And Trishodadhi, as he listened, said with anxiety to himself: Ha! now this liar of a king is very cunning, and beyond a doubt, many a woman would have found it hard to resist the flattery of his tongue. And oblivious of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the remainder of the tale.
XV
And the elephant said: Pippala, as I ended, I stepped forward, and I took her, very gently, by the hand. And then, lo! the very moment that I touched it, she started. And she leaped back, like one that has suddenly put his hand into the flame of a fire, with a cry. And as I watched her, she stood for a single instant, like one balanced on the very verge of flying, or sobbing, or falling to the ground, for she swayed on her little feet, and her body shook all over, like a tree whose leaves are stirred by a sudden wind. And her great breast struggled in violent agitation, as if striving to leap from its bodice in sheer fright. And then in a moment, all at once she changed, becoming still, as though she were an image, carved in stone, upon a temple wall. Only her bosom went on heaving like the sea, as if she could not breathe. And after a while she said, very slowly: My blindness makes my battle hard, for I cannot either see my danger coming, or escape it by flying when it comes. And now, well I discern the terrible consequences of sins committed in a former birth, for now I am without resource, resembling one that walks in inky darkness, whose every step may plunge the point of a sword into his heart. And yet that very blindness which puts me in thy power contains the weapon to defeat thee; for within it I am shut from thee as in an impenetrable fortress, around which thou art wandering in vain. For the Creator has not left even the blind without their proper refuge, and has bestowed upon them inner eyes, as if to balance the want of those without; and being deprived by their infirmity of all that world which others see, they fall back upon the world within, composed of memory and meditation, and patience and emotion, and fidelity and hope. And as I listen to thy words, falling on my ear out of the visible I cannot see, tempting me, and seeking as it were to melt my resolution by a fiery rain, I look into my soul, and I see at a distance, in its darkness, a solitary star in the form of my husband, sending me as it were a ray of support and consolation, to keep me from sinking in the waves of the ocean of despair. And now I tell thee, all thy honied words are worthless, and like arrows, they fall back blunted and shattered on the rock on which I lean, in the form of his memory, and beating on my head like particles of snow they do but add to the mound of cold resistance which they aim removing by their ineffectual storm. And though I know not where he is, nor even if he will return, yet when he does he shall find his honour safe, and my soul like a temple shall preserve within its shrine the candle that he lit, whose steady flame not all the winds of flattery and temptation blown from thine or any other mouth shall ever make extinct, or even cause to flicker for an instant, even in a dream. And like Draupadi, or Damayanti, or Sita, or Sawitri, I shall meet my husband, either in this birth or another, so, as that neither he nor I will be ashamed. And well though I know that I am bodily at thy mercy and in thy power, so that coming thyself or sending others, thou canst carry me by violence away, as I think will be the case, yet shall even that avail thee nothing. For the body thou shall ravish, as I told thee, will be dead, and its soul will be away. For though it is my duty not to quit it, for my husband has left me, as it were, as a deposit in my own hands to be guarded for himself, yet I shall make no effort to conceal it from thee like a coward; it is here for thee to steal. Take, if thou wilt, a thing that can offer no resistance; thou wilt gain absolutely nothing but dishonour for thyself, loving what will not love thee, embracing what will not embrace thee, doomed to remain everlastingly outside, and baulked of that treasure of the heart within, like a robber with an adamantine casket to which he has no key, and which, defying all his efforts to invade it, leaves him with nothing to reward him but his crime. Aye! try, and thou shalt find, that with nothing to defend it, armed only with a memory, the heart of a woman is stronger than all the power of a king. Aye! bring, if thou wilt, the ocean, and the wind, and the darkness to assist thee, and thou shalt find that the little tongue of that flame which is fed on the oil of reminiscence will utterly refuse to be extinguished by them all.
And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured softly to himself: Ah! noble wife, ah! Watsatarí, thou hast annihilated this robber of a king. And utterly oblivious of his muttering, he listened, with a heart on fire, for the remainder of the tale.
XVI
And the elephant said: Ha! pippala, as she ended, I stood confounded, like a picture on a wall, gazing at her in utter oblivion of everything but herself, drunk with amazement and adoration. For as she spoke, she seemed to grow, and become larger than herself; and her words poured like a stream of liquid fire shot from the fountain of her soul, and my own soul seemed as it were to shrink and grow small before her, like a thing shrivelled in a flame. And her strange calm eyes shone till I shuddered as I saw them, and I felt like the demon whom Gauri was about to annihilate for ever, in her form. And I could have fallen down and worshipped her in ecstasy, and yet for very shame I dared not stir. And so I stood a while, as if in stupor, and then very quietly I crept away, and climbing over the wall, returned privately to my palace, like a thief ashamed. And there, throwing myself upon my bed, I lay silent, unconscious of the passage of time, gazing as it were into darkness, and seeing nothing but the image of Watsatarí, standing still before me, and looking at me fixedly, with eyes from which I strove to hide myself in vain. And all at once, in the middle of the night, I started up shouting: Watsatarí! Watsatarí! And I raved with words devoid of meaning, feeling nothing but passionate desire for herself and her beauty, and hatred of her husband, and loathing for myself. And I exclaimed: Haha! but for this husband, I might have attained to the fruit of my birth, which has vanished like a dream.
And as it happened, my wita overheard me, for as a rule he never left me, and he was sitting by my side, watching me, like a bird of evil omen, with his only eye; for he had lost the other by a blow from a boon companion in a drunken brawl. And all at once he said: Maharáj, doubtless thou art troubled in soul by reason of some love affair; and now, sorrow shared with a friend is lightened of more than half its burden. Moreover, it may be I could help thee, for in every such case, a bystander is a better judge. So in my distress, unable to refrain, I told him the whole story. And when I made an end, the wita said: Maharáj, hadst thou kept this to thyself, thou wouldst not have been well advised; as I shall show thee. For thy opinion is, that the husband is thy difficulty, and the obstacle in this affair. And I said: Aye! so he is, beyond a doubt; and an obstacle utterly beyond removal. Then said the wita: Maharáj, thou art mistaken altogether. For the husband in this case is not an obstacle at all, for he has disappeared, as though on purpose to oblige thee, and leave thy way open. But that which stands in thy way, exactly as she said herself, is nothing but his memory.[45] For if she could forget him, she would have absolutely nothing to oppose to thee at all. And I exclaimed: Aye! indeed! if she could forget him. Then said that crafty wita: Did I not say that my assistance would avail thee? For there is absolutely no difficulty in this at all. For I have a friend, who has gone to the very farther shore of the Ayurweda,[46] and possesses skill sufficient to raise the very dead to life. And now I will consult him, and tell him only so much as is necessary to the business in hand, and get from him a drug to annihilate the memory; and what can be more easy than for such a very Lord of Herbs[47] to produce oblivion and forgetfulness, by the means of a drug? For if she could only be induced to lose, somehow or other, all recollection of her husband, remaining in every other point the same, thy object is attained, and stealing into her soul, thou couldst very easily fill it with thy image, being vacant of his own.
And instantly I uttered a cry, and falling on my wita, embraced him, intoxicated with delight, exclaiming: Ha! most admirable of all witas, if thou canst actually do as thou hast said, I will weigh myself in gold, for thy reward. And like thy own physician, thou hast as it were raised me from the dead. And now let us begin and set to work, without losing any time. And in my agitation I could hardly endure to wait for the return of day. Then very early in the morning the wita went to his physician and returned, holding in his hands a little phial. And he said: Maharáj, I have the cure for every recollection in this glass. For as he gave it me, he said: Whoever swallows this will fall asleep, to lose on reawakening every vestige of recollection of what happened in his life before. So nothing now remains, except the drinking. And to drink, she must be here. And if thou wilt, I will take assistance, and go and bring her, and put her in thy hands myself. And if thy beauty will not come, what matter? A little violence will do no harm, since all will be forgotten when she wakes.
And then, he fixed on me his eye, as if ironically, and I shuddered as I saw it, saying to me as it were significantly: Thou and I. And I looked at him with horror, saying to myself: What! shall I share her with this wita, and shall the lotus of her body be defiled by his handling, even in a dream? And I leaped at him and struck him to the ground, exclaiming furiously: Dog of a wita, dost thou dare? Is it for such a thing as thou art to lay hands on her, or shall she be profaned by the grasp of such a monster as thyself?
And Trishodadhi, as he listened, muttered to himself in wrath: Ha! thou that callest others monsters, what of thyself? what defilement was there in the touch of thy filthy wita, that was not doubled by the profanation in thy own? And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened with anxiety for the conclusion of the tale.
XVII
And the elephant said: Pippala, as the wita rose, I said to him in wrath: I only will go to fetch her, nor shall any finger touch her but my own. And as for thee, remain behind, and await me with thy phial till I come. Then said the wita: As the Maharáj chooses. And he bowed before me like a slave, and listened in silence while I made my preparations, thinking no more of him, and utterly forgetful of the injuries he had suffered at my hands. But if I forgot them, so did not he. Ha! wonderful is the blindness of kings and lovers who, intoxicated with passionate desire, place with open eyes weapons in the hands of infuriated enemies, who only await an opportunity to stab them to the heart.
And then, O pippala, in the evening, I mounted my horse, and went, with a chosen band of confidential servants, and a litter, secretly to the garden. And I rode very slowly, thinking how I should induce her to come away, unwilling to use force. And I said to myself, with hesitation: But if she will not come, as only too much I fear, what then? Must I not have recourse to violence? And after all, was not my wita right? What matter a little violence, to be utterly forgotten as soon as she awakes? Moreover, being blind, how can she tell who seizes her, seeing that she knows me by nothing but my voice? And yet I could not bring myself to think of taking her away by force, striving to discover some other way, and saying to myself: Could I but discover something, to make her come away with me of her own accord.
And then, all at once, I stopped short. And I exclaimed: Ha! I have it. Surely this will bring her; and now, the business is done.
And I set spurs to my horse, and followed by my train, I quickly reached the garden, and leaving them to wait below, I climbed the wall alone, and looked, and lo! there she stood again, listening, and looking as it were towards me, exactly as she did at first.
And then, strange! the instant that I saw her, I stopped, looking down at her upon the wall, and such a sadness mingled with the ecstasy of my devotion as I watched her, that the tears rose up into my eyes. And I said to myself: Let me look at her well, for just a little while, for this is the very last time I shall see her from the wall. Ha! pippala, little did I dream that I was looking at her, never again to see her standing, either from the wall or any other place whatever in the world. And her dress, as she had turned round towards the wall, startled by the sound of my approach, was twined as if with affection, like a creeper, closely round her ankles, and had wrapped itself around her feet, as if to hinder them from moving and root her in the ground, resembling a pedestal, out of which, like a statue of herself, her beautiful undulating body rose up into the air, like the feminine incarnation of a full-blown and heavy flower, only waiting for a breeze to sway gently on its slender stalk. And once more I trembled as I gazed at the dead still colour of her tranquil unintimidated eyes, that seemed as it were to say to me, Coward, couldst thou have mustered courage to lay rude hands on such a lovely lotus as myself, growing in a pool which is not thine?
And suddenly, I flung myself into the garden, and went hastily towards her. And I exclaimed: Watsatarí, thy husband is returned, for I have found him, and now I have him in my palace, and his life is in my hands, and thine. And now I have come myself, with an escort, to bring thee to him; so that in thy presence I may bargain with him for thee, and buy thee, at any price that he shall name. Didst thou not say, I was a robber, endeavouring to steal the thing I could not buy? And now, then, we shall see whether he will sell thee; and I promise thee, I will not buy thee cheap; for I am ready to give him, in return for thee, his life.
And as she listened, she started; and when I ended, she was silent; and as I watched her, she trembled a very little, and grew pale. And presently she said slowly: Thou hast placed me, indeed, in an extremity; and very sore indeed is my perplexity, to know what I should do. And what if I refuse to come? And I said in a low voice: It will go hard with thy husband, in thy absence. Ah! pippala, I pitied her, even as I spoke. And I steeled myself against compassion, saying to myself: No matter if she suffers a little now; for very soon, I will make it up to her, a thousandfold and more.
And after a while, she sighed and said again: How can I believe thee, who hast lied to me so often, and whose purpose only too well I understand? Yet how can I resist one who can so easily effect by violence the end at which he aims, if I refuse? And yet, I fear for my husband, and what thou sayest may, after all, be true. Will thou swear to me, thou wilt take me to my husband? And I said to myself: She has caught herself in the trap; and who will be her husband but myself? And I exclaimed: Watsatarí, if I am lying to thee, may I fall into a lower birth! Ha! pippala, as I think, the deity was listening, and bound me in this very body of an elephant, remembering my words, in obedience to my own curse.
And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured to himself: Ah! liar of a king, so after all, thou couldst prevail on her virtue only by making use of me against myself, and turning as it were her very heart into a snare. And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened eagerly for the termination of the tale.
XVIII
And the elephant said: Pippala, she yielded at the last. And she said, in a low voice: May my husband forgive me, if my better judgment is in error, overlooking my own danger for his sake. But it will be necessary to carry me, for, as I think, my body will not move of its own accord. And then, all at once, she reeled, and would have fallen, swooning at my feet, but that I sprang forward, and caught her as she fell. And very carefully I lifted her in my arms, bereft as she was of sense, and in my intoxication, unable to refrain, I kissed her as she lay unconscious in my arms, and lo! she was as cold as ice. And I called to my assistants, and got her with their help over that wall, that resembled the last obstacle in the road of my delight, and placing her in the litter, I carried her away very quickly to my palace, riding beside her with a soul that danced as it were with joy and agitation, while all the while she lay as if her own soul abandoning its body had stayed behind her in the garden, refusing to be a traitor to its trust. And as soon as we arrived, once more I took her in my arms, and carried her within, and placed her, just as she was, upon a couch. And I said to my wita, who was waiting: Bring now very quickly fans, and snow and sandal, and camphor and aromatics, and let us bring her to herself. And so, as I was fanning her, and sprinkling her with icy scents, all at once, she stirred. And she put out her hand, as if groping to feel who was beside her, and she murmured, Water, water! so low as hardly to be heard.
And at that very moment, I looked, and saw the wita, gazing at me with his eye. And he whispered: Maharáj, shall I give it? And I said: Give it me, and I will give it her myself. And I took the water from his hands, and emptied into it the phial; and I put the water to her lips, and very greedily she drank. Ah! woe is me, I gave it, and she drank. Ha! very wonderful is the terrible mystery of the consequence of works, bound in whose adamantine chain we move, and blunder, not seeing where we go, not knowing what we do, bringing about with open eyes the very opposite of the end at which we aim. Ah! I, who would have abandoned not one, but an infinity of bodies, only to save her from a scratch, only to keep a single hair from falling from her head, I, with these hands, I gave her that water, and she drank, while all the while the wita stood watching, like destiny in human form, incarnate in a body that was destitute of any heart.
And Trishodadhi, as he listened, murmured to himself: Ha! better it were to have no heart at all, than such a heart as thine. And all oblivious of his muttering, he listened to the tale.
XIX
And the elephant said: Pippala, she drank, and instantly fell back upon the couch, and lay, paler than the digit of the moon by day, and still as a picture painted on a wall. And I said in exultation and triumph to myself: Now, leave her and let it work, and in the meantime, I will watch her till she wakes. And now, all her suffering and trial is over; and little indeed shall she have cause to complain of changing that old husband for myself. And I said to my wita: Now, begone, and leave me alone with her; and to-morrow I will see to thy reward. And as he went, that wita whispered in my ear: Maharáj, the business is done. Now then, very soon, she will have utterly forgotten all, and thy turn to play the husband has arrived. And he gazed at me for a moment with a smile of evil omen, and I was troubled as I saw it, for his eye resembled that of a vulture sitting on a cemetery wall. Alas! even then, I did not understand. And then he went away, vanishing like Trishodadhi in the ocean of the world. Ha! wise he was to disappear, for well he knew that on the morrow, the very sight of me would have been the signal of his death.
And when he had gone, I remained alone in that chamber with Watsatarí, to watch till she awoke. And I wandered up and down, as it were on tiptoe, with agitated steps, while the night crept slowly on, hour after hour, and every now and then I stopped to look at her as she lay upon the couch; and like a wild beast in a cage, I went to and fro, unable to remain at rest, tossed here and there by the tumult in my soul, where anticipation and impatience, and desire and triumph and delight, and doubt and apprehension jostled each other like waves of the sea, roused into disquiet by the wind of passion, and yet pervaded by unutterable longing to grow calm and be still at the sight of that lovely digit of the moon rising as it were to quell it in an instant and allay its storm, by awaking from her sleep. And in the meantime, the light of the real moon grew gradually stronger, and stole into the room, as if desirous to become reunited with that sleeping beauty that resembled a portion of himself.[48] And seeing it, I said within myself: Surely the moon is right, and now he shall have his wish; for I am not jealous of sharing her with such a lover. And I extinguished all the lamps, and threw open all the trellises, and I sat down on a couch a little way off, and watched her beauty and adored it as she lay, bathed in the soft and silver light of that lord of heavenly nectar. And the shadows of the strings of the moonstones hanging in rows along the windows fell over her in stripes that resembled the bars of a cage, as if wishing to keep her prisoner against her will. And so as I watched her in ecstasy, the sound of the camphor ooze dropping slowly every now and then on the marble floor below murmured in my ear like music and a melody of slumber, and played on the fatigue and agitation of my soul, and at last, all unawares, I fell asleep.
And all at once, I awoke, and started up, and looked, and lo! the moonlight had all but gone. And in the darkness, lit as it were by the shadow of his last remaining ray, which fell upon her, I saw her lying, absolutely still, exactly as she lay before. And suddenly, as I saw her, I began to tremble like a leaf. And in the silence, I heard my own heart beating, as if it wished to wake her, like the noise of a drum. And all my hair suddenly stood on end, and the sweat broke out upon my brow. And I said to myself: Ha! she is very still, lying exactly as she lay before, never having moved.
And I stood gazing at her in a stupor, and listening to my own heart, that beat in my ears like the surge of the sea. And then, very slowly, I went silently on tiptoe up to that couch on which she lay. And I bent over her, listening, and all at once I touched her with my hand. Ha! pippala, she was colder than the marble floor. And she smiled in that dying moonlight, saying as it were: Maharáj, I was right after all; and as I told thee, thou hast stolen my body, only to find it deserted by the soul.