“My daughter, the God leads you in strange ways. Yet, whatever the
hearts of men, he is true. Offer him your heart in all purity, and in
the end it shall be well with you. We will speak of this no more.”
“But, Father beloved, do you not share my joy?” she said tremulously.
He was silent.
V
The days went by very swiftly to the time of the divine marriage.
Messengers came and went between the mighty temple of Jagannath and
little Krishnapur, bearing gifts and jewels. Casting half-contemptuous
glances, they passed by the little shrine where the Bride worshipped
daily; but all contempt died when they were admitted to see her face.
“The God has chosen well!” they said, and looked at one another with
meaning.
So the great day dawned in a passion of sunlight, and with flutes and
drums and shouting the great Car of Jagannath waited for the Bride; and
as she came forth, the pomegranate-blossom flush of joy rising in her
golden cheek, her parents bowed before her and touched her feet in
worship—no longer their daughter, but a goddess.
Ankleted and zoned with gold, clothed in woven gold so supple that it
yielded to every breath, the sun-rays dazzled back from her upon the
adoring crowd until they put up their hands to veil the splendour. And
so she sat, a Radiance, for all the world to see, high on the Car
wreathed and hung with flowers, the image of the Bridegroom beside her.
Oh, wonderful, terrible greatness for a woman! And so, with songs and
triumph they bore her to her bridal.
* * * * *
Mighty is the Temple of Jagannath, where by the eternal sea the people
crowd all day to worship the Lord of the Universe. In little Krishnapur,
he is the Beloved, the Herdsman, the Beautiful. Here, he is far
removed—too great for love or fear. Human thought quails before his
Vastness.
The temple is in itself a city, and no feet but those of worshippers may
pass even the strong outward walls. Very glorious are the carvings that
adorn it. Terrible figures of Gods, many-headed, many-armed, bending
giant bows, trampling giant enemies, brandishing awful weapons, dandling
on their knees great Goddesses with slender loins and full breasts that
overweight their swaying grace. Very awful are these figures, with
clustering hair and crowns above their long eyes, and suns and moons
rising and setting on their brows, and the symbols of their might
scattered about them.
But it was night, and it was among the wildly tossing lights that the
Bride approached the home of her Lord; and the temple was dreadful, for
it was dark and all the intricate ways lit with flickering points of
light like the eyes of beasts; and, lost among strangers, her heart
turned to water; for it resembled a great cave of blackness, and she
could see but the naked bodies of worshippers and giant images of the
holy Gods hovering through thick air laden with incense fumes and
burning _ghi_ and the dung of the sacred animals and the pungent smell
of rotting marigolds. And there were cauldrons with flames fed by wild
worshippers from the hills, and these crowded about the _palki_ wherein
they brought her through the temple, and touched it with hands that made
her tremble, imploring her prayers as she lay in the breast of the God.
Bats hung from the roof or swooped in the gloom. Their sourness tainted
the air, and men, dim as ghosts, slunk about the fearful ways.
Thus dwell the Gods.
And suddenly terror submerged her like an ocean wave, and she sank back
and the world left her.
When sense and memory returned, she lay in her _palki_ in the great Hall
of Dancing—a mighty hall supported on many pillars; and around her
stood in motionless bands the _devidasis_, the dancers of the God,
chosen to delight his senses for their grace and beauty.
And, seeing her stretch her hands for help, the wild and flying dance
began. They lifted her from the _palki_ and she stood among them,
shimmering in gold, and about her they wheeled, advancing and retiring,
linking and unlinking like dancers in a dream. And they sang the
marriage song she had heard in the quiet of her home; but now it was
terrible as it burst from hundreds of throats, gonged and cymbaled, with
clashing and a thunder-beat of drums.
“Enter, thrice-Happy, enter, thrice-Desired,
And let the gates of Hari shut thee in.
Tremble not. Lay thy lovely shame aside
And love him with the love that knows not fear.
Give him the drink of amrit from thy lips.”
She stood like one clinging to a surf-beaten rock as they tossed about
her with wild hands and eyes, the whole world mad with noise and dance
and colour; then, dropping on her knees, she covered her eyes in terror.
And thus the servants of the God welcomed her to his arms.