Front matter (continued 2)

So when I heard it, I said within myself: Now, beyond a doubt, he has hidden himself somewhere, fearing for his life. And I sent everywhere to search for him; and in the meanwhile, I went back secretly once more to that garden, and climbed upon the wall, only to find it empty, for Watsatarí was gone. And after a while I came away, sick with disappointment, only to discover that still Trishodadhi was nowhere to be found. And so for many days it continued; and every day I went in vain to look for Watsatarí in the garden, and it seemed as though Trishodadhi and she had plotted to disappear together, without leaving any trace. But after a while, finding by inquiry that the wife of Trishodadhi was looking for him, exactly like myself, I sent her a message from the King, saying: Thy husband has vanished, and much I fear, that some enemy has made away with him, leaving the affairs of my kingdom in confusion, for want of his sagacity. But know, that I am moving heaven and earth to find him, and do not be alarmed. For it may be that he is absent in pursuit of some object of his policy, of his own accord.

And then at last, parched with intolerable thirst, and unable any longer to endure separation from its cause, I went one day as usual to the garden, and mounted on the wall, and looked. And lo! there she was again, looking up towards me on the wall, and listening, exactly as she did before. And at the sight of her, my heart almost leaped out of my body with delight. And instantly, without waiting for permission, I sprang from the wall, and went towards her; and as I did so, something moved under my foot. And I looked, and it was the necklace, that had lain there where she threw it, ever since. And I left it lying, and exclaimed: O wife of Trishodadhi, as it appears, I have discovered thee at last. Listen now, without losing any time; and even as it is, I fear, lest we should be overheard by spies. And she said quietly: What is the matter? Then I said: Thou knowest that thy husband has been missing, ever since I saw thee first. And she said: I know. Then I said: Dost thou know where he is gone? And she said: No. And I said: I am here to tell thee. For no sooner had I left thee than I went to him; and I found him on the very point of setting out upon a journey. And I told him of our meeting in the garden; and he listened, and when I ended, he said quickly: This is no time for necklaces of pearls. For know, that I have just discovered, by certain information, that King Ruru, having somehow or other cast eyes upon my wife, has fallen so violently in love with her, that he cannot even sleep. And well I know what he will do, since only too often has he exhibited specimens of his behaviour, in the case of other wives than mine. And therefore, while yet time suffers, I am escaping, since if he catches me, well he knows, and I know, that he will catch Watsatarí as well. For where I am, she will be also, seeing that a good wife such as she is cannot desert her husband, even in a dream. But if, as I am now about to do, I can only place myself beyond his reach, she also will be safe. For he will not dare openly to carry her away, at least for a little while, and in the interval, I will remove her secretly myself. And now the deity has sent thee to me, in the very nick of time; and I place her in thy hands, more valuable than any necklace. Go to her quickly, for no one will suspect thee, and bring her, telling absolutely no one, for I cannot trust any of my household, who fear the king, and are, it may be, in his pay. But thou shalt help me to cheat him of his prey. And then he told me of his hiding-place, and went away; and ever since, I have sought thee in this garden, day by day, striving to discover thee, without letting any even of his household know. And now at last I find thee, and nothing more remains, but to make arrangements, how and when I shall come to thee, to carry thee away. And now, delay not, for the king's eye is on thee; and every future hour may be too late. And the very necklace may be to thee a pledge of my fidelity. For yonder it lies, exactly where it fell from thy hand, though I had only to lift it, to carry it away and make it mine.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, ground his teeth together, and exclaimed within himself: Ah! perjured king and royal liar, well didst thou deserve to fall, not only into that body of an elephant, but something lower still.

IX

And the elephant said: Pippala, when I ended, all at once that lady of the steady eyes laughed as it were in my very face. And while I stood confounded and astounded by her laughter, which poured from her like a stream, she broke off abruptly, and she said: O King Ruru, I congratulate thee from my heart on thy extraordinary talent for deceit. And I waited, just to hear what further artifice thou hadst concocted, in order to beguile me. And I admire thy roguery, and as I think, King Bhartrihari[12] was but a novice in comparison with thee, such a master art thou of thy trade, and all the arts of cozening my sex. But now, cease wallowing like a hog in the mire of lying and deceit, and tell me truly, what thou hast done with my husband. For know, that thou wouldst never have found me here to-day to meet thee, but for my determination to ask of thee this very question. Hast thou murdered him, or stolen him away, or what?

And as she spoke, I staggered, like one that has received a blow. And I ejaculated: O lady, art thou dreaming, or what is this delusion? And then, angrily she stamped her little foot upon the ground. And she said sternly, yet with derision: O King, has not thy own experience yet taught thee, that kings are harder to conceal than the very sun at noon? And has thy dealing with such multitudes of women not yet shown thee, that even a king, versed in trickery and every diplomatic art, might take lessons in intrigue from any woman, aye, even from so incomplete a specimen of womankind as me? Hast thou allowed thyself to be outwitted even by the blind? And she laughed, while I gazed at her, astounded by her exaltation, arising like a storm in such gentleness as hers, and helpless in my anger, which was impotent, being swallowed by admiration for her beauty and her craft. And presently she said: What! art thou dumb at last, and has thy voluble eloquence deserted thee, when truth was wanted rather than a lie? Know, that I suspected thee, from the very first, for thy voice betrayed thee, carrying in it as it were an echo of command. And for this very reason was it that I fingered thy necklace, by express design, to ascertain whether thou wert speaking truth about its value. And I said privately to myself, as I handled it: This is surely the ornament of no other than a king. And as to thy story of the bird that brought it hither, well I understand that it was a fable, like thy fish; and thy necklace was nothing but a snare, by means of which thou didst hope to bribe me, cunning in thy knowledge of my sex. And thereafter, all unknown to thee, I caused myself to be carried in a palanquin, a day or two ago, where I could listen to the voice of the king, and lo! it was thy own. So drop thy mask, for it is only too transparent, since even the blind can easily see through it. And tell me, what hast thou done with my husband? Hast thou murdered the husband, as a stepping-stone to the embraces of the wife?

And I said hastily: O admirable lady, I swear to thee, that I am as innocent of thy husband's disappearance as thyself. Nay, I have striven to discover him, without avail, and his going is a mystery I cannot fathom. Then she said: Thou art prevaricating, and if thou art ignorant of the reason of his absence, I am not. For certain I am, that it is somehow or other connected with thy design upon myself, with which it coincides in the time of its occurrence, though I cannot understand it.

Pippala, as she spoke, I wondered at her sagacity, for blind as she was, not having seen him as I did in the garden, she came within but a little of the truth. And I said: Watsatarí, I swear to thee, that thy husband has made himself invisible absolutely of his own accord, and I am absolutely guiltless of any practices against him, as indeed my kingdom suffers by his absence. Then she said: Partly I believe thee, though not relying on thy own asseveration. For thou hast forfeited all claim to be believed, in anything whatever. But even if thou hast not actually removed him, thy action it is, which has driven him away. For beyond a doubt, he must somehow or other have penetrated thy design, and gone away accordingly, and O that this may be all. For bitterly do I reproach myself, for having, in a moment of curiosity, lent a colour to his suspicion; and even though he was not there, yet as thou didst place thy arms about my neck, on pretext of fastening the necklace, taking a cowardly advantage of my impotence of sight, I felt myself a criminal. And when he comes again, I will confess it, and take his forgiveness for my fault, into which I fell by my own blindness, and thy abominable treachery.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, exclaimed within himself: Ha! very wonderful is the intuition of women pure in soul; for she hit upon the very truth. Ah! that I should have doubted her, even in a dream! And oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.

X

And the elephant said: Pippala, I gazed at her in silence, utterly unable to find anything to say. And yet, alas for her! convicted as I was, by everything she said, she did but add to the volume of my passion, like one that pours oil upon a flame. For her anger and her grief and her repentance, and her extraordinary subtlety, only made her more beautiful than ever, and my own evil conduct resembled the radiance of a lamp, that was thrown back from the opal of her purity in showers of incomparable colour on myself. And all at once she seated herself upon the ground. And she said: Stand thou there before me, and listen. For my husband having gone away, no matter how or where, what is it thy intention to do now? Here am I a prey to thee, and utterly defenceless; and now there is absolutely nothing to prevent thee from completing thy design. Tell me, then, what thou art proposing to do. And she waited, while I answered her absolutely nothing, watching her with intoxication, and lurking as it were under the protection of her blindness. And presently she said again: Why art thou silent? Art thou meditating in what manner to appropriate me? Save thyself the trouble, for I myself will tell thee of my own accord. Art thou not a king, with agents about thee for any base design? Send them secretly at night, and steal me, and thy business is done. And she laughed again, and said: Or didst thou think me one, like others, doubtless, such as thou hast known, to be flattered by the vanity of having a lover in the king? Then why didst thou endeavour to hide from me thy rank? Surely thou wast deserted by thy reason. Art thou not aware, that women, as a rule, flutter round a king like silly moths about a torch, ready to burn up, not only the wings of their reputation, but even their very souls in the form of the honour of their husbands, so that only they may bathe for a moment in his glitter, before shrivelling in its flame? Or didst thou trust in thy favour as a man; for I have heard that no man in thy kingdom can compare with thee: not considering that I was blind, and unable either to admire or dislike thee, even though thy ugliness were such as to frighten me away? Aye, and verily I think, that if thy exterior correspond to what thou art within, thou art surely very ugly; and I rejoice, for the first time in my life, I cannot see. And again she laughed, like one in a fever of desperation, while all the while I stood before her silent, wroth with her and with myself, yet attracted to her rather than repelled, by everything she said.

And all at once she said: Say, Maharáj, what was thy object in originally pursuing me? Come, tell me frankly. Is it not my love that thou wouldst have? And I exclaimed: Aye! it is thy love indeed; and for it I would cast my kingdom into the very bottom of a well. Then she said: See, now, every way thou hast acted like a fool. What! gain a woman's love by murdering her husband! Then what a monster must have been the woman thou art ready to adore! And I said hastily: I am no murderer of thy husband, as I told thee. And moreover, O thou angry beauty, not every woman loves her husband; and thine is far too old for thee, and leaves thee, moreover, deserted and alone. And instantly, she put up her two hands to stop her ears, exclaiming: Say not a word against my husband, or I will become deaf as well as blind. Why didst thou not rather endeavour to persuade me, he had deserted me in favour of thyself? For had I only been the woman thou art taking me to be, nothing could have been better to the point. Or why didst thou not try to buy me from him? Thou art rich. Was it that it was only too well known to thee, he would not sell me, even for a very mountain of pure gold? Then what art thou but a thief, seeking underhand to rob him of the thing he would not sell?

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured to himself: Aha! well said, well done! O irrefutable wife, well might he stand before thee, in silence and abashed. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.

XI

And the elephant said: O pippala, little as she knew it, she was but pleading against herself, and losing her own cause, even in the winning of it, by making herself ever more and more the mistress of my soul. And all the while she was reducing me as it were to ashes, by the fire of her scorn; strange! she was but raising out of those very ashes other and far fiercer fire than hers, so unutterably beautiful was the body and the soul of my despiser. And then all at once, as if driven to despair by the consciousness of her own forlorn position, she burst from laughter into tears. And she wept, rocking herself to and fro before me as she sat, while I watched her with a heart that almost broke, in despair that I should grieve her, yet fiercely determined to win her for my own. Ha! very terrible is the cruelty of love, piercing with marble heart the very thing it loves with swords; and very wonderful the conduct of a lover, treating as if with hatred, and pitilessly torturing, the thing for which he longs to give his life. For I would have given my kingdom, only to take her in my arms and soothe her; and yet my heart was adamant to her reproaches, intent on nothing but breaking her determination, and bending her to my will. And so I stood, waiting till the tempest of her sorrow should abate, and allow her to bring about herself a change in a situation, with which I myself was powerless to deal. And at last she raised her head, and said: O King, thou seest that I am absolutely at thy mercy. And hast thou then no pity or compassion? Is it my love that thou aimest at possessing? Then how will it advantage thee to take by force, what has value only when it is given of its own accord? Or what can be the value of a body, dead and without a soul? Wilt thou love a corpse, or will a corpse relove thee? Callest thou love, such a union with the dead? I tell thee, such love would turn to hatred in a day.

And I exclaimed: Ah! Watsatarí; say not, say not, thou canst not love me; and speak not of thyself as dead, who art my life, and as it were, the very soul and self of me. Nay, rather is it I, who am altogether dead, without thee. Aye! all these years I have been dead, having only now at last begun to live, since first I climbed upon the wall, to see my life at last, in thee below. Alas! Watsatarí, and dost thou talk of pity or compassion, that hast thyself no grain of either in that heart of thine, that, as I think, is harder than a stone? Or being blind thyself, dost thou imagine all others also blind? And O that I myself were blind indeed, and could not see thee, for as it is, the sight of thee is poison more fell than any kálakuta,[13] since that at least was drinkable, but thy blue bewildering beauty is fatal even at a distance, showing the traveller a mocking picture in the desert, only to whet his thirst, without allowing him to drink at all. Aye! surely thou art an incarnation of illusion, more bitter even than the ocean with its brine; for thou art salt not only to the taste but to the sight. And why, then, didst thou allure me with the mystery and depth of thy still unfathomable eyes, or lull my senses and dash my reason from its rock by the surge of the wave that throbs in the motion of thy tantalising breast, only to drive me from thee by menaces of death? Did the Creator mould thee to such incomparable form, or bestow on every movement of thy body so delicate and characteristically feminine a grace, only for my destruction? Did he fill me with passionate longing for exactly such a perfect model of the soft and seductive sweetness of a woman as thyself, only to show me the reality in derision, and say to me as soon as I had found it, Forget it, and go away, and leave it to another. Nay, but I will not go away, and I tell thee, that in vain dost thou endeavour to deprive me of thyself. Rather will I bind thee to myself, making thee a part of me, as is Gauri of Maheshwara, and thou shall be the complement and the other half of me, and shrine me in thy heart and thee in mine.

And she said: Nay, but it is impossible, for my husband is between; and it is not thou, but he, who is the idol and the dweller in my shrine.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, said softly to himself: Out, out upon the husband that could doubt her, even in a dream! And oblivious of his muttering, he listened on, for the remainder of the tale.

XII

And the elephant said: Pippala, when she spoke, I uttered a cry. And I exclaimed: Ha! the husband! O alas! I had forgotten him. Then she said quietly: But I had not. And I cried: O alas! alas! Out, out upon this husband, for he was born only for my ruin and despair. Now, like a cloud of pitchy black, he stands between my soul, and the digit of the moon that I adore. Aye! but for him, I might be hanging like a moonstone bathed in the nectar camphor of its beams. O why did fate suffer him to come between us! why did I not meet thee first, before he ever saw thee? Ha! what would it cost the Creator to obliterate a single husband, and strike him from the roll of entities, making him absolutely nothing and a thing that has never been, thinner than the memory of a forgotten dream? Alas! I am cheated by the Creator and this husband, and coming just too late, I am robbed of the very fruit of this untimely birth. And after all, what is this husband? Is he a husband who goes away and leaves thee, like a flower dropped negligently upon the road, and have I not found thee, made ownerless by his absence, and picked thee up, to wear thee in my hair? Can he be thy owner, of whom it is not even certain that he lives? Aye! doubtless he is dead, and thou hast not any longer the pretext of a husband, to bar thee from my claim. And instantly she said: Then, if he is really dead, it is my duty to follow him through the fire, which, could I only learn his death with certainty, I would do without delay. And I exclaimed: Nay, nay, dare not to dream of fire, for how knowest thou he is dead? Beyond a doubt, he is not dead, but only hidden; and wouldst thou dream of such criminal impiety as to take it on thyself to precede him into the other world. I tell thee, it is thy duty to await him. And she said: Then if he is not dead, I am no widow, but his wife.

And I exclaimed with tears: Alas! dead or alive, he blocks the way, and I am lost. But what then, if he never should return? What if year follows year, and still he chooses to be absent, while all the time the lotus of thy beauty fades, and envious wrinkles crawl slowly, one by one, to feed like worms on thy soft delicious skin, and occupy the corner beneath thy little ear, turning thy dark tresses white, as if with fear of the shadow of approaching age and death? Am I to stand idly by, like a spectator, and watch the river of my happiness flow by me, in the form of thy decaying charm? And she said in a low voice: Each night and day I will expect him, and when he comes, let it be when it may, he shall never catch me unprepared, but find me waiting, sad by reason of his absence, and joyous like a city hung with banners to receive its lord, at the moment of his return.

And I gazed at her for a little, poised as it were between affection and despair; for as she spoke, the colour rose and stood upon her cheek, and her lip trembled, and her steady eyes seemed to gaze into the distance, seeing not me, but that absent husband: and I knew that as she said, so would she do. And I wrung my hands, and wept for sorrow. And I exclaimed: Ha! it is unjust, and I am the plaything of a destiny that I fastened on myself by sins committed in a former birth, in the form of this dark shadow of a husband, who is present even in his absence, though as it seems, time and space have swallowed him, as the ocean swallows up a little stone, dropped from the feather of a passing swan into the very middle of the sea. And know, O pippala, that it was exactly as I said. For that husband of hers returned no more, but vanished, and neither I nor any other ever saw him more, or knew where he had gone.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, said within himself: Ha! little does this elephant imagine who it is, that sits and listens to him now. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened on, eager for the remainder of the tale.

XIII

And the elephant said: Pippala, as I stood before her, like an incarnation of the struggle between adoration and dismay, she spoke and said: O King Ruru, thou seest it is useless. Cease, then, thy pleading and persuasion, and go away; for all that thou canst urge is wasted breath, and thou art like one striving by reiterated throwing to fix a stone in air, which notwithstanding returns in spite of thee invariably to the ground—as does my heart to the memory of its lord.

And I said: Ha! now I see, I have offended the deity of Love, and the Lord of Obstacles is angry. For the one has turned his back on me, and the other has cast before me this mountain of an obstacle, thy husband, throwing even at a distance a blighting shadow in the form of reminiscence, by which I am buried in blackness and hidden from thy heart. O that thy eyes could see me, for then it might be that through them I might effect an entrance; but alas! the door to thee is shut. Or had I only been blind as well as thou, thou never couldst have entered mine. What! is it right of thee to occupy my heart, and yet bar me from thy own? And she said: My heart is full, and poor, and narrow, and far too small for thee, containing as it does room for only one, and not like thine, royal, and a palace, with chambers for innumerable guests.

And I said, with emotion: Ah! Watsatarí, thy words are very sharp, and like a dagger in my heart; and now I see, that every man is punished by himself, being followed to eternity by actions of his own, black dogs, from which in vain he will endeavour to escape. Aye! thou art right, I turned my heart into a caravanserai, to which I welcomed every worthless guest; but now I swear to thee, the very sight of thee has cleansed it like a pure river, which, ousting everything, has left there nothing, but the crystal of itself. Then she said: O King, they say of thee in the bazaar, that thou wast bent like a golden bar from straight to crooked, by the evil behaviour of thy queen. And is it true? And I said, eagerly: Aye! she it was that turned me, as thou sayest, aside, into the jungle of depravity. And instantly she said, quietly: What! then art thou not ashamed? For what art thou doing now, but striving to make me such another as thy queen, whom, according to thyself, thou blamest, as the cause of thy unhappiness? Thou art thyself the judge. And should I listen to thee, thou tellest me beforehand, I should be utterly worthless in thy eyes, and a discredit to myself, and my husband, and my sex. For the three worlds shudder at the spectacle of a woman that is traitor to her lord. Go then away very quickly, and forget that thou hast ever seen my face.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, exclaimed in ecstasy to himself: Ha! good wife and subtle argument. Now she has slain him, as it were, with his very own sword. And utterly oblivious of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the remainder of the tale.

XIV

And the elephant said: Pippala, as I gazed at her, I almost shrank before her tranquil eyes, half believing she could see me, so utterly had she crushed me by her unanswerable words. And yet, the less I could reply, the more intense became my admiration of herself, and the stronger my unwillingness to obey her, and go away and leave her. And as if her beauty was not enough, her very virtue came to reinforce it, making her attraction a hundred times more powerful than ever. O pippala, what is this mystery of love, and who is there who can sound it? For what was I doing, but endeavouring to persuade her? and yet, had she been persuaded, I should actually have grieved at my success; as I actually rejoiced at her refusal, loving her the better, the less she could be persuaded to love me. And I exclaimed, as if in defiance of despair: No matter, O thou incomparable beauty, what I was, for I am changed, and by thee, in the twinkling of an eye. And what does it matter what they say in the bazaar, for the world is but a straw to me, in comparison with thee? See, I cannot live without thee, and I will carry thee away, to a distance from the world, and be to thee infinitely more than a thousand husbands such as thine. For he neglected thee, and left thee to thyself, not valuing his pearl. But I will be thy other self; see, thou art blind, but I will be thy eyes, and by means of me, thou shall utterly forget thy want of sight. And if thou wilt, I will take thee clean away, turning my back upon my kingdom and the world, like yonder necklace which I have left for thy sake lying unregarded in the grass, and asking of thee in return nothing but thyself. Dost thou not know, what fate awaits thee here? Canst thou endure to live, deserted by thy husband, who is either dead or gone, the object of the scorn and derision and hard usage of the world, a very target for the arrows of contempt?[14] What then will thou resemble but a blue delicious lotus, trampled in the mire of a city street by the foot of every passer-by; a lotus, whose appropriate position is either the pool in the silence of the forest, or the head of a king? But come with me, O lotus, and thou shall gain at one stroke both the forest and the king. For here am I, a king, and beside us is the forest, stretching like the ocean to the south, whose farther shore no hunter ever sees. And far away within it, I will build thee a marble palace that shall laugh at even Alaká, set like a pearl in the middle of an emerald of gardens, full of pools of golden lotuses, whose roots are nibbled by a multitude of silver swans. And there by day thou shall wander led by me, or lie and dream, fanned by breezes heavy with the sandal straight from Malaya, on marble slabs cooled by the spray tossed from the crystal tanks by waterfalls whose music shall pour sleep into thy ear, leaving thee wakeful at midnight to listen and tremble as I guide thee along the palace-top at the cry of the wild animals roaming at a distance in the wood, till at last thou fall to dreaming in my arms, lulled by the slow and melancholy weeping of the moonstones oozing as they swing to and fro slowly in the moonlight, as if keeping time to the silent dance of their own long shadows on the floor. And what will it matter to thee or me what they say in the bazaar, living together like Siddhas in the moon, to whom this babble of busybodies in the cities of this despicable earth sounds like the recollection of the murmur of a far-off ocean in the dream of a half-remembered birth. And all the while I will be thy servant and the eyes of thee, and my voice shall paint to thee pictures of the world that shall surround thee, and be thy one interpreter, till learning its language, thy soul shall even forget to remember it was blind. And I will utterly efface thy recollection of this husband, who is a husband in nothing but the name, since he leaves thee deserted and alone, to be afflicted; and instead of him I will be thy husband, and thy other half and helper, and thy soother and thy lover and the very eyes and soul of thee.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, said with anxiety to himself: Ha! now this liar of a king is very cunning, and beyond a doubt, many a woman would have found it hard to resist the flattery of his tongue. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the remainder of the tale.

XV

And the elephant said: Pippala, as I ended, I stepped forward, and I took her, very gently, by the hand. And then, lo! the very moment that I touched it, she started. And she leaped back, like one that has suddenly put his hand into the flame of a fire, with a cry. And as I watched her, she stood for a single instant, like one balanced on the very verge of flying, or sobbing, or falling to the ground, for she swayed on her little feet, and her body shook all over, like a tree whose leaves are stirred by a sudden wind. And her great breast struggled in violent agitation, as if striving to leap from its bodice in sheer fright. And then in a moment, all at once she changed, becoming still, as though she were an image, carved in stone, upon a temple wall. Only her bosom went on heaving like the sea, as if she could not breathe. And after a while she said, very slowly: My blindness makes my battle hard, for I cannot either see my danger coming, or escape it by flying when it comes. And now, well I discern the terrible consequences of sins committed in a former birth, for now I am without resource, resembling one that walks in inky darkness, whose every step may plunge the point of a sword into his heart. And yet that very blindness which puts me in thy power contains the weapon to defeat thee; for within it I am shut from thee as in an impenetrable fortress, around which thou art wandering in vain. For the Creator has not left even the blind without their proper refuge, and has bestowed upon them inner eyes, as if to balance the want of those without; and being deprived by their infirmity of all that world which others see, they fall back upon the world within, composed of memory and meditation, and patience and emotion, and fidelity and hope. And as I listen to thy words, falling on my ear out of the visible I cannot see, tempting me, and seeking as it were to melt my resolution by a fiery rain, I look into my soul, and I see at a distance, in its darkness, a solitary star in the form of my husband, sending me as it were a ray of support and consolation, to keep me from sinking in the waves of the ocean of despair. And now I tell thee, all thy honied words are worthless, and like arrows, they fall back blunted and shattered on the rock on which I lean, in the form of his memory, and beating on my head like particles of snow they do but add to the mound of cold resistance which they aim removing by their ineffectual storm. And though I know not where he is, nor even if he will return, yet when he does he shall find his honour safe, and my soul like a temple shall preserve within its shrine the candle that he lit, whose steady flame not all the winds of flattery and temptation blown from thine or any other mouth shall ever make extinct, or even cause to flicker for an instant, even in a dream. And like Draupadi, or Damayanti, or Sita, or Sawitri, I shall meet my husband, either in this birth or another, so, as that neither he nor I will be ashamed. And well though I know that I am bodily at thy mercy and in thy power, so that coming thyself or sending others, thou canst carry me by violence away, as I think will be the case, yet shall even that avail thee nothing. For the body thou shall ravish, as I told thee, will be dead, and its soul will be away. For though it is my duty not to quit it, for my husband has left me, as it were, as a deposit in my own hands to be guarded for himself, yet I shall make no effort to conceal it from thee like a coward; it is here for thee to steal. Take, if thou wilt, a thing that can offer no resistance; thou wilt gain absolutely nothing but dishonour for thyself, loving what will not love thee, embracing what will not embrace thee, doomed to remain everlastingly outside, and baulked of that treasure of the heart within, like a robber with an adamantine casket to which he has no key, and which, defying all his efforts to invade it, leaves him with nothing to reward him but his crime. Aye! try, and thou shalt find, that with nothing to defend it, armed only with a memory, the heart of a woman is stronger than all the power of a king. Aye! bring, if thou wilt, the ocean, and the wind, and the darkness to assist thee, and thou shalt find that the little tongue of that flame which is fed on the oil of reminiscence will utterly refuse to be extinguished by them all.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured softly to himself: Ah! noble wife, ah! Watsatarí, thou hast annihilated this robber of a king. And utterly oblivious of his muttering, he listened, with a heart on fire, for the remainder of the tale.

XVI

And the elephant said: Ha! pippala, as she ended, I stood confounded, like a picture on a wall, gazing at her in utter oblivion of everything but herself, drunk with amazement and adoration. For as she spoke, she seemed to grow, and become larger than herself; and her words poured like a stream of liquid fire shot from the fountain of her soul, and my own soul seemed as it were to shrink and grow small before her, like a thing shrivelled in a flame. And her strange calm eyes shone till I shuddered as I saw them, and I felt like the demon whom Gauri was about to annihilate for ever, in her form. And I could have fallen down and worshipped her in ecstasy, and yet for very shame I dared not stir. And so I stood a while, as if in stupor, and then very quietly I crept away, and climbing over the wall, returned privately to my palace, like a thief ashamed. And there, throwing myself upon my bed, I lay silent, unconscious of the passage of time, gazing as it were into darkness, and seeing nothing but the image of Watsatarí, standing still before me, and looking at me fixedly, with eyes from which I strove to hide myself in vain. And all at once, in the middle of the night, I started up shouting: Watsatarí! Watsatarí! And I raved with words devoid of meaning, feeling nothing but passionate desire for herself and her beauty, and hatred of her husband, and loathing for myself. And I exclaimed: Haha! but for this husband, I might have attained to the fruit of my birth, which has vanished like a dream.

And as it happened, my wita overheard me, for as a rule he never left me, and he was sitting by my side, watching me, like a bird of evil omen, with his only eye; for he had lost the other by a blow from a boon companion in a drunken brawl. And all at once he said: Maharáj, doubtless thou art troubled in soul by reason of some love affair; and now, sorrow shared with a friend is lightened of more than half its burden. Moreover, it may be I could help thee, for in every such case, a bystander is a better judge. So in my distress, unable to refrain, I told him the whole story. And when I made an end, the wita said: Maharáj, hadst thou kept this to thyself, thou wouldst not have been well advised; as I shall show thee. For thy opinion is, that the husband is thy difficulty, and the obstacle in this affair. And I said: Aye! so he is, beyond a doubt; and an obstacle utterly beyond removal. Then said the wita: Maharáj, thou art mistaken altogether. For the husband in this case is not an obstacle at all, for he has disappeared, as though on purpose to oblige thee, and leave thy way open. But that which stands in thy way, exactly as she said herself, is nothing but his memory.[15] For if she could forget him, she would have absolutely nothing to oppose to thee at all. And I exclaimed: Aye! indeed! if she could forget him. Then said that crafty wita: Did I not say that my assistance would avail thee? For there is absolutely no difficulty in this at all. For I have a friend, who has gone to the very farther shore of the Ayurweda,[16] and possesses skill sufficient to raise the very dead to life. And now I will consult him, and tell him only so much as is necessary to the business in hand, and get from him a drug to annihilate the memory; and what can be more easy than for such a very Lord of Herbs[17] to produce oblivion and forgetfulness, by the means of a drug? For if she could only be induced to lose, somehow or other, all recollection of her husband, remaining in every other point the same, thy object is attained, and stealing into her soul, thou couldst very easily fill it with thy image, being vacant of his own.

And instantly I uttered a cry, and falling on my wita, embraced him, intoxicated with delight, exclaiming: Ha! most admirable of all witas, if thou canst actually do as thou hast said, I will weigh myself in gold, for thy reward. And like thy own physician, thou hast as it were raised me from the dead. And now let us begin and set to work, without losing any time. And in my agitation I could hardly endure to wait for the return of day. Then very early in the morning the wita went to his physician and returned, holding in his hands a little phial. And he said: Maharáj, I have the cure for every recollection in this glass. For as he gave it me, he said: Whoever swallows this will fall asleep, to lose on reawakening every vestige of recollection of what happened in his life before. So nothing now remains, except the drinking. And to drink, she must be here. And if thou wilt, I will take assistance, and go and bring her, and put her in thy hands myself. And if thy beauty will not come, what matter? A little violence will do no harm, since all will be forgotten when she wakes.

And then, he fixed on me his eye, as if ironically, and I shuddered as I saw it, saying to me as it were significantly: Thou and I. And I looked at him with horror, saying to myself: What! shall I share her with this wita, and shall the lotus of her body be defiled by his handling, even in a dream? And I leaped at him and struck him to the ground, exclaiming furiously: Dog of a wita, dost thou dare? Is it for such a thing as thou art to lay hands on her, or shall she be profaned by the grasp of such a monster as thyself?

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, muttered to himself in wrath: Ha! thou that callest others monsters, what of thyself? what defilement was there in the touch of thy filthy wita, that was not doubled by the profanation in thy own? And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened with anxiety for the conclusion of the tale.

XVII

And the elephant said: Pippala, as the wita rose, I said to him in wrath: I only will go to fetch her, nor shall any finger touch her but my own. And as for thee, remain behind, and await me with thy phial till I come. Then said the wita: As the Maharáj chooses. And he bowed before me like a slave, and listened in silence while I made my preparations, thinking no more of him, and utterly forgetful of the injuries he had suffered at my hands. But if I forgot them, so did not he. Ha! wonderful is the blindness of kings and lovers who, intoxicated with passionate desire, place with open eyes weapons in the hands of infuriated enemies, who only await an opportunity to stab them to the heart.

And then, O pippala, in the evening, I mounted my horse, and went, with a chosen band of confidential servants, and a litter, secretly to the garden. And I rode very slowly, thinking how I should induce her to come away, unwilling to use force. And I said to myself, with hesitation: But if she will not come, as only too much I fear, what then? Must I not have recourse to violence? And after all, was not my wita right? What matter a little violence, to be utterly forgotten as soon as she awakes? Moreover, being blind, how can she tell who seizes her, seeing that she knows me by nothing but my voice? And yet I could not bring myself to think of taking her away by force, striving to discover some other way, and saying to myself: Could I but discover something, to make her come away with me of her own accord.

And then, all at once, I stopped short. And I exclaimed: Ha! I have it. Surely this will bring her; and now, the business is done.

And I set spurs to my horse, and followed by my train, I quickly reached the garden, and leaving them to wait below, I climbed the wall alone, and looked, and lo! there she stood again, listening, and looking as it were towards me, exactly as she did at first.

And then, strange! the instant that I saw her, I stopped, looking down at her upon the wall, and such a sadness mingled with the ecstasy of my devotion as I watched her, that the tears rose up into my eyes. And I said to myself: Let me look at her well, for just a little while, for this is the very last time I shall see her from the wall. Ha! pippala, little did I dream that I was looking at her, never again to see her standing, either from the wall or any other place whatever in the world. And her dress, as she had turned round towards the wall, startled by the sound of my approach, was twined as if with affection, like a creeper, closely round her ankles, and had wrapped itself around her feet, as if to hinder them from moving and root her in the ground, resembling a pedestal, out of which, like a statue of herself, her beautiful undulating body rose up into the air, like the feminine incarnation of a full-blown and heavy flower, only waiting for a breeze to sway gently on its slender stalk. And once more I trembled as I gazed at the dead still colour of her tranquil unintimidated eyes, that seemed as it were to say to me, Coward, couldst thou have mustered courage to lay rude hands on such a lovely lotus as myself, growing in a pool which is not thine?

And suddenly, I flung myself into the garden, and went hastily towards her. And I exclaimed: Watsatarí, thy husband is returned, for I have found him, and now I have him in my palace, and his life is in my hands, and thine. And now I have come myself, with an escort, to bring thee to him; so that in thy presence I may bargain with him for thee, and buy thee, at any price that he shall name. Didst thou not say, I was a robber, endeavouring to steal the thing I could not buy? And now, then, we shall see whether he will sell thee; and I promise thee, I will not buy thee cheap; for I am ready to give him, in return for thee, his life.

And as she listened, she started; and when I ended, she was silent; and as I watched her, she trembled a very little, and grew pale. And presently she said slowly: Thou hast placed me, indeed, in an extremity; and very sore indeed is my perplexity, to know what I should do. And what if I refuse to come? And I said in a low voice: It will go hard with thy husband, in thy absence. Ah! pippala, I pitied her, even as I spoke. And I steeled myself against compassion, saying to myself: No matter if she suffers a little now; for very soon, I will make it up to her, a thousandfold and more.

And after a while, she sighed and said again: How can I believe thee, who hast lied to me so often, and whose purpose only too well I understand? Yet how can I resist one who can so easily effect by violence the end at which he aims, if I refuse? And yet, I fear for my husband, and what thou sayest may, after all, be true. Will thou swear to me, thou wilt take me to my husband? And I said to myself: She has caught herself in the trap; and who will be her husband but myself? And I exclaimed: Watsatarí, if I am lying to thee, may I fall into a lower birth! Ha! pippala, as I think, the deity was listening, and bound me in this very body of an elephant, remembering my words, in obedience to my own curse.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured to himself: Ah! liar of a king, so after all, thou couldst prevail on her virtue only by making use of me against myself, and turning as it were her very heart into a snare. And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the termination of the tale.

XVIII

And the elephant said: Pippala, she yielded at the last. And she said, in a low voice: May my husband forgive me, if my better judgment is in error, overlooking my own danger for his sake. But it will be necessary to carry me, for, as I think, my body will not move of its own accord. And then, all at once, she reeled, and would have fallen, swooning at my feet, but that I sprang forward, and caught her as she fell. And very carefully I lifted her in my arms, bereft as she was of sense, and in my intoxication, unable to refrain, I kissed her as she lay unconscious in my arms, and lo! she was as cold as ice. And I called to my assistants, and got her with their help over that wall, that resembled the last obstacle in the road of my delight, and placing her in the litter, I carried her away very quickly to my palace, riding beside her with a soul that danced as it were with joy and agitation, while all the while she lay as if her own soul abandoning its body had stayed behind her in the garden, refusing to be a traitor to its trust. And as soon as we arrived, once more I took her in my arms, and carried her within, and placed her, just as she was, upon a couch. And I said to my wita, who was waiting: Bring now very quickly fans, and snow and sandal, and camphor and aromatics, and let us bring her to herself. And so, as I was fanning her, and sprinkling her with icy scents, all at once, she stirred. And she put out her hand, as if groping to feel who was beside her, and she murmured, Water, water! so low as hardly to be heard.

And at that very moment, I looked, and saw the wita, gazing at me with his eye. And he whispered: Maharáj, shall I give it? And I said: Give it me, and I will give it her myself. And I took the water from his hands, and emptied into it the phial; and I put the water to her lips, and very greedily she drank. Ah! woe is me, I gave it, and she drank. Ha! very wonderful is the terrible mystery of the consequence of works, bound in whose adamantine chain we move, and blunder, not seeing where we go, not knowing what we do, bringing about with open eyes the very opposite of the end at which we aim. Ah! I, who would have abandoned not one, but an infinity of bodies, only to save her from a scratch, only to keep a single hair from falling from her head, I, with these hands, I gave her that water, and she drank, while all the while the wita stood watching, like destiny in human form, incarnate in a body that was destitute of any heart.

And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured to himself: Ha! better it were to have no heart at all, than such a heart as thine. And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.

XIX

And the elephant said: Pippala, she drank, and instantly fell back upon the couch, and lay, paler than the digit of the moon by day, and still as a picture painted on a wall. And I said in exultation and triumph to myself: Now, leave her and let it work, and in the meantime, I will watch her till she wakes. And now, all her suffering and trial is over; and little indeed shall she have cause to complain of changing that old husband for myself. And I said to my wita: Now, begone, and leave me alone with her; and to-morrow I will see to thy reward. And as he went, that wita whispered in my ear: Maharáj, the business is done. Now then, very soon, she will have utterly forgotten all, and thy turn to play the husband has arrived. And he gazed at me for a moment with a smile of evil omen, and I was troubled as I saw it, for his eye resembled that of a vulture sitting on a cemetery wall. Alas! even then, I did not understand. And then he went away, vanishing like Trishodadhi in the ocean of the world. Ha! wise he was to disappear, for well he knew that on the morrow, the very sight of me would have been the signal of his death.

And when he had gone, I remained alone in that chamber with Watsatarí, to watch till she awoke. And I wandered up and down, as it were on tiptoe, with agitated steps, while the night crept slowly on, hour after hour, and every now and then I stopped to look at her as she lay upon the couch; and like a wild beast in a cage, I went to and fro, unable to remain at rest, tossed here and there by the tumult in my soul, where anticipation and impatience, and desire and triumph and delight, and doubt and apprehension jostled each other like waves of the sea, roused into disquiet by the wind of passion, and yet pervaded by unutterable longing to grow calm and be still at the sight of that lovely digit of the moon rising as it were to quell it in an instant and allay its storm, by awaking from her sleep. And in the meantime, the light of the real moon grew gradually stronger, and stole into the room, as if desirous to become reunited with that sleeping beauty that resembled a portion of himself.[18] And seeing it, I said within myself: Surely the moon is right, and now he shall have his wish; for I am not jealous of sharing her with such a lover. And I extinguished all the lamps, and threw open all the trellises, and I sat down on a couch a little way off, and watched her beauty and adored it as she lay, bathed in the soft and silver light of that lord of heavenly nectar. And the shadows of the strings of the moonstones hanging in rows along the windows fell over her in stripes that resembled the bars of a cage, as if wishing to keep her prisoner against her will. And so as I watched her in ecstasy, the sound of the camphor ooze dropping slowly every now and then on the marble floor below murmured in my ear like music and a melody of slumber, and played on the fatigue and agitation of my soul, and at last, all unawares, I fell asleep.

And all at once, I awoke, and started up, and looked, and lo! the moonlight had all but gone. And in the darkness, lit as it were by the shadow of his last remaining ray, which fell upon her, I saw her lying, absolutely still, exactly as she lay before. And suddenly, as I saw her, I began to tremble like a leaf. And in the silence, I heard my own heart beating, as if it wished to wake her, like the noise of a drum. And all my hair suddenly stood on end, and the sweat broke out upon my brow. And I said to myself: Ha! she is very still, lying exactly as she lay before, never having moved.

And I stood gazing at her in a stupor, and listening to my own heart, that beat in my ears like the surge of the sea. And then, very slowly, I went silently on tiptoe up to that couch on which she lay. And I bent over her, listening, and all at once I touched her with my hand. Ha! pippala, she was colder than the marble floor. And she smiled in that dying moonlight, saying as it were: Maharáj, I was right after all; and as I told thee, thou hast stolen my body, only to find it deserted by the soul.

THE WAVES OF TIME

THE WAVES OF TIME

And then, as he listened, all at once that old Brahman Trishodadhi rose to his feet. And as he did so, he looked towards the elephant, and lo! like a flash of lightning, that elephant suddenly disappeared. And in his place he saw no elephant, but King Ruru, standing still, exactly as he lived before. And no sooner had he seen him, than King Ruru exclaimed in delight: Ha! now my story is concluded, and now the curse is ended, and I have escaped from that terrible body of an elephant, to regain my own proper form of a man.

And as Trishodadhi looked towards him, almost abandoning the body, for wonder at the thing he saw, all at once his eyes almost started from his head, and every hair upon his body stood erect. For there, close beside the tree stood Watsatarí herself, exactly as that elephant Ruru had described her, with her head a little bent, like one that listens, and her great eyes turned, exactly as of old, full upon Trishodadhi himself. And at that very moment, King Ruru shouted in amazement and in intoxication: Watsatarí! What! Watsatarí! What! have I regained thee also, in addition to my life?

And as he listened, all at once the heart of that old Brahman bounded in his body like a deer. And every vestige of his purpose and his muttering vanished from his soul like a dream. And he ran with feet that resembled wings straight towards them, crying aloud in agony and despair, not knowing what he said: Ah! she is mine. Ah! robber of a king, she is not thine. Ah! she is mine. And he reached them, and ran between them, and threw himself upon Watsatarí, and caught her in his arms, and kissed her, weeping in an ecstasy of grief and repentance and delight, exclaiming as he did so: Ah! dearer than my life; ah! Watsatarí; ah! noble wife, forgive me, for I did not know.

And then, strange! as she threw around his neck soft clinging arms, returning his kisses with her own, there came from her lips a peal of laughter, that rang in his very face. And as he drew back in amazement, he looked, and lo! he was holding in his arms not Watsatarí, but another woman, absolutely strange to him, who gazed upon him as she laughed with derision in her eyes. And she exclaimed: Ha! Trishodadhi, I am not blind, but I see thee very well. And now it is not easy to decide, between thy wife and thyself, which is the better lover. For as it seems it was not she, so much as thou, that needed a little of that medicine of oblivion, to enable thee to play the part of an ascetic, to whom women are as nothing in comparison with austerity and penance. Surely thy love for Watsatarí was wonderful, for thou hast utterly forgotten all thy muttering, and bartered all the mountain of thy merit for a kiss. Yet this much I will tell thee, to console thee, that it is not a nymph of heaven to whom thou hast succumbed.

And then with a laugh she disappeared. And as Trishodadhi stood, struck with the thunderbolt of stupefaction, he looked, and lo! Ruru also vanished, and instead of him, Indra stood before him in the guise of a devotee. And he looked with cold eyes upon Trishodadhi, and said very slowly: O Trishodadhi, the wise strive for wisdom, and gain at least humility. But thine was a false devotion, and could not stand the test. And now, as she said, the mountain of thy merit is utterly annihilated, consumed in a single instant of impure desire like a blade of dry grass in a forest conflagration. And as experiment has proved, regret for the things of sense was not extinct in thee, and the sparks of vanity and egoism and delusion in the form of women lay lurking in the ashes of thy soul, needing only a little breeze of recollection to fan them into flame. And now thou hast allowed the sorrow for the loss of old mundane ties of long ago to conquer thy desire of emancipation and break in upon thy devotion to thy vow. And thou hast been guilty of sinister designs against heaven, springing not from the seed of true and single-hearted resignation, but selfishness and wounded vanity and malice. Fall therefore as a punishment instantly into the body of a dog without a tail. And after that thou shall become an ape, and then a worm, and afterwards a ravenous flesh-eating Rákshasa, and a jackal, and a domba, and a leather-worker, and a chandàla, and a woman, and many other such garments of a guilty soul, and like a drop of water thou shalt run through an interminable series of miserable births, never discerning any end. For this action of thine has dyed thy soul with so indelible a stain, that the ocean could more easily divest itself of colour and of brine, than thy soul will find it to regain its crystal purity, by cleansing its essence of such an inky blot.

And then, like a flash of lightning, that culprit of a Brahman disappeared.

So then, as the Moony-Crested deity made an end, instantly the Daughter of the Snowy Mountain asked him: O Wearer of the Moon, was then the story told by Indra as an elephant to that crafty Kalánidhi as a tree, a true story, or a figment devised between them to delude him?

And Maheshwara answered: O Snowy One, it was absolutely true, in every item and particular and detail. For Indra came to me, and I told him all about it, showing it to him, exactly as it happened, in the mirror of the past. And even its upshot might have taught thee, that the story was true. For he who listens to a recital of a past, of which he was himself a part, resembles a swan, swift to separate the milk of reality from the water of invention, and the very slightest deviation on the part of the narrator, giving rise to a suspicion, and jarring on the ear like a false note in a harmony, would have burst the illusion like a bubble. For there is no form of persuasion or deception so potent as the simple truth.

Then said Párwati again: Then am I very sorry for that poor old Brahman, who was much to be pitied.

And the Lord of the Moony Tire said: Nay, O Daughter of the Snow, thou art in error. Waste not thy pity on one who deserves absolutely none. For had he really loved Watsatarí his wife, who well deserved it, he would never have gone away and left her, condemning her without appeal, unheard, relying on nothing but the very fallacious testimony of his eyes. For there is no degree of evidence, whether of eyes, or of ears, or of any other sense, which true love would not utterly refuse to credit or receive, against that conviction begotten by love, confiding in its object, seeing that love is absolutely free from any shadow of suspicion, and clings to its faith in spite and in the teeth of all. But jealousy belongs only to a spurious love that is really only vanity and egoism in disguise, and is therefore never sure, but everlastingly uneasy, like Trishodadhi. And as his love was founded on selfishness and vanity, so was also the ambition that replaced it, and they both failed miserably when subjected to the test. And being thus unable either to trust in his wife, or forget her, he deserves nothing but contempt, and came to that miserable end which destiny prepares for all who dishonour the sublime by fraudulent and feeble imitation or pretence. For pure love resembles yonder rock, that refuses to be shaken by any wind whatever, and pure renunciation resembles yonder bird, that floats in the inaccessible serenity of heaven far above, not for parade, but simply because it is its very nature to soar into the blue.

And now, as I said, here is Kailàs, and this is the termination of the tale.

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