The Indian Stories of F.W. Bain, Vol. 10
Bain, F. W. (Francis William), 1863-1940
'tVv‘,U.k^ ■ '‘;:^..L,..^^.'w’l.....ik,ft;ii.•.^ , .v^^i ; .>-l1 I ’. ■' ■ <■ " .'i,MliifflMi THE THIRST OF AN ANTELOPE III. THE DESERT AND THE NIGHT 1 73 “ . , , - v.^ . ., -V-* '. 7 > I THE DESERT AND THE NIGHT CHAPTER I SO, then, night followed day, and day suc- . ceeded night, in order. And the new moon ' waxed, and waned : and every day the sun rose up as usual, and travelled slowly on, till he sank at eve, over the sand, beyond the western hill. And then at last, there came a day, when just as he was sinking, it happened that Babhru sat alone, watching him as he went down, at that very same place in the wood where he had parted last from Aranyani, the day she disappeared. And strange ! short as had been the interval of time, he was altered, and it seemed as though years had rolled over him, writing on him in an instant the wrinkles of old age. For he looked like an incarna¬ tion of dejection, worn and wan, with eyes that were red and hollow, as if sleep had fled away from them, oustedby her jealous rivals, sorrow and her sister care. And as he saw the sun just on the very point of going down, he murmured to himself: He is but showing me the way, and now very soon, I shall follow his example, abandoning like him a birth, in which my business is done. For what is the use of this miserable body, deserted and for¬ saken by its soul, and left lying empty, and utterly forgotten, and despised ? not even knowing where 15 Bubbles of the Foam to look, or where that soul is gone : this body, which long ago I would have quitted not only without re¬ gretting it, but even with delight, could but I know for certain that Aranyani is actually dead, and un¬ able to return : since but for the hope of that re¬ turn, I should have ceased to live these many days. Alas! I cannot even tell, whether, she is dead, or still alive. And yet it cannot be: she is not dead. And yet, she is nowhere to be found : for I have searched the wood a hundred times from end to end, till there is not a single one of all its leaves I have not turned upside down, and all in vain. For she has vanished like a dream, leaving not so much as even the shadow of a clue behind : and she re¬ sembles a drop of dew, dried by the sun at noon on the leaf of a red lotus, with nothing but the memory of those who saw it in the morning to show that it was ever there. She has gone, I know not how, I know not where ; snatched away and stolen, and it may be even put to death, or something that is worse than any death, by those who have carried her away, I know not who. And O alas 1 that I ever left her. I only was to blame, that saw the evil coming, and shrank in terror from its shadow, like a bird that sees upon the ground beside it the shadow of the hawk. I left her, and now, beyond a doubt, hope is absolutely over, and I shall never see her more. And why then should I delay, or wait to see another sun? But what, if after all, she were not dead, but still alive, and should return? Then, what a fool I should have been, to die 1 And yet, if she is dead? Alas! if she is dead, my life is 76 The Desert and the Night but an idle waste of time, and yet I dare not die, for fear, lest after all, she should return. And all at once, he stopped short: for as he spoke, there fell upon his ear a noise. And he listened, and exclaimed: I hear the tramp of horses, approaching in the wood. And he started up, like his own heart, that began to beat violently, as if catching at a straw of hope, in the whirlpool of despair. And he said to himself: Why should horses be coming through the wood, at such an hour ? And as he stood gazing, with a soul as it were on tiptoe, in the direction of the sound, a rider sud¬ denly issued from the trees, and came towards him, followed by others like himself. And as they reached him, they stopped : and their leader dis¬ mounted from his horse, and came towards him, holding it by the rein. And when Babhru saw his face, he started, and exclaimed within himself: Ha! why! that is the very face that I saw lurking in the bush. And then, all at once, he shouted aloud: Ha! then, it was thou ; it is thou, as I thought, who art the rob¬ ber, after all. And Chamu laughed, and he said : O woodman, not so loud : for thou art hasty, and thou art uncivil, and thou art altogether wrong : though so far thou art right, that we are old friends. Yet still thou art unjust, for I am not the robber. It was not I that carried off thy beauty from the wood, but my master. King Atirupa. And thou art very rude, to call even him a robber. For he did not steal thy beauty, but only borrowed her, for a little while, 77 Bubbles of the Foam all with her own consent. And now he has returned her by my hands : and here she is. And he turned, and Babhru looked, and lo ! they lifted Aranyani from a horse, and set her on the ground. And as Babhru stood gazing at her, like one struck by a thunderbolt, Chamu said again: Thou owest me not abuse, but gratitude, O wood¬ man : for see, I have brought her back to thee, all across the sand, where many in my place would have left her in the middle of the way, for it was a thankless task, and she was a cross-grained bur¬ den, that was very loath to come at all. So as thou seest, thou wert very wrong, to call even Atirupa robber : for here she is again. And the women are silly creatures, who only have themselves to blame, since they flock to him, like flies to honey, all of their own accord. But this young beauty grew so peevish, when she found she was only one of a thousand others, that the Maharaja could not keep her any longer. And now she will make thee the very best of wives, woodman : since she has had some lessons, and a little practice in the art, and come back richer than she went away : none the worse, but all the better, for having tasted a King’s kisses, and learned her trade in the best of schools. Thy eldest son will be a beauty, even if all the others are as ugly as thyself. And if his mother calls him Atirupa, just as a reminiscence, never mind : for when she has once stopped weeping, she will love thee just as well as him. And as he spoke, Babhru stared at him with eyes that hardly saw him, and ears that hardly 78 The Desert and the Night heard him, and a soul that hardly understood, filled as it was to the very brim with such a flood of pity, and horror, and amazement, and yet delight at her return, no matter how, that there was ab¬ solutely no room at all for even a single drop of wrath. And while he looked from her to Chamu, and from Chamu back again to her, Chamu got back upon his horse, and all those riders rode away. CHAPTER II UT Babhru stood exactly where he was, like \ a picture painted on a wall, hardly heeding / their departure, gazing at Aranyani. And as he watched her, tears rose up suddenly and stood, as if to blind him, in his eyes, springing from the well of the very ecstasy of compassion within his heart. For she lay half crouching, half fallen on the ground, exactly as they had set her down, never moving, and resembling a body that is all but dead. And her face, that was turned towards him, looked absolutely strange to him, so marvel¬ lously had it altered since he saw it last. For, as it seemed, youth and joy had fled from it, leaving it to be as it were a very battle-ground for grief and age, and passion and shame, and humiliation, and weariness, and despair. And instead of her forest garments, she was magnificently dressed, and yet her clothing was ill-arranged, and dis¬ ordered, and very dusty; and her hair was all dis¬ hevelled, and floated loose about her head, as if to match and imitate the wild disorder of her soul 79 Bubbles of the Foam within. And yet, somehow or other, she seemed for all that in his eyes even more beautiful than ever, with a beauty that appalled him as he saw it, for she was utterly unlike herself, as if her own soul had been suddenly changed into another, making its envelope into something other than it was, to suit the alteration. And gradually as Bab- hru watched her, his hair stood up upon his body, as if with fright, and anticipation of something coming, that he did not understand. So he stood silent, watching her, forgetful of himself, with a soul that yearned to comfort her and soothe her, and caress her and console her, yet utterly unable, and half fearing, to say any¬ thing at all. And in the silence, gradually dread began to creep all over him, as he saw her con¬ tinue, lying absolutely still, and yet every now and then breathing, very slowly and with difficulty, like one that is suffering an agony of pain. And at last, after a long while, he moved a little nearer, and he said, with timidity and emotion: O Aran- yani, alas ! thou art suffering. And dost thou think I can endure to see thee suffer? At least, at least, thou hast returned, no matter how. O alas! for all thy suffering, I only am to blame ; for well I understood, I was wrong to abandon thee, and leave thee as a prey. But at least, thou hast re¬ turned, and only just in time : for hadst thou stayed away another day, I could not have endured. I thought thee dead, for day by day, I waited, and day by day, thou didst not come: and each night was longer, and more awful than the last. And I 8o The Desert and the Night sought thee in every quarter of the wood, but thou wert not to be found. And now, lo! there before my eyes, hardly to be believed, thou art ; and now I am almost ready once more to die, for joy, that is mingled, I know not how, with an agony of grief. And yet, I blame myself, selfish that I am, for being even able to rejoice at all, while thou art suffering. Ah ! only tell me what to do, to share thy grief, or take it all upon myself. And as he spoke, he leaned towards her, and looked, and lo! a tear rolled suddenly from her eye, and fell upon the ground : but she never stir¬ red or spoke. And again he said, with difficulty and hesitation: Aranyani, dost thou think, dost thou really think, thou art guilty in my eyes, or in any way to blame, because ruffians, attracted by thy beauty, came and carried thee away? Is it any fault in the lotus, if the traveller that sees it, plucks it, and wears it for a moment in his hair, only to throw it presently away, and trample it underfoot? Alas, it is not thou, but myself that I condemn, I only, that am guilty, and all the more, that whereas now I ought to weep with thee, I am, on the contrary, so transported with delight to see thee, returned to me no matter how, that I am al¬ most ready to abandon the body out of joy. Or art thou fearful, lest I should torture thee with curi¬ osity, or question, or reproach of any kind ? Ah 1 no, listen now, and I will tell thee. Thou shalt think, if thou wilt, of all that has occurred to thee as nothing but a dream, from which thou hast awoken. Only a dream, from which thou hast m 8i Bubbles of the Foam awoken. And I, that never knew it, will forget it, as utterly and completely as thyself : and it is al¬ ready buried in oblivion, and resembles a thing that has never come about, and had better not have been. And again he leaned towards her, as if he were a culprit that begged her to forgive him, and lo ! he saw the tears rolling from her eyes in a stream, as if something in his words were like a knife in her heart. But still she never spoke, and never stirred. And once again he said, as if with entreaty : Aran- yani, thou canst not imagine, even in a dream, what happiness is mine. See! thou art agitated, and it must be, very weary. And now, then, I will lead thee, or if thou wilt, carry thee, home. And there thou shalt sleep, absolutely undisturbed, for to-night, and to-morrow, and as long as thou shalt choose. And all the while, I will watch without, and bring thee food, and do everything as thou wilt, at thy bidding ; and above all, guard, and pro¬ tect thee, from any fresh attempt. Woe to the man who shall attempt to molest thee any more ! And so shalt thou live, exactly as thou wilt, with me for thy servant. And very soon, even the memory of that which now distresses thee will fade out of thy soul. And there will be absolutely nobody to make thee feel ashamed, or in any way whatever bring trouble to the quiet of thy soul. For as to thy father, when he discovered thy disappearance, he came to me, thinking I had stolen thee. And when he saw instantly, by my frenzy, he was wrong, all at once he cried out : Mother and daughter, mother 82 The Desert and the Night and daughter: this is a stab in the dark from Jaya. And I know not what he meant. But I think that his heart broke within him, for after a day or two, he died. CHAPTER III ND then, like a flash of lightning, Aranyani started to her feet, with a scream that rang JL ^ through the wood, making the heart of Babhru suddenly leap into his throat. And she threw up her arms, with agony, and all at once, she sprang from her place, and darted like an arrow from a bow towards the hut. And then again, al¬ most instantly, as he stood gazing at her in dismay, she turned sharp round, and began to run away in the opposite direction like a deer. And as if waking from a dream, he began to pursue her. And he overtook her, and laid his hand upon her shoulder, as if to say: Whither art thou hastening without looking where to go? But when she felt him touch her, she stopped suddenly and turned, and looked at him, as if in the extremity of fear. And all at once, she began to laugh, as if she was mad, with round eyes that were filled with amazement and derision. And she exclaimed : Ha ! Babhru, is it thou? But I left thee behindmeinthewood. Ha! thou also art deserted, and rejected, and despised. Come, then, and let us escape very rapidly together. And she seized him by the arm, and began to drag him violently along. And she lowered her voice to a whisper, and began to speak, so quickly, that the words stumbled 83 Bubbles of the Foam over one another as they rushed out of her mouth. And she said : Poor Babhru, thou art so ugly, that she could not love thee in return, quite forgetting that she was herself so ugly that nobody could love her either. But he was so beautiful, so beautiful, so beautiful that she ran away and left thee in the lurch : never even dreaming that all the other wo¬ men were as silly as herself. Ah! the other women, they were so many and so cruel. There were no other women in the wood. Was it lonely, Babhru, in the wood, after she went away? Poor ugly Babhru, all alone in the wood, while we were kiss¬ ing each other in the city. She used to see thee, Babhru, as she kissed him, sitting all by thyself in the wood, and weeping by thyself. She loved thee just a very little. Didst thou remember? But in the city, she feared, she feared, to see thee suddenly appear. But very likely, thou didst not know where she had gone. Thou wouldst have killed him, Bab¬ hru. Why didst thou not run after her? But they would not have admitted thee, poor Babhru, thou art so very ugly: and thou wouldst only have wandered, going round and round the palace, out¬ side, outside, while all the time he was kissing thy lotus and trampling on its heart, inside. And yet she was his cousin, and the daughter of a king. Hal Babhru, thou wert ignorant, and didst not know. But there were so many other women, all alike. Couldst thou even have discovered her among them all ? Her eyes, her eyes were differ¬ ent: her eyes were dreamy, and her kisses like snowflakes. Surely it was better, after all, in the 84 The Desert and the Night wood : there were no other women there. Didst thou imagine, Babhru, thou wert the only one to be dishonoured and befouled, trodden down into the ‘ mud and thrown away? But the very pools were there to teach thee, thou art so ugly, so ugly : and she was so beautiful. Couldst thou expect any better fate than hers? How could she love thee, being herself so unworthy to be loved ? And he was like the very god of love, wandering in the wood. But it was she, that lost her way. He knew his way very well indeed. How could she expect, to keep him all to herself? Is not the whole world full to the very brim of women, with cruel eyes? O Babhru, why wert thou such a fool as to think one woman any better than another? Fool that she was, to think to keep him all to herself! O Babhru, thou art absolutely nothing, in comparison with him. Thou art so rude and coarse and rough, and he is more beautiful than any woman. And he was so gentle and so kind, and his kisses were so sweet. No, it was Babhru who was kind, and he was like a snake. Listen, and let me tell thee : kisses that are sweet are the bitterest of all; when other lips come in between. Thou feelest them, the other lips. between his lips and thy own. And his lips were a flower that is visited by a thousand bees. O Babhru, how canst thou know anything about it, since thy lips have never kissed anyone at all? Kiss me, poor Babhru, and thou shalt learn by ex¬ perience the poison of a kiss, from lips that are sticky with the honey left by other bees. Bubbles of the Foam CHAPTER IV ND as Babhru listened, gazing at her with alarm, with his reason swept as it were JL ^ along in a flood of grief, and humiliation, and compassion, and sheer amazement, and hardly understanding the words flowing from her mouth like the water of a stream, she stopped short, and laid her hand upon his own. And he started at its touch, for it burned him like a flame, as if she was on fire. And she said with a smile, while the tears were running down her face: Babhru, dost thou know, Aranyani was a creeper, supported by a noble tree? And yet somehow or other, the tree has disappeared. Who knows? for doubtless it was all eaten away within, and hollow, and as I think, the ants must have devoured it, leaving ab¬ solutely nothing but emptiness, and earth, and dust. So beautiful it seemed outside, surely the poor creeper could not tell, how base, and rotten, and horrible it was within. So when I saw it sud¬ denly, inside, it hurt me here. And she put both her hands upon her heart, and began to sob. And then, all at once, she began again to laugh. And she said : Aye ! she was a pearl, and a swan, and I know not what beside, and now she is absolutely nothing, like a broken pot. And the golden boat has perished, never so much as reaching even the shadow of the sea. Babhru, it was a lie : it was a miserable boat, all full of holes, that sank into the cold black water like a stone. Base and rotten, how could it swim, loaded with such an innumerable 86 The Desert and the Night host of other women? Base, ah ! who knows better than Aranyani the agony of finding it was base. Was Aranyani base, Babhru, dost thou know? And all the women hated each other, she and all the others ; Babhru, it was hell in the golden boat. And she was worst of all, she wept, and wept, and wept, till at last they turned her out, and Chamu took her away. And then it was, I think, she died. It hurt her so to go away, she must have died ; and Chamu took her and carried her away when she was dead. And she was so terrified of Chamu. Atirupa, Atirupa, save, O save me from Chamu’s eyes. Babhru, beware of Chamu, for he is the very worst of all ; worse even than the women. She was frightened of his laughter : it was worse, far worse, than all the laughter of the women. They pushed her from their boat, and Chamu took her. And she begged and begged and begged him only to leave her in the sand ; for then she would have died, and never lived to see her father and Babhru anymore. O Babhru, why didst thou not die also, before they brought her back? Chamu, Chamu, did Atirupa give you Aranyani, to kiss her dead body on the sand? And all at once, Babhru began to tremble like a leaf. And he exclaimed: Aranyani, Aranyani! And suddenly she fell down and began to kiss his feet. And then, he shuddered, and began to sob, as if a sword had run into his heart : and the sweat broke out upon his brow. And he stooped down, and lifted her violently up, saying in a low voice that shook like himself: Aranyani, thy reason has 87 Bubbles of the Foam deserted thee. Come now, and I will take thee home. And she said with a shriek : Nay nay, for the ghost of my father is waiting there, to drive me away. Come away into the wood where it is dark. And she dragged him by the hand, and she whis¬ pered : Babhru, I have a thing to ask of thee. Wilt thou kill me with thy knife in the darkness? for otherwise I must abandon the body of my own ac¬ cord. And Babhru started, and he exclaimed, with horror : Aranyani, art thou mad ? What ! should I kill thee, I, kill thee, who art my very soul? CHAPTER V ND she gazed at him awhile in silence, and then, there came into her eyes an anguish JL that was mixed with disappointment and despair. And she turned away, and murmured, as if speaking to herself, with melancholy : He also is my enemy. They will not even kill her. They keep her living, when she only asks for death, not even letting her escape, shutting her like a prisoner in the dungeon of her lonely soul. Even Chamu would not kill her: though she prayed him. He only laughed. And yet she was already dead, slain long ago, and done away, leaving nothing but a corpse. And she stood fora moment, as if reflecting, and all at once, she turned, and looked at Babhru, with a face that was wan in the moonlight, and eyes that were filled with anxiety, and misery and pain. 88 The Desert and the Night And suddenly, they changed, becoming filled with laughter and hatred and derision. And she came up close to him, as if to whisper in his ear, and sud¬ denly she struck him in the face, with a shout of laughter. And she said, contemptuously: Thou wilt not kill me ? Poor Babhru, thou hast not even yet begun to understand. Dost thou remember Aranyani, that told thee stories, long long ago, in the wood ? She is dead. Far away in the desert they took her heart, and tore it and trod it into pieces, and flung her body out, to wander in the world alone, dressed in the clothes of misery and shame. And this it is, thou wilt not kill. Thou wouldst actually keep her miserable body still alive, to live with in the torture of this wood, where Aranyani lived long ago, to suffer every instant the horror of recollection, and to be mocked for ever by the memory of a happiness that is changed into despair. Like monkeys that go by among the trees, they found a fruit, and bit it, only to go on and leave it lying, deserted and outraged and dishon¬ oured on the ground. Thou thinkest to find happi¬ ness in watching her dead body? Thou wilt not kill her, poor Babhru? Dost thou know what she will think of, living beside thee in the wood? Dost thou think, it will be thou? Alas, poor ugly Babhru, it will be he. And every time she sees thee, she will compare thee and him, thy body with his body, thy eyes with his eyes. Her lips would never touch thee without thinking of his own. Thou wilt only love what he rejected, and bite at the very place which the monkeys bit before thee when they n 89 Bubbles of the Foam threw the fruit away. The taste would be so bitter that thy love would turn to hatred in a day. She would loathe the very sight of thee, and every time she looked at thee, her eyes would tell thee, thou wert so ugly and contemptible in comparison with him. They have flung thee the relic of a life that they would not take away, merely in derision. Wilt thou live even with a victim that despises thee? Half dead and half alive, like a lizard mangled by a passing crow, and left to writhe : a deer, struck by an idle hunter, left wounded in the jungle, unable even to procure its death, to ebb away its life through burning days and black in¬ tolerable nights, eyed by the vultures sitting by. And thou wouldst be the vulture? Thou wilt only be a jackal, eating what the lion leaves. What! live beside her, knowing that another is buried in her heart. Wilt thou feed, like a dog, even on the bodies of the dead? Poor Babhru, dost thou not understand. She cast thee off and left thee for a lover that she never will forget, and living like a vampire in her body that is dead, he will utterly despise thee, laughing at thee in her eyes. Ah! Wilt thou actually wait to understand, till a little Atirupa comes, to spit, exactly like his father, in thy face? CHAPTER VI ND as Babhru listened, all at once the words of Chamu as he went away rose up and i-iw stood before him, as if they had lain wait¬ ing, and as it were sleeping in his soul, till roused The Desert and the Night into recollection by her own. And suddenly, the veil, formed by his own devotion to Aranyani and his own self-annihilation, that hid from him the truth, was lifted from his eyes. And he saw him¬ self suddenly as in a mirror, mocked, and scorned, and as it were a very target for the contempt and derision of Chamu, and his master, and even of herself. And his heart swelled suddenly with such a flood of shame, and anger, and the bitterness of his own inferiority, that it almost broke in two. And his face fell : and his eyes, that were fixed on Aranyani, grew darker and ever darker, as if night at a single stride had suddenly extinguished in his heart the hope that had dawned in it at her return. So he stood a long while, sinking, as he looked at her, deeper and deeper into the blackness of de¬ spair, and resembling one that waits in darkness for a light that still flickers to go out and disappear. And suddenly he said to himself: She is right. For fate in the form of Atirupa has destroyed her and her happiness, and mine. And he looked fixedly at Aranyani, who was standing watching him, and waiting, as it were, for his decision : and he said : Aranyani, I was wrong, and thou art right. And now there is no remedy but one, and it is better to be dead. And as he spoke, he took his knife, and drew it from its sheath, and waited, clutching it in his hand. And instantly, Aranyani uttered a cry of joy. And she came quickly and stood close to him, and she took hold with both hands of the ‘ choli * that 91 Bubbles of the Foam covered her, and tore it violently asunder, drag¬ ging it down, till her breast was absolutely bare. And she said : See ! I am ready. And so she re¬ mained, waiting, with her bosom turned up to¬ wards him in the moonlight, bared, and as it were eager, for the coming blow. And he stood still for yet a moment, looking down upon her with melancholy eyes, in which, strange! there was not a vestige even of the shadow of any anger. And he said to himself: There, in the very middle, between those two round marble breasts, the knife shall fall. And as he hesitated, a tear rose up into his eyes, as if to bid farewell to his own happiness. And he mur¬ mured to himself : They were for him and not for thee. And he passed his left hand over his eyes, as if to clear his sight, and suddenly he raised his knife, and buried it in her heart. CHAPTER VII SO, then, with a sigh that was half a cry, she w swayed and fell. And he never tried to ' catch her, but stood a long while silent, ex¬ actly where he was, looking down upon her lying still. And then, he sat down upon the ground be¬ side her, and lifted her very gently, and set her on his lap, propping her head upon his shoulder : and he began to whisper in her ear, patting her as he did so, and rocking her to and fro, like one that soothes a child. And he said: Now, then, thy trouble is all over, and I have given thee rest, for 92 The Desert and the Night it was better to be dead. And thou wilt never know what it cost me, to give thee the blow. But now thou canst go to sleep, for thou art very weary : forgetting all, and not fearing any recollection in the morning : since thy sleep will be a long one, and thou wilt never wake again. And all the evil dreams have vanished with their author, never to return; and now once more Aranyani is herself only differing in this, that she is dead. Aye ! it was better to be dead : and my blow has blotted out all the bitterness and shame. And thou didst await it, so bravely : and yet, hadst thou known, it was not thy death only, but mine, for which thou wert ask¬ ing, thou wouldst have shrunk, it may be, from the blow, which, as it was, thou wert only too joyful to receive. And now very soon, I shall follow thee, by a second blow, far easier to give ; for to give thee thine was very hard ; so hard, that it hurt my heart a hundred times as much as thine. But in the meanwhile, we will sit together in the moonlight, just for a very little while, and talk, as of old. Only thou canst not tell me stories, and call me Bruin, any more. Thou didst give thyself, alive, to others : but thou art mine, now that thou art dead : and that is enough. And this is, as it were, my marriage night. And then, all at once, he uttered an exclamation. And he stopped short, and set her down upon the ground, and stood up. For suddenly, as if for the very first time, the injury done to her by Atirupa and his follower rose up, and took him as it were by the throat. And as he stood thinking, all at once he began to tremble unawares, with rage. And he exclaimed : Aha! Atirupa, I have remembered, and only just in time : I am not dead yet. And he looked down at Aranyani, as she lay. And he said : Aranyani, forgive me! Well didst thou call me fool. For I came within an ace of following thee into the other world, leaving thee unavenged. But now I see, that before I go, there is other work to do, on thy behalf. And now, then, I will guarantee, that it shall be done, very soon, and very well. Then, and not sooner, will I die, when I have shown the murderers of Aranyani that she has left behind her arms a little longer, and hands a little harder, than her own. Aha ! Atirupa, wait for a little while ! And then shalt thou discover that the ghost of Aranyani has abandoned her body, only to enter 94 The Desert and the Night mine : just on purpose to caress thee, for the very last time. And he stooped down, and laid his great arm beside hers, as if to compare them, and he laughed. And then, very gently, he lifted her, in those strong arms, and began to carry her away, rejoicing in his burden, like one that carries in his arms his newly- wedded wife. So he went on in the moonlit wood, till he came at last to her home. And there he carried her in, and laid her down very gently on a bed of leaves. And then, with hesitation, he kissed her softly on the brow, whispering as he did so : Thou didst bid me kiss thee, in thy madness, and now, it cannot hurt thee: though I would have gladly given many lives to kiss thee, for the first time and the last, before. But thy kisses were for others. And all at once, he began to sob, as if something in his soul, that had till then supported it, had sud¬ denly given way. And he began to wail, wringing his hands, and tearing his hair, and crying, Aran- yani, Aranyani : throwing himself to and fro, and striding wildly up and down, as if his heart, ap¬ palled by the blank horror of its own loneliness, were struggling to escape. And then, after a while, as if exhausted, and as it were overcome by the sense of the futility of his lamentation, he ceased, as suddenly as he began, and remained for a long time standing absolutely still, looking out through the open door into the wood, that lay silent, as if on purpose to sympathise with the other dead silence there within. 93 Bubbles of the Foam And at last, he turned. And he looked for a moment at Aranyani, and he stooped, and took the knife, which all the while remained buried in her breast, and drew it suddenly away, and turned, and went out, and fastened very carefully the door. And he stood awhile in the moonlight, looking at his knife. And then, he put it, just as it was, back into the sheath: saying to himself: Her heart’s red blood shall dry upon the blade, till I mix it with his own. CHAPTER VIII UT in the meanwhile Atirupa, away in his capital in the desert, continued as before, having utterly forgotten Aranyani, and never thinking of her even in a dream ; busy, like a mad bee, only in making onslaughts on other flowers, and leaving behind him those already rifled of their honey, neglected and buried in ob¬ livion, like the faded leaves of a dead red lotus lying at the very bottom of a forest pool. And then, by the decree of destiny, there came at last a day, when he sat with some of his re¬ tainers, according to his custom, drinking wine and passing time easily in his palace hall. And there came in, all at once, a keeper of the gate. And she' said: Maharaj, there has come to the door an old ‘ sannyasi,’ demanding admission to the presence, and refusing to go away. And it may be, he is mad.^ For he says he is a deity, who * They appear to have been women, very often, in mediaeval or ancient India. ^ And yet, not so much in India as in 96 The Desert and the Night wishes to renew his old acquaintance with another. And now, the Maharaja is the judge. And Atirupa laughed, and he said : If he is a deity indeed, why is he waiting at a gate? And yet, who knows? For the deity presents himself in many forms, and who knows how or when? But go thou and tell the holy man to give thee some evidence, or token, of his divinity, and then we shall see. So, then, after a while, that ‘ pratihari ’ came again. And she said : Maharaj, thus said the sann- yasi : Go and tell the Maharaja, that I am the God of Death, yet not just of any death, but only of his own. For long ago, I burned his body, with fire from my eye; and now I am curious to see, whether the new body he has got is, as I have heard, still better than the old.' And hearing this, Atirupa was delighted, and he exclaimed : The evidence is good ; and I recog¬ nise the deity of this well-mannered Byragi: for as it seems, he is a connoisseur. So bring him in to see me. And he said to himself : It maybe he is an emissary from one of the neighbouring Kings,"' covering his policy with folly : or he may be the go-between of some assignation : or even if he be nothing of the kind, what harm? So then, after a little while, that sannyasi en¬ tered, looking like a very ‘ shala ’ tree in height. Europe. Even now, incarnations of deity might be found all over India. * The point of the flattery lies, of course, in the insinuation that Atirupa was the God of Love. ^ All these ‘sannyAsfs,’ ‘byr^gfs,’ ‘gosawis,* were as a rule wandering scoundrels who had, and have, much to do with politics. 97 o Bubbles of the Foam And he was smeared all over with ashes, from his head to his feet, with absolutely nothing on, but a yellow rag around his waist, and a rosary of ‘ ak- sha’ beads around his neck, which resembled that of a bull. And his face was almost hidden in the masses of his grey and very dirty hair and beard, which were matted, and tied in large knots, above and below. And his eyes, which were extraor¬ dinarily bright, rested on Atirupa, as he entered, with an expression which, like that of a wild ani¬ mal, was half timidity and half ferocity, mixed with keen examination: and he trembled a very little, as he stood, as if with fear. And Atirupa gazed at him with curiosity and wonder, and he exclaimed, as if in jest: O Maheshwara, there cannot be a doubt of thy divinity : for surely, if thou wert not Maheshwara himself, he might be jealous of thee, for thy height and thy ashes and thy hair, and that third eye painted in the very middle of thy brow, looking as if it were just about to open and con¬ sume me again. 