“Woman, lift up a grateful heart to the God that this girl is not as the
rest but consumed by the love of the Highest. I have a thought unknown
to you. All will be better than well.”
And she desisted in great fear and obedience; but the very next evening
was the story told of Radha—heart of the God’s heart, the Beautiful
whose name she herself bore! And the girl listened in an ecstasy.
It was a very still evening, the stars shining large and near the earth,
the moon a mere crescent, such as when Maheshwara wears it in his hair
and dreams on the mountain-peaks of Himalaya. They sat in the wide
veranda, supported on wooden pillars bowered in the blossoms of the
purple bougainvillæa and the white and scented constellations of
jasmine. The wide transparent blinds of split cane were raised to admit
the faintly perfumed breath of the garden; and by the Pandit’s elbow, as
he sat on his raised seat, burned a little oil lamp, that he might read
the sacred pages.
Radha sat on her low cushion beside him, the _sari_ of Dakka muslin
threaded with gold fallen back from her head as she looked up.
“‘In the passion of their worship, the women of Brindaban are drawn out
into the forest, each grieving if he do but turn his calm immortal eyes
upon any other than herself. Therefore, only in the secret places of the
forest is there now any joy. It has left the little houses and gone out
to dwell by the river. They must follow, for they bear the world’s wound
in their heart, and he is its Balm.
“‘For a time his eyes rest on Radha the Beautiful, and she, transported
with the pride of love, entreats that he will carry her in his arms. He
stretches them to her with his mystic smile, and even as they touch her,
he vanishes, and she is alone in a great darkness.’
“Here again, my daughter, is the parable clear,” the Pandit interrupted
the reading to say. “Here is no room for spiritual pride and exclusive
desire. Learn your place, proud soul! It is at his feet until he,
unasked, shall raise you to the level of his heart.”
“‘So at the last she falters and falls, stunned with grief, the
Herd-maidens weeping beside her, and—suddenly the Light shines. He has
returned. He speaks:—
“‘Now I have tried you. You have remembered and thought upon me.
“‘You have increased your affection like beggars made newly rich.
“‘You have chosen my service, abandoning the world and the Scriptures.
“‘How can I do you honour? I cannot reward you enough.
“‘Though I should live for a hundred of Brahma’s years, yet I could not
be free of my debt.’”