And he replied, 'Little fear I; my life is thine to cast away. This Jewel
it is evil to have, and evil followeth the soul that hath it.'
Upon that she cried, 'A trick to cheat me of the Jewel! thy love is
wanting at the proof.'
And she taunted the youth her betrothed, and turned from him, and
hardened at his tenderness, and made her sweet shape as a thorn to his
caressing, and his heart was charged with anguish for her. So at the
last, when he had wept a space in silence, he cried, 'Thou hast willed
it; the Jewel shall be thine, O my soul!'
Then said he, 'Thou hast willed it, O Bhanavar! and my life is as a grain
of sand weighed against thy wishes; Allah is my witness! Meet me
therefore here, O my beloved, at the end of one quarter-moon, even
beneath the shadow of this palm-tree, by the lake, and at this hour, and
I will deliver into thy hands the Jewel. So farewell! Wind me once about
with thine arms, that I may take comfort from thee.'
When their kiss was over the youth led her silently to the brook of their
parting--the clear, cold, bubbling brook--and passed from her sight; and
the damsel was exulting, and leapt and made circles in her glee, and she
danced and rioted and sang, and clapped her hands, crying, 'If I am now
Bhanavar the Beautiful how shall I be when that Jewel is upon me, the
bright light which beameth in the darkness, and needeth to light it no
other light? Surely there will be envy among the maidens and the widows,
and my name and the odour of my beauty will travel to the courts of far
kings.'
So was she jubilant; and her sisters that met her marvelled at her and
the deep glow that was upon her, even as the glow of the Great Desert
when the sun has fallen; and they said among themselves, 'She is covered
all over with the blush of one that is a bride, and the bridegroom's kiss
yet burneth upon Bhanavar!'
So they undressed her and she lay among them, and was all night even as a
bursting rose in a vase filled with drooping lilies; and one of the
maidens that put her hand on the left breast of Bhanavar felt it full,
and the heart beneath it panting and beating swifter than the ground is
struck by hooves of the chosen steed sent by the Chieftain to the city of
his people with news of victory and the summons for rejoicing.
Now, the nights and the days of Bhanavar were even as this night, and she
was as an unquiet soul till the appointed time for the meeting with her
lover had come. Then when the sun was lighting with slant beam the green
grass slope by the blue brook before her, Bhanavar arrayed herself and
went forth gaily, as a martial queen to certain conquest; and of all the
flowers that nodded to the setting,--yea, the crimson, purple, pure
white, streaked-yellow, azure, and saffron, there was no flower fairer in
its hues than Bhanavar, nor bird of the heavens freer in its glittering
plumage, nor shape of loveliness such as hers. Truly, when she had taken
her place under the palm by the waters of the lake, that was no
exaggeration of the poet, where he says:
Snows of the mountain-peaks were mirror'd there
Beneath her feet, not whiter than they were;
Not rosier in the white, that falling flush
Broad on the wave, than in her cheek the blush.
And again:
She draws the heavens down to her,
So rare she is, so fair she is;
They flutter with a crown to her,
And lighten only where she is.
And he exclaims, in verse that applieth to her:
Exquisite slenderness!
Sleek little antelope!
Serpent of sweetness!
Eagle that soaringly
Wins me adoringly!
Teach me thy fleetness,
Vision of loveliness;
Turn to my tenderness!
Now, when the sun was lost to earth, and all was darkness, Bhanavar fixed
her eyes upon an opening arch of foliage in the glade through which the
youth her lover should come to her, and clasped both hands across her
bosom, so shaken was she with eager longing and expectation. In her
hunger for his approach, she would at whiles pluck up the herbage about
her by the roots, and toss handfuls this way and that, chiding the
peaceful song of the nightbird in the leaves above her head; and she was
sinking with fretfulness, when lo! from the opening arch of the glade a
sudden light, and Bhanavar knew it for the Jewel in the fingers of her
betrothed, by the strength of its effulgence. Then she called to him
joyfully a cry of welcome, and quickened his coming with her calls, and
the youth alighted from his mare and left it to pasture, and advanced to
her, holding aloft the Jewel. And the Jewel was of great size and purity,
round, and all-luminous, throwing rays and beams everywhere about it, a
miracle to behold,--the light in it shining, and as the very life of the
blood, a sweet crimson, a ruby, a softer rose, an amethyst of tender
hues: it was a full globe of splendours, showing like a very kingdom of
the Blest; and blessed was the eye beholding it! So when he was within
reach of her arm, the damsel sprang to him and caught from his hand the
Jewel, and held it before her eyes, and danced with it, and pressed it on
her bosom, and was as a creature giddy with great joy in possessing it.
And she put the Jewel in her bosom, and looked on the youth to thank him
for the Jewel with all her beauty; for the passion of a mighty pride in
him who had won for her the Jewel exalted Bhanavar, and she said sweetly,
'Now hast thou proved to me thy love of me, and I am thine, O my
betrothed,--wholly thine. Kiss me, then, and cease not kissing me, for
bliss is in me.'
But the youth eyed her sorrowfully, even as one that hath great yearning,
and no power to move or speak.
So she said again, in the low melody of deep love-tones, 'Kiss me, O my
lover! for I desire thy kiss.'
Still he spake not, and was as a pillar of stone.
And she started, and cried, 'Thou art whole? without a hurt?' Then sought
she to coax him to her with all the softness of her half-closed eyes and
budded lips, saying, ''Twas an idle fear! and I have thee, and thou art
mine, and I am thine; so speak to me, my lover! for there is no music
like the music of thy voice, and the absence of it is the absence of all
sweetness, and there is no pleasure in life without it.'
So the tenderness of her fondling melted the silence in him, and
presently his tongue was loosed, and he breathed in pain of spirit, and
his words were the words of the proverb:
He that fighteth with poison is no match for the prick of a thorn.
And he said, 'Surely, O Bhanavar, my love for thee surpasseth what is
told of others that have loved before us, and I count no loss a loss that
is for thy sake.' And he sighed, and sang:
Sadder than is the moon's lost light,
Lost ere the kindling of dawn,
To travellers journeying on,
The shutting of thy fair face from my sight.
Might I look on thee in death,
With bliss I would yield my breath.
Oh! what warrior dies
With heaven in his eyes?
O Bhanavar! too rich a prize!
The life of my nostrils art thou,
The balm-dew on my brow;
Thou art the perfume I meet as I speed o'er the plains,
The strength of my arms, the blood of my veins.
Then said he, 'I make nothing matter of complaint, Allah witnesseth! not
even the long parting from her I love. What will be, will be: so was it
written! 'Tis but a scratch, O my soul! yet am I of the dead and them
that are passed away. 'Tis hard; but I smile in the face of bitterness.'
Now, at his words the damsel clutched him with both her hands, and the
blood went from her, and she was as a block of white marble, even as one
of those we meet in the desert, leaning together, marking the wrath of
the All-powerful on forgotten cities. And the tongue of the damsel was
dry, and she was without speech, gazing at him with wide-open eyes, like
one in trance. Then she started as a dreamer wakeneth, and flung herself
quickly on the breast of the youth, and put up the sleeve from his arm,
and beheld by the beams of the quarter-crescent that had risen through
the leaves, a small bite on the arm of the youth her betrothed, spotted
with seven spots of blood in a crescent; so she knew that the poison of
the serpent had entered by that bite; and she loosened herself to the
violence of her anguish, shrieking the shrieks of despair, so that the
voice of her lamentation was multiplied about and made many voices in the
night. Her spirit returned not to her till the crescent of the moon was
yellow to its fall; and lo! the youth was sighing heavy sighs and leaning
to the ground on one elbow, and she flung herself by him on the ground,
seeking for herbs that were antidotes to the poison of the serpent,
grovelling among the grasses and strewn leaves of the wood, peering at
them tearfully by the pale beams, and startling the insects as she moved.
When she had gathered some, she pressed them and bruised them, and laid
them along his lips, that were white as the ball of an eye; and she made
him drink drops of the juices of the herbs, wailing and swaying her body
across him, as one that seeketh vainly to give brightness again to the
flames of a dying fire. But now his time was drawing nigh, and he was
weak, and took her hand in his and gazed on her face, sighing, and said,
'There is nothing shall keep me by thee now, O my betrothed, my
beautiful! Weep not, for it is the doing of fate, and not thy doing. So
ere I go, and the grave-cloth separates thy heart from my heart, listen
to me. Lo, that Jewel! it is the giver of years and of powers, and of
loveliness beyond mortal, yet the wearing of it availeth not in the
pursuit of happiness. Now art thou Queen over the serpents of this lake:
it was the Queen-serpent I slew, and her vengeance is on me here. Now art
thou mighty, O Bhanavar! and look to do well by thy tribe, and that from
which I spring, recompensing my father for his loss, pouring ointment on
his affliction, for great is the grief of the old man, and he loveth me,
and is childless.'
Then the youth fell back and was still; and Bhanavar put her ear to his
mouth, and heard what seemed an inner voice murmuring in him, and it was
of his infancy and his boyhood, and of his father the Emir's first gift
to him, his horse Zoora, in old times. Presently the youth revived
somewhat, and looked upon her; but his sight was glazed with a film, and
she sang her name to him ere he knew her, and the sad sweetness of her
name filled his soul, and he replied to her with it weakly, like a far
echo that groweth fainter, 'Bhanavar! Bhanavar! Bhanavar!' Then a change
came over him, and the pain of the poison and the passion of the
death-throe, and he was wistful of her no more; but she lay by him,
embracing him, and in the last violence of his anguish he hugged her to
his breast. Then it was over, and he sank. And the twain were as a great
wave heaving upon the shore; lo, part is wasted where it falleth; part
draweth back into the waters. So was it!
Now the chill of dawn breathed blue on the lake and was astir among the
dewy leaves of the wood, when Bhanavar arose from the body of the youth,
and as she rose she saw that his mare Zoora, his father's first gift, was
snuffing at the ear of her dead master, and pawing him. At that sight the
tears poured from her eyelids, and she sobbed out to the mare, 'O Zoora!
never mare bore nobler burden on her back than thou in Zurvan my
betrothed. Zoora! thou weepest, for death is first known to thee in the
dearest thing that was thine; as to me, in the dearest that was mine! And
O Zoora, steed of Zurvan my betrothed, there's no loveliness for us in
life, for the loveliest is gone; and let us die, Zoora, mare of Zurvan my
betrothed, for what is dying to us, O Zoora, who cherish beyond all that
which death has taken?'
So spake she to Zoora the mare, kissing her, and running her fingers
through the long white mane of the mare. Then she stooped to the body of
her betrothed, and toiled with it to lift it across the crimson
saddle-cloth that was on the back of Zoora; and the mare knelt to her,
that she might lay on her back the body of Zurvan; when that was done,
Bhanavar paced beside Zoora the mare, weeping and caressing her,
reminding her of the deeds of Zurvan, and the battles she had borne him
to, and his greatness and his gentleness. And the mare went without
leading. It was broad light when they had passed the glade and the covert
of the wood. Before them, between great mountains, glimmered a space of
rolling grass fed to deep greenness by many brooks. The shadow of a
mountain was over it, and one slant of the rising sun, down a glade of
the mountain, touched the green tent of the Emir, where it stood a little
apart from the others of his tribe. Goats and asses of the tribe were
pasturing in the quiet, but save them nothing moved among the tents, and
it was deep peacefulness. Bhanavar led Zoora slowly before the tent of
the Emir, and disburdened Zoora of the helpless weight, and spread the
long fair limbs of the youth lengthwise across the threshold of the
Emir's tent, sitting away from it with clasped hands, regarding it. Ere
long the Emir came forth, and his foot was on the body of his son, and he
knew death on the chin and the eyes of Zurvan, his sole son. Now the Emir
was old, and with the shock of that sight the world darkened before him,
and he gave forth a groan and stumbled over the sunken breast of Zurvan,
and stretched over him as one without life. When Bhanavar saw that old
man stretched over the body of his son, she sickened, and her ear was
filled with the wailings of grief that would arise, and she stood up and
stole away from the habitations of the tribe, stricken with her guilt,
and wandered beyond the mountains, knowing not whither she went, looking
on no living thing, for the sight of a thing that moved was hateful to
her, and all sounds were sounds of lamentation for a great loss.
Now, she had wandered on alone two days and two nights, and nigh morn she
was seized with a swoon of weariness, and fell forward with her face to
the earth, and lay there prostrate, even as one that is adoring the
shrine; and it was on the sands of the desert she was lying. It chanced
that the Chieftain of a desert tribe passed at midday by the spot, and
seeing the figure of a damsel unshaded' by any shade of tree or herb or
tent-covering, and prostrate on the sands, he reined his steed and leaned
forward to her, and called to her. Then as she answered nothing he
dismounted, and thrust his arm softly beneath her and lifted her gently;
and her swoon had the whiteness of death, so that he thought her dead
verily, and the marvel of her great loveliness in death smote the heart
on his ribs as with a blow, and the powers of life went from him a moment
as he looked on her and the long dark wet lashes that clung to her
colourless face, as at night in groves where the betrothed ones wander,
the slender leaves of the acacia spread darkly over the full moon. And he
cried, ''Tis a loveliness that maketh the soul yearn to the cold bosom of
death, so lovely, exceeding all that liveth, is she!'
After he had contemplated her longwhile, he snatched his sight from her,
and swung her swiftly on the back of his mare, and leaned her on one arm,
and sped westward over the sands of the desert, halting not till he was
in the hum of many tents, and the sun of that day hung a red half-circle
across the sand. He alighted before the tent of his mother, and sent
women in to her. When his mother came forth to the greetings of her son,
he said no word, but pointed to the damsel where he had leaned her at the
threshold of her tent. His mother kissed him on the forehead, and turned
her shoulder to peer upon the damsel. But when she had close view of
Bhanavar, she spat, and scattered her hair, and stamped, and cried aloud,
'Away with her! this slut of darkness! there's poison on her very skirts,
and evil in the look of her.'
Then said he, 'O Rukrooth, my mother! art thou lost to charity and the
uses of kindliness and the laws of hospitality, that thou talkest this of
the damsel, a stranger? Take her now in, and if she be past help, as I
fear; be it thy care to give her decent burial; and if she live, O my
mother, tend her for the love of thy son, and for the love of him be
gentle with her.'
While he spake, Rukrooth his mother knelt over the damsel, as a cat that
sniffeth the suspected dish; and she flashed her eyes back on him,
exclaiming scornfully, 'So art thou befooled, and the poison is already
in thee! But I will not have her, O my son! and thou, Ruark, my son,
neither shalt thou have her. What! will I not die to save thee from a
harm? Surely thy frown is little to me, my son, if I save thee from a
harm; and the damsel here is--I shudder to think what; but never lay
shadow across my threshold dark as this!'
Now, Ruark gazed upon his mother, and upon Bhanavar, and the face of
Bhanavar was as a babe in sleep, and his soul melted to the parted
sweetness of her soft little curved red lips and her closed eyelids, and
her innocent open hands, where she lay at the threshold of the tent,
unconscious of hardness and the sayings of the unjust. So he cried
fiercely, 'No paltering, O Rukrooth, my mother: and if not to thy tent,
then to mine!'
When she heard him say that in the voice of his anger, Rukrooth fixed her
eyes on him sorrowfully, and sighed, and went up to him and drew his head
once against her heart, and retreated into the tent, bidding the women
that were there bring in the body of the damsel.
It was the morning of another day when Bhanavar awoke; and she awoke in a
dream of Zoora, the mare of Zurvan her betrothed, that was dead, and the
name of Zoora was on her tongue as she started up. She was on a couch of
silk and leopard-skins; at her feet a fair young girl with a fan of
pheasant feathers. She stared at the hangings of the tent, which were
richer than those of her own tribe; the cloths, and the cushions, and the
embroideries; and the strangeness of all was pain to her, she knew not
why. Then wept she bitterly, and with her tears the memory of what had
been came back to her, and she opened her arms to take into them the
little girl that fanned her, that she might love something and be beloved
awhile; and the child sobbed with her. After a time Bhanavar said, 'Where
am I, and amongst whom, my child, my sister?'
And the child answered her, 'Surely in the tent of the mother of Ruark,
the chief, even chief of the Beni-Asser, and he found thee in the desert,
nigh dead. 'Tis so; and this morning will Ruark be gone to meet the
challenge of Ebn Asrac, and they will fight at the foot of the Snow
Mountains, and the shadow of yonder date-palm will be over our tent here
at the hour they fight, and I shall sing for Ruark, and kneel here in the
darkness of the shadow.'
While the child was speaking there entered to them a tall aged woman,
with one swathe of a turban across her long level brows; and she had hard
black eyes, and close lips and a square chin; and it was the mother of
Ruark. She strode forward toward Bhanavar to greet her, and folded her
legs before the damsel. Presently she said, 'Tell me thy story, and of
thy coming into the hands of Ruark my son.'
Bhanavar shuddered. So Rukrooth dismissed the little maiden from the
chamber of the tent, and laid her left hand on one arm of Bhanavar, and
said, 'I would know whence comest thou, that we may deal well by thee and
thy people that have lost thee.'
The touch of a hand was as the touch of a corpse to Bhanavar, and the
damsel was constrained to speak by a power she knew not of, and she told
all to Rukrooth of what had been, the great misery, and the wickedness
that was hers. Then Ruark's mother took hold of Bhanavar a strong grasp,
and eyed her long, piteously, and with reproach, and rocked forward and
back, and kept rocking to and fro, crying at intervals, 'O Ruark! my son!
my son! this feared I, and thou art not the first! and I saw it, I saw
it! Well-away! why came she in thy way, why, Ruark, my son, my fire-eye?
Canst thou be saved by me, fated that thou art, thou fair-face? And wilt
thou be saved by me, my son, ere thy story be told in tears as this one,
that is as thine to me? And thou wilt seize a jewel, Ruark, O thou soul
of wrath, my son, my dazzling Chief, and seize it to wear it, and think
it bliss, this lovely jewel; but 'tis an anguish endless and for ever, my
son! Woe's me! an anguish is she without end.'
Rukrooth continued moaning, and the thought that was in the mother of
Ruark struck Bhanavar like a light in the land of despair that darkly
illumineth the dreaded gulfs and abysses of the land, and she knew
herself black in evil; and the scourge of her guilt was upon her, and she
cursed herself before Rukrooth, and fawned before her, abasing her body.
So Rukrooth was drawn to the damsel by the violence of her self-accusing
and her abandonment to grief, and lifted her, and comforted her, and
after awhile they had gentle speech together, and the two women opened
their hearts and wept. Then it was agreed between them that Bhanavar
should depart from the encampment of the tribe before the return of
Ruark, and seek shelter among her own people again, and aid them and the
tribe of Zurvan, her betrothed, by the might of the Jewel which was hers,
fulfilling the desire of Zurvan. The mind of the damsel was lowly, and
her soul yearned for the blessing of Rukrooth.
Darkness hung over the tent from the shadow of the date-palm when
Bhanavar departed, and the blessing of Rukrooth was on her head. She went
forth fairly mounted on a fresh steed; beside her two warriors of them
that were left to guard the encampment of the tribe of Ruark in his
absence; and Rukrooth watched at the threshold of her tent for the coming
of Ruark.
When it was middle night, and the splendour of the moon was beaming on
the edge of the desert, Bhanavar alighted to rest by the twigs of a
tamarisk that stood singly on the sands. The two warriors tied the
fetlocks of their steeds, and spread shawls for her, and watched over her
while she slept. And the damsel dreamed, and the roaring of the lion was
hoarse in her dream, and it was to her as were she the red whirlwind of
the desert before whom all bowed in terror, the Arab, the wild horsemen,
and the caravans of pilgrimage; and none could stay her, neither could
she stay herself, for the curse of Allah was on men by reason of her
guilt; and she went swinging great folds of darkness across kingdoms and
empires of earth where joy was and peace of spirit; and in her track
amazement and calamity, and the whitened bones of noble youths, valorous
chieftains. In that horror of her dream she stood up suddenly, and thrust
forth her hands as to avert an evil, and advanced a step; and with the
act her dream was cloven and she awoke, and lo! it was sunrise; and where
had been two warriors of the Beni-Asser, were now five, and besides her
own steed five others, one the steed of Ruark, and Ruark with them that
watched over her: pale was the visage of the Chief. Ruark eyed Bhanavar,
and signalled to his followers, and they, when they had lifted the damsel
to her steed and placed her in their front, mounted likewise, and
flourished their lances with cries, and jerked their heels to the flanks
of their steeds, and stretched forward till their beards were mixed with
the tossing manes, and the dust rose after them crimson in the sun. So
they coursed away, speeding behind their Chief and Bhanavar; sweet were
the desert herbs under their crushing hooves! Ere the shadow of the
acacia measured less than its height they came upon a spring of silver
water, and Ruark leaped from his steed, and Bhanavar from hers, and they
performed their ablutions by that spring, and ate and drank, and watered
their steeds. While they were there Bhanavar lifted her eyes to Ruark,
and said, 'Whither takest thou me, O my Chief?'
His brow was stern, and he answered, 'Surely to the dwelling of thy
tribe.'