, and round, exactly as it was a month ago, and shining as it did before, upon the boat, and Táráwalí, and me. And at the thought, I laughed aloud, for sheer joy, and came to my own door, and went in. And lo! the very first thing that I saw, when I entered, was my lute, lying on the floor with a broken string, and looking at me, as it were, with reproach. For a ray of moonlight fell exactly on it as it lay, as though to say: See! the moonlight falls not alone on happy lovers, but on those that are deserted! And my heart smote me, as I looked at it, and I exclaimed: Alas! my old love, thou art indeed discarded for another; for I have not given thee a single thought, ever since I saw her first. Bitter indeed must be the sorrow of one that is cast, like thyself, aside! And then, I threw myself upon my bed, forgetting instantly my lute and every other thing in the delight of the anticipation of the coming day. And I slept all night, floating as it were on a dark wave of the ocean of sweet expectation, and smiling so to say in my sleep.

And when morning came, I arose, and went to and fro, singing aloud for joy, and saying to myself: Now the moment of reunion approaches, and the miserable fever of separation is nearing its end, for the sun has arisen and is rushing to his home in the western mountain, and his race, and my desolation, will finish exactly together. And now, Chaturiká is on her way, and will soon be here, looking like the dawn of my delight in a delicious feminine form. And she will look at me with her laughing eyes, and murmur, Sunset, exactly as before: and exactly as before, I shall kiss her, and send her back to the Queen. And so I waited eagerly, on the very tiptoe of expectation, with my eyes fixed upon the door. But day slowly travelled on, and yet she never came. And little by little, my delight slowly turned into perplexity, and anxiety, till at last, as hour succeeded hour, each longer than a _yuga_, my heart began to sink, lower and lower still, and I became actually sick with the agony of my disappointment. For the sun was indeed rushing down into the night, and yet she never came. And time after time, I went to the door, and opened it, and looked out, but no Chaturiká was there, and nothing was to be seen but the people in the street.

And when at last night actually fell, and found me still waiting, I could endure no longer, but I threw myself upon my bed, and lay in a stupor in the dark, abandoning all hope, and on the very verge of crying like a child. And I said to myself: Is she ill, or is she dead, or has she gone away, or what on earth can be the matter? Or can it be, after all, that my messenger played me false, and never went? For if she really got my message, long ago she would surely have sent Chaturiká to summon me, knowing that it was impossible for me to come of my own accord, and that I should be sitting waiting with my heart on fire for her summons to arrive. And so I lay, tossing all night long sleepless on my bed, and cursing the moon, which poured as if to mock me a silver flood of light upon the floor, seeming to say: Think what a night it must be in the garden! until in an agony of reminiscence and humiliation, I turned my back to it, and lay with my face to the wall. And when at last day returned, I arose and sat, in deep dejection, worn out, and at my wits' very end, never even daring to look towards the door, which remained obstinately shut. And all day long I sat still in a kind of dream, neither eating nor drinking, and hopelessly waiting still. And at last once more the sun went down, after a day that was longer than a year, leaving me lying in the dark.

And I know not how I got through the night, which I shudder even to remember; but when morning came, I was within a very little of being mad. And burning with fever, hot and cold by turns, for sheer impotence I got up and went out, and wandered up and down the streets, till at last for weariness I was obliged to return, though the thought of my deserted house was almost more horrible than death. And all at once, I looked up, and lo! there was Chaturiká herself, coming towards me in the street.

XIX

And at the sight of her, my heart leaped into my mouth, for she resembled the very last link that joined me to the Queen, in a feminine form. But at the very moment that I saw her, she saw me also; and she turned away, pretending not to see me, and went round the corner into another street. And instantly, I leaped after her like a deer, and caught her, almost running to escape me. And then, seeing that there was absolutely no help for it, she stopped, and stood looking at me with defiance, like an animal at bay.

And presently I said: Dost thou not know me, that thou runnest so fast to get away? And she said: I never saw thee: I was only in a hurry. And I said: Now, from bad, it is worse; thou art lying. And why, instead of running away, art thou not rather hastening to meet me? Hast thou no message for me from the Queen? And she said: No: none. And I exclaimed: What! none? Did not my message come to thee? And she said, reluctantly: It came. Then I said: Then the Queen must know that I am here. And why has she never sent? And Chaturiká said: Is it for me to give orders to the Queen? How can I know why she does not want thy presence? If she did, she would send. I am not the mistress, but only the maid: is Chaturiká the equal of Táráwalí?

And as she spoke, the tears rose into my eyes, for I remembered the words of Táráwalí, as she stood up in the boat. And I took her by the hand, and looked into her eyes. And I said slowly: Thou knowest only too well, for if thou art not her equal, thou art at least her familiar. And now, then, cheat me not: since the matter is to me one of life or death. Am I thy enemy, or art thou mine? Was it not only the other day that thou didst kiss me of thy own accord, as I have sat, these last two days, hoping against hope for thee to come and do again? And what have I done, to bring about such change? I liked thee better, far better, laughing: thou wert so joyous, and so pretty, and like the ecstasy in my own heart, in a woman's form. Aye! as I looked at thee, it made my heart echo, to hear thee laugh, since we were both of us devotees of one and the same deity, Táráwalí, thy Queen and mine. And now, something has come about, I know not how, to spoil it all.

And as I spoke, all unconsciously I gripped the hand that I held of hers in mine, and it may be, that my hand whispered to her own what my voice alone strove in vain to say. For as I gazed at her in anguish, with tears in my eyes, strange! all at once I saw her face change, and her lip quiver, and tears stealing, as if against her will, into her eyes too. And she tried to laugh, without succeeding: and all at once, she squeezed my hand that held her own, with force. And she said, in a voice that trembled as it spoke, half laughing and half weeping: Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away. And suddenly she snatched her hand away from mine, and turned as if to go.

And I took her by the shoulder as she stood with her face averted, and I said: See, Chaturiká, my life is in thy hands. Come, do me this last favour, and I will never trouble thee any more. Wilt thou go straight to the Queen, and say I met thee in the street, and somehow or other, by hook or crook, contrive, that she shall send for me again, and very soon, for otherwise I cannot live much longer? Wilt thou? Wilt thou? And she hung her head, and said in a voice so low that I could hardly hear it: I will try. And I said: Go then, for I will delay thee no longer. And yet, listen! Come to me often, as thou art passing by, for the very sight of thee is life.

And without speaking, she rolled her head up in her veil, and went away very quickly. And I stood, looking after her as she went: saying to myself: There goes my last hope. And lucky for me it was that I caught her: for without her, I would by this have driven my own sword home into my heart.

XX

And I went home feeling like a man saved from the very mouth of death, saying to myself: Now then, happen what will! for at least I have secured the key of the door leading to Táráwalí, in the form of her maid. And now, it may be, I shall see her very soon. For beyond a doubt, there has been some blunder, or perhaps she was occupied with business of moment, that left her no leisure for affairs like mine. And all my fears may have been in vain. And at least, I can wait with hope, and not as I did before, in horrible despair, cut off from every means of communication. And I sat with a heart almost at peace, prepared to wait till the coming of Chaturiká on the following day. But it turned out contrary to my expectation. For I had been waiting for little more than a single hour, when there came a knock at the door. And when I opened, there stood Chaturiká again. And she said rapidly: The Queen will await thee in the garden to-night at sunset.

And I exclaimed, with a shout of joy: Ha! sunset! It is as I thought. Well I knew there was some mistake, and that she could not fail. And beyond a doubt, she had forgotten the time, remembering only when reminded by thee. Victory to thee, O Chaturiká! for to thee alone I owe the sunset, and now I will give thee for it almost anything thou canst ask. And Chaturiká said: Give me nothing. And she stood in silence, looking at me with strange eyes, in which, as it seemed, pity and curiosity seemed to be mingled with compunction and some element that I could not understand. And suddenly she came to me, and laid her hand upon my arm. And she whispered very quickly, as if she was half afraid of what she said: Do not go. And then, she turned and vanished from the room, as if to escape before I had time to ask for explanation.

And I said to myself, looking after her in wonder: What! do not go? So then, as it seems, there will be danger. But little does she know me, if she thinks that any danger would keep me from the Queen. And indeed, in the garden there is room for any number of assassins, if Narasinha or anybody else were jealous of my visiting Táráwalí. Danger! And I laughed in derision, that was mixed with intoxication, as if the very notion of danger from a rival added, somehow or other, to the sweetness of anticipation, by stamping me as a claimant to the affection of Táráwalí who was greatly to be feared. And all at once, light broke in, as it were, upon my soul. And I cried out in ecstasy: Danger! Ha! at last, all the mystery is solved. It was danger that prevented my Táráwalí from sending me any message or bidding me to come. And all the while she knew it, and she had to be very careful, fearing for my life. And suddenly, I struck my hands together, and I cried: Ha! what a fool I am! Why, she told me so herself, when I saw her for the second time, and yet I had forgotten it. And all this while, in the peevishness of my own oblivion and presumption, I have been blaming her, expecting things utterly unreasonable, and loading her extraordinary sweetness with miserable suspicions arising from my own imagination, and the blindness of my insatiable passion. Ah! Táráwalí, forgive me if I wronged thee! But I will make it up to thee to-night, and beg for thy divine forgiveness at thy feet. And all this hesitation was all the while only on my account: and yet, brute that I was! I never guessed it, till Chaturiká gave me, as it were, a hint, and put me upon the scent. And what else was her delay but an irrefutable proof of her affection, showing that she chose even to allow herself to be misinterpreted rather than let me run on her account into the danger that she knew.

And instantly, all the clouds of darkness and desolation rolled away in a body from my soul, leaving it bathing in the ruddy glow of sunset, and passion, and emotion, exactly as it was before. And I waited, plunged in the ecstasy of reminiscence and anticipation, till at last the sun began to sink. And then, once more I went, on feet dancing with agitation and delight, to the palace gates, and saw the _pratihárí_ standing waiting as before. And as I entered, never doubting that she had instructions of my coming, she barred the way, saying: What is thy business? And I said: I have come by appointment to see the Queen. Then said the _pratihárí_: Thou must come another time, for the Queen is not here.

And I stopped short, as if she had suddenly run a dagger into my heart. And I said in a low voice: Not here? It cannot be. Thou art mistaken. And the _pratihárí_ said: There is no mistake at all. She is gone. And I said: Gone? Where? When? And she said: She went within this hour, to visit her maternal uncle; for want, as I think, of something better to do. And when she will return, I cannot say.

And then, my heart stopped. And I stood for a single instant, erect, and I turned, as if to go away. And all at once, there came from the very middle of my heart, a cry, that tore me as it were to pieces, and I fell in the street like a dead man.

XXI

And when I came back to myself, I looked, and saw an old man with a long white beard gazing at me with anxiety, sitting by my bed in which I was lying, having been brought home I know not how as I lay in a swoon. And when he saw me look at him, he began to rub his hands together, with a little laugh. And he said: Ha! then, as it seems, after all, thy soul has returned at last: and it was time. For it had been away so long that I was beginning to doubt whether it had not said good-bye to thy body, for good and all. And now it has come back after all, by the favour of Ganapati, and the help of the Ayurweda, and one of Dhanwantari's[30] most unworthy devotees. And I said slowly: How long have I been dead? Then said that old physician: It is now nearly sunset again, and thou hast lain there without moving ever since they brought thee here from the street, about the time of sunset, yesterday. And now what is it, that has struck thee down, as if by a thunderbolt? For how can the physician cure, unless the patient tells him of his case?

And I closed my eyes for a while, as if to rest: and after a while I said: O father, there is nothing to tell, to one of thy experience and skill: for since childhood, it happens to me, every now and then, to fall down and lie in a trance: and when once I come back, all is over, and I go on as before, till next time. And now there is nothing to be done, but for me to reward thee for thy care, to which I owe my life. And though it is a thing of little or no worth, I will count it, for thy sake, as if it were a thing of price. And I gave that old man gold, and sent him away delighted, for all I wanted was to be rid of him as quickly as I could, lest I should fall into a fever and begin to rave, and betray my secret against my will.

And then, for many days, I lay, living very slowly, like one in a long dream, drinking water, and eating almost nothing, and going over in my mind every detail of my life since first I saw the Queen. And it seemed to me, as I mused, as if I had died long ago; and everything appeared to me like something that had happened long ago, to some other than myself. And day very slowly followed day, and life came back to me as it were with hesitating steps, as though it knew that it was coming to one that scarcely cared to bid it welcome. And then at last there came a day when I looked about with curiosity to see what might be seen, and lo! there in a corner lay my lute upon the floor.

So, after a while, I said: Lute, canst thou tell me, how it feels to be discarded? And I went and took it up, and strung it, and began to play. And as fate would have it, there came over the strings as I touched them a sadness like my own, that seemed to say: Come, we are fellow-sufferers, and now let us weep together, since there is absolutely nothing else to do. And suddenly, the lute fell from my hands of its own accord, and I fell with it upon the floor. And I wept, as if my very soul was about to abandon my body, for sheer despair. And as I wept, I came slowly back to the self I was before; yet so, that the half of me was left behind, and lost for ever. And I said to myself: I have been robbed by Táráwalí of all that was worth anything in my soul, and it only remains to consider, what is the next thing to be done.

And that very evening, I went out of my house for the first time since I fell down. And avoiding the streets, I wandered along by bypaths, till I reached the river bank. And I hid myself in the bushes, and lay watching the sun go down across the river, and thinking of Táráwalí and her pool, till unawares I went to sleep. And how long I slept I know not, but I woke suddenly in the night, roused by the voices of two that were talking close beside me, not knowing there was anyone by, to overhear. And as I listened carelessly without curiosity, all at once there fell on my ear the name of Narasinha.

And instantly, I crawled, like a panther, little by little, nearer to those two talkers, until I could easily hear everything they said. And one was saying to the other: It will be very easy, and the reward is very large. Then the other said: But why does Narasinha want to have him slain at all? And the first voice answered: What a question! Anyone can see that thou art a stranger to this city. Dost thou not know that he is the lover of the Queen, aye! and so, that she is more than his life? And yet, for all that, he cannot keep her to himself, since she is not only a Queen, and above all his controlling, but also a lady of many lovers, roaming like a bee, from flower to flower, as she will, and yet leaving each in the lurch almost as soon as it is tasted, being as unsteady as the flame of a lamp in the wind, and as deep and as crooked as a river, amusing herself as if she were a female _trinamani_[31] by watching the irresistible effect of her own attraction on the straws that she finds and throws away, as soon as she has tested them, regardless of what afterwards becomes of them, since they are then absolutely useless, resembling mere husks, whose kernel she has eaten. And if he could bear to do without her, Narasinha would slay her out of jealousy with his own hands: but as it is, he cannot, however much she laughs in his face. And so he repays himself by wreaking his vengeance on her lovers, in lieu of herself: and one by one, they all pay the penalty of their presumption, in having anything to do with her, with their lives: giving him hard work to do, since she finds and casts off a new lover almost every day. And of all, the only one that has escaped is Shatrunjaya, the mad player, who lost his reason altogether when he found himself cast adrift without knowing why: and was accordingly passed over by Narasinha, as not even needing to be killed, since he was as good as dead already, and beyond the reach of revenge.

And the second voice said: What a fool must this Shatrunjaya have been, to go mad, over such an _abhisariká_ as this Queen! Then said the first with emphasis: Thou art thyself the fool, speaking at random without ever having seen her: for she is a very Shrí, laughing all the other women to utter scorn; and small wonder that he fell a victim to such a spell, being as he is very young. And moreover, she is the cleverest woman in the three worlds, and easily persuades every lover that she is doing as he wishes to oblige him, and not as is really the case making him a puppet of her own. And not one of them all ever even knows of the existence of any other lover than himself. And Shatrunjaya is all the more to be excused, because she really took a momentary fancy to him, and cloyed him for a day or two with nectar that soon turned poison, as Chaturiká says.

And the second voice said: Who is Chaturiká? And the first replied: She is the niece of my cousin on the mother's side, and she tells me all. And Táráwalí took her for a confidential _chetí_ on account of her cleverness and beauty: as well she might, since the little jade is very pretty, and clever enough to be prime minister to any king. And between the two of them, who are more than a match for any man that ever lived, Shatrunjaya had no chance at all. Little did he know Táráwalí, thinking to keep her beauty to himself, or confine the ocean of her charms to a tank! Poor fool! what a trick they played him! For Chaturiká says, that Táráwalí gave another lover the very _rendezvous_ she fixed for him, bidding her _pratihárí_ say she was gone. Well he might go mad, for as I think, any other man might lose his reason, to be kept standing outside the door, while his mistress was kissing another man!

And he laughed out loud, as he ended: but I rose up from the ground, drawing my _kattárí_ from its sheath. And I leaped out of the bushes suddenly upon those two laughers, who took me for a ghost in the form of the god of death. And I struck at one with the knife, and as luck would have it, I all but severed his head from his body at a single sweep. And I turned upon the other as he stood terror-stricken, staring at me with open mouth, and I said: Thy jest was very good, but mine is better still. I am Shatrunjaya, and not mad after all: but thou shalt not tell my secret to Narasinha; whom I will send after thee in good time. And I struck the knife into his eye, so hard, that I could scarcely pull it out again by putting my foot upon his head.

And I left them lying, and went home quickly, laughing to myself, and saying: Now they are paid beforehand, with their work still to do, in coin very different from that of Narasinha. And his own turn will come, by and by. And I wonder whose life I have saved, for I never caught his name. But no matter: I have learned, what is left for me to do: and it only remains to determine on the way. Alas! Narasinha, thy star is beginning to decline. Thou hast just lost thy assassins, and presently I will deprive thee of Táráwalí, and last, I will rob thee of thy life.

XXII

And then, day by day, I rose early in the morning, and ate the breakfast of a bull-elephant, and went out into the streets, hunting, not for a forest beast, but for a human quarry. And I roamed up and down through the city all day long, examining everything I met that had the shape of a woman with the eye of a hunting leopard. And so I continued, day after day, without success. And then at last, on the night of the Dipáwali, when the streets were full of people, suddenly I saw her coming straight towards me. But she never saw me, by reason of the crowd: and the prey is not thinking of the hunter, when the hunter is thinking of the prey. And I hid myself in a doorway, and let her pass by; and I followed her with stealthy steps until at last she turned away into a narrow lane that resembled the jaws of death. And I caught her up with silent tread, and all at once I took her by the wrist as she went, with a grip like an iron band.

And she turned and saw me, and she started, and uttered a faint cry. And instantly I said: Cry out, even once, and I will sever thy head from its body. Make absolutely no noise, and I will do thee absolutely no harm. But come with me, for I need thee for a little while. I have been at pains to find thee, and now I will not let thee go. But unless thou dost exactly as I tell thee, I will treat thee as I did thy accomplice on the river bank, a little while ago. And she turned a little paler as she listened, understanding that I did not speak in jest. And I said: Go on before me, in silence, to my house, for well thou art acquainted with the way. And I will follow, just behind, and if thou makest, as thou goest, so much as a sign, thy head will roll from its shoulders on the instant. And she bowed her head, and went. And when we reached the door, I opened it and we went in. And I shut the door, and there was no other light than the moonlight, which fell in a flood upon the floor. And I said: Sit there in the moonlight, for I have something to say to thee. And she sat upon the floor, watching me with fascination like a bird before a snake.

And I walked to and fro before her, and suddenly I stopped, and I said: Tell me, O Chaturiká, what would the Queen say, if I told her of thy habit of babbling to thy relations of her secrets? And for answer, Chaturiká began to sob, grovelling upon the floor at my feet. And I said: Sit still, thou little fool, and listen: for thou shalt earn my forgiveness by doing as I bid thee: and if not, I will save the Queen trouble by becoming thy executioner myself. To-morrow night, I must see her in the garden as before: and it can only be by thy contrivance. And now, how is it to be done?

And Chaturiká said, weeping: To-morrow night it cannot be, since she has given that evening to another. And moreover, for thee every night is equally impossible, for she will not see thee any more. And how canst thou pass the _pratihárí_, or enter by the door, without her permission? And now between the Queen and thee, I am in the jaws of death. For thou wilt slay me, if I do not find thee entrance into the garden: and she will, if I do.

And I looked at her with scrutiny and I said: I will help thee out of jeopardy. There must be another entrance to the garden. Is there no other door? And she said unwillingly: There is, but none can enter from without, unless he has the key, which the Queen trusts to no custody but her own.