And then, day by day, I rose early in the morning, and ate the
breakfast of a bull-elephant, and went out into the streets, hunting,
not for a forest beast, but for a human quarry. And I roamed up and
down through the city all day long, examining everything I met that
had the shape of a woman with the eye of a hunting leopard. And so I
continued, day after day, without success. And then at last, on the
night of the Dipáwali, when the streets were full of people, suddenly
I saw her coming straight towards me. But she never saw me, by reason
of the crowd: and the prey is not thinking of the hunter, when the
hunter is thinking of the prey. And I hid myself in a doorway, and let
her pass by; and I followed her with stealthy steps until at last she
turned away into a narrow lane that resembled the jaws of death. And I
caught her up with silent tread, and all at once I took her by the
wrist as she went, with a grip like an iron band.
And she turned and saw me, and she started, and uttered a faint cry.
And instantly I said: Cry out, even once, and I will sever thy head
from its body. Make absolutely no noise, and I will do thee absolutely
no harm. But come with me, for I need thee for a little while. I have
been at pains to find thee, and now I will not let thee go. But unless
thou dost exactly as I tell thee, I will treat thee as I did thy
accomplice on the river bank, a little while ago. And she turned a
little paler as she listened, understanding that I did not speak in
jest. And I said: Go on before me, in silence, to my house, for well
thou art acquainted with the way. And I will follow, just behind, and
if thou makest, as thou goest, so much as a sign, thy head will roll
from its shoulders on the instant. And she bowed her head, and went.
And when we reached the door, I opened it and we went in. And I shut
the door, and there was no other light than the moonlight, which fell
in a flood upon the floor. And I said: Sit there in the moonlight, for
I have something to say to thee. And she sat upon the floor, watching
me with fascination like a bird before a snake.
And I walked to and fro before her, and suddenly I stopped, and I
said: Tell me, O Chaturiká, what would the Queen say, if I told her of
thy habit of babbling to thy relations of her secrets? And for answer,
Chaturiká began to sob, grovelling upon the floor at my feet. And I
said: Sit still, thou little fool, and listen: for thou shalt earn my
forgiveness by doing as I bid thee: and if not, I will save the Queen
trouble by becoming thy executioner myself. To-morrow night, I must
see her in the garden as before: and it can only be by thy
contrivance. And now, how is it to be done?
And Chaturiká said, weeping: To-morrow night it cannot be, since she
has given that evening to another. And moreover, for thee every night
is equally impossible, for she will not see thee any more. And how
canst thou pass the _pratihárí_, or enter by the door, without her
permission? And now between the Queen and thee, I am in the jaws of
death. For thou wilt slay me, if I do not find thee entrance into the
garden: and she will, if I do.
And I looked at her with scrutiny and I said: I will help thee out of
jeopardy. There must be another entrance to the garden. Is there no
other door? And she said unwillingly: There is, but none can enter
from without, unless he has the key, which the Queen trusts to no
custody but her own.
And I said: Then the way is found, luckily for thee: and thou art
saved, since none will ever guess thy part in the arranging for my
entry, if as I imagine thou art only sufficiently adroit to procure
for me a key without her knowledge. And that I leave to thee, only be
careful to bring it in good time, before to-morrow evening. And in the
meanwhile, go and tell that other lover that the Queen has changed her
mind: and put him off to any other day, it does not matter which,
seeing that it will never come at all: since for the future, I am
going to be the only lover of the Queen.
And then, Chaturiká looked at me in such amazement that it deprived
her for an instant of her terror, and suddenly she began to laugh. And
I stooped and lifted her, and whirled her in the air, and stood her
breathless on her feet. And I took her two hands and held them tight,
and I said: Dost thou feel what thou art in hands like mine, a
feather, and a nothing, and a straw? Now listen and be wise. Stand out
of the way, between the Queen and me, for we shall crush thee, and the
battle is one that I mean to win. And now I am going to show her
something that she never saw before, the strength of a man: for a
woman presumes, forgetting altogether that she owes all to the
forbearance of one who can sweep her away if he chooses, like a wild
elephant snapping a twig. And if anything goes amiss by any treachery
of thine, I will break thee in pieces with my bare hands, hide where
thou wilt, making it unnecessary even to betray thee to the Queen. And
now, what have I ordered thee to do?
And Chaturiká said humbly, quivering like a wild heifer that is
suddenly tamed by the sound of a tiger's roar: To put off a lover and
bring thee a key.
And I said: Thou hast still forgotten the thing without which both are
useless, and that is, to show me the outside of the door to be opened
by the key. And that thou shalt do at once. Go out now, and walk
without stopping straight to the door: and I will follow in thy steps.
And do not look back, until thou art standing just beside it, and then
turn for a single instant, and meet my eye without a sign. And then
begone where thou wilt until to-morrow.
And I opened the door and let her out, and she went away very quickly,
leading me through the city and past the palace gates, and a long way
round the palace wall, until at last she suddenly came to a dead stop,
beside a little door in the wall, that stood exactly opposite a ruined
temple of the great god. And there she turned and looked at me, and
then continued on her way until she disappeared. And I stood and
watched her go, saying to myself: I think she will bring me the key
to-morrow, without dreaming of betraying me: for I scared her almost
to death, and she is frightened. And I was very sorry for her, and yet
it was the only thing to do, for there was no other means of reducing
her to absolute submission. And yet she was beautiful to look at, even
so, resembling as she did a feminine incarnation of audacity suddenly
changed into unconditional obedience by standing between two appalling
dangers, and only doubting which was the most to be feared. And very
strange is the difference fixed by the Creator between a woman and a
man: since the very timidity that makes him utterly contemptible only
makes her even more beautifully delicious than she was before.