The Rajah of Kashmir and his court went a-hunting on the day of Lal
Singh's return to their good company. They swept down the valley, a
gorgeous train of nobles and host of attendants with falcons girt for
foray, and moved with much state and circumstance among the hills until
the sun grew hot, when silken tents were pitched in a walnut grove near
by a smoothly flowing river. Here they ate and drank and reposed while
obsequious servants fanned them, and the sweet music of vinas blended
with the murmur of the water and the droning of the bees.
The Rajah sat in the entrance of a crimson tent and enjoyed the
delicious air. The nest-laden branches drooped above, the twittering of
birds ceased, but gentle forms hopped lightly from twig to twig, and
curious eyes peeped from leafy lurking-places. In the turban of the
Rajah, the Sapphire of Fate shone with serene lustre like the blue
water-lily of Kashmir. His fingers toyed idly with the plumage of a
magnificent hawk, now unhooded but still wearing the leathern jesses
and tiny tinkling bells of the chase. The leash by which it was held
slipped gradually from the arm of an attendant and it was unconfined.
Its keen eye knew all the ambushed flurry overhead, but it did not
rise--a more curious prey lay nearer.
In a moment it was poised in air. Another second and it had gained
possession of the Mystic Stone, the augur of weal to the Khalsa, its
menace when borne by a foe, the portentous Sapphire of Fate!
All was consternation and clamour. The unlucky fellow who had slipped
the leash, waving his wrist, sought to induce the bold robber to alight,
but his cries were scarcely heard above the vociferation of the throng,
and he was fain to tear his beard and curse the day of his birth. But as
neither lamentation nor rage could restore the treasure, cooler heads
dispatched a party of horsemen with falcons and lures to decoy the
recreant.
With the first shout of dismay and horror Atmâ stood as if transfixed,
enwrapt in thought, and did not stir nor speak until the rescuing party
had long vanished across the plain, and Bertram touching him on the
shoulder rallied him on his abstraction, and told him that the Nawab
was about to beguile the time and reanimate the flagging spirits of the
illustrious company with a tale. Repressing a sigh, Atmâ smiled and
suffered his friend to lead him into the circle forming about the
story-teller.
"Far back," began the Nawab, "far back in the ages whose annals are lost
in story, when, Time and Eternity being nearer the point of their
divergence, things preternatural and strange entered into the lives of
men, there lived a mighty king of great renown, who, being stricken with
a lingering but fatal malady, spent the last years of his life in
adjusting the affairs of his kingdom and preparing all things to the
single end that the reign of his successor, who was his only son, might
excel in grandeur and dominion all other empires of that era. This son
ascended the throne while still of tender years, and found that parental
fondness had endowed him with unequalled power and dominion. His
subjects, under the beneficent rule of the departed king, had become a
great and prosperous nation; he was at peace with all neighbouring
monarchs; his treasuries were filled to overflowing; and, more than all,
the wisdom of the counsellors whom the king this father had appointed to
instruct and guide his early years had sunk deep into a heart
well-fitted by Nature to receive it, and his demeanour was such that the
loyal affection which was his by inheritance soon changed to a heartfelt
admiration and love of the virtues which all men perceived him to
possess. Surely no monarch ever began to reign under more auspicious
skies. One of his palaces, his chief pleasure-house, had been built for
him by command of the late king, and was of unique excellence. Its
progress during erection had been impatiently watched by the monarch,
who desired to see it complete and be assured of its perfection before
he closed his eyes on the world, so that the skilful builders who
wrought day and night were distracted between the injunction laid on
them that it should be in every part of unrivalled beauty, and the
hourly repetition of the royal mandate that the task be accomplished
immediately. But, notwithstanding, so well did they succeed that among
all the wonderful palaces of that age and land there was none to compare
with The Magic Isle, for thus was it called, because by ingenious device
it floated on the bosom of one of the lakes by which that country was
diversified. No bridge led to this palace, but gilded barges were ever
ready to spread their silken sails and convey the king to and from the
elysium, which sometimes, as if in coquetry, receded at his approach
among flower-decked islands, and sometimes bore down to meet the gay
flotilla, branches spread and garlands waving, like some enchanted
vessel of unknown fashion and fragrance.
"But strange to tell, the young king grew every day more grave and
pensive in the midst of all these delights. Music nor mirth could win
him from the melancholy which overshadowed him. The truth was, that amid
so much adulation as surrounded him, the idol of a nation, his soul no
longer increased in wisdom; and loving virtue beyond all other things,
he secretly bemoaned his defection whilst not perceiving its cause. His
virtues, the cynosure of all eyes, withered like tender flowers meant to
blossom in the shade, but unnaturally exposed to noon-day. His adoring
people bewailed what they thought must be a foreshadowing of mortal
illness, and the wise counsellors of his childhood vainly strove to
fathom his mood. But those who know us best are ever the Unseen, and
about the young monarch hovered the benignant influences that had
watched his infancy, and now rightly interpreted the sorrow of his
heart. In sooth, that this sorrow was matter of rejoicing in the Air, I
gather from the joyous mien of that river-sprite which one day surprised
him as he languidly mused in a balcony that overhung the water, and
spoke to him in accents strange to his ear and yet at once comprehended.
"'Come, O king, my voice obey;
Come where hidden things are seen;
Come with me from garish day,
Withering, blasting, grievous, vain,
To retreat of mystery,
Haunt of holy mystery.'
"These words, as I have related, were spoken in an unknown tongue, and
yet my story gives the mystic speech in pleasant and familiar rhythm. I
do not know how this may be," and Nawab Khan gravely shook his head,
"but perchance in recounting his experience, the king, unable to exactly
reproduce in his own tongue the message brought to him by the sprite,
for the thoughts of the Immortals cannot be expressed in human speech,
conveyed a semblance of it in such words as he could command, and sought
to veil their incompetency by an agreeable measure. In like manner I
think may the art of poetry have been invented. It is an effort to
cover by wile of dulcet utterance the impotence of mortal speech to tell
the things that belong to the spirit. And, after all, language as we
know it is an uncertain interpreter of even human emotions. So many of
our words, and they our dearest, are but symbols representing unknown
quantities.
"But to return to my story," continued the Nawab, "the sprite waving her
arms beckoned the king to follow her, and led the way towards the
river's mouth. It entered the lake only a short distance from where they
were. The king experienced a poignant grief when for a moment he feared
that, unable to follow her, he must forever lose sight of his beauteous
visitant. But in another instant he was stepping into a tiny skiff which
suddenly appeared where a moment before had floated a lily. The magical
craft followed its spirit guide, moving against the tide, impelled by
unseen power, and ever and anon the sprite beckoned him onward. Soon
they entered the river, which here was deep, broad, and smoothly
flowing. Motion ceased when they were under a high overhanging bank
whose drooping foliage screened them from view. Here his guide again
spoke:
"'Ask and ye hear, O king, 'tis meet
That mortal want should be replete
From fulness of immortal state.'
"At once his soul's sadness found voice and he cried:
"'Tell me how may my increase in virtue resemble this river in its
onward flow?'
"Then the spirit answered:
"'From veiled spring that river sweeps
Whose swelling tides in glory
Roll onward to th' infinite deeps,
It is the soul's own story.'
"Again she beckoned him on, and without effort of his own he glided over
the water until they paused again where a lotus flower rested on the
tide. The bees clustered around it, attesting its sweetness, and when
the king bent over it and breathed its odour he cried:
"'Ah, how shall my piety be pure like the lotus, and the savour of my
virtues spread abroad?'
"And again the sprite replied:
"'Fairest flowers bloom unseen,
Graces that are manifest
Are of largess less serene;
Ever veiléd things are best.'
"When the eve deepened they were in a forest, a single star overhead
shone through the gloom, and was reflected in the water. Looking upward
the king asked for the third time:
"'How shall the days of my life be glorious and shine like the stars?'
"Ere she plunged beneath the flood to vanish forever, his guide
answered:
"'Love, like the star, the shade of eve,
Seclusion, heavenly rest,
And calm, for these things interweave
The bowers of the Blest?'
"The king was now at the river's secret source, and on the bank above
the deep pool he saw a man of a more princely aspect than any he had
ever known. He stood grand and divine, extending his hand with a most
benignant smile, and the story goes that the king perceived that he held
a luminous gem, some say a diamond and some an emerald--both stones, as
has often been proved, having magical potency. I cannot tell what it
was, but the king reached out his own hand to touch it, when instantly,
he knew not how, it seemed that something, a Resolve, a Desire, who can
say what, went from him into the bright orb, bearing which the creature
of light arose through the air, ascending higher and higher, bearing the
jewel which shone like the everlasting stars. And the king knew that his
soul's life had gone to other regions beyond the knowledge and speech of
men.
"The magical skiff bore him swiftly down the stream and disappeared as
he stepped from it to his palace. And tradition has it that his
heaviness of heart was gone from that night, and that his soul increased
in excellence and beauty, but that of its hidden life he was ever averse
to tell."