II The heart of a Woman

I

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

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

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

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

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

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

II

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

III

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

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

IV

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

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

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

V

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VII

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

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

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

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

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

VIII

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

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

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

And she said, with a sigh: Thou art not listening to what I say. And then she smiled, with a little smile that shook my heart for delight, and she said: Aye! Chaturiká told me of thy error. But trust her not, when she speaks of me, for she is a flatterer. And yet, thy crime was venial, and one easily forgiven: for she is very pretty, as I am not. But we are wandering from the point, and wasting time, and talking nonsense. Forget us both, and listen with attention, and I will begin all over again. And I swept away her beginning with a wave of my hand, and I exclaimed: It is useless, for I can listen at present to absolutely nothing. There is no room in my soul for anything but thee. Speak to me of thyself, and I will listen never moving for the remainder of my life. And once again she sighed, lifting her hands, and letting them fall again, as if in despair. And she said gently: If thou absolutely wilt not attend, where was the use of thy coming at all? And I said: If thou wilt only send for me every day, at sunset, for a year, it may be that I shall at last be able to forget thee sufficiently, for a very little while, to attend to something else.

And suddenly she laughed, with laughter that exactly resembled the laughter of a child, and she said: Thou art very crafty indeed, but thy cunning plan would take a long time, with but little result. And even then, I am not sure I could rely on thy forgetting. And I exclaimed, with emphasis: Thou art absolutely right, for the moment of oblivion would never come at all. But O thou miracle of a queen, tell me at least one thing about thyself. And she said: What? And I said: How can the King thy husband be so utterly bereft of his reason as to let any other man see his star? Or is he, in very truth, actually blind? For I could understand it, if he really cannot see.

And she looked at me with surprise: and she said slowly: Dost thou actually not know, what everybody knows? And I said: I know nothing that everybody knows, being as I am a stranger. But this I know, very well, that if thou wert my pearl, I would take very good care to hide thee. For even an honest man might well turn robber, tempted by the sight of such an ocean pearl. And she said, very quietly: It needs no thief to steal the pearl, if indeed it be a pearl, which its owner cast away long ago as a thing of no value, for anyone to pick up as he passes by.

And I stared at her in stupefaction, and I struck my hands together and exclaimed: Art thou mad, or am I dreaming? And she said gently: It is true. And anybody but a stranger like thyself would have known it, without needing to be told. And she dropped her eyes, and sat for a while, fingering the string of her lute, as if on purpose to make herself into a picture for my intoxicated gaze: and suddenly she said: Why should I make a secret of a thing that another will tell thee, if I do not, adding to the truth slanders that are false? It is better for thee, and for me, to learn from my own mouth what it is impossible to hide. There is a relation of the King, whose name is Narasinha. And one day he saw me by accident, on the roof of the palace, and instantly he lost his reason, as all the men who see me always do. And not long after, the King was set upon by numbers in a battle, and within a very little of being slain; and Narasinha saved his life, very nearly losing his own. And the King said, when all was over: Now, then, O Narasinha, ask me for anything I have, no matter what: it is thine. And Narasinha saw his opportunity. And he shut his eyes, like one that leaps from a precipice to life or death. And he said: Give me thy Queen, Táráwalí: or else, slay me, here and now, with this very sword that saved thy life. And then, to his amazement, as he stood with his head bowed, expecting death, the King burst out laughing. And he said: Is that all? Aha! Narasinha, we were both frightened, thou and I: thou, of asking, and I, of what thou mightest ask. Didst thou not think, I should slay thee, for thinking of her even in a dream? But my life were worth little, if I haggled with its saviour over its price. And Táráwalí is thine, to do with as thou wilt. For I have only one life, whereas queens can be found in all directions, and I can very easily replace her, whenever I choose. Only she must not leave the palace, for after all, she is my Queen, and so she must remain, for everyone but me and thee. And so he gave me clean away to Narasinha, in secret, but it is a secret that everybody knows, and tells in secret to everybody else. And I have gained by the exchange. For Narasinha risked his life, twice, to win me, and the King would never have risked so much as his little finger to save the life of a hundred queens, and gave me away, like a straw, for the mere asking, not even stopping to consider, that in the straw he gave away his own honour lay hidden, which he gave away with me. And I could have forgiven him for giving me away, but who could forgive the King who valued his own honour less than his own life? And to the King I was never more than a necessary ornament, a thing like a sceptre and a throne, and a mere piece of royal furniture: whereas I am more than the life of Narasinha, and the apple of his eye.

IX

And as she spoke, I listened, not believing my own ears, and saying to myself: Is it all real, or can it be that I am only dreaming after all? And which is the greater wonder, this miserable King, who, leaving honour out of the account, is so utterly besotted as to give away a thing like her to the first man who asks for her, or Táráwalí herself, telling the whole story of her own depreciation with such contemptuous and yet delicious candour to such a one as me? Aye! well indeed she might despise a husband so unutterably despicable; and yet his oblivion of his own honour is easier by far to understand than his blindness to the value of the thing he gave away. And would she tell me anything at all, unless she had come to the conclusion that I was worthy of her confidence? And who knows? For why should she consent to be given like a horse to Narasinha? Why might she not prefer to give herself, and choose for herself the man who was to be her owner? And what if I could persuade her to let me be the man? And at the very thought, my head began to swim in the delirium of hope and almost unimaginable anticipation. And I said: Dear Táráwalí, is it the fault of the ocean gem, if its boorish owner flings it away, taking it for a bit of common glass, and ignoring its inestimable worth? There are other and better judges, who would give their very lives, only to be allowed to pick it up.

And she looked at me with a smile, and she leaned towards me, and she said, with gentle mischief in her eyes: Shall I tell thee thy very thoughts, and it may be, tumble down for thee the unsubstantial castles thou art even already building in the air? Thou art marvelling at the King, for giving me so carelessly away: and thou art wondering, why I am telling thee about it: and last of all, it may be, thou art counting on my independence. Is it not so? And I hung my head in silence, ashamed at being so accurately detected by the subtle penetration of this extraordinary Queen. And presently she said, as if to console me for my confusion, with unutterable sweetness in her voice: Come, do not allow delusive imagination to run away with thee, but curb him, and rein him up, and stop him, and be wise. For I belong, body and soul, to Narasinha. And yet, for all that, I am my own mistress, and act exactly as I choose. And I see anyone I please, and at my own time, and go, like a wild elephant, wherever inclination leads me. And music is my passion, and I heard of thee, and sent for thee, and now that I have seen thee, I like thee. And now, shall we be friends?

And as she ended, she put out towards me both her hands, leaning towards me, and looking at me with a smile, and eyes full of an invitation so irresistibly caressing that it swept away my self-control, consuming it like a blade of grass in a forest fire. And I started to my feet, and instantly she rose herself. And I seized her right hand in my own, with a grip that made it an unwilling prisoner beyond all hope of escape. And I exclaimed with agitation: Friends! only friends! Alas! O Táráwalí, hast thou given thyself, body and soul, so absolutely to Narasinha, as not to have left even the very smallest atom over, for me, now that I have discovered thee at last? O I have dreamed of thee, and thy sweetness, and thy eyes, so long, so long.

And as I gazed at her, forgetting everything in the world, but my incontrollable thirst for herself, she sighed, and she said with compassion: Poor boy! I did ill, to summon thee at all. Thou art only drinking poison, and yet I know not any antidote, save only to bid thee go away.

And I stood, bereft of my senses, and without knowing what I did, pulling her by the hand, that lay reluctantly in mine, endeavouring to free itself in vain. And half resisting, half consenting, against her own will, to be pulled, she came slowly towards me, leaning back, and looking at me with eyes that seemed to implore me to release her, and yet, unable to be harsh, no matter what I did. And at last, she reached me, and she closed her eyes, as I kissed her, with a shudder of delight that was almost terror, on the lips. And then instantly I let her go, and stood aghast at what I had done. And I stammered: Forgive! for I did not know what I was doing.

And she shook her head, and said very gently: Nay, it is I myself who am to blame: since I might have known that this would be the inevitable end. But now, good-bye! for thou hast been here already far too long. And then, she hesitated for an instant, looking at me as if with pity; and she said with a smile: Thou must absolutely go, and yet my heart is sorry for thee, for I understand, what going means, to thee. Come, if thou wilt, I will allow thee, to bid me good-bye.

And as she held out her arms, looking at me with a smile, my reason fled. And I caught her anyhow, with one arm round her waist, and the other round her neck, turning round unawares, so that suddenly I found her lying in my arms, gazing up into my eyes, with lips that trembled as they smiled. And I drew a deep sigh, and then I kissed her in a frenzy with a kiss that seemed as if it would never end.

And then, I almost threw her from me, with a cry. And I turned and fled away, without looking back, and found, I know not how, the door, and knocked, and it was opened; and I got, somehow or other, into the street. And I went home like one walking in a dream, with feet that found their way of their own accord.

X

And I threw myself on my bed, and lay, all night long, asleep or awake, I know not which, but gazing with eyes that as it were shone into the dark, and a heart burning with the fire of joy, and a soul lost in the ecstasy of recollection, saying to myself without ceasing: I have found her, I have found her: and the reality is sweeter far even than the dream. And morning arrived, as it seemed, even before night had begun, for time was lost altogether in the abyss of reminiscence. And I rose up, and stood still, with my eyes fixed upon the ground, going over every detail, and striving to recall every atom of the meeting of the day before. And I said to myself: Ha! and fool that I was, I very nearly missed her, by refusing to go at all. And unless that lucky elephant had chanced to come along, I was absolutely lost. And yet, how could I possibly have guessed that Táráwalí would turn out to be the lady of my dream? O joy, that she caught me just before I went away! O the star in her hair, and the sound of her voice, and O the unendurable torture of being absent for an instant from the possibility of the nectar of her kiss!

And then, all at once, I started, for a thought ran of its own accord like a dagger straight into my heart. And I exclaimed: Alas! I had forgotten. How in the world am I ever to see her again? And she said: Good-bye! Can it be that she intended I was never to return? Alas! beyond a doubt, good-bye was good-bye, and for all her extraordinary kindness, she was offended by my overweening presumption, and sent me away, and will not send for me again. Aye! all is over: for like Durgá,[24] she is absolutely inaccessible, unless she chooses to reveal herself to her miserable devotee of her own accord. Aye indeed! my arrogance has ruined me in her estimation, and I cannot even hope ever to see her any more. Fool that I was, and mad, to run away like a deer, never so much as dreaming of providing for my return! Now indeed, I have dropped myself into a well without a rope, and she is as utterly beyond my reach, as if indeed she were a star.

And my knees shook, and I sank down, with my head buried in my hands, ready to cry, for sheer anguish, at the thought of my inability to get at her, and the horror on purpose to keep me in suspense, and torture my impatience. And then at last, she said: Sunset! What! didst thou fear I was going to say Farewell?

And as she laughed again, I caught her by the hand, in exultation, and her laughter suddenly changed into a shriek. And she said, with more laughter: Nay, thou hast come within a little of breaking my hand in pieces, gripping it like one that catches at a twig, to save himself from drowning. What! wouldst thou requite a benefit, by injuring thy benefactor? Or hast thou again mistaken one hand for another? And again she began to laugh, looking at me slily, with her provoking pretty eyes: and she said: No matter, I forgive thee, for as I said, I understand. But O Shatrunjaya the lute-player, what is it that has made thee change thy mind, since yesterday? Or am I to go back and tell the Queen, once more, that her music-master will not come?

And she turned, laughing still, to go away. But I sprang forward, and caught her in my arms again, and said: Nay, dear Chaturiká, do not go. Stay just a little longer, for art thou not her shadow?

And yet once more she began to laugh, pushing me away, as she exclaimed: It is utterly impossible, O Shatrunjaya, for I have many things to do, and very little time. And I am not sure that I care to be embraced, merely because I am the shadow of another. Thou must contrive how thou canst, without me, to restrain thy insatiable appetite of embracing other people, till sunset. Patience! thou hast not long to wait.

And she went out and shut the door, and suddenly, just as it was closing, she opened it again, and put in her head. And she said: Shall I tell her of thy anxiety to embrace me, or leave it to thee? Dear Chaturiká! Ah! ah! Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away!

And then she shut the door and disappeared.

XI

And as the door shut behind her, she left the whole room filled to the very brim with the red glow of triumphant love's emotion, and the atmosphere of the ecstasy of happiness; and the laughter, of which she seemed to be the incarnation, hung, so to say, in every corner of the room. And my heart sang and my blood bubbled with the wave of the ocean of anticipation that surged and swelled within me, so that I was utterly unable to sit still, for sheer joy; and my soul began as it were to dance in such excitement, that I could hardly refrain from shouting, resembling one intoxicated by the abruptness of a sudden change from certain death to the very apex of life's sweetness. And I said to myself: Sunset! So, then, beyond a doubt, she has either forgiven me, or is willing to forgive. And who knows? For if she has forgiven once, she may forgive again: when again, it may be, she will allow me to say good-bye. And at the thought, my heart began to burn with dull fire, hurting me so that I could hardly breathe: and yet strange! the pain was divided only by a hair from a sweetness so intense that I laughed aloud, without knowing why, like one hovering on the very verge of being mad. And so I remained, drowned in the ocean of the torture and the nectar of love-longing, every now and then waking as from a day-dream to wonder at the sun, who seemed to dawdle on his way, as if on purpose to separate my soul from my body with impatience. But at last, after all, day began slowly to come to an end, and I set out for the palace, with feet that could hardly be restrained from running as fast as they could go.

And at the gate the very same pratihárí was waiting, and she led me away, exactly as before, to the door, and opened it, and I went in. And I stood, listening to its sound as it shut behind me, hardly able to believe that it was not a dream, as I found myself once more in the garden that contained the Queen. And I stopped for a while, for my heart was beating so furiously that I was afraid it would break. And I said to myself, with a sigh of ineffable relief: Ah! now, then, I am actually here, once more. And O now, very soon, comes the agonising rapture of seeing her again. And I wonder where she is, and how I shall find her to-night. And now I must begin to hunt for a very sweet quarry. And suddenly I started almost running, paying absolutely no attention to the trees at all, with eyes that were blind for everything in the world, except one.

And then, all at once, I stopped short: for I looked and saw her, a little way off, under a great nyagrodha tree, sitting crossways in a low swing[25] that hung down from a long bough, holding one of its ropes in her left hand that was stretched as high as it could go, and leaning back against the other with her head cushioned in her bent right arm. And she had her left foot tucked beneath her, so that her left knee stood up in the swing, while her right leg was stretched out below, so that its foot just reached the ground, to allow her to swing very gently, whenever her toes touched the earth. And the lovely line of her great right hip seemed to cry for admiration, running down in a single unbroken curve from her waist into the ground, balanced as it were above by the slender beauty of her left arm rising from the mound of her left breast. And the rising moon which she was watching touched her with a faint lustre, lighting up like a lamp the great gem in her hair, and making the champak blossom that floated in the hollow of her bosom's wave glimmer like the foam on a midnight sea. And after a while, I began to steal towards her on tiptoe, fearing to disturb her, lest the lovely picture should be spoiled, yet yearning to be with her with the whole strength of my soul. But all at once, she heard me coming, and looked round and saw me. And instantly she left her swing, and came towards me, walking quickly with undulating steps, as upright as a pillar of her own tree. And I stood still, to watch her coming, and adore it, and delay it, but she reached me in a moment, and she stopped, and said with a smile: I am very glad to see thee. I sent thee, by the mouth of Chaturiká, a time, and yet I hardly dared to hope for thy coming: since doubtless thou hast a better use for thy hours than to waste them upon me.

And I stared at her, in utter stupefaction: and then, all at once I began to laugh. And I exclaimed: Waste! I do not understand. What dost thou mean? Or what was thy object in bidding me to come to thee at sunset? Surely not merely to talk to me of music? And she looked at me gently, with surprise. And she said: Of course. What other object could I have? And I looked at her in silence, saying to myself: Can it really be possible that she means exactly what she says, and that this was the only significance of the word she sent to me? And suddenly I leaned towards her, with hunger in my eyes. And I said: Then indeed, I was mistaken. It was not so, that I interpreted thy summons. Alas! O Táráwalí, the only music that I came for was the music of thy incomparable voice, and I thought it was thy own deliberate intention to send for me simply that I might listen to it again, as I gazed on its owner with adoration.

And she looked at me reproachfully, and she said: Again! Alas! I imagined that thou wouldst ere now have recovered from thy shock of yesterday, and be able now to help me; and yet, here is thy delusion returning, as it seems, even worse than before. See now, forget altogether that I am a woman, and let us talk of music, like two friends. And I laughed in derision, and I exclaimed: Forget that thou art a woman! Ask me rather to forget I am a man. Art thou blind, or hast thou never even looked into a mirror? Dost thou imagine me less than a man, bidding me forget that she is a woman who stands before me, as thou dost, smiling, and bewildering my soul with her maddening loveliness, and the absolute perfection of her body and her soul, showing the hungry man food, and forbidding him to eat, and the thirsty man water, and requiring him to think of it as something it is not? Or art thou all the time only playing, having no heart in thy body, or a stone for a heart? Didst thou summon me only to torture and torment me? Dost thou not know, canst thou not see, the agony of my suffering, standing close enough to seize thee in my arms, and yet kept at a distance, to listen to what I cannot even understand? I tell thee, I am drunk with thy beauty, and mad with intolerable desire for the incomprehensible fascination of thy charm, and dost thou dream of quenching my fire by talking about friends? I want no friendship from thee. I will be more than a friend to thee, or less: aye! I would give all the friendship in the three worlds for a single drop of nectar, mixed of thy body and thy soul.

And as I spoke, she listened, putting up every now and then her hand, as if to stop me: and when I ended, she stood, looking at me in perplexity, as if utterly unable to decide what to do. And at last, I said: Why dost thou say nothing? And she said, simply; I do not know what to say. And I laughed aloud, lost in admiration of the extraordinary simplicity of her incomparable reply. And I exclaimed: O thou wonderful woman, how can I find words to express what I feel for thee? And she said, as if with despair: I counted on thy recovery. And I said: Count not on my recovery, for I never shall recover. And she said, with a smile: Then, as it seems, I shall never have my music lesson. And perhaps it would be better, if it ended here, without ever having begun. And in any case, to-night, thy visit must of necessity be a very short one, since I have other business, unexpectedly arisen, to do. And so, shall we say good-night, without any more delay?

And I said slowly: If I must go, I must: for I will obey thee, order what thou wilt. And yet, wilt thou not allow me at least to bid thee good-bye, as thou didst last night?

And she looked at me, as I leaned towards her, as if with reproach, and she stood for a moment, hesitating, and as it were, balanced in the swing of her own beautiful irresolution. And then, after a while, she sighed, and put out her hand, as if with resignation. And I drew her to me with a clutch, and caught her in my arms, showering on her lips and her eyes and her hair kisses that resembled a rain of fire: while all the time she offered absolutely no resistance, allowing me to do with her exactly as I pleased. And when at last I stopped to breathe, looking at her with eyes dim with emotion, she said, very gently, with a smile, lying just as she was, fettered in my arms: Hast thou yet bid me good-bye, to thy satisfaction? And I said in a low voice: Nay, not at all. For thou hast not yet kissed me in return, even once. And as if out of compassion, she did as she was told: kissing me gently, over and over again, for I would not let her stop, with kisses that resembled snowflakes that burned as they fell.

And at last, I let her go. And holding her two hands, I gazed at her for a while in adoration, while she looked at me as if patiently waiting to be released, with a little smile. And I said: Now then I will obey thee, and go: for thou hast given me something that will keep me alive. And yet thou art cheating me by sending me away before the time, and thou owest me the rest. Promise me, that thou wilt summon me to-morrow, or I cannot go away, even if I try. For if I go, not knowing when I shall see thee again, I will slay myself on thy palace steps.

And she drew away her hands, very gently, and turned away, and stood looking down upon the ground, reflecting. And I watched her, as I waited, with anxiety: for she seemed to be meditating, not so much of me, as of something unknown to me, that stood in the way of her decision. And then at last, she turned towards me, looking at me, as it seemed, with pity. And she said, almost sadly, and yet with a smile: Poor moth, thou wilt only burn away thy wings. Thou little knowest, what eyes are on thee, or the danger thou art running by overestimating me, and coming here at all. And yet, the mischief has been done, and thou art greatly to be pitied, having fallen under a spell: and thou art suffering from a fever to which nothing can bring any alleviation but myself. And it would be far better to refuse thee, since to grant thy request cannot possibly do thee any good. And yet I cannot find it in my heart to deny thee what thou cravest, since I am myself the involuntary cause of all thy delusion, and can give thee such extraordinary pleasure, with so very little trouble to myself. And so, I will give thee thy desire, and to-morrow's sunset shall be thine.

And I uttered a cry of joy. And utterly unable to control my emotion, I caught her once more in my arms, kissing her passionately with trembling lips. And suddenly I shuddered with delight, for I felt her lips kissing me again. And my senses reeled, and I murmured with emotion: Ah! thou lady of my dream, art thou real, or am I still only dreaming after all? And she stood back, putting me away with her hand, and she said, gently: I am real, but thou seest me through the eyes of thy dream. For what is there, after all, in me, save what thou puttest there thyself, with the aid of thy fancy, and thy passion, and the recollection of thy dream?

And I looked at her in silence for a while, and then I said: Promise me yet one thing more. And she smiled, and said: Thou art insatiable: and yet, what is it? And I said: Send me Chaturiká in the morning, just to tell me what I know already. For I shall be dying of impatience, and she is like a foretaste of thyself, and will help to keep me alive.

And she laughed, and she said: Ah! thou art very crafty, for Chaturiká is far prettier than I. But I will send her for all that, to gratify thee to the full. And moreover, I am not jealous. But now, thou must absolutely go: for I must also. And she leaned towards me, with eyes that were full of an unutterable caress: and she said: To-morrow, at sunset, I will be thy dream. Only remember, not to blame me, for anything that may happen when awaking comes.

And I turned and went away, with a heart that trembled in the extremity of joy. And when I had gone a little way, I looked back, and saw her still standing, looking after me, with her two hands clasped behind her head, as motionless as a tree. And after a little while, I looked again, and she was gone.

XII

And when I got home, I threw myself on my bed, and instantly fell fast asleep, for I was worn out by emotion and fatigue: and my slumber resembled the deep peace of my own heart. And a little before the dawn, I woke up, and went out, wandering where my footsteps led me, with a soul lost in meditation on Táráwalí, bathed in the nectar of reminiscence and anticipation, and yet puzzled by a doubt that it could not resolve. And I said to myself as I went along: How in the world can a queen like her, who laughs all other women to utter scorn, for beauty and understanding and gentleness and sweetness, and some unintelligible magic charm that is somehow spread all over her, and echoes in the tone of her delicious voice that makes every fibre of my heart tremble every time I hear it; how can such a queen as she show such extraordinary favour to such a thing as me? For I could understand it, if it were any other man. For then I should say that beyond all doubt, she actually preferred him to all others in the world, for sheer affection. And yet, as it is, it is quite incomprehensible. For, it might seem, that she must be in love with me herself, returning my affection: and yet it cannot be. For how could such a miracle as she is, the supreme achievement of the Creator, and the concentrated essence of the charm of all her sex, think of such a one as me, even in a dream, as an object of affection? And yet, if not, how is her behaviour to be explained? For I might perhaps believe that she was merely playing with me for her own amusement, were she any other woman than exactly the one she is: but as it is, no one could believe it that had ever seen her for an instant: and she needs no other argument in her defence than every glance at her supplies. And it may be, after all, that she took up with Narasinha merely out of pique, at being so unceremoniously slighted and cast off as a thing of no value by her booby of a husband, and, as it were, also out of gratitude to find herself appreciated at her true value, which she must very well understand notwithstanding all her own beautiful self-depreciation, which is an extra charm enhancing all her other charms: and afterwards, it may be, she has changed her mind, as women do, about Narasinha, without being willing to admit it, even to herself; and come, only the other day, suddenly on me. Aye! beyond a doubt, this would be the true conclusion, and the answer to the riddle, but for one consideration that makes it utterly impossible, that I am only I.

And so as I debated with myself, all at once I heard my own name called aloud in the air. And I looked up, and lo! there was my old friend Haridása,[26] on a camel. And he said: Ha! Shatrunjaya, art thou thyself indeed, or another exactly like thee, or hast thou lost thy senses and thy ears? For here have I been calling to thee, all along the street, without succeeding in waking thee from thy dream, till now. And what can it be, that can so fill thy mind as to stop up all its entrances?

And I exclaimed in delight: Ah! Haridása, thou art come in the very nick of time, the very man, at this moment, that I need most. Get off thy camel, for a while, and come and sit beside me, and find me, if thou canst, an answer to a question that I cannot find myself. And so he did. And as soon as we were seated by the roadside, I said to him: Haridása, listen. Thou knowest me well. Now tell me thy opinion: am I one that a woman might choose out of many for a lover?

And Haridása began to laugh. And he looked at me shrewdly, and he said: Aha! Shatrunjaya the lute-player, so this was thy preoccupation? Art thou one to catch a woman's fancy? O Shatrunjaya, why not? For art thou not a musician, famous in the world, and a man among men, into the bargain? All women love a giant, such as thou art. Any woman of them all might do worse than fall in love with thee. And yet thy very question shows, that in this matter of women, thou art little better than a child, as indeed thou always wert. For even the Deity himself can never tell what man any woman will prefer, or why: as how should he, seeing that she does not even know, herself? And there never yet existed any man whom some woman would not worship, let him be as ugly as you please, or even for that very reason: and yet, let a man be a very Kámadewa, woman after woman will pass him by, without even so much as casting a glance at him out of the very corner of her eye. For a woman's affection depends on her fancy, and that is like the wind, that comes and goes and wavers how and where it will, without a reason that anybody can discover. And it is sheer waste of time to sit and wonder, whether thou art or art not a man that a woman might love. Thou art both, or neither: for the only way to settle thy question is to try. And she will, or she will not, of her own accord. And now, who is she, this beauty who has set thee so knotty a problem to solve?

And I said with indifference: There is no such beauty; for all my perplexity arose from the line of an old song: Nectar when she turns towards thee: poison when she turns away.

And Haridása turned sharp towards me, and looked at me intently for a very long while, saying absolutely nothing. And we sat talking of other things till he rose to go away. And then, at the very moment he was mounting on his camel, he turned, and came back. And he said: Listen! Thou art hiding from me something that maybe I could startle thee by guessing: but no matter. Keep thy secret: but listen to a piece of good advice, which may serve thee at a pinch. If ever thou wouldst have a woman prize thee, never let her see that thou settest any store by her. Treat her as a straw, and she will run after thee as if thou wert a magnet: make thyself her slave, and she will hold thee cheap, and discard thee for another. For women think meanly of their sex, and utterly despise the man who places them above himself: since in her heart every woman longs to be a man, bewailing her misfortune in being born a woman, and praying all her life for one thing only, to be born a man in another birth. And one thing above all she cannot understand, how or why any man should make a fuss about any woman, as all men do: which, just because she is not a man herself, she cannot comprehend. And like jugglers, that are not taken in by their own tricks, women look upon men as mere fools, for being taken in at all. For a woman's charm, to a woman, is not only not a charm at all, but a trick, and a lure, understood, and utterly despised. So now, be a man, and whatever folly thou art meditating, at least beware of being guilty of the very greatest of them all, by doubting of thy own superiority of manhood to the womanhood of any woman, no matter who she be: and earning her contempt, by lying at her feet. And now, farewell! for I have business with Narasinha.

And at the name of Narasinha, I pricked up my ears. And I said, with feigned indifference: Who is Narasinha?

And Haridása spat upon the ground. And he said: One, whom thou art lucky not to know: and yet, his name is apropos. For he is the Queen's lover, and an instance in point: since he leads her by a string, just because he treats her as a trifle, and not, as all her other lovers do, as a gem not to be matched by any other in the sea. And yet he is not, like thee, a man among men, but a man among women. For just as a dancing-girl loves to be treated as a queen, so does a queen love to be treated as a dancing-girl.

And then, all at once, he struck me on the shoulder. And he said, in a low voice: Why didst thou start, when I named Narasinha?

And without waiting for any answer, he got quickly on his camel, and rode away, never looking back.

XIII

And I stood, looking after him, with a startled heart, and then I went home slowly, saying to myself: How in the world did he guess my secret, and what did he mean? Was there a warning in his words? And what is all this about the Queen? Did he ever see her in his life? for if he had, he would long ago have discovered that all his rules have exceptions, of which Táráwalí is one: being not only the very gem beyond comparison that he spoke of with contempt, but a woman of women who very certainly never would despise any one at all, least of all the man who thought her exactly what she is, a star, far, far above his own muddy earth: a thing made of some rare celestial matter, differing altogether from anything to be found here below, fetched by the Creator when he meant to make her from some abysmal intermundane mine, where ocean foam and lunar ooze and sandal-wood and camphor lie jumbled up together with the essence of all curves and smiles and whispers and soft kisses and sweet glances and irresolution and long hair. And the image of the Queen rose up before me, laughing as it were in scorn at Haridása, and utterly obliterating everything he said. And I said to myself in ecstasy: Sunset will be here, very soon. And I reached my house, and looked, and lo! there was sitting at the door a Rajpoot, covered with the desert's dust, and holding by the rein a horse that hung its head, trembling still, and white with foam.

And as I came towards him, he stood up, and made obeisance. And he said: Maháráj, thou art come at last, and it was time. And I said: What is the matter? Then he said: Thy mother sent me, and I have ridden night and day. The King thy father is dying, and every moment he may be dead. And now, if thou carest, either for thy father, or thy mother, or thy throne, there is only one chance for thee, to fly to them as fast as any horse can take thee, without the delay of a single moment. So my message is delivered, and the Maháráj is judge.

And again he made obeisance, and went away on foot, leading his horse behind. And I stood, looking after him in a stupor, like one struck by a bolt from heaven, in the form of his appalling news. And I said to myself: Go I must, or my mother is ousted, and the ráj lost. And yet if I go, the sun will set in the Queen's garden, and I shall not be there.

And I pushed my door wide open, and went in, and sat down, with my face buried in my hands. And my own words sang in my head, over and over again: Go I must, or the ráj is lost, and my mother ousted. And the sun will set in the Queen's garden, and I shall not be there.

And I heard a laugh beside me, and I looked up. Lo! there was Chaturiká, standing in the open door! And she looked at me with laughing eyes, and she said: Ha! as it seems, I am just in time to save thy life: for thou art apparently all but dead. And, beyond a doubt, the Queen is a cunning doctor, who understands her patient's case. For she sent me to thee, saying: Go to him, O Chaturiká, since without thee he will die: and help him, how thou canst, to live until the sun has set.

And I stood up, and seized my hair with both my hands. And I groaned aloud, and said: Alas! O Chaturiká, what is a man to do, when two suns set, in opposite directions? And instantly, all the laughter died out of her face. And she looked at me with dark eyes, and she said: Two suns! What dost thou mean? And I told her all, and she listened in silence, till I ended. And then she said, with a sigh of relief: Ah! is that all? And I exclaimed: All? is it not enough for thee? And she said: I was terrified, by thy talking of two suns. For I began to think the Queen had a rival in thy affection. And I laughed, in anger and derision, and I exclaimed: A rival! Thou little fool! I am sorely tempted to beat thee, for daring to think anything of the kind, even in a dream. What! a rival! to Táráwalí! Thou art stark mad. How could she possibly have a rival in the three worlds? But what am I to do? And she said: It is thy choice, not mine. Only when once a sun has set, who can tell, if it will ever rise again? And what am I to say to the Queen?

And as she stood, looking at me, for an answer, there rose into my recollection the image of Táráwalí, leaning towards me in the moonlight, and saying: To-morrow, at sunset, I will be thy dream. And suddenly I exclaimed: Go back to her, O Chaturiká, and tell her that my only sun is the sun that sets in a Queen's garden.

And then, to my astonishment, that singular Chaturiká suddenly threw herself into my arms, and kissed me without waiting to be asked. And seeing me look at her in perplexity, she burst out laughing, and she said with delight: Ah! ah! So then, after all, there is a difference, as it seems, between Chaturiká and Táráwalí. No doubt some kisses are far sweeter, but the sun must set, ere the lovely digit of the moon rises, and I must do what I can meanwhile, to help thee to keep alive. It was her own order. And moreover she will not be jealous, and will not scold me when I tell her all about it on my return. And I said: Nay, thou saucy little beauty, tell her with all my heart, and add, that her drug was efficacious, since sandal-wood and camphor turn everything that touches them into a little bit of fragrance exactly like their own. And take her hand, and kiss it, and say I send the kiss, like her message, by thy mouth, and here it is.

And I caught her in my arms, and kissed her as she struggled, not willing this time to be kissed at all, exactly on her laughing lips, and then she went away.

XIV

And I said to myself in ecstasy, as she disappeared: Out on the very notion of leaving Táráwalí in the lurch, and losing the very essence of the nectar of the lady of my dream, so kind, so clever, and so wonderful as she is! Well did she understand, how the very sight of this audacious little chetí would act like a balm on the fever of my longing for herself: carrying about with her, as she does, a reminiscence of the intoxicating fragrance of the great champak flower, whose messenger she is, like a female bee, scattering another's honey as she goes. Aye! Chaturiká is like a letter, smelling of the sandal of the hand that wrote it, far away. And Táráwalí understood it all, and sent her; not being jealous, as Chaturiká says, and indeed, as she said herself, last night. As if a star of heaven could possibly be jealous of a little Ganges pot![27] Aye! little did my mother dream, when she sent to fetch me, what influence she had against her. As if I would purchase any kingdom in the world at the price of sacrificing my sunset with the Queen! And how can I help it, if the King my father chose just this unlucky astrological conjunction, to die? Or what good can be done by haste? For if he is dead already, as is very likely, all is lost, and it is useless to go at all. And if on the contrary, he lives for a little longer, I shall find him still alive, if I start to-morrow. And is it likely he will live or die exactly so, as to make my starting now either necessary or advantageous? And shall I take the risk, and throw away the very fruit of my birth, for nothing at all? And what would Táráwalí think of me, if I left her in the lurch, counting her inestimable favour as a straw? Beyond all doubt, she would wipe me from her memory as a thing beneath even contempt, like a sieve, all holes, into which it is futile to pour anything at all. No, I will keep my sunset, even if I lose my kingdom. And yet, why should I, after all? For to-morrow when I actually start, I will go very fast indeed, preparing everything beforehand, and having my horse waiting for me, so as to lose no time when I leave the Queen, carrying with me as I ride the memory of to-night: whereas if I threw her over, and set off to-night, the thought of what I was leaving behind would be so heavy as utterly to prevent me from going along at all.

And so I mused, waiting all the time with fierce impatience for the sun to sink, till at last day came to an end. And then I rose in delight, exclaiming: At last, at last, separation is over, and now it is time! And I went very quickly to the palace, and found the pratihárí: and she led me away straight to the door, and opened it, and I went in.

XV

And then, once more, I stood still, listening in ecstasy to the door as it shut behind me, and tasting, as it were, for an instant the delicious promise that the dusky garden gave me, standing like a diver on the edge of ocean, just before he plunges in, knowing well that it holds a pearl. And I stretched my arms towards the trees, saying to myself: This is not like the other times, but far, far better: for to-night she will not ask me to give her a music lesson, but she said herself, she would be my dream. And I wonder how she will do it, and what she is going to do. And then I went on through the trees, looking from side to side, with a soul as it were on tiptoe with curiosity and anticipation. And far away through the trees I saw the red rim of the full moon rising in a great hurry as if like myself he was dying with impatience just to see her, and saying as it were: I am the only lamp fit to light her, and I am just coming in another moment, like herself. And I passed by her swing that hung drooping, as it were, sadly from its tree, because she was not there. And little by little, my heart began to crave for the sight of her, growing restless and uneasy, and saying to itself with anxiety: What if something had actually prevented her from coming, and the garden were really as empty as it seems, and she were not here at all. And then at last I reached the terrace by the pool, exactly where I saw her first, and looked round with eager eyes, and she was not there. And then, just as I was on the verge of sinking into the black abyss of disappointment, all at once she came out of the shadow of a clump of great bamboos, in which she had been hiding, as it seemed, just to tease me into the belief she was not there, in order to intensify the unutterable delight of her abrupt appearance. And she stood still, as if to let me look at her, between two bamboo stems, just touching them with the very tips of the fingers of each hand, and saying in her soft sweet voice with a smile: Was I not right in choosing this as the only proper place for thee to meet the lady of thy dream, where we met each other first?

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.