Chapter 7

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

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

XX

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

XXII

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

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

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

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

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

And I said: Then the way is found, luckily for thee: and thou art saved, since none will ever guess thy part in the arranging for my entry, if as I imagine thou art only sufficiently adroit to procure for me a key without her knowledge. And that I leave to thee, only be careful to bring it in good time, before to-morrow evening. And in the meanwhile, go and tell that other lover that the Queen has changed her mind: and put him off to any other day, it does not matter which, seeing that it will never come at all: since for the future, I am going to be the only lover of the Queen.

And then, Chaturiká looked at me in such amazement that it deprived her for an instant of her terror, and suddenly she began to laugh. And I stooped and lifted her, and whirled her in the air, and stood her breathless on her feet. And I took her two hands and held them tight, and I said: Dost thou feel what thou art in hands like mine, a feather, and a nothing, and a straw? Now listen and be wise. Stand out of the way, between the Queen and me, for we shall crush thee, and the battle is one that I mean to win. And now I am going to show her something that she never saw before, the strength of a man: for a woman presumes, forgetting altogether that she owes all to the forbearance of one who can sweep her away if he chooses, like a wild elephant snapping a twig. And if anything goes amiss by any treachery of thine, I will break thee in pieces with my bare hands, hide where thou wilt, making it unnecessary even to betray thee to the Queen. And now, what have I ordered thee to do?

And Chaturiká said humbly, quivering like a wild heifer that is suddenly tamed by the sound of a tiger's roar: To put off a lover and bring thee a key.

And I said: Thou hast still forgotten the thing without which both are useless, and that is, to show me the outside of the door to be opened by the key. And that thou shalt do at once. Go out now, and walk without stopping straight to the door: and I will follow in thy steps. And do not look back, until thou art standing just beside it, and then turn for a single instant, and meet my eye without a sign. And then begone where thou wilt until to-morrow.

And I opened the door and let her out, and she went away very quickly, leading me through the city and past the palace gates, and a long way round the palace wall, until at last she suddenly came to a dead stop, beside a little door in the wall, that stood exactly opposite a ruined temple of the great god. And there she turned and looked at me, and then continued on her way until she disappeared. And I stood and watched her go, saying to myself: I think she will bring me the key to-morrow, without dreaming of betraying me: for I scared her almost to death, and she is frightened. And I was very sorry for her, and yet it was the only thing to do, for there was no other means of reducing her to absolute submission. And yet she was beautiful to look at, even so, resembling as she did a feminine incarnation of audacity suddenly changed into unconditional obedience by standing between two appalling dangers, and only doubting which was the most to be feared. And very strange is the difference fixed by the Creator between a woman and a man: since the very timidity that makes him utterly contemptible only makes her even more beautifully delicious than she was before.

XXIII

And next day, I waited all the morning for Chaturiká to come, and noon arrived without her coming. And I said to myself as I sat waiting: She will come by and by, and I cannot expect her very early, for she may have many other things to do as well as mine. And it may be no easy task that I have given her to do. And now, what am I to say to Táráwalí, when I come upon her in the garden, and see her, O ecstasy! again? And strange! at the very thought of seeing her again, my heart began to burn, as if turning traitor to my own determination. And I said sadly to myself: Alas! I am afraid, or rather I am sure, that the very sight of her will be like a flood, in which every fragment of my resentment against her for treating me as she has done, and every atom of my resolution, and every recollection of all that I have heard to her discredit, will be swept away like chips and straws. Do what she may, I cannot drive my affection for her out of my heart, which obstinately clings to her image, utterly refusing to be torn away. And notwithstanding all that those two rascals said in her disparagement, my soul laughs them to utter scorn, telling them they lie. And who knows? For who could believe that a body so unutterably lovely could harbour a soul so unutterably base as they said, on evidence such as theirs? Aye! my recollection of her soul is an argument in her favour that nothing that they said can overcome, and I could forgive her absolutely anything, when I think of the gentle sweetness that echoed in her every word, resembling a perfume somehow mixed with her voice. And yet if my resolution wavers, even now, how will it be when she actually stands before me as she will to-night? And yet, how is it possible to absolve her for her inexplicable behaviour to me?